by Lora Leigh
His tongue pressed inside her lips, taking them as his fingers slid between her thighs and parted the swollen, slick folds of her sex.
Her hips arched. Agonizing pleasure ripped through her vagina, clenching it tight around the wicked finger that slid slowly inside. And stroked. Caressed without thrusting, rubbing against nerve endings so sensitive she cried out in brutal need.
Clenching her hands in the heavy strands of hair that fell over his face, Storme held him to her, desperate for more of the mindless, incredible pleasure building between her thighs.
She could feel the need whipping through her, that aching, intense lust, as it only grew between them.
This one night.
Tonight she would be a woman with a man she knew couldn't suffer for it when morning came. Coyotes wouldn't kill this man, and if the Breeds from Haven or Sanctuary learned of this night, then there was nothing he could say, no way he could know where she'd gone once she slipped from his arms.
"Yes!" The word tore from her lips as he pressed another finger inside her, opening her, stretching her as her hips writhed against him, driving him deeper.
"There, love," he groaned, his fingers driving inside her as his lips nipped at her neck, licked and sent flames coursing through her bloodstream. "You're so tight. So sweet you make a mon forget his control."
"Good, you stripped mine." Arching, neck tilting as his lips moved to lick at the area where it curved into her shoulder, Storme gave herself to the night, and the touch of this man.
He was a man. She refused to think of the extra genetics he held. God, she just wanted one night, one night of pleasure rather than fear. She just wanted to be warm for a little while before she had to run again.
As he nipped at her shoulder, her hands moved to his shirt, pulling, tugging until buttons tore and slipped free, allowing her to push the material over his shoulders.
She wanted to feel him against her. All that hard, hot flesh, muscles rippling, the strength of him honed and sculpted for pleasure or for pain.
Tonight, she would have pleasure. He didn't know who she was. He had no idea the gift he was giving her, the sheer warmth she had ached so desperately for.
"Sugar, you taste like heaven," he groaned as he shed his shirt, his fingers slipping from inside her as he rose to his knees to discard the material.
Storme rose to meet him, sitting up in the bed, her hands going to the leather of his pants and tugging at the heavy buttons that held the material tight along the length of his cock.
She knew Breed physiology. She knew the length and breadth of a male Wolf Breed's shaft. She'd seen it, as a young girl in the labs. Like animals, the Breeds hadn't been allowed clothing in the labs.
As she released him, she realized that she hadn't understood or considered the sensual aspects of that endowment then. As the heavy, thick flesh speared out from his body, she felt her pussy heat further, felt her juices flow between her thighs.
"Sugar, not yet." His fingers curled over her wrist as she lifted her gaze to him.
"Tonight's my night," she whispered back to him, feeling that determination as she allowed her fingers to grip the heated, iron-hard shaft.
Heated, throbbing and so hard. Her thumb smoothed over the tip of the head, easing away the light dampness that had gathered there.
"I shouldn't want this." Her throat tightened in sudden fear, the realization spearing through her that she might never forget this night.
"Why shouldn't you want this?" His fingers lifted to smooth back her hair as it fell over her cheek. "Why should ye not have all the pleasure I can give, love? And I know pleasure as you can never imagine."
Of course he did. Breeds were trained not just in giving pain, but also in giving pleasure.
"And what pleasure can I give you?" Compared to Styx, Storme knew she was as innocent as a virgin.
Her hand stroked down the length of his cock, feeling it jerk in her grip as his expression tightened and pleasure flashed in those bright blue eyes.
"Lass, you'll destroy me with pleasure at this rate," he assured her, his voice deeper, rougher as sensual enticement gleamed in his eyes.
The knowledge of seeing her effect on him did something to her. He wasn't lying, he couldn't be lying. She could see the truth of it in his eyes. She was giving him pleasure; he wanted her, ached as she ached, needed as she needed.
Moving forward, her tongue licked over the wide head, tasting man and heat, feeling it intoxicate her as her lips parted and sucked him inside.
This wasn't her, she assured herself as she felt the last restraint loosen inside her. This was the woman she might have been, the woman that perhaps she could have been if she hadn't spent the past ten years fighting to survive, to hide from the horrors chasing her.
This was the woman she had dreamed of being. In Styx's arms she had no fears of being disturbed, no fears of being surprised as the pleasure rose inside her.
Beneath one hand his abs tightened, spasming tightly as her mouth worked over the flared crest of his cock and sucked at it hungrily.
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.
Admittedly, she hadn't allowed herself to be in this position before though. In the ten years she had been running, since she was a young, tender, fourteen, never had she allowed herself to be surrounded by Breeds.
Now here she was, no weapons, no way out, and she was surrounded.
"I want the data chip."
She flinched at the sound of Wyatt's voice. It was razor sharp, cutting, and merciless.
"People in hell want ice water too," she sneered back at him. "You're going to get about as lucky as they are in your wants."
"You don't want to fuck with me over this, Ms. Montague." The latent violence in his tone had the hairs at the back of her neck rising.
"I'll tell you what I've told you for the past ten years, I don't have your data chip."
Two factions chased her. The Bureau Breeds and the Council Breeds, and to look at them, it was impossible to tell which was which.
Jonas contacted her often through the old email account of her father's that she checked regularly. It was always the same. When she was ready to give him what he wanted, then he could protect her.
Her answer was always the same. She didn't have what he wanted.
It seemed he was tired of playing nice.
"Ms. Montague, the time for lies is over." The growl in his voice was frankly terrifying.
As he stepped toward her, Styx moved as well. His action surprised her. It appeared as if he was placing himself in line to protect her against what might well be the most powerful Breed in the world at the moment.
Jonas's gaze flashed to the Wolf Breed. "She's not yours," he bit out, his tone icy.
"Doesn't matter," Styx growled back. "I pulled her in, I'm responsible for her."
A mocking smile curled her lips. He had fooled her once; she wouldn't allow him to fool her again. No doubt this fake protection was no more than another game to draw her in.
Jonas glanced back at her. "She doesn't appear to want your protection, Styx."
Storme sat up straighter. "By all means, Styx, protect me." Mocking and sweet, Storme kept her tone even, hoping to hide the fear rising inside her.
His gaze flashed back to her, irate and glittering with a warning.
"She knows what she has, Styx," Jonas growled back as he stared back at Storme. "She knows, and she's holding on to it for a reason."
Because she had sworn she would hold on to it. Because it was the only thing her father had ever asked her to do. To protect that information.
"I'm not holding anything ..."
"Breeds can smell a fucking lie," Jonas snarled back. "And you, Ms. Montague, are lying. Tell me what the fuck you want for it and we can conclude this piece of business before the night is over."
She had always known she couldn't lie to their faces. She was too aware of what she was holding, too aware of the fact that their sense of smell would betray her.
There was no doubt Jonas Wyatt was enraged at this moment as well. It was there in every controlled inch of his body, in the glitter of his silver eyes.
"Storme, this has gone beyond whatever you believe you're pro
tecting that information for," Styx stated quietly. "We can protect you, but we have to have the data chip."
"So you fucked me for it?" she sneered with a harsh laugh. "Tell me, Styx, are you one of those Breeds that were trained to be gigolos for the Council?"
His gaze narrowed, and for just a second she could have sworn she saw a flash of confusion mix with the anger that ignited in his gaze.
"Are you one of those humans that believes we're nothing but animals that don't deserve to live?" Jonas accused her, the rabid fury in his voice at odds with the cool control she knew he was famous for.
She didn't flinch, she didn't cower back in her chair, but God she wanted to. She did flinch though as Styx jumped between her and Jonas, a fierce Wolf's snarl vibrating from his throat.
"Back off, Jonas!"
Navarro moved slowly into position to jump between the two Breeds if necessary.
The other Breeds moved behind Jonas, as though flanking him, protecting him.
"I want that chip, Styx," Jonas snapped. "The implications of this have gone beyond one woman's life. Don't doubt for a second I won't do whatever it takes to force what I want from her."
"Jonas, enough."
All eyes turned to the woman who had stepped into the room.
Rachel Broen. "Hell, all we need now are the Breed alphas and a few Council members to complete this little meeting," Storme stated, forcing the mockery in her voice as Rachel stepped forward.
Jonas's assistant and new wife looked concerned as she moved to her husband's side. What Storme saw then had her chest clenching in some emotion she didn't understand.
Jealousy perhaps? Envy? Storme knew whatever it was had regret flaying her and a hunger rising inside her that she couldn't control. An emotional, overriding hunger she didn't understand and refused to look too deeply into.
For a second, the icy fury in Jonas's eyes was replaced by worry, pain, and a split second of agony that was gone just as quickly as it had come.
His wife walked to him slowly, her gaze focusing on Storme, her navy blue eyes heavy with concern.
"You shouldn't be here, Rachel," he grated, though his hand settled at the small of her back with the utmost gentleness as she neared him.
Rachel Broen was human. There had been several articles in major newspapers about the marriage of the Bureau director and his assistant. The woman had a child if Storme remembered correctly, an infant. There were rumors in the underground anti-Breed networks that Phillip Brandenmore, a silent partner with the Council, had found a way to use this woman's child to get something he wanted.
What Brandenmore had wanted no one seemed to know, but Storme knew what Brandenmore had been doing. He had been trying to replicate a project from the Omega labs and had actually believed the girl would want to see her father's work resurrected.
"It seems that perhaps I should have been here earlier," Rachel said softly. "What are you doing, Jonas, trying to terrify this young woman and fight with one of your best Enforcers?"
There was an edge of chastisement in his wife's voice now, one that had Jonas staring back at Storme with a promise of retaliation.
Yeah, retaliation. She could see who wore the pants in this family, and it sure as hell wasn't Jonas Wyatt. Though the thought was mocking, Storme was still fascinated with it. Rachel wasn't more dominant; it was more that Jonas seemed to be that attuned to his wife, perhaps that much in love?
Could a Breed love? Didn't one have to have a soul to love?
"Ms. Montague." Rachel stepped around her husband, then the hulking form of Styx. "I'm afraid you're going to have to come to Sanctuary ..."
"Haven." Styx moved between them again as Jonas stepped closer to his wife.
"Sanctuary would be better, Styx," Jonas stated harshly. "We can sneak her easily into the underground cells ..."
"The hell you will. She goes to Haven," Styx stated again. "She goes with me."
"She's not yours, Styx," Jonas stated again.
At this point, enough was enough. "I'm not a bone between an oversized cat and dog," she informed them all bitterly. "Why don't I just settle this little argument myself? I'll just be going on my merry way if you all don't mind."
She rose from the chair, until Styx turned so suddenly she came to a hard stop. Hands braced on the arms of the chair to hold herself up, she stared up at him in surprise.
His expression wasn't furious, but rather so dominant and intense she sat back down in her chair slowly. A primal sense of self-preservation seemed to kick in. It wasn't the same warning sense that kicked in when she knew she was dealing with a dangerous animal. It was different.
"Maybe I'll just wait a minute," she stated calmly.
"Maybe you'll get ready to take another ride," he stated, his voice harsh. "We're going to Haven."
"She's needed at Sanctuary, Styx," Jonas argued again. "We have to have that data chip."
"Then it seems you'll be coming to Haven for a while," Styx stated.
The brogue was gone. There was no accent, no tonal shifts.
Jonas's jaw clenched as Rachel turned back to him. "We'll go to Haven, Jonas."
"Like hell,