Home > The Story of Son(10)

The Story of Son(10)
Author: J.R. Ward

"Don't you do this," she snapped. "Don't shut me out."

As Michael froze, she sat up and wrapped her arms around him. "I swear I will go slowly. We can stop whenever you want."

"You will not . . . want what I have."

"Don't make up my mind for me. And if you're embarrassed, get rid of all the light."

After a moment, the room plunged into darkness.

She kissed his shoulder and eased him back to the pillows. Along the way, she found the tie to his robe and slipped it free.

His breath was coming in short bursts as she put her palms on his chest and stroked the pads of pectorals and his tight ni**les. She went lower, on to his ribbed stomach, the muscles clenching under his smooth, hairless skin—

She ran into the head of his erection and they both gasped.

Dear . . . Lord. It hadn't dawned on her that it would be that long. But then . . . he was big all over.

Michael jerked and hissed as she gripped him with her hand. God, he was too thick for her to close her palm around, but she knew how to treat him right. She stroked him up and down and he moaned and worked his h*ps instinctually.

"I am . . ." He made an incoherent noise. "I am . . . so close. Already so close."

She eased off, sweeping down to the base of him and—

Claire froze. And he stopped breathing.

There was something wrong. An abnormal ridge that went down to his—

"Oh, Jesus . . . Michael."

He pushed her hand away.

"You needn't finish me," he rasped.

She threw herself on top of him to keep him from running. "They tried to castrate you."

Thank God they hadn't succeeded. "Why? Why did they—"

His body trembled, but not from anything sexual this time. "Mother thought. . . it would help control me. But I couldn't let them do it. I hurt the doctor. Badly. That was when the chains came." He forced her off him and she heard the rustle of his robe going back on. "I am dangerous."

Claire's throat was so tight she could barely speak. "Michael—"

"But I would never hurt you."

"I know. I don't doubt that."

He was silent for a time. "I don't want you to see what I look like."

"I don't care about a scar. I only care that it's you. That is what matters." She reached her hand out through the darkness. When it found his shoulder, he jumped. "I want to keep going. I want my mouth on you, just like you wanted your mouth on me."

There was a long silence.

"I fear you," he whispered.

"Dear Lord, why?"

"Because I want you to . . . do what you said. I want. . . you."

"Then lie down again. Nothing that passes between us will ever be wrong. Come back to me."

She found his hands and tugged at them until he eased back into the pillows. Then she split the robe below the tie and took him into her hand. He was partially erect and he swelled against her palm, instantly hardening to stone. When she went down on him, the blunt tip of him parting her lips and filling her mouth, he called out her name and shoved into the mattress with his heels, his body going rigid.

He tried to pull her away. "I shall finish in your—"

"No, you won't. You're going to finish somewhere else." She found a rhythm with her hand and sucked his head and felt him shake and sweat and . . .

And when he was wild and raw, she released him and crawled up his chest.

"Make love with me, Michael. Finish inside me."

He groaned. "You're so small—"

She straddled his hips, ready to join them, but then she hesitated as he went totally still. God, now she knew what decent men felt like, the disquiet before taking someone for their first time. She didn't want to force him into it. She was desperate for him but only if it really felt right on both sides.

"Michael?" she said softly. "Are you okay?" He wasn't and the length of time it took him to say yes proved it.

"If you think I'm taking this too f—"

His arms shot around her. "What if I hurt you?"

"Is that your only concern?"


"You won't. I promise you." She stroked his chest. "I'm going to be fine."

"Then . . . please. Take me."

Thank God . . . "Let's roll over. You'll like it better that way." Considering his dominant streak, she knew that he'd get into being in control. "If you're on top, you can drive the—"

Man, he moved fast. She was on her back in a split second. But she moved just as quick, reaching in between them and positioning him against her.

"Push with your hips, Michael." He did and . . . "Oh, Christ."

"Oh . . ." he groaned.

She grabbed on to him and arched. He was huge inside of her and her thighs tightened up around his lower body as she adjusted.

"Do I pain you?" he grunted.

"You feel beautiful." She encouraged him into a rhythm of surges and withdrawals, a slow erotic dance she partnered perfectly. It was glorious, his body so heavy on top of her, his skin so hot, his muscles hard and fluid. "More, Michael. I'm not going to break. You can't hurt me."

He dug in and started to pound and suddenly she smelled something in the air, something coming off his body. The dark scent was his natural fragrance, only much, much stronger and with a different underlay that was all about sex. As he went wild on top of her, his hair tangling around them, his lips finding hers, his tongue in her mouth, she had a passing thought that nothing in her life would ever be the same. Something was transferring between them, a trade made and accepted—she just didn't know what she was getting or what exactly she was giving up.

It all felt right, though.

And then her body was lost, shooting over the edge, falling in a shower of stars. Dimly, she heard Michael roar and he seized up, jerking once and then again and then many more times.

When they finished, he laid on top of her, panting, and she ran her hands up his sweat-beaded shoulders.

She smiled, sated. Content. "Was that—"

He pushed off of her and leaped from the bed, the chains rattling fast over the floor. A moment later, the water came on in the shower.

After a good dose of numb shock wore off, Claire wrapped her body in blankets and curled into herself. Clearly, she'd read the wonder of them being together wrong. He was in a hurry to clean her off of him.

Then she heard the sobs.

Or what sounded like them.

Claire sat up slowly, trying to sift through the rush of the water and isolate what her ear had picked up on. She wasn't sure what she was hearing so she put on her robe and got out of bed, making her way to the bathroom by using the bookcases as a guide. When she was at the doorway, she hesitated with her hand on the smooth jamb.

"Michael?" she said softly.

He let out a shout of surprise, then barked, "Go back to bed."

"What happened?"

"I beg you. . .." His voice broke.

"Michael, it's okay if you didn't like—" "Leave me."

The hell she would. Stumbling forward, she put her hands out into the infinite darkness, moving toward the sound of the running water. When her palms hit the spray she stopped.

God, what if she had done some harm to him? Pushed this innocent recluse too far, too hard?

"Talk to me, Michael." When there was nothing but running water, she felt tears come to her own eyes. "I'm sorry I made us do that."

"I didn't know it would feel so . . ." He cleared his throat. "I am shattered. Apart in my skin. I shall never be whole again. It was so beautiful."

Claire sagged. At least he wasn't upset because he'd found it unappealing. "We need to lie down together."

"Whatever shall I do when you leave?"

"You're not staying here, remember?"

"But I am. I must. And you must go."

Fear shrunk her skin tight. "Not going to happen. That's not what we agreed to."

He shut off the shower, and as the water dripped, he took a deep breath of defeat. "You must be reasonable—"

"I am damned reasonable. I'm a lawyer. Reasoning's what I do." She reached out for him, but met only marble tile. Turning blindly, hands in front of her, she searched for him and got tangled in the darkness as surely as if it were vines. She had a feeling he was deliberately staying away from her. "Will you quit ghosting around?"

He laughed a little. "You are so . . . assertive."

"I am."

The sound of a towel being worked over a body called her to the left, but the flapping moved as she went toward it. "Stop that."

Michael's voice came from behind her. "Were the men who loved you that way, too? Powerful and tenacious? As you were with me?"

"Can you dematerialize or something? How can you move so fast?"

"Tell me about the men who loved you. Were they as strong as you?"

She thought of Mick Rhodes, her childhood friend who was also a partner at WN&S. "Ah . . . one of them was. The others, no. And they didn't love me. Look, let's focus on the now, okay? Where are you?"

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