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Authors: Jenna McCormick

Tags: #Romance, #Science Fiction, #Adult

No Limits (11 page)

BOOK: No Limits
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“How does that feel?”
He responded in incoherent babbles, his body shaking. Reaching around to his front, she gripped his shaft, thumbing the slit. “Do you want to come?”
He nodded and she pressed down harder on her end of the wand, changing the angle slightly as it expanded inside of him again, thrusting just like she had a cock of her own to ram up in him. “Beg me.”
“Please,” he panted. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
The rush of power those words gave her was indescribable. She stared at the candlelight as she worked Marshal’s cock, thinking of Rhys and how he told her you don’t have to hurt someone to beat them.
Marshal’s entire body tensed and he groaned in release. Gen felt the shield surrounding her hand spark as it consumed his seed before the genetic material could touch her skin. He shuddered and then went completely limp in her arms.
“Marshal?”
No answer. His chest wasn’t expanding the way it ought to be. With trembling fingers, she felt for a pulse. Nothing.
Oh, shit, did I kill him?
 
She’s magnificent.
Though Rhys wouldn’t tell her directly, he heard everything she said, felt everything she did to Marshal, playing her part to perfection. He sensed her anger—it washed over him in huge red waves, engulfing his reserves like a cup overflowing. Marshal would be strong after this encounter, feeding off her emotions, too, but Rhys held the element of surprise.
The control she took over Marshal was awe-inspiring. Rhys lost himself listening to her commands, the whisky tone that invited no questions. More than once, he’d had to stop himself from charging out to protect her. Gen had not seen the devastation Marshal had wrought—had not witnessed the bleak faces of blameless people as they were forced onto an alien vessel where they would be made into slaves.
Remembering those faces along with his trust in Gen’s innate moral compass was all that kept him sane as he listened to her intimacy with the traitor.
Because he’d been waiting for it, Rhys sensed the exact moment Marshal’s spirit abandoned his body, the bliss from whatever Gen had done too much to endure in corporeal form any longer.
That’s my girl.
Taking one more hit off of Gen, whose fear had overcome the sexual heat, he gathered his strength and launched himself from the candle, picturing her, imagining the look on her face when she realized what had happened.
Though Rhys couldn’t see, he sent out emotional antennae, which bounced off of living entities, detecting the feelings of others. Marshal’s essence resembled thick, black smog hanging in the air, suspended over his body. Whatever Gen had done had truly brought him pleasure, for he made no move to descend, to reclaim control over his body. That hesitation would be his downfall.
Stealth and speed, in addition to Marshal’s blissed-out state, allowed Rhys to sneak into the unoccupied body. Slithering in through the occipital lobe, he quickly went through the major systems of Marshal’s form, not trying to control it, only to keep it alive, making his heart pump blood, lungs suck in air, brain rest in a dormant but not dead state. As he traveled, he fortified the body’s natural defenses, just as he’d been taught to do when he was first learning how to project his essence. An empath who traveled out of his corporeal form did not want to leave his flesh unprotected. The body and spirit could be divided, just as lovers could be separated by time and circumstance, but one could not live without the other forever.
He finished just in time. Marshal’s essence attempted to drift back inside but couldn’t settle anywhere, his presence now a foreign invader to his own form. The darkness swirled, weakening already—he really had screwed around too long out in the ether. From any other being, Rhys would have sensed desperation and determination, but Marshal truly was the living dead. He felt the blackness move away—he must have sensed the candle that emitted an artificial frequency that attracted empaths like a magnet to steel.
At the last moment, before the flame engulfed it, the malignant cloud changed course, perhaps recognizing the trap that waited in the candle, and focused on the only other sustainable environment in the room ... Gen.
No!
Rhys’s panic made him sloppy, and he missed the cerebral cortex on his first pass. For the second time that day, he struggled to open the eyelids of the body he had invaded. After the battle he’d just had, he could have easily slept for a week, but not until he felt sure Gen was safe.
“Marshal?” he heard her ask, though she still appeared fuzzy to him.
“No,” he rasped, unable to control this body yet. “Gen. He’s coming for you. If he gets inside, your soul will be trapped and he’ll feed off of you until you die. Run, now.”
She hesitated. “Will you be all right?”
He felt her concern, breathed it in like a drug addict desperate for a hit. “Yes, now go.”
Her warmth and light departed, leaving him free to concentrate on forcing Marshal where he needed to go—into the candle.
Just stay away until I come for you, Gen.
He understood there was no way she could hear him, but he still thought the words, hoping she would receive his silent plea. Taking over Marshal’s body would be a bitter victory if he lost Gen in the process.
In his incorporeal form, Marshal had no way of keeping up with Gen’s body when she left the house. He wasn’t trained for this as Rhys had been; he had no way of knowing such a thing was even possible. For a moment, Rhys felt a surge of pity for his enemy, who flailed about, seeking anything other than the justice awaiting him.
And that’s what separates the two of us, Marshal. I have the ability to feel remorse, where you just feed from it.
The noxious cloud hung suspended over the flame, and Rhys froze as another possibility occurred to him. Marshal might let his essence fade rather than be imprisoned in the candle, left at the mercy of others.
If that happened, his body would die, leaving Rhys powerless once more. As he watched Marshal, he thought about all of the times he’d considered letting his own essence disperse, end his misery. He had loved ones to protect, though, his brotherhood to free, and now Gen to look out for. Rhys refused to be so selfish. No, he would not choose to walk the shadowed path, but watching Marshal consider ending his own existence, he understood the why behind such a notion.
Finally, Marshal’s blackness sought out the candle, following the burning wick to the wax that never melted. He must have decided to bide his time, gather his strength, and wait for Rhys to make a mistake.
It’s exactly what I would do in his place.
Unable to relax just yet, Rhys assessed his new physical form once more. He needed to put out the flame before Gen returned—he couldn’t risk Marshal going after her again. Without her in the room, Rhys was losing energy, wanting to sleep.
One thing at a time here.
Once he was sure the life processes would remain intact, he focused on coordinating his large motor skills, ignoring all the unusual sensations that threatened to overwhelm him.
Process later, act now
. Arms and legs flopped about like a newborn foal that couldn’t gain purchase, and the bizarre uncontrolled feeling registered when he couldn’t push off the ground. Because he floated in midair.
It seemed a lifetime since zero-G training, but Rhys remembered enough to flip himself toward the nearest wall. The pads of his bare feet touched the smooth surface, and he pushed off in the direction of the blurry glow he assumed was the fireplace.
His hands just scraped over the stone mantel when he heard the front door open.
11
“
R
hys?” Gen peeked around the door and scanned the cabin. Was she doing the typical idiotic horror movie broad shtick, getting in the hero’s way at a critical moment? Probably. But who said he got to be the hero of this piece anyhow? He was the fracking body snatcher!
How had he taken over Marshal? Even though he had done almost the same thing to her hours earlier, she thought Marshal would have erected some kind of defense against the invasion since he was an empath.
Unless Rhys was lying and
he
was the rogue imprisoned for the betterment of society ...
Gen shook her head, unwilling to consider the possibility. Rhys had shown her good faith by pleasuring her body instead of harming it. He could have maintained control, but he had let go when she’d started to panic. His actions enlightened her to the ugly reality she didn’t want to accept—Rhys was the good guy.
Which meant Illustra had imprisoned him against his will. Used his ability to line their pockets.
Now that she felt sure of him, she almost wished she didn’t. Because with understanding came the urge to do something. But how the hell could she help him when she couldn’t even get her own shit together? All of a sudden, she doubted Alison and Illustra and her own naïve universal view.
Yet she didn’t doubt that Rhys was looking out for her. When Marshal had regained consciousness, she hadn’t known what to expect, but seeing Rhys’s green gaze blazing out of his face, her heart had skipped a beat. And when he’d warned her that Marshal was coming to invade her body and eat her soul, she’d believed him and had beat feet to the rental car.
Where she’d felt like a chickenshit. What, should she lurk in the bushes while one man—being, whatever—died?
She didn’t doubt for an instant it was Rhys floating around inside Marshal’s body with a white-knuckled grip on the stone mantel. His arms shook, and tremors racked his entire body as he coughed, trying to blow out the candle’s flame.
Recalling how shaky he’d been in her body, Gen took charge and darted over to the fireplace. Ignoring Rhys’s feeble protests, she picked up the metallic snuffer and put the flame out. “He’s in there, right?”
Rhys’s head flopped forward like a puppet with its strings severed. “Yes. You should have waited for me to come for you.”
“You were taking too long there, light of my life.” She cringed at the intimate phrasing. What was
wrong
with her, flirting with a body-snatching liar? Taking him by the arm, she guided him over to the couch. She made sure to align him with the plush cushions before deactivating his antigrav strips. He flopped down onto his back with a dull thud. “Are you all right?”
“I will be.” A weak smile tilted his lips. “What did you do with this body, sweet Genevieve? It feels a little ... raw.”
She stood back and fisted her hands on her hips. “Really? You’re gonna bitch about my methods?”
His eyelids fluttered, but he shook his head. “Not criticism.” He sounded absolutely drained. “Admiration. You are a goddess among mortals.”
Pleasure licked deep inside her at his excessive compliment. To give herself a little distance, Gen circled around the back of the couch and fetched a blanket from the hope chest under the window. Spreading it out over his naked body, she studied the changes from a few minutes ago and wondered why, when she’d been intimate with both Marshal and Rhys, the man before her seemed like a total stranger, one she felt comfortable with on a level that transcended physical relations. This kind of thing could drive a girl nuts.
His breathing grew deeper, more rhythmic. “Stay with me.”
Her lips parted. How exactly did he mean that? Until he woke up? For the duration of his mission? Until the end of time? And why did her heart flutter like she’d been slamming coffee all night at the thought?
Paging Dr. Freud, we have a rabid case of Stockholm syndrome skull-fucking me here.
Rhys had a body now, an identity that he could use to screw his way to the top, if such was his goal. Gen was free to go about her life, find a real job, anything she desired. Yet as his soft snore filled the room, all she wanted was to stay here and puzzle him out. Understand who he was and why, even after his lies, she felt drawn to him.
Forcing herself not to hover like a lunatic watching him sleep, Gen scurried around putting away the props from the role-playing. Though she’d never admit it out loud, it had been so damned erotic she’d almost begged Marshal to fuck her. Who would have guessed her to be a closet dominatrix? Although the boot fetish was probably a big fat clue that she was a closet dominatrix.
Now Marshal was Rhys, who had already spent time with her, discovering her hot spots, feeding her compliments. Of course, once he woke up, Rhys would probably only want her help driving him to the spaceport where he could hitch a ride to whatever solar system he came from.
That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? She bit her lip, staring down into his face. His lie, no matter how justified, hurt. But not as much as the knowledge that he didn’t care about her. Rhys was an empath, a pacifist; he didn’t want to see her or anyone get hurt. It was her own tender heart that had hoped maybe she had finally found
the
one....
She’d watch him walk away and then settle back into her apartment, back to pretending she had a life, whittling her time away waiting for Mr. Right.
The sound of her buzzing comm link broke her from her brooding. The screen stayed blank, so it wasn’t one of her preprogrammed contacts. Glancing to where Rhys lay snoring, she decided to take the call. “Genevieve Luzon.”
“Gen? How’s it going?” Alison’s perfectly polished image wavered to life.
Gen adjusted her gaping bodice, not even bothering to consider the state of her hair. She probably looked like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet. “Fine and dandy.”
Alison nodded once. “Do you have time now to fill me in?”
Gen glanced over her shoulder to where Rhys slept, utterly defenseless. Did Alison know about the empaths? Worrying her lower lip, Gen considered whether she should put her trust in her old friend. In the end, she decided it was more Rhys’s decision than hers. “We’re in between sessions right now. Can I give you a call a little later?”
Alison’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “Is everything all right, Gen?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve got a whole host of men willing to fuck me until I turn blue.” Gen had to school her features.
Emphasis on
host.
Alison’s smile looked a little plastic. “There’s a first time for everything. Call me later.”
“Cuntrag,” Gen muttered. Though Alison may have been trained in how to be a smooth operator, she had less tact than Nana after a bender. And that’s saying something.
“I have a sister,” Rhys murmured.
Gen jumped at the sound of his voice. “You scared me.” She moved back over to the couch and crouched down to look at him. “What brought that nugget to the forefront of your thoughts?”
“I want you to understand why I’m so determined to free my people. The thought of Sela enslaved and suffering like this tears me apart. I’m sorry I lied to you, sorry for using you. Though my actions seem cruel, I really had no other choice.”
She licked her lips. “You could have asked me for help right away. I’m a soft touch, a pushover.”
He shook his head and winced when the movement seemed to jar him. “I couldn’t risk you saying no. You
did
say no. Even though you helped me unintentionally.”
Shifting into a more comfortable position, Gen perched on the end of the couch so they could continue their dialogue. “How did I help, exactly?”
Rhys drew in a deep breath. “My people believe when your body reaches the pinnacle of sexual relief, your consciousness leaves your physical self. All the natural defenses are down and the soul is left wide open. Because I was aware of what you were doing and Marshal was not, I struck in that moment. Our emotional resonances traded places, and I shut him out. In our recorded history, it’s never been successfully done before. I was wrong not to place my faith in you from the very beginning. You’ve proven yourself to be a formidable ally. I bet you can change the orbits of entire solar systems if you put your mind to it.”
Those green eyes sucked her in like a vortex, making her forget that he was in a different body. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she had to struggle to breathe. Names meant nothing and appearances even less, the connection between them too strong to ignore, too demanding to be denied.
“Genevieve,” he whispered.
Leaning down, she closed the distance and brushed his lips with hers. His scent enveloped her, that cold and wood smoke combination along with potent male spices. The press of his mouth moved with hers as though he sought a deeper contact. He let her direct the kiss and keep the pressure light. The gentle melding of mouths moved her more than the entire sexual encounter with Marshal. Then she’d felt only her own power, reveled in her femininity. It had been basic supply and demand; she had what he wanted, and she’d leveraged her value to him in order to fulfill her own needs. Raw, primal, and utterly basic. No hearts involved.
This was smaller, sharper, an acute pleasure that transcended flesh. A taste of what had been missing all her life. Except when she was with Rhys.
Pulling back, she stared into his face. His eyelids stayed closed, dark lashes casting shadows under his eyes. A small smile played across those firm masculine lips.
Her breath escaped in a whoosh. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”
His eyes opened as his brows drew together. “Doing what?”
Her shoulders sagged and she rose up from the couch, needing to put some distance between them. “What it is that you do—pull my strings. Your emotional puppet-master tricks.” A cold metal weight took up residence in her gut. She could never trust what she felt around him, because she’d never know if the feelings were genuinely her own. She couldn’t trust him, couldn’t trust herself....
This relationship had
toxic
written all over it.
“Gen.” Rhys tossed the blanket back, and she quickly averted her gaze to the view of the half-frozen lake out the window. Fat dopey flakes fell from the sky and began to blanket the frozen ground. She needed to get rid of him before they were snowed in here together, or she’d lose herself in the constant quest for what only he had been able to give her—a sense of her own value.
“Get dressed. Take Marshal’s car and leave.” She wrapped her arms around herself and kept her posture ramrod stiff. The sooner he left, the sooner she could forget about him and move on with her own life.
His hand gripped her upper arm, and he spun her to face him. “I don’t know what you think I did, but I can feel your anger rolling off of you in giant red waves. Believe me, I have no desire to pull your emotional strings. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”
His expression softened. “I still need you, Gen. Still need your emotional input to maintain my strength.”
She ground her molars together. “This isn’t fair.”
“Life seldom is, my sweet.” He released her and ran a hand through his hair. “Gen, it’s not just my selfish need to keep you by my side. Sooner or later, Illustra will discover that you helped set me free. I know what they are doing, and now you do too. They’ll come for you. Torture you until you reveal my plans. And once you do, they’ll kill you and anyone close to you. I refuse to let that happen.”
She laughed humorlessly. “So, what you’re saying is, in for a penny, in for a pound?”
He nodded once. “Is being with me so difficult?”
Frustration boiled over. “I don’t even know who you are, Rhys!”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, and her germ shield crackled at the contact. “Then allow me to show you. Once I do and I’m sure of your safety, you can walk away if that’s what you want.”
Could she do it? Stay with him, growing even more attached to him for the duration of his mission? The longer they were together, the harder it would be to say good-bye. But what if he’s right? Was she willing to risk Tanny, Gramps, and Nana? In that light, she really didn’t have a choice. “I’ll go pack my bag.”
 
Rhys remained in the great room listening as the door to her bedroom slammed shut. Wrapped in the blanket she’d so thoughtfully covered him with, he stared out at the winter wonderland, totally at a loss. That kiss, that sweet touch of her lips to his was the first he’d experienced in months, perhaps even years. And Gen had enjoyed it just as much, her feelings coating them both in a puffy pink euphoria.
He wanted more, wanted to kick open her door, strip the dress from her luscious body, and set to exploring every inch of her. The cold from the floorboards seeped into the soles of his bare feet. Warmth from the crackling fire coated his left side. Sensation, so long denied him, rushed back at an overwhelming clip, like he’d been trapped on a one-dimensional plane and suddenly thrust into a three-dimensional world.
Reaching down, he stroked the half-hardened shaft between his legs, remembering all the things he’d done with Gen. His mouth went dry when he thought of really tasting the honey between her legs, delving his tongue deep inside her core and then laving those glistening folds. Seed pearled at the tip, and he groaned as he swirled it around his cock head.
BOOK: No Limits
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