War (The Four Horsemen Book 2) Page 27

  Not when he’s given up raising the dead because I asked.

  War’s mouth moves from one nipple to the other, and his hand slips between us, his thumb running down the length of my slit.

  I’m breathing hard, gasping as I arch into him.

  Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

  “War,” I breathe.

  I need him inside me. Screw my remaining injuries, they’ll heal—he will heal them.

  The horseman stills. I’m sure he hears something in my voice. He breaks away from my nipple, his gaze rising to mine.

  My breath is caught in my throat, and my body is beginning to tremble with nerves and excitement. I’m not sure I can force out the words I want to say.

  I hesitate, unsure of everything except my own foolishness.

  There can be no going back from this.

  I hold his gaze. “I surrender.”

  Chapter 39

  War is cold steel and dark intent, and for a second after my declaration, that’s all I see on his face.

  But then he smiles, looking far, far too handsome for his own good. He pulls my head down to his lips and kisses me all over again, and I feel his lust and excitement and, and—and something else. Something I’m not at all comfortable with.

  The horseman breaks away, and that grin still pulls at his lips, but it’s dimming.

  “I meant what I said earlier,” he says. “Your body needs to heal.”

  I want to growl in frustration. He chooses now to be noble?

  But War hasn’t moved away from me. He might want to do the right thing, but he’s no idealist. I can practically feel his need to be inside me, just so that he can be sure I’m truly alive.

  “I almost died today,” I finally say to him, “and when I thought it was the end, do you know what I regretted most?”

  He stares up at me, waiting for me to continue.

  “I hadn’t said and done everything I wanted to with you. Show me what I’ve been missing.”

  With that, I kiss the horseman again.

  I feel it in his lips, the moment his resistance gives away. He groans into my mouth, and then his arms tighten around me. His lips go from entertaining mine to demanding more, more, more. There’s a fervor to his touch that wasn’t there before, and it feels like I’m falling headfirst into uncharted waters.

  Just being in his arms has me forgetting about my last aches and pains. I don’t know if that has to do with his healing abilities, or if his presence is overwhelming the rest of my senses.

  He strokes my slit again, and I hiss in a breath.

  Oh God, I really did manage to convince him to do this. That becomes clear when his hand continues to stroke my core, his thumb rubbing languorous circles around my clit.

  I give a frustrated moan.

  Still need more.

  The horseman breaks off the kiss, flashing me a devilish grin. “Did you think I’d ease your discomfort with one small declaration, wife?” he says, his voice especially low and gravelly. “I want you undone.” He punctuates his words by dipping a finger inside me. Instinctively, I move against him. I can feel wetness between my legs, wetness that has nothing to do with the bath.

  My eyes narrow. Two can play that game.

  I begin to reach between us when he catches my wrist. “Ah ah.” His fingers are still moving in and out of me.

  I’m beginning to pant. “Please, War.”

  “Please what?”

  Is he really going to make me spell it out? “I want you inside me.”

  I am lit on fire.

  His kohl-lined eyes are heated, and I can feel his erection straining against his pants.

  All at once his fingers leave me, and he picks me up, carrying me back to his bed. It’s still soiled from when I laid there earlier, and the scent of smoke and ash clings to it.

  He lays me down, only pausing to remove his pants. His cock springs free, and my God, I forgot how terrifyingly large his dick is. Large enough to make my jaw ache when my mouth is wrapped around it. And the rest of the horseman is so big and violent that for a moment, my desire abates.

  Maybe this was a bad idea.

  War kneels at the foot of the bed, running his hands up my legs as he surveys my body. He leans forward, until his chest, with his strange, shining tattoos, presses against mine.

  Whatever his earlier reservations against sex were, they’re long gone now.

  Leaning down, he kisses me, the movements of his mouth more carnal than they were just moments ago. My heart is starting to pound faster and faster. This doesn’t feel like a little innocent experimentation, or a bad decision fueled by too much booze. This doesn’t even feel like regular sex. (Not that I have a ton of experience in that department.) Maybe it’s the way War is looking at me, but what we’re about to do feels heavy with meaning.

  It’s just a simple, physical act, I reassure myself. Plenty of people do this. It’s no big deal.

  The horseman’s hand goes back to my clit, maybe to tease me some more, but I’m already drenched.

  He flashes a wicked smile when he feels how ready I am.

  “Wife, how I have anticipated this day. And now to see your sweet body aching for mine. I find I am more eager for this than even battle.” He says this like he’s surprised himself a little.

  Whatever. I’m past the point of caring. All I know is that I need the horseman in me in a way I haven’t needed anything in a long time.

  He strokes me again and again, even though he doesn’t need to. Even though I’m already mad with desire.

  I arch into each touch, desperate for more.

  Suddenly, his hand is gone. His hips shift, and a moment later, I feel the tip of him press against my opening.

  I tense, remembering how big he is. After holding him in my hand and on my tongue, I thought I understood his size. But I didn’t. I’m only realizing that now.

  With one slow stroke of his hips, I feel War begin to enter.

  He hisses as he meets resistance. “Relax, wife. We were meant to fit together.”

  Um, only a woman with a vagina as big as a crater was meant to fit War’s cock.

  The horseman waits until he feels me begin to relax, my legs spreading a little wider. He begins to push in again.

  Dear God. It seems impossible, and yet I feel my flesh give way, making room for his seemingly unbearable size. My fingers dig into his back when the stretching becomes too much.

  He pauses, staring down at me. “Miriam?”

  “Just … give me a moment. It’s a lot …” Of dick. So much dick.

  I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. After several seconds, I nod. “Okay. I’m okay.”

  War continues his slow sink into me, his gaze searching mine. “Wife,” he says, looking gobsmacked, “you feel incredible.”

  War’s face is nothing short of rapturous. I know he’s seasoned at this, so I’m surprised to see how much it’s affecting him.

  His eyes are intensely focused on me. I’d have assumed that they’d be drifting far, far away as sensation overwhelmed him, but he’s so present.

  Disconcertingly present.

  He’s sweating with his need to move slow, to be gentle. I can tell a driving force in him wants to thrust his cock inside me as fast as possible and then to fuck me with abandon. I can practically feel him vibrating with the need. And maybe he’ll eventually do that, but I don’t think that will happen today.

  It takes ages, but finally, his hips meet mine as he seats himself fully inside me, stretching me to my limits.

  I release a breath. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything so exquisite in my life. And he hasn’t even started moving yet.

  “I have waited ages for this moment,” he says. “Cannot believe it’s finally upon me.” War smiles again, and I can’t get over how unbearably handsome he is.

  I’m shaking with need, my legs splayed on either side of him, feeling more vulnerable than I ever have. I didn’t expect that. This was supposed to j
ust be sex. But the way War is staring down at me, it feels like everything I’ve worked so hard to brick away is being exposed all at once.

  “Finally, my wife, you have surrendered.”

  He begins to move, pulling out of me just enough to rock back in. My breath leaves me all at once. I was expecting it to hurt. Instead, every slight movement feels so cataclysmically good.

  “Wife.” The warlord gazes down at me, his normally violent eyes now full of some gentle emotion. My stomach bottoms out when I realize the emotion isn’t simple desire. “I cannot tell you how I have longed for this. You are mine finally—totally and completely, nothing to separate us.”

  The horseman thrusts into me again, as if to emphasize his point.

  My nails sink into his back at the sensation, and he pauses, maybe to make sure that he’s not hurting me.

  I can barely form the words over my own heightened desire.

  “Don’t stop,” I breathe. “Please don’t.”

  Again, that roguish smile.

  War begins to thrust himself into me, first with slow, meticulous precision, but then with increasing force. I’m arching into each thrust, and already I feel my orgasm starting to build in the background.

  The entire time, War watches me, like he wants to own every look, every moment. Every so often he whispers phrases in other languages that translate to my beautiful wife and never have I known such pleasure and this is the closest to heaven I have been in a long time.

  This is … not at all like my other experiences with sex. This is the kind of sex that ruins you.

  As I feel him stroke me deep within, I finally sense the horseman’s true nature. He cannot be anything other than battle breathed to life. All this flesh holds the violence of eons; I feel it in each thunderous thrust of his hips. And yet, as his hands slip over my body, there’s an unexpected softness to his touch.

  He kisses me up the column of my throat, his hips pistoning in and out, in and out.

  “So beautiful,” he now murmurs. “How long I have yearned for you.”

  War’s pace changes, deepening—and it’s as though the last several minutes have been a tease and this is the real thing.

  Instantly my body is coiling, my looming orgasm now building rapidly—too rapidly—

  All at once I shatter.

  I cry out, pulling the horseman tightly to me as I feel my climax rip through me. Over and over I feel it, and just when it begins to end I feel War thicken inside me.

  “My wife, my heart.” He groans as his own orgasm moves through him, his thrusts becoming stronger and faster as he spills into me.

  War gazes down at me, his eyes going a little hazy as he rides the last of his orgasm out. What feels like an eternity later, the horseman’s thrusts begin to slow. Eventually, he has no choice but to slip out of me.

  I’m sore everywhere; the kind of sore that makes your cheeks flush.

  War lays back on his bed and drags me onto his stomach. He cups my core, even as I feel his cum begin to leak out of me.

  “To feel that a part of me is inside you still—wife, there is no more thrilling sensation in the world,” he states.

  My breathing begins to slow, my sweaty flesh cooling. All my aches and pains are flaring back to life.

  Now that I’m beginning to come down, War’s adoration is starting to—well, I’m having a few misgivings.

  The sex—I definitely want second helpings of that—but the horseman is looking at me like things have changed. And yeah, my close brush with death had given me some perspective, and yeah, I did surrender to him and all, but now I’m sensing that my words and actions might mean a smidge more to him than they do to me.

  I begin to push away from him. “I should clean myself up …” There’s still a tub full of water, and now I’m sticky—

  War pulls me back down, luring me back to him with his heated kisses. “Not so quick, my wife.” He brushes my dark hair aside so that he can kiss the nape of my neck.

  “But I’m dirty,” I protest, desperate to put a little distance between us.

  “Nothing about what we did was dirty,” War says, a bit too fervently. “And I like having myself all over you.”

  That’s exactly what I’m having an issue with.

  “It is going to be different now,” he adds.

  I swallow. Uh oh.

  “Um, what do you mean?” I say carefully, keeping my tone light.

  “You are mine wholly and completely—and I am yours. For now and always it will be this way.”

  Oh dear God. That sounded a lot like a vow to me.

  What have I done?

  Chapter 40

  Despite my misgivings, we spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in War’s bed, getting up only to eat and drink.

  I don’t know if he’s aware of my unease, but if he is, he couldn’t have devised a better strategy for distracting me from it. I might be troubled by War’s feelings for me, but I have zero problems with how he makes love.

  Not even nighttime seems to quench whatever thirst drives the horseman. War wakes me up twice more for sex.

  By the time morning sunlight is streaming through our tent, War’s hand has moved its way down to my clit for the millionth time. He strokes it, and I moan softly in protest. My body feels like it’s been wrung of every last orgasm.

  Despite that, I feel myself slicken against his hand. Who would’ve thought I’d have another round in me?

  “Cannot keep my hands off of you,” War says, moving his other palm to my breast. Against my better judgment, I arch into his touch.

  “So receptive,” he murmurs.

  Something I seriously did not take into account earlier—all this skin on skin action has almost completely healed me. And my libido is thanking War for it.

  The horseman rolls on top of me. I tilt my pelvis up, and for the thousandth time in the last twenty four hours, my horseman slides inside me.

  Much, much later I manage to actually pull myself out of bed and clean myself up as best I can (much to War’s disappointment). Before I can get reeled back in for more sex, I dress and slip outside.

  I nearly scream the moment I do so.

  The living dead surround War’s quarters.

  They stand idly around the tent, weapons held at the ready. Most of them rock slightly, their decomposing features slack. And yet, despite the fact that their eyes are unfocused and their heads don’t turn at the sound of my footsteps, there’s an awareness to them.

  So that explains the smell.

  I cup my hand over my nose. The stench is much worse out here, and the hot day is doing nothing to help it.

  A moment later, War steps out next to me, a smile clinging to his lips. One look at him and the entire camp will know that the horseman got himself some ass last night.

  Awesome.

  “What is this?” I ask, my gaze sweeping over the corpses.

  “They’re for your protection.” His smile slips away. “It seems I cannot trust even my own men to keep you safe.”

  Now that my gaze sweeps over my surroundings, I finally notice that the phobos riders that used to stand guard are indeed gone.

  In their place are armed zombies, their blades holstered at their sides.

  “This really isn’t necessary,” I state, covering my nose again. Ugh, I can taste the rot on my tongue.

  “On the contrary, wife, now it’s more important than ever.” Even as War says it, his zombies back away, giving me space to breathe. “I warned you already: I won’t lose you.”

  The horseman cups my face, his gaze searching mine. “Death always comes between humans. I won’t let it happen to us.”

  I see his age then, in his eyes. Thousands upon thousands of years of wars. So many lives and so many deaths. It’s moments like these when I remember that he was never born and he can never die.

  I sense that all those years of battle have worn War down. That beneath his violence, he’s held onto a spark of something that doesn’t see
m very War-like: peace, connection, love. I see that longing in his eyes.

  And now I’ve begun to make the mistake I was never supposed to make. I’ve started to forget that War is a jackal set on devouring the world. I’ve started to see him as someone worth caring about.

  As someone I do care about.

  The next week is a blur of touching and sex. War extends our time at camp simply so that he can relegate some days to staying in bed and nothing else. And there’s no more mention of raising the dead—my undead guards aside.

  And if I thought this brief, sex-filled blip would end the moment we packed up camp, I thought wrong. War stops several times on the road so that he can fit himself inside me, and the nights during our travels are largely sleepless.

  Even when we make camp in the next settlement, it doesn’t end. He seems more ravenous for me than ever.

  War fucks like he fights. He’s brutal, deliberate, and full of raw masculine energy. He takes me like it’s the one thing he was made for, like this is the last time he’ll ever be in me. Like he’s reaching, reaching, reaching for something he can’t quite grasp.

  I was right the first time I felt him in me; he’s ruined me. Because the craze isn’t one-sided. If it were, I’d relish the fact that at any moment I could just walk away and be alright. But I don’t think I could. Not at this point. So instead, I now have to grapple with the fact that I’m enamored by a man who has committed atrocities.

  He’s barely slipped out of me when he gathers me against him, holding me close.

  Outside, the Egyptian sun is rising, turning the cream walls of our tent a rosy hue. All around me, everything has a hazy, warm glow.

  “Two days from now, when battle begins, you will stay here,” War says softly, rubbing circles into my back. “My undead will guard you until I return.”

  My body goes rigid. I almost forgot about the upcoming raid.

  After Port Said, we traveled inland, heading through the Nile Delta towards the city of Mansoura. Here, several kilometers outside the city’s walls, we made camp.

  The land around us is a bit lusher than it was at our earlier stops, but the decaying, rubble-filled state of the towns we passed detracts from its natural beauty. Cars still congest many of the streets, old computers and appliances litter the landscape, burned carcasses of buildings line the road, and many of the recent additions Egypt has made to its cities—such as gas lamps and horse stalls—have already been vandalized.