Lion's Heat (31 page)

He was fucking her mouth with slow, easy strokes. The tight, wet grip, her flickering tongue drove him crazy with need, with hunger.

Ah God, he couldn't bear it. He fought it. He couldn't come like this. He couldn't risk whatever unknown results . . .

His hands locked on her head again, stopping the rapid strokes of her mouth. Not that it stopped her. Once again she sucked, her tongue flicked, rivulets of heated, pulsating pleasure wracking his balls as he forced himself to pull back, forced himself from the ecstatic grip of her lips.

Snarling, he fought to restrain the hunger racing through him and lost.

"I needed to tell you . . ." He turned her, pressed her hands to the wood table and urged her to bend over.

Like this. The wildness inside him would have it no other way. Only here, only behind her, could he grip her as he needed, could his teeth lock into her shoulder and the hormone in his tongue spill to her system with maximum results.

Gripping the shaft of his cock, he pressed it against her, grimacing at the feel of her juices lubricating the crown, slickening it to allow for easier penetration.

The tiny entrance of her vagina parted, sucking at the head as he pressed it closer, clenching, urging him inside.

Her back arched as the scent of her pleasure whipped around him. He had to fight to hold back a roar as she cried out when he pressed the head of his cock tighter against the slick, fiery portal of her sweet pussy.

Bending, he pushed inside, felt the tight gripping muscles as they began to part for him, his cock bare as he began to forge his way into the sleek heat of her pussy.

"I'm sorry, Rachel." He felt the sweat drip down his face, watched as it fell to her shoulder a second before his lips moved to the vulnerable bend of her neck.

He was going to bite her. He could feel it. Animalistic, pounding, the strident demand of the animal was impossible to ignore.

Right there. Close to the heavy vein that meant life or death.

She was shaking. He felt her shuddering even as he felt the snug, wet heat of her body gripping him.

He was losing all restraint. He was losing his grip on what little awareness he had. There was nothing but the woman, nothing but the pleasure. Nothing but the fist-tight grip enveloping his cock as a snarl tore from his lips and he powered inside her.

Rachel's back arched.

Pleasure-pain streaked through her as she felt the sudden, fierce thrust that parted the tender tissue and filled her with exquisite, blinding heat.

She couldn't hold on. Her nails dug into the edge of the table as she began to move, her hips thrusting back, her muscles clenching on him as he began to move behind her.

His hips rolled, knees bent. She felt his claws at her hips, digging in with stinging heat, a pleasure-pain that added to the deep, driving thrusts inside her body as he fucked her deep, hard.

With her back to him, she had no choice but to concentrate on the pleasure. There were no distractions. She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't watch his expression, and it combined to send pleasure screaming through her system.

She was flying through ecstasy. She was thrown past reality into a world where nothing but the blistering, driving hunger existed. Where nothing mattered but this moment, this man. This pleasure.

It built inside her, tightening, tensing, burning. Wracking shudders raced up her spine. Agony gripped her clit as she felt the world beginning to unravel around her.

The explosion that resulted had her gasping his name. Nothing had ever been like this. Nothing had burned with such heat, stroked with such pleasure, or exploded with such shattering results.

Jonas felt it. The clench, the fist-tight grip that only became snugger, hotter. The rush of liquid heat, the shudders that raced through her body.

The pulsing, suckling grip she had on his cock was too much. Pleasure conflagrated. A fiery storm of sensation tore up his spine, tightened in his abdomen and exploded in his balls.

Before he could stop the impulse, his teeth locked in that sweet, soft area of her shoulder. The sharp tips pierced the flesh, the iron-sharp taste of her blood exploding against his rapidly licking tongue.

As his release tore through him, the barb emerged from beneath the head of his cock, extended, locking him inside her milking pussy, and began to heat his entire body with the powerful, minute release that detonated inside it.

His body was a mass of ecstatic pleasure. Powerful, brutal, primal in its intensity, building and burning inside him until his head jerked back from her neck and a hard, strangled roar left his lips.

His mate.

His.

His gift. His life.

He had betrayed her the moment that he had allowed her kiss. In this second, now, spilling his seed inside her, he had the horrifying realization that without Rachel, without her touch, her laughter, her warmth, his life held no meaning.

With that thought came the understanding, the knowledge, that when morning came, he might lose her warmth as well as her laughter.

What woman would welcome being mated to a monster?

CHAPTER 17

Rachel awoke in Jonas's arms, her head cushioned on his chest as his fingers stroked along her spine. Fingers that lacked the lethal, strong claws they had displayed the night before.

She'd seen the dangerously tipped extensions before, but had never had the nerve to actually explore the long, broad fingers to find out if they worked as a cat's would. She had to admit though, the feel of them stroking down her thighs had sent arrows of sensual excitement shooting straight to the core of her sex.

Her gaze dropped to the strong, broad hand that lay across her bare stomach. Reaching down, she lifted his index finger, stroked it for a second, marveling at the strength of it. Did she dare, she wondered? She knew she didn't dare look at him as she did it. Biting her lip, she pressed firmly just beneath the broad, well-manicured nail and watched as the lethally strong claw emerged.

His entire hand flexed then, and slowly, each finger sported the well-manicured, lethally sharp tipped claws she had felt across her thighs the night before. Her lips quirked. Only Jonas would have his claws manicured and honed to dangerous points. When it came to the idea of Breeds being civilized, Jonas gave an Oscar-worthy performance.

He was silent as she ran her finger over the sharp tip, his silver eyes watching her with quiet intensity as she lifted her gaze back to him.

She wished she could decipher the emotions that roiled in his eyes. She wished she could understand why the sight of them bit at her heart with aching sadness.

"Can all Breeds do that?" she asked as she flicked the tip of a claw with her finger.

His head shook. "Only a primal."

"A primal? I haven't heard that designation before." She thought she had heard all of them.

The color in his eyes flickered momentarily. "It's a sub-designation and kept carefully quiet. Many Breeds aren't even aware we exist. We are truly the monsters of the species. Primals are bred to be less merciful and compassionate. Our animals are closer to the skin, you could say, and the human instinct for cruelty and egomania was bred to be uppermost in our human genetics."

"The perfect soldier," she murmured, remembering the news releases that had accompanied the Breed rescues.

"No, Breeds are the perfect soldiers," he amended. "Primals are the perfect killers. We were created to work best alone, to never be able to be a lover or a friend, and to kill that person on command, or as needed. We were created to have no heart, no mercy. And we were created to breed hybrids that were animals walking on two legs."

Something more flickered in his gaze then: apprehension, perhaps? Did he expect her to feel fear at this point? As far as she was concerned, it was a little too late for that. She was in his bed now, she was truly his mate. Fear at this late date would have been drama. And Rachel seriously didn't believe in drama.

"What happened with the breeding part?" Her heart was breaking at the knowledge that they were created to never love, to never laugh. What a weight it must be to know they had been created to destroy, to kill, and that the world knew why they had been created. So many hated and feared them for their very existence. They had no idea how much the Breeds regretted that reason as well.

A short, bitter laugh escaped his lips. "They could never get that part to work so well. For the most part, the scientists were unaware of the need for mating. But the groundwork was laid for the creatures they eventually wanted to produce, though."

The creatures, not the children.
Rachel had to force back her tears at the words he used. Jonas wasn't much on sympathy. He preferred reality and honesty above all things. She'd heard him say once or twice that sympathy was an empty emotion for those who had no desire to expend the effort to actually fight against an injustice.

"It doesn't matter if it's human or animal," she said softly as she stared back at him. "I don't believe anyone is born or created to kill. It's taught to them. You can use all the genetics you want, but it comes down to what you teach your children. Just as it comes down to what that child wants to be once you've taught it all you know. The knowledge of right and wrong is inherent, Jonas. The Breeds have proven that."

She saw the indecision in his gaze then, or perhaps disbelief.

Lying in his arms, his body warm, hard, tense against her, she finally broached the subject that had bothered her the previous night.

Jonas and the Leo had such a conflicted relationship as it was, but last night, they had both been more on edge than normal.

"What is the issue with Leo? He's been picking at you for as long as I've worked for you, but he was worse last night."

"He's been picking far longer than you've been with me," he grunted.

"Why?"

"Who knows why the Leo does what he does, or what he hopes to achieve from it." There was genuine confusion in his expression. "He keeps pushing for something that he has no desire to explain, and I refuse to ask for that explanation. I'm simply the whelp I'm certain he wishes they hadn't created."

His tone was matter-of-fact, accepting, but Rachel saw the hint of betrayal in his eyes. Leo's attitude pricked at him, and who could blame him? The one dream the Breeds had was that of family. Leo was his father, yet he acted as though he were ashamed, or regretful, of Jonas's existence. His eyes told another story, though, Rachel thought. Like Jonas, the Leo's eyes roiled with emotions.

"You're stubborn," she stated.

"And he's a manipulative bastard," he growled.

"Like father, like son, perhaps?" she questioned him with a smile as she stretched lazily, feeling the tenderness that assailed her body, the proof that she had been well loved the night before.

"My genetics are far different from his," he retorted. "His provided a base, if you will. The scientists then added what they thought would create the animal they wanted. Leo's no primal, but he should have been created as one."

She almost laughed. Unfortunately, she had a feeling that laughter wouldn't go over so well right now.

"I hate to tell you this, Jonas, but you're not that far from your father in genetics," she informed him. "The two of you are more alike than he and Callan are. You even have several of your mother's physical traits, such as the shape of your eyes."

His expression darkened. "Elizabeth isn't my mother. My dam was the Scientist LaRue, who headed the French labs where I was created. I share no genetics with Elizabeth Vanderale."

He was lying to her. Rachel sat up, turned and stared down at him. There was no mistaking the fact that Elizabeth Vanderale was his mother. Many of Jonas's actions mirrored hers, such as his habit of rubbing his neck when he was agitated, or the way he narrowed his eyes. She had seen the woman display those gestures many times over the past months.

Lies and deceit were things Rachel absolutely refused to tolerate. There was no way in hell she would stand back and allow Jonas to practice his less desirable traits against her as he often did in the political circles he moved within.

"Look, I don't know what you think this mating is going to be, Jonas Wyatt, but it will include not lying to me. And don't think I haven't learned by now exactly how to tell when you're lying. Let me guess: Elizabeth Vanderale isn't supposed to be your mother, so you've simply never informed her that she is?"

His jaw tightened. Whatever emotion he was trying to hide from her, whatever knowledge he wanted to keep hidden, was obviously something he had fought to keep to himself.

"How do you know I'm lying to you?" He gazed back at her with an almost innocent charm. It was so obviously feigned that she nearly laughed.

She rolled her eyes. "For some reason my female intuition kicks in. When you lie, it feels like the edges of a panic attack."

If there was one person she thought would understand that, she knew it would be Jonas.

He sighed as he stared up at the ceiling as though that knowledge was an irritant. "Just what I need, a mate who knows how to listen to her instincts."

Rachel gave a light laugh before she moved from the bed, drawing the sheet with her and wrapping it around her.

"The fire is going out. It will be getting chilly soon," she told him as she glanced to the window, where dawn was just breaking over the horizon. "And Amber will be up at any time. Would you listen for her while I shower?"

Jonas watched as she moved from the bedroom into the bathroom, a frown brewing on his brow as he finally figured out what it was that seemed off.

Rachel carried his scent now. He could detect the hormone fusing to her system from the bite he'd given her the night before. He could detect a natural, subtle allure to her. But, she wasn't burning for sex as other mates did. She wasn't close to begging, and it had been six hours at the very least since he'd taken her.

The fire shimmered inside her. She was aroused. He could smell that hunger simmering in the sweet recess of her pussy. But she was controlling it rather than it controlling her as it blazed out of control.