“Kiss me, Chelsea,” he groaned, pushing completely inside her, the iron-hard length of his erection buried to the hilt.
As she turned her head to him, his lips came over hers, covering them and caressing them with hungry demand. Chelsea felt the drugging, drowsy pleasure rushing through her. His kiss was wildfire, cinnamon and spice and the wild taste of the desert air. And she loved it.
She loved him.
That taste marked him as hers only. Her heart and her mate and every dream she’d ever had.
She moaned when his lips slid over her jaw, her neck, his hips moving with strong, sure strokes as he pumped his shaft inside her. Sensitive tissue parted to each heavy thrust, clenching around his erection with each retreat and return.
Impaling her with each rocking movement of his hips, he caressed and stroked the slick inner flesh even as his hands and lips moved over her shoulders, neck and breasts.
His fingers gripped her tender nipples, hands cupped and molded her swollen breasts. Hungry lips moved over her shoulder, the base of her neck, his teeth rasping over the flesh and sending sharp, vibrant flashes of sensation streaking to her womb.
“I love you,” she gasped, feeling the tension increasing in bands of impending ecstasy.
That tension, the pleasure, it raged through her, chaotic and whipping with a storm of such sensation she felt herself becoming lost within it.
The heavy, heated thrusts became faster and harder, stroking inside her with driving intensity. The storm raged, it built and in a flash of blinding, destructive ecstasy, it exploded through her senses. On the heels of her orgasm she felt Cullen thrust deep, hard.
The mating barb emerged, locked him inside her, increasing the storm and the explosions tearing through both of them.
His release spilled inside her, pulsing hot and brilliant in continuing waves of blinding pleasure.
When the storm eased, Chelsea found herself collapsing boneless to the bed, wasted from the pleasure and ready for another nap.
Still, a protesting moan fell from her lips when he pulled free of her, his breathing heavy as he curled himself around her.
“I love you, wild woman,” he whispered, his voice drowsy and rough with emotion.
“I love you, tiger man,” she answered, feeling his arms wrapped around her, a kiss pressing to the mating mark.
They had so much to talk about, so much to figure out. But they had time for that. Time to make everything work and to find the compromises that would them both happy.
WESTERN DIVISION OF THE BUREAU OF BREED AFFAIRS
A lifetime of running was over, and that wasn’t a good thing.
Running hadn’t been so bad. She’d been free, able to feel the breeze against her skin whenever she wanted to, able to run in the wild, to taste the falling rain or feel the sunlight against her skin. She’d just had to be careful whenever she did it.
Running had been fraught with fear, with uncertainty, but if she was running, then she had a chance at a future, a chance to live.
She was very much afraid those chances were a thing of the past now.
Kenzi Deacon paced the opulent suite she was confined to, bare feet sinking into the thick, expensive carpet. She preferred the feel of grass beneath her feet, she thought wearily. The wind against her face, the sound of the forest filling her ears. She didn’t like being here; she didn’t want to be here. But there was no way to escape either.
The silver toe ring she wore flashed at the ragged edge of her jeans, drawing her attention for a heartbeat of time and clenching her chest with pain. The ring was the last gift from her parents. It was the only piece of jewelry they’d ever given her, for any reason, and she’d been so surprised, so pleased by it. And no more than days later, they were gone. Murdered.
They’d tried so hard to protect her, fought to keep her hidden. They’d been so certain they would be safe, buried in the Cascade mountains, when they’d made the harrowing trip there years ago. The last refuge, her father had called it, his studious, somber expression showing none of the concern she knew he’d felt.
They’d been found, though. Her parents were murdered in front of her eyes, her father’s desperate attempt to shield her mother so heartbreakingly hopeless. Even as he’d thrown himself in front of his wife, that knowledge had been in his eyes, that the running was over.
Now here she was, one of the two places they’d fought to keep her free of. And one of the two places Kenzi had sworn she would never allow herself to be. She’d been so certain she could keep this from happening, so certain . . . And she’d been so wrong.
Pushing her fingers through her short mop of black hair, she shot a disgusted look at the wig that the Council Breeds had so carefully fitted to her head before taking her from the cabin she’d lived in with her parents. The riotous curls spilled from the seat of the chair she’d tossed it to, tumbled to the floor and reminded her of the reason she’d been hunted for so many years: her genetic tie to the young woman the Council was offering a fortune for.
She hated it, and she hated the knowledge that those Breeds had planned to pass her off as the woman she looked so much like to collect a bounty they were so greedy for. They weren’t even part of the Council. They were no more than mercenaries, despite their appearance.
She hadn’t even been able to fight them as they put that monstrosity on her. Whatever they’d had in that dart they shot in her neck, it had taken her down instantly, paralyzing her, though she’d been awake, able to feel everything. To see everything.