Seconds established which was the leader of the group—Elijah, the tallest one, who addressed them—and she’d immediately formulated a plan to have him lower his weapon and instruct the others to do the same. It would have been dangerous and was sure to have been tricky. The others could have questioned his orders, and if they had, there would have been no way she could have manipulated the thoughts of all of them. Adding to that had been the armed entourage that Elijah had silently signaled from across the street, their insurance plan if things went to hell in a handbasket.
Thankfully, her talent hadn’t been necessary. Her street was safe due to the patrol that combed the area hourly. For once she was grateful she paid a little bit extra and lived in Brooklyn Heights. When she’d seen the police car, she’d wanted to sag in relief and demand the city give them a raise for the service they provided.
Her only regret in the aftermath was allowing her alarm to shadow a greater need—to learn exactly what it was they wanted. Although now she was fairly certain she was due to find out.
Diskant shifted his weight and rocked the bike to the side to engage the kickstand, and she let go of his waist. A laughable amount of propriety saw her climbing off the seat without his assistance. She removed the helmet and ruffled her hair, unwilling to meet his eyes as she felt the stares of the shifter patrons inside the bar boring holes into her back.
What must they think? She wasn’t one of them and yet she was riding on the back of the motorcycle owned by their Omega. The shifters at Club Liminality were always cordial but never overly friendly. There was an invisible line that always existed, an understanding that either you belonged among them or you didn’t. Maybe there was a reason for that. Perhaps the incident at the bar with the newly bloodbonded couple was an indication of what happened when you decided to mate outside the species.
For a moment she visualized the woman cradled in the shifter’s arms that night at Liminality months ago. Her dark hair was slick with sweat, and her skin-tight cream-colored camisole was soaked with blood. The look in her eyes was dazed, her lips almost purple. Her skin had been so pale she looked near to death.
When Diskant extended a hand to take the helmet from her quaking hands, she wasn’t prepared when his fingers circled her wrist instead. She lifted her head and glimpsed the wounded look in his eyes, saw the hurt in his face.
“Don’t be afraid of me.” His voice was hoarse, the words raspy. “Don’t be afraid of us.”
The fear and uncertainty suffocating her was replaced by the need to reassure and comfort. Like a switch had been flicked, exorcising the darkness that shadowed her thoughts, there was nothing else in that moment but her and Diskant. The spectators vanished, as did the vehicles and pedestrians on the sidewalk.
“I’m not,” she answered, slightly stunned that she was telling him the truth. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her uncertainty arose from the unknown, from entering into something that left her blind and unaware.
“I didn’t want it to happen like this.” He smiled when she peered up at him curiously. Wrapping a hand around her nape, he explained, “When I woke up this morning I wanted to shower you with affection for the rest of the day. I had it all planned. Breakfast in bed followed by a round or two of sex and as much time as you needed to talk things through.”
The mere mentions of “bedroom” and “sex” caused her body to go warm. She’d started to say something when he yanked her into his chest and his mouth covered hers. His taste was intoxicating, so rich and unforgettable. She ran her hand along his jacket before sliding it under the leather until her palm rested on the firm pectoral muscle covered by thin black cotton.
She’d never truly thought about just how fortunate inanimate objects were until that moment. First it was the fork. Now it was a thin T-shirt.
He ripped his lips away, snagged her duffel, took her hand and pulled her toward the bar. He didn’t stop to explain and she didn’t argue. They entered and the people in their path moved aside as if they were already well aware of the score. Diskant led them down a hall and entered an empty office. As soon as they were inside he closed the door, tossed her bag to the ground and turned a lock. She mirrored him, plopping the helmet beside the duffel.
There were no words. One moment she was standing beside him, shivering in anticipation. The next she was bent over the desk, her shoes, jeans and panties gone, leaving her lower half naked and entirely vulnerable to the two-hundred-plus pounds of sexed male directly behind her.
Somewhere in the back of her mind her all-but-forgotten modesty reminded her that there were people outside in the bar, all of whom were probably aware of what she was doing. Strangely enough, she told that part of herself to zip it and leave well enough alone. Finally she was going to ease the unrelenting madness. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin against her, the firm, unrelenting length and width of his cock inside her.
“You’re so beautiful.” He pressed his chest into her back, forcing her to lie flat on the desk.
She remained there when he rose and she felt his hands cup her ass, his fingers curving over and carving a path along her skin, leaving tendrils of electricity in their wake. A quick swipe of the tip of his cock along the lips of her sex and he was pressing inside, that hard ridge of velvet steel spreading and filling her until she rose on her toes to take him deeper. Like this, she felt as if they were truly connected, in a way she’d never been before.
Diskant groaned and rolled his hips. “Damn, you feel good.”
Gripping the edge of the desk, she pushed back as he moved forward until all she could hear was the steady slap of skin meeting skin. The softness of his sac slapped her clit, creating new, dizzying waves of pleasure. She shifted slightly to the left and felt him stroke the spot inside that made her crazy, the wide length pressing against her until she welcomed the intense burning in her belly that signified ecstasy was close.
The room spun as he pulled free and turned her around. She wrapped her arms around his neck when he cupped her hips and lifted her until her legs were situated snugly around his waist. A smooth thrust joined them once more and he carried her to the nearest wall. His hand came down and plucked her clit, his index finger and thumb heightening her ecstasy with exquisite, expert touches.
“You like that?” His expression was one of passion as his thrusts continued, and his voice was distorted and thick.
“Yes,” she whispered and watched the muscles rope and cord in his neck as he supported her weight, adjusting her so that he went deeper and deeper.
A firm yank sent her into his chest and she lapped at the visible skin along his shoulder before pulling at the leather jacket to reveal more tanned flesh. She teased the surface with tiny nips of her teeth. An encompassing heat spread through her from belly to pussy. The impulse to bite and mark him as her own was too powerful to ignore and she chose the fleshy spot that connected the neck and shoulder. She bathed the area with her tongue, cleansing his skin, and pulled her lips back as her teeth sank deep.
His hoarse, elated cry as she bit down was accompanied by a metallic bitterness on her tongue. She bit harder in response, forcing her dull incisors and canines into the giving flesh, driven by the taste of blood and the smells of sweat and sex. An unrecognizable growl rose in her throat, as if she contained an animal of her own beneath her skin. She rotated her hips, pressing against him until he was lodged so deeply inside that he felt as if he was a part of her.