Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 (24 page)

Frisking her with a slow, careful and wanton grace, he started at the hem of her skirt and felt all the way up, around her hips, her shirt and up into her hair. Despite her initial shock, she melted with passion, exuding that floral perfume with the citrus path.

Teasing her, tormenting her, evoking the ripe scent of her, drove his body to response. One breath of her hardened him instantly. He wasn’t sure who would end up begging, since he was the one on his knees.

“Find anything?” Her breathless voice strove for disdain but missed by a fathom. He knew from the deepening of her scent she wanted more, no matter what she said or how hard she scowled.

“Nothing I didn’t already know was there.” He winked.

“If you’re done molesting me, I’ll sit up.” Before she could move, he stopped her with a firm grip on her knees.

“Not just yet.” He lifted up her cast-bound foot and slipped his fingers into the top of the bright blue cast. Plastimirror gooshed below his fingertips. “What have we here?” Carefully, he pried out enough of the semisolid metal to fill his palm. He rose and disposed of it. “You’re very clever.”

“What’re you going to do now?” Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits of fury. “Put me back in the glass cage and come by every once in a while to paw at me?”

“Odd.” He tilted his head, watching her with a speculative gaze.

“What?” Suspicious, she drew back slightly.

“You only protest
after
I’ve finished pawing you.” He knelt again on the floor by her knees.

“Like I really had a choice.” Her chin rose, but he detected a sharpening of the desire scent around her.

“You made no effort to stop me.” He placed one hand on each of her knees. “You made no effort to get away.” His hands slid under her skirt and up her thighs. “You let me frisk you.” He stopped just a bare movement from the juncture of her thighs.

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t try to pull away. She watched him with a look of stunned lust on her face.

“Not only that, but you molded your body to my hands.” She did so now, as if she couldn’t help herself. “You want me to touch you.” His thumbs traced wide arcs on her thighs, skimming by the moist heat between her legs.

A low groan trembled through her body. Her scent grew sharper, more fully like that rare blood orange.

“Just admit that you want me.”

With a hard gulp, she looked at him as if he wanted her to admit to a foul criminal act. He could almost see the frantic working of her mind revealed in her lovely face. When he stroked his thumbs up in a long, slow and featherlight brush against her clit, her eyes went wide.

“I must confess, the fact that you can’t fit panties on over your cast excites me to no end.”

Panicked, she pulled away. “This bracelet—”

“What if I removed it?” He ran his thumbs up again, smiling at her urgent moan. He never would, but he offered just to hear what she’d say.

“I’d fight you tooth and nail, and I wouldn’t let you—let you do—what you’re doing now!” She struggled back, just enough to stop his thumbs from stroking her. “If I didn’t have this bracelet of Baka holding me back, I’d—I swear I would—”

“What?” He slipped his hands around her taut hips and slid her down the couch. “What would you do?” Before she could answer, he angled himself up and pressed the full heat of his erection against the vulnerable wet need between her legs. “Tell me what you would do if I freed you.”

Panting, she shook her head and gave a half-hearted struggle back. “Stop tormenting me!”

“Tormenting you?” He snuggled tighter between her coltish legs and ran his hands up to her waist. “I’m tormenting myself.”

Never had he waited so long for a woman. Cold showers and a one-handed exercise didn’t come close to quelling his need. He wanted to lower his hand, grasp the waist of his pants, yank the rivet-buttons apart and lower himself into her. Full and slow into the very depth of her as he watched her face.

“Can’t you feel my need?” In case she couldn’t, he lifted his hips and made a long, slow stroke against her with his leather-clad erection. “You can feel that, can’t you?”

“Just get it over with.”

“What?” He stopped moving, waiting, his gaze fixed on her flushed face.

“Just—just—do it.” She closed her eyes, relaxing against the velvet couch.

Surrender.

Her hips rose to meet his, and she wrapped her left leg around him. Drawing his body tight, she rocked against him with intense pressure. He shuddered and pressed more firmly into her.

“Mary.” Her name came out as a cry, a prayer, the closest he would allow himself to admit to the longing that burned inside him. With every sense, he could taste her surrender, but not what he wanted most. Desire, so strong it cloyed with a thick flower-citrus, emanated from every pore on her body. No fear. Not one subtle taste of that earthy dark marred her lovely scent, but he didn’t read what he wanted most. Mary surrendered her body to him. Creamy thighs spread willingly by his masterful touch, but she did not release her heart.

Michael thought her physical surrender would satisfy him, but once he had her capitulation, he found it wasn’t enough. He wanted far more. He wanted her heart. He wanted her soul. He wanted to smell that indefinable, luscious scent of love emanating from her. He wanted her as enthralled by him as he was of her, and he refused to settle for anything less than love.

“Tell me what you want.” He hoped his strong voice masked his vulnerability.

Lifting herself on her elbows, she glared at him and moved against him impatiently. “Must I draw you a map?”

“Indeed. You say one thing and yet do another. You are honest with me, then hostilely suspicious. You twist and turn so much I have no idea where to go next.” He pulled his hands from beneath her skirt, rearranged the smooth cotton carefully on her lap and stood. “You draw me a map because I have no idea what you want.”

“At the moment, I want you to take off your pants and finish what you started.” As if startled by her demanding tone, she shook her head and tried to take her words back. “I mean you leave your hands out of my skirt.” As soon as she said that, she burst out laughing and yanked her legs together, sitting up with a prim schoolmarm air. “Just stop—”

“I thought you wanted me to just do it.” He positioned himself again in front of her clamped-tight legs. “You said, ‘Just do it’ and now you say, ‘Just stop’.” Placing his hands behind the cup of her knees, he steadied himself. “You can see why I need you to draw me a map.” Clearly, he could yank her legs apart with minimal effort, if only she wanted him to. Lifting his gaze to her beautiful eyes, he softly murmured, “I make myself your captive.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“I will do anything you say.”

“Let me go.”

Immediately, he let go, stood and moved away from her.

Confused, she adjusted her clothing. “Put your hands up.”

He lifted his hands palm out to his shoulders.

Her eyebrows drew down. “What game are you playing now?”

“Captive.”

“To me?” She’d never considered the possibility of holding him captive, and he could read the thought of controlling him excited her. “You’ll do anything I say?”

“Within reason.”

“Take off your shirt.” In her eyes and from the scent of her body, he found a new twist; her fear and desire became curiosity and longing.

Deliberate, keeping his gaze fastened on hers, he popped each button on his red silk shirt. When he hit the waistband of his pants, he pulled the tucked shirt out and continued to flip the polished obsidian buttons open.

“Should I take my shirt off fast or slow?”

Her gaze leapt to his face. “Slow.” She settled back on the fainting couch, obviously enjoying his display.

Turning his back to her, he flipped up the collar, then slid the silk shirt slowly down his expanse of tan back, letting the red fabric gather at his waist, then pool on the floor.

He faced her. “Anything else?”

She looked up and down his body. “You’ll do what I say?”

He could smell her desire mixed with something he couldn’t quite identify. “Anything. Just ask.”

“Let me go,” she begged softly.

“I’m not holding you.”

“You are too.” Her gaze pinned him. “You know what you do to me and yes, I’m admitting it, so let’s just move on to the part where I make some kind of deal with you.” Her words tumbled out in a mix of honesty and dread as she straightened. “You know what I want to do with you, so you pretending I’m in charge is some kind of joke that I obviously don’t get.”

He could now identify her scent—confusion laced with a touch of fear. She didn’t trust herself to be in charge of him. She feared the truth of what she wanted to do with him.

“You have me at your whim.” He tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants, leaving all eight fingers dropped down, giving her a very sharp visual reminder of how much he enjoyed being at her mercy. It seemed to take a tremendous effort for her to wrench her gaze away from the blatant promise of his hips.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing now, but this has gone far enough.” She stood, stumbled on her cast and dumped herself hard to the couch. “Dammit!”

He chuckled, and she turned to face him.

“This isn’t funny!”

“Yes it is. You can’t run off this time.”

“I wasn’t going to run.” Her statement sounded believable, but she gave away the truth when she eyed her bedroom door.

“You were going to run into the bathroom again.”

She scowled at the floor, then at him.

He shrugged innocently as he flexed every muscle in his chest. Despite her best efforts, her gaze drank up his display.

“You’ve pulled that bathroom thing twice, once here in my home and once in the woods. You can’t do that forever, can you?”

“I wasn’t!” She looked embarrassed and defensive.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” he said with a singsong trill. “How does your garden grow?”

“What?”

He tightened his thumbs in his belt loops, making damn good and sure she noticed each inch of his body while he did. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’m standing here at your whim.” He grinned and winked at her. “That terrifies you because you don’t want to be in charge.” He dropped to his knees before her. “You want me to be in charge.”

“I want you to let me go.” She shook her head, desire and confusion billowing off her in conflicting waves.

“As I said, you want me to be in charge.”

“No, I—”

Placing his big hands on her legs stopped her short. “You want me to let you go when I am the one on my knees.” He caressed the sensitive skin on the outside of her thighs.

“You’re teasing me.” She pushed his hands away. “You want me to think I have a say and then you’ll just yank it away.”

“What do you want me to do?” He bowed his head in mock servitude. “Anything, my lady. Ask.”

Her scent changed. Automatically, she wanted to beg for her freedom, but in the same moment came a wanting to stay with him. Her scent jumbled up and he couldn’t read her any longer.

“Mary?”

Eyes closed, she paused for the longest time. “I want you in my bed.”

Startled by her breathless admission, he waited until she opened her eyes. He caught her gaze from his lowered face and softly asked, “Why?”

“Why?” Her voice rose.

“If I come to your bed, who will you think about?” He desperately wanted to know. Did she honestly want him, the man she knew as Commander, or would she use him as a stand-in for her Overlord fantasies?

“What?” Her eyes blazed.

“You want me in your bed, but you don’t even know my name.”

“Tell it to me.”

“No.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she lifted her hands to the sky. “Let me get this straight. You won’t come to my bed because I don’t know your name, but in the same measure you won’t tell me your name?” She barked frustrated laughter. “What do you expect from me? Should I know your name without hearing it?”

“My point is you don’t know my name.”

“Frankly, Commander, I don’t know my own. Mary Courtland is what the Courtlands named me.”

“Granted. I don’t know your name any more than you do mine. But you want me in your bed.”

“You want to be there just as much as I want you there,” she countered.

“Will it be my face you see, or his?” He wanted her to desire him as just a nameless man, not a hero or a villain.

“His who? Whom? No, who.” She rolled her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Overlord.”

Stung, she blasted back, “Kraft.”

Shaking his head slowly back and forth, he gently said, “I won’t think of her. I’ll think of you, because I will be watching your face every second. I want to
watch
you. I want to see every flicker of feeling that crosses your expressive face. I want to smell and taste every last bit of you, Mary. I won’t close my eyes for a second.” There would be no thoughts of Kraft in his mind when he took Mary to his bed.

Mary trembled and her scent of desire sharpened. “You don’t want me, you want—”

He stopped her again by stroking the sensitive skin behind the cup of her knees. “I want you. Only you. I’ve never met a woman like you.” He sighed. “I can’t tell you why I want you any more than I can bite my own teeth, but I do. Not just your body, which”—he gave her a smoldering gaze—“entices me mightily, but it’s you. The way you walk, talk, what you say, what you don’t. Your voice, your eyes, your way of looking at me and touching me. Your scent.” Breathing deeply, he tasted her confusing, conflicting and terribly compelling scent. “Your scent is unlike any I’ve ever known, Mary.”

His honesty shocked her, because she pulled back, wriggling away from him on the fainting couch. “If you are at my whim, Commander, if I am in charge, then I insist you put me in a ship right now.”

“I said within reason. That isn’t—” Three short beeps from his wrist com cut him off. With a deep groan of irritation, he climbed reluctantly to his feet and opened the channel. “What?” His voice carried every bit of his sexual frustration and then some. Why did Duster pick the worst moments to interrupt?

“Commander? Is Mary with you?” Duster’s voice crackled with pressed urgency over the com.