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“This mind-control thing…you have to stop. I can be your prisoner or your lover, but I won’t be both.”
He lifted his head then, his gaze going cool and sharp. “There’s no compulsion involved in this. I’m not forcing you.” Anger clipped his words.
“I know,” she said, drawing a shuddering breath. “I can tell the difference, believe me. It’s…I have to have the choice, whether to stay or go. The freedom has to be there. You can’t keep moving me around like a puppet.”
“It was necessary.”
“At first. I hated it then, I hate it now, but you did have valid reasons at first. You don’t now. I think you’re too used to having your way in everything, Dranir.”
“You would have run,” he said flatly.
“My choice.” She couldn’t bend on this. Dante Raintree was a force of nature; dealing with him in a relationship would be challenging enough even without his ability to chain her with a thought. He had to bow to her free will or their only relationship could be jailer and prisoner. “We’re equals…or we’re nothing.”
Reading him wasn’t easy, but she could see he didn’t like relinquishing control at all. Intuitively, she grasped his dilemma. On a purely intellectual basis, he understood. On a more primitive level, he didn’t want to lose her, and he was prepared to be as autocratic and heavy-handed as necessary.
“All or nothing.” She met his gaze, squaring up with him like fighters in a boxing ring. “You can’t use mind control on me ever again. I’m not your enemy. At some point you have to trust me, and that point is now. Or were you planning to keep me pinned forever?”
“Not forever.” He ground out the words. “Just until—”
“Until what?”
“Until you wanted to stay.”
She smiled at that rough admission and gripped both hands in his hair. “I want to stay,” she said simply, and kissed his chin. “But at some point I may want to go. You have to take that chance, and if that day does come, you have to let me go. I’m taking the same chance with you, that one day you may not want me around. I want your word. Promise me you’ll never use mind control on me again.”
She saw his fury and frustration, saw his jaw work as he ground his teeth. She knew what she was asking of him; giving up a power went against every instinct he had, as both a man and a Dranir. He lived in two worlds, both the normal and the paranormal, and in both he was boss. As understated as he kept things, he was still boss. If he hadn’t been the Raintree Dranir, his natural dominance would have been reined in more, but reality was what it was, and he was a king in that world.
Abruptly he dropped his arms from around her and stepped back. His eyes were narrowed and fierce. “You may go.”
Lorna barely controlled a protest at the loss of his touch, his heat. What was he saying? “Are you giving me your permission—or an order?”
“A promise.”
Breathing was abruptly difficult. Her lips trembled, and she firmed them, started to speak, but he lifted a hand to stop her. “One thing.”
“What?”
The green of his eyes almost glowed, they were so intent. “If you stay…the brakes are off.”
Fair warning, she thought dizzily, shivering a little in anticipation. “I’m staying,” she managed to say, taking half a step forward.
A half step was all she had time to take before he moved, an explosion of pent-up power that was now released from all constraint. If she was free, then so was he. He swung her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom, moving so fast her head swam. The slow, careful seduction was over, and all that was left was raw desire. He tossed her on the bed and followed her down, pulling at her clothes, his movements rough with urgency, even though she helped him, her own hands shaking as she dealt with buttons and zippers, hooks and laces. He jerked her shoes and jeans off as she fought to unbutton his shirt, peeled her underwear down her legs while she struggled to lower his zipper, hampered by the thrust of his erection.
He shoved his jeans and boxers down, and kicked them away. Lorna tried to reach for him, tried to stroke him, but he was a tidal wave that flattened her on the bed and crushed her under his heavy weight. His penetration wasn’t careful, it was hard and fast and powerful, taking him deep.
She gave a choked cry, her body shocked by the impact even as she rose to meet it. His heat burned her, inside and out. He pulled out, thrust in again, then again. Her brain stuttered a warning of what that heat meant, and she managed to say, “Condom.”
He swore, pulled out, and jerked open a drawer in the bedside table. He tore the first condom, rolling it on. Swearing even more, he slowed down, took more care with the second one. When he was safely sheathed, he pushed into her again, then held her crushed to him, their bodies straining together as relief shuddered through them. Tears rolled down her face. This wasn’t an orgasm, it was…pure relief, as if unrelenting pain had suddenly vanished. It was completion—not a sexual one, but something that went deeper, as if some part of her had been missing and suddenly was there.
It was being filled, when she hadn’t realized how empty she was; fed, when she hadn’t known she was hungry.
He rose, supporting his weight on his arms as he pulled back, then eased forward in a slow, deep thrust. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, kissing the tears from her wet face.
“I’m not,” she said. “It’s just leakage.”
“Ah.”
He said it as if he understood, and maybe he did. He snagged her gaze and held it as he moved in and out, drawing her response to him, going deep to find more. She was both relaxed and tense at the same time: relaxed because she knew he wasn’t going to leave her behind, and tense from the building pleasure.
