Embrace the Wind (2 page)

foot atop the other. “She isn’t about to let
any
of us retire. Ever.”

“You did something,” Owen stated. “I know fucking well you did.”

His twin cocked his head to one side. “Why aren’t you in Wismin or Moilia? How

come you’re here busting my balls?”

“I had to bring my sons for their checkup with Healer Desden. We’ll be here for

another few days.”

Eanan’s eyes lit up at the mention of his brother’s sons. “How are our wee future

Reapers?” he asked.

“They aren’t Reapers yet,” Owen snapped, “and may never be. It will be their

choice whether or not they want a hellion when they are old enough to make that

decision and I’ll not have Morrigunia influencing them either!”

Lips twitching with laughter, Eanan wisely remained quiet and did not let the

laughter erupt. Instead, he dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m

horny,” he informed his brother.

Owen rolled his eyes. “What else is new?” He pushed away from the table and got

to his feet. “For the love of Alel, Eanan, toe the line, will ya? I would really hate to have

mo Regina
take your ass back to Mantanuska.”

That sobered Eanan and he lowered his head. “I’d really hate that too,” he agreed.

“I rather like Terra.”

“Then don’t do anything to fuck this up. Whatever they want you to do, do it and

keep your mouth shut. And for the love of Alel, whatever you do, don’t go to extremes

with it.” Owen pointed a finger at his twin. “Understand?”

“Aye.”

After another narrowed look aimed at his twin, Owen marched off, his shoulders

hunched forward like a bull after a red flag.

9

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“‘Whatever they want you to do, do it’,” Eanan mimicked then looked around him.

He spied a woman at the counter and gave her his best come-hither smile. Like

clockwork, she came hurrying toward him.

Deadly lawmen who patrolled the outlying territories of Terra with a laser whip

strapped to one leg and a six-shooter the other, all any Reaper had to do was crook his

finger and women came running—eagerly or reluctantly and with apprehension. The

nine black-clad male warriors were a law unto themselves and honest men stepped

aside for them. Criminals feared them. Evildoers ran from them but could not stay

hidden from the psychic powers wielded by the elite squadron of highly trained

assassins.

“What can I do for you, milord?” the woman asked as she came to stand before

him, curtseying briefly, her eager eyes mirroring the awe most women who resided at

the Citadel had for the Reapers.

“Darling, you can do anything you want to me,” Eanan said in a silky purr. His

gaze wandered over her buxom figure with appreciation before settling on her pale

blue eyes. “What would you
like
to do for me?”

Monica Albright blushed to the roots of her light brown hair. She flicked out a

pretty little pink tongue and swiped it across her upper lip. “Whatever you want me to,

Lord Eanan.”

Eanan looked past her and uncrossed his long legs, drew them in and stood. “Is

there somewhere we could discuss this?” He lowered his voice. “In private?”

Shivering beneath the hot amber gaze of the Reaper, Monica pointed to a door on

the far side of the room. “There’s a storage closet…”

“Works for me,” Eanan said, and reached down to take her hand, drawing her with

him toward the door.

If anyone saw the Reaper ushering the willing girl into the storage closet, they

looked the other way and no transgression would be reported. What a Reaper wanted, a

Reaper got. Nothing was ever denied the shape-shifting warriors.

10

Embrace the Wind

Eanan closed the door behind him, thumbed the lock then with a reckless,

predatory grin on his chiseled features moved to Monica. He stalked her as she backed

away, reading in her saucy eyes a look that told him their encounter was going to be

worth his while. When she came up against the wall—could go no farther—she lifted

her chin and put a hand to the buttons of her blouse.

“You want to suckle these, milord?” she asked as she opened her blouse and

molded her hands around her breasts, squeezing them for his benefit.

“Aye,” he said in a throaty voice as he reached her and wrapped his fingers around

her wrists to move her hands from her chest. He slid his hands into her bra and plucked

the fleshy mounds from their covering.

“I want you inside me,” she breathed, panting. She moved so she could rock her

lower body against his.

Eanan did not respond to her words. He knew better than to dip his wick into the

woman’s sheath for there was a geis against it, a taboo. Centuries before, when the first

Reaper had been made at Morrigunia’s hand, the Triune Goddess had placed a sacred

ban upon him that prohibited him from entering a woman’s body unless he intended to

make her his bond mate, to Join with her legally as man and wife or cohabit exclusively

with her as his concubine, never to put his hands to another woman as long as he drew

breath. To violate the ban was considered a disgrace and had dire consequences for the

Reaper. To Eanan’s knowledge, no warrior had ever dared disobey the prohibition. He

certainly had no intention of being the first.

His cock hardening to steel between his legs, he leaned in to her and lowered his

head to flick his tongue over her nipples. Large and tight, the erect little buds were a

tasty treat. He molded her breasts in his hands, moved from one to the other—licking

and nibbling, drawing them deep into his mouth. He had jammed one taut thigh

between her legs and she was rubbing the juncture of her thighs along his, squeezing

him as her hands roamed up and down the back of his black silk shirt.

11

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Never let it be said, he thought as he drove one hand down between their bodies so

he could pull up her skirt, that Eanan Tohre ever left a woman dissatisfied with his

performance. He had become an expert in knowing just where to touch, when and for

how long before he gently pushed the woman to her knees to satisfy his raging hunger.

With her aching for him, craving him, she would gladly see to his needs, and when that

last squirt of cum had shot from him, he would sink to his knees beside her, lay her

down to give her the pleasure she deserved.

His teeth nipped at the swollen bud as he drew it between his lips, his tongue

swirling around it. She was shivering, her belly muscles quivering, and the intoxicating

scent that clung to his body no doubt driving her wild.

Thrusting his hand behind the elastic waistband of her bloomers, his warm, rough

palm dragged over her trembling flesh until the tips of his fingers tangled in the crisp

hair at the apex of her thighs. He nipped playfully at her breast. He suckled her. He

licked her nipple until it was as hard as a pebble. All the while his fingers inched their

way in very slow increments—barely a whisper of a touch—down the silky mound of

her sex until the tip of one finger touched her clit, the hard calluses of his palm catching

in the fine, wiry curls.

“Ah,” he heard the woman moan as he slid his fingers deep inside her heat.

He stroked her slowly as he laved her nipples, his middle finger pressing harder

into her wet channel, his index and ring finger riding the slick fold outside her opening,

the base of his palm pushing firmly against her clit. He spread kisses up her bosom and

along the side of her neck until his lips rested against her ear.

“Is this what you want?” he asked softly, his hot breath sending shivers down her

side.

“Aye, it is,” she breathed. Her breath was ragged, her heart slamming hard behind

her rib cage. A light sheen of perspiration dotted her upper lip.

He moved back until he could look her in the eye, held her gaze for a moment then

slid his hand up until the pad of his middle finger touched her clit.

12

Embrace the Wind

“Milord!” she gasped as he rolled the little nubbin in a tight circle.

He tapped her clit softly, gently, rhythmically, timing his taps with the beat of his

heart. The tapping became faster as her body began to respond to the cadenced beat of

his finger to her fevered flesh.

His hand stilled, fingers spreading at the V of her legs, and she moaned.

“Oh please, don’t stop!” she begged.

Once more he began that light tap against her pulsing core, her juices flowing out of

her like sap from a maple. His eyes were twin embers of golden fire as he stared at her

breasts and he lowered his mouth to her once more, drawing the straining peak

between his lips and pulling hard on the sensitive flesh. He stabbed at the tip with his

tongue then nibbled gently until she was whimpering. He lapped at her, circled her

hard little pap then moved over to the other breast to give it the same devotion.

His cock was straining brutally against the front of his leather pants and burning

him as if a glowing brand were being applied to his flesh. He put a hand up to grasp

her forearm and pulled her hand down between them, placing it at the hard bulge.

“I need you, wench,” he said in a throaty growl, and rubbed her hand hard against

him.

“Aye,” she whispered and—just as he knew she would—squatted down, feverishly

working the black studs that held closed the fly of his pants.

As she pulled him free of the leather, he put one hand on her head—tangling his

fingers in her hair—and the other on the wall opposite him to brace his weight. Her

mouth drew him in and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back as she worked her

magic on his willing shaft.

His hips started a rhythm of their own as he rocked his cock between her sweet lips.

She was no amateur, no stranger to pleasing a man. Her throat was relaxed and she was

taking him in as far as she could, her tongue swirling around him as her fingers worked

his balls. Her lips slid over him until she was flicking across the broad head of his cock

then swirling the engorged head between her lips, pulling on his flesh, suckling him,

13

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

lapping at the juices that oozed so freely. He heard her swallow then begin her

concerted effort to please him. He massaged her head, his fingers plying her scalp. His

heart was slamming hard in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears and he was

galloping like a wild stallion toward the climax that promised to be all he could want.

Her lips tugged at him. She raked her teeth gently along his length. She squeezed his

balls and then with a slight little chuckle, slid her finger into his ass.

“Mother of Alel!” he hissed as his eyes flew open, and before he could take another

breath, came like the proverbial race horse in her mouth, her finger jiggling deep inside

him—twisting, turning, hooking, doing things to his body he had never experienced.

He pushed his hips against her face and shuddered hard as she brought her finger

halfway out of him then slammed it in again—hard and deep.

His hand tightened in her hair and he moaned, all the strength leaving his legs so

his knees felt on the verge of buckling. With her finger buried as far inside him as it

would go, she released his cock and raised her head, one finely arched brow elevated.

“Is that what you wanted, milord?” she asked, licking her lips of his juices.

Before he could answer, she jerked her finger from his ass and lay down flat on the

floor, holding her arms up to him.

“Come, warrior. Satisfy me.”

He fell on her, unable to do anything else. His weight stretched out atop her and he

ground his limp cock against her, wanting entry, needing to get inside her so badly he

was panting. He fumbled with the flaccid shaft, but it would not stiffen. With

frustration, he shifted his weight and rammed his hand between her legs.

“Aye, warrior. That’s it.”

Thinking she must have remembered he would not fuck her in the traditional way,

he felt her spread her legs as wide as she could with his heavy weight pressing down on

half her body, her leg trapped beneath his. His fingers worked in and out of her like a

piston for a moment then he took her clit between his thumb and middle finger and

14

Embrace the Wind

began to roll it firmly, his lips pressed to her ear, his tongue swirling inside as he plied

her engorged little nub.

Monica threaded her hands through his thick black hair and pulled his head back

so she could cover his lips with hers. He squirmed for just a moment as she thrust her

tongue into his mouth but then he was pumping his fingers into her again, bringing her

closer and closer to her release.

Though he didn’t like to be kissed by strange women, he allowed it because his

body would not obey his mental command to move away from her, to tear his mouth

from hers. She was invading his mouth with a knowledgeable little tongue that still had

his taste upon it. As soon as he realized that, he tried to draw back but she brought a leg

up to anchor him on her and deepened the kiss—though he could have sworn that was

impossible. Her hands were anchoring his head so she could plunder his mouth and

that irritated him. He wanted to be free of her, get the taste of himself out of his own