Caged Warrior

“Your warrior?”

“You’ve kept me whole and safe and mean, even when it was directed at you and when I made stupid decisions. I blamed you when I couldn’t tell one pain from another.” She nipped kisses along toward his shoulder, talking as she went. “You were the nearest extension of the Asters. I could take it out on you when I couldn’t harm them. But you never faltered. The long game. Save our families. You were strong enough for both of us, when I couldn’t be.”

“And what has that strength accomplished?”

“I’m here. You’re here. Will the skills you’ve taught me vanish? No. Which means when the time comes to . . .” She swallowed tightly. “When the time comes to burn it down, I’ll be your partner in that, too. So yes. My warrior.”

“But not tonight.”

“No, not tonight.” She caused goose bumps to flutter down his arm with the lightest caress. “Leto, show me how tender you can be.”

¦   ¦   ¦

Nynn didn’t know if she had asked too much until he cupped her shoulders. The wide, implacable wall of his body urged her backward. She was at eye level with the undeniable strength of his chest, which was shaped by muscle and shaded by the sharp, soft angle of light from the single lamp in the corner. Memories layered on memories, with the present caught in a dark, swirling cloud. She had once seen the world as would an artist. Audrey MacLaren. Art teacher. Widow. So much of herself had been taken, as a child, as a lab experiment, and then as a Cage warrior.

Rather than go mad from the anger and pain, she sought the man who would take her mind away, at least for the night. Leto was breathtaking. He had been from the start, no matter how she’d resisted him. Now, as she lay perpendicular on the bed, she could admire him fully. Heavy muscles clung to strong bones. His skin shone dark copper, and his black hair all but absorbed the light. She breathed out. The resentment was gone. All that remained was the privilege of admiring a man built for violence—and who dared to offer gentleness.

His gaze held no violence. She found surprising hopefulness among currents of desire that were practically caresses. Along her cheek. Through the valley between her breasts. Down to her belly where anticipation grew. She was fire and bronze, all things hot and resilient. That power was within her, but his open appreciation made her giddy and weightless.

Soon his weight would hold her down. She wanted that. The security and protection. The seductive mindlessness.

“You stare.” His two words, as raspy as sandpaper. She shivered. His gaze shifted to where her nipples beaded.

“So do you.”

“Too much to look at.”

She extended a hand. “It’s like the sun on the snow. You think it’s too much, but you can’t look away.”

Leto paused in the act of removing his plain shorts.

He was already hard.

Nynn continued to stare. She knew she should find his eyes and return to the idea of gentleness that she had initiated, but he was too impressive. They’d been too quick the last time, although tactile memories of biting, kissing, fucking reminded her there was nothing to regret. Just a different sort of need.

Now she could admire his prowess in full. So aroused, his cock lifted high. It appeared as lengthy as her body remembered, as thick and weighty.

Although she’d been holding out her arm in invitation, she levered off the bed and took hold of his hips. She couldn’t resist tasting him. Tongue first, just a circle around the clean, broad head.

Leto hissed. His hands curled beneath her jaw and lifted her chin. He loomed over her, as if standing as majestically as a mountain was his gift from the Dragon. “I will not be gentle if we begin like that.”

“Women have done this to you, then?”

“I’ve practically forced this on women.”

“Big difference, Leto. Stand still. Enjoy. And know that I’m enjoying it, too.”

She liked that his hands tightened around her face, a reminder of the strength he held in check. Every lick and swirl and long, languorous suck drew different reactions from him. Sometimes hisses—those were especially good, telling her she’d taken him by surprise. Sometimes grunts and truncated thrusts, when she’d back off. She didn’t want to veer too near to the sharp vigor they’d shared before. Mostly his reactions were told through those hands framing her face. Twitch. Tense. Fingers twisting into her hair.

He was too big to take as deeply as she wanted. She used the clasp of her fingers to make up the difference remaining between her lips and his body. The rhythm she chose was slow and so, so deliberate, even though her body began to hum a potent charge. Since she’d learned to use her gift, she equated arousal with the explosive force. Gathering energy . . . then the release.

This gathering was achingly patient. The release would be complete.

After dragging her tongue along the length of his shaft, she moved to take his throbbing head back into her mouth. Those hands lining her jaw reminded her that, when he wanted to be, Leto was in charge.

“Enough.” He sounded just as bestial as ever. His eyes, heavy-lidded and fathomless, marked the only difference. He looked stunned. And eager.

Nynn expected his resolve to crumble. She had pushed him too far. Her warrior would shove her back across the bed and take what his body demanded. She wouldn’t mind; he would be satisfying her needs as well. But she’d hoped they were more than that.

He proved they could be when he dropped to his knees.

“Off with these,” he said, tugging her shorts. She had no say—a compromise of sorts between being taken and being coddled. “My turn.”

Nynn opened her knees even as he pushed them wide. “You’ve done this to women, then?”

She’d meant it as a teasing echo, but the skin across his cheekbones tightened as he grimaced. “Not often enough for you to appreciate any great skill.”

“I like an honest man.”

Lying back on one elbow, she guided his face down until the first rush of contact made her gasp. His lips were hot, but his tongue was even hotter. He lacked finesse. He did not lack patience or intensity. Nynn arched and tipped her pelvis forward. He hooked an arm under her ass to position her as he wanted. His other hand grasped her breast, softly kneading, looping his fingers over her nipple in a pattern that matched the pulse of his tongue.

Breathing heavily, Nynn offered no resistance when he pushed her breastbone in a signal for her to lie back. He eased two fingers into her sheath. He must’ve appreciated her whispered curse because he grinned against her inner thigh. A rumbled curse of his own trembled up her legs and pooled where his fingers pulsed.

Without thought, she began to speak in the old language. Not Tigony or Garnis. Not Sath or Pendray or Indranan. There was a language even older than the Five Clans, and she knew its words.

Leto paused. Looked up her body. Those nearly black eyes held as many questions as promises of lust and satisfaction.

“I’d forgotten,” he said softly, in that same lost language.

“Me, too.”

She caressed his cheek, which was roughened by sharp stubble. The ancient spell wove between them, until speaking English or even her clan’s tongue would’ve seemed like sacrilege in the bubble of time and space they’d claimed for themselves.

“Then this is how we’re supposed to make love,” he said. “Even down to the words given to us by the Dragon.”

“Making love.”

A frown etched between his brows. After a few more luxurious strokes, so deep where she yearned for more, he eased his fingers free. His features still revealed the riddles of his thoughts, but he lifted up and over her body. They were still sideways across the mattress. His feet must’ve been planted firmly on the floor. Nynn could only flick her attention between his taut expression and the hand he’d clamped around the base of his prick.

“That’s what we’re doing, Nynn. Making love.”