“Is it beautiful?”
He edged her shirt up, bunching the material little by little to reveal the smooth skin from her tummy and her tucked-in waist to her narrow rib cage, until he’d exposed the underside of her br**sts. “I never thought a lot about it, but yes, the country is beautiful and the house is wide open with plenty of space for two families. The view from nearly every room is amazing.” His knuckles rubbed back and forth under her breast, savoring the soft, satiny skin. No one had her amazing skin.
Mari relaxed more, her body soft and pliant from the mesmerizing movement of his hand. The heat of his body warmed hers. “Do you have a fireplace? I always thought pictures of fireplaces were romantic and homey at the same time.”
“We have a fireplace in the great room, a common room shared by Jack and me. We both have our own wing of the house. He has two bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms and an office. We both have fireplaces in the bedroom. The house is large and very spread out, and we heat mainly with wood. It snows there, so it can get very cold at night.”
Her skin fascinated him. It was softer than anything he’d ever felt before. He had to admit, when it came down to sex, he liked rough and fast and plenty of it, but there was something magical in lying beside her simply savoring the feel of her skin. He enjoyed his rising temperature, the pounding of blood through his swollen cock. He felt alive and he felt—happy. He almost didn’t recognize the emotion.
“I grew up in the barracks. I have my own room now, but there’s nothing in it. Just the bunk and my locker. We aren’t really allowed personal items. There’s a television in the game room, but we’re watched all the time, and everything we do is recorded. Mostly we train and work on education and strengthening our psychic talents to make us better soldiers. Well, at least we did, until Whitney came up with his latest brilliant program.”
“What do you do when you have time off?”
“In the evenings? I like to read and listen to music. I love music.”
“What about vacation time? Did you travel?”
“We didn’t have vacation time. And the only traveling we’re allowed is when we’re on a mission.” Mari pressed against his hand. The sensations drifted through her like lazy smoke, until sexual awareness smoldered throughout her entire body. His fingers took the aches and pains and turned them into something altogether different. “Of course now, since he started his breeding program, all the women are virtually prisoners.”
“You grew up with these women? You were all raised in the barracks by Whitney since you were infants?”
“Yes. They’re my family. I consider them sisters. Cami’s tough, she’ll get out no problem, and the others will follow our lead, but I have one sister who suspects she is already pregnant. We have to get her out of there before he runs his weekly tests on us and actually gets the results. She’s terrified Whitney will find out.”
“We’ll get her out.” Ken didn’t ask which one of the women was pregnant. Mari was already regretting telling him that much information; he could see it on her face and he didn’t blame her. He slid his body down, just a little bit, just enough that she could rest her chin on the top of his head and his face was opposite her beautiful br**sts. Her breath hitched.
Moonbeams from the skylight overhead spilled across her body, illuminating her skin, turning it to cream. He pushed her shirt up further, slowly exposing her br**sts to the cool night air—and his hot gaze. His own breath left his lungs in a heated rush. This woman brought him something no one else had ever done. It wasn’t the combination of lust and need, or even his body springing back to hard, vivid life; it was simple happiness. He felt different when he was with her. Lighter. The memories of the scent and sight of blood, of dark sweat, the sound of his own screams, the rage that never left him, that consumed him until he thought his world was only one of complete darkness, devoid of anything good—she forced it all to retreat, just by her presence. Whitney—the son of a bitch—couldn’t have made that happen with his meddling—it was all too real.
Mari brought up her hands, brushing her fingers through his thick wavy hair. Her body nearly vibrated with the need to feel his hands—and mouth—on her. Her body felt as if it was melting, so soft and pliant he could shape her into anything. Her br**sts tingled when the cool air hit her ni**les like the flick of a tongue, teasing them into twin, upright peaks.
Her fingers fisted in his hair when he shifted again, and she felt the dark five o’clock shadow rasp across her ni**les, sending little jagged streaks of lightning through her bloodstream. “Ken.”
She said his name in a breathy little voice that threatened to shatter his rigid control. Ken thought he had his desire well in hand, but he hadn’t counted on the way her body responded to his. Her bare br**sts were laid out in front of him like a feast, and he drank in the sight of her lush flesh, swollen and flushed with desire, rising and falling with every breath, luring him closer to the tight, pink buds that stood up to beckon him. She wanted him—no, needed him—and that was the biggest aphrodisiac of all.
She didn’t seem to see the scars on his face or body. She touched him, skimmed her mouth down his scarred flesh, as if he was whole. She seemed as ravenous for him as he was for her.
“You’re incredibly beautiful, Mari,” he whispered. “This isn’t Whitney’s pheromones talking. This is me, wanting you so bad I’m almost afraid to touch you.”
“Almost” wasn’t true—he was afraid. If he knew what paradise felt like, could he go back to the barren world of the desert? He stroked his hand between her br**sts, back down her body to her flat belly. Firm muscles played beneath soft skin. He rested his hand over her stomach possessively, fingers splayed wide to take in every inch of her that he could. Beneath his palm, the muscles of her stomach clenched.
She didn’t know home or family. He’d had foster homes and Jack. Hell, they’d been kicked out of a dozen places, run away from more, and yet he was fairly certain he’d had it better than Mari. Briony had been taken from her when they were been small children, and she’d been raised in a brutal, disciplined world. His world had been brutal and disciplined, but he’d had Jack. He’d always had his brother.
He moved the pads of his fingers over her skin, tracing her sexy little belly button. No piercings for Mari. No jewels or fancy clothes. She didn’t have evening gowns or expensive perfume. She had soldier-issue boots and routine camouflage clothing.