The Reaper Page 10

She exploded, screaming as her knees buckled, her balance forgotten, her walls releasing like never before, her heartbeats through the roof, so loud she could feel them thundering everywhere in her body. She could feel her own wetness running down her thighs, her eyes seeking his magnificent blues as she watched her come, committing everything to memory.

  He pulled out all of a sudden, pushing her down over the dresser, and she saw him stroking his erection in his fist, his face twisting into agonized pleasure as he exploded over her back, his come pooling on the dress. Morana watched, fascinated, still reeling from her own pleasure, listening to that growl leave his chest as he jerked off for a few seconds, milking out every drop, exhaling.

  His eyes, which had closed, opened again and found hers. He tucked himself back in, zipping up. Morana straightened slowly, watching as his hands came to her breasts for the first time. Not to touch, no. He still didn't touch her breasts even as her nipples strained towards his palms, aching with a hunger only his fingers could satiate. He never did. He just took the neckline of her dress in both hands and ripped it apart in one go, the sound of the tearing fabric loud in the room. He stared at her for a long minute, his eyes never wavering down to her bra, now completely exposed in the dress that hung on her only by the sleeves.

  Gently, silently, he took the sleeves down and pushed the dress to the floor.

  “Get rid of the dress.”

  With that growled command, he turned on his heel and walked out, locking the door behind him with a click.

  Morana blinked, all of it too quick for her to process. What the hell had just happened?

  Her gaze drifted down to the discarded green dress that Maroni had sent her. It was ripped, tattered and had his semen drying on it. A slow smile teased her lips the longer she stared at it. A laugh escaped her, the situation suddenly funny. Picking it up, she walked to the bin in the bathroom and threw it in. Humming quietly to herself, she turned to wash her hands and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes lingered on the red mark on the side of her neck where he’d hickey-ed her. She touched the mark gingerly, the smile on her face full-blown now.

  Showering quickly, she changed into her cute pajamas and jumped in her new bed, the knife safely under her pillow, a pillow pressed into her chest. She cuddled into it, thinking about the entire roller- coaster of a day. Her first day in Tenebrae. Despite being in the enemy city in the enemy's house full of hostile strangers, a small bubble of happiness nestled its way inside her heart. Her life, in many ways, was better than what it had been weeks ago. She had found a true friend in Amara and a protector in Dante. And she had found, under all the madness and chaos, Tristan.

  Tristan.

  Just Tristan.

  She exhaled, her heart squeezing at the giant steps they had taken forward.

  She didn't know if he would acknowledge them tomorrow or revert to his usual self. She didn't know how Maroni would respond to her words tomorrow. She didn't know if someone would try to harm her tomorrow. What she did know was tomorrow, she would wake up and work on the mysteries that were plaguing her. Tomorrow, she would work out a plan to deal with the sharks better. Tomorrow, she would think of how to deal with Chiara. Tomorrow, she would call Amara and talk to her. Tomorrow.

  She might not be safe but she mattered. She mattered to someone. And he had started to matter a great deal to her.

  And tomorrow, as they said, would be a new day.

  It wasn’t the most peaceful night she’d had but it wasn’t the worst either.

  The worst had been a long time ago in her father’s mansion when one of his men had sneaked into her bedroom. She had been young, yes, but not defenseless. She had smashed his nose with her foot before smashing the lamp on his head. Scared by the fight in her and the noise she was making, he had escaped. To her relief, her father had found out and punished him. To her disappointment, it hadn’t been for trying to assault his daughter but for daring to defy his authority under his roof. That had been the first night Morana had put a weapon beside her pillow and every night since then, she had slept with a weapon within easy reach, knowing how unsafe she had been.

  The most peaceful night, much to her surprise had been in the penthouse of the man who’d sworn to kill her. It had been the night after her father had shattered her hopes at the bottom of the staircase, the night she had unknowingly sought out comfort and safety in the territory of the one man who should have terrified her but didn’t. It had been the night Dante had weaved his way a little into her heart and Tristan had made her feel safety the likes of which she had never experienced in her life. She had slept that night - vulnerable, exposed, hurt and weaponless - with the utter knowledge that she wouldn’t come to any harm, not at the hands of anyone, not while Tristan was there.

  Tristan.

  Morana smiled a bit, the warm feeling in her chest still lingering from last night. He had asked her to call him so, and so she did. Not just verbally but in her own mind. For some bizarre reason, she’d never thought of him as just Tristan. Maybe it had been too personal; maybe it allowed for an intimacy she hadn’t been willing to admit to. But he had addressed it last night in clear terms, broken a barrier she had created intellectually between them. The barrier lay broken now, the stamp of his claiming bare on her skin for anyone to see, the sound of his whiskey-and-sin voice demanding his name in her voice.

  Tristan.

  He was Tristan now.

  Her Tristan.

  The warmth expanded.

  Morana sat on the edge of the window, looking out at the property. The sun was playing hide-and-seek with the clouds, much as the moon had last night. The light shone brightly upon the lush green lawns, the shadows created by the woods at the edge dark. In the distance, the clear water of the lake shimmered, a lone little house standing on its edge, hidden behind the line of trees creating a visible divide between the in and the out. She understood what Dante had meant - Tristan had been on the inside for outsiders but on the outside for those on the inside, essentially belonging nowhere but with himself. She understood why he had that penthouse on top of a building now, where he could see everyone with those beautiful, giant windows but no one could see him, no one that he didn’t explicitly invite into his territory. Layered with that knowledge, their first night against the window became even more beautiful to her, the shift in their relationship even more pivotal.

  Men patrolled the property, much like they did at her father’s house, but much less ostentatious. These men were skilled, sleek. It was evident simply from the way they moved, the ease with which they held their guns. Morana observed them for a long minute before movement drew her eyes to the house at the edge of the lake. She could make out the tiny form of Tristan walking out of the house to stand at the edge of the lake, his hands in his pockets as he stared into the distance. Fascinated by the chance to observe him without his knowledge, Morana simply watched, unable to remove her eyes from his form.

  He stood still, almost unnaturally still, so much so he could have been a statue from such a distance and no one would have known. That stillness of his, even as he stood alone, made her realize how non-still he was with her. Since the beginning, there had been an energy about him, an energy that had wrapped itself around her time and again. Even when his physical form had been still, his energy had always been in motion - pushing, pulling, circling, holding, attaching itself to her. She didn’t know if that had been deliberate on his part or something he hadn’t been able to control (though she suspected the latter from his level of frustration with her in the beginning), but scrutinizing him at that moment contrasted.

  She saw Dante’s huge form walk with agile grace towards Tristan’s still one from the trees. She wondered where his wing was as the man joined Tristan. They stood side by side, brothers, in a way their world couldn’t understand, and Dante bought out another cigarette from his pocket. She saw Tristan flick a glance at the cigarette before looking forward again. And then they talked about whatever they talked about. All sh
e could glean from their body language was a big, fat nothing. Tristan stayed the way he was, Dante relaxed in his form. The sun shone brightly on them for a long time in the early morning, the chill in the wind drifting inside the window to her arms.

  Morana snuggled tighter into her blanket, shifting on the window seat.

  The action seemed to distract the men because Tristan turned his head suddenly, looking straight at her window. She knew he couldn’t see her any better than she could see him but she felt the heat of that gaze warming her better than her blanket did. A shiver coiling down her spine, the muscles between her legs still throbbed with the ghost memory of last night, clenching with the memory of his flesh snug inside them.

  Dante turned to look at her as well. He raised the hand not holding the cigarette in greeting to her. Morana grinned at the gesture, giving him a slight wave back.

  Her phone vibrated.

  Tristan: *sent an image*

  Morana stared at the image of his card, his name, and details clearly visible to her. Confused, she typed out the reply.

  Morana: ???

  She looked up at his figure, seeing his face turned down to the phone in his hand, the other hand in his pocket as he typed out the response with one thumb. He must have hit ‘send’ because a second later, her phone vibrated again.

  Tristan: Buy yourself whatever you need. You either don’t have your card or access to your account or you would’ve done it before Amara gave you clothes.

  Morana stared at the message, emotions conflicting inside her. He wasn’t entirely wrong. She did have her cards but it had been the paranoid computer hacker inside her who hadn’t wanted to order anything from his penthouse while she had been there and risk alerting her father. Back then, she had still cared. Now, since Maroni had very kindly informed her father already, she didn’t have two shits to give.

  Morana: Thank you. This is very thoughtful of you. But I’ll use my own card to buy myself what I need.

  She saw him look down at the phone again and from what she could tell, he exhaled or sighed. Then he typed.

  Tristan: Whichever suits you. Yours or mine, doesn’t matter. As long as no more clothes need to be destroyed.

  Well, when he put it that way. Morana felt her lips tilting at the implication.

  Morana: I might just have to accept more clothes from Maroni just to have you rip them off, in that case. I enjoyed that.

  She looked up slowly to see his gaze back on the window, on her. Her heart started to pound, just seeing his reaction after that message, seeing the way his eyes didn’t move away for a long time. And then he turned to his phone again.

  Morana let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding, feeling her phone vibrate in her hand again.

  Tristan: Buy.

  Morana sighed, slightly deflated by the anti-climactic response. She’d been expecting a text more along the lines of “Me, Tarzan; You, Jane”. Her phone vibrated again and she looked down quickly. Surprisingly, the text came from another man.

  Dante: Dear Morana, whatever you just told Tristan, kindly don’t again. He is just itching to go punch my father in the face and that would be very inconvenient for our plans. I don’t want to get in between whatever you two have going on but please don’t egg him on right now. I need him focused. Thank you. Dante.

  A huff of laughter left Morana at the way Dante had phrased the text, the amusement in his tone evident along with the exasperation she could just imagine in his expression. It also restored the warm wave she’d been riding to know that what Tristan wrote and what he felt were very, very different. She wondered how many times she’d “egged” him on, as Dante so eloquently put it. Well, since she was egging…

  Morana: Dear Dante, of course. I completely understand. If he knew you were telling that to me, I imagine there’s another Maroni he would want to punch. But that’s not relevant. By the way, could you please forward me Amara’s number? I want to talk to her. Thank you. Morana.

  She had Amara’s number. Of course, she did. It was about making a point.

  Dante: He wants to punch me every five minutes. I want to punch him every four. And I know you have Amara’s number. Say hi to her for me. Thanks.

  Morana grinned.

  Morana: I admire how much self-restraint you men have.

  Morana: And I don’t want to get in between whatever the two of you have going on.

  Dante: Touche.

  Energized, and truly happy for the first time to have an unconventional relationship where she could be herself and not worry about it, to have a friendship where she could sass and be sassed in return, Morana felt liberated in a way she couldn’t explain. Shaking off her thoughts, her plans for the day materializing, she sent another message to Dante.

  Morana: Since you offered me to come to your wing when I needed, I have three questions. A. Is it tapped for audio or video? B. Is there a kitchen? C. Does it have WiFi?

  She saw Dante’s figure talk about something to Tristan. Tristan nodded and Dante typed. Interesting.

  Dante: A. No, there is no audio/visual invasion of privacy. There are security cameras outside the door but none on the inside.

  Dante: B. Yes, there is a kitchen with a fully-stocked fridge so you can eat. You can also order something from the house and one of the staff will deliver it to you.

  Dante: C. And yes, of course, there is WiFi. I’m assuming you want to come and work there?

  Morana: Yes, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to catch up on the trail of the codes. With everything that’s been happening, it’s time to get back on it. So, A. That’s great. I’d be more comfortable making calls and working where I knew nobody was listening or watching. B. I’d be more comfortable eating there than order something at the house. Best case, someone spit in it; worst case, it’d be poisoned. C. I’ll bring my equipment.

  Dante: It’s good. No one will bother you there. Make yourself comfortable and let me know if you need anything else.

  Morana looked at the simple message, her eyes misting. Blinking the surprising moisture away, she typed.

  Morana: Thank you. I just need directions there.

  Dante: I’ll send someone to escort you.

  Morana: Thanks.

  Slipping away from the window, Morana quickly dressed into a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt, pushing her feet into flats, glad she’d be able to order her stuff today. Brushing her hair and popping a bright shade on pink on her lips, she put her glasses on and picked up the blade from beside her pillow. Taking her laptop bag from one of the shelves, Morana collected everything important and everything she needed for the day, placed the knife in one of the pockets in the lining of the bag, and zipped it up. Hitching the bag up over her shoulder, she picked up her phone from the bed and headed to the door, seeing the message light flashing again.

  Unlocking it, she saw another message from Tristan.

  Tristan: Dante and I are heading out for the day. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t head to the main house until we’re back.

  Morana raised her eyebrow at the tone of the text, shaking her head.

  Morana: Yes, Mr. Caine. Of course, Mr. Caine. Anything else, Mr. Caine?

  There were a few seconds before his reply came on.

  Tristan: I’ll see how cheeky you are tonight.

  Morana felt her breath catch.

  Morana: What’s tonight?

  Tristan: Something that’s long overdue.

  Morana: Which is?

  Tristan: Your mouth, wildcat.

  Oh my.

  Morana brought her free hand up to fan her face, the cool wind doing absolutely nothing for her escalated heartbeats or her heated cheeks incited by two words. Two damn words. Her mouth. What with her mouth? What would he do with her mouth? Would he trace her mouth with his fingers? Eat at her lips with his own? Tangle his tongue with hers? Or would it be more primal? Would he let her mouth taste his flesh? Explore him? Explore the muscles on his chest, trail over his pecs, lick at hi
s scars, kiss his abs, trace lower and lower and lower...

  Oh my.

  Morana could feel her entire body humming with the heat those thoughts infused in her blood, rushing, pulsing, throbbing everywhere. Shaking off her musings, she inhaled deeply and tried to center her thoughts back on track. After a few seconds of deep breathing, when her skin felt like it wasn’t on fire anymore, she pocketed her phone and exited her room. Thankfully, she didn’t see anyone lurking outside the door.

  Locking her room (as though that would make any difference in the Maroni household), she headed to the stairs and went down, anxious to be out and away from the house as soon as possible and into Dante’s wing. She had stuff to do today, the least of which involved ordering her clothes and calling Amara. What she’d told Dante had been right. Over the past few days, with everything happening the way it had between Tristan and her, the entire reason for their meeting in the first place had gotten sidelined.