Thunder Rolling Page 2

  Dante tugged at my clothes, and I slipped out of them. When he caressed my body with his gaze, I didn’t think I’d ever felt more beautiful.

  “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. Not one.” His voice was low. “But I suddenly understand why men pick up paintbrushes to capture beauty. I would paint you if I could. I would hold this moment in eternity.”

  “You’re not an artist, but you might be a poet.”

  His grin was fast. “Stop me if I start rhyming. The rhyming doctor with the PhD might be too much.”

  Our mouths fused, and I didn’t even need air, I just needed Dante. He was completely naked and so was I. We scooted back, the bed creaking beneath us, and he rolled me on top of him, his gaze asking me without words if it was okay.

  I took him in my hand, stroking the length of him. He was big, which wasn’t surprising, considering the size of him in general. The slightest worry moved through me. Was this going to fit? I pushed that thought away. It would be fine. Men and women of all sizes had been doing this since the beginning of time. We’d make this work, one way or another.

  He moaned, his eyes closing, and I smiled. He liked what I was doing and there was a heady power to giving him pleasure. This man wanted me. Out of all the women in the world he desired me.

  I stroked him, reveling in the sensation of the velvet soft skin. Dante groaned, and I continued to explore him, the mushroomed tip, the hot skin, as I lined him up to my core. He didn’t press inside me, though I wanted him to.

  He held himself there, his breath coming fast and ragged now, as if it took more strength than he had to do nothing.

  We poised on the precipice together. Whatever came next, it was him and me, forever. Slowly, he arched his back and slid inside me like he was coming home.

  Because he was.

  He let out a breath, one that seemed to release all the weight he’d ever had to carry. I didn’t push him to move, though I clenched down on him. My body had its own goals. It wanted drag and friction, so I had to fight it and let Dante take the time he needed.

  Dante shifted, his hips going from side to side as he continued to fight his need. Then he surrendered. The eye contact was almost too much. Too many emotions flashed in his eyes. The love. How was I supposed to deserve so much adoration from one person?

  I wanted to look away, and as if he could sense it, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me down so we were forehead to forehead.

  “Don’t hide.”

  I wiggled a little, rolling my hips. He was long and thick, and my muscles stretched and burned in the most perfect way.

  “Keep your eyes open.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I replied. Part of me wanted to focus only on the sensation of him inside me, but the other part, the part that was fearless, wanted to see him as he experienced me.

  Our gazes held as we moved against each other. Any time my expression changed, he seemed keyed in to every nuance. When he changed the angle of his thrusts, I bit my lip and he did it again. When he varied his speed, withdrawing slowly and then pushing inside fast, I moaned, unable to stop the sound of pleasure from escaping.

  Realization hit me. My genius scientist. He cataloged my sounds, my expressions, in order to maximize my pleasure. Any reaction I had, he investigated further. He did it again, or made subtle changes.

  I may not have been a genius, but I was observant, and I could reciprocate. I rolled my hips away from him when he retreated and then snapped them back when he plunged inside me. Dante groaned, low and deep, and his eyes widened, as if he hadn’t meant to make a sound.

  So I did it again. This time a little faster, a little harder, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  I would become the scientist, too. It wasn’t hard to keep my eyes open anymore. My self-consciousness was gone. Heat licked the base of my spine, and I began to lose my rhythm. Relief was in sight, but the tension was too much. Dante touched me, his thumb grazing my clit with just enough pressure to make me wild. Crying out, my hips snapped toward him to chase the feeling, and he laughed.

  His laughter shook my body in delicious ways.

  And his happiness. It was the happiness that did me in.

  Electricity shot from my core to every limb as I shook and gasped over him, locking my elbows against his chest to keep from collapsing.

  Dante threw his head back, gritting his teeth. His skin was super-heated against mine and he came with a groan. An answering heat bloomed inside me. I came again, shaking and moaning.

  “Whitlee,” Dante said, showering my skin with kisses as he eased us onto our sides and pulled himself away. “Whitlee. Whitlee.”

  The burst of energy faded as fast as it had come, like a fire using up all the oxygen, and I sagged against the mattress.

  I didn’t know how much time passed, but I woke up with a jolt.

  We weren’t alone anymore, but that wasn’t what had woken me. Prosthetic arm flung over his head, Dante snored lightly on one side of me while Carson was on the other, breath quiet, his arm slung around me.

  I pressed up against Dante’s side.

  Focusing, I tried to hear, or sense, whatever had pulled me from an exhausted sleep. I didn’t think it was a dream or one of the guys thrashing around in a nightmare.

  The guys hadn’t dreamed when we’d first gotten together, but as their bodies healed, their dreams returned. Now, nightmares were constant and none of them slept very well. I made it my job to make them stop, waking the guys when the dreams made them cry out or yell.

  But that didn’t seem to be happening now.

  Nearby, the tread of footsteps and rumble of the other guys’ voices filtered into the quiet room. Everything must have been fine or they’d tell me. Their voices were low; someone laughed.

  It was all normal, comfortable sounds. Soon, three of them would go to bed and one of them would stay up. I was pretty sure it was Nick’s turn on the rotation to spend the night awake.

  Ugh. He’d be a bear tomorrow, and we’d have to walk around trying not to poke him either physically, emotionally, or mentally. Mental note. Take Nick off the overnight watch rotations.

  I sighed. So why was I awake?

  A surge of energy moved out of me all at once, and I gasped. Breath rushed from my body as my arm burned like it had been set on fire.

  Dante’s eyes flew open and a second later Carson’s did, too. From nearby, the other guys yelled. My scientist’s eyes were huge. “Whitlee? What are you doing?”

  His prosthetic fell off, dropping with a metallic ping on the floor. For a brief moment, I thought I’d done that—taken his arm off. But that wasn’t it. I couldn’t look away, even though it was like something out of a horror movie.

  Dante’s arm was growing back.

  Carson grabbed me, hauling me into his arms. “Whit, what are you doing?”

  I couldn’t answer him, because I couldn’t breathe. I shook. I might die from this and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

  Section by section, Dante’s arm grew. Bone, nerves like electrical wires, muscles wrapped around bone, layers of skin, and soft, black hair. From his shoulder to his fingers. How was this possible?

  Carson pounded on my back. “Breathe, Whit, breathe. Damn it.”

  The door flung open, and John rushed in, jumping onto the bed. “What’s happening? Whitney?”

  They could feel the change, but they couldn’t understand it. I didn’t have answers for them.

  “This isn’t supposed to happen.” Dante flexed his fingers. “This isn’t scientifically possible.”

  His voice came through like he was far away, yelling over a distance, and I could barely make out what he was saying. Why wasn’t my breath coming back?

  My chest hurt, and I wanted to be sick, but I couldn’t roll. I gagged, and Brandon was there, turning me onto my side so I didn’t choke.

  “Fuck!” Dante yelled. “Whitlee. No.”

  His hands were on my chest, pushing against my sternum. It hurt. A
ll the strength he reined in, he let loose on me now. I stared at him, silently asking him why he was hurting me, but his eyes were glued to his hands.

  I saw him counting under his breath. The air wouldn’t enter my lungs, but then his lips were on mine, pushing his breath inside me and then he was back to counting.

  My bones were going to crack under the pressure, and I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t talk without air. I couldn’t scream without air.

  His lips were on mine again, and then Nick was there. “You do compressions. I’ll breathe.”

  Onetwothreefour…

  I watched his lips as I died. Please. I begged my body. Please work.

  “Dammit, Whit!” Dante yelled. His fist came down, and I would have flinched, but how could a dead person move? His skin was pink and shiny in the light before my chest opened up and I could suck in the air I needed so bad.

  “Oh, fuck. Oh shit.” Nick’s lips touched my forehead as I coughed and choked, but I was breathing again. I wasn’t dead.

  “Whitlee.” Dante’s head dropped to my chest, and the weight was too much. Desperately, I pushed at him. My bones, my skin, my muscles, everything was on fire, and if he, or anyone else, touched me, I’d collapse like ashes into dust. Fingers curled, I scratched at his shoulders, and he sat up.

  “Pants, Dante.” Nick lifted his head, his gaze roaming my face. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so worried. Nick kept everything inside, hiding it under a mask of indifference and sarcasm, but all of that was gone now. Nick’s fear shone clear, his eyes wide, eyebrows drawn together. His fingers shook as he trailed them over my face. It may have been soft, but they were razors on my skin. “Do you want to sit up?”

  I wanted to breathe, but I had a boulder on my chest. Maybe sitting would help. I nodded, and he slid an arm under my shoulders.

  Gently, he eased me to a sitting position. Each inch was torture. I glanced at my chest, and it looked as bad as I thought. The skin was red, already bruising in deep purples.

  “I might have cracked the bone.” Dante’s voice was choked. He knelt by the bed, still nude like me. Both his hands—hands!—clenched in the sheet to keep himself from touching me.

  I needed to comfort him, but as soon as I moved, nerve endings protested, and I groaned.

  “If she can groan, she can breathe,” Brandon said from the foot of the bed. “What was that all about?”

  He was pale, and he crossed his arms like he did when he needed to hold himself together.

  “She regrew his fucking arm.” Isaiah bent over, holding his knees, his blond hair falling over his shoulders. “He has an arm.”

  “Okay, enough with the obvious.” John knelt in front of me. The worry in his eyes reminded me of how far he’d come. Initially, he had been the least comfortable with our arrangement, and his uncertainty had resulted in him being controlled by Dex again. But we’d rescued him and now he was all in. “Why did she stop breathing?”

  Everyone looked at Dante. He threw his arms in the air. “I don’t have answers, guys. I don’t know. I have to think… I have to…”

  He stormed out of the room.

  Carson kissed the back of my neck. “You’re going to be okay, Whit. You are.”

  I hoped he was right.

  3

  Carson

  Whitney wasn’t bouncing back from this latest healing the way she had from the others. She was always tired afterward, but this was like a train had smashed into her body.

  I kept her company, lounging in a chair as she stared out the window from her bed. It was raining. Not hard. Not a storm. Just a light summer drizzle that tapped against the window and dripped off of the green leaves.

  There was no lightning in the sky. Isaiah enjoyed keeping the weather in check, so lightning was unusual these days.

  It was his psychic power. I wished my own would give me a hint right now. Sometimes I just knew things. But right now, I knew nothing. It was fucking frustrating.

  I ran a hand through her red hair. “Need anything?”

  “No.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’m okay. Thanks, sweetheart.”

  She’d started calling me that. We were all getting nicknames. It moved over me like a warm breeze.

  “You’ll tell me if you do.”

  Whit nodded and then winced. Movements hurt her. “I will.”

  I wasn’t good at helpless. She had regrown Dante’s arm and it had nearly killed her. That kind of surge of power short-circuited something. From my perspective, it was a jolt of electricity that shook me out of a deep sleep. It was as if Isaiah had struck me directly with a bolt.

  But the biggest problem? Whit hadn’t known it was going to happen. She hadn’t decided to do it. Her powers had decided for her.

  What was going to happen if one of us got hurt or needed healing again, and her powers just… decided to handle it?

  This was all new.

  When John had died and wound up under Dexter’s control again, she hadn’t been able to heal him. Of course, he hadn’t accepted the link between all of us yet, so maybe that had something to do with it.

  But when we’d initially linked, all of us had started to get better.

  So what did that mean now? All of us had consciously decided to link to Whitney. Were we all still dead? Who the fuck knew what we were anymore?

  I hated problems I couldn’t solve. I pushed my thoughts away and glanced from Whitney to Dante. He sat in the window seat, attention divided between her and the rain. Ever since she’d winced when he’d touched her, he’d stayed away. Deep down, I was certain he understood she’d done it because she was sore.

  But I think it had wounded him.

  “Dante?” she asked.

  Dante stood quickly, rocketing off the seat by the window. “What do you need?”

  I stood as well to hover near the edge of her bed. I wanted to touch her but didn’t.

  She took a deep, pained breath and asked the same question I’d been turning over in my mind. “What happened?”

  “You healed me,” Dante answered. “And sent a burst of electricity that zapped Carson out of a dream. But it was too much for your body.”

  “We have to find a way to stop that.” John stepped through the door, his commanding presence demanded all our attention. “For all intents and purposes, we are alive now. Right, Dante?”

  Dante sat in my chair. “Our hearts are beating, our blood is pumping. We heal. Eat. Digest. Shit. Have sex. All requirements for life.”

  “God. Did you have to put shit, next to sex?” I asked. It might have been true, but they were two images I didn’t want linked.

  “I was dreaming two nights ago,” Isaiah spoke up from his place in an easy chair. This was Whitney’s room, so it was stuffed full of furniture. Somehow, when we gathered, we all gathered here. “It was a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up, even though I wanted to so badly.”

  “Me, too,” John said.

  “Me, three,” Nick replied.

  “Were all of us dreaming the other night and she woke us up?” I asked, because the truth was, she’d ripped me away from the horrors of nightmares, too.

  “Yeah,” Brandon answered.

  Dante just nodded.

  “So I did too much at one time, and then I did it again with Dante’s arm,” Whitney said, taking the blame onto herself.

  “Yes,” John said. “But it doesn’t seem like you can control that.”

  “Her body senses a need, an injury, and it shoves all the energy it has at it. But I could live without an arm, Whitlee,” Dante said. His voice was as hoarse as hers as he approached the bed. “You didn’t need to fix it.”

  “How am I supposed to stop it?” she asked. Two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks before she began to cough. She leaned forward, hand pressed between her breasts as she struggled to catch her breath.

  “Calm,” Isaiah said. He leaned forward and touched her lightly on the back of her hand. “He’s not accusing you of anything.”

&n
bsp; It physically hurt my body to watch her struggle. I wished I could breathe for her, wished I could send my energy to her to heal her the way she did me. That was the way it was supposed to work. We were a circuit, each of us a source of power so no one person was drained more than another.

  So why wasn’t it working? I had plenty of energy to spare. There wasn’t an open wound or injury left on my body. For Christ’s sake, even my hair was shinier.

  “I’m sorry,” Dante said quickly. “Breathe, Whitlee. I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded, hacking and holding her chest. It took too long for her to stop. When she did, sweat beaded on her forehead, and her eyes seemed sunken.

  “We need to be especially careful,” John said. He stood next to Brandon. They wore identical expressions of concern as they stared at the girl we all loved. “No unnecessary risks. We’ll start sleeping in shifts. That way if one of us has a dream and her body forces energy to us, it isn’t to everyone all at once.”

  I nodded. It was a good idea, even though I worried that the first few days of adjusting to the schedule would be as taxing to Whitney as just going to sleep at the same time would. We had to try it. Hope for the best.

  Prepare for the worst.

  In the meantime, we needed her to be okay. “Can I hold you?”

  She nodded, and I let out a relieved breath. I slid onto the bed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders until she rested on my chest. Her energy fixed us, maybe ours would fix her. Maybe touch would help.

  This wasn’t a psychic sense from me, just common sense. Our resident genius was still in shock, so I’d take over until Dante found his brain again.

  “Think of it this way,” Nick called out to Dante. “You can jerk off with both hands now.”

  Everyone groaned, and Dante turned bright red. In my arms, Whitney laughed before she groaned, pushing her head into my shoulder. Her breathing sounded okay right then.

  “Did I ever tell you about my grandmother Ruth?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”