Daybreak (15 page)
Leave. Now.
He was about to make some excuse, but she forestalled him with a smile. “So we made it.”
“Promised you we would.”
“I shouldn’t have doubted.” She took a step toward him. “So . . . now or should we wait until dark?”
No question what she meant. Night was a few hours off. Instinct demanded he delay, as he feared touching her as he had few things in his life. Tru hadn’t known such bone-deep dread since the early days of the Change when they’d all been trapped in the wildlife station, sure of nothing but the likelihood of an early, gruesome death. As he had then, he covered his fear with bravado and an easy smile.
“No time like the present.”
She cocked a brow. “You’re not exactly bursting with enthusiasm.”
His grin felt sharp enough to cut his lips. “Sure I am. Men live for sex.”
In turn, her expression became doubtful. He couldn’t bring himself to offer assurances as she pulled off her clothes quietly. Of
course
she was beautiful: slim, delicate, but also strong with high breasts and long, lovely legs. He remembered the scar on her upper arm. She’d gotten it when she teleported out to save him. Surrounded in the snow by a pack of demon dogs, he’d been certain of his death. And she’d appeared out of nowhere, a nine-year-old girl ready to take on evil for his sake.
course
she was beautiful: slim, delicate, but also strong with high breasts and long, lovely legs. He remembered the scar on her upper arm. She’d gotten it when she teleported out to save him. Surrounded in the snow by a pack of demon dogs, he’d been certain of his death. And she’d appeared out of nowhere, a nine-year-old girl ready to take on evil for his sake.
That only made it worse. They had history.
His body, when confronted with a gorgeous female, did what nature demanded. Cock hard, Tru skimmed out of his own clothes, knowing his head was too messed up for this. He should go. But this felt like closure. A business transaction, though it wasn’t. It couldn’t be, and that was part of the problem.
I can’t do this.
But his body throbbed, making it all too plain that he could.
Not now. Not like this.
But later wouldn’t be easier. To wait would only make touching more complicated. Better to complete the compact with the only sort of sex he’d had in four years. He was good at it, and nobody ever seemed to notice the difference. Only he knew how it
could
be.
Not now. Not like this.
But later wouldn’t be easier. To wait would only make touching more complicated. Better to complete the compact with the only sort of sex he’d had in four years. He was good at it, and nobody ever seemed to notice the difference. Only he knew how it
could
be.
Hiding a need for what he couldn’t have, he stepped forward to kiss her. It wasn’t a slow, tender kiss like they’d shared before, but more of his practiced work. He needed long moments to coax her mouth open. She was willing but not eager. He should have minded, but her distance helped. They both held reservations, which made him feel less alone.
Because he couldn’t bear to make it awful for her, he kissed her throat and her breasts, caressed her sides, and stroked her thighs. By increments, her body softened. When Tru swung her into his arms and carried her to the pallet, she didn’t resist.
There on the blankets, he stroked between her legs until wetness slicked his fingers. Her eyes remained cool and watchful, despite her body’s natural response. He could draw a facsimile of readiness from her in this state of mind, but there would be no real connection. He took great comfort in that certainty.
This was an introduction to pleasure. Nothing more. He was no longer
capable
of more.
capable
of more.
Once he was sure he’d prepared her adequately, he covered her. His cock slid inside smoothly. No flinch of pain across her features. No tensing of her thighs. Instead she framed his hips with her legs as he surged deep. Her welcoming body felt good, beautifully so. She was hot and wet and female. She was Pen. Old pain knotted up in his head to do battle with physical pleasure. He wanted more from her and he shouldn’t, because that way lay madness. This was all he could have, aching and empty, despite how completely he filled her. Tru could permit only their bodies to touch because anything more intimate would wreck him.
He pumped in measured rhythm, focusing on his own responses—the only way to manage this encounter. No thought. No emotion. No memories. His head went Zen. She grew restful beneath him, moving just enough to offer the illusion of participation. An orgasm built gradually in his balls, an inevitable response to his movements, but Tru had disconnected. He pulled out and finished with few slippery jerks of his fist.
Pen lay still. “I thought you said you’d give me sighs and ecstasy.”
“Not today.”
Sheer release left him feeling better in the physical sense. Months had passed since he’d sought a suitable mate, and he’d only stayed with her for two weeks—a lonely woman whose husband had died. With no possibility of entanglement, she’d been content for him to stay for a while, in her bed, for the satisfaction of mutual needs.
Emotionally, he felt like an animal in a trap. Without another word, he rolled over and went to sleep.
FIFTEEN
Tru had left her once before.
Little more than a child at the time, she had already learned that people leave. Sometimes it was by circumstance, like when her mother died. Sometimes it was by choice. She’d never known her biological father, and Dr. Chris went off on his own, blaming himself for her mother’s death.
But Tru.
Pen blinked up at the ceiling, although she couldn’t see the canvas roof in the pre-dawn darkness. His departure had taught her that when people left by choice, the hurt cut deep in lasting ways. He
could
be with her. But he’d chosen not to stay.
could
be with her. But he’d chosen not to stay.
The deep rasp of his even breathing filled the tent. She turned onto her side, propped on her elbow, and faced his back.
He’s not gone yet.
But she had felt distance in his sterile kiss and perfunctory fuck. No, even that word implied more . . . passion. Tru was halfway gone already. Not even the lure of sex was strong enough to keep him on Arturi’s island.
He’s not gone yet.
But she had felt distance in his sterile kiss and perfunctory fuck. No, even that word implied more . . . passion. Tru was halfway gone already. Not even the lure of sex was strong enough to keep him on Arturi’s island.
Why would he remain? He could roam as unencumbered as ever, seeking out the brief partnerships that seemed to define his adulthood. No sense sticking around for a half-crazy woman with delusions of saving the world. She wasn’t that tempting.
She hadn’t cried since that terrible day—the day she’d done so much worse than eat raw meat. Maybe that was a good thing. Her shell was tough enough to endure even the worst, all without needing to wipe away tears when there was work to be done. But she wanted to weep right then. For both of them. The orphans who couldn’t even find a moment of solace with one another. That life could withhold any chance at happiness seemed beyond cruel.
Fearing she’d wake him but craving the feel of his skin, she edged closer. Her bare belly rested against his hip. Both of her breasts pressed the curve of his upper arm. When relaxed, his muscles revealed so little of his vitality. But she knew differently. She knew his strength, and that extended to the strength of his will. When he wanted to go, he would.
Soon.
Perhaps as soon as daybreak.
She didn’t blame him for the way he’d behaved. Perhaps she should’ve demanded more from their brief encounter. But one of the offshoots of believing herself crazy for years was a deep sort of introspection. She was forever looking for signs of her own insanity. That meant resisting the urge toward self-delusion. From the start, she’d known that Tru would hold back, that the emotion she wanted was not within his power to give.
Pen used the tips of two fingers to brush a smattering of hair from his forehead. She petted down to his temple, to where the hollow beneath his cheekbones formed a deep shadow. Thick lashes fluttered just a little as his eyelids twitched in dream. What did Tru dream about?
All she had was that lonely nightmare. A rope ladder. Foliage all around. And Pen looking up toward a future that meant the end of something beautiful.
She banished that familiar, haunting scene and stared at Tru instead. He had the most beautiful lips. Leaning slowly nearer, she brushed her mouth against his. The thought of Sleeping Beauty and Snow White fluttered through her mind, but what use were fairy tales in a world so hideous? No happy endings. Not for them. And it wasn’t as if a man like Tru needed rescue. Her magic, and even the solace she sometimes provided with her body, were intended for those whose minds could be lifted and whose hearts could be lightened.
She believed neither of Tru.
He stirred, his hand lifting to cup the back of her head. Such an automatic gesture. The sort of gesture a man would make toward a longtime partner, one he knew would always be there when he opened his eyes. Arturi had behaved that casually toward Zhara. Pen had seen so few loving couples in the years since the Change, with Jenna and Mason as her only other example. She wanted that trust and companionship with the greediest part of her soul.
But that wasn’t to be. Not when she craved Tru’s kisses.
Tightening his fingers, he pulled her closer. The brush of his tongue against her lower lip was an enticing promise. Take him deeper and risk more hurt when he left? Or wake him right then?
She didn’t want him to rouse. Didn’t want to see the recriminations in his eyes when he realized that dawn was only an hour off.
Didn’t want him to stop.
Pen closed her eyes and sank into his kiss. Although she had not performed any ritual, she let her gentle, somnolent magic ease forth. Maybe it even affected her, because her heart’s worries swept away like clouds sent east by the wind.
She’d never used her magic for selfish reasons. Others did. Never her. Not since the time she’d lost control. And then she had become the Orchid. Only healing. Doing good.
But Pen—the woman, not the saint—was selfish.
He would hate her when he realized. Maybe that was for the best, if she gave him a reason to go.
Easing into that lean, muscled embrace, she pressed deeper against his body. Blunt fingernails edged down to her scalp. He kneaded and clenched. Pen moaned into his mouth. Their tongues met as the kiss stoked a strengthening fire in her gut. Tru angled her head to plunge deeper. The rasp of his chin stubble made her shiver. She arched her head back. The invitation was well received as he sucked wet kisses down her throat. His teeth sank into that taut tendon. The gentlest bite.
She wanted more.
If this was her one chance with Tru, her last chance, she was going to learn every inch of his body. Storing up memories against the loneliness that was sure to come. Soon she would be the Orchid again. And the Orchid didn’t yearn for a man.
Pen wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for another meeting of lips and tongues. He was more forceful now. Their teeth clicked once as he rolled half on top of her. She pushed deeper into her magic. If she went too far, she’d come up against his iron will. He’d know that she sprinkled sleepy dust over their last good-bye.
Daring to see the results, she pulled back and met his eyes. No panic there. No urgency to hit the door at a full sprint. No, what she saw tore a hole in her spirit and left it bleeding. Tru gazed at her with such overwhelming intensity, as if his drowsy self had no defenses. None. She’d stripped him back to some hidden core that left her shaking.
She regretted it. Right then. Regretted beguilement when she had no hope of keeping him. Because at that moment she’d made herself just as vulnerable.
But neither could she stop. His erection burned against her hip. Big hands with long, elegant fingers trailed down the center of her chest, then tightened on her breasts. He tugged at her nipple, twisting, teasing that hard peak. Replacing his fingers with his mouth, he suckled and licked. The gentle scrape of his teeth against her flesh shocked each nerve ending. A spill of liquid warmth wet the skin between her legs. She rubbed her thighs together in a restless dance.
“Need you, Tru. Don’t stop.”
The growl in his throat reminded her of the lion he kept caged in his skin. That primal sound set off firecrackers in her blood. Her arousal jumped from latent to demanding.
Pen pushed against his shoulders. He seemed perplexed at first, but then sank into the rustling cornhusk mattress. She stifled her guilt. Deal with that tomorrow.
The urge to rush rode her like a cruel master. But this was her only chance to be with him, just woman and man. Every other male either worshipped her or wanted her dead. Only Tru saw something else.
She trailed openmouthed kisses down his chest. The sweat had dried on his body, as if he wore the salt of the spraying surf. Licking, tasting that warm skin, she sank lower until the rigid heat of his cock pushed between her breasts. He thrust. Delicious images coalesced in her mind, tempting her to try what she’d never dared. She pushed her breasts together, until that sensitized flesh enveloped him. Tru groaned and thrust again, again.
But too curious to stay, she continued kissing until she reached his swollen head. She explored smooth, thin skin with her tongue and lips. Each wet caress dragged a moan or hiss from Tru—never fully-formed words. Half man, half animal. He bracketed her head with his hands. Pen glanced up, meeting his eyes. Naked hunger waited there.
She took his cock in her mouth. Sucking, relaxing her jaw, she took as much of him as she could. No man had ever dared demand such intimacy. Whereas she’d been able to disconnect on occasion when a man pushed between her thighs, she could find no such distance with Tru’s shaft pressing the back of her throat. Didn’t want to be distant. This whole encounter was meant to take more of him than she’d ever have with anyone else.
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