Rise of the Fallen (26 page)

"Sam?"

The apartment was unusually quiet, the TV droning on with
pregame stats. The spicy scent of chili was so strong he had smelled it in the
elevator on his way back up.

Sam didn't answer him and he instantly went on alert,
setting the beer and pretzels on the kitchen counter before walking cautiously
down the hall toward the bedroom.

Opening the door, his mouth twitched and his eyebrow ticked
upward.

Sam stood in the middle of the room, wearing a black lace
bra and panty, black garter and stockings, and the black, high-heeled ankle
boots he had wondered if she would ever put on for him. The black and red leather
mask covered her face except for her mouth. Her blood red lips grinned coyly.

"Close the door," she said and smacked the rounded
end of a wooden spoon against the palm of her hand with a loud crack.

His cock strained against the seam of his jeans, his chest
pumping. Fuck, she was hot.

"I told you to close the door."

"Our lesson gave you ideas, did it?" he said,
reaching back and pushing the door. It swung and latched, shutting out the
light from the living room, but the lamp behind her by the bed was on, and it
threw her into shadowy silhouette.

"Take off your clothes."

Micah could feel her uncertainty. She wasn't used to this
kind of play, but the mask gave her courage, allowing her to play a role.

"You're doing wonderfully," he said, trying to
reassure her.

He felt her pleasure from his compliment, but she only
smacked the spoon against her hand again and stepped to the side. "I told
you to take off your clothes."

Micah had only ever bottomed once when Jackson had wanted to
experiment with topping him. And even during that entire scene, Jackson hadn't
gotten him as hot as Sam had in only a few seconds.

He watched her walk a half-circle around him as he untucked
his shirt and calmly pulled it over his head. He was back to his old weight,
his body filled out and strong. He couldn't see Sam's eyes behind the mask's
lenses, but he could feel her gaze razing him and hear her appraising thoughts.
His body turned her on.

"Would you like to assist?" He asked, turning
toward her and unbuckling his belt.

She stood in place, watching. "No. And turn away from
me while you undress."

He did as he was told, slowly rotating in place to face the
bed before the metallic sound of unzipping his jeans broke the silence. As he
pushed them down, along with his boxers, he toed off his boots, pushing them
aside before stepping out of his jeans. Finally he bent down and pulled off his
socks, his hard-on jutting out like a third arm as he stood back up, calm, his
back to her.

"You're so fucking sexy like this," he said,
testing the boundaries of the scene.

The spoon thwacked against his ass and his body jerked as
the pain registered on his face, his eyes blinking from the sting of the strike
before he breathed and calmed himself again. So, no speaking unless he was told
to speak, he was guessing.

Her nails raked down one side of his back from his shoulder
to his ass as her tongue left a heated trail down his spine and she sank to her
knees behind him. He stood stoic, still as a statue, his cock weeping as she
gripped his hips with both hands and bit the place on his ass that she had
struck with the spoon. He fought back a moan, daring to look down and behind
him. The spoon sat on the floor beside his left foot and her long fingers dug
into his flesh, holding him as she switched from biting to licking. This time
he did moan, drawing his head up and letting it fall back. The combination of
sharp and soft, pain and pleasure heightened his arousal. So this was what it
felt like to be a submissive. Well, maybe not exactly, but she was doing a damn
fine job going dom for her first time.

"Turn around," she said, letting go of him.

With pleasure. Turning around, he looked down at her. She
knelt on the floor like a loyal subject worshipping at his feet. He felt the
power shift briefly, almost as if she slipped and handed it over to him before
taking it back as she sank on her heels and simply looked at him.

He didn't move because she hadn't told him he could. So,
they were at a stalemate. He saw inside her thoughts, felt her wanting to lean
forward and take him in her mouth like she had last night. And maybe that was
the scene. Yes, it was, wasn't it? She knew he would crawl inside her mind and
follow her thoughts. She knew it would drive him mad with lust to see what she
wanted to do to him while she refrained from doing it. And she was right.
Knowing what she wanted to do to him, but not experiencing it in the physical,
was torture. Raw, unforgiving torture.

When she picked up the spoon again, he saw the image in her
mind right before she flayed the side of his thigh, and again, and then again.
The pain didn't stop as she switched hands and abused his other thigh. Through
it all he didn't flinch. He took her punishment, gritting his teeth, fighting
the sting in his eyes. When her mouth finally wrapped around his hard length,
he nearly passed out from the combination of sensations. Grunting as his legs
shuddered precariously, she had him within an inch of his sanity, the
boundaries of reality blurring into gray as his mind shattered.

There was no stopping the almost immediate, mind-blowing
climax that ruptured every nerve ending in his body as he filled her mouth. But
somehow he managed to remain standing. Through it all, he kept himself on his
feet.

Pulling away, she licked her lips and lay back on the floor,
opening her legs wide as she propped herself on one elbow. Her swollen labia
protruded around the black lace, which she bunched up and pushed aside,
allowing him to see her rosy pink lips as she played her fingers up and down
over her slit, her honey glistening her skin and coating her fingers.

She didn't speak a word, and she didn't free him to move,
only forced him to watch as she dipped her fingers inside then pulled them out
to massage her clit in rapid, tiny circles with her slick offering.

Her arousal was as thick as an inferno, overwhelming him
with its heady, musky scent, like smoke permeating the air around him. Tiny
gasps burst from her throat, and the stiletto heels of her boots pushed into
the carpet as her legs tensed and her stomach quivered. But she refused to look
away from him, those blacked-out lenses tilted toward his face, her red lips
parted so he could see just the edges of her teeth.

Faster her hand moved, her finger pushing back inside her as
her palm massaged her clit. Harder she finger fucked herself, her hips gyrating
and grinding, her gasps bursting into harsh moans, until, "Ungh!" Her
hips shivered abruptly, rising off the floor as she squirted just ever so
little against her hand, which pumped several hard times, milking her orgasm.

Fuck. He almost came again. He'd never been with a female
who squirted, and even though it hadn't been much, it had been enough to soak
her hand and wet a spot on the floor. It took every ounce of obedience not to
drop to his knees and fall between her legs to lick her clean.

Collapsing to the floor, she rolled her hand forward and
back over her nether lips, smiling, pleased with herself. Then, as if reading
his mind, she commanded him, "Come. Taste me."

Micah wasted no time, diving head first between her legs,
licking, sucking, drinking down her feminine offering as she rocked against
him. He heard her mind give him one final command:
Tonight, while Trace is
here, know that I will be wearing no panties under my pants. I will be wet
thinking about you. I will be thinking about your cock inside me. And after
we've all gone to bed, you will take me out to the couch and fuck me like
you've never fucked anyone before, where Trace could come out and see us at any
moment.

He grinned against her nether lips, pulling back only long
enough to say, "Yes, ma'am," before continuing to lap away every last
remnant of her release.

Twenty minutes later, Micah hopped out of the shower and
wrapped a towel around his waist. Sam was already dressed in sweats and a Bears
sweatshirt and he stopped, his eyes dropping to inspect her for panty lines.
There were none. His eyes met hers and a secret grin passed between them as she
blushed and darted into the bathroom.

He was reaching for a pair of sweats when the doorbell rang.
That must be Trace.

Sweats in hand and the towel still around his waist, Micah
flipped his wet hair back and went to the door.

"Hey, Trace, come on in…" His voice trailed off
when he looked up and saw who it was. "Jackson."

The male nodded and smiled nervously. "Hey,
Micah."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood."

That was a crock. Jackson had no reason to be around this
part of town. His place was miles from here, and so was his job.

The elevator dinged while the two stood and stared at each
other. Trace appeared, slowing slightly when he saw Jackson standing there,
then he resumed his pace, trying to act cool about the scene, but it was
obvious he didn't like the uninvited guest.

"Hey, Mike." Trace's gaze dropped to the towel
around his waist as he pushed past Jackson like he wasn't even there.
"Nice pants. Where's Sam?"

"She's getting ready," Micah said.

"Mmm, smells good," Trace said before disappearing
into the kitchen. "Chili."

Micah turned back toward Jackson. "Really, why are you
here, Jack?"

Jackson fidgeted as if it was becoming clear things were
different now. "I was hoping…well, I miss you."

"Hi, Trace." Sam's voice reached him from the
kitchen then he heard the low murmur of Trace's voice and Sam said, "Who?
Jackson?" Then she came around the corner. "Micah, is someone—?"

Micah turned to see her stop then she smiled and hurried
forward. "Hi, I'm Sam." She held out her hand politely enough, but
Micah felt her tweak with possessiveness as her other hand slipped over his
back. She wanted Jackson to know Micah was spoken for now. Not that she needed
to worry. Micah wondered what he had ever seen in Jackson now that he had a
woman like Sam by his side.

"Jackson, meet Sam." He looked at her, love and
adoration filling his eyes as he leaned in and nuzzled her. Not a month ago
Micah had been ready to die over the male who now stood at his door. He had
been a mere shadow of who he was today. In fact, he had been for centuries. Sam
had given him purpose again. She had given him life and love. And with Trace's
help, Sam had pulled him back from Hell.

The next words he spoke were for Jackson's benefit, but he
spoke them to Sam. "Sam is my lifemate. She is my life now, always, and
forever. I love you, my precious Sam."

Josie had been right. He had fallen. Long ago, after
Katarina's death, he had fallen hard. But with Sam and Trace, but especially
Sam, he had come back.

Yes, the fallen had risen to live again.

I have always loved to write. I don't remember a time when I
wasn't writing, reading, or dreaming up stories to keep me entertained in
boring situations. I would lie in bed at night and conjure up all kinds of
worlds and stories. My mind never turned off and was always filled with
daydreams and fantasies, and I often wrote them down. When I was in junior
high, my stories turned to more romance, and I filled notebooks with romantic
escapades my friends and I took with our favorite band, Duran Duran. I always
got John or Simon. LOL. At any rate, my friends ended up unofficially voting me
as Most Likely to Become a Romance Novelist. Ha ha, right? But here I am, doing
just that, writing romance novels. Prophetic, right?

I actually worked in the corporate world for over twenty
years in office management and as an executive assistant to the owners,
presidents, and vice presidents of corporate America, but in July 2010, I lost
my job. Thus began a year-and-a-half journey of finding myself and what my
future held. That's when I discovered role playing and met my co-author, who I
work with now under the pen name, Jem Stone. Role playing (RP) served its
purpose, and I met some truly wonderful people, but I eventually realized it
prevented me from accomplishing what I wanted: getting published. So, I hung up
my RP hat and focused on writing, and my first short story, Moonlit Hearts, was
published in September of 2011 in an anthology called Evernight.

Silver linings are things I always try to find in every bad
situation, and now I realize the silver lining in losing my job was seeing that
I was supposed to become a writer. My journey in the corporate world had been
over for a long time and I had only been putting off my true calling by forcing
myself to stay in the workforce. Losing my job was Fate's way of telling me I
needed to get on with what I was really meant to do, the business of becoming
an author. So that's what I'm going to do, and I have several projects in the
works, including several stories in the AKM series. I hope you all continue to
follow me along this very exciting journey, and I hope I can continue to give
you stories you enjoy and which will give you a pleasant break from reality
when you need it.

Donya Lynne

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