Into His Command Page 6

  His head jerked against mine. “I have. Creator help me.”

  “Why?” I strained the anger from my voice only because of the pain in his. “Why, Syn?”

  He wrapped his hand around mine. Used the tension of the hold to push back by a rough step. He had the balls to keep looking at me, though his stare was still tormented. “I cannot want this. Want you like this.”

  “Dammit. I’m not a girl anymore, Samsyn!”

  “I am well aware of that, astremé.”

  “Then…what? Is it because I’m American? An outsider?” I wanted to bite it back as soon as he glowered harder. The assumption was ridiculous, since few in Arcadia had championed King Evrest’s choice of an American bride like Samsyn, but I had little else to grab at. “Then what? Why are you glaring like this is wrong? You want me. And I sure as hell want you. Since the moment you bent over my hand, on the night I arrived—”

  “Dammit!” He spun, clawing back his hair again. “Brooke…please.”

  Over the cliff, all right.

  My heart hit bottom in the emotional valley below, splintering harder because of the height to which he’d already made it soar. It made me whirl then stumble, heading the only direction that felt right. But even surrounded by the full beauty of the rotunda, I shuddered as if he’d tossed me into a freezing cave.

  What the hell was wrong with him? With this? With wanting it?

  The air vibrated as he stalked over too. The power of his presence pushed into the rotunda, the massive T of his posture on the threshold reflected in the round glass.

  “You are angry.”

  I tossed my head back on a bitter laugh. “Give the prince extra points.”

  He growled. “This—us—confounds me. I cannot—”

  “Believe you’re actually attracted to the silly little refugee?” I snapped my head back down. “The fool who’s mooned after you for six damn years? I’ll bet you didn’t even plan on us being here that long. I’ll bet you even hoped it would be a few months, then I’d be gone.”

  He muttered another Arcadian oath. Ding, ding, ding. Way to hit that target, girlfriend.

  But then he lifted his head—with pure accusation in his stare. “Yes, dammit. I prayed they would find Kavill swiftly, and your family would leave the island.” His fingers clenched the archway’s edges, tips turning stark white. “But not because I could not bear you here. It was because I did not know what to do about you…about what you did to me.”

  My teeth ground. Shit. Just when I’d made up my mind about being pissed-off at his arrogant ass, he proved his head was nowhere near it. That his heart was in even more alluring places.

  “I have never met anyone like you, Brooke Valen. Nobody brighter, bolder, cleverer, smarter…yes, even on that night when you first stepped off the plane, so terrified yet so full of fire. Tossing your bright, choppy hair, calling me ‘big guy’—”

  “You like it when I call you that.”

  “I like it when you call me anything.”

  Well, shit.

  My chest twisted. My eyes stung. My chin wobbled, fighting off the heavy burn of emotion—even as he swayed forward, leaning his powerful body in, making me hear and feel the sincerity in his words.

  “No one has ever made me feel as you do, Brooke. No one has ever looked and seen what you do.”

  My knees were butted against the window seat. I pushed off, re-approaching him. “And what do I see, Syn?”

  His lips firmed. Then smiled. “The good.”

  My own lips pursed. “I don’t…understand. How does anyone not see that?”

  “Oh, starlight.” He sighed, indulgent as if explaining playground rules to a child. I visibly prickled. He ignored me and went on, “I do not have a degree on my wall, as my brothers and sister do. I cannot quote classic novels or poetry. I do not know the Table of Elements, or even the damn Dewey decimal system. I do not rely on books to tell me facts. I learn things for myself, through instinct and attention and guts. Because of that, I am often labeled as the Cimarron good at but two things.”

  I kicked up a brow. “Fighting and fucking?”

  He matched the expression. “You do catch on.”

  “I’ve also lived in your kingdom for six years. And heard the same labels. But that’s all they are, Syn. Stupid labels.” I waited for his gaze to return to mine—as I knew it would. Needing the connection as much as I did. “You’re more than that.”

  “But maybe…I should not be.” That took us right back to the realm of quiet, cryptic, and confusing. “Not now, Brooke,” he emphasized. “Not to you.”

  I didn’t mask how that felt like a slap. “Why?”

  “Because believing anything else would be…”

  “What?” I bit it out and didn’t care. Until this afternoon, I’d always just accepted his purposeful distance, assuming there was nothing I could do about it. I figured he’d mentally frozen me at the age of eighteen, and that was that. Learning that wasn’t the case had brought the most exhilarating thrill—and the most maddening perplexity. “Would be what, Samsyn?”

  He gripped the walls harder. His arms coiled, straining the sleeves of his Henley. He finally broke the tension, baring his teeth—and rasped one word through them.

  “Pointless.”

  Forget words being slaps. This was a gut punch. I staggered back from the force, fighting nausea—and rage. All the years I’d waited for this. Ached for him. Yearned for a time when we’d be able to free our feelings into actions and passion and connection that was so right and so good…

  Pointless?

  I couldn’t think straight anymore. Nor did I try to.

  Three steps, pounding and furious. One grab of his elbow, hell-bent and hard-gripped. I destroyed his pose in the doorway—yeah, you big ox, this is me, pissed at you—before slamming him against the wall, as hard as I could. Didn’t give him a chance to process his shock before kissing him with just as much violent need.

  “Mmmmph!”

  His lusty grunt was finished by a guttural moan, torqueing my drive higher. I was enraged and empowered, and it felt amazing. I clawed into his jaw with one hand, his scalp with the other.

  At first, his lips opened, giving into a wave of shocked surrender. Then he started fighting back. Grabbed at my forearms. Finally, seized hard enough to shove me back by a step.

  I didn’t wait to reclaim the space. Reached up at him, delving for the passionate kill again—until he bared his teeth once more. “Stop. Stop, damn you!”

  “Damn you.” I refused to surrender the lock of our glares. He was going to see me, dammit. He was going to look into the pit of my soul, and see every drop of confusion and pain roiling there. “How dare you. How dare you do this, Samsyn. And don’t you dare glower at me like that. I’m not your fucking baby sister, who’s just pulled the dog’s tail and blamed you for it. How the hell do you get off finally exposing your heart to me—the heart I’ve honored all these years, cherished all these years—then call the whole thing pointless!” I leaned back over, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You aren’t pointless. We aren’t pointless!”

  He let go of me—to drive both his fists down against the wall. The rotunda’s windows visibly shook. I welcomed the impact. Even wished he’d do it again. Maybe then my hurt and rage would get their perfect expression.

  The corners of his eyes tightened. Again he parted his lips, exposing the feral gnash of his teeth. “My heart,” he echoed from between them. “You think this is me showing my pretty little heart?” Suddenly he was in motion, pushing past me, pacing in front of the window seat. A terrible sound vibrated through him, a snarl and moan mixed. “You cannot have my damn heart, Brooke. No one can. I am the commander of all the warriors of Arcadia. I am not allowed to have a fucking heart!” He splayed his hands up again, this time stamping their fury into the main window pane over the seat. “You have honored nothing. Cherished…nothing.”

  It wasn’t like another slap. Or a punch. But God, there was pain. So
much of it, in so many torturous new ways, tearing me deeper than ever before. From the midst of it I reached out, grabbing at the only comfort I knew would work.

  Him.

  It didn’t make sense. I didn’t want it to. I only knew that imagining a world without him—my world without him—was like an alcoholic pondering a life of drinking water. He might be the poison that killed me, but one last minute with him was better than years without him.

  I greedily gathered up his shirt, using my crawling fingers to drag back over. He let out that sound again, though the groan of it took precedence now, as I forced him to face me. I breathed him in, all the leather and cinder and wind of him, and burrowed right into him…

  Before I simply climbed him.

  Yeah, right up him. I whimpered as I went, becoming his needing, wanting, ninja-bitch in heat, letting him grip me as easily as he would a doll. His breath was hot on top of my head…then the side of my neck, the space over my mouth—

  Before he claimed me there again. Openly. Wantonly. Smashing his tongue against mine in time to what his hands did to my ass, sliding the core of my body tighter against the ridge of his…

  Oh God, he was big.

  And hot.

  And perfect.

  In less than a minute, my sex was soaked. I knew it with certainty as I writhed my pulsing cleft against his growing length, riding his erection as thoroughly as he’d allow. His strength banded me. Guided me. Controlled me.

  I didn’t ever want him to stop.

  I didn’t ever want this to end.

  When our mouths broke apart, he growled into my neck. The sound turned my blood to fire. The harsh heat in his stare flared along my skin, once more zapping the sensitive tissues between my thighs…especially as he widened his stance, compelling my gaze downward.

  Getting a chance to look at him—

  there.

  Even in the shadows, he was huge. Perfect, bulging man…perfect, bulging erection. I swore it grew bigger as I watched, pushing at his crotch, speaking his meaning to me with blazing, blatant, beauty.

  A meaning as undeniable as my own breath.

  Or the words in my heart…as I pressed a hand over his.

  “If this is nothing, what’s the harm in giving it to me for a night?”

  Chapter Six

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  I THINK HE actually considered answering me. As if he had that choice. As if either of us did.

  I showed him that truth, deliberately and passionately, slanting my mouth to crush the truth into him with every last inch of my lips. Sometimes, oxen had to be dragged to water.

  I was half a breath away—only to be forcibly jerked back. His hand, jammed into the ends of my hair against my nape, stopped me like a pull cord on a doll. I didn’t resist. The nip of pain was…exhilarating. The force of his strength, radiating across my scalp…even better.

  My breath clutched. My heart pumped to accommodate it, thumping between my breasts, which sharpened, tingled, pulsed…so damn aware of how Syn stared at me now. Like he’d never looked at me before. His eyes were a beast’s, sharp and all-seeing, not letting me move or breathe without his alert assessment.

  His lips parted again.

  To release a burst of warm air down my neck.

  Before plunging his lips against it.

  Then his tongue, wet and thirsty. Then his teeth, hot and hungry. Then his lips again, sucking in, abrading my skin, gnashing over my carotid, my ear, my jaw—back to my lips, where he took over the kiss I’d begun, turning it completely into his own.

  He shoved me open, pushing his mouth into mine, forcing my legs tighter around him. The extra contact of our bodies was significant—and intense. Feelings, primal but foreign, tore in. My skin sizzled. My body shuddered. I clung to his neck, moaning from the magnificence of him straining…hardening…everywhere.

  “By the Creator.” He rasped it between harsh breaths. His face lifted, revealing the conflict across his beautiful features. “I have forced myself not to think of you like this. Fought it so deeply, over and over again…”

  “And I’ve thought of nothing else.”

  His groan was so deep, it vibrated his body and mine. I gripped him tighter, a well-timed action with his whoosh of motion, lowering me to the window seat. He followed me down, securing my legs around him as he dropped to his knees. Through every motion, his muscles flexed with sensual economy, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. It made me wonder how many times he had done this before—but that right wasn’t mine. I’d asked him only for this, only for now. Those were the terms I’d accepted, and I had to live with them—

  No matter what impression I got otherwise, once our gazes met again.

  Holy hell.

  I felt like the Rosetta Stone, the Regent diamond, and a gold double eagle melted in one revered piece. The feeling intensified as he dipped his stare, roaming slowly over me. His gaze was hypnotic blue glass. His nostrils flared slowly. His jaw visibly clenched. His hands, now free, skated over my thighs, glided in at my waist, then explored up and over my navy nylon workout shirt. Higher. Higher…

  His palms cupped my breasts, possessive and determined.

  I gasped from the heat, immediate and hot.

  “Fuck.” He pinched in, feeling me getting erect even through my sports bra. “They are…as exquisite as I imagined.”

  I circled my hands back, pushing at the seat cushion, arching higher for him. “More.” My throat clutched as he cocked both brows. I wondered if his other lovers had openly demanded things from him. The thought stabbed me with insecurity, making me add a whispered, “Please. More, Samsyn. Please.”

  Maybe the begging was a good idea. It seemed to unhinge something inside him, turning his growl bright and fierce, his stare raw and feral. And his touch…ohhh, that was the best part of all. He turned bold—and brutal. I gasped from the stabs of erotic pain, which made the world fall away even more. Gone were all the logistics, lists, action plans, and other stresses from the day. Our world was only the lake’s reflected waves, the moon’s watchful glow, and the joy of discovering each other in this stolen, perfect bubble.

  He pinched my breasts harder.

  I cried out louder.

  “Yes!” Arousal drenched my bloodstream. My muscles went to liquid. I was on fire…everywhere. How many times had I watched those hands take down a sparring partner, masterfully handle a sword, or even tie his damn shoes, only to imagine them on my body like this? Exactly like this. Huge. Powerful. Arousing. Commanding.

  Now…against my skin too.

  In seconds, his fingers skated beneath my top then raked my waist and rib cage. He pushed harder, dragging the material upward, before dictating, “Get this off. Your bra, too. I will have you bare for me, woman. Now.”

  I was grateful for my years of familiarity with workout clothes. In a minimum of motions, I’d complied with his bidding. He stripped to the same degree too. We tossed aside our shirts together, not caring where they went. Stares cemented to each other. Breaths rasping the air. Chests rising and falling, mine so pale and translucent, his so burnished and broad.

  “By the fucking Creator.” His fingers scraped up my back—as he tilted my torso up. “You are perfect.” He dipped his head, licking along my flesh before closing teeth around the bud atop my right breast. Agony. Ecstasy. Sinful, beautiful sensation. My breath escaped on a strangle. My nipple hardened like a diamond, coaxed to a more exquisite point by his damnably talented tongue. I dove a hand into his hair, twisting the thick strands, giving in to more pleas…silent this time.

  Don’t stop. Oh, please don’t stop.

  By the time he moved to the other breast, electric ribbons of heat tangled through my body, only to dissolve in the liquid fire between my legs. Air escaped me in irregular shots. My shudders became full shivers, arousal pelting me like raindrops in a growing storm. I splayed my other hand to his back, astounded by the ropes of muscle beneath my fingers. I’d come into contact with a lot of fighters’
bodies over the last three years. None of them felt like this. Samsyn Cimarron’s body belonged in another time, an era in which men were so stunning, people believed in things like giants and satyrs and demigods. The ripples tautened as he worked his lips over my flesh. He surged over me, pushing back until my head pressed against the glass…and my legs gripped him tighter.

  “You…make me perfect,” I whispered. “And alive. And,”—I shrieked a little, as he bit the side of my breast—“hot. Oh…so hot…Sams…”

  He took the last of it from me with the new seal of his lips. Raised up in order to plunge his tongue vertically, shifting one of his hands to grab my hair and yank my head back. His other hand stroked up from my breast, stretched across my neck, then braced my jaw, positioning me to keep taking his raw, carnal possession.

  “Sweet starlight.” Half his face was now masked by shadow. Only his eyes remained brilliant, irises like the night beams on the lake, telling me how high his own desire had risen. “You make me hot, too.” He teethed my lips and chin. “You burn everything away. You make it all…clean.”

  I almost gave in to a laugh. The last thing I wanted to be right now, especially with him, was clean. But the scorched honesty of his voice spoke to something deep within. He wasn’t talking about literal cleanliness. It was a stain inside him, visible even the night we first met, and had remained a shadow on his soul to this day. It faded when he was around me, which always eased my ache about it, but the blemish never quite went away.

  What would it take to make it go away?

  I moved my hands up. Framed the sides of his face. His skin was hot, even through the thick stubble. “But not all of it,” I rasped, tracing his lips with a thumb. “Let me in, Syn. Let me burn it all away.”

  He went utterly still. Only for a moment. That was all it took to see straight through to the truth I’d just struck—

  Before he shoved it all away.

  Jammed it down the same way he brought his hands down over mine. Swept it back, far into his darkness, as he swung my arms over my head. Deeper still, as he pinned my wrists to the window. Weighed it down like the cement block he turned himself into, pushing down on me. I mewled, reveling in his masculine bulk. Wanting it. Spreading wider as he twisted in, fitting his body harder against mine.