Steel Sirens Read online

  I’ve never felt more alive.

  Chomarr shrugs and throws a punch. A fist the size of a ham sails toward my head, and I duck it, feeling the wind of its passage in my hair. Ora’s sake, I think that would have decapitated me.

  Well, I’ll just have to avoid getting hit.

  I twist to the side, bringing my fists together, and I hit hard as I can to the side of his head. I’m rewarded with a hiss of pain as his granite skull rocks to the side, but it’s barely a jerk. His skin is pebbled, tougher than mine. Shit.

  I don’t see his retaliatory strike until it buries in my guts. It takes the wind from me, and I stumble back, and the bar is the only thing that keeps me from going down. I tangle in the seats, gasping for breath, and I almost vomit from the pain and whatever the hell his fist did to my insides.

  Chomarr grins, bearing long canines like he wants to rip my throat out with them. For all I know, he does. He comes after me, fists together above his head for a vicious downward chop that will break my neck.

  I have nowhere to go, no escape. I’m still too winded from his punch to vault the bar, and the seats to my sides will slow me too much.

  There has to be something. I have only seconds.

  I look to Emeree. She still entangled, but her eyes are wide on me, silver and blazing in the dim room.

  Silver.

  I close my eyes, feel for the thread that connects us, silver and black, linking our souls. There.

  But last time was so dangerous, and I’m in bad shape. I don’t want to survive this fight just to die on the ground. The memory of my heart trying to explode from my chest is still so vivid.

  But maybe…

  Instead of grabbing the thread, like I did last time, I give it the slightest tug, like taking a delicate strand of spider web between two fingers and pulling it free of its tether.

  I open my eyes just as the world slows. Chomarr’s fists are a hand’s width from my face, and his eyes are wild, murderous.

  I don’t waste time, dodge under and behind him. I lift one of the chairs as I go, lifting it high, and release the thread just as I bring it down to shatter over the back of his head.

  In all, it takes less than two seconds. I feel a faint tremor in my chest, but nothing more. In fact, I feel refreshed, and the pain of Chomarr’s strike has faded.

  He stumbles forward, smashes his head into the bar hard enough to dent it. I crow with triumph, ready to turn and help Emeree, when he stirs.

  No way.

  He lurches up, hands braced on the lacerated bar, and turns slowly, eyes crazed. “What the hells are you?”

  My face splits in a grin, the same I’ve seen Emeree wear, and I think I understand her a little better. “Pissed.”

  He punches, in too much pain to roar, and just as his fist nears me, I tug the thread again, a split second that lets me dodge. Time slows, and I weave around him as it restarts. My fist impacts the hard ridge of his nose, and he blinks, shaking his groggy head. He tries again, two quick, staccato punches to my sternum, but I tug again, rewarding him with nothing but empty air and another strike to the nose.

  Chomarr blinks away agony, and for the first time I see it in his eyes: fear.

  He’s either too stupid or too berserker angry to stop now. He charges me, arms outstretched. It’s almost laughably easy, now, to give the thread the gentlest touch, and he stops, hanging in the air. A long thread of saliva glistens as it falls from his bared teeth. I duck under him, dodge to the side, and release the thread in time for his charge to end with my foot tangling his legs. He goes down, flat on his face, and his nose ruptures as it strikes the ground, sending spider web threads of blood arcing in every direction.

  Still, he tries to rise.

  Gods. How did they fight back an army of these things?

  Nearby is one of the legs of the chair I smashed over his head earlier. I take it in two hands and slam it down with every bit of strength I have, hammering his head back into the ground. He groans, a long exhalation of pain like a bellows emptying, and goes limp.

  I stand over him, panting, and I laugh. Long, from deep inside, so hard that it leaves me coughing.

  Gods damn. I could get used to this.

  The room is still chaos. Lamb lays about him with his cudgel like a force of nature, and Oranna darts about him, not deterred by age, like a tiny shadow of the giant, her own cudgel smaller but no less deadly. Bodies litter the floor, and enterprising patrons are dragging them to the street, or to the corner, depending on their role in the brawl. From the streets, the shrill cries of whistles pierce the night, audible even over the roar of the crowd.

  Time to disappear.

  I search for Emeree, but she finds me first. Slim fingers lace with mine, dragging me unerringly through the chaos.

  Toward the stairs.

  My heart beats a little faster at the hooded glance she throws over her shoulder. I stumble after her, bloodlust, desire, and alcohol warring within me, a mirror to the chaos around us. We duck punches, dodge little scuffles, and leap over prone bodies. We are a ballista bolt, unstoppable, and there is only one end to our flight.

  Stairs pass in a blur, so quick I don’t notice until they end and I stumble onto a landing. There’s a short hallway, then a single door, hanging open suggestively.

  The apartments.

  We push through, our breaths heavy. There’s barely have time to bar the door and take in the small but lavish quarters before Emeree’s hands and lips are on me, kissing, tugging. She pulls my shirt over my head, follows it with wet presses of her lips up my chest, and I yelp in pain and pleasure when her teeth find my nipple.

  She traps me like that, shirt still entangled in my arms, one hand bracing my wrists against the wall as her lips slip between mine. We kiss, deep and hungry, like we’re trying to devour each other. Every hooded glance from the last few days, every light touch, every innuendo-laden jab translates into desperate need. We don’t talk, just consume each other.

  Emeree doesn’t release my hands, and I don’t fight her, still pinned to the wall. I gasp as her other hand slips down, and warm fingers circle my cock. I’m already so hard, straining against unyielding leathers, and she purrs in approval, her breath hot at my throat. Dexterous fingers undo the ties, and she yanks them down, hard, exposing me to the chill air.

  I throb as she pumps me, once, twice, sending little vibrations of pleasure deep into my loins and belly, and I shudder so hard that our teeth clack as she comes in for another kiss. I swallow her giggle as her tongue slides, wet, into my mouth, exploring, running along my teeth.

  Her hand roams down, cupping my balls, and she lays my cock against my belly, trapping it with her forearm. My teeth find her ear as she jerks me off like that, nails digging lightly into soft skin as her lean arm runs along my length.

  Enough. If she doesn’t stop, I’m going to finish, and this isn’t how I plan to do it. Growling, I wrestle free of her grip. She laughs, low and deep as I turn her, pushing her to the wall like she did me. I bring her shirt up, and her trim tits bounce as the hem tugs them upward and then releases. Her dusky nipples harden. One fills my mouth. I circle and flick with my tongue as I pin her hands like she did mine.

  Emeree’s eyes are closed, and little pants escape trembling lips as my hand darts lower, lower, into her pants, past the trim thatch of hair above her pussy. Lower, until my finger finds little lips, already so wet. I dive deep, gentle, then bring my finger up in a slow trail across her clit. Her moan is a little wild, uncontrolled, and she thrashes against my grip.

  “Please, please,” she whimpers.

  Gods, the sound of her voice, begging… I’m nothing more than drunken desire, and she is my entire world. She’s so beautiful, the way her body writhes in my grip… I can’t take it.

  Emeree turns. Her pants are no obstacle, and they come down, exposing the perfect curve of her ass. We bend together. One upward thrust, one long stroke, buries me in her heat.

  Her moan rips through the roo
m like a distant howl, and her body wracks in a long spasm, so uncontrolled that I’m the only thing holding her upright. She stills, stills for just a moment, trembling. I can feel her along every inch of my length, and her tight walls pulse, once, twice, little aftershocks.

  “Did you…”

  She gives a little nod, teeth buried in her full lip.

  Gods damn. This is so good for my ego.

  Then need overcomes all rational thought, and I pull out, all the way, until just my tip parts trembling lips. I slide back in, and she’s so wet there’s no resistance. I take her in long, hard strokes, relentless, my cock parting her velvet pussy over and over.

  She presses up against the unyielding wood of the door, hands braced, pushing her ass hard against me. Her breasts press to the sides and her cheek is flat against the wall, and her little moans drive me wild, and I take her harder, faster. She’s so perfectly tight, and as I push deep inside, she flexes, tightening in time with my thrusts, milking me.

  She feels so fucking good, so perfect. My head still swims from the ale, from her scent and taste, and I drive into her, over and over, relentless, lifting us on a tide of pleasure that builds, builds…

  Together, we spill over. I cry out and I cum deep inside her, pumping over and over as her orgasm wracks my trembling cock. The sound from downstairs still carries up to us, loud enough that the fight must not be over, but her cries are so loud I’m sure they can hear them despite that.

  And then, we’re still again, a mirror to our position when we started; me bent over her, buried to the hilt in her warmth. Little drops of cum flow out of her, trailing down my balls as we catch our breath, my chest over her back, waiting for the thunder of our hearts to calm.

  “Didn’t even get to use the bed…” Her words are low, staggered between great heaves of breath.

  “Not done with you…” I gasp. With indescribable regret, I pull free from her. She’s almost weightless as I tuck one arm beneath her legs and one behind her back, and she snuggles her head to my shoulder. She’s so small, so defenseless in my arms, and it’s so hard to reconcile this trembling, delicious woman with the warrior feared across the world.

  Lowering her so her legs drape over the edge of the bed, I release her to fresh silk sheets. She lets me, crossing one arm over her eyes, and for a moment I just stand there, feasting on the light thrown by a few low candles that casts the landscape of her curves half in shadow.

  Emeree’s breath comes so slowly now, I’d think she was asleep but for the little grin on her face, how she bites her lip in anticipation of what I’m going to do next.

  Best not keep her waiting.

  Kneeling between her legs, I part her with two fingers, revealing the little slit of her pussy. As I push her legs further apart, pink lips resist, still glued by my cum, before releasing. She glistens, my wetness and hers.

  Next to the bed is a basin of water. I dip a finger in. Thanks to double-walled ceramic, the contents are still warm.

  Lamb, you absolute godsdamned treasure.

  I dip a nearby rag in the water, then bring it to her pussy, cleaning her gently. She lifts her head, watching me from under her arm, eyes banked coals. I move in long, slow strokes, around her lips, inside her thighs, and then along her warm length. She closes her eyes at the pleasure of it, and her moan is one of absolute satisfaction, so different than before.

  “Definitely keeping you,” she whispers.

  My answer is my mouth, suddenly diving down, and my tongue parts her folds. She gasps, throws her head back. “Dastardly,” she manages to pant before words fail her, before my tongue quests up and finds the little bud of her clit.

  She tastes perfect, like strawberries and sweat and cum and sex. My tongue darts out, over and over, exploring, testing, finding the best way to pleasure her. When the tip slips under the hood protecting her clit, she whimpers, writhing. I slip two fingers inside her, pressing fingertips opposite where my tongue presses, stroking deep inside. Her whole body tenses as she cums, hard, raking my face with the length of her pussy.

  I don’t stop, increase the pressure just a bit with both fingers and tongue. I glance up the length of her body as she writhes on the bed. Her hands cup her chest, and she pinches her nipples so hard that she whimpers. Our eyes meet as she pulls one pert breast upward, and she cranes her neck, taking her nipple between ruby lips.

  Oh, Gods. My cock pulses. I want her, again, but I won’t hurry this. The first time was all about need, about reckless, insane desire, unstoppable lust. This, though… This is about pleasure.

  With that thought, I make a show of drawing my tongue up her wet lips, slowly, flicking her bud with each pass. Her eyes widen each time, and the noises she makes are animal, primal. When she cums again, she can’t maintain eye contact, and she throws her head back, grinds her ass into the bed.

  She takes a long, shuddering breath as I lift my head. She smiles, catlike, and tries to pull away. “Your turn,” she whispers.

  “Wait,” I say, fingers digging white furrows into her thighs. “I want to try something.”

  She watches me with a silent question, but doesn’t pull away. Emeree looks all too happy to let me continue.

  Lowering my head back to her warm pussy, I split her with my tongue. A long stroke up her length stops when I when I find her clit. Her moan is low, but laced with a question: What am I doing?

  I search for the connection between us and almost gasp. What was once a thread is more solid now, like a thin rope, tethering us together. As my tongue pushes, as she moans, it vibrates, as if her pleasure were as much spiritual as physical.

  I gently, with my soul, take the connection and hold it tight.

  Emeree’s eyes widen. “Ewan, what are you…”

  Her words slow, draw out on a long syllable as I tug.

  Time halts. I lick, little brushes of my tongue on her clit, over and over, as many times as I dare as my heart beats harder and harder in my chest. I don’t stop until I feel the first tiny pulse of agony, and then I finish on a long lick with the entire length of my tongue, relishing her delicious taste. I release, knowing she’ll experience every movement in a single instant.

  Time surges back to normal. Emeree comes clear off the bed, and her cry is so loud it pierces my ears. Her body wracks, spasms, and she cums so hard her heels beat against my back, impacts I know will leave dark bruises. There’s a moment of respite as she spends, where she tries to moan my name, and then her body, overwhelmed, orgasms again. Her nails rake the bedspread, tearing long furrows in the cloth, as she bites her lip so hard it blanches.

  For long moments, she just trembles. Her pussy, a hand’s width away, twitches.

  “Ewan,” she says, stops, breath hitching. “Ewan. I don’t...That was…” She relaxes by degrees, heels dragging down my back to rest against my ass, arms going limp, chest exhaling slowly. “In all my years, centuries, I’d never thought of using my power like that.”

  “I find that hard to believe…”

  She takes a shuddering breath, lets out a little laugh that’s a cross between pleasure and madness. She sits, languid, catlike, and I watch as her face comes close to mine. She licks my lips, long and slow, the thin trickle of her blood mixing with the wetness of her pussy that still coats me. “You are a very dangerous man.”

  “Good?” I ask, and I can’t keep a deep smile of satisfaction from my lips.

  “You have no idea.” Her eyes drop, eyeing my still throbbing cock. Without another word, she slides from the bed, into my lap. We’re both so wet, there’s no friction as I slide deep inside her, and our eyes close as she rests her head against my shoulder, almost bonelessly.

  I understand immediately what she wants. Her skin is slick as my fingers trails down her long, lean back to cup her ass. She rises when I pull, sliding her up my shaft, and then I release, letting her glove me. Her moan is soft in my ear, weak, drunk and powerless. Her lips play along my neck as I fuck her gently, slowly, my arms pistons that power ou
r lovemaking.

  Emeree’s nipples harden, tracing rough paths through the thatch of hair on my chest. She shivers at the sensation, then presses closer. Her hair smells delicious, like dark chocolate and cinnamon, and I bury my face in it as I cry out her name, over and over. “Em...Em...Oh gods...Em…”

  She whispers nonsense words against my shoulder, and her little moans grow as her pussy tenses. She’s so close, and so am I. She’s such a perfect fit, just tight enough to build the most minute friction as she slides along my shaft, and with a final bounce that tightens the walls of my stomach, I finish.

  We cum together, quietly this time, moaning each other’s names into shoulder and hair. She shivers, body convulsing, like she doesn’t have enough energy left to finish. I pump hard inside her, so intense that the world ceases to exist. There’s only her scent, her whimpers, the feel of her flesh against mine as I empty inside her.

  We sit that way for long moments, barely able to breathe. I could die, now, and not regret it.

  There’s a strange sound at my ear, mixed with her steady breathing. I’m about to ask her what she’s saying when I realize that she’s snoring, little exhalations that I find ridiculously adorable.

  I stand, lift her gently, and lay her in the bed. I move quietly around the room, blowing out all but one candle, and then slip next to her, pulling the blankets up over us.

  Her dim silhouette is beautiful in the candlelight. I run my hands along her forehead, tilling her hair, then lean forward to kiss her cheek. She leans into it, the faintest trace of her little smile playing across her lips. “Siri is going to love you…” She murmurs, almost dreamlike.

  I lie on my back, staring at the low ceiling, one hand still resting on her soft belly. The thought of doing something like this with someone else, with Emeree condoning it, seems crazy. Impossible.

  And yet...There’s strange guilt at how much the thought turns me on. Lying in bed next to this perfect creature, should thoughts of anyone else intrude? Even if Emeree wants it to happen? I can’t make sense of it.