Roping Savannah

by Jory Strong

  Same guys who’d been to The Ferret’s place but a different MO? Or different guys with the same agenda?

  She’d had every intention of taking a vacation. She’d even halfway convinced herself that she and Krista had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time—maybe a case of mistaken identity or criminal impatience when the Beamer blew up. But this raised the stakes. This told her whatever The Ferret was involved in, she was now involved too.

  Fuck! Only the fact that the majority of her possessions were still at the Bar None made it easy for her to tell someone had been through what few things she kept in town. Not that any of it would be of interest to anyone but her—which was a good thing.

  At least she didn’t have to freak about something sensitive getting out. It would hardly be headline news if someone leaked the fact she liked thong underwear, was sometimes guilty of looking through Playgirl magazine and yeah, she had a few porno DVDs because desperate times sometimes called for desperate measures.

  Savannah retrieved a gym bag and packed some clothing. There were definite advantages to favoring jeans and casual shirts. It cut down on what she considered essential.

  She grinned, managing to find some humor as she cut a glance over at Kye. There was no point in packing anything to sleep in. First, because she didn’t intend to do much sleeping. Second, because from the look of his hard-on, he didn’t need anything from Victoria’s Secret to inspire him to action.

  “Ready,” she said, moving to the door.

  Kye joined her, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the door, immobilizing her with his grip and his weight as he freed one hand in order to tunnel into the pocket of her jeans and retrieve the keys. He was so smooth and efficient that it was done within seconds—leaving her admiration warring with her outrage.

  “I’ll remember this, Batman,” she said when he released her. They moved out into the hallway. “And for the record, I don’t get mad, I get even.”

  Behind her, Kye grinned, committing her words to memory. I don’t get mad, I get even. He would share it with his brothers and cousins. Such a saying could come in handy for a bounty hunter. Perhaps it would even become the motto of their clan-house—though no doubt the Amato, who were sticklers for justice served in a somber, orderly manner, would find offense in it.

  They checked the truck for explosives before climbing in and driving away, Kye once again asking for directions.

  Savannah sighed. The moment of truth had arrived and the truth for the moment was that she couldn’t hightail it to Tahoe. That left two viable options. A hotel. Or the line cabin on her great-uncle’s ranch—a once-upon-a-time shack that had been seriously enhanced by her brothers so it would be suitable for their little sexcapades.

  She knew for certain the cabin was well-stocked with canned goods, and it should be unoccupied. Her parents were traveling so her brothers had full use of the ranch house. And since her great-uncle’s cattle had been trucked to different grazing lands there was no reason for ranch hands to be in the cabin.

  Oh yeah. The line cabin won hands down. It was in the middle of nowhere. Easy to defend. And there was no way in hell anyone after her would either know it existed or guess she was there.

  She glanced at the man next to her and smiled. Not to mention, the cabin was the perfect place to get rowdy and blow off some steam.

  Her gaze dropped to Kye’s erection and her smile widened. He was definitely packing some serious heat and it was time to take him out to the range and pull his trigger.

  Kye gripped the steering wheel and willed himself to remain in control. If his mate had any idea how fiercely the Vesti mating fever rode him, she wouldn’t be smiling so smugly and filling the interior of the truck with the heady scent of her arousal. By the stars, it took every bit of his training to resist the urge to pull to the side of the road and take her there—an act frowned upon in his world and against the law in hers.

  With great effort he limited his breathing to shallow pants and tilted his head slightly to benefit from the open window as he fantasized about what he would do when they got to this “cabin” she spoke of.

  He would strip first, before the Earth clothing made a gelding of him. And then he would insist that Savannah strip.

  He didn’t feel like playing with her. Didn’t feel like drawing it out in a game of seduction.

  He wanted to mate. To tumble her onto her hands and knees and mount her. To thrust his cock in and out of her and hear her hoarse cries of pleasure.

  He wanted to bury his mating fangs in her shoulder in the moment of climax, something he’d never done before, and feel the sweet bliss of an enhanced release while gaining the security of knowing she could never escape him again. That he’d taken the first step in forming a bond with her.

  There was protocol that should be followed. Rather than fuck her, he should see to her safety and then take a sample of her DNA to the Council scientists. He should wait for the match to be officially sanctioned. He should select a co-mate from among the Amato—a task he was reconciled to, though he preferred not to contemplate the reality of seeing another male cover his—their mate.

  He grimaced. Then reminded himself that if Lyan could stomach such a thing, then he could do no less.

  Kye’s cock pulsed hungrily in the constricting garments and he knew the true reason why he would ignore protocol and take Savannah—riding her fiery body throughout the night. He wanted to hoard her screams of pleasure. He wanted memories that belonged only to the two of them. He wanted what his ancestors had always had. A mate that belonged only to him. And for this night, he would have it.

  No doubt there would be lectures to endure, whispers he was like his cousin Lyan, who seemed to take pleasure in bending—if not completely breaking—the law. Many a time Kye had seen suspicion on some of the faces of the Council members and scientists. But he’d proven himself a man of honor. A man capable of keeping those human women identified as potential bond-mates safe until they could be claimed.

  He hadn’t taken liberties with any human female, even those who weren’t found to carry the Fallon gene sequence. Not that he hadn’t been tempted.

  By the stars, he had been. His fantasies had been filled with women such as his mate, women with red tresses and flashing green eyes. He could hardly believe his own good fortune at finding Savannah.

  On Belizair only a few of the Amato clan-houses boasted such coloring. And of those… Kye shuddered. He had little doubt the human images of vengeful angels came from encounters with the Amato who possessed flame-colored hair and fire-veined wings. He couldn’t imagine aligning himself to such a clan-house, couldn’t imagine sharing his bed with a female from one of them. Which made him cherish Savannah all the more and give thanks to the wandering god of the Vesti for leading him to her.

  A small measure of relief found him when Savannah finally said, “There it is,” though it took him a moment to see the small cabin surrounded by trees. It was perfect. Private. Reminding him of the transport chamber deep in the Sierras. The distance between the two not so great he couldn’t use the Ylan stones to get there tomorrow. Then use the portal to take a sample of her DNA to the scientists in San Francisco.

  But until then…anticipation roared through him. She was aroused and there was no one around. He would take her underneath the trees and sky if necessary. But he would take her. She was his.

  Kye parked where Savannah directed, nearly took his cock in hand at the small smile she sent in his direction as she pulled her gym bag from the truck then grabbed one of the sacks of groceries she’d insisted they stop for. He retrieved the others, leaving the chest of ice and drinks as he followed her. Each step a painful reminder of how confining the Earth clothing was.

  The cabin had the smell of a closed-up place, a situation easily remedied by opening windows. He wanted to pounce but forced himself to help Savannah put away the groceries and make the bed, to give her a few minutes to relax. In truth, he found he needed a few minutes to set as
ide the horror of both attempts on her life. To let the peacefulness of the setting seep into him.

  He couldn’t get her to Belizair fast enough. Earth was too violent, too dangerous, and he suspected his bond-mate was a magnet for trouble.

  He knew it.

  The smile she was directing at him was proof she had no idea of her peril.

  Kye’s nostrils flared as she moved into him. Her intention clear. Her aggression arousing, more potent than the strongest beverages in the Kotaka Gaming Sector. When she put her hands on his chest the blood roared in both his cock and his ears.

  Savannah grinned. If he had a thought left in his head, then she should be kicked off the force for not being able to see a situation clearly. Damn, he was gorgeous. Hard muscle. An erection like a flagpole ready to burst out of his pants and wave the red, white and blue—all to the tune of the “Star-Spangled Banner”.

  His obvious lust—for her—was sexy as hell. And a real boost to her morale and her libido.

  She closed her fingers, gripping his shirt and managing to capture the tiny male nipples underneath it at the same time. His face tightened and his head lowered. Without warning his arms went around her, jerking her against his body, trapping her there.

  “From now on you will answer to me,” he said, covering her mouth before she could comment or argue. Chasing away the outrageousness of his statement with the assault of his tongue against hers.

  God. He knew how to kiss.

  They were Savannah’s last thoughts as the aggressive thrust of his tongue made her crave the feel of flesh against flesh, made her want to wrap her legs around his waist and feel his cock plunge into her channel.

  She moaned, tangled her tongue with his, slid and rubbed against it as her pelvis did the same to his erection.

  He growled in response, walked her backward until her thighs came up against the kitchen table. The obstacle irrelevant to him. He kept pushing, using his chest and arms, the solid muscles of his thighs to force her upper body to retreat until she was lying on the table, trapped there, the hard ridge of his jeans-covered cock now rubbing against her cloth-protected core.

  Savannah battled with the buttons of his shirt, her hands still trapped between them. He made a hungry sound deep in his throat, his hands joining hers, ripping at clothing until skin touched skin.

  He stilled then, lifted his mouth from hers. Met her eyes.

  Her cunt clenched in reaction to the fierce desire she saw there. Sent another wave of arousal to panties already soaking in it.

  His nostrils flared as though he could smell it. His breathing coming one short pant after another. “You are mine.”

  “Prove it.”

  With a growl he levered himself up, his hands pinning her wrists to the table next to her hips, his gaze roaming down her body, returning to her exposed breasts and turning molten.

  Kye burned with the fever of his race. Hungered to taste every inch of Savannah. To claim every inch.

  She was exquisite. Her fiery beauty unmatched by any woman who had come before her.

  He’d thought to take her, to mate with her, but now he wanted to savor her. To suckle at her breasts until the nipples darkened and ached with pleasure. To bury his face between her thighs and bathe in the scent of her as his lips and tongue explored wet heat and feminine slickness.

  It was a primitive call. A most basic need.

  Kye leaned over and took her nipple into his mouth, attacked it as ruthlessly as he’d assaulted her mouth. He was no babe at its mother’s breast and there was nothing gentle in the way he claimed her, in the message he conveyed with his tongue and his teeth, with the strong, fierce tugs to first one nipple and then the other.

  Her body arched underneath his onslaught, her head tossed and her voice became a plea for more of what he had to offer. He freed her wrists and savage satisfaction rushed through him when her hands went to his hair, her grip as strong as any warrior’s as she held him to her breast, pushed against him as if she wanted him to swallow her whole.

  Kye freed the top button of her jeans and the zipper gave under the force with which he peeled them down her legs, tangling at her ankles until he rid her of her shoes, freeing the pants to fall to the floor. He shivered at the slick feel of arousal-soaked panties against his heated flesh.

  He lifted his head and endured the sharp sting. Her fingers tightening on his long hair as she tried to pull him back to her breast. But there was no resisting the lure of her cunt now, not when it remained hidden by only a thin barrier of material.

  Still, he was a man who’d survived working for the Council because he could compromise. He could do no less for the woman who would be his bond-mate.

  He touched his lips to her breast, paid homage to one love-bruised nipple and then the other before traveling downward, leaving a wet trail of kisses and bites, pausing at her navel to test its depth with his tongue before moving lower, tormenting them both by nibbling at the elastic edge of her dark green panties, by running his mouth and nose over the erect clit, torturing it through the fabric, his breath adding to the heat and moistness.

  Her buttocks tightened, lifting her, pressing her covered mound against his face. But when her hands went to her hips he grabbed them and kept her from pushing her panties down. By the stars, she’d tortured him from the first moment he’d seen her and now she would experience the same!

  Chapter Five

  Kye sucked her clit into his mouth, the material covering it doing little to hide her arousal from him. He toyed with her engorged knob until she was writhing, begging for the pleasure of his mouth on her naked, burning flesh.

  It was beyond anything he’d ever known with a woman. Anything he’d ever thought to experience.

  Now he saw a purpose for the layers of clothing Earth women wore. To drive the lust higher. The ridiculous scraps of material turning a female into an erotic package to be unwrapped.

  His cock pulsed and leaked. His balls were heavy and full and he cursed himself for not opening his own pants before he’d started his claiming of Savannah. But there was no way to free himself from the confines of his jeans, no way to take himself in hand without releasing Savannah’s wrists. And so he endured, ached, suffered as he assaulted her with his mouth until he could no longer tolerate the barrier of cloth between them.

  He released her wrists. Dragged her panties down so they joined her jeans on the floor. Paused. Capturing the image of her cunt so he would remember this first viewing for the rest of his life. The neat triangle of deep red pubic hair a sign-post arrowing downward, pointing to swollen lips, open and glistening, waiting for his kiss.

  He needed no other urging.

  With a groan he lowered his mouth to them, sucked and lapped, thrust his tongue into her channel as his nose rubbed against her clitoris, its hood pulled back to expose tender skin, an engorged knob designed for no other purpose than a woman’s pleasure.

  Desperately he freed his cock, taking it in a strangle-hold grip to prevent himself from spewing his seed on his abdomen, his other hand going to her belly, her mound, holding her to the table as he consumed her, lashed her with his tongue and made her scream in orgasm.

  Kye straightened then, satisfaction roaring through him at the sight of her slick skin and limp form, at the way she struggled for breath, her eyes half closed, her body quivering from the force of her release.

  He couldn’t wait. He gathered her up, positioned her at the edge of the table, joy and happiness exploding in his chest when she laughed and curled her arms and legs around him. When her fingers chased his own away from his cock, when she guided him to her entrance and touched her lips to his as she welcomed him into her body.

  Kye nearly came as unbearable pleasure flooded his senses. As her slick, heated inner muscles clamped down on his penis, a wet fist clenching and unclenching, resisting, enticing, drawing every blood cell to his engorged shaft so it throbbed in time with a heart racing, expanding, very nearly exploding with the intensity of sensat
ion.

  Savannah groaned, shifted, used his long hair like reins to guide his face where she wanted it so she could meld her lips to his and wrestle with his tongue again. He was killing her! But what a way to go!

  He’d just about blown the top of her head off with the orgasm he’d given her and now… He was huge. His presence in her channel a painful pleasure, filling her, burning her, making her cunt squeeze against his invasion even as her legs were tightening around his waist to try and drive him deeper.

  Fuck. Oh yeah—

  She cried out when he thrust through the barrier of fisted muscle and gave her his full length and width. She started moaning when his fingers dug into her buttocks and he began moving in and out of her sheath, striking her clit with each inward stroke until her world revolved around him, the wet slide of tongue against tongue, the heady, indescribable heaven of a man’s penis laying claim in the most intimate manner possible.

  Savannah willingly gave up control, though her fingernails raked down his back and she swallowed his growls of pleasure, thrilled at the way his thrusts became more aggressive, more forceful until they were both panting for breath, straining for release. Their hands frantically racing over fevered, sweat-slick skin until she came and he followed her over the edge, his semen jetting toward her womb, his body jerking and shuddering between her thighs.

  She didn’t offer a protest when Kye eased her backward and rested his torso on hers, his cock still inside her, her legs still wrapped around his waist. He’d probably just ruined her for any other man and she didn’t care.

  A small laugh escaped. Sex on the kitchen table had never been one of her fantasies—but now she saw there were definite possibilities—once she recovered from this round. Savannah couldn’t stop herself from saying, “I’m glad I brought you home for dinner.”