She could have sworn he pulsed in her mouth, a small ejaculation as the taste of spice filled her senses. She hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected that rich, male taste to infuse her, to drive her hunger higher.
Her fingers curled over the shaft, feeling it flex and throb as she stroked, sucked, relished each taste of him.
The feel of his hands threading through her hair, his fingers clenching in the strands as a hard growl left his throat, sent pure pleasure sizzling through her body. His fingers kneaded her scalp, his hips thrust forward, and Storme was certain she would explode from the sheer excitement of feeling his pleasure as she gave it.
It made her own pleasure rise higher, made her hotter, wetter, more desperate to feel him inside her.
A ragged cry pulled at her throat as he pulled back, forcing her to release him as he jumped from the bed. He shed his clothing quickly. Boots, pants, they dropped to the floor, leaving him gloriously naked as he came back to her, pushing her to the bed as he hovered over her.
His thighs spread hers, his fingers tested her readiness once again before Storme felt the heavy press as the wide head of his cock parted the folds of her pussy.
Instantly, hunger flooded through her. She thought she had wanted, that she had ached before. It was nothing compared to the need assailing her now. The muscles of her vagina flexed and shuddered as he began parting her. Slow and easy, he began working the heavy flesh inside, stretching and burning her as Storme felt a wash of dizzying euphoria begin to overtake her.
It was pleasure and pain. A burning, exquisite ecstasy that began to rise and build inside her with each inch that penetrated her.
Storme felt the width of the crest pushing inside her, the throb of it, a spurt of heat and then a blinding wildfire of pure pleasure racing through her.
Arching, she tried to drive him further as she felt her pussy clenching, milking the head of his cock as her juices flowed around it.
It was incredible. Blinding, delicious heat unlike anything she could have imagined as she gasped and stared up at him in dazed wonder.
"Styx," she whispered his name on a sob. "Oh God. What are you doing to me?"
"Loving you, lass." His voice was so deep, so filled with tenderness that for a moment, fear almost overwhelmed the sensations.
"What are you doing to me?" she asked again. Was this normal? She had never known anything like this, never felt anything like it.
Her thighs opened wider, knees bending, legs lifting until they cradled his hips, opening herself further to him as her hands smoothed down his biceps and back again. The muscles were tight beneath her touch, sweat sheening his face as she stared up at him.
"Giving you pleasure, Sugar," he crooned as he smoothed dampened strands of her hair back from her cheek. "Just pleasure, love."
"I was cold," she whispered, wondering where the hell those words had come from and why they were escaping her lips now.
His gaze flared. "Are ye cold now, lass?" His voice was strained as she felt his cock move deeper, felt it throbbing tight and hard as her pussy strained to accommodate him then relaxed marginally as another deep, heated pulse of semen ejaculated inside her.
A sob tore from her throat as the pleasure built, as the need for more began to throb inside her. It was like fingers of flames burning across the sensitive flesh.
"I'm not cold now." She could feel the whimper in her voice, feel too many emotions, too many fears threatening to flood her as with one final thrust he buried deep inside her.
"Styx." A sob jerked from her. "Don't let me think."
It was there, the threat of reality returning to steal this moment from her as the fear threatened to return.
These sensations were too unusual, too hot and striking too deep inside her pussy.
"No thinking allowed, Sugar. Sweet, sweet little lass. No thinking allowed in my arms."
And he wasn't lying.
Tucking her closer against him, he began to move again, thrusting strong and deep, as though each impalement was an exercise in restraint and control. His hips shifted, moved, worked his cock inside her, filled her and opened her until he was moving with harder, stronger strokes.
Storme wrapped her legs around his hips, her head pressing back into the bed, her nails digging into his flesh as the first cry tore from her.
He was fucking into her as though the hunger had the same hold on him that it had on her. As though he shared the pleasure-pain sensations and they were imprisoning him, locking inside him as they were inside her.
Each stroke pushed her higher, dug deeper inside her until she was crying out his name, her hips writhing beneath him as the need for release began to torment her, to claw at her womb and shudder through her pussy.
Each thrust raked his pelvis against her clit, stroking that little bud closer to release as she cried out his name and fought to find an anchor while ecstasy began to overwhelm her.
It was a hopeless battle. There was no anchor, no way to hold herself to the earth as her orgasm began to overtake her. Each hard thrust stroked her higher, driving deep as he fucked her faster, harder, a growl tearing from his throat and igniting that last flame that struck the fuel of rapture.
Storme felt herself explode. She felt that first strike of agonizing sensation before it overtook her and threw her so high, so hard, into a maelstrom of pure heat that she lost all concept of right and wrong, reality and fantasy.
She felt him above her, thrusting, heard him groaning, and a second later the heat of his release as it burned through her pussy and pushed her higher.
The sensations felt never ending, spearing through her, exploding in her clit, her pussy, across her nerves, and finally hitting her brain with a surge of the pure fiery waves of pleasure.
A hard, desperate throb in his shaft echoed through her flesh, as though his cock were pulsing, threatening to swell harder, wider insider her. The pleasure of that additional pulse against the sensitive walls of her pussy became almost overwhelming.
It was a good thing breathing was natural, because anything that took thought was impossible. Anything but riding the waves of rapture wasn't happening.
And when it was over, she collapsed beneath him, snuggled against his heat, and let another need have her.
Exhaustion.
Satiation.
Warmth.
She just wanted to sleep in his arms now.
"Ahh, lass," he whispered as his lips touched her shoulder, his voice filled with regret. "My sweet Storme. If only the world were different ..."
CHAPTER 3
She was caught.
Storme sat in the sitting room glaring at Styx as Breeds filled the room. The contents of her duffel bag were spread out on the table, every item in it thoroughly examined by the Breeds that had arrived after she dressed.
Styx stood to the side of the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her with an inquisitive expression. As though he were trying to figure out a particular problem.
Lips thinned, anger burning inside her, she stared back at him.
He had played her. Him, Navarro, Rule, Lawe, and Jonas Wyatt.
She turned her gaze to Wyatt.
She'd never seen him dressed as he was now, all in black, weapons strapped to his thigh, his eerie silver eyes so hard, so cold they were deadly. Of all the Breeds Storme had fought to avoid over the years, the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs was almost at the top of her list. He was damned scary.
Perhaps Styx was scarier though. He'd managed to get beneath her defenses, to play the perfect game without once arousing her suspicions. And she could be a damned suspicious person.
Hands clasped tight in her lap, she tried to think, to force her brain past the exhaustion and fear to find a way to escape. There had to be a way to escape; she had always found one before.