Catching Red (10 page)

She switched to the other side and mirrored the act. “I’m not sure if I want this done to me.” She grazed his nipple with her teeth. “But you’re hard to resist.” She nibbled.

Resisting the urge to take charge was becoming impossible. He closed his hands over the sides of the backrest. Cold metal bit into his palm. “You might regret opening that door.”

She traced a hot wet path down the center of his chest. “Why?”

He focused on each breath. “It gives me ideas. I can be domineering in bed.”

She kissed her way down his torso. Her tongue slid over the grooves between his abdominal muscles. “I’m not sure what that means. You’re bossy all the time.”

His jaw muscles were clenched so tight his molars began to hurt. “Right now, I’m imagining you bent over this chair with your hands tied and your legs spread.” There was more to the picture, but his brain was losing the ability to form coherent sentences.

She froze for a brief moment before she moved lower. Her hands shifted from his lap to trail down the inner sides of his thighs. “If you like being in control, why are you putting me through all this trouble?”

Her warm breath brushed over his shaft. His hips bucked off the chair. “I want you to define our limits.”

Her fingers closed around his cock. “I can’t if you don’t test them.” Her lips parted.

He caught her nape. “Enough.”

She pouted. “But I’m not done playing.”

He was beginning to suspect she knew how close he was to losing control. “It’s my turn. Now strip.”

She rolled her eyes and stood. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Then why are you dragging your feet?”

She fidgeted with the seam of her T-shirt. “You never told me if you liked what you saw.”

He fought the urge to laugh. “I never had the chance. How good are you at reading expressions?”

Their gazes locked. “Very good.”

He placed both hands on her hips. “Then keep your eyes on my face while you undress.”

Firelight danced off her arms. She reached for the hem of her top when her movements faltered. Her hands dropped to the fastenings on her jeans. Her cheeks turned a darker shade of red as she smoothed the waistband down her hips and off her legs.

The loose top reached below her hips. She slid one hand under it to pull her panties off. The flimsy white garment joined their growing pile of clothing as she straddled his thighs.

He caught her waist and smoothed his palms down her silken legs. His arousal brushed the insides of her thighs. It took all his willpower not to press into her. “Getting cold feet?”

She shook her head. “They’re quite warm.”

He’d explain the expression later. “Why don’t you take your shirt off?”

Her lashes lowered. “I can feel your eyes on me—”

He splayed his fingers over her backside. “I want more than just my eyes on you.”

After a moment’s pause, she closed her eyes and pulled the T-shirt over her head.

She was perfect. Though marred by a few scars, her creamy skin was so smooth it glistened under the firelight. Her stomach was flat and lined with muscle. In perfect proportion to her narrow rib cage, her breasts were full and tipped with the lightest coral.

He brushed her nipples with his thumbs. The small nubs tightened into sharp peaks. A rosy hue spread from her face to her neck and chest. She lifted her hands to cover her breasts, blocking his view.

“Don’t you dare.” He caught her wrists. “Remember our deal?”

Her eyes remained closed as she nodded. When he pulled her arms apart, she didn’t resist.

“It’s my turn to taste you.” He closed his mouth over her nipple. He circled his tongue around it and sucked. When her spine curved, he bit down on the tender flesh. Her whimper fueled his arousal. Throbbing with need, it strained toward the wet warmth between her thighs.

Keeping one hand on her bottom, he reached the other between their bodies. He switched his mouth to her neglected breast. She grabbed onto his shoulders as his finger circled her clit. Her muscles tightened. Her pelvis shifted.

He bit down as he slid a finger inside her. Her hands moved to his nape. Her fingers laced through his hair. She pressed him into her breast. “Marcus—”

He added a digit and pushed deeper. She was small and tight, but slippery wetness eased his entry. Pressing the pad of his thumb against the apex of her opening, he stimulated the swelling bundle of nerves. Her body tensed. All he heard was a moan as her legs squeezed his thighs.

Needing to see her face, he released her breast. Her eyes were closed. A sheen of sweat coated her porcelain skin. He flexed his hand. She bit her lower lip. A muted sound disturbed the silence.

He pumped his fingers into her, his thumb matching the rhythm of his penetration. Her breasts lifted and fell; each breath grew shallower. He quickened his movements, driving into her harder and faster.

He could sense she was close. “Scream for me.”

Her fingers clawed into his shoulders. With one last flick of his thumb, her spine snapped taut. Her entire body shook as her inner muscles clenched erratically around his fingers.

When her lids finally lifted, they revealed dazed green eyes. She slumped forward and rested her cheek against his shoulder. He circled his arms around her, flattening both palms on her back. He held her until the faint tremors subsided. “I never thought you’d be this shy. If you don’t scream, how would I know if you’re done?”

When she lifted her head, her expression was bashful. She fixed her gaze on his chest. “You seemed to figure it out. By the way, you did a great deal more to me than I did to you.”

He captured her chin and angled her head. After nibbling her swollen lower lip, he burned away what little self-control he had left on a slow languorous kiss. When they broke contact, he savored her satisfied sigh. “Are you ready to even the scales?”

She acquiesced with a slight tilt of her head and extended her legs toward the floor. Balancing on the balls of her feet, she managed to lift off his lap by a few inches. The motion pressed her opening over the head of his cock. The sudden jolt almost took him over the edge.

With painful slowness, she lowered herself farther down his straining shaft. She winced even before the head completely breached her. She was wet and ready, but it was a tight fit. “Keep going.”

She glared at him. “I’m working on it.”

He fisted one hand in her hair and pulled her head back. With teeth and tongue, he drew a line of light pink marks down the side of her neck. She arched her spine, offering him her breasts. When he closed his lips over her nipple, her knees buckled. Gravity brought her down and completed his impalement. He was buried to the hilt.

He smoothed his palm down her back as she rested her forehead against his shoulder. Nothing had ever felt this good.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.” She sounded more disappointed than hurt. “Please tell me this isn’t what all the fuss was about.”

Even though he was on the brink of release, he couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh. “There’s more.”

She nibbled his neck. “Then get on with it.”

His chest still heaving, he placed both palms on her bottom. “Hold onto my shoulders.”

“Why?”

He gave her a stern look. She did a mock salute before she circled her arms around him. He flexed his forearms. “Now when I stand up, wrap your legs around me.”

Her eyes widened. “When you what?”

Ignoring her high-pitched query, he tensed his back and thighs. In a single fluid move, he lifted onto his feet. He didn’t think it possible, but the movement lodged him a smidgen farther inside her.

“Oh.” She sounded both pleased and startled.

“Legs, Red,” he reminded as he focused on bracing her weight. She wasn’t heavy, but he couldn’t move if his muscles were otherwise engaged. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt her calves against his lower back.

Since his entire length was now engulfed in molten heat, it took a moment to compose his thoughts. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

She made an exasperated sound. “What part of ‘get on with it’ didn’t you understand?”

He took her statement as permission to do whatever he wanted. With her arms and legs wrapped around him, holding her in place was easy. He pulled back and surged into her. Her limbs tightened. She didn’t protest.

He repeated the motion and felt her shudder. Her skin was warm and slick. Her unique scent surrounded him. The sounds she made were just above a whisper, but it confirmed her pleasure. Her nipples budded against his chest. Where their bodies met, moisture gathered to ease his entry.

He drove into her hard and fast. Sweat dampened his palms and chest. The leash on his desire burned away, replaced by the instinct to possess. She bit his shoulder as his movements quickened. Her muffled moan harmonized with his harsh guttural growls.

Her body jerked. She threw her head back. Her spine straightened. A stifled scream escaped her throat. He clung to the precipice until her inner muscles pulsed over his shaft. Only then did he succumb to the frenzy and sought his own release.

Six Weeks Later

Scarlet scanned the area surrounding her cottage. Snow was beginning to melt. There was crispness to the air—a fresh scent full of promise that contrasted with the barren landscape. Despite the bristling cold, spring was coming. She wondered if she would live to see leaves paint these woods the color of her eyes.

After climbing to the tree’s top, she spotted multiple shadows patrolling the perimeter. Tracking them was child’s play. Defined shoe prints were the first dead giveaway. Undead had been lumbering over the wastelands for sixty years. Their shoes were worn through. When she got too close, she would smell the concentration of elements caked over their skin. She could sense their presence from the scent of mud and molding leaves wafting through the winter air.

The black-garbed men she followed smelled of soap, mint, and a medley of flowers. Their skin shone in the moonlight, free from the layer of dirt and grime that coated all wasteland inhabitants. As they marched through the woods, the steady beat of their footsteps echoed in the night. She didn’t need to eavesdrop to know they came from the city.

They referred to themselves as part of the “wolf”—a reference as perplexing as it was inconsequential. These men were an invading force, and their numbers far exceeded those her grandmother commanded. Even without the turmoil that followed the Prophet’s death, the WITCH lacked the resources to fight a hundred well-armed soldiers.

She had returned home to find Mother Gothel assassinated and Eleanor in a manic furor. According to Belle, an armed man from the city had infiltrated the fort and almost killed two soldiers. To keep his existence a secret, the Prophet took him to the killing fields herself. No one knew what happened next, only that a shot pierced the night. When members of the Prophet’s personal guard arrived, they found a bullet lodged in their leader’s head. Her vehicle and the mysterious man was nowhere to be found.

Scarlet refused to connect these events to Marcus’ sudden departure from their bunker on the same night. She had woken to a bell-like chime and found him pulling on his boots. He had kissed her good-bye and told her to go back to sleep. But when the door closed behind him, she pulled on her clothes and gathered her belongings. An opportunity to gain a head start wasn’t likely to present itself again.

Before she could quash the image, her mind’s eye saw a narrow face with a cleft on the chin, clear blue eyes, and tawny hair with a hint of sunshine. She wanted to forget, but he haunted her awake or asleep. She had spent three dreamlike nights naked beneath him. For a moment memories of his scent, the way he tasted when their tongues tangled, the husky note in his voice when he whispered demands into her ear—it all came crashing back in an avalanche of emotion that threatened to render her immobile.

She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand, jolting out of the past using the sudden pain. She had made the right choice. Too much was at stake for her to have walked away. She couldn’t have lived with herself if she had sacrificed others in exchange for the feel of skin against skin. But in this moment, she would trade almost anything to be cradled in his arms once more.

If she wanted to survive, she needed to focus on her immediate adversary—not the night she broke her own heart. After days of tracking the movements of these men, she ascertained they followed a strict hierarchical structure. She shifted targets based on their command chain, and weeks of hard work led her here. The irony of the location didn’t escape her. The leaders of this “wolf” were using her cottage as their base.

She glared at the two human-shaped shadows visible on her curtained windows. White smoke rose from the columned chimney and added to her aggravation. These unknown intruders had taken over her sanctuary. Here she was—outside and shivering in the cold wind—while these men wasted her firewood and planned her grandmother’s capture.

She felt violated. The diminutive cottage had been her home since she stumbled upon it years ago. It was as if the place had been built with her in mind. The curved doorway cleared under an inch above her head. The ceiling was low, and the sparse furniture was made for someone her size.

If she closed her eyes, she could picture the interior in intricate detail. Herbs she had hung to dry from the ceiling last spring would cast shadows on the smooth wooden planks. The gray plaster walls would glow orange as flames crackled in the fireplace. She had placed a picture of the ocean by the window, and opposite it above the stove was an image of white domes and glowing lights. With a sigh she remembered the last time she slept on her narrow straw mattress, cocooned in a quilt she had stitched together piece by piece.

This cottage was more a home to her than the WITCH had ever been. The fortress surrounded by concertina wire and concrete barriers was as much a prison as it was a haven. Within the thick reinforced walls, guarded by roving patrols and snipers’ nests, she might have been protected from the undead. But for most of her life, monsters of a different variety made her sleep with knives within reach. Now that the Prophet was dead, her grandmother was spiraling into a void that promised to consume them all.