Escape (Project Vetus Book 1)

by Emmy Chandler

  Carson smirks at having called my bluff. He fucking smirks. And when I glare at him, he laughs. “Anger brings the most beautiful flush to your cheeks.”

  “Is that your way of saying I’m cute when I’m mad?”

  “I suppose it is.” Some of the tension in his frame eases, and as he begins to relax, so can I. I exhale, feeling like I’ve just dodged a bullet.

  New plan: curl up with my “big spoon” until he falls asleep, then sneak out.

  “So, why me?” I ask as I sink onto the edge of the mattress again. I watch Carson as he rounds the end of the bed, leaving the flashlight on my side, still aiming its beam up at the dented metal ceiling.

  “Why you, what?”

  “Why are you so convinced that I belong to you?”

  “With me,” he corrects as he sits and swings his legs onto the bed. “I’m convinced we belong to each other. It’s not fair to say that one of us belongs to the other without mentioning that it’s mutual. That’s misleading.”

  “You led me out of the Sorority disguised as one of my friends, but what I said is misleading?” I frown at him as he lies back on the sheet, crossing his hands beneath his head. “You know this whole thing’s crazy, right?”

  He nods slowly, his gaze glued to my face, and the intensity with which he’s watching me tells me that his relaxed demeanor is a facade. One he’s fighting hard to maintain. But I don’t know what that facade is hiding. The need to “hunt” me? An urge to touch me? A simple determination to keep me from bolting, so neither of those urges is triggered? “But is it really any crazier than a man who can take someone else’s shape, virtually at will? Because that’s the baseline for crazy that I’m working with, here.”

  “Is it at will?” I ask, rather than answering the question.

  “It is, now that I’ve figured out how it works. But the transformation is exhausting, and it requires large amounts of fuel. Food,” he clarifies.

  “And the other people in zone X? Your men? Can they do the same thing?”

  His focus momentarily leaves my face as he considers. “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t even know I could do this until I tried to hijack a rescue shuttle. But my men can do other things—some I’m capable of, some I’m not.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Lie down, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  I roll my eyes. Then I lie on my left side, my chin propped in one hand. Looking down at him. “Start talking.”

  Carson smiles as he looks up at me, and again I’m struck by how good he smells. By how badly I want to touch him. To just…let my hands wander all over his chest. For starters. “Each of us has a certain set of alien traits, curated by Dr. Brennan and her team, specifically to be useful in super soldiers. We’re faster and stronger than any unaltered human.”

  “That explains how you got me on my back so quickly.” But again, I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them, when that soft thrumming sound begins to echo from his throat, evidently prompted by the memory. “Stop that.”

  “Sorry.” But he doesn’t look very sorry. “Anyway, we each also have some obviously alien physical characteristics.”

  “You do?” I seize the excuse to let my gaze roam his body, and that pleased whirring begins again. “You look human to me.” Big, and hard, and crazy-beautiful. But human. “I mean, your eyes and hair are unusually light, but where are you…? Noooo.” My gaze flicks toward his crotch, where his erection is still standing proud. “Do you have an alien dick?”

  Carson bursts into laughter. “That’s a very personal question, Ms. Malone. Would you like to see?”

  Pretty please. With piles and piles of whipped cream on top.

  “No.”

  His soft thrumming swells. “You’re lying again.”

  “Yes, but I mean it. Keep your alien cock holstered.”

  “Okay, but if you want your question answered, you’re going to have to find out for yourself.”

  “Well, what else am I supposed to conclude? You look normal everywhere else.” Except for a matching set of scars running down the underside of each of his forearms. From one of the scientist’s experiments?

  I reach for his stomach, itching to run my fingers over his abs, but then I snatch my hand back when I realize what I’m doing.

  “Most of my obvious traits don’t show up until I need them.”

  “When do you need them?”

  “When I fight.”

  “What happens when you have to fight?” I reach up to trail my fingers over his temple. “Do you grow horns?”

  Carson snorts. “Are you asking if I’m horny?”

  “I think we both already know the answer to that,” I say with another pointed glance at his erection. But he keeps looking at me, and his eyes are starting to dilate again. That thrumming builds from deep in his throat, and I squeeze my legs together again as that ache inside me deepens.

  His gaze roams my face, then settles on my eyes. “May I kiss you again?”

  “No.” But my voice is a weak whisper. “That didn’t end well last time.”

  “It didn’t end at all,” he insists. “I feel like I’m still stuck in that moment. And I will be until—”

  I lean down and kiss him. I didn’t mean to do it, but there’s no taking it back now, so I give in to the impulse. Carson groans, then that soft sound swells from deep in his throat, and it makes me want things. Dirty, sweaty things.

  He licks at the seam of my lips, and when I open for him, that grumble grows louder, and though that should feel weird, it doesn’t. Somehow, it feels…normal. I think that soon, it’ll fade from notice. Like the sound of my own breathing.

  Carson rises without breaking off that kiss, and the next thing I know, I’m on my back again. He has one hand in my hair while he supports his weight with the other arm, and though his knee is between my lower thighs, he’s not pushing it. Not going any higher.

  “Oh my god,” I moan when his lips trail over my chin and down my neck. My hands slide around his sides to glide over his back, enjoying the play of muscles beneath my fingers.

  I feel like—though I only met him yesterday—I’ve been waiting my entire life to touch him like this.

  Carson makes a hungry sound as he works his way toward my collarbone, and my hands trail toward his hips—then lower. My fingers slide beneath his waistband, and I feel like a woman possessed. I’m still in charge of my own hands, but suddenly it seems to take more willpower than I have to resist this crazy new appetite.

  My hands slide up the twin slopes of his backside, beneath his pants, and my fingers seem to dig in. To squeeze. He has a great ass. Hard and rounded, and utterly masculine.

  I moan, still squeezing, and Carson’s other knee slides between my thighs. Parting them.

  And suddenly reality hits me like a snowball to the face.

  I gasp and pull my hands from his pants, mortified by the indulgence of my own reckless need, when I was ready to run home in the dark just minutes ago.

  Carson is rock-hard, his erection pressing against my crotch, warm even through both layers of clothes. “Lilli,” he whispers. Then his lips close over my ear lobe for a second. “It’s okay for you to touch me.”

  But it isn’t. Not if I didn’t make a conscious decision to do that. My body is no more the boss of me than he is. Than his beast is.

  I try to shove him off, and at first, he refuses to move. And I realize that if he doesn’t want to, I can’t make him.

  Terror follows that realization, and I slap him. The sound echoes through the room, in sudden silence. The thrumming sound has stopped. Carson growls, staring down at me, his pale eyes flashing fiercely. Then he slides off me, and I roll off the bed. Onto the side nearest the exit, this time.

  “Lilliana…” His tone is a warning.

  “I can’t do this. I can’t lose control of my own body. Not even to some subconscious part of myself. And that’s what this feels like. Like I’m breathing in whatever your body is emitti
ng, and I’m drunk on it. And that’s not fair.” I step into my shoes and wiggle my heels until they sink in. Then I reach for my bag.

  “Lilli.” Carson’s voice sounds different now. So deep I can hardly hear distinct syllables. So tense that fresh chills crawl over my arms. “Don’t do this. I’ll control it. I’ll figure out how. But you have to stay. If you run, I can’t…. I can’t—”

  I swing my bag over my shoulder and back slowly toward the door. “Stay here.” I meet his gaze as boldly as I can. “Please. I’m asking you. Don’t follow me.”

  I take one more backward step, and—

  A gasp tears free from my throat as he picks me up, but I never even saw him move. One second, he’s halfway across the room, and the next he’s lifting me. Carrying me. He pins me against the wall, and I can feel every inch of his hard body pressed into mine.

  I should fight. I should scream and claw at him. Instead, my legs wrap around his hips and my hands clutch at his triceps, holding on. Clinging. I’m terrified of my body’s reaction to this, but oddly, I’m not scared of him.

  “You will stay,” he declares, his voice a raspy growl. His mouth crushes against mine before I can argue, and his tongue plunges inside.

  I groan, still clinging to him, and that sound rumbles up from his throat as we kiss. It’s louder than before, and I can’t think about anything else. About anything other than here and now. Carson’s hands on my body. His lips on mine.

  I feed from his mouth, letting this desperate contact sate a hunger I don’t understand, but I can’t deny. Can’t resist. I can’t touch enough of him. He smells so good. This is insane.

  This is incredible.

  His mouth trails toward my ear, and I slide my hands into his hair. I am sex-drunk, with my clothes still on, and while I know, distantly, that I will regret this, right now I do not care.

  “More,” I moan, as he bites my earlobe, just hard enough to leave marks. “Now.”

  That odd throat thrumming suddenly…changes. The rhythm. It speeds up and deepens as he pulls me away from the wall, and in the next instant, the room spins around me as he drops me on my back, on the bed.

  “Mine.” He grabs for the hem of my shirt, and when I hear material rip, I slap him again.

  Carson snarls, but I stand my ground, startled back to reason—kind of—by the threat to my very limited wardrobe.

  “Wait,” I snap as I kick him back, my foot planted in the middle of abs that feel like marble. His eyes dilate until there’s little left of his irises. His chest is heaving, his focus glued to my face. Waiting to see what I’ll do next.

  He liked being kicked. I think he even liked it when I slapped him. This is what his beast seems to expect. To want. A woman who pushes back when she’s had enough.

  A fucking challenge.

  I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, pointedly taking my time. Making him wait.

  “The rest,” he orders, his gaze devouring the skin I’ve just bared. His fists open and close while I squirm out of my pants, trying to control the desperate clenching of my girl parts. I’ve never in my life needed anything—anyone—this badly. And right now, as fucked up as this is, I can’t think past that need.

  Later, I’m sure there will be regret. Anger. But right now, there can only be relief. Acquiescence to my body’s demands. Or I swear to god, I will die.

  At least, that’s how it feels.

  Carson tosses my pants onto the floor, then he pounces on me, pulling my ugly, prison-issued underwear down as the cheap mattress squeals beneath us. I scramble to unhook my bra before he can decide it’s acceptable collateral damage, and suddenly I’m nude, lying in front of him, propped up on both elbows.

  He growls again, a completely inhuman sound, then he descends upon me in an erotic wave of sensations. Nibbling, stroking, licking, and even sniffing, he seems determined to devour me, scent and all. Each touch lights me up. Makes me even more desperate to fulfill the demands of my body.

  Carson licks his way down my stomach, and I suck in a breath when he grips my inner thighs in two broad, strong hands. Pushing them open. His tongue ventures lower, and the first firm lick against my clit is nearly my undoing.

  “Oh god,” I moan, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear me. It’s as if—as good as this feels—it isn’t even truly for me. He’s still feeding his own appetite. Some animalistic drive to taste me.

  His hands tighten on my thighs, and he murmurs something that might be, “delicious.” Then his tongue dips inside me, and I swear it’s longer than it was a moment ago. Longer than it should be. And it seems to have more…texture.

  My hips rock toward him as his oddly bumpy tongue laps its way through my folds, then trails over my clit again in long strokes. Every bump that flicks over that sensitive nub makes the pressure building inside me spiral closer to an inevitable break. A release.

  I moan again, clutching at his hair, and his left hand releases my thigh. An instant later, he slides two fingers into me, and though they feel completely human, his skill is anything but ordinary. In three strokes, I groan while my body clenches around him. As pleasure unravels in my every nerve ending, the absurd realization that he’s left-handed takes me by surprise.

  He draws my orgasm out as long as possible with coordinated strokes of his tongue and his fingers, and when I finally come down from that high, still buzzing from the adrenaline, he crawls up my body, dropping hot kisses and taking sweet little nibbles on the way. His gaze pins me, when his face finally appears over mine.

  “Good?” he growls, and somehow, I understand what he’s really asking. Have I pleased you? Have I earned the right to claim the rest of you?

  “God, yes,” I gasp.

  His odd, silvery irises nearly disappear, swallowed by his pupils as he pushes my legs as far apart as they’ll go. Then he slides fully inside me, while I gasp over his girth, in a single smooth stroke.

  11

  CARSON

  My Lilliana is delicious. She is beautiful, and she smells amazing, but those are secondary traits. Things I already knew. What matters is that she tastes amazing, from the delicate beads of sweat forming beneath her jaw bone to the exquisite moisture building between her beautiful thighs.

  But just as exquisite as the taste, and scent, and feel of her is the spark in her eyes. The fire in her words. She put up a bold resistance, a challenge the beast seems thrilled with, and she has finally declared him—me—worthy.

  At least, that’s how this feels. But I have to be sure. As adamant as he is that Lilli belongs to me—as determined as he is to have her—even the beast is not willing to take her without permission.

  His goal is to seduce her, not to force her.

  “Good?” I demand, because I am capable of no more words, in this moment. It’s all I can do to make my tongue form that one syllable.

  “God, yes,” she breathes, and the triumph that washes over me—the immense, unyielding satisfaction, is the greatest high I have ever experienced. I feel like my entire life has been leading up to this moment. As if I am only just now starting to truly exist.

  Fuck Brennan. If I am a lump of clay, I am Lilliana’s to mold.

  I sigh as I plunge into her, working my way through her tight heat carefully until I’m fully seated inside her. She gasps, and a flicker of discomfort flits across her eyes. She is unaccustomed to my girth, which is no surprise. I’ve never felt so engorged. And the beast tells me this size is a gift my body will only give one woman, in my entire life. To please her. To show her that she is mine, and that no other man would ever be able to compete.

  Though I would kill any man who tried.

  Lilliana frowns up at me, unsure, suddenly, even as her scent transmits nothing but her desire. Her need.

  I move slowly, working my length in and out carefully until she begins to relax. To adjust. To enjoy. Her body gifts us with more of that sweet lubricant, to ease the way for me, and as I move inside her, deep, beautiful sounds begin to roll
up from her throat. Soft grunts that erupt from her with every thrust.

  “Carson,” she moans, and my balls begin to tighten. I’m not going to last long, at this rate, but I will give her pleasure again before I spill.

  “Oh!” she breathes when I change the angle of my approach, rubbing my body against hers more firmly as she rises to meet every stroke. “More! Please…”

  I would give her anything in the world. Anything. I would rip my own heart from my chest and hand it to her, still beating, if she asked for it.

  “Mine,” I murmur as I thrust into her over and over, glorying in the steady tightening of her muscles around me. The slick heat her body provides. The sweet sounds she seems unaware she’s making.

  She has to say it, the beast insists as I pump into her. She cannot climax again until she accepts you.

  That’s insane.

  “Carson… Please,” she begs, clutching my ass. Trying to drive me deeper. Harder. “I need…”

  I know what she needs, and I want to give it to her. But the beast is right. This connection is not casual. Neither of us can go back from this moment. The only way forward is together, and she has to acknowledge that. She has to accept it.

  “I need you to say it, Lilli,” I groan, thrusting shallowly. Avoiding contact with her clit.

  “Oh god…” she groans, arching up at me. Trying to take pleasure for herself. And I can’t really blame her; I’m desperate for that same release. “Carson…”

  “Say it, and I’ll let you come.” I slide into her again, slowly. Teasing. Keeping that need alive until it is a fierce, prowling, snarling thing inside us both.

  “What?” She stills, frowning up at me.

  “Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll let you come.”

  “You’ll let me? Fuck that.” She lets go of my ass and tries to slide one hand between us, but I capture her wrist and pin it to the mattress next to her head. “What the hell are you doing?” she demands. My grip isn’t hard enough to hurt, but she can’t possibly break it.

  I begin to move again, slowly, brushing lightly against her clit with every languid thrust, giving her just enough friction to keep her on the edge, but not enough to push her over.