This was no Accident

Then kill me," "Kill me right here. Show me."

Lochlann just looked at her.

Her eyes moved from him to the handcuff, as though answering her own question, and when she spoke, Lohclann sighed.

"You won't kill me. You'll run away. Just like you ran away that night."

"That was why I ran away," Lochlann said. His voice was sharp, the hiss of a wounded animal. "Do you think I'd just run away just because I felt like it? Do you think that was easy? Do you honestly think I could ever forget that night?"

His faced was blush and his chest was heaving with the effort. He could not believe he was having this conversation with Guinevere Haze. His hands were clenched into fists that didn't quite close all the way. He was having trouble controlling himself now. His vision was tunneling in and out, like the vision of the moon slowly distorting like the ripple of the moon.

The only thing that could save his life.

Was she talking about rehab, or herself?

Either way, Lochlann was sure the answer was going to kill him.

With his free hand, he reached over and picked up her hand that rested atop the cuffs. He placed it over the scar on his heat. She'd be able to feel his rapid pulse and the searing heat of his skin, but that's not what Lochlann wanted her to feel.

He wanted her to feel the scar she'd left him.

He wasn't sure if it was an answer or a threat, or why he was holding her hand so tightly against his chest like this.

He wanted to kill her. He wanted to live. He wasn't sure what his life meant anymore.

"I don't know what you want, Guin," Lochlann said. He closed his eyes.

Her hands were on his face and this time, instead of rubbing into her hand, Lochlann held still. It took much of his willpower to stop himself, but in the end it didn't matter.

"I want you,"

He was hard again.

Goosebumps raised up his fevered skin and his breath caught in his throat. When he opened his eyes to look into hers, it was almost too much to bare.

Lochlann wanted a lot of things, but foremost at the list was to be wanted. For a moment, his expression was raw and unfiltered, the kind of look she'd only pulled form him during their more intimate moments in bed. His eyes were soft and scared and he looked oh so very human.

"Why didn't you kill me?"

He wanted to answer, but he was caught off guard by her earlier words and then the slow stirring of her hips. His body betrayed him with its response, his hard cock throbbing for her and his breath catching in his throat.

He hated that she had this power over him. He hated that she was torturing him like this.

Lochlann was not used to being on the receiving end of such feelings. He liked to be the one creating them, and being forced to feel everything she wanted him to do and knowing that she could take it away or hurt him at any moment was an uncomfortable sensation. Lochlann wasn't sure if he liked it.

"I want to," he said. "I want to kill you but.."

He couldn't finish his sentence, not with her body in place like this. He gave a slow, experimental thrust, his eyes watching hers, his breath still caught in his throat, waiting to see if she'd allow him.

He couldn't finish that sentence.

He couldn't explain to her that he wanted to kill her, but he didn't want to kill her. It didn't make any sense. He couldn't explain to her that he was a monster bred to kill and he was good at it, that he needed to do it, but he couldn't, and he wanted to be a better person, but he wasn't.

He didn't even know if she'd understand, even if he could find the words, so Lochlann bit his lip and closed his eyes.

Lochlann was barely moving. He couldn't pretend that he wasn't hard or that Guin's body on top of him wasn't a temptation. He couldn't pretend that his free hand wasn't roaming her back, pulling up to her hair, poised to angle her head at the perfect place so he could kiss her if he could just muster up the strength.....because his free hand was doing exactly that.

Each one of those little moans and gasps drew his hips up in a circular rocking motion, taking little by little what he could.

But still, Guinevere Haze controlled him. She controlled his body as well as his mind, and he was afraid to do anything else save answer her questions.

But what.

Lochlann couldn't tell her. He could't tell her the truth: that he didn't want to hurt anyone, but he couldn't tell it, and part of him didn't want to help it.

That was something Lochlann had a hard time admitting to himself.

He didn't want her to ever spend one waking moment thinking she was not in danger from him.

Where they in a different place, Lochlann would have used sex as a lie. He would have said, "But I haven't fucked you enough yet" and then taken her hard and fast until they were both too exhausted to ask any more questions.

Lochlann speculated that Guinevere Haze was never too exhausted to ask anymore questions.

Instead, he took a gamble. She knew what he was, she read the books, but how many books did she read? Lochlann knew not all books carried here held the secrets of the fae; he'd never come across one that talked about why not all water horse could enter the fae lands. But he didn't know where else she did her research, so this was like tossing dice and hoping for the best.

He thrust again, and now his movements where more bold, though still hindered by his exhaustion. He didn't want her to see how much he was hurting, how the lie drug pain to the surface of his eyes.

"Because I'm not ready to kill you yet," he said, and then pressed his lips to her mouth and kissed her. It was a cold, emotionless kiss, more of a threat than a kiss.

This way, at least it sounded like he had a choice.

He hated the way she looked into his eyes and said, "I didn't know you hated me that much..."

The words stung him, but Lochlann did not show it. This was what he wanted, right? He wanted her to believe that he hated her. But he didn't hate her, not completely. He hated that he couldn't hate her. He should hate her. He shouldn't have such conflicting feelings over this woman.

She'd tortured him, physically and emotionally, and used him. She was using him right now, but Lochlann was using her, too. Things would be so much easier if he just hated her.

"It's nothing personal," Lochlann said.

The words sounded strange. They had a hollow ring to them, but he hoped she might mistake that for emotionlessness. She'd always drug such strong feelings from him, he doubted she had any evidence of his real emotionlessness to compare it to.

Oh, but it was personal.

It was personal and intimate, like their position. Lochlann gripped her hand and then leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear.

"Take the cuffs off, Guin."

He wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't get out of this bed. She'd have to see that. He was fevered, exhausted, and hurting inside and out. All he wanted to do was fuck her.

He didn't want anything in the way.

Not words, not her gloves, not his cuffs.

When Guinevere took the wrists cuffs off, Lochlann relaxed so suddenly he almost collapsed. His body reacted as though she'd taken a heavy weight from off his chest, but the pain kicked him with it.

He rubbed his wrist, which was worn raw and chewed on from his short time in the cuffs. If she left them on and left him alone with them, he would have hurt himself considerably. Restraining him was worth than death.

Her eyes met his and now that his hands were free, it would seem like he should have pounced on her.

Instead, Lochlann took his time, bringing both hands to her face to caress her cheeks and plant a soft, slow kiss on her lips. Still kissing her, he trailed his hands gently down her neck and shoulders, the sides of her arms and the soft curves of her hips. His touch was feather light and exploratory, the touch of someone preparing to carefully open a much-anticipated package.

Slowly, he brought his hands back up to her chest and then Lochlann unsnapped her bra and shrugged it over her shoulders. It was something he could have done with one hand, but felt so much better with two.

He cupped the swell of her breasts with each of his hands.

It's not personal, he'd said, but right now, every single touch said otherwise. Lochlann spoke sex as a second language and he didn't know how to lie.

The entire time, he'd barely moved beneath her, instead letting his gentle touching of her body and the soft motions from their kissing to be what moved her on him. It was almost impossible for him to stay this still, but Lochlann wanted what he wasn't allowed to have before.

He was changing the way he touched her chest, his motions still feather-light and teasing, seeing if this drew a better or worse reaction from the rough, needy-way he usually groped her. He still paid special attention to the tips, rolling and tugging them between his fingers, but it was more attentive and less desperate.

He broke his kiss slowly because Lochlann wanted to make a deal with her.

"I want you," Lochlann said. "But I also want you to tell me what you want. I want to spend an entire night learning what makes you come. What do you want from me to make this happen?"

He did not recognize her fear.

Had he been healthier, Lochlann probably would have smelled it on her; he was a predator after all. But the same drugs that dulled his pain dulled his senses, and in this moment, he was so very, very human.

But he mistook her fear for disgust and apathy, and it wasn't until her whole body started to shake that Lochlann realized she was showing him something raw.

He became more possessive of her then. He slid his tongue into her mouth and tried to tame her with slow, soft strokes.

The bruises she was showing him now stirred up a stranger reaction in him than seeing the ones on her neck. He slid his hands from her breasts up to her shoulders and then down to her arms, and when he reached her fingertips, Lochlann pulled her gloves off.

He exposed her, and then took her hands together in his. He lifted them up above their heads, and then angled them to they were over his head and down his neck, mirroring the way they were when he'd carried her to the window in her penthouse.

Only this time, there was no risk of falling. He pulled her closer to him now, pressing her breasts against his chest, and Lochlann slowly moved one hand down her body and between their legs, touching her even as he slowly thrust into her.

"You don't have to know right now," he whispered to her. "But I need this from you, Guin. I need you all to myself for that entire night. I believe your body has a lot to tell me."


He was asking for a whole night alone with her, and Guinevere was the one who was trembling.

He memorized the little noises she made, the sighs and the quiet way she streamed his name into a series of curses. He did not stop touching her or fucking her, just kept that same, slow pace.

She'd tortured him before, but Lochlann wasn't torturing her now.

Guinevere said it wouldn't be like it was before, but Lochlann did not believe her. He wasn't torturing her, but he was trying to extract a promise.

He hated that damned perfect fit. He hated that, when he looked into her eyes, he felt connected. He hated that when she told him he could do what he wanted, he felt a surge of excitement and pleasure course through his body.

Oh yes, he would do what he wanted with Guinevere Haze, but not tonight. Tonight, he could do nothing but show her in a slow, gentle way that she was making a promise to him.

"It is a deal then," he said, and because all deals made this way should be sealed with a kiss, Lochlann pressed his mouth to hers.

He tried not to think too far ahead, because it meant thinking about how he might escape from that place to find himself in Guinevere Haze's bedroom.

Because he was curious, and because he believed she could take it, Lochlann slid both his hands to her thighs and very, very slowly, spread them further. It was a move he'd seen happen in yoga classes although it was normally not performed mid-coitus.

But, when he moved her body, it changed the depths of his thrusts, and Lochlann slid both his hands back. One returned to pleasuring her while he thrust into her, and the other went to tilting her head back, exposing her long neck to him.

Lochlann kissed every single one of her bruises.

The person who did this to her was probably dead.

Why wasn't he?

She must be some sort of god.

The explanation made sense to him, both with her all-knowing comment before, with how she was in his head and heart and mind, and with how she responded to his touch. He'd moved her legs and she'd adapted, taking him in deeper, and Lochlann could only groan when she did.

She was supposed to be a virgin before their first night together--that made sense, too. Gods would often return in a new body. But her fineness in bed? That was something Lochlann had never seen before.

When she whispered his name, Lochlann shuddered beneath her and pressed a bite to her neck on a patch of unmarred skin. He licked and sucked it, but he didn't leave a mark.

"One day," Lochlann breathed. "I want you to be wet from only saying my name."

He wasn't sure if he was telling her that as a promise or challenging himself.

Her hand on his face tilted his eyes to hers and he was again lost in hers. Was he okay? He was shaky and light headed, and his vision tunneled every time he looked away from her, but he was...

He was okay, but only because she was here.

"I'm okay with you in my arms," he said. It wasn't meant to be poetry-it was just the truth. "This will be slow."

His eyes were half-lidded and a smile started to twitch on the corner of his lips thinking about all the things he was going to do when they got out of here.

His hips stirred a little quicker and his motions became more purposeful, more demanding of her. He wanted something, but Lochlann wasn't sure what it was.

Slowly, Lochlann reached up and pulled one of her hands away from him and brought them to his face. Still looking her in the eyes, he began to touch each of her knuckles with his lips.

"Do you always wear gloves?" he whispered to her.

"one day I want you to be so consumed by me that you can't run away anymore."

While there was no hesitation in his lips when he kissed her, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Resignation.

The day Lochlann stopped running was the day he took Guinevere Haze to the bottom of the lake, but he couldn't tell her that, now could he? Not after he'd just told her he wanted to do it.

She adjusted to his rhythm and he recognized the movement of her hips that told him they were perfectly aligned, and now Lochlann was more concerned with making sure the rhythm was kept consistent and even.

She was saying his name freely and Lochlann reveled in it, rewarding her with a harder thrust and prolonging that blissful contact.

He loved the feel of her hands, how textured they were, but he loved that they were a part of her that he never saw or knew existed until she took her gloves off.

Always.

They were always covered.

He kept her gaze and slowly, Lochlann kissed up her fingertip. He brought the end of one to his mouth and sucked on it, slow but steady, and thrust once hard into her. He wasn't sure how much sensation she had in them, but if she had any, it had to be used to the shield of the gloves, or at least that was his reasoning.

But Lochlann didn't want anything between them.

He only wanted her, all of her.

That look on her face was wonderful.

Lochlann took delight in it, like it was the first snowfall of the season, unexpected and beautiful. And when she said his name like a lover, Lochlann pulled her to him tighter, sinking himself deep into her.

He'd intended this to be a slow, easy fuck, almost more like an afterthought than a main event, but when she said his name and started to rutt against him like that, Lochlann found his body willing to oblidge her. He removed her fingers from his mouth and kissed them slowly and gently, and then Lochlann placed her hand on her breast.

"Guin," he whispered.

His eyes were glassy and he was pale, but he was focused only on her. How wonderful this was. He was please'd that she'd shared this part of him with her, and Lochlann thanked her in the only way he could.

He was delving into her hard, his heavy sac bouncing beneath his legs. Lochlann's hands were again roaming her body but they eventually settled on her hips, keeping her anchored to him while he drilled into her.

His breath was coming in short, hungry gasps.

"Come with me, Guin," he said.