Paige's Warriors (Bondmates Book 3) (9 page)

It must have worked, because she threw her head back with a gasp, banging the wall lightly while grinding her pelvis against his abdominals. If he’d been strong enough to stand, he would have lifted her in his arms and pressed his erection into all that wriggling heat. A light red blush started to cover her chest when he leaned back, the dark purple of his blood gleaming in the corner of her kiss swollen mouth. She was magnificent in her lust, the glow of her life force so bright through the growing bond between them he felt dizzy.

It took him a few seconds to realize that he was about to pass out, and his greatest regret was that he wouldn’t get to see Paige climax before it happened.

But he got his kiss.

Paige Grant

Arousal tightened her body, her thighs clenching as she rubbed her clit against Tren’s rock hard pelvis, grinding herself against him in an effort to find relief for the sensations blazing through her.

She’d never, ever been aroused like this before, and she wondered at the hard need riding her. The throbbing between her legs demanded to be filled, and she could still taste Tren with every ragged breath she took. Sharp bolts of arousal shot from her nipples to her clit and back again, brought on by Tren’s skilled fingers. She hadn’t removed one piece of clothing, and she was about to come for him. Surely there had to be something wrong with that. Dawn always complained about how it took a guy forever to get her off, and this was when they were naked.

Tingles unfurled in her belly, and she braced her hands on Tren’s impossibly broad shoulders, once again feeling like Belle with her Beast kneeling before her.

Then his hands dropped from her breasts, and he began to slump to the side.

Before she could gather her arousal shattered mind, he hit the floor loud enough to shake her from her stupor.

“Tren!”

Dropping to her knees next to his prone body, she fluttered her hands helplessly over his massive frame, not knowing what to do. Panic shook her as she held her fingers before his mouth, relieved to feel the soft exhalation of his steady breath. Rolling him over onto his back took so much effort she had to brace her feet against the floor and push with her legs. Jesus, he was as heavy as a boulder and twice as hard. Part of her felt like a dirty pervert, but she couldn’t help admiring the bumps and curves of his muscles through the thin fabric of his clothes as she shoved.

Speaking of thin fabric…

Her gaze went lower, and she sat back on her ass abruptly enough to make her teeth click in a painful way.

The man was huge. Like ‘Doctor, I think he broke my vagina’ huge. His aroused member strained against his pants, the head a distinct mushroom-shaped bump that had her yearning to give it a stroke. Then she reminded herself that a) she didn’t molest passed out people and b) Tren couldn’t be in that much medical distress if he had a hard-on of that healthy size going on. Then again, maybe it took so much blood to fill that beast that he’d passed out due to lack of circulation to his brain.

Realizing she was still staring at his crotch, she forced her eyes away to her cell phone.

Should she call 911? He didn’t appear to be in any kind of distress, his breathing regular, and he wasn’t thrashing about. If anything, he looked almost…peaceful.

A buzzing came from the intercom that connected with her front door security pad.

Stumbling to her feet, she shuffled over to the wall, her gaze still on a passed out Tren. She’d noticed earlier that he looked tired, but now, even in his sleep, exhaustion painted every line of his scarred face. He gave a light snore, and she froze, then blinked as he did it again, clearly snoring softly in his sleep. The tension in his face had smoothed out and he seemed completely at peace.

He’d fallen asleep in the middle of kissing her?

During one of the most erotic, exciting moments of her life, he’d been so unmoved he’d fallen asleep.

Wow, that did not help out in the self-confidence department.

The buzzer rang again and when she answered it she snapped, “What?”

There was a moment of silence, then a hesitant but deep male voice. “Forgive me, Matri—um, ma’am. My name is Cormac Altin and I am here to retrieve, I mean pick up my friend Trenzent.”

Pressing the button to respond, she shook her head, trying to make sense of what a weird place her life had suddenly become. One minute she was home alone trying to eat away her sorrow over Tren standing her up by inhaling ice cream, the next he was passed out on her floor after making her dry hump him like a horny poodle. He shifted a bit in his sleep, the shirt he wore pulling up on its side as he stretched an arm overhead. The smooth, glorious expanse of tanned skin that was exposed gave her the burning desire to lick him all over. She bet he tasted delicious, every delicious inch. An intense fantasy of raking her hands down his abs while she took him in her mouth caught her by surprise and she tried to scold herself for being a pervert and look away.

That lasted all of about a second and her gaze went right back to that sliver of skin.

Sexy.

From what she could see, his stomach was bare of hair, and she wondered if he had a happy trail that was still hidden by the smooth cloth.

And damn, he smelled amazing.

“Ms. Grant?”

It almost hurt to look away from Tren, but she did and rubbed her hand over her mouth, wondering if her lips were as swollen as they felt. “Yes, sorry. You’re here to pick up Tren?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because he just passed out, and I don’t know what to do with him.”

“He passed out?”

“Yeah. I’m buzzing you in.”

She swore it was less than five seconds before Tren’s ride was knocking on her door. When she opened it and revealed a very tall, very big man with long brown and blond streaked hair she blinked. Cut cheekbones, a narrow jaw, and lovely almond-shaped hazel eyes all came together to form a very attractive package. He wore a faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans that clung to his thick thighs.

When she looked back up from her head to toe perusal, she found him staring into her small apartment, Tren’s bulk clearly out of place on the floor by her couches.

“Come in,” she said quickly and moved out of the way, closing the door behind him. “We were just...um...talking, and he...well he went to sleep. Is he on drugs? What’s wrong with him?”

Moving quickly, really quickly, to Tren’s side, Cormac knelt and pulled out what looked like a black pen, running it quickly over Tren’s body. “He is not on recreational substances.”

“What are you doing?”

When Cormac glanced at her, he almost looked guilty, then he gave her a dazzling smile. “Nothing.”

“Right. What’s wrong with him?” She took a step closer, weary of the stranger but worried about Tren.

His gaze darted to her mouth, and he grinned. “He will be okay, Ms. Grant.”

Resisting the urge to wipe at her lips, she frowned, trying to adopt a stern tone of voice. “He doesn’t look okay.”

“That is because Trenzent is suffering from exhaustion. He should have rested before coming to see you, but he was too upset to sleep. He used the last of his strength to make it to your side. I volunteered to drive him because he should not be guiding any form of transport in this state. I assure you, his only desire was to see you as soon as possible. Even at the danger of his own health.”

The helpless romantic in her loved that notion, but her practical nature wasn’t so easily swayed. Something was off here. “Where was he? And why the heck would he do something as stupid as risking his life to see me?”

Cormac hesitated, then met her gaze directly. “Because he cares a great deal for you.”

“Bu-but he hardly knows me.”

“Were you worried about him?”

Unsure where he was going with this surreal conversation, and not wanting to admit that yes, she had indeed worried about him, a lot, she tried to keep them off the subject of her confused and profound feelings for the strange man sleeping deeply on her floor.  “Where was he?”

“That is for Trenzent to tell you.”

She moved closer, feeling protective of Tren when he was obviously helpless. “Are you sure he doesn’t need a doctor.”

“He is merely tired. A few hours rest and he’ll be as good as new. I suspect he has not slept in days.”

“Why in the world would he do that? He
is
on drugs, isn’t he? I should have known. No one has that perfect of a body without chemical help. Is he on steroids? No—wait, it’s cocaine, isn’t it? I watched a documentary—”

“Ms Grant,” Cormac practically shouted. “He is not a drug addict. We have…we have important duties that take precedence over our needs.”

“Duties? What duties. You’re a bunch of male models doing a conditioning camp. Or at least that’s what you’ve told us. For all we know you could be a bunch of Russian spies sent to seduce us into being your sex slaves.”

“Russian spies?” He sighed and sat back easily on his haunches while rubbing his face. “You have had a conversation with Roxie.”

She shouldn’t be surprised that he knew who Casey’s sister was. As soon as Casey went missing Roxie came back on special leave from the National Guard to help find her. Paige had even gone with Roxie to the farmhouse in an effort to get some information on her sister and the guy she’d been seen with last, Lorn, who was ‘out of state and unavailable’. While she didn’t believe Roxie’s theory that they were a bunch of spies, there was certainly something suspicious going on over there.

Forcing back her worries, she gestured to Tren lying on her worn wood floor. “Should I get him a pillow? That doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Cormac glanced at Tren, then back to her. “Yes, that would be wonderful. Can you also get me a towel and a wet washcloth?”

“Uh, sure. I’ll be right back.”

She took one last look at Tren, willing his eyes to open so she could lose herself in their warm, silvery depths, then headed down the narrow hall to her bathroom where she grabbed a clean washcloth from beneath the sink. Her hands trembled and when she looked up into the mirror she winced. Her already sloppy ponytail had been mauled by Tren during the kiss—he seemed to enjoy touching her hair—and a light whisker burn reddened her chin. Something purple was smeared over the corner of her mouth, and when she licked it off to investigate it she discovered it wasn’t the grape jelly from a doughnut she’d eaten earlier. No, this tasted salty, but good in a savory way, and she was puzzled by what it could be.

The cool water of the sink gradually warmed, and soon she had the washcloth, along with a couple towels, a pillow, and a blanket all crammed in her arms.

Barely able to see over the top of her pile, she walked back to the living room. “Cormac, can you give me a hand?”

Silence was the only answer, and when she dropped the load of stuff on the ground, the room was totally empty.

***

In desperate need of an ice cream fix, but totally out of ice cream, Paige mentally added to the list of comfort foods she’d get at the gourmet grocery store two blocks down. The evening was still warm even though it was past eight o’clock at night, so she’d thrown on a pair of jean shorts and a pretty lemon yellow tank top that was tight around her breasts, but flowed out around her not so flat belly. Her black and yellow flip flops smacked the cement of the sidewalk as she strolled past the mostly closed stores of downtown Chelsea, Michigan. Inside them, all kinds of cute crafts, artwork, clothes, and decorations all tempted her into buying things she couldn’t afford.

But she loved to window shop. It soothed her in an odd way to imagine some amazing life where she didn’t have to decide between having a bed that didn’t squeak when she turned over or food in her fridge. Then again, at least she had a fridge.

And she had ice cream.

After chatting with the clerk a little bit, a nice lady who was one of her high school friends’ moms, Paige said goodbye as the bell over the door rang. Her shadow painted the sidewalk now and again, her body illuminated by the lights of a car passing down the main road and the quaint streetlights. While this area was nowhere near as busy as Ann Arbor would be on a lovely night like this, there was still enough foot traffic that she never felt alone. That is, until she hit the alley leading to her door.

It wasn’t a dirty or icky alley, rather a well-kept drive flanked by neatly trimmed evergreen bushes and looked out into the backyards of some of the old Victorian homes in the area. They were beautifully landscaped with mounds of flowers and luxurious sitting areas that made her daydream of tea parties with her friends, all dressed like princesses. She daydreamed a lot, her fantasy world much more exciting than reality, so she couldn’t blame herself for missing the guys following her at first. It wasn’t until a rock got in her flip flop and she had to stop and bend over to get it out that she saw two men.

The first wore an odd gold gown and had long gray hair and an oddly long forehead. He glared at her like she’d killed his dog, and she wet her lips, trying to get her body to move. They were at the end of alley, far enough away that she could dash to her apartment, but the menace coming from them had nausea filling her stomach. Every one of her senses screamed danger, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop staring at them.

The other man was big, not as big as Tren, but huge nonetheless compared to her five foot nothing height. He had long black hair and a craggy face, his brow very defined and his nose long and sharp. The clothing he wore reminded her of a sleeker version of police tactical gear. She’d seen plenty of that during the riots following the Event, but there were no markers that would indicate he was with any law enforcement agency.

And he was watching her intently, staring at her actually, hatred burning in his gaze. She gasped in a breath, holding the grocery bag in front of her like a shield. Lifting her chin, she tried to appear confident. Unfortunately, the bag she was holding rattled loudly due to her nervous tremors.