Page 11 of He is… Creed: Part Two

“If he touches you again,” he declares, “I’ll kill him.”

If you stop touching me, I might die, I think, but I don’t say this to him, not when my anger is still oh so present, driving my reactions, driving me. “You don’t get to decide who touches me, Creed,” I declare, but I’m breathless, and the desire I feel in this moment that he so easily provokes in me is downright frightening.

He stares down at me, those bluer-than-blue eyes fixed on me, his long, dark hair wild around his face, passion harshly etched in his dangerously beautiful face. “You are my lifebond,” he declares, as if it makes everything and all things acceptable.

I shiver at the possessiveness of his words, aroused when I should be outraged. And damn it, I hate how easily he steals my control—how easily he can make me melt no matter how much time has passed. How easily that makes his statement and explanation, but I reject the idea. I reject that all free will is gone with the mark on my neck.

“Don’t call me that,” I whisper defiantly, reminding myself of his betrayal, telling myself the attraction is nature at work and nothing more. I’m over him. I will not fall for him and be hurt again. “Don’t act as if the mark gives you some claim over me. You don’t have one. Not anymore.”

“Ah, but I do,” he declares, his blue eyes alight with anger. “And we both know it.” His free hand caresses higher, cupping my backside.

I pant at the intimate invasion, my sex hot, my nipples puckering as he reaches up and rips open my blazer, little silver buttons flying about and clattering to the floor. The silk of my blouse gapes, my breast pushed high by the silk of my bra, his gaze raking hotly over my exposed skin. And then his cheek is next to mine, his hand branding my waist, his lips warm on my neck, and he says, “Mine. You will always be mine.”

Somehow, my hands have settled on his arms, muscles flexing beneath my touch. “Creed,” I whisper desperately, a plea to stop, a plea to continue. “You can’t just show up again and…”

His lips brush my ear, the touch stealing my words, sending a shiver down my spine, his voice an erotic rasp as he taunts me with, “Your words deny me, but your body does not.” His hand slides possessively along my rib cage, his fingers stroking my breast, teasing my nipple into a stiff peak. I gasp all over again, and there is no resistance in me. It’s all I can do not to hold his hands on my body and beg him for more.

“I remember how sensitive your nipples are,” he whispers, a strand of his silky raven hair brushing my cheek, and I shiver with the featherlike erotic sensation even as he presses onward, pressing me further under his spell. “I remember how much you like them licked and sucked.” His breath is warm, a tease above my lips that promises a kiss that doesn’t follow. “I remember everything, Addie.”

“I don’t want this,” I whisper, and it’s as much a lie as it is the truth.

“Liar,” he purrs, nipping my bottom lip with a sharp erotic scrape of his teeth, and he’s still denying me the kiss and lick I crave. And I do crave him. I’m so lost in him that I’m helpless and oh so willing. Then both of his fingers slip between my thighs, shove aside the thin strip of silk there, and ruthlessly stroke the slick heat beneath. “So wet, baby,” he murmurs. “Just the way I like you.” I can’t control the lift of my hips, and I arch into his touch. “I can make you come right here and right now,” he declares, teasing my nipple and clit at the same time.

Oh God.

Yes.

Please.

I grab his shoulders and tell myself to shove him away, but his fingers are still inside me, stroking me, his thumb caressing my clit, and I’m already so far gone—too far gone—and I can barely remember my name.

But apparently, I remember his because I can hear myself murmur “Creed,” and somehow my face is buried in his shoulder. The scent of him—this addictively male scent that draws me in and seduces me—is everything right now. He is a drug, and I’m…oh God.

I think I say that out loud because he says, “That’s it, baby,” tugging roughly, deliciously, on my nipple, and that’s all it takes. I’m there, in that sweet spot I never want to end. My body quakes and trembles, and I spasm around his fingers, clinging to him in the process. There is nothing gentle about this wildly intense moment, and I don’t want it to be either.

He is not gentle.

And I seem to like it.

I’m panting when it’s over, when reality returns, and my cheeks heat with what we’ve done, right here in a public restroom. I don’t want to look at him. He eases my leg to the ground, and he tenderly strokes my hair, tilting my face to his. “Mine,” he declares, but something in his voice is as tender as his touch.

I wet my parched lips, aware that he never kissed me. Why didn’t he kiss me? Why do I care? Why does that lack of intimacy make me feel like a conquest?

“This changes nothing,” I whisper, my defenses bristling. “It proves nothing.” I pull back to stare at him, to make him see that declaration in my eyes.

I’m stunned when, for just a moment, I think I see torment in his beautiful blue eyes, but a blink later and it’s gone, replaced by red hot anger, an arrogant hard look etched on his handsome face. He plants his hands on either side of me, caging me. “Heed my warning, Addie,” he declares softly, a lethal quality to his voice. “Seeing you again, touching you again, has ignited possessiveness in me like nothing I have ever felt in my life. When you deny wanting me, I have a sudden urge to prove you wrong. So, if you wish to leave this restroom, I suggest you stop denying what we both know is true. You’re mine, Addie. That can’t be changed, no matter how much we both wish it were true.”

Everything he’s said leads me to one conclusion: he wishes he could end our connection. This realization cuts, and not gently. I’m bleeding inside with what should be obvious anyway. The sex, the claiming—it’s as he said, nature. He can’t help it any more than I can.

Chapter Nine

“The mark doesn’t decide if I’m yours,” I declare. “I do. It doesn’t make me or us do anything. We are not bound to each other.” My voice is weak and emotional, and I can’t control it. I can’t control anything right now, and I hate it so much.

His reaction is a wave of dark energy, consuming me, as does he. “There’s a lot I could say to that, Addie. A lot I want to say to you and would probably regret later, but now is not the time. We’ve been in here too long.” He pushes off the wall. “You have to go back to the table before that dickhead comes looking for you, and I end up killing him. We need to make plans.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and hands me a silver flash drive. “Go through airport security—point two. Someone will be there to ensure your laptops get switched. Go to the restroom and insert this into Brock’s laptop. You’ll need twelve minutes to get a full hard drive copy. Remove it, and I’ll come for it. There are cameras in your offices, so it has to be done in the airport.”

My gaze jerks from the flash drive to his face. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you don’t want innocent people to die. And because you want to know who is lying—me or your father,” he says, and the words hold the harsh reality of cold, hard truth I’m feeling even as he adds, “otherwise you would have already told your father I came to see you, and we both know you didn’t.”

---