Windburn (Nightwing# 2) (9 page)

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Linden. I
do
know. This isn’t playtime for him. This is real. I won’t allow it to happen. Do
you
understand
me
?”

“You’re still not the boss of me.”

He scoffed. “That’s what you think. But I love proving you wrong.” He pressed his hard shaft against my abdomen.

I turned my face to the side. “I want you to leave.”

“No, you don’t.” But he released me anyway, pivoted, and headed out of the bedroom. Wait. Really? That easy? I followed, hearing him unbolt my front door. Why was he going out the door?

“Come on in, Vincent. Her bag is in the bedroom. Here are her car keys.”

What the hell?

“Who? What are you—?
What
is going on?”

“Vincent, meet Sorcha Linden. Sorcha, this is my man, Vincent.”

I stared at the black-bedecked human in his thirties who nodded politely, took my car keys from Lorian, and swept past me to my bedroom.

“Vincent, please pack up the toiletries and put them in my guest bathroom.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Am I dreaming? Is this some insane nightmare? You can’t just waltz into my home and take my things to your place.”

“I’m about to forcefully take your entire person to my place. If you’d like I can fly you across the city in nothing but this delicious, silk robe or you can put some clothes on. It’s rather chilly, but I don’t mind keeping you warm.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He stalked toward me.

I backed up and bumped into my dining room table. “Lorian.” My warning tone.

He grinned and stepped closer. “Come to me, Sorcha.”

I shook my head and edged for the bathroom where I could lock myself in. I took a giant leap for the open door. He caught me mid-air. Laughing.
The bastard
.

“Fine.” He nuzzled into my hair. “I’ll take you as you are.”

I struggled even more. He laughed harder, pinning my arms at my sides. Vincent stepped out of the bedroom and stared at the spectacle.

Lorian peered over me. “She’s always like this.”

“No, I’m not.”

“A lovers’ quarrel, Vincent. Carry on.”

“Of course, sir.” He stepped casually by us into the bathroom as Lorian dragged me toward the balcony door.

He called over his shoulder. “Don’t forget her briefcase and to lock up when you leave.”

“Of course, sir,” came the monotonous reply.

“Is this routine for you and Vincent when you kidnap girls from their apartments?” I tried wriggling my body to loosen his grasp. His body only hardened against mine. Everywhere.

“You’re my first kidnapping.” He fisted a hand in my hair, gently but firmly tilting my head back. “You make my beast misbehave, Sorcha, but I will have my way in this.”

“Wha—”

His lips stopped my words, opening my mouth, raw and possessive, commanding my submission. My betraying body relaxed into his, hands sculpting his chest. Something in my bones responded to his touch on a primitive level. When his mouth brushed me anywhere, I was utterly lost. Like now. He tightened his embrace, nipping down my neck. I clasped my hands at the nape of his neck. “You have to be reasonable,” I breathed in a whisper.

“I am.”

Compliant and unresisting, I fell into his arms as he lifted me, one arm under my knees, the other tight behind my back, hand gripping my waist. With long strides, he stalked onto the balcony and leapt over the ledge. I yelped and tightened my grip around his neck, feeling the rush of wind against my thin robe as we rocketed high above the buildings. Night had fallen, so I didn’t worry about modesty. Not that I worried much about it anyway.

“Damn it, Lorian. It’s freezing!”

“I warned you.” A rumble of deep laughter.

He flew so fast, the wind stung my cheeks. I shivered from the cold and the anger thrumming through my veins. I stewed, refusing to speak to him, but didn’t dare to struggle as we flew hundreds of feet above the city.

He had no right. Barging into my house? Packing my stuff? Having his servant collect my things like I’d actually agreed to this shit? Kidnapping me? Ugh!

Within a few short minutes, he landed on a top-floor terrace. We lived closer to each other than I’d realized. He carried me through long, billowy curtains into a bedroom where flames crackled in a large black-mantled fireplace. My room was warm and waiting for me. Unbelievable. He gazed down, a smug look chiseled on his fine face.

My blood boiled. “I hate you.”

His smile cracked wider. “No, you don’t.”

He tossed me on the bed, my robe unraveling at my sides. His eyes skimmed my bare legs. Clenching his jaw tight, he walked to a panel on the wall and pressed a few buttons. “I’ll come back when you warm up.” A steel door slid closed from the ceiling, shutting off the balcony. He opened the door to the hallway leading into the apartment, looking back with heat in his gaze. “Or rather, when you cool off.” He grinned, closing the door behind him.

I sat up and screamed, “When hell freezes over!”

I swear I heard him laughing.

I paced the room, still in my robe, since Vincent hadn’t dared enter the room with my things. Smart man.

While my senses luxuriated in the lush furnishings of dark wood, the large bed covered in deep purple and black bedding and silky silver pillows, my mind fumed at the fact Lorian had so easily imprisoned me.

I was Sorcha Linden. No man told me what to do. And he sure as hell had no right to pluck me out of my domain and put me in a pretty cage. But that’s exactly what Lorian had done. Disregarded my wishes, like they didn’t even count.

I blew out an angry sigh, pacing by the fire. Where it was nice and warm. My pretty cage had all the comforts.

The door clicked open. A calm but cautious Lorian stepped into the room. He’d changed into dark jeans and a black, button-up shirt. Perfect attire for night-flying, incognito. I’d wondered where he’d gone.

“Would you like some dinner?”

“What? Would I like some fucking dinner? No. I want to go home!”

No longer laughing or smiling, he closed the door behind him and came toward me, stopping a few feet away. Arms crossed, legs planted apart, wings slightly open, he locked on my gaze. “You’re staying here. You can’t defend yourself if this guy decides to take you. You’re safer here.”

I hissed a frustrated sound out my teeth. “I don’t need any man to protect me.”

“No. You don’t need
any
man. You need me.”

The dragon was back in his eyes, glowing in the dark as if a fire blazed from within. Then it hit me. Jessen had once told me Lorian confessed that soulfire ignites inside a Morgon man when in the presence of his mate. This is how he distinguished her from all others, like a beacon calling to him in the night—another inheritance of their dragon DNA. Did soulfire burn inside Lorian for me?

He started to close the gap. I backed up, glancing at a black lacquer vase on a stand. I picked it up and threw it as hard as I could. It bounced off his chest and shattered on the stone floor. He didn’t even wince, stalking closer.

“I don’t need you!”

“Yes.” A grave expression fixed and focused. “You do.”

I shuffled to the other side of the bed and picked up a handheld mirror, launching it at his head. He knocked it away.

“Lorian. Stop!”

A frantic feeling welled inside me, needing to get away but needing him closer. He had backed me into a corner, not just a physical one. Flush against the wall, I braced my hands on his shoulders, desperate to keep some distance. His hands came up, framing my face, a soft, tender embrace. He leaned in, whispering my name. My arms sagged. I wanted him.

Damn him!

He brushed his lips on one cheek, coaxing. “Let me in, Sorcha.”

He wasn’t talking about my body. He was talking about my heart…my soul.

“No,” I bit out as I clenched my hands in his hair.

His lips skimmed over mine, brushing back and forth, as if asking permission. “Let me in.”

When he was rough, my body soared. When he was gentle, he slayed me.

“No.” A broken whisper.

A tear slipped down one cheek. He kissed it dry. A frenzy of need coiled inside of me. I was breaking, breaking in two.

I needed skin. Now. I gripped the center seam of his shirt with both hands and ripped it open. Buttons fell, clicking and bouncing in all directions. I caressed the hard ridges of his abdomen before pushing him back onto the bed. He let me have my way, as if he realized I was on the razor edge and needed the control. Lorian would never let a woman push him around—physically or otherwise—but he let me. He fell back too easily, allowing me to take the reins for once.

I straddled him, flinging off my robe, arching my back, grinding against him. His eyes drifted to half-mast, groaning when I leaned over his chest, my mouth meeting naked skin. I trailed a line of rough kisses along the silvery scar on his upper chest, nipping with teeth. His hands slid down my waist, curving around my hips, squeezing.

He sighed my name with breathy need. But I was the aggressor this time, finding his mouth again, prying his lips farther apart, skating my nails across his chest, biting his lower lip. I reached down between our bodies and unzipped his jeans.

“Sorcha…” he growled, squeezing my hips tighter.

“Inside me. Now.”

Finally, he took control, slipping the reins I’d been yanking on for so long. Flipping me on my back, he rose and stripped the rest of the way. What a glorious body of muscled steel. Few people intimidated me. But something about seeing this huge, Morgon man towering above me sent a primitive shiver up my spine, as if my human instincts knew better than to mess with such a powerful beast. I scooted back, but he caught my leg. Grabbing hold of both ankles, he dragged me closer and climbed onto the bed, lowering himself to me.

He slammed inside me without warning. I squeezed my eyes shut, then wrapped my ankles around his thighs, trying to roll my hips, urging him to move. He wouldn’t.

“Lorian,” I gritted out in frustration. I’d wanted this for so long, and he wouldn’t move.

“Open your eyes.” Blazing, silvery orbs met mine. “Only me.” A deep, gruff command. His beast was speaking, not the man.

I’d caught glimpses of Morgons when their dragon was riding them—eyes shining with primitive darkness, otherworldly energy sparking the air, a magical aura rippling in tangible waves. And now my Morgon was riding me. Or at least, I wanted him to. I tried again to rock against him to avoid the vow he demanded from my lips. He pressed his pelvis down, his muscular weight keeping me still, spearing me in place in the most tantalizing and torturous way.

“Only me,” he ordered again. His deep voice vibrated from his chest to mine. He lowered his head, taking my lower lip between his teeth, letting it slowly slide out. “Say it, Sorcha.” He purred my name.

“Move, damn you.” I inhaled quickly on a sob, biting my lip, trying to hold it in. My wall was crumbling with every gentle brush, every soft word.

The beast held me down, keeping his prey immobile with his body of steel, demanding my surrender. His lips covered mine, slow and soft. My bones melted, my blood rushed, my soul stirred.

He traced my lips with his tongue, teasing. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

He pulled out of my body. I moaned. He thrust in once, hard and deep, impaling me in place again.

“Yes…yes,” I whispered against his lips. “Only you.”

He groaned, lips firming and forcing mine wider apart. He kept his promise and gave me what I wanted. Lifting his body a fraction, he pumped in a steady, ever-increasing rhythm, his bare chest pressed to mine, tantalizing my senses. He grabbed the back of one thigh, raising it, holding hard and driving home. Again and again.

His wings whipped out—a sure sign of Lorian dominance. He caged us in shadow and leathery wings, lacing his fingers through mine and pinning my hands to the mattress. I gloried in the sensation of him taking me the way he wanted—long and hard. A new emotion swelled with our passion, one I’d never felt before, one whispered with soft words and unspoken promises, reaching out to my heart, tying me to this magnificent Morgon man even as it terrified me.

Hot breaths, soft sighs, heavy moans all mingling together. He filled me so perfectly. I clamped my muscles tight, not wanting to let him go.

I let myself feel everything. Just this once, I wanted it all. I let him push our passion to the cliff, let my body synchronize to his in perfect harmony. Just this once, I let more than my body fall over the edge.

With him.

He swallowed my scream, then licked his tongue over mine. My inner muscles clamped hard around him. He stilled, his hands having slipped to the bottom of my thighs, squeezing my flesh as a violent shiver trembled through him.

He lowered his wings, flush to his back. Our breathing slowed. But still, he held me there, pinned beneath him, his chest to mine, bodies aligned. Forehead to forehead, we panted and said nothing. The firelight was behind him, his face in shadow. I had no idea what he was thinking. His expression grave, so serious, so intense. He wanted to tell me something. He even parted his lips to speak, but didn’t.

“Lorian?”

He bent and pressed a hard kiss to my mouth as if to burn some thought into me with touch. The desperate emotion rippled between us. Not breaking the kiss, he lifted and lowered me under the covers. Tucking his wings in tight, he lay on his side and pulled my back to his front, fitting me safely in the curve of his body. Wordless, we softened into each other’s arms and fell asleep.

* * * *

I awoke to the sensation of gentle fingers trailing up and down my arm that lay outside the downy coverlet. The fire had burned down to embers, emanating a faint glow in the darkened room. Snuggled into the crook of Lorian’s body, I couldn’t remember a time when I had felt so warm and so good.

I didn’t want to break the moment, but he knew I was awake. He propped up on one elbow, head in hand, looking down at me.

“What time is it?”

He brushed my wild, bed-head hair over my pale shoulder. It had fallen from its clasp long ago.