Marie Harte: Julian's Jeopardy

He muttered under his breath, but he didn't speak again as she ran her hands over his arms, neck, and face, taking away “the bad,” as she'd always called it.

“I…I have to finish. I feel more pain.” She ran her hands over his hips, and he shuddered.

“Yeah, the pain's getting worse by the second,” he growled. “Who the fuck are you? Why are you here?”

The strength of his voice encouraged her, but his anger didn't make sense.

“Did Montaña send you? You here to take all the pain away so he can give it right back?” He sneered.

“Shh, no.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door but continued to run her hands over his legs and feet while avoiding that large, insistent part of him. She could feel his hurt, and it was more than unfulfilled arousal. Had someone injured his groin as well?

“You're blushing,” he said in amazement, though how he could see in the darkness, she had no idea. “Good Christ, if you're not with Montaña, who the hell are you?” He paused, and his voice shook as he asked, “Are you real?”

“Shh.” She rose and put her fingers over his lips. “I work here.” When he stilled, she hurriedly amended, “I work in the botanical center. There's a legitimate lab attached to this area. I had no idea you were here. When Pedro told me, I didn't believe him. I had to see for myself.”

“Yeah, you've seen, all right.” He stepped closer, as close as his chains allowed.

“I'm still hurting, sweetheart.”

Her face felt on fire, but she couldn't avoid it any longer. She slowly feathered her fingers over his lower abdomen, down his groin to his inner thighs, and cupped his testicles.

The raw groan he gave made her nipples tighten, but there was more than carnal desire in the sound. There was real pain.

“How did this happen?” she asked, appalled.

“Montaña,” he rasped, no longer trying to goad her. “Fuck, that feels good.

Don't stop,” he ordered, sighing into her touch. Though still aroused, he seemed to care more that the pain from his wound leeched away. She eased her hands from his warm sac and slid them over his shaft, pushing away the sense of raw scarring that shouldn't have been there.

Now that she held the very essence of him, she recognized a part of the psychic makeup of his physiology. “You shouldn't need me to heal,” she said on a breath, amazed. Had she found someone like her, finally? In the heart of the jungle, deep in the Amazon, had she found a kindred spirit?

“No, I shouldn't, but, honey, I'm still aching,” his low rumble reminded her.

“You're making it worse.”

She realized that she no longer felt his hurt, but a new pain had blossomed.

The male in front of her pulsed in her hands, so thick, so hot and hard. He stirred in her a keen desire she'd never before experienced, not even with the few boyfriends she'd slept with.

“Tell me your name,” she said, the inane request making her blush all over again. God, she held his penis in her hands, she couldn't see what he looked like, and she didn't even know the name of this stranger chained to a wall. Talk about surreal.

“Julian,” he whispered, his breathing labored. “But my friends call me Jules.

Call me Jules, Sheridan. Oh yeah.”

He tilted his hips in time with her touch, and she realized he was thrusting into her palms. To her amazement, he felt slick, and she wondered if she'd missed the point where he'd orgasmed. But he didn't seem any smaller.

“No, don't loosen your grip. Hold me tighter,” he rasped and groaned as he literally swelled in her hands. “Fuck.” He swore and came all over her. So much seed. It hit her shirt and continued to leak from his tip, the scent of musk and vanilla bringing her so close to her own orgasm, she let go of him in shock.

“Damn, I'm sorry,” he said on a groan. “It's just been so long, and I—” He tensed, his eyes flashing.

“What? What's wrong?” she asked, alarmed. She couldn't stop shaking, not from fear, but from arousal.

“Someone's coming.”

Jules tensed and yanked furiously at his chains. Whatever the woman had done to him worked, because his body, if not his mind, felt at full strength again.

Though still dazed, he no longer ached. He had so many questions, but his beast demanded this woman get to safety. For all he knew, she was Montaña's newest way to get under his skin, but after all she'd done for him, after seeing the bright, shining white of her aura, Jules didn't much care.

“Stop. You'll hurt yourself,” she hissed. “I'll be back when I can. Don't tell anyone I was here.”

The sheen in her eyes froze him. Those glorious blue eyes made him want to do whatever she said without question. And that worried the hell out of him.

He slowly nodded. “I won't say a thing.” But he was talking to her back as she punched in a code and rushed out the door. He swore again as the damned thing made too much noise when it closed and locked behind her.

The rapid patter of her footsteps faded while heavier, familiar noises returned.

The changing of the guard. It would have made more tactical sense to never allow his door to be unguarded, but the assholes running the place insisted on daily briefings for everyone together in the central courtyard. He'd heard a few mention it in English—rogue Circs not from around here, obviously.

Thanks to the mysterious Sheridan, he felt better than he had in days, weeks, hell, a month. Who was she, and how had she healed him like that? Had he hallucinated and finally just healed himself? Though Jules normally healed quickly, whatever daily injection Silva gave him to keep him placid also affected his regenerative powers.

But nothing Silva had done should have accounted for the release of a building mating heat. With just the soft touch of her hands, Sheridan had alleviated that worry. Or had she? Had Silva's drugs somehow muted his instinctive need to mate?

God, he had so many questions. He'd been anxious about the mating heat as his time—what felt like forever—in this shit hole progressed. The mating heat might be the one thing that could break him. Because without ease, he feared he'd slowly turn rogue, unable to think about anything but sating his sexual and violent appetites.

His team's sanity had made them unique among the many sailors infected with the Circe serum so many years ago. The tight bonds they shared enabled them to overcome the madness that affected so many others. Yet the mating heat still struck them. Despite the bonding of Fallon and Olivia, and then Hayashi and Morgan, the entire team continued to need Circ sex. Only a Circ could satisfy the carnal needs that built inside them.

That Sheridan had eased his hunger in one large orgasm could mean several things. Her healing “power,” whatever the fuck it was, worked on Circs. Or his many injuries had drained him to the point that the mating heat hadn't hit, and his erection had been a response to the shy sex kitten who'd healed his hurts so generously. Or maybe he'd lost his fucking mind.

The dreaded haze of awareness he'd been forced to exist within returned, but this time, his distance from reality comforted. Gifted with a delicious fantasy, he allowed himself to linger on her memory.

As the minutes turned into hours, he couldn't stop dwelling on his visitor.

Sheridan.

Was she real? If so, who was she? And why was his beast so damned fascinated with her?

She'd been so small, fleshy, and so incredibly feminine that he could feel himself getting hard again just thinking about her. The woman wasn't tall, maybe five-four or five-five. Her hair was a rich auburn color, a thick mane of red he wanted to see spread over his belly as she went down on him. Sheridan had a woman's build, the kind men dreamed of and other women secretly envied. Not slender, not fat, but curvy, with ripe breasts and an ass made for fucking. He'd noticed everything about her the minute she'd stepped into his cell.