Page 22 of Alien Devil's Wrath
When she turned to face me more fully, her lips were only inches from mine.
“I want to see everything,” she whispered, her voice carrying breathless anticipation. “Everything you’re capable of.”
BRONWEN
The chamber was a tight fit, the proximity forced my thigh to press against his and making me hyperaware of the heat radiating from his body. I could count every breath he took, feel every slight shift of his powerful body against mine.
This close, I could see details I’d missed before. The way his iron-grey traceries followed the natural lines of his musculature, creating patterns that were uniquely his. The small scar just below his left horn. The way his pupils were dilated despite the dim light.
“You’re aroused,” he said, his voice rough, his own need evident.
“Of course I am.” I moved closer, drawn by everything about him. The heat, the scent, the barely contained power. “Watching you work was better than any entertainment I’ve had in years. Possibly ever.”
His pupils dilated further at my words, and I watched those intricate traceries remain completely still against his skin. They were just markings, beautiful but static. I could sense his desire now, a warm rush uniquely him that made my core clench with want.
“You enjoyed watching me kill them.”
“I enjoyed watching you be exactly what you are instead of trying to hide it.” My other hand came up to trace the traceries on his chest, tracing their intricate patterns. “You’re stunning when you embrace the monster instead of fighting it.”
He caught my wrists, his grip gentle but firm. The size difference was striking. His hands could span my ribcage, could probably snap my bones without effort, but his touch remained careful. Controlled.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, but I could hear the want in his voice.
“Don’t I?” I looked up at him, letting him see everything I was feeling. The hunger, the anticipation, the complete lack of fear. “I want the predator. I want the killer who just dismantled eight trained soldiers like they were children playing at war.”
His control cracked visibly. I watched it happen, saw the exact moment his civilized facade crumbled and raw instinct took over.
He released my wrists only to cup my face in his large hands, his mouth crashing down on mine with desperate hunger. The kiss was everything I’d been hoping for. Raw and claiming and edged with barely restrained violence that made my blood sing.
When his fangs scraped against my lower lip, I gasped at the sharp sensation and the immediate flood of warmth that followed. His saliva was already affecting me, euphoric agents making every nerve ending more sensitive, more alive.
“Is this what you want?” he demanded against my mouth, his voice rough with need. “You want the beast?”
“I want you to stop pretending you’re anything else,” I said, then bit his lower lip just hard enough to make him growl.
That shattered what remained of his restraint.
His hands were everywhere. Tangled in my hair, spanning my ribs, working at my clothes with urgent need. When he foundthe hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head, his eyes went dark with want.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over my nipples through the thin fabric covering them.
The reverent hunger in his voice sent liquid heat straight through me. I arched against him, seeking more contact, more friction, more of everything he was offering. Every touch felt magnified, more intense than anything I’d experienced.
He seemed to understand exactly what I needed. One hand worked between us, unfastening my pants and sliding beneath the fabric to find me already slick and ready.
“So wet,” he growled against my throat, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin. “All this for me?”
“Only you,” I gasped as his fingers found my clit, circling with exactly the right pressure. “Always you.”
The skill with which he touched me was devastating. Every stroke was calculated to drive me higher, and the lingering effects of his saliva made every sensation twice as intense. I could feel myself coming apart under his touch, becoming desperate and needy.
But it wasn’t just physical. A warmth was expanding in my chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome, that had nothing to do with euphoric agents and everything to do with the way he was looking at me. Like I was precious. Like I was everything he’d been searching for.
“The way you touch me,” I managed between gasps, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Like you’ve been studying me, learning exactly what I need.”
He paused, pulling back to look at me with surprise and desire. “You’re still trying to analyze this?”
“Can’t help it. But it’s not clinical anymore. It’s just... you make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel.”
