by Tessa Adams
She laughed. “I’m good at giving advice, not necessarily taking it.”
His hand tightened on hers. “This is killing me—watching them suffer and not being able to do anything about it. It’s like I’m being ripped apart from the inside out.”
“I know.”
He started to look away again, but she moved closer. Maintained eye contact. “I know,” she whispered.
“Maybe you do.”
That was how Dylan found them. Hands entwined, eyes locked, bodies so close they were almost resting against each other. The dragon went insane and the man didn’t fare much better.
He’d spent four days by himself when he could have been inside her, four days letting her work around the clock when she should have been spending her nights with him. And then to realize she’d been spending those nights—one way or another—with . . . Quinn?
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Quinn took one look at him and then stepped back so quickly he nearly knocked his computer off his desk, but Dylan wasn’t appeased. The man had had his hands on his woman. Even worse, Phoebe had been touching him back. At that moment, it didn’t matter that Quinn was one of his closest friends, one of his sentries or the best healer the clan had ever seen. All that mattered was that he had touched the woman Dylan wanted above all others.
Fire blazed to life within him, igniting so quickly that it was all he could do to keep it inside. Talons punched through his fingertips and toes, and for a moment all he could think about was blood. Quinn’s blood.
With a roar, he launched himself across the room, landing between the two of them. One shove had Quinn halfway across the room and Phoebe ensconced safely behind him.
Quinn came up off the floor like lightning, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. But he didn’t make a move. Dylan knew Quinn’s restraint had much more to do with their friendship than it did his title, but a part of him longed for the fight. Wanted it. Needed it.
Goddamnit, he would show them what happened to a man who dared lay a hand on what was his.
“Dylan!”
He growled low in his throat, advanced toward Quinn, who held his ground, after what looked like a brief debate with himself. That was fine with him—the chase was highly overrated, anyway.
“Dylan!”
His hands clenched into fists and he could feel the magic humming just below his skin, ripping through him, filling him with power.
“Damn it, Dylan! Stop acting like an idiot!” When she yanked on his T-shirt hard, Phoebe’s voice finally penetrated the rage that had narrowed the world to Quinn and him.
“I’m the idiot?” His voice was low, dark; the dragon was in full control. “What the hell have the two of you been doing here for the last few days?”
“Playing pinochle,” came the smart-ass retort. “What the hell do you think we’ve been doing?”
“Phoebe, stop.” Quinn’s voice was cautious, cautionary, and it only made the red haze worse. Who the hell was he to warn Dylan’s woman away from him? Dragon or no dragon, he would never hurt her.
“Don’t talk to her.”
“Excuse me?” Phoebe pushed out from behind him, faced him head-on. “Now you’re deciding who I can talk to? I though we settled this the other morning. I don’t take orders from anyone.”
He opened his mouth to tell her exactly whom she would take orders from, but all that came out was a feral roar. He expected her to cower, but she didn’t so much as flinch. Just glared at him with those fierce blue eyes until everything faded but his need for her.
“Come on,” he growled, fastening a hand around her wrist and yanking her toward the door. He shot a look at Quinn that told him in no uncertain terms that there would be a reckoning for touching Phoebe like he had.
She tried to dig in her heels, but the tile didn’t provide any traction. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re behaving like a wild man.”
“You’re going.” He pulled her straight through the lab and out the back door.
“No, I’m not.” She pulled her arm away, shoved at his chest, and the last choke chain he had on his control gave way with an angry, thunderous cry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Whirling, he slammed her back against the side of the building—not with enough force to hurt, but definitely hard enough to let her know he meant business.
“This caveman thing doesn’t work for me,” she snarled.
He yanked the top of her shirt down, cupped one soft, full breast in his hand as his thumb ran over her pebbled nipple. “Liar. You want this as much as I do.”
Her hands covered his, tried to pry it away from her flesh. But the second her nails dug into his skin, Dylan roared and crashed his body against hers, his cock rock-hard and ready to explode at the next provocation.
Before he could think better of it, before he could even attempt to calm himself down, he tangled his hands in her hair and yanked. Her head hit the wall, but neither of them noticed as he ground his mouth to hers and plundered.
She tasted bittersweet—like pain and pleasure and every craving he’d ever had. Breaking away from her lips, he ran his tongue down her throat. Tore at her clothes with his hands and teeth until her shirt hung from her in shreds.
He was desperate, devastated, completely enthralled by the heat pouring off her in waves. He had to taste her, touch her, pour himself inside her until—
With a growl, he ripped the delicate pink lace bra in half and took as much of her breast in his mouth as he could manage.
“Dylan!” It was a high-pitched plea for help, for relief, but there was no relief in him. He wanted her every way he could have her, wanted to fuck her against this wall. Wanted to turn her over a chair and come at her from behind. Wanted to pound himself into her again and again, until there was no end and no beginning. Just him and Phoebe and this conflagration of need that would never burn itself out.
He released her breast, pulled back a little so that he could see her gorgeous nipples. They were the sexiest red he’d ever seen, like the rubies that gleamed at him from the floor of his cave. Tight and peaked, they begged for his attention, and he trembled with the need to devour her.
Control it, he warned himself. Control the need. Control the burn. Don’t hurt her. He’d never worried about hurting another woman, but Phoebe wasn’t dragon, with his dense bones and thick skin.
He could damage her so easily.
Pulling in a deep, shaky breath, he tried to calm himself down a little. Tried to get a better hold on his beast. But everything about her was a temptation—the soft, sweet moans that came from her mouth, the way she squirmed against him, the fingernails that were even now clawing his back.
Praying his control was as good as he hoped it was, Dylan closed his teeth over her nipple. He bit her softly, then nearly came with his first taste of her sweetness. Nearly came again as her cries of pleasure echoed in his ears.
He switched to the other nipple, drew it into his mouth and rolled it between his teeth. Phoebe was moaning uncontrollably, her lithe, powerful body bucking against him with each pull of his mouth on her breast.
“Now, now, now,” she repeated the word like a litany, her back bowed, her hands tangled in his hair. He raised his head and looked at her, then stood transfixed for a moment by her incredible beauty.
“Dylan, please! Please,” she chanted, sobs racking her chest until her entire body shuddered against his.
She was close—so close that it was cruel to keep her hanging, no matter how much he wanted to take his time. Lifting her up with one hand, he shot a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching him.
Then muttered a quick spell that winked out the two parking lot lights closest to them. There was no way he could make it back to the house with her, but he’d be damned if any of his clan mates would get the chance to see Phoebe nude and lost to passion. He’d kill them first.
He snarled at the thought, then yanked her pants down and off before sinking to hi
s knees in front of her. Putting a hand on each thigh, he spread her open so he could see her.
She opened her legs willingly, and his cock jerked at his first sight of her, red and glistening and incredibly hot. Though it nearly killed him to drag his eyes away from her beautiful core—the very heart of her—he did so, because he wanted to see her eyes when he took her.
Lifting his head, he grabbed her chin in his hand. Tilted her head down until their eyes locked. Hers were hot with desire, blazing with need, bluer than he had ever seen them. Keeping his gaze level with hers, he used his thumbs to spread her wide open. Then he leaned forward and took her with his mouth.
Phoebe came with the first touch of Dylan’s tongue to her clit, waves of sensation rocketing through her. A part of her wanted to fight, to tell him that he couldn’t settle every disagreement they had with sex. But he felt so good, she couldn’t make herself say the words. Hell, with the condition she was in, she probably wouldn’t even be able to form them.
Her head fell back against the wall, her eyelids fluttering closed as pleasure overwhelmed her.
He wrenched his mouth away from her core. “No!” he barked, and it was an order she didn’t dare disobey. “Look at me while I take you. I want to see your eyes when I make you come.”
Color rose from her breasts, up her throat to her cheeks, but she did as he asked. Leaning forward, she braced her hands on his shoulders and let her eyes tangle with his.
“Good girl.” His talisman was burning, the sapphire so hot he was sure his skin would blister where it rested. But he didn’t take the time to remove it.
Instead, he took Phoebe in his mouth, this time closing his teeth gently over her clit. She bucked wildly against him, but he held her in place with his broad shoulders and the smooth, cold wall. He took her over and over again, his tongue wicked and wild and completely inescapable.
Without Dylan in front of her and the wall behind her, Phoebe knew her shaky knees would have collapsed a long time before. As it was, Dylan was bearing most of her weight, even as his tongue did things to her body she’d never known were possible.
He stared at her the entire time he was doing it, his black eyes smoldering like the darkest embers as he commanded her with a flick of his fingers, a stab of his tongue, a press of his hot, hard chest. The look in his eyes hurtled her into another orgasm and then another, until she was going from one peak to the next in a never-ending climax.
Pleading, she tried to pull him up and into her, but Dylan would have none of it. He merely laughed, the vibrations hitting her too-sensitive clit and sending her spinning into oblivion all over again.
She struggled against him, but his fingers only gripped her more firmly. And then he was lifting her so that she was directly above him, her sex resting so close to his mouth, she could feel his breath against her. Her legs draped over his shoulders, and his powerful arms held her like she weighed no more than a rag doll. When he had her positioned exactly where he wanted her, he speared his tongue inside her and lapped at her from the inside out.
Another orgasm coursed through her, more powerful than the others, and her entire body convulsed with pleasure. She would have screamed if she’d had the breath for it, but he had stripped her of everything—air, muscle control, even the ability to think.
And still he continued, taking her further. Taking her outside herself and into him, until she ceased to exist as an entity separate from him. There was no more Phoebe, no more disease, no more questions that needed to be answered. There was only Dylan and the incredible, terrifying control he exerted over every part of her.
Wave after wave of ecstasy hit her, washing her away from the shelter of the building and into the moonlit desert she had fallen in love with at first glance. She felt power well up around her, within her, a stirring deep inside as he continued his relentless assault. The wind picked up, whipping ferociously past them, beating against everything it ran across.
Dylan sheltered her with his body, but he was so hot, she felt like she was being burned alive.
Her vision narrowed, her pulse accelerated. The earth shook beneath them, and still he drove her higher. He held her still, his immense strength a fitting reflection of the thing bursting free within her, and thrust his tongue into her sex again. She whimpered because she could do nothing else. He was killing her, killing her, and she couldn’t take any more.
Everything inside her, every molecule, every drop of air, was converging. Fear welled up inside her—fear of him, fear of herself, fear of the reaction he inspired so effortlessly within her—and she started to struggle.
Dylan seemed to understand the roots of her sudden panic, for in a heartbeat, his tongue went from deep and stabbing to light and fluttering. He closed his mouth around her gently, so gently that she saw stars like those that shone in the darkest part of the desert sky above them. Pure, sweet, brilliant light exploded behind her eyes, and she arched up despite herself. Demanding more even as she fought against it.
He laughed as he slid a finger inside her and found her most sensitive spot. He rubbed against it from the inside even while his mouth continued its tender, unbreachable assault from the outside. His tongue went again to her clit, flicking back and forth, back and forth, hurtling her into an intense orgasm.
And still he didn’t stop.
It was too much. Blackness hovered at the edges of her mind, and she realized she was close to losing consciousness. “Dylan!” It was a high-pitched whimper as she clung to him—her only sanity in the maelstrom of emotions beating through her, into her.
He lifted his mouth and stood, pulling her against his chest with one fluid movement. Then he carried her to the back of the huge SUV he had had parked in the lot for her use and tore open the back. The inside seats were folded down, so there was plenty of room for the two of them as he stretched her trembling body out and climbed in next to her.
She was exhausted, fully sated, but still she wanted him. Craved him. Needed him next to her, above her, beneath her, inside her. She tried to tell him so, but the connections between her brain and the rest of her body still weren’t working correctly. So she simply lay there and enjoyed the show as Dylan unbuttoned his jeans and slowly peeled them down his long, heavily muscled thighs.
His erection was huge—so thick and hard it actually made her mouth water to look at him. Captivated by him, desperate to feel his hardness between her hands, she finally got her brain to issue an intelligible order to the rest of her body. Reaching for him, she murmured, “My turn.”
He grinned, then leaned over her, his hands clamping on her shoulders and pressing her into the rough carpet as he settled next to her. “Eventually.”
“I don’t want to wait that long.” She knew there was something different about him, something different about this entire community he had thrust her into, but at the moment, she didn’t care. Her need for the answers simply disappeared, and in its place was a determination to have him and this night with him—to enjoy every single moment of it, and to hell with the consequences.
Smiling, she clasped her hands around his beautiful cock and began to stroke.
The breath slammed out of him as every muscle in Dylan’s body tightened to the point of pain. He fought for control, but there was none. Fought to relax, but that was impossible as her hands and mouth skimmed over him. Sparks exploded behind his eyes—clean and bright and almost as beautiful as Phoebe’s eyes.
She hummed lowly in the back of her throat, and the answering vibrations made him quiver as they traveled through his cock, down his thighs and over his belly before finally reaching his heart.
“Phoebe.” Her name was all he could manage, a guttural groan when what he really wanted to do was praise her. To tell her how beautiful she was. How much he wanted and needed her. How he’d do anything for her.
But she was killing him—softly, slowly and without a shred of mercy.
Her mouth closed over the tip of him, tight and hot and so very delicious, he ne
arly came off the floor. He thrust before he could stop himself, felt himself sliding deeper as her throat constricted around him, and he cursed.
She was a witch, a powerful practitioner of sexual magic, and he couldn’t resist her. Didn’t want to resist her. But as her mouth moved slowly up and down his cock, burning him alive with each silky glide of her tongue, he knew he was close to ending this before he ever got inside her. He tried to pull her up and away, but she locked her arms around his hips and refused to move. Her protest was unintelligible, but the rhythm of it sent shock waves from one end of his cock to the other. His heart slammed against his chest as he thrust helplessly into her mouth again and again.
Finally, when he knew he couldn’t take another second, he growled, “Enough, Phoebe.”
The witch laughed, then rewarded him with one long, curling lick of her tongue. “Fuck!” His hips jerked, and the first wave of orgasm rushed through him. He forced it back, refused for this time to end any other way than with him inside her. With another groan, he pulled her away with unsteady hands. His cock nearly exploded at her moan of protest.
“Fuck me,” she answered, her hands pulling at his shoulders. “Fuck me now!”
He rose above her and took a moment—just a second or two—to look down at her. And give thanks.
She was moon-kissed, her skin pale and creamy against the dark carpet of the car. Her long, curly, glorious hair was wrapped around her, wrapped around him, as he brought his hands to her slender, breakable body. It was hard to imagine such strength of will existed in something so fragile.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, as he smoothed his mouth over every inch of her—down her breasts to the nipples, over the flat plane of her stomach, down the silky sweetness of her thighs to her calves and back up again. He stuck his tongue in the shallow indention of her navel, teasing and taunting her with what was just beyond her reach, before continuing down her abdomen to the soft red curls at the apex of her thighs.
She moaned, fisting her hands in his hair. “Now,” she breathed, her entire body taught with desire. “Dylan, it’s got to be now.”