#2 Dangerous Games (23 page)

"I couldn't figure it out." Morganna shook her head slowly, her face pale, her eyes like storm clouds, swirling furiously as she stared back at him. "Raven would come to my house when they started fighting, but you stayed. Why? Why didn't you come to Dad?"

"At what cost?" He set the beer on the table before crossing his arms over his chest and staring back at her. He let the ice that filled him each time he thought of the beatings reflect on his face. "He was Rory's commander, Morganna. What would your father have done?"

"He was beating you," she cried furiously. "Dad wouldn't have stood for it."

"He didn't have a choice. And I survived it."

"Did you?" The bitter mockery in her voice sliced across the shield he used to hold back his own rage.

"Did you survive it, Clint? You're thirty-five years old. You aren't married, you have no children. You have nothing but an apartment that doesn't even belong to you. You push Raven as far from you as you can, and you screw women you don't even like. What does that say for you?"

"I like you," he pointed out calmly.

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He could control this, he assured himself. She would run out of steam soon. He knew Morganna; she blew up like a mini-volcano, then settled down. As long as she didn't cry, he could get through it without losing his mind.

"You love me." He flinched at her declaration, watching warily as she moved closer. "You've always loved me," she said. "I bet I know when you got that vasectomy. Let me guess, Clint, the week after I turned twenty. After you walked in on me in the shower while you were visiting."

He had stood shell-shocked, staring at her wet body, hunger eating him alive. Furious, burning lust had torn through him, and he knew he had nearly lost the battle. And if he had, he wouldn't have stopped. He would have pushed her against the wall of the shower and fucked her until he spilled himself inside her.

No condom. He always knew that he would never be able to bear a condom between his flesh and hers.

"Let it go, Morganna."

"Let it go?" she cried out, incredulous.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"You loved me and you walked away from me. You did something to ensure you were always, always alone and you ran from me every chance you had. Admit it."

"I told you years ago you were chasing rainbows," he yelled back, his control snapping. "Damn you, Morganna, if I wanted you that bad, don't you think I would have taken you?"

She stepped back, almost stumbling.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he glared into her face. "God, I didn't mean that," he finally whispered wearily. "Don't cry, Morganna. I won't make it if you cry."

He moved to her, pulled to her by the pain blazing in her expression, the tears filling her beautiful eyes.

"Look at you, baby. So sweet and innocent, crying over something that wasn't your fault. That you couldn't stop. That you can't stop." He ran his thumbs beneath her eyes, reeling the dampness that marred them as her breath hitched in her throat. "You're right. I've always wanted you. I've wanted you until the want has eaten me alive. Until no matter how many women I had, it wouldn't ease. Until I thought I'd die if I didn't touch you just once. Taste you just for a second."

"Then why?" Her lips trembled as she stared up at him, her eyes darkening with everything he knew she thought she felt for him.

"Because I needed to protect you from myself. Because I'm my father's son, just as he was his father's son, and on through the line. Mom was luckier than Dad's mother was. He didn't beat her, too. Raven was even luckier. Dad would have died and gone to hell before he hit her."

"Clint, you've let him steal your life," Morganna cried hoarsely. "Don't you know you aren't like your father? God, if you were, you would have beaten me and Raven years ago."

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"You don't know that. And neither do I," he told her gently. "Accept what we have, Morganna, for now.

That's all I can do. Don't ask for things I can't give you."

She pushed back from him, painful anger contorting her features as her gaze raked over him. "Your love? Something more than a hot little fuck whenever the urge hits you?" She laughed, the mockery twisting her face held no amusement, though, only the anger, the fury, he had felt so many years himself.

"Morganna, please-"

"You didn't even say anything." She slapped at his chest, pushing him back as she whirled away from him. A second later she was in his face again, angrier than ever. "You suffered. You never said anything when you could have, when you could have gotten help. Where the hell was your mother?"

He tried to turn away from Morganna. To keep her from seeing, from knowing. Damn her, she was killing him here.

"Oh my God. She knew," Morganna whispered, horrified, her hands reaching out for him. "She knew."

Her fingers trembled as they touched his face, his neck, then moved to his chest. She touched him as though afraid he would break, as though afraid she would hurt him anew.

"Morganna ... it's over." It didn't hurt him anymore; he refused to let it hurt now.

Her tears fell. "Oh God, how could she let him?"

Clint had to stop her. He couldn't let her cry like this. He wouldn't allow it. Not over him. Not for him.

He had spent too many years protecting her to allow this to happen now.

Clint jerked her into his arms, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back to cover her lips with his own. She tasted of sweet passion and salty tears. Her lips parted beneath his, her hands pulling at his shirt, popping buttons, touching heated flesh.

"Don't cry, baby," he whispered against her lips. "It's all over, Morganna. See? I'm fine."

He shrugged his shirt off, allowing her hands to whisper over his torso, the soft pads of her fingers glancing his hard, flat nipples. God, she felt good. Like an angel touching him, all silken fire and sweet passion as she made him burn.

"You're not fine." She stared up at him, her eyes misty, cloudy with sadness. "And you never will be, until you let yourself love. Don't you see that?"

He couldn't afford to love her. For both their sakes, he had to protect her. No one had won; they had all lost. Clint had realized that years ago. That didn't mean she was going to keep the upper hand on him.

And it sure as hell didn't mean she was allowed to cry for him. He had spent too many years keeping the tears out of her pretty gray eyes to allow them to fall now.

"Come here, baby." He lifted her into his arms, ignoring her little gasp as he strode quickly into the bedroom and to the large bed he had dreamed of seeing her in. He was going to have some set ground
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rules. He was going to have to get control of her before she sent him into cardiac arrest. "I'll show you just how 'fine' I really am."

Morganna stared up at Clint as he laid her carefully in the center of the big bed and proceeded to strip her of her clothes, leaving her clad only in the black fishnet stockings.

She knew what he was doing. Knew he was playing her need for him, his need for her, avoiding the truth at all costs. It just wasn't the time to tell him just how full of crap this whole deal was. He was running scared and she knew it. Not because of his parents, not because he was afraid he was like his father; Clint was running because sometimes being alone a hell of a lot easier than taking that final risk. "Damn, you're beautiful." He straightened from the bed, staring down at her, his midnight eyes glowing with hunger as he pulled his boots and socks from his feet. Her mouth watered as his long fingers moved to the clasp of his belt, working it free before loosening the waist and drawing the material down his legs.

When he straightened, his cock stood out stiff and hard from his body, the wink of gold that pierced it flashing beneath the darkly flushed crest.

Morganna came to her knees then, casting him a hungry look from beneath her lashes as she crawled to him, licking her lips in anticipation. She wanted to taste him again, feel him throbbing between her lips, filling her mouth as she held his big body prisoner with a flick of her tongue.

"You wish." He caught her before she could touch him, flipping her to her back once again as he came over her.

"That's not fair," she panted, struggling against him as his muscular legs trapped hers between them, his hands catching her wrists and stretching them above her head.

She watched his face, saw the heat and hunger, and gloried in it. He was arrogant, totally dominant, and all hers, whether he liked it or not.

"This is my bed," he murmured, his lips quirking with an inherent dominant sexiness that had her nerve endings sizzling.

"So what?"

Her eyes widened at the feel of cool silk and metal snapping around her wrists. She twisted, staring in surprise at the length of chain coming from the headboard and the padded cuffs now imprisoning her wrists.

"So we play by my rules."

Morganna shivered as he pulled his gaze from hers and let it travel over her body. Her upthrust breasts, the flushed mound of her sex, her legs, still encased in the fishnet stockings.

"It's time to set some rules in place." He sighed as his eyes met hers once again and he shook his head as though in chastisement. "You were very naughty today, Morganna."

Okay, that shouldn't turn her on. It sure as hell shouldn't have her womb clenching, knotting like a fist as pleasure rocked through her body.

"I'm always naughty," she informed him, tugging at the cuffs as she stared back at him suspiciously. "It's part of my nature. And this is not gaining you brownie points, Clint. I'm already upset with you."

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"You stay upset with me, Morganna," he said as he cupped the breast nearest to him, his thumb flicking over the hard peaks, catching the little gold rings there and tugging at them as heated pleasure rushed from the tips.

Her breath caught in her throat. She was not going to get turned on over this "Me Dom, you sub" stuff, she assured herself. But she could not help but admit she was so turned on, so wet and close to orgasm, that it would take very little to set her off. Swirls of sensation pulsed from her nipple to her vagina, breathtaking jumps of electric hot pleasure that had her eyes threatening to close weakly.

"This is no way ..." she gasped as his fingers moved to her other breast, tweaking at the nipple there.

"No way to

soothe my anger, Clint."

"Who says I want to soothe it, sugar?" he asked, his voice impossibly gentle despite the fire burning in his eyes. "Maybe I want to see it burn hotter, brighter. Maybe your anger turns me on."

That she didn't doubt. ;

"It's just the challenge." She tried to control her breathing, but it was a hopeless battle. "You're a control freak, Clint. You can't control me."

"Bet me?"

Oh hell. She moaned at the excitement churning through her now.

"Clint, sex is supposed to be a participation thing." She was fighting to breathe, and thinking was quickly giving way to feeling as his fingers began to trail down her belly.

"Hmm. You get to participate, baby." His smile wasn't comforting; it was frankly sexual. "In plenty of ways." His fingers gripped the small gold ring at her belly button.

She stared up at him, seeing the savage features of his face as they planed out, tightened with the hunger that glittered in his eyes. His lips were full, mobile, eatable. God, she needed his kiss, his touch.

Her hips arched from the mattress as he pushed her legs apart, his hands smoothing up the threads of her stockings.

"I'm going to fuck you until you beg for mercy," he growled. "Until you're sweating, reaching, certain release is but a second away. And then I'm going to turn you over, baby, pet that pretty little ass, then show you just how good it can hurt."

She shuddered, feeling her juices spill from between her thighs as she stared back at him, wide-eyed, maybe a little locked. But definitely aroused. Too aroused. "Oh God ..." Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt his fingers slide through the saturated folds of her pussy, felt her clit swelling, her womb clenching.

"Don't you torture me, Clint. I'll get you back; you know I will."

His finger pressed against her clit, rotated, and she swore she saw stars.

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"It's not nice to threaten your Dom, baby," he growled before his fingers slid down again, then moved slowly inside her.

One. A smooth achingly slow thrust that had her fighting to breathe. He retreated seconds later, only to return with two fingers, stretching her, making her ache for more.

"So sweet and tight," he whispered, kneeling in between her thighs, his cock putting out heavily, the head almost a ruby red as it throbbed only inches from her desperate, willing flesh.

"Okay, I'll beg." She arched to him, only to have him retreat. "Dammit, Clint, this isn't fair. I'm a novice, remember? You're supposed to go easy on me. Fuck me, damn you."

"Soon." His fingers worked inside her again as his hand twisted, pulling a ragged groan from her chest. A second later it was a cry as his thumb raked her clit.

This was too good. A person could die of pleasure, couldn't she?

"Damn, you're wet, baby." His fingers slid free again. "Hot and sweet and wet. I think you're ready for me."

"Duh!" she snapped in reply, jerking at the cuffs. "God, Clint, let me go. Please let me touch you."

"Watch, Morganna," he crooned as he came closer, his hard hands lifting her hips high before he shoved a pillow beneath them, then another.

She was lifted to him, open, level with the thick length of his cock as the swollen head nudged against the folds of her intimate flesh.