Rise of the Fallen (25 page)

"I know who you are," Micah said. "What do
you want?"

"My wife."

"Well, you can't have her." His arm slithered
around the front of Sam, easing her behind him.

Steve pulled out his cell. "Well, let's let the
authorities settle this then."

He snatched Steve's phone before the other man even knew he
had grabbed it, his index finger dialing empty air before he frowned and shot
Micah a dirty look. "You asshole."

Steve was beginning to irritate him. And when Micah got
irritated, bad shit happened. "Fine, let's ask her. Sam, do you want to go
with Steve."

"No," she said without hesitation.

"There you have it." Micah began to close the
door, but Steve stopped him, making Micah grin like the guy had just made his
day. If he wanted to, he could snap Steve's arm like it was nothing more than a
dry branch, but okay, he'd play.

"You're starting to piss me off, Steve."

Sam stepped back around to Micah's side, and he picked up a
new feeling from her: Aggression. He could feel her anger and the desire to
show Steve a thing or two now that she had a new and improved – and much stronger
– body.

"No, Micah," Sam said. "It's okay. Steve has
a point. I am his wife, after all."

He saw into her mind and liked what she was thinking.

Moving aside, he gave her space. "Okay, but I'm here if
you need me, honey." He crossed his arms and grinned as he took a few
steps back.

"How are you Steve?" Sam said, her voice pleasant
enough.

"Tired, impatient, ready to get out of this
hellhole." Steve's gaze shot to Micah. "Not pleased to find you with
another man. What? Is he your pimp?"

Sam laughed and looked over her shoulder at him. "Who?
Micah? No, he's not my pimp." She winked at him and he tried not to grin,
taking a deep breath and clearing his throat.

She turned back to Steve and looked at his hand and sucked
her tongue, making an exaggerated, affectionate sound. "Oh, look. You
still wear your wedding ring. How sweet. Here, let me take a look at
that." She took Steve's hand and wrapped hers around it, then squeezed.
Hard.

Steve grimaced, crying out as he fell to his knees in
obvious pain. Micah shot to the door, closing it as Sam dragged him in with her
new super powers. He knelt down beside Steve and leered. "How do you like
your new wife, Stevie? She's gotten a lot stronger, hasn't she?" He was
proud of his mate.

Sam squeezed again and he heard a knuckle pop as Steve
jerked and whined like a baby.

"I'm not the same woman you used to beat up," Sam
said, finally letting go.

Steve clutched his hand to his body, looking from Sam to
Micah and back as he sat up and scooted backward on his ass, putting distance
between he and the two of them. "What did you do to her?" Steve looked
at Micah.

"That doesn't matter," Micah said, his eyes
locking onto Steve's. His fangs extended and he grinned. Micah left him lucid
just long enough so he could watch the terror flash in Steve's eyes then he
locked him into compulsion.

An hour later, Micah packed the last of Sam's things in the
SUV and returned to the apartment.

"What should we do with him?" Sam looked at
Steve's hypnotized body sitting on the edge of the bed.

Micah had kept Steve compelled while they had finished
packing, and now he stepped in front of him. Sam took his hand and he looked
down at her.

"I'm going to remove you from his memory."

"You can do that?"

"Of course."

The effects of an idea crossed her face and she smiled.
"What else can you do while you're in there?"

A sardonic quirk turned up the corner of his mouth.
"Why? Do you want me to implant a suggestion?"

"Can you?"

"Yes. What did you have in mind?"

"Just one or two things."

Micah turned his attention back to Steve and sneered.
"Let's hear them."

The power of suggestion could have a strong influence on a
human mind.

* * *

Three days later…

Sabrina pushed Steve back on the bed. He didn't really know
why he had invited her over. She made such fake sexual noises, but sex was sex,
and she had called earlier saying she wanted to finish their date from the
other night. He remembered she had been over, and then he had gone to
Chicago—he couldn't remember why—but now he was home and Sabrina's nimble
fingers worked open the fly of his slacks and pushed them down.

"Oooooooo, uuunnnhhhh, so good," she squealed.

Would she just fuck him already? His dick was as hard as
steel and he just wanted to get off. He reminded himself never to invite her
over again.

She stood up and stripped out of her dress as he stroked
himself and watched. She had nice tits. Fake, but he liked her nipples. They
reminded him of someone, pale and small to the point where he couldn't tell
where the nipple began and the rest of her tit ended. Who was it she reminded
him of? It was just on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't remember. It
wasn't like him to forget stuff like that.

She turned and peeled her thong down, bending over as she
took it off, showing him her shaved, glistening slit. Mmm, he wanted that.

"You want my pussy? You like my hot little pussy, don't
you?"

Okay, well, maybe if she didn't talk he would enjoy himself
more, but what the hell, he would play along just to get it over with.

"Yeah, baby. Give me that hot pussy. That's right,
climb up here and put that hot cunt on my dick. That's it, fuck me, baby."

"Ooooooo, yeah, yeah, oooohhhhhh, so good, so—baby,
what's wrong? What's wrong?"

Steve stilled abruptly as his dick shriveled and went limp
just as she lowered herself on him. "I don't know. This has never happened
before."

She hopped off. "That's okay, baby. I can get you hard
again." She began to stroke him with her hand, but to no avail. He slapped
her hand away and began stroking himself. Ah, yeah, there he was. His dick inflated
again, lengthening and standing at attention.

Sabrina hopped back on and her verbal dramatics started
again, "Yes, yes, that's right, give me that big cock. Give me that
big—baby! What the hell?"

Once more, as soon as she lowered herself on him, he went
limp. "I don't understand."

She jumped up and started dressing as he whacked his peter
back into readiness. "Wait, Sabrina. Try it again. Look, I'm ready for you
now."

"Screw you. Forget it, Steve. I'm out of here."

"Sabrina!"

She was still pulling on her clothes as she barged out of
his bedroom. A few seconds later, the front door slammed shut and he heard her
car start, her engine rev, her tires squeal, and then she was gone.

He looked at his dick. "What the hell is the matter
with you?"

Six more times with six more women, he tried to have sex,
but each time, as soon as he pushed inside her, he wilted like old lettuce. He
tried having them give him blow jobs, then hand jobs, but nothing worked. He
could get off with his own hand just fine, but nothing a woman did helped him
achieve orgasm through any other means. She could get him hard, but as soon as
they tried to do the deed the air blew out of his balloon.

And he was in for a surprise the next time he laughed in
public. Hopefully his bladder wouldn't be too full when that happened.

It had been a week since Sam had moved into the apartment
with Micah. She tucked a stack of underwear into the top drawer of the dresser
then glanced up into the mirror. The tiny marks on her neck made her remember
the night before when Micah had bitten her again. If sex with Micah was good,
sex with Micah while he was feeding was even better. She brushed her fingers
over the almost invisible mark, smiling to herself for a moment before
arranging folded socks in next to the underwear.

Micah had not only moved her into his apartment, he had
taken her to his house, too, a mansion—well, to Sam it was a mansion after
where she had lived for the past year—in a manicured community in the suburbs.
And he had shown her the basement in his house, as well as the room that took
up half the basement. Where he had a collection of equipment that Sam had only
heard some of the harder-core girls at the Black Garter talk about in passing.
So, that's what that stuff looked like. Admittedly, she had been turned on a
few times by what she had heard, and had often wondered about using whips or
ropes or nipple clamps. What did they feel like? Did people really get pleasure
from that kind of thing? It surprised her that she wanted to find out.

"Which are you? A top or a bottom?" Micah chuckled
and walked into the room with folded laundry.

Sam jumped, startled. "Will you stay out of my
head?"

"Sorry, habit."

She laughed. That's what he always said. "You are never
going to stop that, are you?"

He shook his head, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"No." His grin was unapologetic. "I can't help it. I like the
way you think. Especially when you're thinking about my special
proclivities."

Sam's eyebrow arched. "Proclivities? My, what a big
vocabulary you have."

"I'm just full of surprises." Micah pressed
closer. "And I'm very well educated."

Sam's heart raced. "I can see that, and I'm sure you
are." She still didn't know how old Micah was, but she could bet he had
matriculated more than a few times. His intelligence was a huge turn-on, and
over the past week, she had become more and more aware of just how immense his
mental faculties were.

"Your intelligence turns me on, too." Micah bent
his head and skimmed his lips over the side of her neck.

"Would you stop that?"

"Huh-uh. Nope. Never." He opened his mouth and
closed it over her flesh, sucking gently.

Damn him, but he was persuasive.

"Well, can you at least stay out of my memories?"
She shivered from the heat he lit inside her.

He released her neck and straightened. "I can do that.
Maybe." He grinned and his lips pressed against hers, holding her there
for a long moment as if he was stripping off her clothes with his mind then he
slowly pulled away and growled as he pulled himself back under control.
"I'm going down to the corner store for beer. I'll be back in fifteen.
Need anything?"

It was Saturday and the playoffs were on. Trace was coming
over to watch the late game. So, yeah, maybe they didn't have enough time to
play just now.

"Maybe some pretzels?"

"Will do." He kissed her again then dragged
himself away to grab his wallet off the dresser and shrug into his coat.

"Which are you?" she asked as he started to leave
the room, referring to his earlier question. He had only shown her the room in
his basement. Interestingly enough, they hadn't talked about it. She got the
impression he wanted to ease her into the idea slowly.

He stopped and turned his blistering navy eyes back to her.
"I'm a dom, but I also top. With you, I think I might actually bottom,
though. But I'll never submit."

"What's the difference between a dom and a top?"
She had so much to learn about the whole BDSM scene, but she wanted to learn.
It excited her.

"A dominant requires submission, a top doesn't. As a
top," he slowly stepped toward her as if he was hunting her, "I
provide physical stimulation without requiring you to submit." He reached
around and slapped her ass. Hard. "See, if you didn't like my slapping you
as a top, you can stop me, or basically top me from the bottom. But if I was
dom'ing you, I wouldn't allow you to do that. I would have control and your
complete submission. Do you understand?"

Her ass stung in the most erotic way where he had spanked
her. "I think so. Topping and bottoming allows for give and take between
the two, but between a dominant and a submissive, one gives and one takes.
There is no give and take."

He grinned mischievously. "Very good. You've just
completed your first lesson."

The air smoldered between them. "I look forward to the
next one."

"So do I." He backed away, grazing his fingertips
over her cheek. "I'll be back. I love you."

"I love you, too."

She turned back to the dresser and took the clothes he had
brought her and tucked them in to a drawer then headed to the kitchen to check
on the chili. Trace and Micah loved her chili. It took six hours to cook, but
it was worth every minute. This was already the second batch she had made since
moving in.

 She looked toward the windows. It was snowing again. It had
snowed earlier and an icy mix was forecast for tonight so Chicago would be a
mess. Trace would probably spend the night rather than drive home. She didn't
mind. He and Micah were becoming good friends, and Sam had to admit, she liked
Trace. He and Micah were so similar, it was hard to like one and not the other.

She grinned to herself. When Apostle and his crew had turned
up dead, Trace had acted like he had known nothing about it, but she could tell
Micah knew better. And, so did she. Maybe it was something about the secretive
glint in Trace's eye when she had asked him about it, but she was sure
Apostle's death had been Trace's doing. The scene had been pretty gruesome from
the sound of it. It made her wonder what kind of power Trace kept hidden under
the surface, and she was thankful he was on her side.

Going back to the bedroom, she hunted through the closet for
her old Chicago Bears sweatshirt. She was still getting used to where her
things were, and as she shuffled through the hangers in the part of the walk-in
closet Micah had cleared for her, something fell from the shelf above and
bounced off her shoulder. She jumped back and looked down. The red and black
leather mask she had stolen from the club looked up at her, giving her an idea.

* * *

Micah returned to the apartment with a bag of pretzels and a
six-pack of beer. He didn't drink much, and neither did Trace. Sam might have
one bottle.