Stygian's Honor

CHAPTER 10

Liza had learned years before exactly how to avoid the facts of life.

Stepping into the hotel room and seeing the two beds separated by a small table, she sighed heavily.

“Really?” She turned back to him in disbelief. “They didn’t have a larger room? A suite, perhaps?”

His shoulders lifted, a rakish smile curling his lips despite the somberness in his dark eyes. “Hotel’s all booked up, sweetheart.”

Of course it was.

“You have a few of your sleep shirts in the wardrobe.” He indicated the tall entertainment center with its four drawers beneath the screen. “Isabelle had one of the officers who followed us to the hotel go back for them. There are clothes in there as well.”

“Great, some guy pawing through my clothes.” It was all she could do to hold back a shudder at the thought.

“It wasn’t like that, Liza.” The frustration in his voice only seemed to infuriate her further.

Turning on him, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and confronted him with all the anger she couldn’t seem to bury. “It wasn’t like what, Stygian? Like some asshole pawing through my silk panties and bras? Do you think they didn’t snicker as they chose the gowns? That they didn’t imagine me naked or wearing one of the silk camisoles I sleep in? Since when are Breeds any better than any other man when it comes to lust?”

Dropping her arms, she turned to stalk to the bathroom, to get away from him. To strangle the fury tearing through her before she choked them both with it.

Before she was entirely certain what was happening, Liza found herself being pulled around and hauled against Stygian’s chest, his large hand still holding the arm he had gripped to pull her to him.

“Do you really believe I would allow another man to do something so damned intimate?” he growled, shocking her.

That was possessiveness in his voice. That low, primal growl held a vein of pure, determined ownership that at once pricked her independence and pulled at the woman who longed to belong—

To something. To someone.

“I don’t really know what you would do, do I, Stygian?” Her breathing was suddenly rough, heavy.

The need to know if Isabelle had been right about a Breed’s kiss being addictive was suddenly overwhelming. If not addictive, then what about the aphrodisiac it was supposed to contain?

She licked her lips, suddenly desperate for the answer.

“No male Breed pawed through your clothing, your silk, or your gowns,” he snarled down at her. “Ashley chose each piece and she alone packed it before the Breed who drove her back to the house returned her to the hotel. Never, ever, Liza”—his lips were so close to hers now that she swore she could almost feel them against hers—“would I allow another man to touch what you would wear so intimately against your flesh.”

Breathing was a chore. Her chest was so tight with the need to hold back the moan rising inside it that she felt light-headed from the battle. Every second that she felt the heat of his chest sinking past their clothing to the sensitive, peaked hardness of her nipples, she could feel the flesh between her thighs growing wetter.

She wanted him.

She had never wanted a man in her life. She had thought that part of herself must have surely died in the wreck when she was fifteen. Before then, there had been very little interest in the opposite sex. Afterward, there had been none.

Until Stygian.

“I hate this,” she suddenly whispered as her fingers curled against the powerful muscles of his chest, desperate to keep herself from ripping at his body.

“Hate what?” His free hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing against the plump curve of her lower lip then.

Oh, he knew what. She could see it in the sudden intensity of his gaze, feel it whipping through the air between them and torturing them both with the hungry need for it.

As her tongue swiped over the painful dryness of her lips, it licked over the tip of his thumb. The sudden, explosive taste of salty male flesh rushed through her senses, overtaking them for one destructive second.

“I’ve never wanted—” Her breathing hitched painfully. “I never wanted this, Stygian. I didn’t want to be torn apart like this. To be destroyed by something I couldn’t control or teased by a man who’s far too aware of my weaknesses.”

She couldn’t bear it. To be played with. To ache and to want, to hunger for something and have no name to give to what she hungered for.

To her, it was the worst possible tease.

“Tease you?” His voice was suddenly rougher, grating as he wrapped one arm around her back and pulled her closer. “I’d never tease you, Liza. I promise, I’m entirely, wholeheartedly serious about this. About you.”

His head lowered and his lips touched hers.

She was shaking. Like a leaf in the storm and any other cliché that slipped through her suddenly too-alert brain.

Shudders of reaction began tearing through her as her lips parted and his settled more firmly against them, opening them, owning them.

His tongue swiped over her lips, flicked past them and licked over her tongue.

Suddenly, she knew what Isabelle had meant. His kiss was like a summer rainstorm, lightning and thunder chaos clamoring through her system as the taste of summer heat rushed through her senses.

His lips slanted over hers, his hands pulling her closer as the feel of his erection pressing against her stomach had her tilting her hips and arching to meet him.

Blood thundered through her veins, the fiery need spreading through her body, clamoring for more, burning away any objections she could have made.

Desire burned through her in ways she couldn’t have anticipated. It sizzled across her flesh, sensitizing it, creating a receptive base for each touch he should deign to stroke across it.

And she wanted each touch.

His tongue flicked across her lips, teasing and heating them. She licked against it, loving that wild, stormy taste. Then it sank between her lips once again, giving her only seconds to close her lips over it, to contain the taste filling her system before it retreated once again.

Oh God, the pleasure was exquisite.

Her nipples hardened furiously. The pressure of her bra against the sensitive tips was almost agony, so she took it off.

It wasn’t the fabric she wanted touching her. It was his hands, his fingers. She wanted the feel of his flesh against hers creating that roughened, electric pulse of sensations that raced across her skin.

She ached for it.

She had to get closer.

Twining her arms around his neck, she arched to him, and still it wasn’t enough.

“I can’t touch you like this,” she whimpered, pulling at his shirt as he released her lips for only a second. “I need to touch you more, Stygian.”

So much for not being that kind of girl.

At least she only wanted to be a sex slave for this man.

And oh yes, she could handle sex slave.

For a night or two, anyway.

For a lifetime or two, definitely.

“Oh.” Her eyes flew open as she felt his hand push beneath her shirt, the calloused, roughened flesh stroking up her back. “I like that.”

No, she loved it.

She arched into his touch, her lashes drifting closed as his hand stroked back down, curved around her hip then moved up her midriff, her rib cage—

Opening her eyes, a ragged breath of air tore from her lungs as his palm cupped the swollen mound of her breast.

Why her hand was suddenly gripping his wrist, she wasn’t certain.

She looked down to where her fingers curled over his powerful wrist, her flesh much paler than his, the feel of those invisible hairs beneath softening its toughness.

Breathing hard, barely able to draw in enough oxygen, she lifted her gaze to his once again. Liza pressed his hand more firmly against the curve of her breast. Still watching him, she let her own thumb stroke over the tight, hardened point of her nipple.

Oh, that was good.

Letting her lashes drift closed once more, feeling the caress of his gaze where her hand lay over his, she let her thumb rub against the sensitized peak as he watched.

His breathing grew heavier, the heat against her flesh seemed searing. The hunger rising inside her was suddenly clamoring to take more sensation, to amplify it and torture them both with a need she was finding impossible to deny.

Drawing her thumb back, a moan drifting past her lips, Liza was prepared to stroke the needy little nubbin again when suddenly, Stygian took control of the caress.

With thumb and forefinger, he gripped the tip and rolled it between them, then let his lips brush against her jaw.

“Get rid of this shirt.”

Staring up at him as he used his free hand to tug at her shirt, Liza loosened her hold on his neck to grip the hem and pull it over her head.

Oh, sweet Heaven.

A brutal, ecstatic heat surrounded her nipple before the shirt fell to the floor.

The pressure of his thumb and forefinger around the tip increased, milking the sensitive flesh and torturing nerve endings that suddenly burned in an ecstatic quest for more.

Oh God, oh God, wasn’t that just like a Breed, taking advantage—

With her body arched back, her breasts pushed forward and high, Stygian lowered his head and immediately sucked the painfully sensitive tip into his mouth.

The cry that tore from her lips shocked her.

The speed at which her hands buried in his hair, clenched in the strands and tried to pull him closer astounded her.

As his tongue lashed at the pebbled hardness, Liza flinched with pleasure, shuddering in his arms as tremulous cries left her lips.

Her nipple felt brutally hot. Too sensitive. The pleasure flaying the tip with merciless strokes tore through her senses and jerked her into a realm of such pleasure she felt tortured by it.

“Oh yes, Stygian, please. Yes,” she moaned, her head tipping back, her aching pussy rubbing against the hard muscle of his thigh as her hips tilted to him.

As he lifted her closer, his hard thigh pushed further between hers as he pulled her hips down to it and moved rhythmically against the sensitive, wet flesh. Even through the soft cotton of her pants she could feel the rasp of his jeans, the fiery warmth of his flesh and she wanted more. So very much more.

She felt so empty.

She swore she had never actually felt the inner flesh of her sex and the loneliness it felt. But she felt it now. It clenched and tightened and the slick layer of juices eased from it, creating a teasing friction that only amplified the need for more.

Plumping the firm flesh of her breast with his fingers, Stygian worked the agonizingly tight peak of her nipple with his tongue. Rolling it over the sensitive flesh, flicking the tip of his tongue against it, laving it, rubbing the side of his tongue over the pebbled hardness as it grew increasingly tender. It ached, the hard flesh demanded—

“Please.” Her fingers buried in his hair. “Oh God, what are you doing to me?”

His head lifted.

“Don’t stop.” Eyes flaring open in shock, she stared up at him as she watched him jerk his shirt off.

Tight, hard abs flexed. The muscles of his chest rippled as his hair flowed around his shoulders.

His blue-black gaze was piercing, filled with a demand that her body was responding to with incredible force.

“Do we stop this now, or do we finish it, Liza?” His voice sounded tormented.

“Stop?” Shock filled her. “Do I act like I want to stop, Stygian?”

What the hell was wrong with him?

What happened to a man taking what was offered and just running off the next morning rather than asking questions before he ever managed to get a woman into his bed?

“I don’t want your regrets in the morning,” he stated, his tone rough.

She had to curl her hands into fists to keep from touching him.

All that tough-looking, prime, muscular male flesh did nothing but tempt her fingers and her lips to explore, to kiss.

A sharp shake of her head was a mistake. Allowing him to pause, to speak, to be the man he was, was definitely a mistake.

Because now, all she could think was, what the hell was she doing?

She could taste him on her tongue, even now, as the feel of his kiss should have been easing from her lips. Yet it wasn’t. It was still there, the sensitive curves still swollen and aching for more.

“Don’t,” she whispered, suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion she didn’t recognize or understand. “Don’t do that, Stygian. Don’t make me choose like this.”

“Our tomorrows mean too much to me, Liza.”

“Bullshit!” Anger shot through her as she jerked out of his arms, confronting him furiously. “Do you think I don’t know a play for control when I see one? God, just take it and stop talking.”

She could barely breathe now for the emotions surging through her, for the hunger and the aching need for the return of his touch.

Oh, she wasn’t having this.

She wanted him. She wanted him until it was all she could do not to throw herself back into his arms. But as he stood there staring at her, his expression dominant, full of arrogance, she just wanted to kick him instead.

Jerking her shirt from the bed, she pulled it over her head furiously.

“‘Our tomorrows mean too much to me,’” she mocked him, her hands moving to her hips as she cocked one hip and faced him with such a surge of antagonism that she could barely breathe for it. “For God’s sake, Stygian, if tomorrow meant so damned much to you, then you would have kept your mouth shut and just fucked me while you had the chance.”

“Like any other man would have done?” His arms crossed over his chest, and for just a second, she hated him for the fact that he wasn’t holding her. That he was blocking the heat she swore she was going to freeze without.

“Well, yeah, pretty much,” she snapped back at him. “What do you want from me? Do I have to make you a few promises first? I thought that was your job? Come, Stygian, give me the empty promises, get me off, then leave me the hell alone.”

Her father had always warned her that her smart mouth was going to end up costing her something she didn’t want to lose.

It was her temper, she’d reminded him. A temper she’d gotten from him, so he really couldn’t blame her.

But at the moment, she had a feeling it was going to end up costing her the night she’d really wanted to spend in this Breed’s bed. Just one night to go crazy in his arms, maybe sleep there for a bit, go crazy with him again, then face the reality she wanted only to hide from tonight.

“Do you believe that’s all this means to me?” he asked, his expression savage as he watched her, his gaze beginning to glitter with anger. “A one-night stand with a woman that means nothing? Is that all it is to you, Liza? A few hours you can forget when reality returns and a man that will be content to just disappear from your life?”

“Can I get that lucky?” God no, that wasn’t what she wanted, but still, the words burst from her lips before she could control them.

“After that kiss?” The hard, triumphant smile that curled his lips had her heart stopping in her chest.

It was a reminder. She’d wanted the truth of mating before he kissed her, right? So what had she been doing accosting him?

Breathing rough, the need for oxygen suddenly slamming inside her, Liza stared up at him, the temper that had always been her downfall exploding at the satisfaction she glimpsed in his eyes.

“After that kiss?” she exclaimed furiously. “Sorry, Breed, but maybe it’s not as damned powerful as you were hoping it was. I guess I have my answer. Those tabloids are full of shit.”

Swinging around, she made for the bathroom with the intent of locking herself in and taking the coldest shower possible.

She had taken maybe two steps—counting them wasn’t high on her list of priorities—when in the next breath, she was back flat against the wall and staring up at him as the first tear slid slowly from the corner of one eye.

Oh God, she hated crying. She never cried in front of anyone, and crying in front of him was just humiliating.

He was so strong, so dominant and determined. She wanted to be strong in his eyes as well.

Tears were not a sign of strength, thank you very much.

“Just let me go.” Rough, those damnable tears rasping at her throat, Liza tried to look away and hold back that pain.

Meeting his gaze was the hardest thing she had done in recent memory, but she forced herself to anyway. She met his gaze and swore if she saw pity there, she was going to slam her knee straight into his balls.

His lips quirked. “The scent of your sweet pussy weeping for me only just slightly overshadows your hunger to do me harm, Liza.”

Forcing the sneer to curl her lip and fight back her tears took everything she had. “Why not just call me ‘mate.’ That’s what Malachi calls Isabelle. And we both know that’s why my mouth is watering for your kiss almost as bad as my pussy is creaming for your dick.”

Vulgar, meant to be insulting. It might have been just that if it weren’t for the husky, phone-sex tone of her voice. And she might have felt just a smidgen of shame if his eyes hadn’t suddenly dilated in pure, undiluted lust as a primitive, animalistic growl rumbled in his chest.

If they had been close before, a second later it wouldn’t be possible for a breath of air to slide between their hips as his hands clamped on her rear, lifted her, and in one smooth move had her thighs spread, her knees clamping on his hips as he ground his erection, hard, into the vee of her thighs.

Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the room again.

Breathing had never been so difficult. Her nipples pressed hard into his chest with each breath she took, and her clit was so swollen, so sensitive that the feel of her silk panties grinding into it was torturous.

“When I bury my dick up that tight pussy, Liza, you’re going to wish you’d given more heed to whatever it is you think you know,” he warned her, his voice harsh. “Mate.” He nipped her lips, then licked the little wound.

Liza gasped, her lips parting, and as they opened, Stygian was there.

His kiss was incredibly hot. So hungry she could only give in to it as pleasure tore through her in a wave of sensation so intense she swore she nearly orgasmed from it. She could feel it building, pulsing, riding the edge of release with such sharp intensity that she shuddered with its need.

Just as quickly, he released her.

Liza swayed as she found herself alone, the wall the only thing between her and losing her balance completely.

Staring back at Stygian as he paced away from her, his hands tunneling through his hair in frustration, she wondered exactly how he managed it.

She couldn’t have walked away from him if her life had depended on it. Evidently the hunger was affecting her far more deeply than it was him.

Turning back to her, the blue glints in his eyes seemed to glow while his expression tightened with such savagery it sent an involuntary shudder up her spine.

“Mate.” His lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of pure lust. “My mate.”

Confidence and power filled him. Where was the fairness in that when she suddenly felt so…female. So much weaker than he, and for some unfathomable reason, ready to beg to submit to him.

Instead, she forced herself to lift her chin willfully.

“Yours?” Pushing herself away from the wall, she breathed in roughly. “Not hardly, Stygian. Some damned chemical reaction does not make me yours. Nor does it make me even want to be yours. So maybe you should consider revising your bedside manner, stud, because this one is only pissing me off.”

With that, she stalked to the bathroom, slammed the door closed and locked it.

She sure as hell didn’t want him smelling that particular lie.