Taken (Second Sight)

by Hunter, Hazel

  But the pent-up anger at the risk Isabelle had offered to take–a prospect he couldn’t even consider–only drove him harder. He kissed her deeply, absorbing her very essence, and demanding that she offer more. In response, her lithe body arched into him. Though he left one hand covering both her wrists, his other quickly moved to the small of her back and crushed her to him. Her pelvis pulsed under his hand and her abdomen ground directly on his growing arousal. The connection was electric, a surging jolt that immediately stiffened him.

  • • • • •

  Whatever Isabelle had released in Mac she didn’t know but she struggled to keep up. Over and over his lips devoured hers, savage in their intensity. His tongue thrust so deeply her jaw had to drop and, though she dragged in air through her nostrils, her lungs burned.

  Mac was on fire and Isabelle didn’t know what to think.

  But without thought, her body responded to his, desperate for the intimacy she’d just denied them. She’d wanted to read him, even needed it, but the risk of losing him…

  Mac’s arousal jabbed into her abdomen and he ground it against her, pinning her hips to the wall. His powerful frame towered over her, his mounded pecs straining inside the buttoned shirt and pressing into her. Blood pounded in her ears and her lungs felt as though they might burst as she writhed against him.

  He let go of her wrists so quickly that it took a few moments for her to realize it but, as she did, she felt him tugging the zipper at the back of her dress down. Though her hands moved to his tie, she felt the zipper catch. Without hesitation, Mac’s arms bulged at her sides and he ripped the dress open. Isabelle gasped in shock as their mouths separated. Her chest heaved as she watched Mac tear the shoulder straps and drag the torn fabric over her hips and down to the floor, along with her panties. The bra was next and in moments it dangled from her elbow because, stunned, she still held onto his tie. In one smooth move, Mac leaned into her, swung her up into his arms, and strode toward the bedroom.

  • • • • •

  Only when Mac tossed Isabelle onto the bed did she let go of his tie. He immediately ripped the damn thing off and threw it across the room. As he looked at her naked on the comforter, her soft flesh vulnerable, her swollen lips parted in shock, his arousal painfully throbbed.

  He ripped his shirt open, buttons flying in every direction, pinging off the wall as Isabelle’s amber eyes widened. The belt, pants and briefs were next and he flung them to the floor. With Isabelle on the pill, Mac didn’t pause for the condom. In moments, he followed her to the bed, mounted her and sank himself home.

  Her back arched with the quick penetration and a sharp gasp escaped her.

  Slow down, Mac thought again.

  But, propped up on his hands and looking down the length of her body–bare, beautiful, voluptuous–there was no way he could slow down. The resistant flesh at her entrance tugged at him and he thrust into her again. She lifted her body to him as he plunged inside, the hot glide of her moist flesh directly on the skin of his shaft. The feeling was incredible but instead of slaking his need, it only compounded it.

  I will not lose you, he thought, as he drove into her forcefully and deeply.

  Isabelle moaned in short harsh gasps, as her gloved hands moved to his hips and he buried himself deep inside her yet again. She pulled him hard, her hips rising to meet his, as they thudded together. A chain of possessive thrusting erupted as Mac pounded into her, again and again. He surged deeper and harder, reaching for the very core of her, for that place where they were completely joined. She grunted with his efforts and brought up her knees to accommodate him.

  “Isabelle,” he whispered hoarsely. “I won’t lose you.”

  To his surprise, she opened her eyes and stared into his. Her hands went to each side of his face. He paused then, their heaving breaths mingling, his swollen flesh completely sheathed within her.

  “You can’t,” she gasped breathlessly. “Not ever.”

  Not ever, he thought. A familiar ache bloomed in his chest and, though he slowly shook his head, he tried to smile.

  “That’s not true, Isabelle,” he said quietly, as he lowered himself to his elbows. He lightly brushed the hair at her temples aside, gazed down at her parted lips, and then looked back into her eyes. “God, I wish it was.”

  Her eyebrows knit together for a moment.

  “But–”

  Quickly, he covered her mouth with his. He didn’t want to hear anymore. His lips willed her to feel the depth of his love, even though he knew she wouldn’t. And finally Mac realized that, though Isabelle was wrong, so was he. He couldn’t possess her, not truly, not in the way he wanted–not until the threat hanging over her was gone. His mouth caressed hers now, no longer insistent, but needing to absorb everything about her in this moment: the floral scent of her skin, the soft press of her breasts, the warm haven of her receptive body, and the sweet and luscious glide of her lips.

  Isabelle’s hands ran into his hair, down his chest, and over his pecs. The press of her palms on his nipples tightened them and sent a hard throb through his arousal.

  Then, against his will she ended the kiss and he opened his eyes to hers.

  “Let me get on top,” she whispered.

  • • • • •

  As Mac rolled to his back, Isabelle couldn’t help but wonder what the sad smile had been about. He was at one extreme and then the other today, ever since the meeting with Ben. But something drove Mac, some need that she felt just beneath his skin–the need that had him ripping her clothes off one minute, only to stop making love to her to say he wouldn’t lose her. Though she didn’t understand it, his anguish tore at her and she would do anything to make it stop.

  She let her eyes roam over his muscular torso, the strong shoulders, the pectorals that rippled with every movement of his powerful arms. Her hands ran up the corrugated muscles of his abs and up his chest as she slowly bent to it. Even before her lips had made contact, Mac’s stiff flesh jerked hard inside her. But as her lips closed around his nipple, Mac hissed. His hands quickly rubbed down her back and then squeezed her around the waist. His nipples were incredibly sensitive, the melon-colored centers already hard. His arousal swelled within her and warmth flooded between her legs. Her nose nuzzled into the soft, fine hair that dusted his chest, and her tongue circled the pebbled nub with a slow and delicious curl.

  Mac’s hands pressed her hips down on him as his arousal throbbed upward. Though he stretched her entrance and her hips wanted to respond, Isabelle kept her mouth on Mac’s nipple. The rigid bud stood erect, circled by her tongue, but rather than lick it, she gently sucked on it.

  “Isabelle,” he whispered, his voice strained and tight, and she felt him grind himself beneath her.

  He was trying not to move, to let her mouth continue its work, but his hips moved with tiny, erratic jerks. Languidly, she slid her tongue across the peaked tip and was rewarded with a shuddering gasp, forced from his throat. His pelvis began a slow and circular gyration, halting and starting, then halting again, a movement on the edge of control–and completely sensual. Her own hips fought to buck into him but instead her abdomen tightened around his engorged shaft as she moved her mouth to his other nipple.

  Mac’s entire body tensed in anticipation, corded muscles popping to life, his fingers digging into her hips. She enveloped the bare tip in her mouth, fondling it, and felt her own nipples harden as Mac’s arousal jerked inside her. She moaned around the hard tip, as her tongue pushed into it, and then her teeth lightly bit.

  The movement of Mac’s hips began slowly as did a moan from deep inside his chest. His hands pushed down on her hips, as his back steadily arched off the bed, and the sound that vibrated his chest against her lips slowly built into his throat. Louder he moaned as her teeth tugged at his distended nipple. Higher his back arched, as his hips sank lower and his hands thrust her down on him. Only his shoulders were in contact with the bed, as Isabelle’s torso lay along his arching chest, and his rib
cage continued to rise. He was tugging his nipple hard, the tension nearly unbearable, as his moan turned into an anguished groan. She stretched herself over him, her teeth biting steadily harder, her tongue lashing into him, over and over until finally, he cried out and pulled free.

  He thrashed beneath her and only his hands on her hips kept her from sailing across the room. His massive erection drove up into her and he thrust wildly inside. The headboard of the bed knocked loudly against the wall, banging repeatedly as his back slammed into the mattress and his hips surged up beneath hers. She swayed on top of him, trying to stay connected, even though each penetration drove higher. He filled her to the point of pain and then let her fall. He speared up into her and then jerked her back down. His magnificent, rampant body had erupted into giant undulations that lifted them both from the bed.

  She wanted to grind on him, feel the thudding at her sweet spot turned to crushing, as her hips whipped back and forth atop him. Over and over the air was forced from her lungs in shallow grunts as he slammed upward. His chest heaved with harsh and ragged gasps. And just as she thought there would be no end to the primal thrusts, Mac sat up and Isabelle quickly found their positions reversed. As her hands landed on the bed behind her, Mac knelt and pulled her hips hard toward him.

  • • • • •

  As Mac tugged Isabelle up his thighs, his hips thrust forward to meet her. Her entire body vibrated with the connection and she quickly sank to her elbows as her head tilted back. An explosion of frantic gyrations claimed her hips, her lithe torso whipping up and down. Her olive skin was suffused with pink and the perfect, rose-tipped mounds of her breasts thrust upward, her chest heaving in time with his. His engorged flesh buried itself in her as he kept a firm grip on her thighs, pulling her hard onto him. Isabelle whimpered in response as a deep shudder rippled through her. Her body seemed to shimmer and then her incredibly flat tummy writhed and flexed. Again, he thrust forward, plunging into her deeply and, for a moment, Mac wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

  But as he stared at her abdomen and pressed his hips harder, he lifted her pelvis higher. Her elbows came off the bed as her body arched impossibly high, and he saw his own arousal within her.

  “Yes,” he hissed.

  He pressed one hand over the bulge as Isabelle’s body writhed around him. Between the creamy curves of her twisting and pulsing hips, his hand pushed down and he felt himself.

  His climax exploded inside her.

  Under the press of his own palm, his straining shaft thickened uncontrollably and a white-hot eruption made him cry out in ecstasy and anguish. Isabelle’s climax immediately clamped on him, her abdomen like a vise, her writhing turned into a chain of convulsions that rocked them both. His member was molten, spewing inside her, jerking upward with one vicious clamp and then downward with the next. His arms wound around her tiny waist, pulled her hard onto him, as her body shook violently and she cried out. Her climax rippled along his length and he could only spill himself into her in response. Their harsh, ragged cries filled the air and their bodies fueled one another as she clamped down on him and he stiffened, repeating the cycle. She milked him without relent and he bent over her, curving his body to match her arch, holding her to him as sat on his ankles. Gradually, his hips began to thrust erratically and Isabelle’s agonized gasps told him she was nearly spent. Slowly, the contractions ebbed as did the blinding ecstasy that had swept through him. Finally, Mac released the grip around Isabelle’s waist and eased her down to the bed. Her chest heaved like a bellows, and he couldn’t help but glance at the spot where he’d seen himself, but then he collapsed onto the bed next to her.

  The pillows were at their feet but neither of them moved.

  “I love you, Mac,” Isabelle whispered, though her breath was still ragged and harsh. He opened his eyes and turned his head to her but her eyes were closed and she hadn’t moved. “And I know you love me. I do…” Her voice faltered and a teardrop slipped down from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath. “The reading…”

  “Isabelle,” he said quietly, instantly turning to her, cradling her to his chest. “Forget about the reading. Tomorrow we’ll go see Ben.” He paused at the quick knot in his stomach. “Because I do love you.”

  As her arms wound around him and she buried her face in his chest, he felt her nod as he stroked her hair.

  That’s what it comes down to, he thought. I have to love her enough to risk losing her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Prentiss had arrived bright and early, up with the sun because of the ninety minutes it took to get the body make-up on. And the wait had not been long because there she was–Isabelle.

  She came in through the main, double, glass doors, her green dress swishing in the draft. It looked like the same agent was with her, though it was hard to tell. They all looked so alike in their conservative suits. Prentiss grinned. Cops all looked alike too. All anybody saw was the uniform. She and the agent passed him without so much as a glance.

  Today is going to be the day.

  Prentiss fell in behind them but several paces back, the lumpy manila envelope tucked under his arm. A young mother with a baby in a stroller joined the procession just in front of him. Clearly, they were all headed to the elevator. Once there, they joined the group already waiting. As usual, it was a busy day at the Federal Building.

  Though he stood at the edge of the group, Prentiss could see Isabelle in profile. She wore matching gloves and he noticed the way she clung to the arm of the agent. Was there something between them? Prentiss cocked his head just as the elevator next to him dinged loudly.

  As the last of the group inside disgorged, Prentiss motioned for the mother and her baby to precede him and promptly filed in behind her. He wanted to be at the back of the elevator. Though he turned around to face the door and could see that Isabelle was entering, he turned his face to the floor so she couldn’t see it.

  The make-up, dye job, and costume were excellent but why take a chance?

  An older man had followed him in and was standing between him and Isabelle so Prentiss shifted slightly right. As Isabelle entered and began to turn, Prentiss took a good look. Her dress came down to mid-thigh again today and, as she pivoted, his eyes were drawn to her knee, though it was quickly out of view. He couldn’t help but smirk, feeling the tug of the spirit gum under the fake mustache.

  But as the rest of the people outside slowly filed in and the crowd compressed, Prentiss realized with a start that the agent with Isabelle was looking at him.

  Prentiss froze, his mind a complete blank.

  Though Prentiss could only use his peripheral vision, he was sure the man’s gaze was on him. Slowly, Prentiss lifted his chin and looked up at the changing numbers over the door and, then, so did the agent.

  Prentiss slowly let a breath go and darted his eyes to the back of the man’s head and then up to the changing numbers again as the elevator dinged and began to slow. They were going to stop at the third floor.

  Had he been looking at me?

  A slow trickle of sweat started to work its way down the small of Prentiss’s back.

  Shit. Is the make-up waterproof?

  Suddenly, the thrill of the stalk had turned into a grueling ride on the slowest elevator in the world. From that point on, Prentiss kept his eyes on the changing numbers. Passengers came and went at each floor.

  Had he been looking at me?

  Prentiss adjusted the envelope under his arm so it didn’t get soaked with sweat.

  Get it under control. When they get out, you have to get out. You have to see where they’re going.

  But at the moment, Prentiss wasn’t sure he could make his legs move, let alone get out. He stared down at his shiny, black, leather shoes.

  Is this what stage fright is like?

  Prentiss had heard of it but never experienced anything even close. He loved the limelight. But as the elevator reached the seventh floor and the door opened, Isabelle and the agent began to move.<
br />
  They’re leaving!

  With a surge of panic at the thought of losing this chance, maybe his only one, after all the preparation, all the cost, Prentiss committed.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Pardon me,” he said to the older man just in front of him.

  • • • • •

  Mac could see through the glass wall that Dixon and his captain were already waiting, having coffee in the conference room. Ben had yet to arrive.

  Now might be a good time for a word in private.

  Though Mac waited as the sergeant made the introductions, he didn’t take a seat.

  “Let me go see what’s keeping Ben,” he said.

  Isabelle’s eyebrows knitted together briefly but she smiled at him. Dixon and his boss probably thought nothing of it. But as Mac exited the room and glanced once more at Isabelle–who was watching him leave–he knew he had to get this thing with Ben cleared up.

  • • • • •

  Prentiss had passed the assembled group in the conference room and continued down the wide and virtually empty hallway. The layout was similar to the other floors he’d patrolled and he headed directly to the bathroom. There was one man at a urinal but the stalls were empty. Though he hadn’t practiced this, Prentiss had rehearsed it over and over in his mind.

  He proceeded into a stall, closed the door, and set the envelope quietly on the floor. Then, he reached behind the toilet and turned the water to it off, spinning the clear plastic knob clockwise until it wouldn’t go any further. Then he flushed it.

  The water in the bowl emptied but no new water came in and, in moments, he had his receptacle clear. Outside the stall he heard the man at the urinal leave but he quickly bent low and scanned for feet under the door just to make sure.