Edge of Obsession Read online

“You’re wrapped up like an old woman.” She still stared at him and he relented. “Nobody cares, Helena.”

  “I care.”

  “Nobody who matters,” he amended.

  Temper washed over her, visibly, but it got her moving. Tyr grinned where she couldn’t see him, settled his hand on her neck again in a shout of sheer possessiveness he didn’t care if his brothers found funny the way they all had earlier, and hoped that things around the fire had taken their usual turn.

  Because if she was embarrassed out here in the dark with a man she’d already let touch her more than once, his little compliant girl who thought she was a badass, then he couldn’t wait to see how she handled the usual raider nighttime activities.

  He told himself the blue balls would be worth it.

  * * *

  They’ve all calmed down, Helena thought as she trudged back over the cold sand.

  The rain had stopped and the wind only howled in bursts, making the flames of the big bonfire dance and shake. The packs of huge, frightening men were laughing a whole lot less as they approached, and there weren’t as many looming around. She thought that the feel of the gathering had shifted somehow while she’d been down in the water learning more unpleasant things about herself and her own weaknesses, all of which this barbarian of a man seemed to know and be more than willing to exploit.

  But it didn’t matter that her breasts—which she’d paid very little attention to in the course of her life, as small and inadequate as she’d always believed them to be, especially in contrast to her sister’s—still ached. That she could feel Tyr’s hot mouth and the scratch of his beard over them even now, as if the wool that rubbed against them as she moved was deliberately reminding her how wanton and abandoned and into it she’d been down there in the dark.

  Tyr’s hand guided her the way it had before and he was right, no one paid much attention to what she was or wasn’t wearing. No one paid much attention to her at all.

  The fire was even brighter than she remembered it and her eyes blurred as they fought to adjust. It occurred to her that might look like tears and she couldn’t think of much worse than showing these hard men that kind of weakness. The weaknesses Tyr had already discovered were bad enough. Weeping for no reason might kill her, she thought. She scowled at the ground instead and wondered if her feet would ever feel normal again. If they would ever not ache.

  And what Tyr would have done if she’d asked him to help her with her shoeless state hours ago instead of sucking it up and marching on.

  He’s just toying with you, she snapped at herself then. He’s playing some kind of messed up raider game with your head. If he’d wanted to do something to help you, he would have.

  Tyr picked his way through the crowd and then threw his bag down in a swath of open space at a log someone had pulled near to the fire. He spread her jeans and her T-shirt out on it, then tossed himself down on the sand with his back to the log and his booted feet stretched toward the fire.

  He looked up at her, dark and wildly beautiful with the firelight dancing all over his still-wet, half-naked body as if he wasn’t the least bit chilled or uncomfortable, and Helena understood with a kind of thud inside of her that she was in much deeper trouble with this man than she wanted to admit. Her nipples still ached from the way he’d devoured her out in the water, holding her up in the air before him like an offering. A willing offering, that voice inside of her amended. Her pussy was soft and hot just thinking about it.

  And he knew it. She knew he did. That faint smirk on his hard face told her so.

  He crooked a finger at her and she wanted nothing more than to tell him what he could do with that finger. Loudly, so it would humiliate him in front of all these men. But that bag of his was right there next to him and she couldn’t go anywhere without her tablet. Even if the wild fantasy in her head about some kind of epic escape—in which she had more clothes on, wasn’t barefoot, had one of those all terrain vehicles to make it through the overgrown countryside and some gas to fuel it besides—had been remotely attainable, she wouldn’t have been able to leave his side until she got it back.

  Because she needed her tablet to bring the lights back. Her tablet and some damned shoes, so when she got to that power plant with its own server farm in the Catskills she could access the long-lost Internet, find what other server farms remained, and see if she could get the power up on this sunken continent and what remained of the rest before another winter locked her down. Winter meant she’d be condemned to a winter marriage somewhere for six stormy, excruciating months. Months that the kings and their vicious minions like Krajic roamed free in the rugged vehicles only they had and destroyed whatever they could find before Helena could turn the lights back on in a whole lot more places than a few kings’ territories. That was her destiny, her calling. Her responsibility. This situation she found herself in with Tyr was nothing more than a roadblock. A small detour, that was all.

  And besides, she might have known Tyr for only a few pretty dramatic hours, all told, but Helena had no doubt that he would keep her tablet from her simply because she wanted it, without having the slightest idea why she wanted it.

  He was a dick. The end.

  “That was less an invitation and more an order, Helena,” he told her in his growly voice.

  She really took him in, then. The shockingly raw beauty of his male form, yes. There was no pretending she didn’t notice that. Hell, she practically drowned in it every time she looked at him. Then there was his strength and power and that innate, battle-fixed confidence that infused every inch of him, as hard and ruthless as his steel-hewn body. His dark gold eyes that shone in the firelight and all that dark hair of his in its warlike braids, gleaming wet, announcing what and who he was in case she’d missed the way he held himself or all his intricate tattoos. It all made her feel tight and taut and scraped hollow inside.

  Or maybe he was the one who did that.

  And that was before she let herself look at the erection that was more than obvious—and huge—between his legs, unapologetically pushing out against his trousers. She’d done such a great job ignoring it all night, but she wasn’t a child. He’d had his fingers inside of her and his mouth all over her breasts. Helena might not have had either of those things done to her before, but she knew what he wanted from her—if in somewhat different form than what she was accustomed to from her compliant experiences.

  The truth was, Tyr didn’t scare her. Not really. It was her reaction to him that terrified her. That she was so hungry for more. For him however she could have him and whatever he wanted to do to her. No one had ever touched her like he did, rough and hard and perfect, completely noncompliant, and she shook with need, she wanted it so much. She could feel the slick need between her legs, the growing heaviness in her breasts. He looked at her and she felt liquid and shivery. Outside herself.

  Helena had no idea what to do with that. She’d never felt anything like it. She’d never had a man … play with her before.

  That word hummed inside her brain. That was exactly what he’d been doing, in the woods and in the water. Playing. Compliant men didn’t do that kind of thing. They took care of business as agreed and otherwise left her alone, according to the typical promises made at the September equinox. They didn’t put their wicked, dirty mouths all over a woman’s breasts. That didn’t make babies. That wouldn’t repopulate the drowned earth, as was every fertile person’s responsibility, so sayeth the church. That didn’t do anything.

  Except make Helena lose her mind, apparently.

  You’ve dealt with every winter marriage you ever had without any trouble, she told herself stoutly then. This is no big deal. Just a little bit different, that’s all.

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, and didn’t let herself rethink her decision, not even when a very male sort of delight flashed across his face as if he could read her better than was safe for her. Helena didn’t let herself stop and think about that possibility. She s
tepped between his outstretched legs and sank down on her knees so she was face-to-face with him.

  And once there, Helena didn’t hesitate.

  “Okay,” she said, briskly. Matter-of-factly. “Let’s do it.”

  Tyr looked lazy, but his dark gold eyes glittered. “What are we doing?”

  If he were a compliant man, she would have said it all differently. The greater good, sacrifice and the future of humankind, blah blah blah. All the usual, formal things people said while nailing down their winter marriages at the September equinox celebration and pretending their stuffy conversations were about something more decorous than sex. But Tyr was a raider, profane to the core and unbound by convention or equinoxes or compliance. There was no need to pretty it up.

  She held his gaze. “Why don’t we fuck and get it over with?”

  Helena didn’t know what she expected, having never said anything like that out loud before in her life. Much less to a raider. Tyr didn’t move. He didn’t grab her and throw her down on the sand. He didn’t really do much of anything, which gave her a little too much time to notice how hard and wild her heart was beating, which had never happened before at any equinox celebration she’d ever attended.

  Tyr didn’t look bored, exactly, but he didn’t look particularly interested, either, and Helena refused to admit how much that stung.

  “I’m shocked,” he said after a moment. He was clearly nothing of the kind, and Helena narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you auditioning to be a camp girl? Most compliant girls aren’t into public sex.”

  “How would you know? I doubt you know very many compliant girls. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that if you know a girl at all, she’s pretty much by definition noncompliant.”

  “That’s a cause-and-effect thing, sweetheart. What can I say? I’m a very dirty man and a certain kind of woman comes running at the sight of me.”

  “Any woman who comes running at the sight of you is also guaranteed not to be even remotely compliant. Or she wouldn’t, would she?”

  Tyr offered her a lazy grin. “You tell me.”

  Helena found she was worrying her lower lip between her teeth and stopped herself.

  “I didn’t run toward you at the sight of you,” she clarified after a moment. “I just didn’t cower. It’s not the same thing.”

  “If you say so.”

  Beneath the wool, she curled the hand he couldn’t see into a fist she wished she could use on him. With prejudice. “I don’t think you’re a particularly good judge of who’s compliant and who’s not. And you haven’t answered my question.”

  “Didn’t I? Ask me again.”

  He was playing with her again, of course. He looked like he was enjoying himself. Helena told herself that pointing that out—reacting to it—was what he wanted. Which meant she couldn’t do it.

  She smiled instead. “You heard me the first time.”

  His mouth curved. “Are you offering me the same tedious pity fuck you dole out to all those sad compliant bitches who’ve been brainwashed into thinking pussy is a chore?”

  She blinked. “Um. Yes?”

  He reached up and traced a line down the side of her face, then tucked a bit of her wet hair behind one ear. “No.”

  Helena didn’t understand. “What does that mean?”

  Tyr’s dark eyes gleamed. “It means no, I’m not going to fuck you. Not tonight.”

  She frowned at him. “Why the hell not? Isn’t that what all this was about? Hauling me out of that courtyard? The fingers and the mouth and all the big talk about twice on a date with no clothes?”

  “I’m glad you pay such close attention. I wondered.”

  Helena made a frustrated noise. “I can see that you’re hard.”

  He actually laughed at that, and it had been one thing to hear it earlier. It was something else to see it. Tyr’s whole hard, lethal face changed. He lit up as if he were his own kind of fire, and Helena found she was pressing her hidden fist against her chest as if her heart were trying to escape her ribs and only her knuckles could keep it where it belonged.

  “Baby, getting hard is not an issue.” Tyr tugged her off balance, her face to his, and his dark gaze still swam with that laughing fire even while his expression got serious. “My cock is a privilege, not an obligation to suffer through. You’ll get it when you beg me for it, not before. And not like one of your bullshit winter marriages. I’d rather stick my dick in an iceberg.”

  “I’m never going to beg you.” She didn’t know why she sounded like that, so breathless and wild at once. “That will never, ever happen.”

  He grinned then, right up close, his mouth nearly on hers. “I bet this morning you thought you’d never let a raider get his hands in your hot little pussy, either. I’m not real worried about it, Helena. Never is a whole lot closer than you think.”

  Tyr pulled her toward him, tumbling her across his chest and then shifting her around—as usual, as if she weighed about as much as her T-shirt—until she was settled there with her back to his chest, caged between his legs. A tender position between some, she thought, having seen her own parents sit like that once upon a time. But Tyr wasn’t showing her affection. He was imprisoning her.

  And it was all heat, despite that reality, as if they weren’t outside in the middle of the night. Tyr behind her, the wool wrapped around her, and the fire before her. All of it bright and hot, soaking deep into her bones.

  She liked it too much to admit, even to herself.

  He reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of coarse wool socks. He leaned over her, surrounding her with his hot, hard body, making it impossible for her to breathe as he took one of her feet in his big hands. He brushed the sand from her foot with the outside of the sock, then pulled it on. He did the same thing with her other foot. And when she flicked a look at him, his hard jaw was set in a way that made her stomach flip over. She didn’t dare ask him about something that felt a bit too much like tenderness, after all. She didn’t want to hear what he’d say, how he’d deny it. She didn’t want to know why she reacted to it the way she did.

  Helena flexed her feet in the thick, oversized socks, instantly feeling better than she had all night, warmer and something like cozy—and she didn’t want to think about that either. It was warm, dry feet, nothing more. It didn’t change the fact she was naked, wrapped only in a bit of wool, and locked up as tight in Tyr’s grasp as if he’d tossed her in a cage.

  He was rummaging around in his pack again and this time he pulled out two small leather pouches and dropped them in her lap. One was stuffed full of nuts and the other with strips of dried meat, and it wasn’t until she saw the food right there in front of her that Helena realized she was starving.

  “Dinner,” he said, right in her ear. He fished out a handful of nuts and leaned back, pulling her with him with one of his big hands curved over her belly so she could feel that hard cock he believed she’d beg for one of these days. It felt even bigger than it looked and he laughed slightly as he made sure to nestle himself in the small of her back. She checked a betraying shiver. “You can enjoy the show.”

  And that was when Helena looked around and realized what was happening. Right there in front of her.

  Dirty and completely noncompliant and, it turned out, not a myth at all.

  5

  The raiders were relatively more quiet and significantly less raucous, Helena realized now that she was paying attention to something other than Tyr—or trying to, anyway—because they were … otherwise occupied.

  The huge redheaded man she recognized from before stood with his legs wide and braced in the sand, turned just enough toward the fire that Helena could see exactly what he was doing. A woman knelt up before him, her hands braced on his rock hard pale thighs, right at the place where he’d shoved his trousers down to free his marble white cock. He had the woman’s brighter, redder hair wrapped tight around his fist, making a far more effective leash than a hand on the back of her neck, because he was in obv
ious and complete control of what he was doing to the woman.

  Which was pounding into her. Hard and deep.

  Straight into her mouth.

  This was exactly the kind of thing the priests had warned against all of Helena’s life. This was the sort of behavior that the men who had been in charge of every place she’d ever lived had railed against, however vaguely. Filthy acts like this one that could never lead to procreation and could never do a damned thing to help with repopulation. Because it had nothing to do with that, Helena understood, feeling lit on fire and frozen through at once—and lost, somehow, in the hard, greedy look on the redheaded man’s face. And the way the woman moaned as she knelt there, swinging her hips this way and that as if she was enjoying it as much as the raider clearly was.

  She didn’t realize she’d shifted where she sat, leaning back against Tyr like he was some kind of armchair, until she felt his hand on her belly tighten. Then pull her closer into his chest, making no attempt to hide the length of his hard cock against her back. Or the thread of hard-edged amusement in his voice as he lowered his mouth to murmur in her ear.

  “That’s called a blow job,” Tyr informed her helpfully. “Or sucking cock. Or dick sucking. Or face fucking, to be technical, the way Jurin likes to do it.”

  “I know what it’s called,” Helena gritted out, jerking her sensitive ear away from that wicked mouth of his before she forgot the lines between what she was watching and what she was doing. Something that felt a lot more precarious, suddenly. “There were twelve-year-old boys where I grew up, too.”

  She felt the rumble of his laughter in the hard, hot chest behind her. She didn’t add that she’d never experienced anything like the blow job scene happening before her—he’d probably already guessed that—and that she’d certainly never imagined any scenario in which she’d sit around and watch such a thing.

  Helena ordered herself to look away. She told herself she should feel disgusted, horrified, appalled—but she knew that wasn’t what that red, pulsing thing was that buzzed inside of her, sliding through her with disturbing ease and making her feel bright with longing and apprehension and something sharp and needy besides. It wasn’t what made her much too hot, suddenly, so blazingly hot that sweat broke out all over her body, she forgot the food in her lap, and the only thing left in the world was what was happening in front of her.