Rapture's Edge

10

D grabbed Iris around her slender waist and dragged her into the hot water, holding her pinned against him. She was surprised but didn’t struggle; D knew he’d earned such a deserved reputation for brutality from his battles in and out of the ring that Iris would not be expecting gentleness from him. And maybe that’s what she hoped.

As he pulled her head back with a hand in her hair and lowered his mouth to hers, D idly wondered who’d sent her. Lix? Constantine?

When her tongue touched his, he decided it didn’t matter. He needed this. It had been so long, so long since he’d even touched a woman, and she felt so good. So plush…

Eliana.

He pulled back from Iris’s soft mouth with a muttered oath. She looked up at him, confused. “Bellator?” she murmured hesitantly.

He didn’t bother with an answer. His body was still hard, aching for release, and now wasn’t the time to drown in memories of a lost love or think about his dreams that vividly depicted her in trouble, in pain…but never where. Holding Iris tight against his body, D sat on the submerged rock ledge of the pool and pulled her down with him. He kissed her again, harder than before, desperate to block out everything but this moment.

Hot water swirled around their bodies. Her legs came around his waist. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and D let out a low groan as he felt her press against that throbbing ache between his legs. He needed this…he needed this so badly…

Eliana.

This time his curse was nearly shouted. Iris pulled back, that sweet softness in her face hardening into something else altogether.

“Bellator,” she said in a businesslike tone. “How do I displease you? Tell me and I will change it.”He wanted to laugh. He didn’t think asking her to change into another woman would go over so well. He brushed a strand of damp hair from her flushed cheek and said, “You don’t displease me, little one. You’re beautiful.” He tried out a smile. It felt strange on his face, alien, like it didn’t belong there. “You know that.”

The softness came back to her face, and she smiled. Her arms wound around his neck, and she began, slowly, to rock her pelvis against his. He felt her heat even in the hot water, and a growl rose in the back of his throat.

“Let me please you, Bellator,” she whispered, leaning close to stroke her tongue along his bottom lip. “Take what you need from me.” Taut n*****s brushed his chest, and D lifted his hands to cup her full breasts, pinching those enticing nubs between his fingers. She gasped and tightened her legs around his waist and then kissed him, deep and demanding. His erection grew even bigger, aching for her, for release, for a moment of forgetting, for—

ELIANA!

D shoved Iris away with so much force it sent a wave of water splashing against the rock rim of the thermae behind her. She stood and cursed, sputtering in indignation, wet hair dripping into her face.

He leapt from the pool, grabbed a towel and his clothes, and with a murmured word of apology and shame like cold fingers wrapped around his heart, got the hell away from the alluring Iris and the demons she roused in what was left of his black, ragged soul.

Two days later and almost a thousand miles away, in a secret underground city much like the one in which she’d been born and raised, Eliana spun on the ball of one booted foot, snapped out the opposite leg, and landed a perfect, vicious kick to the jaw of her opponent.

It sent him staggering back across the dusty limestone floor into a sea of bodies crowded together in an irregular circle against the shadowed, graffitied rock walls of New Harmony.

The crowd roared its approval and flung him back toward her.

“Had enough yet, slick?” she murmured as he went down on one knee. Sweating and panting, he looked up at her through a thicket of tangled blond hair and grinned.

“Not even close, Butterfly. I’m just getting warmed up.”

He stood and paused just long enough for her—and all the other women in the crowd—to admire his toned physique: tight muscles in tight jeans and a tight black T-shirt, all of it theatrically showcased by candlelight from hundreds of votives tucked into niches in the rounded walls that spilled a warm, flickering glow over the cavernous room. Golden blond as an angel, he had a dimpled smile to match, warm chocolate eyes, and a laugh that could melt an iceberg.

What was it she’d heard the catagirls—the groupies of the underground fight scene—call Alexi? Oh yes. Ripped. Also fine and ohmyGodsohotithurts.

He didn’t hold back as he leapt forward with a roar, arms outstretched, teeth bared, intent. She admired him fleetingly again—such animal grace and ferocity, almost like one of her kind—and then snapped into focus as instinct took over and a ripple of power shuddered down her spine.

Sensual and delicious, it sent goose bumps crawling along her skin.

She crouched into it, coiling, drawing down close to the ground, her eyes and ears and nose wide open and focused on him as he neared, seeking, calculating every nuance of his expression, every twitch of muscle and nerve that broadcasted his intent as clearly as a loudspeaker.