Pandora’s People 2: Keely Page 4

  With Keely, things had been different. As West eased back from his own memories, Keely’s moved in to fill the space.

  Her own initial experience with John had been similar to West’s -- the preliminary evaluation, when they’d gone into a shared meditation and he had gathered an initial impression of her abilities, followed by the careful, frank talk about what she could expect. But in her case, her abilities weren’t latent.

  “What are my options?” she had asked him, looking at her hands clenched together in her lap, remembering the frightening intimacy of the evaluation. She couldn’t imagine how much more intense it could get, and the thought scared her. Her talent, he had explained, made her reaction that much more powerful.

  He had leaned across the desk to regard her earnestly. “You have a powerful talent. It could be dangerous if not properly controlled. Do you understand that?”

  She nodded, fighting inexplicable tears.

  “I can help you, by organizing your mind so you can control it, or you can resort to drug treatments. Either will work, but training will leave you able to use the powers when you choose to. Drugs will simply keep them continuously under a leash.”

  She eyed him defiantly. “I know people who control their powers with drugs, and they can still use them.”

  “Different kinds of powers. Yours wouldn’t respond that way to a drug regimen. They’d be suffocated.”

  Nodding, she clenched her hands in her lap, then slowly looked up at him. She could feel his emotions, knew his motivation. She also felt the stir of attraction in him, which even he might not be aware of yet on a conscious level. “All right. I’ll let you help me.”

  His slow smile told her he was proud of her decision, even if her empathic skill hadn’t. And so it had begun.

  They hadn’t been able to resist the attraction for long. It had just been too strong, too inevitable. And when it had happened, that day when they’d come out of the meditative trance and had rolled into each other’s arms, it had seemed so right, so perfect. They’d spend every moment together after that, until --

  She broke the thought off there, unwilling to follow down the path where the rest of the story led. West knew what had happened, anyway. Her own memories floated up to join West’s, and they came together to form a warm, almost breathing picture of the man they had both cared for and respected. As the shared images came together, it was almost as if John were in the room with them, his large, solid, commanding presence filling the space. She could almost hear his voice, his breathing…

  Certain he was there, Keely opened her eyes, her breath drawing in with a sharp sound of happy surprise. She could even smell him…

  He wasn’t there. Only West was there. Tall, slim, handsome, his blue eyes shimmering with the loss he felt. It was genuine; Keely could sense this as easily as she could sense the slight chill in the room.

  He clutched at her hand as she stared at him, and in a quiet, broken voice, said, “I’m sorry.”

  Keely blinked. Suddenly she understood. His emotions lay bare to her, voluntarily exposed so she could feel what he felt, know what he had known. He had been cautious and withdrawn with her because he’d been afraid of stepping too far, of intruding on her grief and loss before she was ready. And, perhaps most of all, because it had felt wrong to him to express feelings for the lover of a man he’d been so close to.

  And feelings there were. They’d been bared to each other during the psychic attack, and the emotions that had flashed through her from his mind, so quickly she hadn’t been sure she’d interpreted them correctly, now lay open, easy to see. He did care for her, was deeply attracted to her. But she was John’s, and even though John was gone this was a line West didn’t feel he could cross --

  Keely kissed him. Deep and hard and long, drawing in the heat and taste of his mouth. She laid a hand flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palm. It was rapid already, and getting faster.

  “Keely…” he murmured, and touched her shoulder, almost pushing her back but not quite. He knew as well as she did that these things happened sometimes, and under these circumstances, when they were so closely joined, often it did more harm than good to follow the instinctive, carnal pull. He was right to try to bring the situation back under control.

  She didn’t care. She had felt so broken, so alone, for so long, and knowing this man cared for her, wanted her, made her feel hope for the first time since John had died. She touched his face, looked into his darkening sapphire eyes. “It’s okay.”

  He still hesitated, so she kissed him again, tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue. Her fingertips slid inside his shirt, touching his warm skin. He let out a small sound.

  His long, slim fingers found their way to her buttons, nimbly working them open until fingertips brushed over her breasts. The touch was so light, like feathers. She wanted more, wanted more surety in his passion.

  Wanted him to take her.

  “West…” She grabbed the plackets of his shirt and ripped it open, heedless of any sort of propriety. Or buttons. Her hands slid over his skin, smoothing the shirt back. She could feel his heart quicken under her fingers. It was fast and strong and growing faster. He said her name again, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was going to protest again, try to stop her.

  “No,” she said, pressing her mouth against his, speaking the words against his lips. “No, West. Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.”

  He gave in. She felt the moment as a little, crumbling surrender that shivered in the air around him. Her mouth was full of his taste now, her hands full of the warmth of his skin. Her thumbs found his nipples and prodded them into erect attention. A moan formed on a warm breath in his mouth, moved into hers.

  He pushed her back onto the couch cushions until she lay under him. Her legs parted for him, and he settled his hips between her thighs, a rock-hard erection rubbing against her as his hips began to thrust mindlessly. His long, thick cock stroked her through her jeans, and she felt flooded with wet arousal.

  Though under normal circumstances she could sense some tremor of every emotion he experienced, somehow now he was a blank to her. It was almost as if his lust blocked out everything else. Subtler emotions simply couldn’t hold their own in the face of that onslaught.

  But she knew he wanted her, knew he’d been fighting it, and had finally given up that fight. She tilted her hips under him, feeling her body weeping with its need, and rubbed her own sex against that straining, needy erection. She was so wet, so ready, she was certain he could feel it even through the layers of clothing separating them. How could he not?

  He breathed out something that sounded vaguely like her name, then strong fingers jerked at her jeans, yanking open button and zipper. Then his hand was down inside, fingertips against her wet, hot folds. A sharp shock of arousal jolted through her, began to spread warm tendrils through her as he touched her.

  He stopped, just there, fingertips not quite touching her clit, and she felt his breath shiver through him. She opened her eyes, met his gaze. His eyes had darkened. He was frowning, his lips set in a thin line of determination, but his expression held something like shock, anger at himself.

  She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. “Don’t. Don’t think about it like that. Don’t think about it at all. Just… please.”

  Her fingers traced across his mouth, and that hard line softened, the fierceness fading from his eyes as his head tilted just a bit to the side and he regarded her with pained need. His obvious reluctance made her want him that much more. Shifting her hips, she brought him deeper against her, until his questing fingers slid against her clit, and she let out a soft sound of hunger.

  His head came down and he kissed her again, more gently this time. His tongue stroked inside her mouth, tangling with hers. His hand made a subtle movement against her clit as he shifted his weight, and suddenly a warm, sweet orgasm moved through her, not quite expected but very welcome.

  Her climax seem
ed to spur him further out of his hesitation. He jerked again at her jeans. Shifting and wiggling under him, she helped him slide them down and off her. His own zipper rattled as he pushed that barrier away, too.

  “Condom,” he muttered, and she answered, “Don’t bother -- I’m protected,” and at her words he nodded and pushed deep inside her.

  She let out a strangled near-yelp as he plunged in, hard, balls-deep in one slick movement. He paused, but began to move when she wrapped her legs around him and tipped her hips, bringing him in even deeper. He hadn’t hurt her -- she was too wet for that -- but the sudden, aggressive penetration had taken her by surprise.

  As did his harsh, rapid thrusting now. He fucked her hard, pounding her back into the couch, and suddenly a little crack opened into his emotions and she could feel what he felt -- anger, at himself for giving in, for betraying John --

  “No!” she exclaimed, her body clenching down hard on him. She wanted him to stop, wanted him to never stop. “Don’t, West, don’t…” She could barely form words, but she needed him to understand, needed him to not be flagellating himself for this. Instinct made her start to reach for him with her power, to change the emotion, but that wasn’t want she wanted. He had to shift these feelings on his own.

  Thankfully, he seemed to understand what she meant, tamping down the negative emotions trying to flood him. He stopped thrusting, high and deep inside her, then opened his eyes to look down into her face.

  She clenched on him harder, wanting to hold him within her. She wanted this. Needed it. And looking into his blue eyes, she felt something open up next to her heart, in a place that had been pinched shut since John died.

  And instinct made her use her power, but in a different way than she had in the past. She reached out to him, and let him share how she felt.

  His expression shifted again, this time into realization and wonder. She saw moisture gather in his eyes, and he blinked it back. Gently, he kissed her forehead.

  He began to pulse again, moving in her in a slow glide, then increasing the speed. He stared down into her face, and she held his gaze with hers. He was deep inside her, stroking her with hands and cock, making her feel like he’d turned her inside out, to cover every millimeter of her with the love she now felt pouring out of him.

  Love. The word had come up in her mind, followed immediately by the soft feeling of the emotion itself, and it was too late to do anything about it. Had she not been so open to West, she could have brought it back, controlled it, made it not so raw and sudden. But it was too late. A tremor of fear followed the warm burst of that powerful, deadly emotion.

  West stroked her hair back from her forehead, and he made a “sh” shape with his mouth, but no sound. Softly, he kissed her forehead. Between her open, trembling thighs, his hips thrust harder for a few seconds, then tightened. She felt the pulse of his release inside her. He made a sound, a satisfied purr unlike anything she’d ever heard from a man before.

  He held her tight, his body shaking, then slowly relaxed. She reached for him again, cradled him. They said nothing else to each other; there was no need.

  After a time, Keely slept.

  Chapter Five

  She slept fitfully, drifting in and out, her mind and body unaccustomed to another presence in her room, in her bed. West’s emotions swirled around her, his control weakened by sleep. Her weariness also muddled them, making them hard to interpret, but the mish-mash made it hard for her to completely relax. The air swam with guilt, need, fear -- love. Finally, feeling her eyes moistening and her heart growing heavy under the onslaught, she blocked it all out and let herself drift away.

  John came to her dreams. She saw him exactly as he had been just before his death -- tall and strong, dark hair tumbling into his eyes, his easy smile lighting his face. His eyes sparkled as they met Keely’s, and he nodded.

  You’ll be okay. His mouth didn’t make the words, but they formed nonetheless, seeming to fill the air around her with their shape and sound.

  She reached out, saw her fingers stretching toward him, but somehow she couldn’t touch him. He took a step back from her, his bright smile still wide. A mist seemed to form around him, and he disappeared.

  Keely woke, not sad and empty as she had in the past when she’d dreamed of him. Instead, a warm, contented feeling filled her chest. Tears rose in her eyes, and she smiled, rubbing them away with the heel of one hand. Sniffling, she curled closer against West and went back to sleep.

  * * *

  She woke alone in the bed. Her heart sank at first, then lurched -- she laid a hand on her chest, on top of the sharp pain. Had he left her? She remembered the dream, of John and what had felt like a final farewell. Had West left her, as well?

  To her relief, she smelled coffee, then frying eggs and bacon. West wasn’t gone -- he was making breakfast.

  The pain faded. Her hand pressed flat against her chest where the emptiness had been. She felt quiet and comforted now, feeling the soft, sweet sensation as that empty spot began to fill.

  She sat up, drew in the breakfast smells, then slowly swung out of bed, savoring the relaxed feel of early morning, the sensation of having another human being in her living quarters. West felt happy, she thought, choosing for the moment to ignore the undercurrent of apprehension she also sensed. That had nothing to do with her, and her own contentment was equally marred by the same concerns. That could be dealt with later.

  She pulled on a robe and walked out to the kitchen to be met by West, who greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a hot cup of coffee.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Coffee, I assume? Not tea?”

  She took the coffee and sipped it, then carefully schooled her features to keep from grimacing at the weak flavor. “Tea would have been fine.”

  He chuckled. “It’s that bad?”

  She smiled and shrugged but made no comment. “The eggs smell good.”

  “Just a bit of a fry-up.”

  Smiling, Keely leaned against the counter, watching West finish the fry-up while she sipped the coffee. After a time, when he was dishing the eggs, tomato and bacon out into a plate, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “A bit tired. Otherwise not bad, particularly considering what happened.”

  “John trained you well.”

  He looked at her in mild surprise, but beneath that she sensed an undisguised relief that she had spoken his name so easily. A similar relief struck her. Sharing her memories and emotions with West had made things less painful inside her, rather than making it harder to bear, as she’d always been afraid would be the result if she opened up to anyone.

  He reached up and touched her cheek, his fingertips trailing gently over her skin. She leaned closer, as if drawn by a magnet… closer… closer… then her lips brushed his, and his tongue slipped out to stroke the seam of her mouth. His hand cupped her sex; she felt herself go intensely hot and wet under the contact. Pushing against him, she slid a hand inside his pants, feeling his cock hot and smooth under her fingers. It hardened under her touch, eager and willing.

  Breakfast forgotten, Keely slid to her knees in front of him. Pulling his pants back out of the way, she touched the tip of her tongue almost tentatively to the head of his cock.

  He flinched, sucking his breath in through his teeth with a hiss. Chuckling, she explored further with her tongue, pressing it against his glans, running it gently down the shaft. He shivered, one hand combing into her hair as she drew him past her lips. His fingers tilted her head back a little, and he tipped his hips, thrusting into her mouth as her tongue curled to match the curve of his shaft.

  “Keely…” he breathed. She only smiled, stimulating him with lips and tongue, experimenting to see what other interesting noises she could coax from him.

  Suddenly she froze, West’s cock bumping the back of her throat. A voice rose in her head, a grating sound like someone clearing his throat. It was more a polite warning than an indication of telepathic trespass -- the message sen
der was giving her fair warning that a message was coming. Giving them fair warning, she amended, as West jerked back, sliding free of her mouth.

  “Shit,” he muttered, his face flushing dark red.

  Keely, equally chagrined, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She came to her feet, watching West straighten his clothes. He made a face as he fought to tuck his erection back inside his underwear.

  Requesting status, Maxwell’s voice finally came after a few moments’ silence. The tone was formal.

  “Improved,” West said, matching the formal tone. “Almost back to normal, I should say.” He spoke aloud, but the message would go through to Maxwell on the telepathic level, as well.

  Keely? Do you concur?

  Keely nodded automatically, though no one but West could see her. “I concur. His recovery mechanisms are very sophisticated.”

  Keely sensed Maxwell’s satisfaction with that statement. It felt like a smile, even transmitted mentally as it had been. You can thank John for that, Maxwell said, and Keely frowned a little at West. Some of the discomfort had returned; she didn’t feel as at ease when Maxwell said John’s name as she did when West spoke it. West’s hand rose again, touching her face, and the disquiet settled again.

  Keely smiled her thanks. “So, Mr. Maxwell,” she went on, trying to quell thoughts of stripping West naked and having her way with him on the kitchen counter. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  Yes, there is, in fact. Maxwell paused, and Keely sensed he’d been momentarily distracted. She reached out to touch West’s chest -- she couldn’t help it.

  Apologies, Maxwell went on. I know West hasn’t had an optimum recovery period, but I need to see both of you in my office as soon as possible.