Dom Wars Round Five (4 page)

She fought her way down to her knees and took my cock into her mouth
, moaning in relieved joy. I choked on the pleasure, tangling my fingers in her hair, holding on tight as she sucked me deep and fast, her nails digging in my ass to keep me from escaping.

She sucked me with
ruthless passion and I growled and tightened my hold on her hair and jerked her head back when my orgasm nearly overtook me.

She had a one track mind
—make me orgasm in six seconds or less, it seemed. Still on her knees, she pulled my arm, her legs against my shins. I recognized the take-down maneuver even as I fell forward right between her open thighs. Her hand was on my cock and I was sliding inside her as our mouths met in crazy hunger.

"
Fuck me, fuck me!" She pulled at my hips, her nails biting, her thighs gripping hard.

I held
the front of her neck with one hand and a handful of her hair with the other and slammed in and out of her until her cries filled my mouth. She yanked at my hair, holding me to her own passionate kiss. Her hunger for me was like kryptonite to my body and all it could do was scramble to answer it. I fought the power that ripped through me, reckless and dominant and brutal, sucking the control right from my muscles. I bit down on her shoulder with its hunger to consume, growling and pounding toward the center of that secret universe.

With a roar,
I burst through the doorway and dove into her, a torpedo of fire, of love, of so much joy, so much fucking awe. Our orgasm echoed in the woods around us and we writhed in the ecstasy on the earthen floor. It was my first time doing it in the woods like that and I prayed no passers-by were out there.

Panting in the aftermath, I laid half on her, blown the
fuck away. How was it possible that I could be allowed something this amazing? As her, as
us. God-fucking-damn
! And if she knew, God if she knew how much I loved her, she'd have to be terrified, maybe she'd run from me. This love was raw, lurid, insanity with a huge ass smile, irreversible, and un-fucking-believable.

Worried we
'd been away too long, I reluctantly helped Tara back into her clothes when I wanted nothing more than to continue making love with her. Even though the Preacher had said I would take any punishment she or Steve earned, I wasn't willing to test it. I didn't trust the bastard as far as I could throw him and I was sure I couldn't throw him an inch. He was just twisted enough to say something like that only to turn it around when the time came for discipline with a piece of scripture to go along with it.

Chapter Six

Leading her back the way we
'd come, only far slower, I kept her close to my side. "Tell me everything that happened while we were apart?" Craving more closeness with her, I instinctively kept my voice low and intimate.

Smiling up at me, she wrinkled her nose a little and shook her head.
"I'd rather talk about something more interesting. Like…how are we going to manage more than a few stolen minutes of privacy? Because I want to make love to you. I want to take my time and not worry about bugs or sharp sticks or making too much noise."

The words sent accompanying images flashing through my mind and my pulse pounding through my dick again.
"That is pretty interesting. You have any ideas?" The chuckle refused to be contained. "That Preacher isn't going to be agreeable to much of anything I come up with. Don't think he likes me all that much."

Laughter erupted from her and she clutched at my arm to keep her balance.
"That's the understatement of the year. I think he believes you're possessed or something, and I'm just an unfortunate victim." She continued laughing, making her voice deep in an attempt to mimic the Preacher's order to return quickly. "His wife is nice, though. I like her. She's not at all what I expected."

"
And we may need to use that huge surprise if things get nuts." I continued picking my way with her back to camp. "We could gather a lot of firewood, I guess, but that doesn't eliminate the bugs and sharp sticks. If we have to stay here the entire time I don't see us being likely to get much privacy in any sort of comfortable place."

She
bit her lower lip in a shy grin. "We'll have to learn to be quiet if all we have is our tent."

I couldn
't hold back my laughter. "This I'd like to see. But fuck, not really, I love the noise you make."

The
solid brown of the tents flickered through the trees, signaling the camp's nearness. Not wanting to end the precious moments with her, I drew her to a stop and took her in my arms. "I love you, Tara Reese." Bending to her lips, I focused every ounce of my kissing experience on making that declaration crystal clear. I needed her to know. Know I meant forever. Know I would do whatever it took to keep her safe. Know she meant more than life to me.

Something large crashed through the underbrush, startling us out of the kiss though I refused to relinquish my hold on Tara. It came straight toward us, grunting and stomping.

Shielding her with my body, I faced the threat, heart pounding, ready.

"
Lucian? Miss Tara?" Steve's gaspy whisper was filled with alarm. "Are you out here?" He groaned. "Oh, Lands O' Mercy, I'm lost. Lost in this wretched jungle." More crashing and stomping.

My
laughter threatened at realizing it was Steve. Against my back, Tara must've found it just as funny, her body quaking with silent giggles.

Steve paused to call for us again, in clear view this time
. I waved at him and his eyes picked up the movement and he jerked to us. A second later, a huge grin lit his face and he stampeded toward us. "Thank you, Merciful Heavens!" He paused and stared at us, still grinning. "You're late, the preacher's madder than a bobtail cat and sent
me
to look for you." Like that was the stupidest thing ever.

I looked at my watch.
"By five minutes. We're fine." I led Tara by the hand quickly the rest of the way with Steve whispering how fine it wasn't, how the preacher was pacing and pissed.

We
left what felt like the relative safety of the brush cover and walked into camp. The first thing I spotted was the Hummer sitting in the spot it had vacated earlier. What the hell?

The preacher glared at us.
"Get in." His order said very clearly he would tolerate no questions. "You're late." Certain punishment threatened in his tone. But later.

Why had the driver come back? I was dying to ask, but stayed quiet.
No one said a word as we all complied with the Preacher's order. Had we broken some rule besides not coming back at the exact moment he'd ordered? He sure acted like it.

"
Steve, you have what you need?" The Preacher's glare made me pray Steve had whatever he was supposed to. There'd be hell to pay if he didn't.

"
Yes, sir." Steve patted the bag on his shoulder and I assumed he meant a laptop. Hopefully.

We rode the hour into town under a slab of silence. I
t wasn't easy to avoid the Preacher's gaze, since he had it locked onto me and glinting with the promise of punishment. I became curiously aware that the Preacher had hung an unspoken death penalty in the air for anybody who dared to speak without permission. Another round of annoying fascination hit me about him. I was getting far too much of that with him. I needed to keep my guard up extra high. There were secrets still. I could feel them like an oppressive hand on me. I'd figure it out.

We finally made it to a McDonalds.
"Oh glorious, a milkshake would be fabulous," Steve gasped, smiling.

"
We're not here to eat, Steve," the Preacher said. "Get busy. You've got thirty minutes."

Steve appeared aghast for a few seconds before recovering and digging his laptop out and opening it up. He handed me a pad of paper and a pen without looking and began his search.
"First order of business," he quipped in his droid tone. "The toy store." Clattering ensued for several more seconds before he popped the enter key with an index finger. "Notes Lucian."

Steve read off information
and I scribbled it down. "Poppy's Toy Emporium. Small, privately owned chain, six stores throughout the region. Started in 1956 by Roy Chase, AKA Poppy. He died in '74 and left the two stores to his son, John. By 1980 the business was in serious trouble, but John's wife, Kate, started helping out and she managed to turn it around. John and Kate retired in 2002, leaving their twin daughters to operate the business. Melissa and Alissa have been very successful with vintage and high end toys and collectibles."

"
So, you'll be selling to the twins." The Preacher's contribution surprised me a little. Did he know more about these assignments than he'd let on?

I nodded and put my suspicion away
for the moment. "What do we know about them?"

Steve
's fingers flew over the keyboard again for a moment, then he read from the screen.  "They're thirty-six years old, unmarried and don't seem interested in finding anyone. Ummmm…" he mumbled over words for a bit. "Ah, Melissa had a failed romance in her twenties it says here. Oh," he breathed, sounding sad, "she caught him cheating with one of her employees. Huge scandal.
Tsk tsk
. Since then, neither of them have even dated. Aww, precious hearts, and yet they're still good people, says here they're heavily involved in children's charities and not much else." He turned the computer to reveal a photo of two women standing side by side.

I looked closer.
Huh. They were classic beauties, but wore unflattering hair styles and dowdy, poorly fitting clothes. "Why are they deliberately making themselves look unattractive?"

The Preacher leaned in for a closer look, then nodded.
"Why, indeed?"

"
Probably to protect themselves." Tara said it like it was the most obvious thing. "It's a common defense after being hurt, to prevent anything like that from happening again. Apparently their looks have been a direct avenue for risk that led to grief. Add wanting to be taken seriously in the business world and you end up with…that." She flicked her finger at the strange pair.

The Preacher inclined his head.
"Good points."

"
And perhaps they were never taught the fundamentals of presenting themselves attractively." Becca's soft words held a note of something. Maybe experience?

"
Oh…" Tara straightened and angled her head. "I didn't think of that. Oddly enough, in America, many girls are not taught about hair and make-up and clothes, maybe because it's assumed they'll just pick it up in the culture around them. But it's not the case." Like that was her own experience.

The Preacher glanced at his watch.
"Move on. What's the next business?"

Steve clicked on several somethings, then the keyboard chattered again.
"The Saint Agnes Women's Center." He scanned the page, clicked and scanned again with incoherent mumblings, sounding like one of those religious nuts speaking in tongues of angels, as I'd heard it called. He drew a deliberate breath. "It's an offshoot of Saint Agnes Hospital. A group of doctors keep offices in the Women's Center and have privileges at the hospital. Looks like they do everything from cosmetic surgery to delivering babies." His cheeks reddened suddenly. "Oh, Lord, have mercy on my soul." He turned the computer to us and bowed his head to the right, revealing an intimate image of a mother about to deliver her baby.

I felt his discomfort, and judging by the way
the Preacher unceremoniously turned the screen back to face Steve, he did too. "Next."

I hoped I was the only one to notice how slowly Steve typed in his search terms. The Preacher wouldn
't like him dragging his feet because he dreaded his part of the assignment.

"
Pierson Funeral Home." Steve gave a huge sigh of dread and clicked. He read in silence until I worried the Preacher would get pissed then finally began mumbling what he found in droid tone, "Established in 1879, still in the same family. The current owners, Phil and Joanna, are under extreme pressure from one of the big chains to sell. Looks like they won't have much choice, since they have no children to leave it to. Phil's niece, Caroline, is the only family member possibly interested, and she has a history of drug use and criminal activity, so it's unlikely she'll be able to take it over."

"
How old is the niece?" the Preacher asked, betraying interest.

Steve clicked, typed and read some more.
"Twenty-eight. Single mother, four year-old son." The Preacher nodded and looked at his watch. "Perfect timing. We're done here. Ladies, would you care for anything here before we leave?"

His woman whispered something to him in
another language and he answered likewise, that deep voice rumbling.

Tara
looked at me and Steve, then shook her head. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"
Don't worry about me," Steve put a hand on her arm, "You get yourself some refreshments."

"
Nah," Tara said. "I don't really care for Micky D's." She winked and Steve gave one solemn nod and slowly removed his hand from her arm.

The
Preacher barked at the driver to take us back. With every foot we drove, poor Steve looked like he was being surgically removed from a twin and might not survive the shock.

Heavy clouds choked the thin light from the setting sun as we turned onto the narrow camp road. Full darkness arrived before w
e made it back to the campsite, though it wasn't that late.

Preacher opened the door.
"Gather around the campfire to plan our strategy."

I looked at Tara, yearning to take her to our tent. "All of us?"

"
Yes. Especially the women. Females are exceptionally talented in forming strategy."

We all piled out of the car and I
led Tara to the smoldering fire. We all got situated and I slipped my arm around Tara's waist and leaned in for several soft kisses on her cheek as the limo left.

The Preacher disappeared into his tent for a moment, returning with a spray bottle.  He sprayed Becca, and himself, then passed the bottle to me
. Recognizing the bug repellent, I shook my head. "We're good. Took care of that when we first got here."

The Preacher shrugged.
"Suit yourself."

I took a chance and stole a quick kiss
. The faint sound Tara made in response sent a lightning bolt of desperation through my balls.

"
Business number one," the preacher announced loudly.

Steve cleared his throat.
"Um, business number one is the toy store," Steve looked at the Preacher, then the women. "Can't wait to hear what sort of strategy you come up with for this."

The Preacher gave a slow grin and nodded.
"Ladies?"

"
Well…" Tara said. "Moms and dads…"

A long silence ensued before Becca finished,
"Need to play too?"

Tara pointed at her
, smiling. "Yes. Need to play to. And need their own toys."

"
Perfect," Steve said, bobbing a finger at me. "Write that down." I did, trying to imagine myself playing that angle in a sales pitch. Maybe we could find a better one.

"
Number two?"

Or maybe not.

"Next is the hospital." Steve positioned the computer on his lap. "Tara's deal."

"
Tara? You have any angles?" Jealously knifed through me at the preacher's gentle tone.