Morgan leaned closer to him, her warm breath caressing his ear as she whispered, “I want you.”
And just like that, his erection returned.
Chapter Twelve
Travis St. John’s apartment was above a shop that, according to the sign out front, sold crystals and charms, as well as offered tarot card readings. His space wasn’t overly large, but it was well-lit, tidy, and currently carried the scents of lemon cleaner, furniture polish, laundry soap, and just a hint of coffee. Morgan acknowledged all of this in the periphery of her brain as, upon entry, she grabbed her angelic cop by his shirt, pushed him up against the nearest wall, and sealed her lips to his. God, he tasted incredible, minty fresh from the gum he’d chewed in the truck before they’d arrived with just hints of an underlying smokiness she couldn’t quite identify.
His hands were busy, roaming over the plains of her back and then down to the waistband of her jeans, the tips of his fingers sliding underneath for just a moment before they resumed their upward trek. The strength in his hands felt wonderful and served to remind her that tonight wouldn’t be about restraint for either one of them. They could both be themselves without fear.
She felt, more than heard the rumble of a low growl in his chest. The realization was shocking in that she hadn’t thought angels would growl, but it was also erotic as hell, serving to ramp up her need to an even higher level, her core throbbing with need.
Her mouth left his to skate over the smooth skin of his jaw, her fangs punching out with hunger as she heard the rapid pulse beat in his throat. She wanted to taste him, imagined piercing that flesh and drinking deeply from him as the heavy erection currently nestled against her belly surged inside her, bringing her to orgasm again and again.
Swallowing her own growl, she stroked her tongue over the heated, slightly salty skin of his neck, just over the jugular and let out a moan of pleasure as one of his hands found the aching tip of her breast. With a gasp, she pulled back, her hands gripping his shirt on either side of the placket, she tore it open with immense satisfaction.
Firm, sculpted muscle with just a smattering of hair on his chest and below his navel met her greedy gaze as she stripped the shredded shirt from his torso. “Beautiful,” she whispered, glancing up into eyes that had gone yellow, striated with black, the pupils inhuman in the way they contracted as they gazed back at her. Angelic eyes, she marveled, before she lowered her head to lick at the expanse of golden skin she’d just bared, while his own fingers continued to make her crazy with need as they played at the tight buds her nipples had become.
She heard Travis groan and felt her feet come out from under her as he scooped her up and carried her to his bed. Quickly, she stripped off her shirt and bra, eager to feel the press of his hot skin against hers before her mouth returned to his neck as if by instinct. Her fangs grazed his throat and she felt him growl once more, his movements becoming nearly frantic as his fingers went to the fastening of her pants and seemed to strip them from her in record time.
“I need to taste you,” he said, the timbre of his voice lower, altered by his need as well as the persistent near-animalistic growl. Damn, that was sexy. Just listening to him talk dirty to her in that rumbly voice would have her coming in a matter of seconds.
Spreading her legs, she welcomed him with a moan of approval and he certainly didn’t disappoint. His large hands cupped her backside, lifting her hips off the mattress as his lips sealed to her core, his tongue licking with sure strokes. Her state of arousal was such that within moments, Morgan threw her head back with a keening cry at the force of the orgasm that broke over her in waves. Travis stayed with her throughout, prolonging the pleasure until she felt like a boneless heap practically melting into the bed.
But they weren’t done. Not by a longshot. Morgan had barely caught her breath when Travis flipped her over, thrilling her as his strong white teeth clamped with a growl onto one of the cheeks of her backside. “Yes,” she gasped, rearing back as her excitement quickly escalated once more to fever pitch.
His broad palm skated up her spine, fingers spread until they tangled in her hair, gripping handfuls at the base of her skull and gently tugging her head back as his open mouth settled on her throat. She could feel the thick shaft of his erection pressing against her backside and she moved wantonly, nudging it where she needed it most. Both an invitation as well as a demand.
Travis let out another sexy growl as his teeth latched on at the curve where her neck and shoulder met, ratcheting up her own need impossibly higher as that blunt head nudged at her entrance before sliding home in a fulfilling thrust. They both gasped at the incredible feeling, and Morgan felt Travis shudder against her, his hips still as he savored the sensation.
He set up a slow, methodical rhythm, while his hand explored her body from the front of her neck, down her sternum, over her belly, to her hips before making his way back up to her aching breasts. Every breath Morgan released seemed to end with a moan as he brought her higher and higher, her world focused entirely on where they were joined and the fulfillment about to crash over her once more. Her body tightened around him, straining, needing, as the heel of his hand pressed against that swollen bundle of nerves and a rumbly growl in her ear told her, “I want to feel you come.”
Morgan’s orgasm exploded with such force she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her arms shook, could no longer hold up her own weight, but Travis was there, his strong arms coming around her, lifting her upper body against him, as with a shout of pleasure, she felt his own release pulsing inside of her, filling her with heat.
His lips were warm, soft, tender as they skated over her temple, cheek, and jaw. Both of them were panting from exertion, their skin slick with sweat. Still clinging to each other, they collapsed against the mattress.
It was only once Morgan’s breathing returned to normal, she experienced the oddest realization. Normally, at this point with previous lovers, she’d be rolling out of bed and heading for the bathroom to clean up, grabbing her clothes on the way to ensure a quick exit unless she was looking for an encore performance. She was Born after all, and the Born did not cuddle. They weren’t wired that way, or so she had thought. Nor did she particularly like someone at her back as Travis currently was when she was feeling sleepy and vulnerable and yet, she had no desire to move. She was actually enjoying the warm weight of limbs surrounding her. She felt safe with him. As inexplicable as it may be, especially considering that their two species were natural enemies, she trusted Travis St. John. How very peculiar.
That wasn’t the only peculiar thing, however, as she recalled their conversation in his truck on the way here. What had possessed her to confide in him about her mother? Perhaps her earlier conversation with Rodolfo had brought her mother to the forefront of her thoughts and she’d been unconsciously fixating. She never spoke about the woman, and yet, the thought of Travis St. John even partially being of the opinion that she might be of the same character as a woman like Delia Rhys had brought on a cold sweat. She was not like her parents – either one of them. She’d fought hard to escape that life, that jaded, hedonistic existence they both regularly indulged, and while their lives would always be entwined by blood, she had set out to put as much distance between them as possible, both in geography as well as character.
A sharp nip on the crest of her shoulder brought Morgan out of her dark thoughts and had her turning her head with a grin. “Ready for round two?”
Travis groaned. “You’re trying to kill me, vampire.”
Wiggling her backside against the rapidly hardening erection nestled there that put the lie to his words, Morgan made a scoffing sound. “Well, someone’s ready.”
Using her preternatural speed, she flipped around, pinning Travis’s shoulders as she straddled him and teased, “Poor Angel. Did I wear you out?”
He growled, his grin positively wicked as his hips thrust beneath her, almost unseating her. “I’m no angel.”
Lifting, she positioned him w
here she wanted him and sank down with a groan before she gasped, “Neither am I.”
Morgan closed her eyes, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she rocked against Travis. His broad palms cupped her hips, encouraging her movements before they lifted to squeeze the plump mounds of her breasts. His shoulders rose off the mattress to capture a stiff peak between his lips, every stroke of his tongue against her nipple shooting straight to her core, making her throb, and bringing her closer and closer to orgasm.
She would have thought it would have taken more time considering how hard she’d come so recently, and yet within moments, she felt her body tightening, her movements quickening, becoming jerky and less graceful as she reached the precipice, her body hurdling over the edge in a wash of exquisite pleasure as she collapsed into Travis’s waiting arms.
Chapter Thirteen
“Five more minutes,” Morgan mumbled sleepily as Travis’s alarm set off an annoying clamor and rudely interrupted their sleep. Shit. He needed to get his ass out of bed and get ready for work but he’d much rather spend a little more time watching the vampire, nuzzled tightly to his side, sleep. God. Last night had been amazing.
For the first time, he was tempted to call in sick just so that he could make Morgan Rhys breakfast, watch her as she did simple things like sipping her coffee as she checked her phone for the latest news updates, and listen to her opinions on what she had read as they ate bacon and eggs. Then, once they were dressed, he would take her out, walk with her around the city he’d come to love and revel in her smiles as he showed her hidden gems not listed on any tourist maps.
The thought was a nice one. Too bad duty called. He needed to look deeper into the recent killings. He’d known vampires were behind the killing of the last victim he’d discovered, had scented vampiric blood at the scene and hoped he might be able to connect it to Rodolfo, but what he hadn’t realized until Morgan had filled him in on her mission was that the victim was one of several and all had been associated with The Order.
It also explained the old man in the alley. He hadn’t been a random human the vampire had picked to satiate his hunger. He’d been targeted, the vampire quickly learning that despite the old man’s physical frailty, the power the man possessed had been anything but. The witches would not go down quietly.
Travis had often dreamed of assuming his other form and grinding Olivier Rodolfo into dust. Unfortunately, his other form wasn’t exactly subtle or discreet, and exposing his kind to the world at large was forbidden, much less making a scene in the heart of the Garden District for locals and tourists alike.
Destin Jourdain, however, was powerful – arguably one of the most powerful witches in the country if not the world – and if Travis wasn’t able to get Rodolfo through legal means as he’d originally intended, the Born’s destruction at the hands of a leading magic wielder might be the next best thing. He just hoped he was there to see it come about.
His alarm clock began squawking again and Travis forced himself to rise, dropping a kiss on Morgan’s forehead that was currently scrunched adorably in a frown, her eyes still closed in denial of waking. “I have to go to work,” he whispered against her hair, “But you can sleep in if you want.”
Her lids lifted slowly, and a sexy smile slid over her lips as she stretched sinuously beneath the sheets, making him groan. Her voice was sleepy, a velvet purr as she said, “Good morning,” just before she reached for him and pulled him down for a kiss. Calling in sick was sounding better and better and his reasons not to becoming less convincing as his semi-erection lifted to full mast.
With a groan, Morgan released him and sat up. “I need to check in with Jourdain. He’ll want a status update.”
Back to business. That was good, that was absolutely right. They both had things to do, murders to solve, a dictator to overthrow… busy, busy, busy. Yeah. Not helping. His hardon still practically waving for attention. “Can I see you again tonight?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t coming off as needy and pathetic.
She frowned, which sent his stomach plummeting like a rock and finally managed to deflate his over-eager erection, but her next words worked wonders at improving his mood. “I’d like to,” she grimaced, “Provided Rodolfo hasn’t planned another party or event that requires my presence.” Running a hand through her hair, she blew out a frustrated breath. “Hopefully, Jamie will be able to break into those files soon and we’ll find something useful.”
God, he hoped so. He hoped they found a ton of incriminating evidence to bring the bastard down as well as something that would give him closure for Sophia.
∞∞∞
Morgan walked to Jourdain’s, enjoying the sunshine on her face and the much-needed fresh air to help clear the fog from her brain. She hadn’t wanted to leave Travis, and that was disconcerting. She hoped she wasn’t getting too attached. After all, Hunters rarely stayed long in one place and once this job was done, she and her team would be off to wherever their next mission took them. The sudden tightness in her chest that came with that thought had her gritting her teeth and mentally chastising herself to focus. She was a Hunter. A Hunter’s loyalty was to their team. Angelic distractions were temporary fun and nothing more. End of story.
Mounting the steps to Jourdain’s house, she rapped on the door and waited, only to be greeted by a tiny old woman in a bright orange muumuu with a mop of frizzled gray hair, shrewd eyes, and a meat cleaver in her hand brandished threateningly as she demanded, “What do you want?” in a heavily accented voice.
Smiling pleasantly, Morgan informed the woman, “I’m here to see Mister Jourdain. Is he in?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, her head jerking up and down as she took in Morgan from the top of her tightly braided hair to the toes of her combat boots. “What do you want with my Dessy?”
Ah. So, this must be the renowned voodoo practitioner and mother to the leader of the Order, Mama Delphine. “Mister Jourdain hired me to do a job for him.”
The woman’s eyes seemed to narrow even more, her nostrils flaring, her lips turning down in a severe frown as she made a humming noise in her throat before stepping back and waving Morgan inside with the meat cleaver. “Come. Sit. You wait,” and then the final order, rife with continued suspicion, “Don’t touch anything.”
Not that there was anything to touch, Morgan thought as she took the seat the woman indicated in a tiny little sitting room at the front of the house. Mama Delphine threw her one last narrow-eyed look before disappearing. A moment later, a song by Ella Fitzgerald came on somewhere deeper in the residence, accompanied by a loud striking noise that could only be the cleaver being put to work.
Pulling out her phone, Morgan saw a text from Kane that he’d driven the SUV home last night and a request for her to check in to assure him she was okay. Feeling a stab of guilt at her behavior which smacked of irresponsible, she quickly fired off a response thanking him and letting him know that she was currently at Jourdain’s. She also requested an update on Jamie’s status.
Christ. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t even thought about checking in with her team, and as team leader, that couldn’t happen. The safety and well-being of her team should always be her first priority. This was only more proof that Travis St. John was a distraction she could ill afford. Personal relationships and private liaisons weren’t exactly forbidden in the Hunter’s Society, but it was expected that if a Hunter was on a job, that job came first. And while this current job wasn’t a sanctioned contract, she’d still accepted the mission, should still be approaching it with absolute focus.
Destin Jourdain’s appearance in the doorway and his low rumble of, “You have something for me?”, immediately had Morgan standing from her seat and her mind back to business.
The man was dressed similarly to the day she’d met him, but today, there were no welcoming smiles. In fact, his frown was rather fearsome and Morgan couldn’t help but wonder if there had been another death. Whatever had brought about his current mood, he
certainly didn’t look like he’d welcome an exchange of pleasantries so, she got straight to the point. “We’re getting closer to breaking through his firewalls. Subtle questioning hasn’t worked thus far. The man only wants to brag about his art collection.”
Jourdain’s lip curled with disdain. “His art,” he spat. “Do you know that during Katrina, the man was more worried about transporting his precious collection to safety than helping the people whose lives were at stake?”
Having met the Born, that didn’t surprise her. Morgan shook her head with disgust. “Cracking his computer files seems to be our best bet right now unless you have a suggestion of another thread we can pull?”
Jourdain shook his head. “Right now, I’d like to pull his intestines out through his nostrils until he squeals like a pig. I know he’s behind this,” he finished, his voice heavy with frustration.
Morgan could relate. She was eager to get to the bottom of this as well before it turned into a full-blown war between her kind and the witches. With that in mind, she suggested, “I could try a less subtle line of questioning to see where it leads me.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Though it might see me and my team booted out of his territory with nothing to show for it.”
“Or it might find you and your team in the greenhouse.”
Greenhouse? “I’m sorry?”
“On Rodolfo’s property, there’s a greenhouse. You may have seen it. It’s where he keeps the vampires that have earned his displeasure. He calls it his garden.”
Morgan recalled her previous conversation with the Born and his comment that she’d appreciate his garden after she’d asked about entertainments with a bit more challenge. It made sense in this new light where it hadn’t before. The Born punishing their Turned vampires for an assortment of crimes and misdeeds was nothing new, a necessary evil to ensure the vampires under one’s command didn’t run amok. However, the more sadistic among their kind did see it as a sport and came up with ever more creative means of punishment. Some liked whippings, bleeding a vampire, letting them feed only enough so that they would heal before the Born would begin the tortures once more. Others sometimes buried the vampires that had committed a grievous offense, leaving them conscious as their bodies slowly desiccated as they starved. Others went the old-school dungeon route.
A Hunter Born (Hired Hunters Series Book 1) Page 8
