Torture (Siren Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Milla

It should be relaxing, Calder's fingers in my hair. But knowing he's seeing me like this... he's
basking
in it... it takes the joy out of contact that, at least on the surface, is intended to comfort. It reminds me of that first night, him sending me over the edge, feeling me come around him, after he tied me down. I finally gather my anger enough to meet his eyes, to dare him to see every way he'll suffer in my glare.

But there's nothing in his face but confusion and concern. No gloating, no smugness, or tightly-concealed enjoyment of my pain.

I should still shove him away. Just because he's a better actor than I gave him credit for doesn't mean I should pretend this is any kind of altruism.

He doesn't apologize, doesn't talk. But his eyes freeze me in place, stock-still under his hands,  as he steals the bloodlust and anger. He sinks to his elbow, and then to his back, on the sub-floor, his eyes still locked to mine. Our faces a foot apart, my chin propped on my arms, and nothing left but us, peeping at each other's souls through the shutters.

My hair falls across his face and neck, and his hand drifts up to my cheekbone. I shiver at the gentility in his touch.

I open my mouth, ready to tell him to piss off, consequences be damned, and his thumb glides over my lips, sliding between them and brushing my tongue. “Shhh, Milla. You don't have to talk about it. I'm here anyways.”

I blink, my momentum hijacked by the new direction. He’s fixated on my lips, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize why. Not with his pants tenting more by the second, and the pad of his finger against my tongue.

My body reacts to his closeness, to the protective tone, false though I know it is. His gentle rumble brings goosebumps to my arms, and sets my blood moving. “I don't need you here,” I grumble, as much of my real feelings as I dare let loose.

“I know. But I'm here anyways.” He arches his neck to bring the tip of his nose close enough to brush mine, before dropping his head back. But his thumb is still against my lips, and it's plain that the motion of me talking hasn't encouraged him to pull it away.

I turn my head to the side to shake him loose, but that doesn't help. The one side still puts us in each other's eyeline, or and turning my chin the other way makes me uncomfortably aware of how hard he is, just from my former proximity. Still, that's much easier to handle. I leave my chin pointed toward his legs, though my scalp still itches from his eyes on it.

His bare toes are comically knobby. That shouldn't be making me smile. It's nice knowing he has some rough edges; even with his hair disheveled and something more prominent than a five o'clock shadow, he's still retained some manner of magnetism.

“Can I come up there?”

“What?”

“I won't make a move on you. I promise. But things are shitty enough without you having to suffer alone. And there's not quite enough room for me down here—now I know how a Tetris piece feels.” It makes me rethink my earlier conclusion. What if he
wasn't
goading me about my family, and just truly
does
believe in us being a cohesive group? At the very least, I don't want him wary or upset, not for what I have planned. I can't turn him away.

“You
won't
make a move. Really.”

“No, silly. I won't.” Recognizing that he's already won the war, he gathers himself to stand. “Now scoot over.”

I obey.

He slides in next to me, shifting me slightly left of center in my rounded bed. The slope of the walls rolls me into him more than I'd like, but at least he seems to be less on edge with his arm around me. I screw up my face, knowing he can't see it, and take the comfort for what it's worth.

“We're gonna be okay, Milla.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, now that he doesn't have to project it very far. “I know it.”

His quiet confidence makes me bite my lip.
We'll see about that
.

“I know things seem bad. But we'll be okay. We just have to keep calm, and take care of each other.”

Is that so?

“I promise, lady—” For a moment there, I could swear his lips were about to shape a different word, a different term of endearment. I don't want to know
what
. I don't dare ask. The first night we met, he called me birdie. If he remembers that, I’m gonna have some fast-talking to do. But the danger’s passed. “I'll take care of you. All of you. I've got you.”

His arm tightens around me, and his fingers catch on the hem of my sleeve. I lose myself in the cadence of his voice, almost believing him. Almost wanting him to be right.

Damnit, Calder. How
dare
you fucking do this to me? Talk about how things'll be okay, when it's
your
fault they fucking
aren't
.

I can't resist twisting to look at him, looking for some lie in it. Something to anchor the world under me. But it's a mistake. The moment I'm close, some primal force tugs us, our lips inching closer slowly, both of us unable to pull away.

“You lied.”

“What?”

“About not making a move.”

I stop talking, lest I feel his lips move against mine again.
Damnit, DAMNIT. Pull
away
. You can tell him to fuck himself; he promised this was only about comfort, not about his predatory urges.

“I guess I did.” He sounds bemused, just as uncertain why neither of us is moving. “What're you scared of?”

“
What
?”

“You're scared. Of something. Here. With me.”

Shit, shit, SHIT
. Distract him. It doesn't matter
how
.

I grab the back of his neck and pull his face the rest of the way against mine.

And it works. His tongue slides into my mouth eagerly, relieved to not have a reason to hold himself back. He turns to his side, the better to align every bit of his hard body against mine. He starts to pull back from the kiss, but I refuse to let him, pressing myself against him harder. My nipples bead to pebbles under my shirt, dragging against his chest. And his palm sprawls over my back, beckoning me closer yet.

I can't breathe. He's crushing me. Making me his. Overriding my self-preservation and antipathy toward him, leaving nothing but a burning hunger to see this through. To feel
alive
one more time, before I face a life without purpose. No—to feel
him
one more time before I finish things, and see my purpose completed.

His fingers linger on the button of my jeans, torn between desire and practicality. The words fly out of my mouth, adding wood to the fire before I can contain myself. “I've got an IUD.”

Why would I say that? What if he survives the next part, and I need to fake a pregnancy scare later?

But it's too late. The words hang between us, a bare second of hesitancy distorting the time between when his eyebrows raise, and his fingers work the button open.

My pants hang open on my hips, the last barrier between myself and insanity. And then they're gone, guided down along with my panties. His palms skim my thighs as he pushes the fabric away from me, and I kick them the rest of the way off, letting him slide his hands under my shirt next, cupping my breasts and tracing my nipples, folding the band of my sports bra above my breasts to brush skin instead of fabric.

His erect length presses against me, barely dulled by fabric, bringing a little reality back to me.
He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to make me vulnerable. I won't let it happen
.

And then I'm on my back, and he's loosing his cock from its confines. He thrusts and it slides against my slit, his breath huffing against my ear as we both struggle to be quiet, not to alert our companions of the stolen touches.

His skin's so warm, so intimate, hot with need between my legs. He drinks in my gasps, a mild smile spreading across his own lips. His body's so muscular under my hands, so powerful. Truly a worthy opponent. And I
will
defeat him. One moment of weakness doesn't make a loss. “
Re...
Stop—” I manage to force out. I don't dare admit that the word I started to say
first
was his safe word. A word I shouldn't know. That he can't know I already possess.

“Red. Remember that.”

The night he gave it to me, I promised I would break him. Turn his own lust against him, my weapons my cunt, my body, my manipulation. Not just the tools of my original plan: fire, steel, and fear.

He pulls back, inspecting my face for the reason behind my plea. “Don't worry. There's no rush.” His weightless smile's contagious. He kisses his way down my stomach, peeling my shirt up over my waist to feel the bare skin under his lips.

Before my wits have returned to me, his mouth is on my sex, his agile tongue fluttering over my clit, teasing the edges of my labia, and darting against my entrance as though he's dying to penetrate me any way he can—
every
way he can.

I stuff my wrist into my mouth to stifle the cries. I can't have Allen or Denise on edge. Can't have them horny, or resentful. I can't let them know the effect Calder's having on me.

But the effort to hold it in's overwhelming. When his fingers join his tongue, I'm all but done. How can I fight his plush lips, and the skilled way his tongue manipulates me. I might be a kickass liar who can lure him to his death like some mythological succubus, but truly
he's
the one with the devil's tongue.

The sound of footsteps above us rouses us like a blast of cold water. I heave a sigh of relief, and look up as though unnerved. Calder sighs, and crawls back up to me, obviously taken from the moment, too. He's zipping his pants. Self-consciously, I sit up to find mine, as quietly as I can.

I shimmy them up my hips, ignoring how my fingers are shaking from unrepentant need.

“This can't happen—” both Calder and I start at the same time, and we look away.

This can't happen. I can't fuck him like this.

“No—we shouldn't do this,” I repeat.

He sighs, and lies back again. “Probably not. But
fuck
, you taste natural. Familiar. Like you
belong
with me.”

“It's just the forced proximity,” I whisper. This whole charade is up if he realizes
why
he might unconsciously remember what I taste like.

He holds me close, both of us ignoring his poor unfulfilled but determined cock. Eventually, his eyelids drift shut, but his hand still enfolds mine. It takes me hours to calm my inner turmoil. But when I release his hand and slide away from him, I have a new sense of purpose. I'm more relieved than ever to be moving ahead with things.

He has a way of making things personal, and I just can't stomach any more of it. His kiss, his touch... it scares me, to think of
enjoying
it for intimacy's sake, not just tolerating it. I need to get the fuck away from him. I need to shake him up a little, shake up his confidence, and regain my own.

If I stay here another day with him, I don't know what'll happen. I don't know how many more times I can push him away. He enjoys weakening me entirely too much.

I can't fucking do this. I just need a few days to myself, to harden my resolve. And we've lingered long enough here. I have too much else to show them.

There was an extra heavy dose in their water; I'll need them
extra
out of it, to get the livestock separated for the slaughter.

When all's quiet, I get to work, re-embracing my original role. I've been spending enough time here that I think I'm beginning to lose a little muscle mass; I'll have to work out extra to maintain it, or just accept the extra soreness. Even the pain is welcome now, though. A distraction from the desire Calder awoke in me.

Their new rooms are all ready, but getting them there is a bit of a pain, since the elevators are defunct.

Denise is much lighter on my shoulders, now; if I've lost a little weight, she's lost a
lot.
It's a small blessing. I almost drop her once, when I trip on the stairs to the crew quarters, but it's a slight slip, not a full-on tumble.

I lock her in, and return for the last two.

I'm heaving deep, gasping breaths by the time I finish hauling Allen to
his
new residence. I lean outside his door, and wait for the stitch in my side to fade, before I return for Calder. Even just the stairs back down are an effort, and I sit next to him to recover my breath again. He's out
cold
. No danger to be had there.

Of all the nights for him to pass out on the sub-floor. It means an extra step, hefting him to the main catwalk, shoving his legs up too, climbing up, then picking him up again to start the real trip. I'm just not ready yet, not with my arms trembling from the effort. So I rest next to his boneless frame, tempted to tuck myself against his chest while I recover my breath, to still the anxious nerves. Even asleep, his presence is calming.