The Alien Huntress Series

by Gena Showalter

  “Ready now?” he asked.

  She nodded, then blinked in surprise at her own admission. Some of the hesitation vanished from her, replaced by thrums of eagerness and curiosity, shock and pleasure. She shivered.

  He’d watched her fasten the bra from behind, so he reached around her. Her skin broke out in sensitive little bumps everywhere he touched. When the clasp was undone, he paused. “Ready?” he asked again. Rushing and frightening her was suddenly more abhorrent to him than leaving her and spending the next few hours in a state of pained unsatisfaction.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He blazed a slow path to the upper straps, hooked them on his fingers, and slid them off. The bra floated down and pooled between their bodies, leaving her breasts bare. Christ. In that moment, he converted to a new religion: the worship of Mishka Le’Ace.

  Her nipples were pink and hard as he remembered, little berries he planned to sample over and over again before the night was over.

  “Would you like it if I removed my shirt?” he asked her.

  Blessedly, she gave another nod.

  Though he would much rather knead her breasts, suck them, he gripped the hem of his shirt and lifted. He tossed the material to the floor before flattening his hands on her back and urging her forward. She did not resist. When her soft breasts met the hardness of his muscles, he closed his eyes and groaned.

  He resisted the urge to roll her onto her back, to claim and possess. “I’m going to lick your nipples.”

  “Yes.”

  His tongue flicked over one hard bud, then the other. Delicious. Perfect. He could have stayed there forever, worshipping, but she soon stopped writhing, even stiffened.

  Okay, no breasts. Not yet. “I’m going to kiss your mouth again.” She’d nearly erupted last time he’d kissed her. “When I do, I might touch between your legs.” Maybe she’d like that as much as the kiss.

  “Yes. Okay.”

  He gripped the back of her neck and drew her forward. Her mouth opened instantly, her tongue rolling around his, desperate, eager. An eternity passed as they kissed, lost in each other.

  “More?” he asked, panting.

  “Yes.” The word was little more than a groan. “I’m hot. I ache.”

  The words were as potent as a fist on his cock. “That’s good, but I want you hotter, achier.”

  “Make me come. Please.”

  The last was uttered so hesitantly, he doubted she’d ever said it before. “It will be my pleasure.”

  Their lips met again. Softly, gently. His tongue stroked inside, her heady flavor filling him as before, yet somehow it was a whole new experience. She opened for him completely, feeding from him.

  Her head tilted, silently asking him to go deeper, to take more. He obeyed without question, cupping her cheeks and rolling his tongue over hers. A groan escaped her, and her hands slid up to grip his scalp.

  Motions jerky, as if she couldn’t control herself, she rocked against his erection. The actions nearly undid him, but he didn’t stop her. He tried her breast again, kneading, the nipple stabbing into his palm.

  When he pinched, she gasped.

  “Too painful?”

  “Good. I liked.” Her head fell back, exposing her neck and the wildly thumping pulse at the base. “More.”

  He licked at the pulse while pinching both nipples. Mishka was soon shaking, nails drawing blood.

  “Are you wet for me?”

  “I think so.”

  He thought so, too. The sultry fragrance of her arousal was wafting around them. Slowly, he trailed his fingertips downward. Her stomach quivered, and he stopped to pay homage to her navel, dipping inside with his thumb. Then, he was moving again. Finally he reached the hem of her panties.

  Black lace, just as he’d imagined the first time he’d seen her. They molded her breathtaking curves to perfection. Her waist was perfectly spanned, her legs long and lean as they tapered down, and the fine little triangle of hair between them was the same multihued color as the hair on her head.

  “So pretty,” he praised.

  “Jaxon,” she beseeched.

  He circled her clitoris over the panties, and she gasped. The material was damp, just as he’d suspected. Sweat trickled down his temples as he found the edge and worked his fingers under. Christ! He touched her, skin to moist desire, and every muscle in his body clenched as if he’d just hooked himself to an electric generator.

  “Oh, God.”

  He spread her, and Mishka cried his name. He sank one finger inside her. God, she was tight, hot. “Okay?” he asked, strained.

  “More. Please more.”

  He pumped that finger in and out, then worked in a second. “Ride my hand, baby. Up and down. You decide the pace. All right?”

  Immediately her hips arched forward, sliding him deeper. She pulled back a moment later, then arched forward again. Holy lord, she was so wet she had already drenched his hand. The knowledge filled him with possessive male pride. I did this. She desires me. Craves my touch.

  Soon she was rocking against him in a steadily increasing rhythm, panting his name, tugging at his hair, pinching his back.

  “That’s it. That’s the way.” His cock ached to replace his fingers. His skin was on fire, his blood like lava. Any moment, he expected to explode. Worth it, he thought, looking at her enraptured expression. So worth it.

  Her eyes were closed, the long lashes casting decadent shadows on her cheeks. Her teeth were biting at her lower lip, so sharp they were drawing blood. Every few seconds, little moans escaped her.

  “Next time, I’m going to lick you where I’m touching you. I’m going to fuck you with my cock rather than my fingers.” As he spoke, he worked her clit with his thumb.

  Her movements became all the more frantic, all the more uncoordinated. Finally she stilled, calm before the storm. Shocked. Then she screamed and her inner walls clamped down on his fingers, holding them captive.

  In that moment, pleasure bombarded him. She was too hot, too wet, too sensual and erotic. She was a fantasy come to sizzling life. Hot seed jetted from him, the most intense orgasm of his life ripping through him though he’d never penetrated her. Sweet Christ. Good, so good. Too good. He was panting, releasing groans of his own. Lost.

  He only snapped out of the blissful daze when she collapsed against him, her shoulders sagging and her head falling onto his shoulder. She stayed like that for a long while, on his lap, legs spread, his fingers still inside her. He couldn’t have moved if someone had placed a gun to his head. Satisfaction had never been so complete. Which was odd and wrong. So very wrong. He’d actually come in his jeans.

  “That was so good—” she whispered in his ear. “I want to do it again and again. I want—”

  A phone suddenly beeped.

  Mishka stiffened and glanced at the nightstand. Dread curling through him, but not overshadowing his total sense of satisfaction, damn it, he followed the direction of her gaze and saw the standard cell unit every agent carried.

  “I have to go,” she said, voice broken.

  “No. You’re staying here.” With me.

  She pushed away from him, forcing his fingers out of her. He fisted them, her arousal glistening. He wanted to lap it up, but didn’t allow himself the luxury.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, gathering her bra. Her legs were so shaky she almost toppled.

  He pounded the fist into the mattress. “Then explain it to me.”

  The phone beeped again. She stalked to it as she dressed. “I’m a puppet, and my strings are being pulled. Okay? Get it now?”

  Before he could respond, she swiped up the phone and barked, “I’m on my way.” She paused, listening. “Yes.” Pause. “I know, damn it. I said I’m on my way.” She hung up.

  She braced herself, as if expecting a punishing blow.

  Jaxon watched her, confused. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” She stomped to the closet and flipped through the
clothes, finally settling on a tight black dress.

  His jaw clenched. “What did you mean, you’re a puppet?”

  “I do what I’m told or I suffer, all right? Happy now?” After she shimmied into the dress and strapped several blades to her thighs, she tugged on knee-high boots. She stuffed those with a gun and three throwing stars.

  He didn’t know why, but seeing her armed aroused him. Anything would, nowadays. “Leave this house, and I’m coming after you. I swear it.”

  “You won’t be able to find me.”

  At least she didn’t mention the wheelchair. “Wanna bet?”

  Her eyes narrowed on him, and she anchored her hands on her hips. “Do I need to knock you out?”

  “Try. See what happens.” He was pissed enough to fight her and tie her to the bed.

  Exasperated, she tossed her hands in the air. “This is why I avoid men and relationships.” With a shake of her head, she grabbed a brush and jerked the bristles through her hair. When all the tangles were gone, she wrapped the silky tresses into a twist and held it in place with sharp little blades. “If you think that orgasm gives you the right to dictate my actions, you’re wrong.”

  “Don’t forget the ring,” he snapped, ignoring her words and motioning to the ring she’d used to knock him out before. “You might need it.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she tugged it onto her index finger. “This isn’t the only ring you should fear.” She grabbed the other two, telling him about them as she shoved them in place. “This one will make you vomit your guts. And this one will make you hallucinate until you peel the skin from your bones.”

  “I guess I should consider myself lucky you only knocked me out,” he replied bitterly.

  “Yeah.” Deadpan expression, deadpan tone. “You should.”

  He hated fighting with her for reasons that had nothing to do with work.

  Obviously, she hated fighting with him, too, because she sighed and added, “Look. There’s no reason to argue. I have to go and you have to stay. That won’t change. So do you want to tell me how the women are infected by the Schön or should I just find out firsthand?”

  His eyes widened, a haze of red fury dotting his vision. “You’re hunting the Schön tonight?”

  She stiffened, didn’t reply.

  “You are staying here. Get me?” He was on his feet a moment later. He swayed, cringed, but didn’t fall.

  She turned away from him. “Right now, I’m faster than you. You’re not going to stop me and we both know it.”

  A pause, heavy and cracking. “Why do I feel like you manipulated me into this? That you let me see your pleasure, then asked for information to save you?” He laughed bitterly about his own gullibility. “And here’s a better question. Why am I letting you get away with it?”

  She had no response, didn’t even try to defend herself.

  “When was your last period?” he asked.

  “Uh, excuse me?”

  “Just answer the damn question.”

  “I don’t have periods.”

  The revelation so startled him, some of his anger eased. “Why?”

  “Just the way I was designed,” she said, her voice monotone.

  Something softened inside of him. “Can you have children?”

  Her fingers curled into fists. “Why are you asking me these questions? The answers are none of your goddamn business!”

  Rather than anger him, her outburst softened him all the more. “Don’t let one of those aliens kiss or penetrate you, okay? Do you understand? Has nothing to do with me and you.” The truth as well as a lie. “Just don’t.”

  She nodded, fingers slowly uncurling. “Listen. I’m not going to be with someone else tonight. But some other night, I can’t promise not to be. I do what I have to do to survive, Jaxon. Don’t you?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She simply stalked out of the room.

  CHAPTER 7

  Le’Ace hoped her I’m-a-naughty-girl-and-I’m-not-wearing-any-panties expression was solid as she strode into the crowded bar. I’m the sex kitten of your dreams, she tried to project. I’m eager for companionship and willing to do anything for a little attention.

  Male eyes glided to her, landed, and stayed.

  Of course, the very attention she sought, she hated. But she forced herself to grin as the glistening barrage of strobe lights cascaded from the ceiling, illuminating her from head to toe. Grinned all the wider as those masculine eyes perused her up and down and lingered on her breasts, between her legs.

  Could anyone tell she was a trembling mess inside and on the verge of total meltdown?

  Three seats were available at the bar. She settled in the one at the end, giving herself a crescent-moon view of the entire room. She ordered a beer.

  God, she’d had an orgasm. Not her first, but every other climax had come in the dark of night, while she lay alone in bed. And even then, during those rare times she touched herself intimately, her actions were more hate-filled than pleasurable, sweating male faces constantly flashing through her mind, taunting her.

  With Jaxon, however, she’d considered nothing but the moment, the man. Felt nothing but satisfaction.

  She was confused by what had happened. She was angry that it had never happened before, upset Jaxon might not want her again since she’d left so abruptly, and already hungry for another taste of that sweet, sweet desire.

  A cold bottle pressed against her knuckles, bringing her back to present. She paid the bartender, enraged at herself for her distraction and her inability to stop it. Sure, Estap had other agents in the bar and they were her “protection.” Yeah, right. They were her tethers.

  Bastards.

  Part of her prayed her target stayed home tonight. She only wanted to talk to Jaxon. The other part of her just wanted to get this over with, knowing she’d be called back again and again until she’d met with the otherwolder.

  She scanned the area. None of the men milling around the bar even roused a single spark inside her. Perhaps it was because her six senses knew Jaxon now. Her fingers knew the texture of his skin, and her nose recognized his masculine scent. Her mouth knew his decadent flavor, and her eyes recognized his rugged appeal. The computer chip connected with his emotions, his highs and lows, rasping the man’s enjoyment of her every sound and movement.

  The fact that she was in a bar and on the prowl for another man revolted her. Guide me, she commanded the chip. Obviously, she would not get the job done on her own.

  Expression contorted in a grimace.

  Shit. Relax, just relax. She sipped her beer. Think of something positive. Jaxon’s expression as he’d touched her: absolute possessiveness, utter maleness. His touch, oh God, his touch. He’d known exactly how to touch her, when to press hard, when to be gentle, where she needed stimulation. The more he’d tasted her, the more his voice had deepened, grown husky and wine-rich.

  You’re distracted. Again.

  Alert me if anyone approaches, she commanded, and allowed herself to drift.

  Her entire life, she’d despised having other people’s hands on her. She’d hated putting her hands on other people. Yet, Jaxon she had craved from the first, yearning for him to touch her, being surprised and delighted when he did, and longing to touch him. She didn’t understand how any of this was possible. Didn’t understand how she could want him even now.

  This is why I don’t do relationships. Already she felt guilty about leaving him behind. What was Jaxon thinking? Did he hate her?

  Her hands clenched at her sides. You can’t do this. You can’t travel this path. Time to put your mind on the task at hand.

  Male approaching in three, two…

  Le’Ace straightened her spine, instantly on alert.

  “Another beer?” the bartender asked her impersonally.

  She glanced at her bottle. Empty. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she studied the man waiting for her answer. Human. Mid-thirties. Junkie. He was shaky, track marks riding up both arms, and in desperate need of a f
ix. She filed that information away, knowing that she would be able to buy his help if needed.

  “Ma’am,” he said.

  “Yes. Another beer.”

  A few seconds later, another ice-cold bottle was in her hand. The bartender flittered to the other end of the counter to help another patron. Le’Ace dismissed him and surveyed her other companions. Again. She could not remember anything she’d seen. Some were dancing, some were playing pool. Some were copping feels of themselves, others, in shadowed corners. No one stood at six feet five, had multicolored hair, and glowing emerald eyes like her Schön.

  Human-alien ratio?

  Twenty-three humans in front, six in back. Five aliens in front, two in back.

  In back? What’s in back? She was ashamed that she’d done little recon for this mission. That kind of shoddy work could get a girl killed.

  Three rooms. A bathroom.

  How do you know and what are they doing?

  Building has been here a long time and is in the system. As for the men, their excitement levels are high, the air thick with illegal cigarette smoke. Two weapon signals detected, probably Glocks. Eighty-seven percent chance they are playing poker.

  Was the Schön back there, then? Le’Ace wondered. The thought had barely formed when the front door opened and the Schön strode in. Did I magically summon him? She knew it was him, and her jaw nearly hit the bar as she looked him over.

  Her boss had tried to snap holopictures of the male, but the otherworlder’s image had never appeared. Her boss had then tried to describe him to her. “Beautiful,” he’d said. “Stunning.”

  Neither word did the alien justice.

  Every female gaze latched onto him, desire suddenly saturating the air. The Schön was stacked with muscle. His features were human but his skin was not. His skin looked like polished copper, metallic, not a single pore.

  Le’Ace had often wondered why so many aliens possessed such humanoid appearances. She’d even read up on the subject and had come to believe they’d all been created in the same place, once upon a millennia or two. Something must have separated the people into groups, however, sending them to different, far-off places where they evolved to fit their new climates. How they reached these new planets, well, she figured they’d used the same wormholes they’d used to find Earth.