Faith snorted impolitely. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“No, I did. I told Sasha.”
“Knowing that he would tell Chris?”
Emmy had the grace to look slightly embarrassed at that. “Well….”
“Oh, come on. You can’t do something like that and then act like you didn’t have a clue!”
Faith grinned, the tip of her tongue peeking sassily between straight white teeth. “And all this time I thought you didn’t have it in you to be so-so-devious!”
“I’m not,” Emmy wailed, this close to wringing her hands. At Faith’s raised eyebrow, Emmy corrected herself, “Usually.”
“You got that right, Em. God, you’re like Snow White without the Seven Dwarfs!”
Faith sat down on Emmy’s bed and crossed her legs demurely. But there was no mistaking Faith for anything but a tomboy. Even at 13. Her above-average height set her apart, but her legs were more muscular than slender, her movements coltish and ungainly, as befit a young girl still in transition.
Scratching her knee, Faith surveyed her companion carefully. Only a year younger, Emmy was everything that Faith was not. The bones in her face, hands and feet so finely cast as to be elegant, it was almost as if she *were* a real princess, as Declan was wont to call her. Emmy was easily the same height as Faith, but that was probably the only similarity. Where Faith was athletic, Emmy was delicate, though hardly frail. She would undoubtedly be a beautiful woman. Something Faith was convinced that *she* would never be.
“Y’know, it’s a good thing you and me are friends. Otherwise, I would have to hate you.”
Emmy blinked and gave the older girl what appeared to be a reasonable imitation of Declan. “Whatever for?”
“Never mind. Back to you doing your impression of Cruella De Vil. What made you think of doing something like that, Em? It’s not like you.”
“Was Chris very upset?” Emmy asked shyly.
“Yeah,” Faith declared, in much the same tone that she would say “Duh”. “He thinks you have a crush on Adam! How weird is that?”
“Well, he’s cute.”
“And gay.”
“He’s older.”
“And gay.”
Emmy frowned at Faith. “Stop that! He’s not gay! He likes girls, too!”
“In a whole other lifetime, Em. Not so’s you’d notice here anyway.”
“Well, I had to pick someone, Fee. I didn’t think anyone would believe I had a crush on Jazz!”
About to retort, Faith had to agree with that one. She shut her mouth and nodded.
“So what’s your plan?”
“I just wanted to make Chris a little jealous, that’s all.”
“Jealous? Chris worships the ground you walk on!”
“He does not, Fee. He hardly even talks to me anymore. He probably doesn’t notice I’m there.”
Faith fell back onto the bed with a muffled thump. “Oh, my God! You two deserve each other! I swear, you guys are like so married already—and you don’t even know it!”
“Married?!” Emmy huffed. “We don’t even see each other.”
Faith rolled over onto her stomach and stared at Emmy, cupping her chin in her hands. “Okay, let me get this straight. Adam is supposed to blow you off in front of everybody—“
“And Chris is supposed to come to his senses.”
“Which means what?”
“That he acts a little…um…romantic.”
“Romantic, huh? Chris?”
“You don’t think he can be?”
“I…uh…” Faith suddenly saw how deeply Emmy’s emotions were involved and reined in her impulse to make light of the situation. “That’s kinda hard to say, Em. He’s my brother.”
“Well, it’s not like I expect an undying declaration of love or something!” Emmy protested, her lower lip trembling, not unlike her other father, Sey, when he was overcome by feelings that threatened to get the best of him.
“Hey, hey, Em, I’m on *your* side.” Faith reached out and rubbed the younger girl’s arm. “But this isn’t exactly one of your romance novels, y’know,” she said, referring to Emmy’s affection for that type of book.
“I know.”
All at once Faith felt as sad as Emmy looked. Then she brightened. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a happy ending, just like your stories!”
Against her will, Emmy smiled, though it never reached her soft grey eyes. “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it, Em. I’m going to help you and we’re going to make sure that you and Adam end up together.”
“Chris!”
“What about him?”
“You said Adam. Me and Adam. You mean *Chris*.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s what I meant.”
What’s that they say about the best laid plans of mice and men? Did it hold true for tomboys and knights and princesses-in-training?
Oh, my.
“Hey, squirt! What are you up to?” Adam asked his half-sister. Little did he realize that he was in grave danger. No one teased Faith and got away with it. Unless his name was Connor. No…not even Connor could escape Faith’s wrath, though he undoubtedly had a better shot at it than anyone else.
“Squirt?” Faith drew herself up to her full height. “I’m *thirteen*!” She said thirteen like it was *thirty*.
Adam nodded absently. He’d already made a big mistake by underestimating her. He was about to compound his error.
Adam put on his shirt without buttoning it, allowing it to gape open, exposing his lightly furred, muscular chest and abdomen. He wasn’t consciously trying to make himself look more desirable, but that was the result, nevertheless.
Faith’s mouth dropped open. “Chris is gonna kick your ass!”
“’Scuse me?”
“When he sees the way you look.”
“I look the way I always look,” Adam said with a puzzled frown.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Faith countered.
“And I don’t think Chris is going to kick *anyone’s* ass anytime soon, Fee.”
“A fat lot you know,” she muttered under her breath. Sure as shootin’ there were going to be fireworks. Of the most colorful kind.
“He’s an honorable guy,” Adam declared. “I bet he won’t even get jealous. He trusts Emmy *totally*.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t trust *you*,” she continued to mutter.
“I heard that,” Adam said, trying to decide if he should feel hurt or not. Not, he concluded. Chris was still dealing with the fallout of finding out that he had a heretofore-undiscovered brother. But he was fair. Of all of them, Chris was the one who would go to untold lengths to see both sides.
“Anyway, I promised I’d help Em—“
“No way, Fee. I know your rep for getting into trouble. It’s worse than mine.”
Faith raised an eyebrow and regarded her older half-brother imperiously. What she might have said was lost, however, in the ensuing confusion.
It was going to be a hot summer day. Although it was relatively early, the temperature was already climbing. The small group of would-be campers milled a bit restlessly, awaiting the arrival of the group’s quasi-chaperones, Declan and Sey.
Into this scene bounded an enthusiastic Celtic maiden, her long red hair tied back in a ponytail that swung back and forth like its namesake. “Adam!”
Adam was so preoccupied with Faith and the inevitable consequences of her interference that he didn’t register Emmy’s presence until she was almost on top of him. Which turned out to be a bad choice of words.
“Princess!”
Whether Adam was already unbalanced or Faith actually had the audacity to trip him was unclear. But Emmy’s virtual leap forward propelled him backwards and he sat down hard, right on his buttocks, the slender redhead landing on his chest with enough force to empty his lungs of whatever air they had been holding.
“Oof!”
“Ow!”
Before either one of them could gather enough breath to speak, Chris appeared, an uncharacteristic fire in his light blue eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Who, me?”
“Me?” Adam and Emmy answered at the same time.
“I can’t believe you’re lying on top of him!” Chris shouted, all pretense at maintaining his cool gone.
“It was an accident—“
“I bet it was,” Chris spat coldly.
Adam tried to get a word in, but Emmy inadvertently dug her elbow into his stomach. “Hey! Cut that out!”
“Are you touching her? Cause I swear if you’re touching her, you’re dead, Adam! You’re freaking dead!”
Suddenly Emmy raised herself to a sitting position, her face as pale as parchment. “This is all my fault, Chris. I wanted to get your attention…but not this way. Never this way.”
The only visible sign of emotion was the way Chris’ nostrils flared. His face was so composed, he might have been carved from stone. As if the words were forced from his lips, he whispered, “I don’t want you to be with anyone but me, Soleil.”
“I know,” she mouthed contritely, a single tear starting to run down her cheek.
Faith gnashed her teeth in frustration. Only Emmy could cry and look good doing it.
“Okay, okay, you two are meant to be together. Everyone knows that. Now get up, Em. You’re crushing Adam’s…” Faith grinned insouciantly. “…will to live.”
She reached out a hand to help Emmy stand, but before Emmy regained her feet, Jazz barreled into the vicinity, sparks flying every which way. It was irrational, of course, but Jazz’ relationship with Adam was too new, too uncertain for complete confidence in his lover. He jumped to the only logical conclusion. For him.
“You-you-you….” Jazz gazed helplessly at the female faces surrounding him and automatically censored himself. “For two francs, I’d tell you exactly what I think!”
Adam couldn’t scramble to his feet fast enough. For all his winning charm and his undeniable sex appeal, he was at the mercy of the younger teenager who had won his heart. “I didn’t! I wouldn’t! It’s not what you think, Jazz!”
“And you know what makes it worse, Adam?” Jazz whispered hoarsely, unshed tears standing in his moss-green eyes. “She’s a girl. And not just any girl, but Sasha’s sister.”
Jazz’ face reflected his feelings of betrayal far more clearly than Chris’ had. “I thought you loved *me*. I thought you would wait for me.”
“I will, Jazz. As long as it takes.” Adam tried to pull Jazz into his arms, but the younger adolescent evaded his grasp and ran towards the front door of the chateau.
“Jazz!” Adam took off at a sprint after his lover, leaving the others to look anxiously at one another.
As the moments turned into minutes, Faith grew exasperated. “Oh, come on. Chris, you know Emmy wouldn’t cheat on you, and if she did, it wouldn’t be with *Adam!*”
Chris blinked slowly and Emmy leaned forward to give him a little kiss on the cheek. She knew she was getting somewhere when he didn’t pull away from her touch. “Would it help if I kept saying, I’m sorry?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should say it a couple of times, just to see.”
Gradually Emmy moved closer and closer…until she was all that Chris could see. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking directly into his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“I only did it cause I couldn’t stand the thought of you not loving me anymore,” she confessed artlessly.
Chris’ thumb caressed her jawline, pushing back a strand of long red hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Neither could I,” he admitted with a shrug.
“How could you even think that?”
“How could *you*?”
Emmy nuzzled Chris’ cheek with her small, retrousse nose and he sank his hands into the silky red strands, completely dislodging the clip that held her hair.
Faith beamed happily at the couple, chirping quite loudly, “Now that’s more like it, Em. You’re getting good at this mushy stuff.”
“Bloody Hell!”
Faith did a half-turn, her hand over her mouth. Uh-oh, it looked like Declan didn’t understand what was going on. She would just have to enlighten him.
“I did this,” she declared proudly.
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“But I’m good at it, Uncle Dec.”
“How come I don’t feel the least bit reassured by that bit of news, Fee?”
As Sey joined the group, he could see that he had his work cut out for him. Yet again. With a wry chuckle, he said, “Doesn’t *anyone* go camping just to go *camping*?”
“What is your daughter doing with my son?” Michael demanded.
“Being a teenager?” Sey asked a bit flippantly, forgetting for the moment Michael’s general lack of humor lately.
“Chris—“
Nikita tugged on Michael’s arm, pulling him back so sharply, he stared at her, his grey eyes the color of steel and twice as hard. “Leave him alone, Michael. He’s not the one you’re angry with.”
“How would you know? You haven’t spoken to me for days,” Michael said cuttingly.
Nikita motioned to Declan to proceed with the camping trip and he answered her with a barely perceptible nod.
As the small group reluctantly moved away from what promised to be an even more interesting matching of wits, Michael regarded his wife impassively. “I presume you want to talk.”
“Oh, no. The time for talking is past. We’re going to have it out. The only way we know how.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Karate. One match. Full body contact. No gloves, no padding.”
“I could hurt you,” he blurted out, life’s most recent wounds suddenly glaringly obvious in his eyes.
“You already have.”
Michael’s heart wasn’t in it. She could tell. He was so desperately afraid of hurting her, he was holding back. He was pulling his punches and he was keeping his distance.
Too bad, Nikita thought meanly. He needed to open up, and she wasn’t just talking about his fighting stance.
“Michael!” she shouted, her vivid blue eyes turned almost glacial. “Come at me!”
Clearly preoccupied, he seemed startled by the sharpness in her voice. “Ki-ta,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Too late.”
He winced.
She closed in on him, her body low to the ground, her right foot suddenly connecting with the back of his left knee, sweeping him to the floor expertly. Michael stared at her, bewildered, for a long moment before responding by tightening his mouth.
In moments, she was straddling his body, sitting atop him like a beautiful blonde Amazon princess taking a mortal male as consort. Smiling triumphantly, she lay claim to him in the most basic way.
As her hands touched his belt buckle, he grasped her wrists in an iron grip. “No.”
“Yes.”
It was more than a physical tug-of-war now. It was a struggle to the death of Michael’s emotional control.
She alone held the key that pierced the lock that held his heart captive. He would not go willingly. But he *would* go.
***
This was the perfect place for a sparring match. Last used as a ballroom during one of their Halloween celebrations, the expansive room was as wide as it was long. Little furniture to interfere with their movements. Rarely frequented by the children.
It was an even better place for a tryst.
Michael gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his feelings in check. He’d promised himself that he would never take unfair advantage of his wife. But he couldn’t say that she didn’t deserve it now. She was using her most intimate knowledge of him to drive him crazy.
Nikita pulled her snug black T-shirt over her head and tossed it to the side. If it was meant as a distraction, it succeeded. Michael couldn’t help but be riveted to the sight of her naked breasts. But while he was fighting his own rampant desire, once again Nikita blindsided him.
In an effort to regain control, Michael reached for her arms, intending to thrust her away, but Nikita deflected him to the side. Slowly, exquisitely slowly, she crossed his arms at the wrist and pushed them up and over his head. He was quite helpless now.
One might even say he was completely at her mercy.
Or was he?
Lightning-quick, he pounced, rolling over until he sat astride her. The fact that he did not press his advantage right away was not lost on Nikita. Nor did the fact that he was slightly breathless go unnoticed. “I said, don’t push me.”
Nikita’s eyes narrowed. “Or else what?”
Michael frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What’ll you do if I keep pushing you?”
"I don’t want to talk about this.” He started to get up, but his position was precarious at best and left him vulnerable to attack. Again.
Nikita reached out with one hand and grabbed his crotch. Though her grip was not yet painful, it had the potential to be. *Now* she had her husband’s full attention.
That wasn’t all she had. She could feel Michael’s manhood stir to life in her hand, harder than she would have believed minutes before. It throbbed restlessly between them like it had a will of its own.
He stared at her, his eyes dark grey and almost impenetrable. “You want to *fight* or *fuck*?”
“Michael!”
That was when she realized that she was no longer in control. There was more than a little danger involved in pushing a man like Michael too far. But it wasn’t fear that raced through her body now, giving her goosebumps everywhere that her skin lay open, exposed, and vulnerable.
He seized one of her nipples, suckling so hard that she nearly bent in two trying to arch her back. She pushed her hands roughly through his hair and he bit down on the tiny nub he held between his teeth. Her blue eyes wild, she drew back her hand and slapped him across the cheek. Hard. Hard enough to snap his head back.
He caught her wrist in a grip that would undoubtedly leave bruises and panted, his hot breath intermittently fanning her face. With no more than a fervent glance, he turned her over onto her stomach, so suddenly that she was powerless to resist. His palm burned where it touched her skin, his fingers seeking purchase on the waistband of her skin-tight black leggings.
Ripping her leggings down the back, he then shoved the offending cloth down both legs and threw it to the side. She lay on her stomach, feverishly waiting, anticipating…and he did not disappoint.
His slightly roughened fingertips grazed the end of her spine, gentling as they rolled over the curves of her buttocks.
“Oh, yes,” she sighed almost inaudibly.
Michael’s eyes grew even darker. He took in the sight of her naked flesh, so pale, so pristine, as though it had never been touched. All at once he knew what he must do. His hand flew through the air and connected with her left cheek, leaving a slightly reddened handprint in its wake.
“Oh!” she cried out in surprise. That was definitely not what she expected.
He didn’t speak. His mouth tightened as though something deep inside were taking over, something unknown, something dangerous.
Again and again he struck her, hard enough to make her skin grow flushed and rosy. Heat rose off her in a wave, but she did not react other than to close her eyes. Initially discomfited by the stinging slaps, Nikita gradually became aware of something else.
A growing heat between her legs. She was naked, her breasts crushed beneath her, her buttocks fiery red and throbbing, but there was more…. She was wet, unbelievably slick, and virtually on the verge of climax. “Michael,” she groaned softly, attempting to roll over to face him for the first time.
He reached out and pushed her back down, his fingers deftly spreading her cheeks, exposing her other opening. Rubbing his face against her skin, he inhaled her scent, so musky, so feminine. Flicking his tongue out, he lapped delicately at her cleft, feeling her squirm restlessly under him.
His ears filled with her throaty growls and hoarse exhortations to possess her completely. His tongue sought the sweetness deep within, first circling, then massaging the tiny pucker in earnest. “Ohhh…my…Godddd…” Nikita whispered, shuddering violently as she came.
The smell of her was in his nostrils, and like the untamed animal that he’d almost become, he lost control of his senses. Sinking his teeth into one tempting cheek, he marked her as his mate. She was his. Only his. She would never belong to anyone else. Ever.
Crying out, Nikita tensed. Suddenly Michael knew only one thing. He must claim her. In the most basic way possible. Tearing at his own clothing, he struggled to loose his rigid erection as quickly as he could. He was dangerously close…dangerously…close…to com…ing….
Fuck.
Before he could get inside her warm, wet center, he came, his throbbing length sliding between her still-pink cheeks, spilling itself across her back, spattering her long pale hair.
To Nikita, it was the most erotic thing that he had ever dared do to her.
To Michael, it was symbolic of a loss of control that he could not bear.
Pushing himself away from her, he fell onto his back with a soft gasp, his arm drawn up high to hide his face.
“Michael?”
“Don’t…look at me.”
Her hand touched his arm and he flinched. “Mi-chael…I love you. I *love* what you did to me. I love how you make me feel. Please don’t be sorry it happened. I’m not.”
“Are you…sure?” Michael sounded tentative and uncertain.
"Oh, yesss,” she murmured, climbing atop his body. She snuggled under his chin and wrapped an arm around his neck. “I love you.” With a light kiss to his chest, she settled comfortably, feeling his arms come around her at last.
“I love you, too, doucette,” he said huskily, closing his eyes. “You can’t imagine how much.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” she whispered, her lips vibrating against the shallow indentation at the base of his throat.
He tried to resist. But he couldn’t. It took a will and an effort that even he could not summon. “Does this mean that we’re okay?”
“Mi-chael,” she said, peeking at him under her lashes. “We were never *not* okay.”
“But you were so—“
“Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” She chuckled. “But you know what? So were you.”
“I promise I won’t—“
“Michael,” she said with a brilliant smile that gave back the balance to his whole world. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”
“But shouldn’t we at least try to—“
“We are who we are, Michael. And you know what? I’m damn glad. Cause I love you just the way you are.”
“Oh, God, doucette, you know how I feel about you,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair.
Where there is love, all things are possible. Even healing.
A pale blonde head popped up and surveyed her surroundings with a vaguely worried look. “Did you hear something?”
Michael shook his head and attempted to pull his wife back into his arms. When she resisted, he focused his trained senses on the immediate environs. “There! There it is again! Now do you hear it, Michael?”
This time Michael sat up abruptly. It wouldn’t do to be found like this: both of them naked, the entire area redolent of sex, their clothing tossed haphazardly here and there, like the aftermath of a night of debauchery.
Nikita grabbed their clothing and held out a hand to help Michael stand up. With the sound of distant voices approaching, there was no time to stop and get dressed. Clutching their clothes like shields, they ran quickly and stealthily out into the hallway. A rapid glance both ways told them that they were safe to make their way upstairs where the majority of the rooms were located in the chateau.
Giggling like children, they made it as far as the room that Declan shared with Sey before they were forced to search for cover. “Kita, someone’s coming!”
“Michael! In here!”
Thankful that Declan and Sey had left their bedroom door unlocked, they darted inside, shutting the door softly behind them. Nikita leaned forward attentively, her palms flat against the door, listening as the voices grew louder before they finally began to fade away.
“Michael, they’ve gone.”
“What if they come back?”
“Well, we can’t stay in here forever,” Nikita said crossly. This was hardly the way she had envisioned their time together ending. It wasn’t that she was frustrated. Just that she wanted…more.
Michael turned and saw the bed that dominated Declan and Sey’s room. A moment later, he raised his eyes to meet his wife’s. As if reading her mind, he blurted out, “We can’t.”
“Why not? Declan took the kids on a camping trip, remember? He and Sey won’t be back for hours.”
“But that’s so—“
“Decadent?” Nikita grinned. “I find the idea of making love in someone else’s bed incredibly erotic, Michael.”
He dropped the clothes he was holding in front of his body. Nikita would have laughed had it not been for the obvious erection Michael had. “You, too?” she whispered.
He nodded. Sometimes it was as if he had no will of his own. Nikita was the only person who affected him this way. He supposed he should be grateful for that.
Nikita locked the door and smiled.
Michael swallowed hard. Oh, God, they were going straight to Hell.
***
He wasn’t sure how he ended up in this position. Oh, he knew *how*, all right, for Nikita could never have managed to tie him up, quite literally, without his consent. But one minute they were lying on the bed, facing each other, trading rapacious kisses, and the next….
Well, he considered the situation. Michael was sitting up, his back against the headboard of Declan and Sey’s bed, enjoying the feel of the amply-endowed mattress beneath his buttocks. Or perhaps enjoying was not *quite* the right word. His wrists and ankles were tied. Had he been lying down, he would have been spread eagle. In any case, his movements were every bit as restricted.
It was all Nikita’s idea. Casually exploring Declan and Sey’s bedroom, she found a number of interesting things. It wasn’t as if she were prying. Oh, no, she knew the difference between examining something in plain sight and pawing through someone’s things like a common thief.
“What’s this?” she asked, holding up a tube of Astroglide. “What do you suppose Dec uses this for?”
Michael colored furiously. “Ki-ta!”
“Hm? Oh! Ohhhhh….” Nikita chuckled.
“You never would have made it as a Valentine operative,” Michael muttered under his breath, but Nikita clearly heard him.
She snorted as she replaced the tube where she’d found it. “Would, too. Just never ran into anyone I wanted to…well, you know.”
Michael stared at her, a mixture of puzzlement and disappointment on his face. “Thanks, Kita.”
“*Besides* you, Michael. Oh, for Heaven’s sake, you know you were the only man I wanted to be with.”
“What about Gray?” Michael fairly growled. “Or—“
“Poor substitutes. You pushed me into their arms, Michael. Every time you turned me away—“
Michael grimaced at the reminder and would have averted his face, but Nikita grasped his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. “But there was never *anyone* who could replace you in my heart, Michael. You know it’s true. Hear it in my voice. See it in my eyes.”
“I love you.”
With a rough sound deep in his throat, Michael pulled her into his arms and fell back onto the bed, taking her with him. “Doucette,” he whispered in her ear. “Je t’aime.”
***
Which brought them back to where they were now. Nikita tied his wrists and ankles using the buttery-soft leather restraints she found, and Michael, quite simply, let her.
It was proof of how much he trusted her. Trust was a quantity that was scarce where they came from. It was something he valued almost as much as love. For true love could not exist without trust.
His inability to move didn’t concern him. At first. Then he realized that he could not touch her or himself. He would have shrugged it off, but that was when Nikita upped the stakes.
Kneeling on the bed before him, she was the picture of sensuality. Her pale hair mussed, her lips blurred by countless stinging kisses, Nikita swayed gently forward, allowing Michael to feast his eyes upon her naked beauty.
“Touch me,” he begged, hating the fact that he was pleading, but unable to do anything else.
She smiled. Turning to the side, she reached for the vest she had been wearing before they sparred. Finding what she wanted inside a zippered pocket, she brandished it before Michael’s hungry eyes.
He shook his head slowly. “I can last without that, doucette.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Why?”
“Cause you haven’t seen what I’m about to do to you.”
His eyes grew wide and round, and for a moment, he looked very much like Luc. “Are you going to—“
“Yessss…” she hissed.
He shivered. “Do it.”
***
Once the cock ring was in place, Michael’s erection was no longer his to control, but Nikita’s. She stroked him a couple of times, as if she were testing its capacity to keep him firmly in check, and he sighed at her touch, feeling his arousal fill expectantly.
“Look what I found.”
“What?” he barely managed to croak.
She produced a brand-new dildo, apparently admiring its seven inches of latex. “Untouched by human hands. Still wrapped. Birkoff had it hidden in one of the drawers in the night table. There was a card. It’s a present from him to Declan.”
“Kita, you can’t just—“
“I’ll replace it, Michael.”
“But how will you explain—“
“With a great deal of embarrassment, no doubt.”
“It’s not like it’s something we *need*, Kita,” Michael protested weakly, the sight of the rubber device traversing his wife’s naked body from sternum to navel almost too much for him.
“Oh, yes, Michael. I *need* this. And I’m going to make *you* need it, too,” she said huskily.
With a faint smile, she lay back, spread eagle, her fingers eagerly separating the folds of her femininity. The only sound that could be heard was the harsh rasp of Michael’s breathing and the wet noise of her lubed fingertips contacting her already slick skin.
“Watch me….”
Her index finger sought out the tiny nub hidden beneath the folds and stroked it. “Ohh,” she groaned, arching her back and her feet.
Michael strained against the bonds that held him, only now regretting that he could not go to her and bury himself root-deep within her warm, moist confines.
“Dammit, I want to—“
“Oh, yes, I know,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. If Michael’s expression as he watched was avid, hers was rapt. Her fingers prepared the way for the dildo’s entrance.
With a soft cry, she worked the device inside, slowly, inch by inch, growing more and more excited as Michael’s hot eyes devoured her. After a moment, her body adjusted to its width and length, and her hips began to thrust upwards to meet it as it plunged deeper and deeper.
“Please…” Michael whispered.
After withdrawing the dildo, Nikita crawled forward on her hands and knees to where Michael sat. She released the cock ring, much to Michael’s relief, but when he would have grabbed her, she eluded him. Wagging a finger at him, she said, “Ah-ah-ah.”
“Don’t play games, doucette. I’m too close.”
She smiled knowingly, licking her lips salaciously. “Mm-hm.”
She knelt between his legs, and the sight of her pale blonde head down there was enough to put him over the edge. Taking her breasts into her hands, she slid his leaking erection between them. As soon as her skin touched his, he was lost. He came hard, his essence spilling into the waiting crevice she made for him and beyond, some of it landing upon her chin. With a decidedly feline glance, she swiped her hand across her face, then licked her palm clean.
Dipping a finger delicately into the warm fluid, she painted her breasts with it in ever-increasing circles. Finally, she slid a wet hand between her legs. Looking intently into Michael’s eyes, which had gone an unfathomably dark gray now, she plucked his half-hardened length from where it lay and guided it inside her.
Still able to feel the pulsations throbbing through him, she rubbed against his groin, the sticky wetness there only serving to inflame her more. With a soft mew, she came.
Her head fell forward onto his shoulder, and she nuzzled his neck absently, murmuring, “I love you.” He closed his eyes and wished he could hold her.
“Untie me, doucette.”
“In a minute,” she said sleepily, and Michael sighed. Oh, well, there were worse things than losing the feeling in one’s arms and legs.
Yes, there were.
Voices out in the hall startled both of them. “Gee, Dec, how come our door’s locked?”
“That’s funny. I thought I left it open.”
“Go ahead and use your key,” said Sey with a shrug. It was the last thing he said until…
“Oh, my God!”
Sey immediately burst into a fit of helpless laughter. “Damn!”
Michael, as cool and unperturbed as ever, eyed the two men serenely. “We weren’t expecting you back this soon, Declan.”
Declan felt his lips twitch and snorted, “No shit, Sherlock.”
Declan came out of the bathroom, his long red hair hanging in damp ringlets about his shoulders. Wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel fastened around his narrow hips, he slowly began to work the other towel he was holding through his wet hair. “I still can’t get over the shock of finding Michael and Nikita in our bed.”
“Think I should take a quick inventory?” Sey quipped, insinuating that the ardent couple might have latched onto more of their “toys”.
Declan shook his head, sending a brief shower of water droplets Sey’s way. “Anything they’ve got, they can keep, baby.”
“Well, I wasn’t suggesting that we should share,” Sey said dryly.
“Mmm, good. I’m far too possessive by half, I know, acushla, but I have *no* intention of sharing.”
Sey lay back on the bed, a languorous look filling his dark brown eyes. With a slight waggle of his eyebrows, he said, “Not even with me?”
“Hmm….” Declan leaned on the bed with his hands and one knee. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
“Then while you’re at it, consider this.” With a soft chuckle, Sey proceeded to pull on the edge of Declan’s towel where it covered his lower body. When the towel fell off, revealing how aroused Declan was, Sey covered his mouth with a sloppy wet kiss, more out of mischief than anything else.
But Declan opened his mouth and responded with such urgency that Sey abandoned all attempts at game-playing to tangle both hands in Declan’s moist curls. After a few breathless moments, Sey fell back onto their bed, panting. “Who’s on top?”
“You are, baby. You always are. Even when you’re not.”
His dark eyes snapping with fire Declan had kindled there, Sey smiled faintly. “I can’t believe you bottom for me, Dec,” he whispered.
“You’re the only one, mo leannan.” Declan bent his head and kissed his lover so tenderly that it made Sey’s breath catch in his throat.
“Someday you’re going to have to teach me the good stuff in Gaelic, love.”
“You already know everything you need to know, mo cridhe.”
“But I want to know what great things you’re saying about me,” Sey pouted, his fingers tugging on Declan’s hair.
“The greatest thing I could ever say to you…I say in English,” Declan whispered against his mouth. “I love you, Sey.”
“I love you, too,” Sey murmured, his heart filled to the brim . “I love you so much.”
The dim light in the room cast shadows of their bodies, moving impatiently towards each other, then twining restlessly together as one. Afterwards, the majestic Celtic warrior sheltered his love within his arms. There was safety here.
Or so he thought.
***
FLASHBACK
Section One
At the time of Declan’s recruitment
The White Room
“I told you I wouldn’t tell you a bloody thing,” Declan snarled. His features almost feral, he was nevertheless a thing of beauty. Long red hair curling over his shoulders and down his back. Eyes the color of molten silver. For a boy of 16, he showed remarkable poise in the face of adversity. There were two possible explanations:
He was exactly who he appeared to be. An Irish terrorist-in-training. A would-be assassin learning at his older brother’s side. A manchild with no appreciable conscience.
Or…
He was caught in the middle of some terrible game. Left to dangle here until he met his fate. And Section One boasted some of the more esoteric ways to die. But he didn’t fear death. Because his own life was too terrifying to contemplate.
“Your brother Justin—“
Declan spat on the floor, narrowly missing the toe of Madeline’s shoe. “I have no brother,” he said coldly.
“If you hate him that much, why not make it easier on yourself and give him up?”
“You think I don’t understand how this works,” he growled. “You’ll kill me whether I cooperate or not.”
Madeline admitted as much with a slight inclination of her head. “That’s true. But I have the ability to make your death as painless as possible.”
“No one can do that,” Declan said bleakly. “Not even you.”
“There must be something or someone you care about—“
“No.”
“Think about it. Perhaps something will come to you.”
***
He suffered long and hard in the White Room. But he never gave up his brother. Or the gang he ran with.
He expected death to follow shortly.
It didn’t.
They valued what he had. That crystalline hardness deep inside that made him an unknown quantity. In fact, he was dangerous and unpredictable.
That was what they liked.
***
It wasn’t as if he changed in some intrinsic way. Despite Madeline’s (and yes, Operations’) best efforts, Declan never gave away that part of him that lay closest to his heart. Threats of death had no effect on him. He didn’t care. There was nothing and no one who could touch him.
He rose through the ranks easily, swiftly, even astonishingly for someone his age. An assassin was not what he once aspired to be. But that confession was best left for his deathbed. If that time ever came.
That first year was the hardest. Cut adrift from his home, his family, such as it was, Declan had nothing. He thought himself satisfied. It was a passably interesting way to pass the days until it was his turn to die. But he was empty.
He had forgotten how to feel.
Until he encountered *him*.
The one he could never have. The one who could never know.
***
“Birkoff.”
The young head of Comm turned to face the speaker. He was one of the new recruits. Barely through the first year of training. But acclaimed as so brilliant that he could easily bypass the rest of the mandatory two-year training period.
Birkoff outranked him. By several levels. But that didn’t matter. He was wasting his time talking to someone like him anyway. Rumor had it that the young Irishman had a death wish. And yet he never truly came close to surrendering to his supposed fate.
“Is there something I can do for you, McLaren?”
For a brief moment out of time, there was a flash of something very like wistfulness on Declan’s face. Then it was gone. “Maybe.”
“And? Does this something have a name?” Birkoff cast an exasperated glance at the young field operative. “Christ, you people don’t even know what to ask half the time.”
He was playing with fire. And he didn’t even know it.
Declan reached out with one hand and began to choke Birkoff. Birkoff turned bright red before starting to sputter wildly. Grabbing at Declan’s hands was an exercise in futility. Though they were virtually the same age, Declan was far taller as well as far more muscular.
All at once Declan released him. His handprints clearly visible on Birkoff’s neck, Declan snapped, “And that’s just a preview of what I could do to you!”
Birkoff coughed and coughed, struggling to keep an eye on Declan at the same time. His dark eyes the color of melted bittersweet chocolate, Birkoff finally managed to resume breathing in a more or less normal manner. “What was that for?” he rasped.
Declan’s nostrils flared at the scent of the prey he caught. “You’ll see.”