Page 7 of Come Fill Me

Only the slap of her and Carreon’s shoes echoed on the stone floor in the otherwise silent hall. This wing of the mansion appeared deserted, his men somewhere else, perhaps nearer the building’s entrance to protect it from attack. Unless that wasn’t a worry any longer, given that he’d captured Neekoma.

If that were the truth.

With long strides, Carreon turned down a hall to the right then one on the left. At a noise from behind, Liz glanced over, seeing the young men from the drive here. Wearing determined expressions, they caught up to her and Carreon. Tonight, they’d watch as his other lieutenants had in the past.

The thought should have disturbed but didn’t. Numb with concern over her father, Liz moved without conscious thought.

Abruptly, Carreon halted in front of a set of double doors, lowered the ornate silver handles, then gestured her inside.

Her ankle started throbbing again. Her mouth went dry. She stepped into the spacious room and stopped, staring at the man Carreon claimed was Zeke Neekoma.

Chapter Two

Naked, he lay in the center of the king-sized bed. His breaths were quiet, his eyes closed, legs sprawled, one arm draped over his head as though he was sleeping.

The bullet holes in his muscular left pec contradicted that notion.

Forcing down a swallow, Liz pulled her attention from his wounds—three perfect black circles—to his face.

Her lips parted on a quiet sigh. Rarely had she seen a man wear such a look of serenity. So unlike the terror she’d witnessed on Carreon’s features or those of his men when they’d been so close to death.

Zeke Neekoma was different. The words boyish and innocent came to mind, which Liz dismissed quickly.

Looking to be in his early thirties, he was no boy. Nor was he innocent. His size, surely six-three, his sharp, masculine features and powerful form were perfect for battle against men and carnal sin with women.

Heat suffused Liz, making her limbs feel heavy and weak. She recalled what Carreon and his men had told her about Zeke, no doubt a mixture of truth and lies. Not knowing which was which, she regarded his sinewy legs, long cock, and weighty balls as she moved deeper into the dimly lit room. Spanish-style lamps created pools of honeyed light, giving the space a sacred feel one might experience in a church. The cherry-wood four-poster dominated the sparsely furnished chamber, while a series of leather wing chairs—reserved for observers—circled the bed.

The man who’d been guarding Zeke left the room. Carreon and his men went to their seats, their weight causing the chairs’ legs to scrape against the polished hardwood floor.

For one foolish moment, Liz thought the intrusive noisewould cause Zeke to open his eyes and lose his blissful expression. That he’d ask why they’d pulled him from such blessed rest and what appeared to be happiness.

This man didn’t want to be healed. Liz knew it in her soul; saw it in the upward curve of his beautiful mouth. Was he the same as her father, tired of fighting? Or was he welcoming the end so he could reunite with someone he’d loved?

His parents and siblings, perhaps…or a wife.

Liz studied his cock, its root nestled in a bush of black curls, his testicles lightly furred with short, dark hairs. Ones many women had surely licked, tasted, enjoyed, given his rough good looks and virile form.

Images rose in Liz’s mind. She pictured him standing before her, his size and manner imposing but not threatening, allowing genuine arousal, not feigned obedience, to guide the act. On her knees at his feet, she’d tend to him, cradling his sac in her palm, allowing its wrinkled skin to rest against her birthmark that proved she had the healing gift.

Would he sense the spark of energy her touch generated? Would he pull her power into himself?

If he did, Liz knew how she’d respond, parting her lips to deliver pleasure, drawing her tongue down his cock’s base to its plump head, tracing the prominent veins that snaked over the thick column, tasting its faint saltiness. Within her caress, his rod would lengthen and harden. Gratified at what she’d accomplished, she’d inhale deeply, filling herself with his musk, indulging in its unique fragrance as she licked his crown. Silky beyond expectation, the succulent flesh would fill her mouth as she coaxed him inside, opening her throat so he could slide into her, as deep as a man could go.

He’d struggle against release as most men did, but her mouth and tongue would work him as her cunt never could. On an unrestrained growl, he’d climax, and she’d accept his thick,salty come, delighting in it.

A new rush of warmth stung Liz’s chest, traveling to her belly and sheath. A pulse ticked deep within.

Disturbed by the sensation and her aching loneliness—the need for a powerful yet good man at her side—Liz recalled what Carreon’s lieutenants had claimed the first night she’d come here.

“He’ll murder our women and children so our line dies out, just as his kind have always wanted.”

If that was the truth, then Zeke was no different from Carreon, who hunted the weakest, eliminating them first. Once more, she examined Zeke’s face, lingering on his mouth. Instead of a sneer or a smirk, she imagined him smiling at her, his grin honest, reaching his eyes, his wanting of her obvious and—

Stop it.

What was the matter with her, indulging in a romantic fantasy when she was well aware of their people’s conflict and unending hatred for each other? Even if Zeke wasn’t a murdering psychopath, he wasn’t likely to be stirred by a woman from an enemy clan. So why was he affecting her like this? Was it a power he had…or something else. Perhaps the truth as to who he really was?

Ignoring her persistent longing, Liz replaced it with a healthy dose of distrust. “This is Zeke Neekoma?”

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