Dark Taste of Rapture (Alien Huntress 6)

“Let’s just say I did you a favor. He’s such a bastard.”

“Did he not finish what he started?”

“Worse. He told me to never, ever kiss or touch him again, as if I’m toxic.”

“Want me to kill him for you?”

See? This was why she loved Ava so damn much. “Nah. Let’s just torture him a little.”

“If by a little you mean until he’s writhing and screaming for mercy, I’m in!”

Five

AIR Training Camp

Day Seven

GOD HAVE MERCY. IF Hector died of a massive coronary this morning, Noelle Tremain would be at fault. He had to be closing in on the number of erections one man could experience—and ignore—in a single week before he just up and died.

Hector wasn’t the only one suffering with unrequited lust, either. Every man in the area watched her with differing levels of arousal. And that didn’t piss him off; he’d simply woken up in a bad mood. Again.

He wasn’t getting any sleep. Not before their bone-melting kiss, and certainly not after. Every night he dreamed about her. About kissing and touching her, and that only deepened his need for her, the ever-growing obsession. Because he kept thinking that while he’d rolled his tongue against hers, he hadn’t cupped her br**sts, or felt her ni**les bead under his palm. Hadn’t delved his fingers deep into her wet, dripping sex.

And he never could.

But now he wanted to do those things more than he wanted to breathe.

So what had started out as a small attraction was now a full-blown case of the must-fucks.

That ended today.

Hopefully.

If this was what happened in seven days, imagine what would happen in fourteen. Then twenty-eight. And, God forbid, fifty-six.

He couldn’t. Not without sweating.

He never should have gone near her that night, but she’d peered up at him with such defiance, he’d practically wrapped himself around her in a bid to intimidate her. At least that’s what he’d told himself. All while drinking her in, luxuriating in the sparkle in her eyes, the sultriness of her scent, the feminine curves of her body.

And the kiss? He had no excuse for that. It was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. He’d known it then, and he really knew it now. Especially since his desire to have her had been so consuming, his arms had fired up and he hadn’t freaking cared.

He’d burned her shirt, had nearly burned her skin, risking her safety, his own. Even his freedom.

No one at AIR knew what he could do, and that’s the way he wanted it to stay. Because if anyone ever found out, they’d either lock him up and toss the key or feed him the barrel of a .22. And he would deserve it!

Even still, he would never allow anyone to lock him away. He’d spent most of his childhood in a four-by-four cage, laughed at, starved, bruised and broken after being forced to fight other disposable kids, time and time again.

Most had been picked up off the streets, but some, like him, had parents looking for a quick buck. Parents who’d pit their own children against each other, while adult men and women bet on the winner and the condition of the loser.

Hector had worked hard to free himself, and had had to kill a lot of people along the way. Something he did not regret. His life might not be fun or easy, but he made his own choices. Made a difference in the world. Helped those who suffered as he once had. He had purpose.

Thankfully, Noelle hadn’t noticed the glow. Had she, she would have said something. She wasn’t the type to remain mute. About anything.

You’re good to go, but if you keep this thought process up, you won’t be. Concentrate on the here and now. On what matters. Anything but that kiss.

The trainees had been roused from their beds less than ten minutes ago. ’Course, they’d only gotten two hours of shuteye before that, so most were dead on their feet. Once the horn blasted, signaling it was time to rise and shine, they’d had five minutes to dress, do whatever they needed to do, and line up outside.

Noelle had emerged in the tiniest, tightest pair of pink shorts he’d ever seen, and an equally tight white tank top. She should have looked like any other female in the camp, but he could see the curve of her ass, and goddamn. No one else in the entire freaking world had an ass like hers. Toned, curved, perfect. Biteable.

Don’t go there.

Her hair was anchored in a ponytail on top of her head, and the length swung back and forth, back and forth with every perky step she took. Perky steps that bordered on lascivious because of the red lace winding up her combat boots.

Yeah. That’s why.

Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, giving her a fresh, dewy appearance. And with the rising sun behind her, framing her with golds, oranges, and pinks, she was every man’s fantasy come to sizzling life.

A fantasy. That’s all she could ever be to him. So he’d just have to pretend he didn’t notice that her ni**les were hard from the cool, too-early morning air. Nipples he’d felt against his chest. And oh, sweet Jesus, there were goose bumps winding around the band of skin seductively revealed between the hem of her shirt and the waist of her shorts. Her navel dipped so exquisitely, it would be a playground for his tongue.

Don’t you dare go there, ass**le. A plea from a deeply rooted need to protect himself.

“Start running,” he shouted to the twenty-four recruits remaining at the camp. Two had already dropped out due to injuries, two had been kicked out for finishing last, and one short, effeminate man with a thin mustache and a habit of sleeping in the female barracks had simply disappeared.

Shockingly, Noelle hadn’t been among the out-for-the-counters. “And don’t stop until you’re told,” he added. “You do, you go home.”

The group shot into action so quickly their moans of not-this-again barely had time to register. Desperate for a distraction—one that would actually work—Hector kicked into gear, determined to run this bitch of a course himself.

This was his last day here. At least until next month. Like the others, he was supposed to stay, but because of his ability, he’d gotten permission to leave campus the weeks he wasn’t in charge. Not that his boss knew the truth.

When Hector first joined AIR, he’d lied about a medical condition. A skin disease that demanded his coworkers remain hands off, that he sometimes wear gloves, and sometimes, when “the agony” became too much, that he stay home. Most of them respected the first, all of them laughed about the second, and on rare occasions, a few of them brought him chicken noodle soup because of the third.