Deadly Game (39 page)

He groaned softly. “Baby, you’re deceiving yourself. I’m not a good man. I sure as hell want to be and wish I was whenever I’m anywhere close to you, but the truth is, I’ve done things in my life, and will do them again, that take me right out of that category. I wanted to kill that son of a bitch, and someday I will.”

“Because he’s a threat to me, Ken, not because he touched me.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Mari; it’s both,” he replied grimly. He knew the admission condemned all chance of happiness with her. She was not the kind of woman to walk behind a man. He was a man who would constantly need to protect her, to make the decisions, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to change that. Unlike Briony, who accepted Jack’s domination, Mari would chafe at the restraints. She had been too long on a leash, and exchanging one for another wasn’t going to please her. Once she had a taste of real freedom, she would leave him and never look back.

The thought was crushing. It tore up his insides until he could barely think straight. He needed to focus on something else—anything else. Ken cleared his throat. “As soon as my brain heals a little bit, I can get word to Jack. Maybe he can warn the senator away if you really think Whitney might do him harm.”

“Absolutely I think Whitney intends him harm,” Mari said. “I think he put out the hit on him in the first place. When the command came down to protect the senator, I think it was a ploy to get us there and someone in our unit was going to assassinate him.”

“Sean?”

“Maybe. Probably. He said something that bothered me, something about already being Whitney’s prisoner. Sean’s always been able to come and go. He had far less restrictions than a lot of us.”

“He could have paid a high price for that. You have to consider the possibility that he sold his soul to the devil a long time ago.”

There was another small silence. Mari chewed on her bottom lip while she turned that idea over and over in her mind. “If he did, and all this time he was reporting to Whitney, he would have told him I was going out with the team in order to try to talk to Senator Freeman and Violet.”

“Which is why Whitney made certain Sean pumped you full of Zenith. It was Sean, wasn’t it?”

“Whitney usually gives it to us before we go out on a mission. He was gone. Sean wanted to protect me.”

“Whitney had him give a particularly strong dose. That’s why you healed so fast and then crashed so hard.”

“Do you think Sean knew what he was giving me?”

Ken wanted to tell her Sean was just bastard enough to make certain no other man had her if she didn’t return to him, but she’d been hurt enough. “I doubt it, honey. Whitney gave Zenith out routinely. It was more for his protection than anything else.”

“Because dead men—or women—can’t talk.”

“Exactly.”

“After you used mind control on me,” Mari said, “I wondered why you didn’t on Ekabela’s men. It isn’t easy and it takes a tremendous toll.”

He nodded. “It isn’t easy to clear your mind and keep it focused when someone is cutting you into little pieces.”

“I guess not. And the aftermath is a killer. You’d have to be somewhere totally protected to use it. They would have had you at their mercy anyway.”

“Like any psychic use, mind control has tremendous drawbacks, even more than most psychic talents, because you’re using such powerful energy. I don’t think Whitney can accept that. He wants his GhostWalkers to be flawless. That’s why he’s looking to the next generation. He’s thinking our children won’t have the repercussions of using psychic ability because they’ll be born with it.”

“I didn’t think of that. I just think of Whitney as insane. He’s gotten worse and worse over the years. He doesn’t seem to have to answer to anyone, and because of that, his experiments have become more bizarre.”

“Do you think Senator Freeman knows what goes on here?”

She shook her head. “Violet married him before Whitney started the breeding program. She couldn’t know. That’s why it was so important one of us speak to her. Why would Sean let me go if he planned on killing Freeman?”

“Because if Violet and Senator Freeman were dead, it wouldn’t matter that you were there. And you’re a sniper. They could have made you an accessory to killing a vice-presidential candidate. You wouldn’t be able to go anywhere or do anything with that threat hanging over your head.”

Mari pulled the cross and chain from under the mattress and slipped it over her head so that his gift settled in the valley between her breasts. She loved the feel and weight of it. Her fingers went to the edge of his shirt. “The guard won’t be here until about five-thirty this morning. We have some time before you have to get out of here.” She pushed up the hem, exposing the crisscrossing scars. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since the first time I saw you.” She bent her head and kissed him, her lips satin soft against the forming ridges. “Can you feel that?”

He could—just barely. A soft shimmer of promise only, skating across his skin. He should stop her. The more he touched her, the more he possessed her, the more difficult it would be later to give her up. “Like a whisper.” His voice was hoarse.

He wasn’t man enough to stop her. Her wandering little mouth was just below his navel, teeth teasing scars, rasping over rigid skin, her tongue doing a little dance to ease each stinging bite.

“What about that?”

He closed his eyes, shifting onto his back, letting her work his pants open and down off his hips. It was dark in the room, but she could see the pattern of scars carrying lower and covering the thick, long erection she was building with those tiny sharp teeth, soft lips, and moist, velvet tongue. “Lower,” he growled. “Lower and a little harder.”

“You have no patience.” Her soft laughter played over his abdomen like a feather. “I’ll get there. I want to do a little exploring first, just see what feels the best.”

She might kill him before the night was over. Her lips were heated silk, gliding over him like butter, a sensation almost beyond his ability to feel—almost. It was just enough to make his cock jerk and come to attention in breathless anticipation. Her teeth drove the breath from his lungs and sent fire rolling in his belly. Tiny, stinging bites covered by a stroke of her tongue.

Of its own accord his body arched toward her, his fists gripping her hair as a groan tore from his throat. His balls actually pulled up tight, so tight he feared he might explode as his cock filled, stretching the scars painfully, his erection thickening, lengthening, and bulging with urgent need. He thought to say something—maybe a protest, hopefully not a plea—but his mind and tongue couldn’t get around the words when she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft in a tight fist.

He looked down at her, at her large chocolate eyes, so dark with hunger, her expression eager and hungry. She looked wildly beautiful, the darker shadows playing over her naked body. His gold cross swayed with her breasts, teasing along her skin, caressing her as she moved over him. He could see his marks of possession on her skin from their earlier lovemaking and that sent another rush of heat surging through his veins.

Mari didn’t shrink from his vivid scars, the rigid lines crossing back and forth over his groin and scrotum. She studied him, fascinated, as if he were an ice cream cone and she couldn’t wait to start, but wasn’t certain where to begin. He held his breath as her head dipped forward and she licked a glistening bead from the top of the broad, lined head. She didn’t just lick. There was that same faint sensation as if butterfly wings had brushed over him, and then her teeth followed, scraping along the damaged skin, dragging out a cry of pleasure from him.

The breath slammed out of him. His jaw tightened. Every muscle in his body contracted. He fought for control. One touch and she was destroying him. He tugged on her hair, tried to drag her up, but even as he did, his hips surged forward, forcing his cock against her soft, satin lips. He groaned again as her warm breath blew over him, as her mouth opened and slid over the broad head, tongue curling and teeth finding the most sensitive spot right beneath the ridge, the one his enemies had tried so hard to destroy. She bit down experimentally and fire shot through him, pulsed in waves, until he couldn’t breathe, fighting for air, fighting for sanity.

The pleasure was so intense he was certain he wouldn’t live through it. She was effectively destroying his belief in his own control. He couldn’t allow her to take that from him—it was far too dangerous. Her teeth scraped again, right over that sweet spot, and he writhed under her, forgetting all about danger. Her nails joined in, scraping back and forth over the ridged lines on his tight sac, and he wasn’t certain he knew his own name. She was killing him, stars exploding behind his eyelids, lashes of a white-hot lightning whip streaking through his bloodstream.

“More, Mari. Hard and hot.” He bit the command out through clenched teeth.

Her mouth closed over the head of his shaft, tight and hot and so exquisite, adding suction to the combination of teeth and tongue, and he nearly came off the bed. There was no preparation for what she was doing to him. Sweet hell, she was burning him alive with her mouth. Her teeth found every nerve ending he was certain had been severed, and they were doing a fast repair.

She moaned deep in the back of her throat, and the vibration traveled straight through his cock to his balls and spread down his thighs and up into his belly. He couldn’t stop the hard thrust of his hips. He tried, straining for control, but it was impossible with the roaring in his head and his heart beating like thunder in his ears.

A soft curse tore from him as he slipped deeper, as her throat constricted tightly around him, milking at him until his seed boiled up hot and vicious. He caught her head, holding her to him as fiery heat washed over him, flames crackling at the base of his spine and washing over his body. Her teeth found that one spot right under the lip of the broad head, scraping as she took him deep again, her throat once more constricting.

He came apart, a violent explosion of body and senses, his life no longer his own, the pleasure consuming him, eating him alive. He shuddered with the release, his hips almost wild, thrusting deep helplessly, and each time her teeth or tongue added to the hot, tight suction, he gripped her harder, anchoring himself in the silk of her hair.

She owned him, body and soul. He might think he could make her dependent on him sexually, tie her to him with the way he could control her body, but she would never need him the way he needed her. He knew it as surely as he knew his heart and soul were forever in her hands.

She gave one last curling rasp with her tongue and released him. He drove her back, catching her wrists, yanking her arms above her head and slamming them to the mattress, his body still hard and aggressive and vibrating with need. His thighs pushed hers apart and he thrust into her, driving through tight velvet folds, forcing his entrance as deep as possible, needing her to take every inch of his thick, scarred cock.

There was resistance, her body slick and welcoming but far too tight, and in spite of her breathy little pants and pleading moans, her muscles tried to lock out his invasion. The reaction only added to his excitement and need to possess her, heightening his pleasure as he forced his shaft deeper, the muscles reluctantly, and barely, parting for him, squeezing hard against the scars, dragging across the damaged nerve endings until he felt fire sizzling up and down his spine.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” He loved looking at her, feasting on the sight of her body spread out before him like a never-ending buffet. Her eyes were glazed with need, her hair wild and spilling like strands of silk across the pillow. A sheen made her breasts seem to glow, creamy flesh with tight nipples begging attention and his cross glittering on her skin. He loved her tucked-in waist and the flare of her hips, but mostly he loved the soft little sounds of desperation that came from her throat as her body turned to liquid fire around his. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Mari.”

He bent forward to kiss her neck, the action deliberately producing an electrifying friction over her most sensitive spot. He sucked on the little pulse beating in her throat, dipped lower to find her breast, and did the same thing, feeling the answering wash of her hot cream make his next thrust easier. His teeth and tongue spent time worshiping there, while he waited for her tight body to accept the invasion of his.

“Please,” she whispered urgently, her body thrusting up toward his, as he sank once again into her and held still, savoring the feel of her body surrounding his.

“Shh, I’ll make it good for you, sweetheart. You need a little time to catch up.”

“I am caught up,” she protested, her voice breathy. Her body was already edgy with need. She didn’t want to wait. She needed the feel of him filling her, crushing her, driving into her so high she would never come down.

Every squirm of her body sent shock waves washing over him. She was too tight, too small for his size, but that only served to increase his pleasure. He needed the feeling of a tight fist gripping and squeezing, raking at his scarred shaft with fiery heat, in order to get release. “You make me so damned hard, Mari.” She did. One touch. One look. She was everything he could ever want in a woman. She wasn’t afraid of his unusual needs—she met fire with fire. Even when he held her down, her body responded to his with a wild, almost desperate need.

His thigh muscles cramped with the effort to hold back. Every cell in his body screamed at him to take her fast and hard and as rough as possible, giving him maximum pleasure. His breath came in harsh, bursting gasps. He wanted this different. He wanted to be gentle. Gentle didn’t work with his body, but she deserved so much more—a slow, tender lover, one coaxing her body into submission, not driving into her and taking by force what she was already willing to give.

He moved slow, testing his body, a long push through the hot, wet folds. The sensation was pleasant, but there was no real fire, no blaze of passion beyond his imagination. A groan escaped, a soft hiss of need he couldn’t stop.