Hunted

Chapter 24

Moira stretched her neck, limping into Conn’s quarters. The door shut behind her. The living room sofa whispered an invitation for her to sit and watch one of the many movies stacked on the shelves built into the walls. Squinting, she studied the titles. My Freckled Pony. Springtime Puppies go to Hollywood. The Pink Fairy. Apparently Janie and Uncle Conn spent time together watching movies.

There were also adult comedies and dramas on a higher shelf. Before choosing, she took a closer look around. The man had built a pretty cage.

Dage had been right. Beating the heck out of a punching bag had put things in perspective. She didn’t belong in a cage. Conn would have to see her abilities, and her need to fight.

She eased toward the small kitchen to grab a sports drink. The king hoarded his like gold and wouldn’t share after their time in the gym. Not like she couldn’t find him another grape drink somewhere as a replacement—if he had shared.

The fridge was disorganized. Quick movements had the shelves righted in no time by color and size. She grabbed an apple juice from the refrigerator and turned, her heart dropping at the warrior standing in the doorway to the sleeping quarters. “Conn.”

He lounged against the doorframe, loose sweats perched low on masculine hips, his chest bare and covered in bruises. But no open wounds. Broad hands finger-combed his wet hair away from his face, allowing the ends to almost reach his shoulders. She liked that he’d grown it out ... the bad-boy look fit him well. “Moira.”

She cleared her throat. The brand on her hip warmed. “So, uh, how are you feeling?”

His chin lowered, his focus absolute. On her. He shoved off from the wall. She gulped a swallow. Heat flushed through her, in direct contrast to the chill at her back. Her mouth opened, but nothing emerged.

Smooth, slow, he prowled into the kitchen. She’d seen many animals, many warriors. Not one came close to Connlan Kayrs. In grace or menace.

Her muscles tensed ... adrenaline slid inside her veins like heated honey. Her panties soaked. Invisible bonds tied her in place, trapping her in his hypnotic hold.

He drew in oxygen, his nostrils flaring, a dark flush spiraling across his high cheekbones. “I can smell you. Lilacs and woman.” Then he was within touching distance.

Her lungs grew heavy. The air thickened. She opened her eyes wide, allowing more light and range of view to reach her brain—like any prey facing a predator. “I can smell you, too.” Male. Her chest rose slowly, visibly as she tried to force air inside.

He cocked his head to the side, placed his index finger against her neck to run down and across one diamond-hard nipple. Her knees weakened. He licked his lips. “I never had much self-control in the kitchen.” His smile flashed, his gaze on her breasts. “Whatever smells so good, I need a taste.”

She swallowed. Loudly. “Ah ...”

His lids lowered to half-mast. He glanced behind her to the organized shelves. “What is up with the obsessive food organization?”

The quiet question hinted at an intimacy she wanted to avoid.

She shrugged. “When I was little, I ate a bunch of Aunt Viv’s prunes that had been altered to look like plums. My sisters knew and didn’t tell me what they were. They acted like prunes, though. I was so sick.” Oh, but she’d gotten her revenge on Darcy. Knowing what natural herbs could cause hives had come in very handy. “So I learned to organize by color and size so it didn’t happen again.”

“Ah.” He tugged her forward, shutting the door before pushing her back against the smooth surface. Both hands went to her waist, smoothing under her shirt, sliding up to cup her breasts. Fire licked along her skin. Nothing in the world could’ve kept her from pressing forward, filling his palms and allowing shards of pleasure to shoot to her core. Her head fell back against the stainless steel.

“I love a good snack in the afternoon.” He stepped into her, his mouth dropping to nuzzle the hollow of her neck. “I think I’ll start my snack here.” Low, slumbering, his voice vibrated against her flesh.

One strong thigh slid between her legs, sliding up, forcing her to ride him. Her moan rose to a plea. “Conn—”

Like the curtain in a theatre, he s raised her shirt and sports bra up over her head. “We’ve never gone slow, Moira.”

Her eyes eased open. The dark desire on his face made her gasp. Then crave. Slow wasn’t how she wanted him. Too dangerous. She grabbed his head, yanking it down to hers and nipping his bottom lip. His hands tightened their hold.

He levered back, pinning her nipples between thumb and forefingers. “I said slow. Release my hair.”

She clutched harder, narrowing her gaze.

He pinched.

Pain shot straight to her clit. She gasped, her hold loosening.

His eyes darkened. “Let. Go. Moira.” Slightly, imperceptibly, his hold tightened on her swollen nipples. When she didn’t comply, he increased the pressure.

With a moan, she untangled her fingers, dropping her hands to her sides. He held her captive, confused. She didn’t know whether to jerk back ... or ask for more.

“Oh, baby girl, the things I’m going to teach you.” Keeping her gaze, he rolled her nipples, tightening his hold until she nearly panted. His slow smile promised something dark. Something forbidden. Something she wanted.

Warmth from his mouth quickly replaced his fingers, suckling her right breast. A mewling filled her head. She bit her lip to stop the sound. He chuckled, the vibrations nearly sending her over the edge. So much wet heat engulfed her smarting nipple she rubbed against his thigh, seeking something.

His leg deserted her. “Not yet.” Dropping to his knees, he tugged off her sweats and thong. “Ah. So pretty.” Slowly, way too slowly, he inched forward, planting one gentle kiss on her mound.

Her hips jerked as if she’d been electrocuted. Desire splintered into a thousand pieces to shoot through her body. Her hands dropped to clutch the top of his shoulders, her head rested against the cool appliance. Clever fingers parted her, and his tongue went to work. Fast, soft, devastating, he kept her on the edge until the only thing that existed was his mouth. Until two fingers entered her, searching, stretching. He found the hidden bundle of nerves ... and the universe exploded.

She rode his fingers, pressed against his mouth, and cried out his name. The pleasure filled her so completely reality became a dream. With a sigh, she came down, her entire body having the strength of a drunken fairy. Conn gave one last kiss across the marking on her hip and stood.

He yanked off his sweats. Strong hands grabbed her butt, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his hips. A step forward and he impaled her.

The cool fridge supported her back while he began to thrust. She grasped his chest. “Are you strong enough to do this?” A spiraling deep inside threatened to steal her concentration.

“Yes.” His fangs dropped low. With a quick strike, he claimed her neck.

His moan outdid hers as blood flowed between them, healing and strong. She could feel the change in him, like a lit fuse sparking through his veins to heal. A dam broke dead center of her chest. A concrete barrier inside her, designed to keep the floodwaters back ... crumbled from the force of emotion hurtling from him.

His hips thrust harder, taking her higher. She clung on, desperate to jump into the abyss. The slap of flesh against flesh drowned out their harsh breathing.

Sensation wrapped around her, all emotion, all intent. His entire body vibrated against her. Trapping her. His fangs withdrew. Rough, his tongue laved the wound. She tilted her head to allow for better access.

He bit.

The orgasm ripped through her, shutting down her brain. Pleasure, pain, and so much sensation commingled until she could only hold on, chanting his name. His speed increased, along with his strength. He released her neck. With a growl, feeling like love against her skin, and resonating like ownership in her heart, he came.