Dom Wars: Round 6 (2 page)

Tara whimpered in response and moved slightly, tilting her ass to the perfect angle for me, and suddenly the struggle was finished. I slid my cock along her, spreading moisture to her clit. She sucked in a harsh breath when I reached her pulsing gem.

When she would have rocked against me, I held her still, keeping steady pressure on her clit, until her body trembled and her breath came in desperate little cries.

Holding my own breath, I slid back to poise at her entrance with her inner lips parted to receive me. She wiggled her cute ass in an attempt to pull me inside, and I punished her impudence with a sharp smack to each lovely cheek, then slid deep in a tortuously slow drive.

Her inner muscles clenched, working along my length in a rhythmic caress that made me bite my lip hard to keep from driving hard and fast to orgasm. “Stop,” I groaned. “This isn’t over yet.”

She froze, even holding her breath, but those involuntary muscles at her core refused to be stilled. I drew back a little and quickly thrust forward and made her hiss with surprise. Changing my angle slightly for better contact, I established a rhythm that sent us both spiraling toward orgasm in a fog of harsh cries and smacking flesh.

Far too soon, the nuclear explosion at the base of my spine that began my orgasm slipped up on me, and detonation completed before I could strategize to hold off longer.

With exquisite timing, Tara’s body read the signals in mine and prompted her own explosion. Her inner muscles clenched and pulled in a frenzy that dragged every drop of pleasure from both of us, and left us heaving together, uncaring that the whole estate probably heard us both. All that mattered was having each other.

Chapter Two

Lucian squeezed my hand and gave me the little half smile he always used to reassure me. Of course he knew how nervous I was. Even though they’d given us lessons back at Gladiator estate, rappelling out of a huge helicopter was not high on my bucket list. Wasn’t on it at all, actually.

Dread rolled in my stomach, threatening to dump the protein bar I’d forced myself to eat an hour earlier. Two full days of travel-induced fatigue gnawed at my muscles, making it more likely the rappelling would end in disaster.

The big ex-special forces guy who’d trained us to rappel along with other lessons needed for this Round unhooked his safety harness and stood. “Okay, folks,” he yelled over the helicopter’s racket, “this is it. You’ll stand one at a time, I’ll check your gear. When I give the word, you go over the side. Understood?”

He waited for the interpreters to translate, then shoved the cargo door open. Lucky us, we got to go last because after Preacher bought me and Lucian, it put us in last place. I still wasn’t sure why exactly Preacher had done it, but I was grateful. We’d be done for if he hadn’t, and Gramma would be stuck in that brick sepulcher called a retirement home, forever.

At our trainer’s gesture, the German woman slash giant unclipped from the seat and rose, looking perfectly at home in all the paramilitary gear. Without waiting, she hooked her rappelling harness into the lines above us, and nodded
ready
. The trainer double checked her gear, adjusted a clip, then inspected her harness. Satisfied, he gave her the nod, and steadied her as she got in position and swung out into nothing.

My stomach gave another massive roll as her helmet disappeared from sight, shooting my pulse up another notch. Lucian rubbed his thumb across the back of my knuckles, but I hardly felt the gesture through the protective gloves. I appreciated the effort anyway and suddenly wondered if he was as nervous as me. If he was, he sure didn’t show it.

I leaned for a glance at Preacher and Becca where they sat on the other side of Lucian. I’d expected Preacher to be calm and unshakable. He was ex-military after all, so this kind of thing wasn’t exactly new to him. But the heavy scowl he wore said he was anything but relaxed. He looked pissed if I was judging correctly. With him that could be translated into nearly any other emotion, but in this case, I’d lay money on fear. Of course it would have to be for Becca’s sake. The man was too stubborn to fear anything for himself.

And Becca, on the other hand, was as calm and peaceful as always. She would be like that in the face of Armageddon, no doubt. I couldn’t decide if she was really that unflappable, or if she simply hid it well. What she’d shared of her past suggested an ability to conceal emotions would be a valuable skill.

All I knew was, Preacher’s nervousness scared the hell out of me. He wasn’t the type to get the jitters for no good reason. Maybe he didn’t agree with the trainer’s tactic and strategy. Oh, maybe he was pissed we were going out last and would put us behind. Yes, that had to be it. That probably put a serious dent in his need to plan for every possibility, since it took all the options away. Well, we’d have to hurry is all. Movement caught my attention again, and I watched as the German man prepared for his turn. Unlike his Domme, he was clearly in a state of panic. His hands shook visibly and his tanned face turned a new shade of green as he took itty bitty baby steps toward the exit. He’d been sick off and on during the stay at the Gladiator mansion, and even more so during the journey. Nerves? Illness? God, I hoped it wasn’t something contagious. That was the last thing any of us needed.

But then again, either of those was a weakness we could potentially exploit and we needed every advantage we could possibly gain. God, what had I been reduced to in the name of winning? How inhumane could I get? The memory of Gramma in that hospital bed appeared right on cue. I could probably get downright cruel, considering that memory as my motive.

The trainer watched the Germans’ descent and when they made it to the ground, he signaled the Australian man. The whole process was repeated, differing only when the trainer got to the Australian woman. A combination of scolding and pep talk ensued to convince her to leave the helicopter, until I was sure he’d shove her if she didn’t go under her own power. Which she finally did.

The dreaded moment arrived when the trainer gestured Lucian to come forward. He gave my hand one last squeeze of reassurance and moved to the door. I held my breath while he prepared and then went over the side.

My heart stopped when the trainer’s ice-blue gaze turned to me. Fear vibrated my muscles with such intensity I doubted walking would be possible. But walk I did, riding the nauseating unsteadiness of the floor as the pilot made adjustments. By some miracle, I stood for the inspection and when the signal came, I calmly swung out the door and hung there in the air.

Panic seized my body as the wind created by the rotors buffeted me, making it impossible to keep my eyes open. I clung there for a moment, hanging by the ropes and harness, while my heart threatened to beat a hole through my chest. I sucked in a breath only to have the wind of the blades blast into my lungs. Shit. I had to do this. Hanging under the helicopter until the end of time was not an option. But my muscles said otherwise, they said hanging there indefinitely was the
only
option.

Forcing myself to concentrate, I lowered myself a little. Then a little more. More. The ground gradually came closer and Lucian stood there waiting for me with his arms up like he were going to catch me. After an eternity, I figured I’d reached the end of the rope when Lucian rushed forward. He helped me unhook, gushing like a proud father about how fucking awesome I was, a natural blab la, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the edge of a forest not far away.

Out of the noise from the helicopter’s engine, we were able to talk for the first time since leaving Honolulu. I went gratefully into his arms and leaned against him, sucking up the strength of his super tight embrace. I could almost believe in that moment, that second, we’d get through this Round.

His gentle touch tipped my chin up for a kiss and I let myself get lost in the surge of desire that always came with his touch. “God, I’m glad that’s over. I was terrified for you.”

I leaned back to look in his eyes. “For me? Why?”

He smiled a little. “You really have to ask?” He brushed his finger along my cheek, then nodded toward the right side of the beach where the man of the Japanese couple quickly removed his back pack, and handed it to his sub. No, slave. They were Master and slave. Probably half her Master’s age, the diminutive woman with waist-length bleached hair in heavy braids, swung his pack over her shoulder and waited to see what he wanted her to do next. Without a glance, he strode for one of the pallets of supplies just down the beach and she followed, seeming careful to maintain some specific distance behind him.

Just watching the way he treated her gave me the creeps. Back at the Gladiator estate, she’d worn frilly dresses styled after ones made for dolls, barely covering her ass, with tights and Mary Jane shoes. Heavy, elaborate makeup altered her features and made her look more like a china doll prostitute or an anime figure, as did her hair. The man never did anything for himself that I could see. Thankfully we hadn’t been around the other teams all that much, just during the training stuff. I preferred to keep it that way.

The Columbian couple ran toward another pallet just as the Japanese man cut the straps holding the supplies on theirs. I stared for a second, trying to be sure. “What is he doing, that isn’t their number, is it?”

“No, it looks like the Australians’.” He waved Preacher and Becca over the second they landed, hurrying toward our own pallet of supplies.

“Go!” Preacher yelled to us.

Lucian and I ran to our supplies just as the Japanese Master drew his blade across a cloth bag and let the contents spill. Rice rolled in a pale stream, heading straight for the damp sand below.

“Hey, stop!” Lucian abandoned our pallet and took off in a sprint requiring me to fight to keep up. “Get the fuck away!”

Lucian drew closer and the woman moved away a little, looking afraid but something seemed off, the look on her face said she was up to no good.

A quick look around and I spied an extension of forest behind her and rushed into the tree line to my right. Hurrying through the trees, I made my way behind the Japanese woman, slowing as I drew closer, crouching when I was as close as I could get, remaining concealed.

Bitch tried anything, her ass was mine. Lucian and the man spoke, the man becoming louder and more irate, his body twitching in animated anger with every quiet word Lucian uttered. The little bastard made a slight feint to the left and quickly used a foot sweep to try and take Lucian down but Lucian avoided it easily. Good job baby. Sparring practice—for this very scenario—paid off.

The girl darted for Lucian, knife drawn. Fear shot through me and I torpedoed her to the ground with my body then wrestled her arm behind her back and pried the knife from her hand. In my peripheral vision, Lucian evaded Mr. Japan’s assault with a whole lot of pissed off cussing.

With the little bitch finally disarmed, I glanced up in time to see the Japanese bastard land a karate chop to Lucian’s raised arm. I launched onto the man’s back but he didn’t crumple beneath me like the girl. He grabbed my head and I let go to keep him from ripping my hair out.

Lucian tackled him with another round of swearing, hitting the dude like a seasoned linebacker, sending them both sailing through the air. The second they hit ground, Lucian fought to pummel him to death, ramming his forehead while trying to contain the man’s flapping limbs.

Someone shouted nearby as I scrambled to my feet. Breathing hard, I watched as the Australian man approached at a run. Then I noticed Preacher going over our pallet like we didn’t exist or we weren’t fighting for our lives.

Red-faced, the Australian came to stop. “What the fuck?”

Lucian lifted the little man off the ground and shoved him away. “I’ll kill you!” Lucian jabbed a finger at him while the man hurried off toward his cowering slave girl barking harsh Japanese at her while waving his arms like an angry bird.

To see the woman bow and heft both their gear onto her back looking like a tortoise before stumbling toward the woods made me forget my bloodlust for her.

Lucian hurried to examine my body while blood trickled from his lip. “He was sabotaging your supplies.” He didn’t even look toward the Australian.

“Hey!”

We turned at the booming voice of the Preacher who waved us over to our pallet. We hurried over, leaving the Australian couple to tend to their stuff. Seeing Becca in all that gear was a strange sight, but I soon forgot about it as I registered something wrong.

“What the fuck is this?” Lucian pulled his hat back on and leaned over, hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Our supplies.” Preacher’s words grumbled with cold fury.

I let out a shocked
ha
. “Are you kidding?”

Preacher stood with hands on hips, clearly plotting somebody’s murder. Hopefully not ours. “Apparently, it’s all our money bought us.” He yanked off a sealed packet taped to the top of the supplies and handed it to Lucian. “Read.” He continued pushing through the small pile of goods, separating it while I helped Lucian get at whatever was in the little baggie.

“A map,” Lucian handed it to me while opening another envelope. “And instructions. I think. I hope.”

“Load these with as much stuff as you can baby,” Preacher handed Becca two duffle bags then shook his head, examining every item. “Probably will only need one bag.”

“We have to get flags,” Lucian read. “Oh thank God. They have keys that unlock more supplies. We have coordinates to get to every flag and the supply station. Thank fuck. We can do that.”

Preacher began calling out items. “We’ll take the compass, the one can of bug repellent, all the water, which is only one of these for each of us.” He waved a bottle before putting it aside. “Taking the cookware for one.” He looked around. “No blanket. Great.”

“Is there a tent?” I asked, worried.

Preacher gave one dry laugh. “Don’t you wish?” He handed Becca things and she put them carefully in the bag, naming them as he went, sounding like a drill sergeant barking orders. “Para-cord. Chem-lites. Rice. Dry beans. One roll of toilet paper. One flashlight. Three flares. And…” he paused. “A fucking ink pen? Dumb bastards.” He shook his head and stood. “Bring the bag, let’s hit every pallet on the beach. My guess is they couldn’t carry every damn thing.”