Something About Witches (17 page)

“Sex without the heart involved? Is that what you’ve found with your friend?”

“He’s not my friend.”

Fast as a striking snake, Derek whipped her around. Her breath sucked in on a gasp, but he already had her pressed against a tree. One large hand locked around her wrists, pulling her arms up above her head. When he pushed his body against the back of hers, his aroused cock pressed snug against her buttocks, almost making her moan in need. “Is this what he gave you, Ruby? Rough, taking total control? Like I’d do it, only instead of for your pleasure, he did it to cause you pain?”

Her muscles contracted, remembering such play between her and Derek, a delicious version of the dark cruelty that Mikhael would inflict. She needed it Mikhael’s way to make sure it stayed physical, no emotional demons able to rise and take her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “He
gives
me that.” She goaded him with present tense, needing to keep it angry. She couldn’t afford to remember the other.

He stayed still against her, violence vibrating between them for several long moments. Shit. She’d overplayed her hand. Derek might shove her away like garbage and leave her alone here, with nothing but the unspent need.

While that was her main concern, her mind sensibly had a few others. Her heart was beating like a rabbit’s. He had her pinned, was twice her weight, and she knew she’d seriously pissed him off. Though that was the Darkness coming through; the person she’d once been still knew Derek would never touch her in anger, never harm her that way.

As he shifted his grip on her wrists, she imagined a variety of scenarios. Tearing open her jeans, using the toe of his boot to shove them all the way to her ankles and then ramming
into her in the straight-legged position. Her moist tissues contracted at the thought, nipples hardening against the bark. Goddess, do
something
.

He answered her plea, but only to torment her. Bending, he put his mouth on the back of her shoulder, where the T-shirt had gaped open during their struggle. It was the place in their fantasy where he’d branded her. A lingering itch, like a healing scar, had remained, though there was no visible mark. If she were speaking to Raina, she’d ask about it, but it was the least of her current priorities. Particularly right now.

He kissed her there, long, lingering, the tip of his tongue caressing that area. Then he moved up to her collarbone, taking his time there as well, tracing the curved line of the bone, making his way up the side of her throat.

“Stop it,” she whispered. She was trembling, her stomach tightening, her thigh muscles doing the same.

“No. You still can’t do it on your own, can you? Your mind gets too involved. Your fears, the guilt and insecurity. And now…. the Darkness drives that need even harder, but it won’t let you put those capable fingers between your legs to do it for yourself. I can smell that wetness, so strong, like an animal in heat.”

“Please….”

“Not this time, girl. You want to play rough. I’m going to hear you beg.”

He did slip the button of her jeans, took the zipper down with the force of his hand pushing into the loose front, finding the elastic edge of her panties and nipping beneath those. He didn’t hesitate, knowing her body so well. She cried out as his knuckles snugged on either side of her clit, his fingers reaching her slick labia. When she struggled and bucked against him, that made it worse, adding to the clever stroking of his fingers.

“No. I don’t want it this way.”

“Tough. All you want is to be gotten off? Since your boy toy’s not here to oblige, that’s what I’ll give you.”

She pressed her forehead hard against the bark, couldn’t stop herself from shamelessly working herself against his hand. Mikhael would make her do that, croon cruel comparisons to a dog when he really got her going.

“Stop. Please stop. Derek, I’m sorry. I can’t…. Please, I can’t bear to do it like this with you.”

He gave a harsh chuckle, punctuated it with a scissoring of his fingers that made hers dig painfully into the bark. She was gasping, so close. He was going to make her go over anyway, be just as ruthless as Mikhael but in a way that was far crueler than the gunrunner, because Derek cared. He understood that the pain and pleasure was mixed up with raw emotion, heart. He could make more than her body surrender, and her soul wouldn’t take being ripped open like that.

With a heartfelt oath, he stopped, holding her on that edge. “He’s past tense now, Ruby. We’re not in that room at Raina’s. No playing. Say it. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Past tense.” Tears had squeezed out of her eyes, and when he turned her now, lifted her chin, she couldn’t stop the quivering of her lips, her hands clutching at his waist.

“Ruby.” His eyes were full of pain, his mouth a hard line. He was going to say something, open that can of worms that would force her to push him back again. Her body was just too damn greedy to allow that. She put her trembling fingers on his mouth, eyes pleading, needing him to understand.

The muscle in his jaw flexed. “Take off your clothes. All of them.”

The temp was dropping with the waning sun, but it was Florida. Of course, she wouldn’t have hesitated if she was in Alaska. She stripped off the jeans and shirt. Unhooked her bra as he watched, eyes sliding over her curves, following the track of the garment as it left her, fell to the ground. Then, as he waited, she shimmied out of the panties. She was unsteady, but when she teetered, his hand was under her elbow. As she straightened, she shivered, unable to help herself.

He shrugged out of the long coat, threaded her arms into
it, left it hanging open in the front so he could see her bare body cloaked by it. It fell to her ankles, brushed her heels. He unbuckled his belt, opened his jeans, then caught her around the waist, palming her bottom with one big hand as he lifted her up against the tree. She caught his shoulders with both hands, her fingers curling against his throat, the soft chest hair at the base.

“Look at me. And don’t look away,” he added in a husky voice. “Whatever happened, Ruby, we’re going to work through it. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but you’re not running from me anymore. You’re not alone.”

Yes, she was. Because he couldn’t go down the path she’d chosen. So she curled her arms around his broad shoulders, buried her face in his neck. He sighed against her but put his hips between her thighs, pushing them out wider to take him. As much as he wanted to resist her, she could feel that he couldn’t. He was as hard and large as she’d ever felt him, and Derek had never been a small man, in any way. He didn’t have to grip himself. Another flood of emotions made her bite her lip as he angled his hips and slid into her with unerring accuracy, knowing her well enough to find his target on the first try. He sank himself in that pocket like a champion pool player.

Three years without him, without this.
Oh, God and Goddess.
As Derek had pointed out, Mikhael just gave her the shamefully needed release. Whereas even angry, hurried, in- the-outdoor-cold sex with Derek was bliss, to feel that connection after so long. Clutching his shoulders harder, she made whimpering noises into his neck as he worked his hips, his buttocks flexing under her calves as she clamped her heels against his thighs. The climax shuddered through her lower belly, through her tight nipples and aching breasts, rubbing against his shirt. She inhaled him, aftershave, soap and Derek’s own male scent, and wanted to be here in this moment forever.

“Derek….”

“Go on over, baby,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m right
behind you. I want to feel you clamp down on me. Fuck, you’re heaven.”

Girl
was for when he teased or flirted, or sometimes in the heat of lust, like in the barn fantasy.
Baby
was when he thought her emotions were going to get the best of her, or when he himself was particularly moved by something. This moment was both.

Her body simply exploded with the pleasure of it, from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. Somewhere along the way she realized the duster was not merely for warmth, but to protect her skin from the bark of the tree. She could still feel the sharp edges through it, enough to relish that abrasive discomfort with the overwhelming power of the climax. The bitter with the sweet, bad with the good. She hoped that wasn’t what she and Derek represented right now, the Dark and the Light, a doomed coupling in this corner of quiet wood.

But she’d take what she could get. She didn’t care. She came apart in his arms, screaming out like a feral animal, her fingernails clawing his back, holding on to his shirt hard enough to rip it if she’d pulled with opposing force. But she wasn’t pulling the cloth away from him. She was digging her fingers through it, wanting the man beneath.

He released then as well, all the sculpted muscle under her legs and arms hardening into steel as the hot flood of seed gave her an aftershock that shuddered her against him, made her even more glad for the strength of his arms to hold her together.

When he pressed his mouth against her shoulder, she felt him bite, clamp down on her there. She wanted the mark, tossed her head back to encourage him to go even deeper. As his release was spent, it became a firm, fierce kiss against her flesh. His fingers, underneath the duster to make contact with her bare skin, brushed over that phantom brand once again. It made her shiver.

The forest was quiet once more, except for the occasional birdcalls, the rustle of creatures foraging. Now those shards
of higher sunlight were all gone, the sun setting. In a few moments, it would be behind the embankment she’d been using for her target practice backdrop and things would start to gray, get dim. Even colder.

Derek slid from her, still erect enough to make her murmur incoherently, contract on him. His eyes held hers as he pulled out. He maintained a good grip on her as he did so, keeping her against the tree. Looking at her for long moments, he framed her face, sliding down to collar her throat, then spread his fingers out over her shoulders, pushing the duster back so he could see her breasts, the nipples still tight from arousal and now from the touch of cool air. He caressed them with his thumbs, making her quiver, her inner thigh muscles rippling against his hips. Then his hands went down farther, below her breasts to the rib cage, thumbs passing gently over her abdomen. He stopped there, his head bent, studying. Ruby felt a trickle of uneasiness.

“I’m cold,” she whispered.

He nodded, kept looking. Just as panic was about to take her, he let her feet slide to the ground. He’d been looking at the flushed petals of her sex, she told herself, the way she looked as he pulled out of her. Derek was usually a breast man, big-time, though he’d told her more than once he liked seeing her from either side, coming or going, such that a woman’s ass was a close second for him. Or maybe it was just hers. Her breasts, her ass, her…. everything. He’d told her that, too.

She wanted to move away, get her clothes back on, get past this moment, which she already knew was a mistake, but he thwarted her there. He’d picked up her panties. Dropping to one knee, he directed her to hold his shoulder.

“Derek, I can dress myself.”

“But you’re not going to.” He put his hand on her leg, found the pocket of the duster with the other one, withdrew a cloth. As she held her breath, he pressed it between her legs, cleaned and dried her. Then he re-pocketed the cloth
and picked up the panties where he’d left them folded over his thigh.

“Step in.”

He dressed her from head to toe. Panties, jeans, socks and shoes. Threading her arms back into her bra straps, he hooked it and adjusted the cups, his large palms fitted around the breasts to shift their weight to their proper placement, as deftly as she did it herself. Then the shirt, a quick brush of his thumbs over her nipples again, evident through the thin cloth. Pulling her hair out of the collar for her, he reclaimed his coat, turned and moved back toward the stump.

She was quivering again, this time for another reason. He’d been silent the whole time he’d cared for her, and she, still overwhelmed by that climax, hadn’t known what to say, either. She kept thinking about the way he’d stared at her stomach for so long. If he’d lifted his gaze then, met her eyes, she would have said the hard, terrible words. And that would have been only half of it. He was never going to learn the other half. But he’d started dressing her, giving her a reprieve. As if he didn’t want to know the truth he’d already guessed. For some perverse reason, suspecting that about him hurt almost as badly as having him say it outright.

“Come here.” Sitting down on the stump, he took out his pocketknife. Flipping it open, he held out his other hand. She came to him numbly, pushing a hand through her disheveled hair. She needed to redo her ponytail.

He pulled her in the area between his splayed thighs and lifted her hand to the fading light, examining it. He began to gently clean the bark debris she’d gotten beneath her nails when he was arousing her so violently. She hadn’t even noticed it until now, but it was uncomfortable enough that his deft extraction of the material in smooth, crescent strokes of the blade was welcome.

If someone didn’t say something completely irrelevant to break the tension, she was going to lose it. She glanced down at the array of guns. “I brought the shotgun. Want to
pop off a few rounds on it before we go back? Or one of the handguns?”

“Nope.” He kept his attention on her nails. “Never had a use for a handgun.”

“You’ve never had a use for one, or you never used one? I have seen
Quigley Down Under
, you know.”

“I know. We watched it together.” There was a small quirk at the corner of his serious mouth. “Good movie.” Folding the knife now, he stood, sliding it back into his pocket in that inadvertently sexy way a good-looking man could, with a shift of his hips and slight adjustment of his thigh. Picking up the Sig, he handed it to her, butt first. “Point it at me.”

She raised a brow. “First rule of gun safety. You never point a gun at someone unless you intend to use it on them. Doesn’t matter if it’s loaded or not.” She ignored the memory of sighting on him with the sniper rifle. She couldn’t have hit him at that distance, anyway. Maybe.