The Alien Huntress Series

by Gena Showalter

  “What did you promise Mia?”

  He blinked at her. “Excellent hearing, I see.”

  Had the other vampires not heard as well? Even sated with blood? “You’re stalling. Tell me.”

  “I’m not stalling. I’m refusing to answer. Learn the difference. Right now we’re in the middle of a discussion. A discussion we will finish.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “We’re finished now. I’m not married to you. And if you’re right and I need to drink from a man, a husband, to survive, I’ll find someone else.”

  She never saw him move, but he was in her face a moment later, his nose pressing into hers, his warm breath fanning over her skin. “Maybe I’ll let you. But not now. Not today. Today you’re mine. You made sure of that.”

  “Fuck you,” she growled up at him.

  “Yes. You will. Many times, I’m sure.” He grabbed her knees and pried her thighs apart, jerking her forward while inserting himself in the V. “You can’t tell me some part of you isn’t happy about this.”

  She gasped, but didn’t pull away. “Believe me, happiness is not what I’m feeling right now.”

  A muscle twitched below his eye. “Well, then. I guess that makes you more like my first wife than I’d realized.”

  Wait. What? “You’ve been married before?”

  “Yes. But again, not by choice.”

  Her confusion was only growing. “Then why—”

  “No more talking. I’ve never been this angry in my life, and you’re going to help me calm down.” He arched into her, his erection brushing against her core. “Do you know how you’re going to help me calm down, sweetheart?”

  “I can guess.” She hated how breathless she sounded. How needy.

  “No objections?”

  “No. I’m angry, too.”

  Before the last word had emerged, his lips were meshed into hers and his body was pushing her backward, against the lounge. His cock was long, hard, and thick, rubbing between her thighs, insistently this time, making her wet, hot.

  Her hands were in his hair before she could stop them, her tongue thrusting against his. His decadent flavor filled her mouth, drugging her, luring her deeper into the darkness of his passion. Just then, she couldn’t make their current situation or the future matter. Right now he was with her, in her arms, hers for the taking, kissing her, touching her just right, and she’d been without him for days, an eternity surely, craving him, hoping for this very thing.

  He’d lose interest in her afterward. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. That was just who he was. He’d forget the whole marriage thing, and then, so could Bride. Her life could return to what it had been. Only, now she had Macy.

  His fingers pried at the waist of her pants. When the tie refused to loosen, he ripped it in half and shoved the material to her knees. He had to pull from the kiss to work them to her ankles, and she moaned at the loss.

  “Not done with your mouth, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

  “Hurry.” She didn’t want to come to her senses and talk herself out of this. She wanted him pumping inside her, deep and hard and forever. No, no. Not forever. Today. Only this once. “I ache for you.”

  One boot, two, were discarded, the pants finally free of her body, and then Devyn returned, pinning her down, tongue wild against hers. “I want you. Have to have you.”

  She tugged at his shirt, jerking it over his head before dropping it on the floor. She traced her fingers over his skull-and-dagger tattoo. Such soft, warm skin. “I’m not going to beg you for it.”

  “No need. That’s not on the menu until tomorrow.”

  She almost laughed. She did plant her heels on the edge of the lounge, widening her knees and inviting him closer. With a groan of surrender, he sank against her, the fabric of his pants wonderfully abrasive against her, the panties she wore doing little to shield her.

  “Have you thought of me these past few days? Doing this? Touching you?” He kissed his way down her throat.

  “I was too busy.”

  “Bride.” It was a warning. He placed his lips just over her hardened nipple, his warm breath teasing her even through her bra, as if he wouldn’t give her greater contact unless she told him what he wanted to hear.

  As if she’d admit to imagining the two of them together like this. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I didn’t think so. So shut up and finish undressing me.”

  His eyes, already hot, became searing. He gripped her panties and jerked them down her legs. He bunched the hem of her shirt and tugged upward, her hair falling around her in tangles as the material left her. The bra he simply ripped in half, the front clasp no more resistant than a whisper.

  Then she was bare. His gaze drank her in, his pupils dilating. His fingers inched up her naked thighs and spread her for his view. “Wet,” he praised. “Pretty.”

  “Inside. Now.”

  Never one to obey, he lowered his head and licked her. She cried out, her back arching, hips shooting straight in the air. Reaching back, she grabbed the edge of the chair. It was either that or fist his hair and hold him down. Strong as she was feeling, she was afraid of breaking his neck. If she broke his neck, he wouldn’t be able to finish this.

  “Better than honey,” he said, his voice tickling her. “Better, even, than your energy.”

  As he continued to lick and suck and nibble at her, he kneaded her breasts, attacking her from every angle. “Oh, God,” she gasped when his wicked tongue flicked and circled in a naughty rhythm she’d never before experienced.

  But then she thought, How do I compare to all the others? and a little of her excitement died. Did she taste as good as the others? Did she taste as good as Ann, Claire, and Madison, the three agents he’d been with and discarded? The beautiful agents? Did she excite him as much as the others?

  For the first time in her life, Bride was self-conscious and unsure about her appeal. And she didn’t like it!

  Was he thinking of someone else even now? Wishing she were as violent or as sweet as someone else? Her hips ceased their frantic gyrations. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe she should stop him. Maybe she should leave.

  Then he did that thing with his tongue again, sinking it as deep inside her as it could go while his teeth scraped at her clitoris and she groaned at the heady pleasure. Maybe she could stay for a little while longer.

  He inserted a finger, stretching her, his tongue now dancing over her. Her nipples were hard, straining. Good, so good. She wanted his mouth on them, too. She wanted his mouth everywhere at once, his hands enjoying her, playing her like an instrument.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” She released the chair to grip his head and hold him against her; she couldn’t help herself. He could live with a broken neck, which meant he could finish. “More, give me more.”

  He did, one hand once again kneading her breasts, the other still pumping inside her. Two fingers now, filling her up, propelling her higher. The fact that the thorns and fire were not plaguing her added to her enjoyment.

  Were Devyn’s hands enjoying her, though? Had they enjoyed other women more? Women who were softer? Lusher?

  Her grip loosened, the hottest flames of her passion cooling. Why was she doing this to herself? Why did she care what he thought?

  Things were different now, she realized. Before, when she and Devyn had made out, she hadn’t truly pondered the idea of him with other women because he hadn’t mattered to her. His opinion hadn’t mattered. She could have left him. Now, despite everything, despite what she’d told him, she liked him.

  “Bride,” Devyn snarled, his breath hot against her damp folds.

  “Devyn,” she said. She didn’t know how else to reply.

  He growled low in his throat, pulled from her, and straightened. He unsnapped his pants and kicked them off, leaving his body as bare as hers. His erection was so swollen and long it reached over his navel. His stomach was so deliciously corded with muscle, her mouth watered.r />
  His skin was glowing brightly, her desire glistening around his mouth. As she watched, he swiped his tongue over his lips, licking at the essence of her. His eyes closed, his mouth lifting in a half-smile as though he savored the taste.

  “D—Devyn,” she repeated.

  He was on her a second later, cock at her entrance and probing. Then he was thrusting deep, all the way inside, and they were both moaning and groaning and panting at the bliss.

  He pulled out, sank deeper, and she clawed at his back. He pulled out again, sank to the hilt, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together. What did he prefer, though? For his women to keep their legs off him and wide? For them to drape their legs over his shoulders?

  “Bride!” Despite his savage tone, he gently cupped her cheeks, forcing her attention on him. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  She shook her head, incapable of speech. What was his problem? He was getting laid, wasn’t he? Or was her leg placement as bad as she’d assumed?

  He growled low in his throat, once more bringing her focus to his face. “Don’t look away from me. Understand?”

  This time she nodded.

  Slowly he thrust forward. It was heaven, it was hell, it was everything and nothing because she needed more. Had to have more. Would die without it, but would die with it. Too much, too good. Nothing compared. His eyes glowed, hypnotizing her, holding her captive. And when he moved inside her again, slowly, so agonizingly slow, she cried out, the sound echoing around them.

  “So beautiful,” he said. “You are so beautiful. And my God, do you taste sweet. You’re so wet. Clasp me just right. And did I ever tell you how addictive your energy is? It’s raw, savage, powerful, and every time I even brush against it, I find myself hard as a rock.”

  His words were as electrifying as a caress, and she found herself drowning in him, all that he was, her fangs elongating. “Devyn, Devyn, Devyn,” she chanted. She’d already taken a lot of his blood, shouldn’t take more, shouldn’t want to give him more of her own.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he angled his head to the side. “Drink,” he commanded.

  Helpless to do otherwise, she sank her fangs into his neck and gulped him back. The instant his blood hit her tongue, she climaxed, pinpricks of white lightning exploding behind her eyelids. Every muscle in her body clenched and unclenched on her bones. It was the first orgasm she’d ever had that wasn’t mixed with pain, and it was paradise. Pure and perfect and shattering.

  “Devyn!”

  A roar split his lips, and then he was kissing her again. No, not kissing. Biting her tongue and drawing her blood, sucking that blood down his throat. Taking her inside him.

  Just like that, Bride climaxed again, and this time Devyn joined her, shaking, jetting hot seed inside her, skin now so bright the room looked swallowed by the sun. He released her jaw to grab onto her hips, squeezing so tightly her bones might snap, but she didn’t care.

  He stilled and then collapsed on top of her. She lost her breath and would have complained, but he quickly rolled to the side and locked his arms around her so that she couldn’t move away.

  In the ensuing silence, Bride finally did regain her senses. She glared up at the ceiling, gasped when she saw a lovely mural of angels flying through the heavens, and fought to compose herself. “Devyn,” she began.

  “I know. It was wonderful. Now let’s just enjoy the afterglow in silence.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You took more of my blood, you idiot.”

  “I’m not going to turn into a vampire, so what do you care? You nearly drained me again, and I needed to replenish.”

  Argh! “That’s not what I meant. Last time you had my blood, you ended up married. Remember?”

  “So taking more doesn’t really matter, now does it?” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “It’s not like you can marry me again.”

  At least he wasn’t yelling at her this time. “And anyway, we’re not married.”

  “You just said we were.”

  “Oh, just shut up and enjoy the afterglow.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Never had Devyn had to work so hard to give a woman an orgasm. To his consternation, Bride’s mind had drifted several times while he’d had his mouth on her. And during some of his best moves, at that.

  Okay, fine. They hadn’t been moves. He’d been operating on instinct alone, unable to think rationally, only to feel. To give and to take. And just when he would think, Yes, this is it, she’s with me, she would stop writhing, stop moaning. He’d wondered what he was doing wrong and how the hell he could make it better for her. He did not fail, damn it. Not at sex.

  Still. Never had he doubted himself so much, and never had success been so important. He would have spent hours, days, weeks, on this lounge with her. Whatever it took. There was no way he would have let Bride leave him disappointed. His pride couldn’t have withstood it. More than that, he remembered what it had been like before, when she’d come on his fingers. Even angry as he’d been, there at the beginning, he’d needed that again.

  When she had finally fallen over the edge, he’d felt like king of the universe rather than the king of his own world. Her eyes had closed, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks, and her teeth had sunk into her bottom lip. She’d arched her back, sending him deeper inside her, and she’d clawed at his flesh, lost in the bliss. She’d panted his name, raspy and sweet, and it had felt like an embrace inside his ears. This time, her cries had not been laced with pain, so he’d relished them all the more.

  Everything about her body pleased him. Her taste especially…

  Once he had thought he wanted to taste a Rakan more than anything else in the world because they were supposedly like honey. But who cared about honey when nirvana was available? He’d had Bride all over his face, down his throat, in his stomach, and it still hadn’t been enough. Already he hungered for more.

  What was he going to do?

  He hadn’t wanted another wife. He still didn’t. But the fury was gone, and he did like the thought of having Bride in his house, at his beck and call. He grinned at that. Bride, catering to his every whim. As if she’d really do what he told her to do when he told her to do it. Contrary female.

  So what was he going to do with her? What would happen when he tired of her or turned his attentions to someone else? And he would, he just knew it. He always did. Not that he’d ever wanted a woman this intensely. Or for this long. Bride would still need his blood. Would die without it now, if the information he had was correct.

  “We’ve been laying here for, like, ever,” Bride said, cutting into the silence. “I’m not a pansy like someone I know but out of courtesy won’t name and in need of a nap. I just want to go home.”

  “For now, this is your home. And I am not a pansy. The nap was for your benefit.” Of course, he ruined the boast by yawning.

  She twisted in his arms, facing him. Her eyes were luminous, her lips soft and redder than usual. Strands of hair were plastered to her temple. “Sure you want to venture down that road of conversation right now?”

  Meaning, she was going to argue about it. “Cut me some slack, sweetheart. I’m having trouble remembering my own name.”

  At that, she grinned, slowly but sweetly. “I don’t know how you do it, Brad, but you’re the only person on earth who can infuriate me one moment and have me laughing the next.”

  Brad indeed. “It’s called animal magnetism, darling, and I have more than most.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “See. It even has you begging for more.”

  She slapped his shoulder, but her grin didn’t slip.

  Just then, it was as if they were friends as well as lovers. He…liked it. Liked her relaxed and teasing. Too bad he was about to ruin the mood. “Want to tell me where you were mentally while I had my face between your legs?”

  That pretty grin faded, and he suddenly felt like punching something. “No,” she said, cheeks pinke
ning. “I don’t. Do you want to tell me what happened to your first marriage? Not that you’re married again,” she added hastily.

  At least she hadn’t tried to pretend ignorance about her disappearing act. “We’ll exchange information, all right? I believe you remember the rules.”

  At first, she gave no response; her gaze simply searched his face. Looking for what, he didn’t know. Finally, she nodded. “No bullshit about ladies first. This was your idea, so start talking.”

  “Fine. My wife.” The shrew was his second least favorite subject. The first, of course, was his father. “We were betrothed at birth and married at the age of fifteen. We—she’d been raised to view sex as dirty, so we didn’t get along. I left her.” A glossed-over version, but the truth just the same, and easier to say than he’d expected. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Moaning, Bride flopped to her back and threw her arm over her forehead. “You wanted to know where I was mentally while you were…you know.” She sighed. “Well, you’ve been with a lot of women.”

  “I’ve never tried to deny it,” he said as dread slid into his veins. He could guess where she was heading with this, and it didn’t bode well for him.

  “Well, I was feeling totally inadequate. How could I not, well, wonder how I compared to the others?”

  Yep. His sigh mirrored hers. He’d gone through this with a few others, and he’d laughingly told them that no one compared to them. They had been words to soothe, to delight, and to move on to the loving. Here, now, he didn’t want to utter such a claim. For once, he feared he might actually mean it. And if she realized that he meant it, would she then assume their marriage was forever? Probably.

  He couldn’t let Bride wallow in feelings of inadequacy, though. That would be cruel. When have you ever cared about being cruel? He just liked her confident, he told himself. She was more fun that way.

  “You confuse, fascinate, irritate, and delight me,” he said, “and I swear to God the only thing I was thinking about while tasting and touching you was you.”

  A moment passed as she absorbed his words. She raised her chin and hooked her arms behind her head, raising one leg to study her onyx-painted toenails. “Well, of course you were only thinking of me. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”