Stage Five: Combustion


Devil's Elbow, Kentucky


Leon almost looked bored there, watching her shed her clothing.

Sherry wore nothing now but little pink panties. Her clothes lay discarded around as if tossed away by careless hands. And they had been. They were pointless. The only point was tapping one booted foot on the floor while he watched her.

The low light cast him in soft shadow. It spilled, shifting and tempting, over the angelic beauty of his face. One of those cerulean eyes studied her; the other obscured by the fall of shaggy blonde hair. There was just enough growth of beard on that flawless face to thrill the viewer with the promise of the man beneath the model. It took away from the perfection enough to remind you he was neither model nor ethereal but mortal and red-blooded and ready to rule you.

Leon draped one arm over the back of the recliner, rocking while he watched her. She waited for his next command, tremulously tortured by the weighty pleasure of that merciless perusal. And he finally spoke, almost tonelessly, "Come to me."

She started toward him and he shook his head. "No. Crawl to me."

She froze. He watched that register over her face. It thrilled him to see the resistance in her. It thrilled him to feel her want to say no.

Say no…say no, Sherry. Let me show what happens to bad girls that say no.

She didn't crawl, the little minx, she walked toward him.

Amused, he watched her until she stood before him.

His voice was bemused, "I said crawl."

"I know what you said."

His hand shot out, snake quick, and grabbed hers. She gasped at the pain of it as he jerked her forward. She spilled across his lap on her belly.

And she barely had a moment to understand what was happening. She barely had a moment do anything but gasp as his hand came down. The slap was loud in the quiet room and brought her mouth open in a cry of surprised pain. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't playful. Of course not, she thought wildly, he wasn't playing with her. He was punishing her.

She rolled as if to leave his lap and he twisted a hand in her hair to hold her down.

The shock of it rocketed into her body and aroused even as it frightened her. Power, she'd thought, it was all his now. All his. And all heady.

The strike of his hand came again, painful and sharp. Sherry jerked and pulled against the hand in her hair. Leon jerked her face up to him for the effort of that. She opened her mouth for his tongue even as he brought his hand down again on her stinging bottom.

Sherry moved to grab his face and hold him and he shook his head, popped their mouths apart and rolled. She spilled sideways and he pushed her over the arm of the recliner. He held her down now, arms trapped behind her back.

He tugged her little panties down to leave her bare to his gaze. She struggled and the sound of his delighted laughter thrilled them both.

"Will you crawl for me?"

And she whispered, "No!"

He was rock hard for her; throbbing for her. Clever girl. She knew the game without even trying. Resisting him pleased them both. Capitulating would do the same. God, he was insane for her.

"I'll make you crawl for me, Sherry. We both know it."

She cried out, "Don't!"

But, of course, he did. Of course. He held her down and brought his hand down against her in three sharp, painful, pleasurably torturous strikes against her blushing body. Her perfect cheeks pinkened beneath the brutal assault. She jerked against his hand.

Fighting?

Or begging for more?

Not even she knew the answer.

His mouth was there now. It was there. It bit gently into the aching, throbbing, stinging skin of her abused body. He left imprints on her pink flesh; teeth to match the handprints there. Sherry made some sound of pain and pleasure and lifted against him.

Oh yeah.

She was perfect.

He licked the back of her thighs. He licked along the curve of her ass. She shimmered, shook, and gasped, "Please!"

"Please what?" His voice was a little hoarse with the need of it. It amused him to hear it. Like a fifteen-year-old boy. That's how he felt when he was with her. It was a good feeling.

"Please touch me!"

"Will you crawl for me?"

"…no. Please. No."

"Then no." But he did spank her again. God. The sound of it was exciting. She moaned, bowed, and he shivered for her. She couldn't see it. She was somewhere between rage and wanton greed so wide, so consuming, that it wanted to destroy her. It wanted to erode her soul until she was nothing but his puppet.

Leon let her go and shifted away. She lay there, breathing sharp and hard.

He moved toward the bedroom.

Sherry shivered, watching him go.

In the dim light of the doorway, she saw him turn toward her.

His voice came now, "How much do you want me, Sherry?"

Two sets of blue eyes met, meshed, held. She lay there over the arm of the recliner, panting. Her perfect little ass was stinging from his punishment.

His fingers lifted and flicked carelessly on the buttons of that expensive shirt. First one, then the next, then another; he exposed that perfect chest like the world's most tantalizing strip show. It flapped open around his torso; the perfect frame to the perfect picture.

She'd never wanted anything more in her life than him.

They held gazes for a long, long, long moment.

And then she dropped to the floor and crawled toward him.

His laughter wasn't insulting. It was redeeming. He laughed with triumph and excitement. He laughed because even though he'd won…they'd both won. The want that shivered here between them was brilliant and beautiful and poignant.

She crawled into the room and he caught her under the armpits. He lifted her, easily, effortlessly, until she dangled and was eye to eye with him. The power in him surprised her. He was lithe, a boxer, a runner, a swimmer…and apparently, she'd underestimated the strength in that finely-honed muscle. He held her and he didn't even tremble with the effort.

"Tell me what you want."

He was asking her if she wanted it sweet or if she wanted it hard. He was asking her so he could give it to her, give her exactly what she wanted; what she needed. The offer…the offer of it meant more than anything else he'd ever done for her.

And just then, just in that single statement, just in the unfaltering blue of his eyes…he'd given her back some piece of herself that had been so raw and throbbing. There were no games here. Unless she wanted to play them.

She'd always wondered what he'd feel like. She'd always wondered what he'd touch her like. She'd always wondered how he'd smell and move and fuck. He was letting her pick the way they touched each other here, now. As if it might be the last time they did. She wondered how one sampled temptation, how one sampled Leon Kennedy and never came back to dine again.

But he was promising her the ability to do just that if she wanted.

He was offering her the power to choose. To choose the how, choose the who, and choose the path she wanted to take. She lifted her hands and gripped his face. Something in her yearned for him.

Tonight, he offered her the power to make all her dirty dreams about him real. How could any of this be real? She couldn't…couldn't…be standing here in his arms. Impossible. Improbable. And real.

So, she did what felt good. She did what felt powerful. She grabbed handfuls of his hair and gave him her answer.

"Make me yours."

Her mouth dropped to his and devoured.

His heart hammered, hard and fast in his chest. The blood flooded to his groin, thrilling him at the prospect of it. The excitement filled him for her. So, this was how she wanted it; hard, fast, furious. She'd meant what she'd said; she wanted him to possess her. She wanted to be his. He would make her his.

He lowered her to her feet.

Sherry wanted what was under his clothes, under his skin, under his soul. Her fingers gripped his shirt and pulled, peeling it off him. It lodged on his upper arms, binding him there for a moment. She rolled her face against his exposed chest like a cat, scent marking.

The pulsing want for her lodged in his chest and stole his breath.

The shirt fluttered softly to the floor behind him.

There was so much of him, muscle, flesh, and the seductive pulse of the heart beyond it all. The soft spread of hair over his pecs ended in a happy trail down to the waist-band of his pants. He was probably going to be the most delicious game she'd ever played.

She skimmed her fingers over each delineated muscle in his stomach, feeling the ridges and valleys that made up his upper body. She traced his pecs, playing along with the suggestion of baby fine hair above his nipples. He was too muscular for too much chest hair but there was enough to pull at things low in a girl's belly. She put her mouth to one nipple, drawing it into her mouth to tempt herself. He made a little sound of pleasure in his throat at the nearly delicate touch of her.

A girl, Leon thought desperately, she played at his body like a girl. An inquisitive, desperate, beautiful girl that painted his body with her hands and her mouth and her imagination. She put her mouth harder over the meat of him and bit down, so, so gently. She drew the feel of him into her, suckling on his flesh. And she had her answer; he tasted as good as he looked.

The possession of that was a double-edged sword. It cut between them both and bled where it struck. They both shivered with excitement over it. How much do you want me? He'd queried. He had his answer. And it humbled him even as it tried to kill him.

He was very still as her hands jerked at his belt and it whipped free from the loops with a scream of leather. He grabbed her chin and turned her face up to him; his eyes scanned her features, searching. He balled a hand her hair and jerked her up toward him; his other arm caught her around the waist and lifted her against his front, stealing the breath from her lungs with the strength of it. His thumb settled into the softness of the underside of her chin and forced her face up to his.

She'd always known he'd be that kind of lover. Fast, rough, nearly impossibly greedy. He kissed her like he'd climb inside of her mouth, bury himself inside of her, and burst out of her body on endless waves of pleasure. She made some sound of surprise, of delight. The Immortal, they called him, and he was. He was. Because the need in her for him was undying.

He walked with her clutched to him, driving his tongue into her mouth with a nearly perfect tempo of thrust and suck. He was brilliant at it. He was a master kisser. There was no awkwardness here. He was no virgin. The kiss said it all. This guy…this guy knew how to fuck her and leave her twitching and begging for more.

It scared her a little. He could do whatever he wanted to her and she couldn't stop him. He was in control here. She was his. He could force her down and fuck her while she screamed and begged for him to stop. He could fuck her to death and she would be able to do nothing but take it. The thought of it frightened and enthralled her, a potent aphrodisiac. Because she'd opened the gate to her own addiction, to the pain and pleasure that would come side by side with what was about to happen. And it came in a very big, very powerful package. The fear had a salacious, addictive, and dangerous edge. It spiraled out of her mouth in a moan.

Leon pushed her against the wall and held her there. He was relentless, commanding, pushing hers into the right pace with his, rewarding it with just the right pressure, just the right thrust and combination of give and take. He pinned her against the wall and ripped away any shred of second thoughts that might have even attempted to poke their ugly heads up and stop what was happening.

When he let her come up for air, she was gasping, breathless. Her skin was flushed, pink and sweaty. He grabbed her chin, held it. His voice enthralled her, raspy and low, "Do you want me?"

Did she want him?

Was he insane?

Who said no to that?

"I want you." And she whispered it.

The world went red, black, and ran with blood and want. She gasped, bowed, and he fingered her over her panties until they grew damp and desperate. Her hand grabbed his wrist and held it there against her body. He laughed, erotic and low.

Her hands tried to shoot down between her legs to touch herself as the pounding, desperate wave of want nearly killed her. He knocked her hands away, gently but firmly, and tempted her like a devil there to call her soul from her flesh and fuck it raw, "No."

She made some sound in her throat that was nearly pleading.

If he was the devil, whatever deal he offered, she'd take it. She'd have sold her soul in that moment for what he offered. He mounded one little breast in his hand and played with her body. He set his teeth to her and it wasn't gentle. He tried to see how much breast he could get inside his mouth in a single bite.

Sherry was keening in her throat now, her hands grabbed the back of his head to hold him to her? To push him away? His mouth let go of her breast with a wet popping sound. The breast was pink, edged raw with the start of a hickey. Satisfied that he'd marked her, he switched to the other with a grunt of approval. He was softer this time, smoother. This breast he worshiped, sucking and nipping, biting and playing. The contrast in it robbed the last of her brain from her head and shot it straight out of her ass.

Leon pushed off the wall and walked to the bed.

She didn't even need him to say it. She didn't. She dropped and crawled toward the bed after him. The utter submission of it made him desperate for her.

She climbed onto the bed and lay on her back, looking at him above her on his knees.

He drew back to look at her in the moonlight. The shadow of him covered her completely. His hands pulled her panties off her and she bicycled her legs excitedly to help. He chuckled a little, amused at her desperation.

Sherry was small, delicate; her curves were subtle and refined. But her hips flared beautifully, her legs were perfect and curvy, her breasts were perky and surprisingly full above the toned and muscled promise of her belly. She was beautiful and the fact that it wasn't in an obvious way, made it all the better.

Leon thrilled them both when he commanded, "Touch yourself. Show me how you want me to touch you."

Her hand was nearly tauntingly sweet as she lowered it and stroked her body. He watched the arch of her fingers; watched the push of her need against the wetness that waited for there. He wanted to feel her while she so ingenuously touched herself.

He pushed a finger into her body, watched that pretty little face go red with want and need. His thumb cupped at the moist slit of her, circling her clit while he slid his finger in and out of her. She was so small inside, so warm and tight. His finger slid out of her, fighting against the hungry pull of her body. Small or not, she was a greedy, sucking, desperate little thing. Her body wanted a good fucking.

She'd been so pure when she'd come to him the first time.

He wanted to corrupt her and claim her and own her.

It was a heady feeling.

And he whispered, "Don't come for me. Not without permission. Do you understand?"

Her face was blushed and burning. Her body was sucking his fingers like the mouth of a whore. She gasped but nodded.

"Say it, Sherry."

"I won't come. I won't come…oh god…"

They were both pretty sure she was lying. But it didn't matter anymore.

He claimed the taste of her by spilling his mouth against her body thrusting his tongue between her fingers into the heat of her. It was like dying and flying and coming undone. His mouth was merciless, as his kiss had been. This was no gentle ascent; this was a siege. He sucked the apex of her body into his mouth, rolling the bud of her begging clit first between his teeth and then against his relentless tongue. She nearly came right there, right on the spot, but he shoved two fingers into her body and she was pretty sure she died instead.

His tongue joined his fingers, thrusting, delving and diving into her with a maddening abandon. He held her down on the bed with his hand spread on her body, his other hand forced her hips to roll into a rhythm of rise and fall. She held on until the pleasure was simply so deep, so big, and so wide that there seemed to be no end and nope for anything but drowning alive in it. Her legs collapsed and trapped his hand between her thighs, he leaned over her and gave the taste of her body back to her with his questing tongue.

That was it. That was all it took. She crested, gasping, her hands grasping at him nearly desperately. She cried her release into his mouth as it poured over her flesh in a hot, nearly scalding, wave. She humped her hips continuously against his hand as the orgasm buried its teeth into her and shook her around like a dog with a bone.

He leaned back, rising over her again as the shuddering eased back into trembling. She wondered if she'd ever know again the feeling that came with seeing him like that, poised above her all muscle and strength and lust. She lifted a hand and rubbed it over his chest, ran it down the corrugated planes of his stomach, dipped into the wonderful mystery of his navel. His happy trail was impossibly soft to the touch.

Leon caught her questing hands and rolled her to her belly.

Of course. Of course. She'd come. She'd come without permission. Of course. She was tender from the last spanking he'd given her. So tender. It was nothing but pain now as he brought his hand down on her. Sherry gasped, tried to crawl away, and he splayed a hand on her back to hold her down.

Another solid smack against her smarting bottom and she felt the tears prick her eyes. It was too much. She started to roll away from him.

And then he parted her legs to touch her. He gathered her arms to put them behind her back and hold her down on her belly while he spread her open beneath him. One hand stroked her aching bottom while his leg slid between hers to torture her.

He rubbed her over his knee, rubbed her body against the gruff texture of those expensive jeans he wore. One hand held her arms firmly behind her, a captive to his whim. The other grabbed her around the hips and forced her body to ride him, just like that, to just ride his knee while he soothed her sore ass. Whatever sound she was making, it couldn't be human. It was desperate and maddened and dying.

She was on the edge of an orgasm when he stopped and rolled her to her back on the bed. She slid down his knee in a wet, gasping, shuddering heap. He was a wicked thing. A tempting thing. A soul stealing, flesh robbing, pride-swallowing demon.

And she ached for his possession.

She shivered, trapped by his eyes, as he dropped his head and dipped his tongue into her mouth. It wasn't a kiss so much as a raw taste of her. He brushed her tongue with his, swirled them together in her mouth, and then sealed their mouths together with the perfect amount of pressure. He kept her in place with just his eyes. They wouldn't let her look away. He forced her to see the pleasure he was shoving like a sword into her body.

Sherry made some sound in her throat, trapped in that long, long look. His hand slipped between her legs and very, very slowly tortured her. Again, the contrast moved her. The duality was addictive; forceful, desperate and then sweet and slow. He wouldn't let her look away, forcing her to hold his gaze while he pushed her up the wall of her own need. She couldn't think of anything she'd rather see in just this moment then his face while he took her.

He said, quietly, "I'm going to fuck you. Tell me how you want me."

Her hands caught his face and held it. She shimmered there beneath him. "Give me more."

Enough games, he thought, he'd give her more.

He drove his fingers into her, just once, hard and deep.

She bounced, moaning. He caught her hands and drew them above her head and straddled her hips. Her hands jerked at his zipper and pulled him free. She grabbed the length of him in her fist, jerking him gently as he rocked. He palmed both of her breasts now, rolling them in his hands and torturing her. The gruff roughness increased and he mashed them now, nearly hurting her. It smashed the pain and pleasure centers in her body together and brought a hungry moan from her mouth.

Leon lifted off her body enough to finish getting undressed. Distressed at the absence of his weight and warmth, Sherry touched herself while he disrobed. She pushed eagerly at her aching body and nearly killed him where he stood.

Naked, he collapsed down on her, bracketed her head in a push-up motion. The skin to skin contact from toes to temples made them both desperate. She locked her legs around his, sliding her feet down his calves. He dipped his head and kissed her, shifted his body a little, and rubbed himself of the moist, wet, willing heat of her. His hand fingered her, working her, opening her. She realized, maybe a little too late, he was preparing her for him. Such a rough, demanding, soul stealing lover…and that simple thoughtfulness touched her. Rough or not, he didn't want to hurt her. Not like that.

Leon shifted himself against her and put himself against her body, rubbing. Sherry grabbed his face now and kissed him. She licked his mouth, slid her tongue into it, and nodded. She nodded to give him permission. She nodded to give them both permission. Make me yours, she'd said.

She was ready.

He eased himself into her body. She shivered, gasping from it. She was too small, too tight; she wasn't ready for it. He didn't want to leave her bleeding again. But he did. He did. He wanted to leave her bleeding for him.

He was a fucking monster.

No. The want of her was the fucking monster.

Her creamy heat pulsed around him and the blend of pain and pleasure on her face as he slid out and rode back in, harder now deeper, nearly pushed him into an orgasm again. What a game they were playing, he thought wildly, one they would both win. Her body tried to reject him even as it sucked him deeper and tighter into her.

She drove her nails into his ass, hard; he felt the sting of broken skin. The wet heat of his blood against her hand was like a shark scenting food on the water. She was undone for him. "Please!"

She was a siren, calling his soul from his flesh to please her.

His voice rasped out, "Don't deny me, Sherry. Don't resist me."

Resist him? Was he insane? Why would she?

What could he do that would make her resist him?

He showed her.

The first hard, desperate thrust of him into her tore a cry from both of them. She scrambled her hands over him, trying to find something to hang on to. She pushed against his chest involuntarily as if to force him off her. But her body closed around him like a wet fist, pulling him deeper. He shook his head, wanting more. He rose, pushed her legs back until she was open and ready for him. She shook her head, opened her mouth to say, "No, don't!" He didn't give her the chance. He shoved himself into her so hard that it echoed like a wet meaty slap when their bodies struck together.

The sound she made was part pain, part shocked pleasure. He ground himself inside of her; ground himself against her cervix until she struggled against the feel of it, shoving at his chest. But at the same point where the pain was too much, too raw, the tilt of his hips brushed over that spot deep inside of her body that was nothing but pleasure. He grabbed her pushing hands in one of his and forced them back against her chest between her breasts, holding her down. His other hand jerked at her right hip, seating her down hard against him until it was impossible to determine where he ended and she began.

The angle was nearly too painful. She started to say something and he drove himself into her again. This time he didn't stop. He did what he said he'd do, he gave it to her. She couldn't yell anything but gibberish. The pain and the pleasure smashed into each other and became one living, breathing, organic thing. She gasped, crying out.

Leon grabbed her face in one hand and held it. "Don't come for me, Sherry."

The command was painful. It was too hard. Didn't he understand that she had to come? She was burning with it. Sherry grabbed his bleeding back and jerked. "Please!"

"Not yet."

Jesus.

Leon rolled to his back and pulled her over him. And it was too sharp, too deep. She shook her head, whispered, "I can't—," and he jerked her down on him, splitting her in half with the raging greed of it. He lifted her and set her down on him, lifted her and set her down, his biceps bulged with it. He panted, desperate, and she thought she'd never seen anything more beautiful then Leon Kennedy, than all that strength beneath her.

Someone was gasping out ohgodohgodohgod over and over again. It was her. Of course, it was her. But she'd try to deny him. They both knew it. Don't deny me, he'd said. He'd COMMANDED it. His hands rolled her to all fours on the bed.

Don't, she thought desperately, please don't.

But she CRAVED it.

He drove his body into her while she hunkered on all fours for him. And he brought his hand down on her throbbing ass to punish her while he did it. Thrust, smack, gasp. Thrust, smack, gasp. She shoved back against him; he rode into her body like a man possessed. They were trying to kill each other with it.

He curved over her back and pressed their sweaty flesh together. His hand grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed, hard and maddening. Sherry screamed, she screamed, while he hammered his body against her aching ass and filled her full of the pounding heat of him.

And finally, finally, finally he said, hoarsely, "Let go."

And she did.

She did; almost instantly.

She came around his thrusting body screaming. Leon rolled her to her back while she came, bucking, and rode her through it. He rode her like he'd finish the race first and destroy her with it. He rode her and grabbed her arms to put them over her head. He rode her, held her down, and came inside her while she arched and cried for him.

And he collapsed atop her while they both died with it.

Make me yours, she'd demanded. And he had. He had. Because she was in love with him. She was in love with Leon Kennedy.

Lying beneath the sweaty, muscled, panting weight of him…she couldn't find it in her to do anything but yearn for it. Yearn for him….even as the pulsing length of him spilled his possession in the aching chambers of her body. Yearn for him…even as she wrapped her arms and legs around him like an octopus and held on.

Yearn for him…even as they fell asleep sealed together like pieces of a puzzle.

And neither of them could know the horror of what waited for the girl that had bound them together in Raccoon City. They couldn't know what she faced to protect Sherry from the madness that lurked and lingered and longed for her blood. But they would find out…soon enough.