Alpha: Omega Part 11

"Me too." He brushed a thumb across my cheekbone. "You should sleep. Ella is bringing your dress tomorrow for the final fitting."

"I haven't made any plans," I said, leaning against his chest.

"I know. I have, though."

I peered up at him, smiling, surprised. "You have?"

He sounded very pleased with himself. "I have. Some very special plans. Which is why you'd better get some sleep, because tomorrow is going to be a long day. Lots to do."

"Like each other?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "If you're good."

I tried to look innocent, the whole wide-eyed blinking look. "And if I'm bad?"

"Don't tempt me, Kyrie. You're too cute to handle when you're this drunk."

"I'm not that drunk," I protested.

He let go of me, and I promptly stumbled. "Oh no?" He turned me around, faced me toward the bed. "I bet you can't make it to the bed without falling."

"And if I do, I get to tie you up and have my way with you. I never got you back for Vancouver, if you remember."

His eyes went hungry. "Ah, Vancouver. A delightful night. I think I still have marks on my back from your fingernails." He bit my earlobe, whispering. "If you make it to the bed without stumbling even once, I will allow you to tie me and do as you wish."

"I'm going to have you tied up for hours." I twisted to glance at him, and somehow ended up sideways, his hands holding me upright. "I'm gonna keep you on the edge of o.r.g.a.s.m for so long you'll beg me to let you come."

"You don't have to tie me up to make me beg for you, Kyrie." He unzipped my shorts, letting them fall to the floor. He stripped off my T-shirt, unhooked my bra, and tossed both aside. "All you have to do is get naked and I'll be ready to beg."

Clad in nothing but my underwear, I forced myself upright, focused on the bed, which suddenly seemed to have propagated into more than one bed. Stupid multiplying Tempur-Pedic. Focus. Focus.

I maybe possibly spread my arms out like a tightrope walker, much to Roth's amus.e.m.e.nt. And then I took a step. A single, very wobbly step. And then another. My arms windmilled, and the world tipped sideways, but I managed to remain upright and take another step. I really wanted to tie up Roth. Dear Jesus, to have him spread-eagled on the bed, hands bound, feet bound, big juicy c.o.c.k bared and begging for me to play with...? I was all wet just thinking about all the various ways I could torture him. The more I focused on what I could do to Roth, the closer I made it to the bed without stumbling. But s.h.i.t, when had this room gotten so big?

I could f.e.l.l.a.t.e him until he was ready to come, and then stop. And then I could kiss him all over, everywhere except his c.o.c.k, until he was starting to lose his hard-on, and then I could lick him like an ice cream cone but never actually put my mouth on him. Oh G.o.d, that would drive him absolutely nuts. Ha. See what I did there? It'd drive him...nuts? I'm so funny.

And then I was at the bed, triumphant, spinning in place to gloat-which, it turned out, was my downfall. Literally. I fell over and landed sideways on the bed.

"That counts! I made it!" I shouted.

Roth was there, standing beside me, lifting me upright. "You fell, darling. It doesn't count."

"I made it to the bed first!"

He squeezed my nipple between a thumb and forefinger until I gasped. "You fell without touching the bed first. It does not count."

I pouted. "But I want to tie you up."

"Why?" He pinched the other nipple, and then bent to take it in his mouth, suckling until my nipples were both rigid and hypersensitive.

"Because I want to."

"But why do you want to, Kyrie? You know my history regarding being bound."

I let my head tip backward as he sank to his knees, sucking hard on one nipple and then the other, drawing my panties down as he went. I gasped when his tongue touched my c.l.i.t, momentarily lost my train of thought. "I-um. Because..." I glanced down at him, at his head, blond hair longer than it had ever been, curling around his collar, caressing his temple, brushing over his forehead and in his eyes. He'd grown out a beard, too, which I really liked. It tickled, but it was soft, now. At first it was scratchy-which led to a few weeks of a no-p.u.s.s.y diet for Valentine, but when he insisted it was grown out enough to be soft I let him go down on me again, and Jesus, it was amazing. The tickling made it all the more intense, because it was a counterpoint to the ecstasy of his talented tongue. So now he was long-haired, bearded, rugged. And I liked it. I didn't usually go for the rugged look, but with Roth, anything was s.e.xy as h.e.l.l.

But looking down at him, I had a memory of him on the old boat, somewhere in the Mediterranean, handcuffed to the bed, naked, crazed, bruised, b.l.o.o.d.y, wild. And I remembered.

"Because you're mine," I growled. "And I won't let her have any part of you. I want to tie you up so I can take the experience away from her."

I was airborne, twisted, and I bounced down on the bed in a sitting position. He undid his khaki cargo shorts with one hand, and I helped him with his underwear while he peeled off his shirt. I groaned at the sight of his c.o.c.k, waiting for me. Hard, veined, thick, b.a.l.l.s heavy and straining with come, belly flat and grooved with chiseled abs.

He gripped my hips and pulled me closer to him; I wrapped my legs around his waist and gazed up at him as he drove into me. No warning, no gentility. Just one hard thrust and he was b.a.l.l.s-deep in me, vivid, piercing cerulean eyes hot as blue flame.

My t.i.ts jounced as he f.u.c.ked me, wordless. He was wild, suddenly. Feral. Primal.

I knew I'd said the right thing.

"You're mine, G.o.dd.a.m.nit," I hissed. "I'm going to tie you up and I'm going to tease you until you beg me. And then-"

"What?" he demanded, pulling out of me, grabbing me by the hips and twisting me, shoving me with delicious roughness to the bed, pushing me to lean forward, spreading my thighs apart and driving into my p.u.s.s.y from behind. "What are you going to do to me then, Kyrie my love?"

"When you're desperate to come, I'm going to ride you like a f.u.c.king wild stallion until you fill my tight wet p.u.s.s.y with your come. And I'm going to leave you tied up, get you hard again, and I'm going to ride you and ride you and ride you. I'm gonna f.u.c.k you raw, Valentine. I won't let you touch me even once. Because I'm going to prove to you all over again that you belong to me as much as I belong to you."

"You've proved it, my love." He was moving slowly now. Making love to me with aching, tender gentility. I loved the juxtaposition. Usually from behind he was crazed and primal, and slow and gentle face to face. But this time he was caressing my spine, my shoulders, brushing my blond hair out of the way, cupping my a.s.s cheeks and gripping my hips, his c.o.c.k gliding in and out of me with a slow, deliberate slide.

Oh f.u.c.k, I was close.

He was, too. I stretched out, pushed back into his thrusts. Felt him take my hips at the creases, pulled me into him, my a.s.s crushing against him, providing a thick, bouncy cushion. G.o.d, yes. Yes. I knew I was being loud, and I buried my face in the mattress and let myself scream into the comforter as he made sweet slow love to me until I came.

And G.o.d, did I come.

But he held out. He waited until I was gasping and trembling before pulling out.

I twisted in place and lay back on the bed, wrapped my legs around him, reached between us and guided him back in. I knew his needs, his rhythms; he needed to look at me when he came, knew that's what I needed too.

I was almost hanging off the bed, just my upper spine and shoulders still supported by the mattress, the rest of my weight held up by my Valentine. He drove into me now in slow hard thrusts, his eyes on mine. I felt him thicken with each thrust as he drew closer and closer to the edge, and when I knew he was right there, I reached up, grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down to me, crushed my lips to his and kissed him with all that I had.

He lost it then. He groaned into the kiss, broke it to rest his forehead between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and thrust into me wildly, all control abandoned.

"I love you," I whispered as he pushed into me again and again. I made it a chant, clutching his head and writhing against him. "IloveyouIloveyouILOVEyou-"

And then he was emptying himself into me with a shout against my skin, sweat slicking his hard flesh, his hot wet seed gushing into me in wave after wave, thrust after thrust. When he was finally spent, he lay on me for a long moment, gasping. I loved the weight of him against me. I caressed his scalp, his neck, his shoulders, his arms, feathered my fingers through his hair and listened to him breathing.

"I'm sober, now," I said, when he lifted up to gaze down at me.

"How do you always know exactly what I need to hear the most, Kyrie?" he whispered, thumbing a stray lock of hair away from my face.

"Because we're one person split into two bodies, Valentine. I know what you need to hear because it's what I need to make you understand, what I need to say to you."

"I love you more than I know how to express, Kyrie."

"You should marry me," I said with a grin. "That will express it pretty d.a.m.n well."

"Then you'd better get some sleep," he said, his expression going serious. "Because that's happening tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

He nodded, then leaned down and kissed me. "Tomorrow."

I reached up and clung to his neck, squealing in happiness. "I can't wait to be Mrs. Kyrie Roth."

"You want to take my name?" he asked, sounding pleased.

"Well...yeah. Of course I do. I want to be yours in every way there is."

"I know this is a strange time to ask, probably, but...what about children? When this is all sorted, when we can relax and be somewhere permanent, would you consider having children with me?"

I had to swallow hard against a thick hot knot of emotion. He wanted kids? Roth? My Valentine, my s.e.xy, reclusive, billionaire fiance wanted to have children with me?

"When we can be somewhere safe and permanent and there's no threat," I said, blinking against the welling tears in my eyes, "then yes, Valentine, I will have your children."

"Then I have all the more reason to settle this than ever." He scooped me up and set me at the head of the bed with a kiss. He fetched a towel and cleaned his seed away with gentle, loving strokes, and then lay beside me, wrapping me up in his arms.

"Kyrie Abigail Roth."

"That's me," I murmured sleepily, realizing I wasn't quite as sober as I'd thought.

"Tomorrow you become my wife." He sounded as if he couldn't quite believe it.

I felt the same way, but I was too near to sleep to form words. "Mmmm-hmmm," was all I could manage.

His breathing matched mine, and then we slept.

8.

LIGHTNING STRIKE.

Four short, sharp raps on the door jolted me awake. I glanced out the window and saw that it was probably an hour or two before dawn, the sky still black but with muted shades of gray staining the horizon where it met the rippling, glinting sea.

"Mr. Roth." It was Alexei. "Your presence is required, sir. Immediately as possible, please."

I was still blinking myself awake as Roth scrambled out of bed and jumped into his shorts, not bothering with underwear, shirt, or shoes.

"Stay here," he commanded as he glanced briefly at me.

"f.u.c.k that. I need to know what's going on." I was out of bed too, grabbing an ankle-length stretchy cotton sundress, not bothering with any undergarments either.

"I said stay, Kyrie."

I pushed out the door past him. "I'm not a f.u.c.king dog, Valentine."

Alexei was waiting just outside the door, dressed exactly as he had been the last time I'd seen him, but now his jaw was dark with beard growth and his eyes had circles under them, although his gaze was as alert and sharp as ever. He had his finger along the outside of the trigger guard on his weapon, I noticed, rather than just casually gripping the handle. The webbing on his body armor now held three magazines of ammunition, as well as two grenade-like objects which I a.s.sumed were flash-bangs.

Something significant had happened, I realized.

Something bad.

Another man dressed and equipped identically to Alexei stood at the back door of the kitchen, rifle held in both hands, his finger as well snugged across the trigger guard, rifle b.u.t.t tucked against his shoulder. I glanced out at the darkness of the forest beyond the courtyard and saw a shadow move in the darkness, starlight glinting on a gun barrel. Another figure emerged, this man wearing a pair of night vision goggles on his face, which he lifted as he approached us, leaning close to Alexei and muttering in his ear. Alexei keyed his mic and spoke into it in Russian.

Looking from Roth to me, Alexei simply said, "Follow me."

He jerked his head toward the dense forest, and set off toward it at a quick walk. He had his rifle tucked into his shoulder, held at the ready, moving in a crouch and sweeping the barrel from side to side. The man with the goggles brought up the rear behind Roth and me.

"What the f.u.c.k is going on, Valentine? Where are Layla and Cal?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I know as much as you do, but I'm certain that Harris has Layla and Cal under protection."

There was no clear path that I could see, but nonetheless Alexei led us unerringly between the trees through near complete darkness to a long, low building. He held open a thick steel door and ushered us in. I glanced back the way we'd come and realized I'd never be able to find the house by myself; a few yards into the undergrowth and everything looked different. Wilder, less tamed. And this place was hidden well, screened by foliage. The building was surrounded by a good twenty yards of clearing-for sight lines, I figured-but until you were right at the clearing, you'd never see it.

The building was windowless, lit only by fluorescent tubes. One entire wall was taken up by a bank of monitors, each screen showing a room in the main house. Most rooms, including the beach itself, were shown from two different angles. There were even cameras positioned in the forest. Opposite the bank of monitors was a floor-to-ceiling case containing an a.r.s.enal: a.s.sault rifles like those I'd already seen, as well as a huge a.s.sortment of handguns, shotguns, sniper rifles, machetes, flash-bangs and actual grenades, body armor, night vision goggles, and even something huge and terrifying that I thought might be a grenade launcher.

Harris was sitting at a metal table, a map spread out in front of him, a red pen in one hand and a ruler in the other, marking lines and Xs on the map. He was dressed like the rest of his security force: gray BDUs, black body armor, black "A1S" ball cap, sidearm, knife, and a rifle hanging by its strap from the corner of his chair. He had extra magazines on his body armor webbing, as well.

Harris didn't just have a security company; he had a small mercenary army, each man armed to the teeth, loaded for bear.

So what had them on high alert?

I was about to ask when the door opened, and another member of the security team entered with Cal behind him. Cal looked overwhelmed and bewildered, and not a little amazed.

"Holy s.h.i.t, Key," he said. "You people don't f.u.c.k around, do you? What's going on, you have any idea? Ivan here won't tell me."

"Name is Sasha, Mr. St. Claire," Cal's escort said, his voice thick with a Russian accent.

"No, Cal, my people do not f.u.c.k around," I said, "and no, I don't know what's going on. I think we're about to find out, though."

Cal went over to the rack of weapons. "f.u.c.k me running, dude! Is that an M-203?"

"Touch that and I'll break your fingers, kid," Harris said, not looking up. He marked one more X on his map and then swiveled on his chair. "All right, now that we're all here-"

"Wait," I protested. "We're not all here. Where's Layla?"

Harris's expression hardened, fury darkening his face. "That's why we're here. I'm not going to mince words, Kyrie: Vitaly took her. s.n.a.t.c.hed her right out from under my f.u.c.king nose."