He was a man. A man who had broken rules, one who had done things that perhaps were not even legal. But he had done what he had thought had to be done to save himself as well as his species.
He was a man whose touch was pure pleasure, pure heat. A man who held her with strength and yet a gentleness in the face of overwhelming, animalistic pleasure. And still, he was in control. She could feel him fighting for it. Feel the struggle for it. The intent.
Her body tensed, drawn tight as the pleasure built inside her. His fingers thrust deeper, stroked, firmed, fucked her with increasing speed until she began to pant for air, for mercy.
Her nails bit into his arm, her lips parted against his cheek as a wail began to tear from her.
Rapture exploded inside her. Blood pounded, boiled, erupted. Sensation raged, flaming through nerve endings, racing across her flesh, striking her clit, then deep inside her pussy at the same time, and throwing her into a cataclysm of such astounding pleasure that she completely lost her breath.
Flaming fingers raced up her spine and back again. Her muscles trembled as sensation tore across it and her entire body became a writhing mass of complete ecstasy.
"You're mine, Rachel." The growl at her ear was a snarl, a hard, primal vibration of sound that in no way resembled Jonas's voice. "Remember that when their eyes flame with lust, when the scent of their hunger is like a disease filling the fucking room. Damn you, remember you're mine."
She shook her head desperately and could have sworn she heard him say with utmost softness, "I belong to you."
CHAPTER 8
The party for the ambassador to Switzerland was everything Jonas had known it would be: completely and utterly fucking boring and filled with the scent of male lust. There wasn't a second to escape the overwhelming male hunger each time their eyes centered on Rachel.
She was like a breath of fresh air in the room, an oasis of color and sweet ease they couldn't resist. A buffet of sensual pleasure, which they were greedy to partake of.
In other words, a typical D.C. party. Plenty of booze, high-calorie food--there wasn't a steak to be seen or smelled--and enough false joviality to make a saint curse. Enough attention given to his mate that he was on the edge of violence at any given moment.
Drey Hampton's ballroom was filled to capacity. The double French doors on the garden side were thrown open; the band on the patio was smooth and unobtrusive, but it wouldn't have mattered. The noise level inside the ballroom would have drowned the music out anyway.
And then there was the ambassador to Switzerland, David Slussburg--a fine piece of work. What the hell had ever possessed the president--who seemed to be a fairly astute individual--to assign this man as ambassador to any country, Jonas couldn't figure out. He was a cesspool of greed, deceit and lust. Beady eyes, a vain, pinched expression filled with calculating interest.
"So tell me, Wyatt, has Racert managed to convince you of the value of joining some of his pet projects?" Slussburg gave a false little laugh as he asked the question. "Now's the time to get in."
"Actually, he hasn't, Slussburg," Jonas replied smoothly, watching as the ambassador's eyes narrowed at the obvious insult of using his last name only. "Racert and I have a difference of opinion on what constitutes a worthy cause."
He felt Rachel shift nervously beside him.
Glancing over, he nearly caught his breath at the sight of her once again. That damned gown tempted a man in ways that should be illegal. The fall of lace gave the slightest hint of stockings shot with sapphires, while the bodice cupped and hugged what had to be perfect breasts. He thought he might have even glimpsed the hardened buds of her nipples beneath it after they had danced earlier.
He knew her nipples had been hard in his receiving room earlier that evening. Her nipples had been hard, her pussy so tight and hot it had clamped on his fingers like a hungry little mouth.
"That's not a wise move, Wyatt." Slussburg lowered his voice as he moved closer, the scent of greed, lust and hatred pouring from him as he interrupted the pleasant thoughts Jonas had been building in his mind. "Senator Racert could be the wrong enemy to make."
Jonas smiled, careful to ensure that he flashed the incisors at one side of his mouth. For some reason, the sight of those healthy, primal teeth had the ability to fill most men with a strong measure of trepidation.
"Wisdom doesn't seem to be my forte then, does it?" Jonas kept his smile tight, hard.
Slussburg wasn't to be outdone. He turned his gaze to Rachel, the lust-filled scent that emanated from him increasing as his gaze raked over her.
"It seems it's not," he murmured. "I hear our lovely Ms. Broen is learning that as well. Rumor has it that gas explosion in her home was a strike against you. Now you're not just endangering your own life, but your employees' as well."
"Jonas, I see Senator Tyler." Rachel's tone was firm at his side as he and Slussburg locked gazes. "He needed to speak to you tonight."
Tyler was the Breeds' go-between with Drey Hampton, the billionaire whose fingers were tipped ever so tentatively into the Genetics Council sewer due to his family's past relationship with them.
"Ah, Rachel, always the tactful little soul." Slussburg all but sneered in her face, causing the beast in Jonas to awaken with predatory interest.
"As always, Ambassador." Rachel nodded her head regally before turning and gazing up at Jonas. "Are you ready?"
"As you command, my dear." He nodded, though he wanted nothing more than to rip out the ambassador's throat.
Moving through the crowd, Jonas could sense the relief pouring off Rachel in waves. She didn't like being around the ambassador, and Jonas had a feeling he suspected why.
"What did he do to you?" He leaned close and whispered the words at her ear.
"Who?" The tension in her body assured him that she knew exactly who he was talking about.
"I can go back there, lure him outside and rip his fucking tongue out," he murmured in her ear. "Or you can simply tell me what I want to know."
And he had no problem whatsoever doing exactly that. Or at least letting them both believe he would. He was fairly good at that.
"He's an ass," she said quietly. "We've had some run-ins."
And how very tactful she was.
"Did he touch you?" His hand tightened at the small of her back. If the bastard dared to have touched her, then he was dead. It was that simple.
"He didn't touch me." And she wasn't lying, but there was more to the story and he knew it. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to get the answers he needed at the moment, and he knew it.
"We're going to discuss this later," he warned her. And she would tell him the truth. One way or the other.
"There's nothing to discuss, Mr. Wyatt." Prim and proper, her cool little voice pricked at his anger, as well as his lust.
"We'll see about that." His hand tightened at her hip as they approached Senator Samuel Tyler, Merinus Lyons's uncle and a career senator who had stood by the Breeds from the day he learned of their existence.
Standing with him was Drey Hampton, the current head of the Hampton family and business empire, which stretched across three nations. Tall, blond, with penetrating dark blue eyes and cynically brooding features. Seth Lawrence and his Breed mated wife, Dawn, were part of the group. Dawn had come a long way from the frightened, scared Cougar Breed Jonas had first met eleven years before. Most of that change could be attributed to Seth and his patience and unending love for the woman who had spent ten years denying the bond between them.
Dawn was the only known Breed in the group besides Jonas. There was the son of an African industrialist, Dane Vanderale and his assistant, Rye Desalvo. The Vanderales easily rivaled, if not outpaced, the Hamptons completely in wealth, as well as multinational power. Among the Breed opponents who were a part of the group were Senator Racert, General James Wayne and the man known as the leading contender in the next presidential race, Senator Aaron Bressfield.