Night of the Hawk Page 10

  Her legs started jumping, quivering movements that caused her feet to tattoo the carpet. No matter how she twisted and rocked and tried to free herself from the couch and him, he remained with her. And when, gasping, she tried to surge upright, he rammed a finger deep inside her, stopped her.

  She hung on him, her juices flooding him, inner muscles clenching, sobbing, and sighing. Fearing herself.

  There. Gathering. Rolling over her.

  But just as her climax bit down, he pulled out of her and backed away. Heat burned her cheeks and throat. Her world was trimmed in red, exhaustion and disappointment swirling throughout her until she hated him with everything she had. In her mind, she pummeled him between the legs until his cock became a purple, swollen mass, but, in reality, the couch continued to cradle her worthless body.

  No, not worthless! Not his to break apart!

  Sitting upright took everything she had, but finally she achieved her goal. Her breasts felt as if they might explode, and her cunt still jumped. Convincing herself that her muscles were no longer stripped consumed too much time, and once reality settled itself around her, she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  Stand. Show him what you’re made of.

  A rebel voice taunted that she’d already given him undeniable proof of what little fortitude she had at her disposal, but she nevertheless pushed herself to her feet. Her panties stuck to her wet labia, and her hard nipples rubbed against her bra.

  “You damn bastard! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He folded his arms across his too-broad chest. “What you want me to.”

  “The hell I do!” If only she could do something about her flaming cheeks. “You have no right.”

  “Right has nothing to do with it, Smokey. This is about survival, yours and mine.”

  That couldn’t be regret in his voice, could it? The way he’d manhandled her left her with no doubt that he loved his superiority, didn’t it? Confused, she came too close to feeling sorry for him.

  The woods. That’s where she wanted to be. Alone.

  Acutely aware of how easy it would be for him to deny her, she walked over to the window and stared out. An amazing amount of sunlight reached the ground despite the surrounding trees, giving rise to thoughts of sitting outside in shorts and getting a tan.

  About to turn around, movement stopped her. Something was in one of the closest trees, its coloring nearly lost within the dark green. One second passed and then another as she gave whatever it was her full attention. It was looking at her. That’s what it came down to: it was focused on her.

  A hawk.

  12

  Icy fingers killed the heat Mato had infused in her, and yet Smokey was far from terrified. The most intense eyes she’d ever seen continued to scrutinize her. In self-defense, she stared back. Asked the hawk what it wanted of her. If the bird heard, it gave no sign. Neither, she believed, was it judging her. Yet.

  Sensing Mato’s presence, she shot a glance at him before again concentrating on the predator. “What is it doing here?” she asked.

  “Maybe hunting.”

  “No,” she snapped. “It’s not that, and you know it. Did you call it?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because…the picture you took…it made me think you and the hawk were on the same wavelength.”

  “We are.”

  “Are?” she repeated. “Then you did summon it.”

  “It’s more than that, Smokey, much more. Hawk is my spirit.”

  A memory of the ceremony that had taken place in the rain outside the schoolhouse distracted her. At that time, she’d believed it was simply that—a ceremony—but if there’d been something behind the prayer to the sacred salmon—no! What was she thinking? And yet…“Your spirit? What does it want of you?”

  She should be used to Mato’s silence by now, but his refusal to respond to her sarcasm grated on her nerves and helped to further dampen the flames he’d been responsible for. What would he do if she told him his damnable plan had backfired? It had, hadn’t it?

  “Don’t bother answering,” she said, her voice strong because she’d put effort into it, “because I don’t give a damn about that so-called spirit of yours. It’s outside. We’re in here.” She paused. “And I’m telling you to let me go.”

  “I can’t.”

  Much as she wanted to pull a further explanation out of him, she knew he’d tell her only what he’d decided she could and should know. Righteous indignation seeped out of her to be replaced by fresh awareness of his body. It had become a magnet calling hers into its inescapable strength.

  Telling herself to resist was useless because suddenly she wanted him as much as she had before. That’s all—she wanted him.

  Once again he used her tethered hands to force her from the window. The front door wasn’t that far away, but it might have been on the other side of the earth, for all the access she had to it. She noted the way her feet glided over the soft carpet and that she again smelled leather before Mato was done hauling her to the couch. Much as she longed to be sprawling on the couch again while his hands played her, rebellion filled her and might have spilled over if she hadn’t known how useless fighting him was.

  He’d roped his prey, hadn’t he? And now she was his.

  After positioning her so the backs of her legs pressed against the sofa seat, he released her and stepped away. Again studied her. Her legs weren’t model quality, her breasts average, her hair nothing more than hair. Why then did dark desire now rage in his eyes?

  You’re scaring me, she came too close to telling him.

  Only when he abruptly pulled her sweatshirt up over her bra did fear melt into something both familiar and new. She looked down at herself, seeing her swollen nipples through the fabric and feeling the weight of her breasts. His latest goal achieved, he stepped away from her, leaving her free and yet not free while his gaze roamed over what he’d just revealed. Her breasts began tingling. All too soon the sensation became something more intense, not painful but a world away from anything she could ignore. She wanted to squeeze and fondle and, yes, worship her breasts, to lift and cup them and challenge Mato not to touch them. If her hands were free, her breasts would be hers, and he’d have no right to them.

  But right now he did.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked and then shook her head because hadn’t she already thrown a similar question at him and not gotten an answer?

  Turning quickly, he looked at the window where she’d spotted the hawk, giving her no choice but to ponder whether there really was a link between human and creature. Before she could make sense of it, she again had his full attention. Not only that, but he was once more killing the too-small space between them. She saw his hands reaching for her, felt electricity arc through her pussy and breasts, froze when he gripped her bra and pulled it up over her breasts, exposing her.

  The combined pressure of her top and bra forced her breasts down and out. Although distorted, they represented one thing: sexuality.

  Standing so close their feet nearly touched, he caressed not her breasts but the base of her throat. The gesture was nearly gentle, nearly something lovers would do. Could they become lovers? she irrationally wondered. Under other circumstances, would they seek each other out? Tentative, casual conversations would become deeper and more meaningful as they learned to trust, as interest slipped into love.

  Love? No! Romance didn’t begin with captivity.

  But, then, hadn’t he been a dark stranger when she’d fucked him last night?

  Confused, she nearly handed him her questions only to swallow them because his fingers were no longer on her throat but brushing the tops of her breasts. A long, slow shiver snaked downward, and she unwisely pulled it deep inside her. Something pulsed between them. Her lips became numb; her vision again blurred. Weak, she spread her legs slightly but swayed nonetheless.

  Feeling disconnected from her mind, she gave herself up to his gent
le touches. There was something almost worshipful about the way his fingers explored the swollen flesh. Half believing he was no more sure of himself than she was made it easier to accept the lingering strokes. Wave after wave of something without a name traveled down her body to settle deep in her core. Her mouth sagged open, and she couldn’t be sure, but wasn’t she swaying in time with his breathing?

  Gentle. That’s what she couldn’t wrap her mind around. When he could and maybe wanted to be rough and masterful, he continued to handle her as though she was precious to him.

  He hadn’t expected to feel this way. How she had come to this conclusion, she couldn’t say. Neither did she understand why or how she’d been given access to his thoughts, but maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe nothing did beyond the heating air around them and his fingers touching every inch of her breasts.

  Dizziness washed over her, but although a niggling sense of alarm tried to make itself known, she shoved it aside because his thumbs and forefingers were closing down around her nipples. Another unsettling wave surged when he drew her breasts toward him only to fade as yet more heat channeled throughout her.

  Although she’d drunk to excess a handful of times, alcohol held little appeal because she hated losing control. What she was experiencing now wasn’t the same thing, and yet the similarities brought back memories of floating, of simply existing. Her brain existed, barely. Her body was hers to command, barely.

  She didn’t care.

  How could she lose control with him in charge? she pondered. Not that the answer mattered. Maybe his gentleness was what made it so easy for her to turn ownership of her body over to him. He hadn’t hurt her. Far from it—everything he’d done so far seemed designed to bring her pleasure.

  So far.

  Although she continued to feel as if she were drifting, she took note of the latest change. He’d already pulled her to him so her right side pressed against him, her leg sheltered and stimulated between his. One hand continued its sensual mastery of her breasts. The other…the other had slid beneath her panties and was gliding over her buttocks. Breathing deeply to forestall another wave of dizziness, she struggled to straighten only to give up the insane battle when he yanked her panties down around her knees and his fingers found the cleft between her ass cheeks.

  How strange to be grateful for her early morning shower. How strange to wonder if this was really what he wanted to be doing. Most of all, what remained of her mind questioned her utter acceptance of him.

  Cool fingers of sensation touched the back of her neck, giving her something new to focus on. The fingers—which were rapidly growing warmer—paused at the top of her spine and then began a downward journey that again opened her mouth and arched her back. Her temples began pulsing, the power there briefly alarming her. She might have shaken her head if not for the distraction of the fingers now pressing against her ass.

  He couldn’t reach her pussy with her legs this close together, he couldn’t! If only she wasn’t being tethered by her damnable underpants!

  No! She couldn’t possibly want them gone. They were all that stood between her and utter vulnerability. Not naked yet, she reminded herself as his embedded forefinger glided over her back entrance. She still had on her top and bra—not that they were doing what they’d been designed to do.

  So much change, so little she could comprehend or control.

  So little she wanted to?

  Was her mind melting? Was that why her body now seemed to be made up of disconnected parts? Her brain was both swollen and nonexistent, her legs little more than liquid fire, her spine both cold and hot, her breasts hard and heavy, arms straining to either embrace or reject him. She hated and loved her bonds, hated and adored everything about Mato Hawk.

  The hawk. Was it still out there watching, approving, maybe controlling Mato just as he was doing to her?

  Stopped in midsigh by the thought, she tried to look into his eyes, but the two of them stood too close for his features to be anything except a blur. The pressure against her asshole increased as his finger made small and tight swirling movements. Her chest was on fire, but from that or from the fingertip lazily circling her left nipple, she couldn’t tell.

  Too much! The contrast between firm and light more than she could handle! Mewling like some lost cat, she tried to twist free, only to be shoved back onto the couch. Free! She was free of him!

  A single look at the looming figure made a lie of her insane thought, but at least his hands weren’t on her and she could think again. Barely.

  “Don’t,” she managed. “Just don’t. I can’t take…I don’t want.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  Were his cheeks and throat flushed? And had his voice turned rough because he was warring with something inside him? She wanted to study his crotch but couldn’t think how to drag her attention off his face. She’d thought of him as beautiful, hadn’t she? Where had that thought come from, when the man was all dark energy and barely contained power, harsh and savage?

  And though she damned herself, she wanted that savage.

  Needed.

  13

  Despite the misfiring in his brain, Mato struggled to concentrate on his captive. He wanted to be doing what he was doing—he’d never deny that—but this task hadn’t been of his choosing.

  Maybe that’s what made him feel as if he were drowning.

  Even as he roughly yanked off Smokey’s panties, a part of him stood off to the side studying what the stranger he’d become was capable of. It was the darkness, that’s what made comprehension so difficult. Despite the welcome sunlight, night fluttered around him, and whenever he closed his eyes, it was as if he’d fallen into a deep well. Touching her kept him connected with reality. At the same time, her satiny skin and the scent of soap and arousal pushed him closer to the edge.

  Walk away. Turn your back on her and keep going.

  No, he admitted with his hands on her thighs and the smell of her swamping him, he could never do that, because Spirit waited outside.

  Need screamed at him in a way he hadn’t felt since his randy teenage years. Back then he’d been overwhelmed by sex’s power and unsure of himself. Now he understood the primal drive, understood that it existed equally between the sexes. All the man he’d become had to do was send a wordless message to a woman, and she’d either respond or ignore his invitation. Most times she responded, though it had never been as Smokey had responded and was still responding.

  Of course she is, he chided himself as his fingers moved of their own accord to the whisper softness of her inner thighs. He’d given her no choice; he’d forced himself on her.

  Then stop! Don’t make it like this between the two of you.

  I can’t; the choice isn’t mine.

  Made half sick by the internal argument, he shook his head. The fog lifted marginally and then settled over him again, forcing himself to toss his head while gripping her for balance. Though his surroundings came into focus, she remained in the fog, and he wondered if she was real or part of whatever spell had been cast over him.

  Hawk Spirit was responsible.

  And those who depended on him to safeguard their world.

  Tension had roped her leg muscles, but he now sensed a lessening to her resistance. Even though he couldn’t make out her expression, her sprawled-on-the-couch body spoke to him, gave up her secrets. Instead of her knees being clamped together, they sagged apart, and her cunt sent its aroma to him. As soon as it reached his lungs, it spread through his veins. The raging sexuality he’d thought he’d put behind him once he’d reached adulthood slammed into him and dropped him to his knees before her. He then pushed her knees apart and tugged her toward him so her ass barely touched the seat, placed his head between her legs, and commanded himself to taste her. To swallow her offering.

  His tongue delved deep and bold, and he easily slipped it between her sex lips to the hot, wet place where everything was centered. She jumped and quivered, writhed about on the couch, cried l
ike a lost soul.

  And although he was again standing at the well’s edge, he risked it all by licking her offering and bringing it into his mouth. Guided by that force he only half understood, he swirled his saliva and passion-drenched tongue over her labia until her shaking made that impossible.

  Rearing back, he blinked repeatedly. She was coming into focus now, and seeing the helpless look in her eyes strengthened his resolve. He’d break her down as Spirit had ordered him, wipe out everything she’d been and believed before him, and turn her into his sex slave, his needy and willing prisoner.

  Because if he didn’t accomplish—

  No! He wouldn’t kill her; he couldn’t!

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please. I can’t take…”

  Determined not to let her know she wasn’t the only one falling apart, he shoved her legs even wider and dove back in. As he did, she seemed to flow toward him. Did it frighten her to know she’d lost control, or was she too far gone to care? A twin of her weakness began flowing over him, but he ended it by gently closing his teeth around a labial lip and drawing it toward him.

  “No, no, no. Oh, god, no.”

  He might have believed Smokey’s plea if not for the wet heat that had made her flesh so slippery. That and the way her body now strained toward him gave away so many of her secrets.

  Good. Force her to reveal everything while keeping your own secrets.

  Maybe, he acknowledged, switching his hold to her other sex lip, but not if he couldn’t manage a stronger grip on his emotions. He was surrounded by her, his head trapped by her soft fullness, and her helpless whimpering tapping into his own sense of helplessness. Seducing a woman had always called for respect and consideration. Not needing to concern himself with her expectations today freed the beast. Instead of empowering him, however, the inner savage was being weakened by fear—of himself.