Sensation ripped through her. Tore through her nervous system, shredded her soul. Her orgasm slammed her, tightened her body, and sent her racing toward a heat and brilliance so extreme, so intense she lost herself within it.
Lance's hard growl filled her head as he moved to cover her then, his thighs spreading hers farther, the blunt, thick head of his c**k separating the folds of her pu**y.
"Look at me."
Look at him? She struggled to open her eyes, to make sense of the violent tremors surging through her. What she saw did nothing to restore her control or her equilibrium. His eyes were so blue, a deep, impossibly brilliant blue, his features taut, savagely so, his lips swollen as he stared down at her and slapped a condom into her hand.
"Now." He jerked upright, the thick, pulsing stalk of his c**k angling away from his body, spearing toward her, throbbing with the same furious, desperate hunger surging through her cunt.
Her eyes moved slowly, reluctantly to her palm and the condom he had placed there.
"Put. It. On."
She blinked at the guttural sound of his voice.
"You don't need—"
"Now!" His hands gripped her thighs, his eyes blazing down at her. She swallowed tightly, her fingers shaking, trembling as she moved to do as he ordered as quickly as possible. She needed him; her pu**y burned, hurt. Her tongue throbbed. Every cell in her flamed in demand.
Her fingers were shaking so bad she could barely fit the disk over the bulging, damp head.
"I can't." It slipped, moved, slid. She couldn't make her fingers work.
"Put the damned thing on, Harmony." His body jerked, shuddered.
"Fuck it." She threw the condom, lifted her h*ps until the swollen head pressed against the entrance to her cunt. "Fuck me. I told you, you don't need the son of a bit—" The invasion—it could be called nothing else, an impalement, a penetration that tore through her, stretched her and destroyed her.
Harmony heard herself screaming his name. Her legs wrapped around his plunging hips, her lips opened for his, her tongue battling his the moment they touched. She was filled to her limit, the tearing pleasure whipping through her, overloading her senses until nothing mattered, no one mattered, the world dissolved until nothing existed but Lance. His touch. His kiss, feeling the jackhammer strokes of his c**k powering inside her pu**y as her tongue filled his mouth, the taste of wild honey, of spice, an aphrodisiac that heightened each sensation and sent her careening into ecstasy.
Her body jerked violently as the next orgasm ripped through her. She bucked, shuddered, fighting to scream, but only a whimper emerged as he tore his lips from hers. A strangled male cry filled the air then, followed quickly by the strangest, most terrifying sensation she had ever known.
She cried out at the feel of his se**n rushing through her, seeping into the very pores of the spasming flesh, easing the flaming lust, soaking into her womb. She felt it. Felt each heated pulse of se**n fill her, change her, complete her just before her teeth sank into his shoulder and she tasted his blood. And in that moment sensed her own defeat.
CHAPTER 3
Lance was enraged. The next morning he paced his office, scowling, his body burning as his c**k throbbed in his jeans and the bite at his shoulder burned in need. Son of a bitch. A f**king Breed. He became aware of what she was the moment those sharp little teeth of hers pierced his flesh. He had seen the mark on his cousin Megan's shoulder nearly a year before. Placed there by her mate, Braden Arness.
"I can't find anyone that meets your description in the database, Lance." Braden growled in irritation.
"Now look, dammit, I know she's a Breed," Lance snapped. "She has to be in there."
"Lance, I've been searching these damned files for an hour now. She's not in here. What the hell is this about?"
Lance drew in a hard breath.
"The bitch bit me last night, Braden," he finally snarled. "I picked her up at the bar and took her home."
"You had sex with her, and she bit you?" Braden's voice was carefully bland. "What did you say her name was again?"
"Harmony. She didn't give me a last name. Russet hair, pale green eyes, about fiveseven."
"Any tattoos or distinguishing marks?" Braden asked.
Lance frowned. He barely remembered a small tattoo.
"Her right shoulder, I can't be sure, but I think it was a scythe." Silence filled the line as the air around him whispered in warning.
"Are you certain of that? A scythe."
"A red scythe, no more than an inch and a half high. I saw it just before she jerked her shirt on. By the time she turned around with the f**king gun in her hand, I forgot about it."
She had held a gun on him. A small, snub-nosed though powerful military-issue Beretta. And those babies packed a wallop, despite their size.
"Damn. That's bad." Braden's voice was suddenly deeper; the animalistic growl of his Breed heritage only showed itself in times of anger or stress.
"The Breed part or the scythe part?" Lance asked. "You have to be a bit clearer here, Braden. My mind's not exactly working at its normal speed."
And he knew why. He knew and it pissed him off. God help her if he got his hands on her again. The first thing he was going to do was spank that pretty ass for running. The second thing he would do was f**k her until she didn't have the strength to run again.
"According to my files, the Breed with that mark is one badass you don't want to mess with. We call her by her lab name, because she never chose another that we knew of. Her name is Death, Lance. She's wanted not just by the Bureau of Breed Affairs but by several government agencies as well, for questioning in the assassinations of suspected child abusers as well as suspected Council scientists. If Death mated you, cuz, then you're screwed."
The woman in his arms had been no killer. "There has to be a mistake."
"No mistake," Braden said in denial. "No other Breed would dare wear that mark. Death is a possessive bitch. She's a class A assassin with the added rating of knifemanship. Death doesn't feel, Lance. And how the hell you could have mated with her makes no sense."
Because every instance of mating heat that had occurred in the Breed society had involved emotion. To their knowledge there hadn't been a mating that hadn't been a match of not just the physical, but the psychological and emotional as well. Lance knew that from the few explanations Megan had given him in regards to her relationship with Braden.