Night of the Hawk Read online

  No! Can’t happen!

  Briefly, only briefly, he wondered who or what had ordered him to wrap himself in a predator’s mantle, but before he could think how or if he might free himself, the predator clamped hold of him. Powerful teeth closed around his soul and conscience, and he became one with his spirit.

  Strength surging through him, he sucked her loose flesh into his mouth. He was still closing his lips around her gift when she shrieked and tried to wrench to the side. Not releasing her, he clamped onto her knees and hauled her even closer. Her buttocks slipped off the edge of the couch, forcing her weight onto her spine and upper body.

  Good. She couldn’t fight him now, could barely breathe.

  He was more than a hawk now. Yes, Spirit’s single-mindedness continued to rule him, but in his mind he took a cougar as his guide. The woman quivering beneath him was no longer human but prey. A cougar might immediately break the neck of whatever creature it had run down, but he would play with his. Dominate and play.

  A deep breath pulled too much of her essence into him; if he continued to handle her this way, he risked losing the battle. Distance. He needed distance.

  Releasing her soft outer flesh and backing away might have been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he had no choice. Standing, he drew her out and away from the couch until only her shoulders remained on the couch and her knees on the ground. Not giving her the chance to regain her balance, he untied the rope from around her waist but left it knotted to her bound hands. If she asked what he had in mind, he wouldn’t be able to answer, because that unholy force had hold of him, and he was nothing more than the instrument of that force’s determination.

  Giving up self-control, he draped the loose rope between her legs. “Stand up,” he ordered.

  When she only looked up at him, he slapped her flank. “Now! Stand.”

  Awkward and gasping, she struggled to obey. She was still in the process of standing when he tugged on the rope and forced her hands down to her crotch. Then he maneuvered the rope between her legs and up so it settled into her crack. Keeping the rope taut, he began walking toward the bedroom, which forced her to stumble backward after him.

  “Stop, oh, please, stop! This can’t—you can’t—”

  He silenced her with a jerk. “No more talking,” he ordered. “If you do, I’ll gag you again.”

  She was crying, not the kind of sobs he’d heard from a woman’s throat before, but a mix of fear and anticipation. He had her, not all the way yet, but growing closer. Not giving her the opportunity to look where he was hauling her, he continued walking. Maintaining tension on the rope caused it to press against her cunt and forced compliance out of her.

  When the bedroom’s familiar surroundings were around him, he stopped, tugging up and lifting her onto her toes. He loved her futile attempts to pull her hands away from her crotch, and although he briefly let her think she might be capable of winning the battle, he soon ended it via another harsh tug that again forced her onto her toes. Reaching around her, he claimed a nipple.

  “You’re a wild horse,” the man beast he’d become told her. “But by the time I’m done, you’ll be tamed.”

  “No, oh, please, no!”

  “Silence!” He slapped her breast. And when she tried to twist away, he slapped her again.

  Maybe he should have praised her ability to learn when she stopped struggling, but right now he didn’t trust himself to speak. Hated himself. Casting around, his gaze landed on the head of his four-poster bed. This time when he pulled on her leash, she dropped her head and backed up. Something perverse took hold of him as he knotted the rope to the top of the bed so she couldn’t settle onto the balls of her feet.

  Stepping away from his prisoner, he folded his arms over his chest and studied her. Her hands were all but between her legs, her legs spread as she fought to keep pressure off her cunt. Having to lean forward made it difficult for her to keep her head up, but maybe she was staring at the floor because she wanted nothing to do with him.

  He wasn’t a horseman, and he’d never so much as thought of capturing a wild animal. But seeing her like this filled him with dark heat. He almost believed he could fly like his spirit, fly and dive and tear and kill.

  No, not kill her, but close.

  Leaving her helpless and gasping, he went out to his truck for her belongings. Part of the force that had overtaken him told him to study her notes and go through her laptop now, but that would have to wait because he couldn’t wait to get back to her.

  On his way to the bedroom, he glanced over at his kitchen. There on the countertop stood a wooden block filled with knives. Selecting one, he took it with him. The moment he passed through the doorway, darkness again crowded around him. Spirit had claimed him, captured him as surely as he’d captured the female.

  The cords pressing against Smokey’s labia distracted her from trying to determine what her captor had in mind. Her leg muscles burned, but that was nothing compared to what was happening to her sex. Not painful, not really, something more, something she couldn’t begin to wrap her brain around.

  When her nerve endings warned her that he was back, she lifted her too-heavy head. Had he become larger? That was impossible, of course, but there was something different about him—more of the beast she’d sensed and seen before, less of the articulate human being who’d argued against development. Did anything of that intense and committed man still exist, or had everything funneled into the primitive? He hadn’t harmed her, she reminded herself. Roped and tied and teased and taunted, yes, but no pain.

  Knife! He was holding a knife.

  “No! No!” The more she twisted, the deeper the rope bit into her; the sensation surrounded her with memories of sex and climax, but she couldn’t make herself hold still. “Please, no.”

  “Shut up!”

  What was that, an order or a growl? Whatever it was, it penetrated her fear—she was afraid, wasn’t she? Shaking from the effort of doing as he’d commanded, she watched, fascinated, as he took one slow step after another. Closer, closer, his heat reached out to stroke her skin.

  Looping his fingers around her bra, he drew her toward him. Memories swamped her of being gagged and having her legs tied, but maybe the restraints weren’t responsible for her dumb compliance. All she knew was that her existence revolved around him, and she didn’t want it any other way.

  The knife should still have unnerved her, should have forced fresh screams out of her. Instead she watched and waited while he severed the bra straps and sawed through the bra in front. Tugging the ruined garment off her, he dropped it to the floor. She thought he’d do the same with her sweatshirt, but once he’d sliced it from neck to hemline, he only pulled it away from her breasts.

  Idly stroking the dull side of the knife, he studied her until she thought she’d explode from his unblinking scrutiny. Growling like some demented animal, she kicked at him but couldn’t reach him. Brought up short by fresh pressure on her pussy, she glared.

  “Do it!” she demanded, though she wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish by her order. “Just get it done.”

  His expression revealing nothing, he stepped to her side, where her foot couldn’t reach, and cupped a hand under the naked breast closest to him. The instant he touched her, she lost a piece of herself. Maybe she could have tried to shake him off, but she wanted him to touch her, to manhandle, if that’s what he had in mind. Not watching Mato freed her from a certain responsibility. She could simply exist, simply feel and anticipate.

  A large area rug near the bed covered much of the hardwood floor. The Navajo design surprised her, but maybe he’d chosen it in respect for all things Native American. Where had he found it? That’s what she’d think about: a wilderness man stepping into a store in search of something to protect his feet.

  A pale, swirling fog slipped between her and images of him sorting through rugs. Even with the mist sliding through and around her thoughts, she was keenly aware of his commanding fin
gers. He could be gentle and firm at the same time, caress and control with a single touch. At first she wasn’t sure why he kept lifting her breast only to release it, but she soon understood. Every time his fingers pressed against her she was reminded anew of how much she needed the contact. He was toying with her, wasn’t he, a cat batting about a hapless mouse. Only, he was no cat.

  “I don’t want this,” she lied. “Damn it, don’t you understand! I don’t—” His hand around her throat silenced her. Dropping the knife, he gripped her wrists with one hand, pulling her hands away from her body and increasing the pressure on her cunt. Despite her struggles, his hold on her didn’t slacken, which taught her a vital lesson. As long as she remained his plaything, he’d allow her to breathe and think, but if she tried to take back ownership of her body, she’d be punished.

  Punished? No, not that. Something delicious. Something that pulled her back into the fog where the words captive and captor didn’t exist.

  He must have achieved his purpose because as soon as she stopped resisting, he released her throat, and the tension against her pussy slackened. Her sex juices kept the rope glued to her, but she made no attempt to shake it loose. Instead she waited, anticipated, prayed he’d touch her again. And when he sucked a breast into his hot mouth, she nearly collapsed.

  Having him suckle and nibble her sex lips earlier had nearly been her undoing, but she should be used to lightning running through her veins by now, shouldn’t she? There was only so much stimulation the human body could handle, right? When the limits had been reached, the body shut down in self-defense, didn’t it? Diminishing returns, that’s what she’d tell him. Give it up. I can’t take any more, can’t feel—

  Sucking her deep, opening his mouth as far as he could and all but swallowing her breast, he left the other neglected and crying. And then—and then slowly he released her but stopped with her nipple surrounded by damp heat and his teeth sliding over the hardened nub. She shivered, shuddered, fought to remain still, fought to keep her cries locked within her.

  Oh, damn, his tongue now, repeatedly flicking her nipple. Heat and lightning flooding her throat and spreading everywhere. So much fire building beneath the damnable rope and needing him in her. Empty and weeping her pungent juices, afraid of but worshipping her body at the same time. Thanks to him, she felt things she had never felt, and she sensed the promise of even more ecstasy.

  “Can’t—I can’t—can’t. Can’t.”

  His teeth locked around her nub to hold her breast prisoner while he bathed her nipple. The mist kept building, heating and expanding, spinning her into its center. No longer able to put words together, she used her hands to rub the rope over her labia. There. Just beyond her reach and vision, an end to wanting. A little longer, the rope massaging and drawing her deep into herself.

  Let him think he’s in charge. I’ll show him, get off, teach him that he doesn’t own me after all!

  Lightning had turned the fog into a white-gold, and her pussy had begun to seize when he spat out her breast. A sound like a wounded and lost animal escaped her raw throat. Then he freed the rope from the bedpost. When he kicked her legs apart so he could draw the rope from between them, she couldn’t kill her defeated whimper. She again began to care what he intended for her when he lifted her arms over her head. Short seconds later he’d spun her around and again tied her to the post.

  Although she could turn a few inches to one side or the other, the short tether had her facing the bed. She could bend her elbows to keep strain off her shoulders, but that was scant comfort because her backside was now presented to him.

  Her ass, within his reach. His to do with what he wanted.

  Just thinking about the possibilities sent fluid leaking down her inner thighs. Though she’d never allowed a man to ass-fuck her, she’d given the act serious thought. Thought nothing! More than one session with her vibrators had come to a successful conclusion because she’d built a fantasy around having a cock in her bunghole. As for the fantasies themselves…

  Wiping the sweat on her upper lip on her upraised forearm, she prayed Mato couldn’t guess what she was thinking. How had it gotten to this? Her world reduced to helpless arms and an all-but-naked body because—because why? What did Mato want from her?

  Hawk. Hawk Spirit.

  His body pressing against her back and his arm clamping around her breasts ended the irrational thought. Before, she’d fought him, but now she was incapable of movement beyond letting her head loll to the side. The pressure on her breasts blinded her to everything else, and he handled them as if they belonged to him. Kneading and pressing by turn, he guided her into a place without form or end. She drifted, waves of sensation rocking her, his body’s heat infusing her. Small whimpers escaped her, and she imagined the quiet cries rising until her mist engulfed them. She could no more fight his impact than she could stop breathing.

  The hand not on her breasts tightly wrapped around her waist, making her wonder if he thought she’d try to break free, but there wasn’t anything she wanted less. He had use for her, a use she didn’t understand but that kept her close to climaxing. It would take so little to fly apart.

  The thought of his hand between her legs started her panting and darkened the sensual fog she now believed would remain as long as he was around. To be possessed and manipulated, to have screams forced out of her, to beg—

  Would she beg him to fuck her? She was that far gone?

  No, a small and deeply buried voice screamed. She wasn’t his slut, she wasn’t!

  14

  Propelled by the insistent voice, Smokey tried to pull out of Mato’s hold. But, his muscles tense and hard and wonderful, he effortlessly drew her back against his erection. Empowered by proof of his response, she set her mind and body to turning his weakness into her strength by pressing her buttocks against him.

  “Damn you,” he muttered, his breath boring into the side of her neck.

  She thought he’d force her off him, maybe by swatting her all-too-available ass. Instead the hand at her waist switched to her belly, where he prodded and pushed until she sagged. A moment later, she planted her legs under her and surged forward.

  The instant she did, the hand on her belly plowed between her legs. Cupping her mons, he pulled her toward him. His damnable jeans imprisoned his cock, making her wonder how he could stand the pressure.

  Hoping to force his thoughts onto himself and off whatever he intended for her, she ground her ass against the hard lump, but though his quickened breathing said she was putting him through hell, his fingers continued their invasion. Her mons belonged to him, trapped within his grip, being shaken and prodded. And his fingertips! Damn them for breaching her wet folds and entering—entering her!

  No, damn you, no!

  She caught her breath, certain he’d gag her again, but when he started stroking her with a knowing finger, she realized she hadn’t spoken aloud after all.

  The mist was inside her now, warm and soft, living fingers gliding over her nerves and slipping into her veins, filling her heart with something she didn’t understand, melting her. She didn’t trust him, she didn’t! And yet even as his nails brushed her labia and clit, she depended on him to keep her upright. It didn’t matter that the touches were little more than butterfly kisses right now: they found their way to her womb.

  His cock should be in her, damn it! That’s what her pussy had been designed for, to house and shelter and sometimes torture a man’s cock. He only had to touch her to send her careening off the edge. Much more, and she would no longer be able to stand.

  Don’t let it happen! Resist—resist everything!

  Propelled by her rocketing thoughts, she twisted to the side and pushed her hip at him. Though she wasn’t sure what part of his anatomy she’d connected with, she continued her assault. He was trying to get away, moving in counterbalance to her while still gripping her cunt. Sweat bloomed everywhere, and her head roared; she loved this! Loved it!

  A bruising grip
around her waist lifted her off her feet. Startled, she tensed, waited. Not letting her down, he slid a finger into her and with the invasion put an end to her resistance. Strength flowed from her to leave her rag-doll weak. His finger dove deeper until his palm pressed against her cunt lips to capture them as securely as her hands were. Fire lapped at the base of her throat. Letting her head fall back onto his shoulder, she stared without seeing at the ceiling.

  What was holding a naked and turned-on woman like for him? Was his body control so complete that his erection was little more than an annoyance? No, don’t let it be like that for him, don’t! If she was the only one in trouble—

  Assaulted by a fresh wave of anger, she tried to kick back. Though he had no trouble dodging her, he set her back on her feet. The hold on her waist slackened, so she no longer had to work at breathing, but he’d completed his task without his finger slipping out of her, and how could she cling to her anger with that going on?

  Standing took a great deal of concentration, and she was slow to comprehend the reason behind the deep-seated stretching. A second finger was joining the one she was impaled on! Not a cock, not that ultimate of gifts and power, but wonderful just the same!

  Wonderful and wanted? What was she thinking? A reasoning woman would call on everything in her to fight the sensations, to let the damn bastard know he wasn’t going to win this battle, but she wasn’t thinking. Fog encased, she bent her knees and rocked her pelvis forward in invitation.

  He responded by pushing home, by then withdrawing a little only to again shove his fingers as deep as they would go. Yes, fucking her, finger-fucking his sex doll while she danced like some damnable marionette. She grunted like a pig, squeezed and rocked and sweated. Gone. All gone.

  Release from the terrible and incredible, hot tension that preceded a climax was a millimeter away and well within her grasp. Squealing in delight, she clamped her muscles around those knowing, no-nonsense fingers and threw back her head so she could breathe.