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“Ah, here, how pretty is this.” He smoothed the strap of her bra over her shoulder, then eased one cup away from a straining breast.
Her nipple was cherry red, swollen and needy. She was almost embarrassed at the state of it. A testament to how long it had been since she had been touched? Or a testament to the power of that freaky hormone he was talking about?
She needed his lips there, needed his mouth suckling her, stroking her past the point of sanity.
“Look how sweet, cher.” He touched his fingertip, strong, calloused, to the hard tip.
Natalie felt the breath rasp from her throat. Her back arched, driving her nipple into his touch as her head fell back and she let her eyes close. She just wanted this touch. Just this once. Right now.
“Please, Saban.” Was that her? Her voice? Her begging for something she knew would destroy the independence she had fought so hard for? Was she insane?
“Cher, sweet petite bébé,” he groaned. “Anything. Anything you need.”
She felt his lips first, brushing against the violently sensitive puckered flesh. Then his tongue, swiping over it, hot and wet and wringing a cry from her lips a second before she lost the ability to breathe.
His mouth surrounded the tip as the fingers of one hand caught its mate. He covered the heated flesh, burned it, licked it, sucked it into his mouth, and fed from the hunger that began to pour from inside her.
Natalie was unaware of time, place, or reality. Nothing mattered but the hunger. Nothing mattered but his touch. One hand on her other breast, the other pushing the elastic waist of her cotton pants down her hips, delving beneath them.
She knew what was coming. Natalie was no virgin to be seduced, so she knew where he was headed, and she knew the worst thing she could do was let him actually get his hand in her pants. She would be lost. Any more pleasure, and she would never tear free of him. He would try to own her, control her.
She whimpered at the thought and fought for the strength to pull free, to drag his lips from her breast, to pull free of the hand moving closer, closer to the saturated flesh beneath her panties.
It was hard to tear him away though when her hands were tangled in his hair and trying to pull him into her flesh. When her thighs were sprawled open, her hips arching, her desperate mewls urging him on.
She sounded like a cat in heat, which might be fitting, considering what he had told her, and when his fingers met the humid, blistering need spilling from her pussy, she knew she was lost.
Natalie’s hips arched, a cry tore from her throat, and rich, sweet, overwhelming lust spilled from his kiss as he took her lips once again.
“I thought she said she was going to kill him. Are you sure you didn’t get that message mixed up, Callan?”
THREE
It was a science fiction nightmare, and Natalie was caught in the middle of it. The director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs, Jonas Wyatt, and the pride leader of the Breed Ruling Cabinet hadn’t come to whisk their irritating Breed back to Sanctuary. To the contrary. They had brought the heli-jet and whisked Saban as well as her back to the estate and far belowground, where the Breed laboratories were now set up.
It was definitely a nightmare. Hours of tests, drawing blood, examinations that shouldn’t have been so uncomfortable, and questions so damned personal Natalie kept blushing.
The explanations were even worse than the examinations and the questions, though. The explanations were nearly more than her mind could comprehend.
Natalie liked to think she was a fairly intelligent person. She was always open to the paranormal; she questioned everything that confused her and tried to understand. She even believed in psychics and reincarnation for pity’s sake. But this?
A pheromonal, biological, chemically based reaction that resulted in the swelling of tiny, normally hidden glands beneath the Breed’s tongue. Those glands then filled with a hormonal aphrodisiac, addictive and potent, ensuring that those affected actually had sex.
When Natalie asked if there was a cure, Elyiana’s only answer was that they were working on it. Does it go away? They were working on it.
They were working on it. The day was over and edging into night when the doctor was finally finished with her, and she knew no more then than she did when she arrived, but she was fairly certain there was a truckload of information they weren’t giving her.
By the time the heli-jet landed in the wide side yard beside her house and she and Saban were reentering her house, she was angrier than she had
been when she first called Callan Lyons.
Fat lot of help he had been. He and Wyatt both refused emphatically to change her bodyguard, and they refused to keep Saban away from her long enough for her to understand what the hell was going wrong with her own body.
And it was wrong. It had perspiration beading on her forehead, her womb clenching, and the aches at her clit and in the hidden depths of her vagina were nearly too much to bear. She felt off center, uncertain, and scared.
In her life there had been few times she had actually been frightened, but she admitted that she was definitely scared now. She was tied, bound to a man that she was certain she might not even like.
Well, she didn’t actually dislike him, she thought as she stood back voluntarily and let him open the house, let him smell the air then step inside to be certain it was safe while checking the security system wired into it.
