He made her feel guilty, regretful, and he made her wish things were different, made her want to find reasons to trust him. And Storme knew there was no trusting a Breed.
How many had taught her that lesson, beginning the night her father and brother had died.
"By God, I'm sick of you running from me." Before she reached the door, his arm latched around her waist and she found herself pulled flush against his chest, his hold firm, possessive, as she felt his heart thundering at her back.
"And I'm sick of being locked up and made a prisoner," she cried out furiously. "I'm sick of being used by you and I'm sick of being lied to."
She was turned before she could fight. His fingers threaded through her hair, pulled her head back, and his lips covered hers as she parted them to scream.
At least, she told herself she meant to scream. Instead her tongue met his, licked and stroked until she tempted it inside, where her mouth enclosed it and she suckled it with sharp, demanding movements of her lips.
A harsh growl echoed around her as her hands moved over his chest, his shoulders, pulling at the dark gray shirt that had complemented the long red hair and vivid blue eyes. She wanted it off his body. She wanted to feel him against her, the warmth and the strength she craved wrapped around her.
She tasted the softest hint of cinnamon before it was gone. The taste drew at her senses and had her reaching for more of him, the kiss growing deeper, stronger as she pulled at the edge of the shirt.
Her fingers fumbled as she tried to unbutton it. A ragged groan tore from her throat as she tried to pull the hem of the shirt from his pants.
Storme gave a groan herself as he pulled back, nipping his lips in retaliation as she tried to draw him to her.
There was something desperate, something ecstatic about being in his arms, feeling his touch, touching him and relishing the excitement that began to surge through her.
As his lips moved along her jaw and down her neck, Storme found her head tipping back in invitation. The thought of pain never entered her mind. Only pleasure could come from his touch there.
And only pleasure came. The rake of his teeth, the lick of his tongue, the feel of his lips smoothing along the column pulled a desperate mewl of pleasure from her lips.
"Come here." The demand was followed by his arm hooking beneath her knees as he lifted her against him, turned and strode through the living room and into the bedroom. To the bed.
Storme felt her back meet the mattress as Styx came over her, his hands going instantly to the edges of the shirt she had borrowed from him, to rip the buttons from their moorings with a quick jerk.
She tried to follow suit, but his lips returned to hers, kissing her mindless as she felt him moving. His shirt was gone, giving the bare expanse of his flesh to her eager touch.
His fingers were at her jeans, tearing at the metal buttons, pushing the denim down her hips as her legs lifted and moved, her hips shifting, helping him undress her as their lips and tongues mated and dueled with a hunger that flared hotter, brighter than ever before.
Within minutes she was naked, then crying out hoarsely as he jerked back from her.
Moving to the edge of the bed, he yanked his boots from his feet, rose and stripped off his jeans, then turned back to her.
Storme felt the breath leave her chest at the sight of his cock, so thick and hard, the crest flushed nearly purple as it throbbed in lust, a sheen of pre-cum glistening on the tip as he hovered over her.
Her thighs parted for him, but he didn't fit his hips between them. Instead, before her astounded gaze, his head lowered and his tongue swiped through the hot, slick folds of flesh that ached in fiery need for his touch.
Storme shuddered as pleasure whipped through her. His tongue licked and stroked, flickered around her clit and ignored the desperate arch and shudder in her thighs.
"Styx, oh God, I can't stand it," she cried out, her voice hoarse as the need burned like wildfire through her sex.
Storme could feel her juices gathering inside before rushing to meet his licking tongue. His fingers parted the swollen slips as his tongue lapped at the sensitive flesh before circling her clit with fiery hunger.
"So good," she panted, unable to keep her silence, unable to hold back the pleasure she was feeling. "Oh God, Styx. It's so good. So hot."
His tongue flicked around her clit in a lash of fiery sensation and incredible pleasure.
A hungry growl met the words, speeding up her heart rate and spurring her arousal.
Her knees bent, her thighs parting farther as her hips arched to lift closer.
"Styx." Desperation began to fill her at the ache centered in her pussy, the clenching, heated hunger that radiated from the very heart of her femininity.
Storme felt his fingers moving as though he sensed the need, two pressing at the greedy entrance as his lips surrounded the bud of her clit and began to suckle it with tempting, firm pressure.
Her fingers fisted in the comforter beneath her. As her head whirled with sensation, the need to find something to hold on to became overwhelming.
As his lips and tongue tormented and tortured her clit, his fingers worked slowly inside her pussy, parting the tender tissue, stretching it as burning flares of impending orgasm began to race through her.
This wasn't love, she thought desperately. This was just pleasure, it was just hunger. She could still walk away without regrets, she was convinced of it.
That thought was distant though, without conviction, and shrouded with such intense pleasure she was on the verge of screaming.
Strong, masculine fingers moved inside her, stroking, caressing tender tissue and ultrasensitive nerve endings. Thrusting her hips upward, she wedged his fingers in deeper, a cry falling from her lips as he chose that moment to cover the tender bundle of nerves with his lips.
Her clit, throbbing and swollen, lifted to the damp heat of his mouth. Fire and ice seemed to wash through her system, tear across her nerve endings, and pleasure stormed her senses with hard bursts of electric sensation.
Her hips jerked against the impalements, the sliding of his fingers inside her, the retreat, the sudden fullness of the inner thrust that sent fiery waves of pleasure rushing through her womb.
Shaking, trembling from the excess pleasure, Storme lifted her hands from the comforter and tangled her fingers in the long, coarse strands of his hair. Bunching in the heavy warmth, she held his head in place, her hips rising and falling, forcing his fingers harder, deeper inside her as ragged cries began to tear from her throat.
She could feel the force of the impending ecstasy beginning to burn inside her. Felt the sensations multiply, racing across her nerve endings and screaming through her senses.
"Styx!" She moaned his name desperately. "Harder." Her hips churned on his fingers. "Oh God, fuck me harder, Styx. Harder ..."
The pace of his fingers quickened, moving inside the slick recesses of her pussy as she felt that tight, burning ball of need explode in her clit, her womb, and throw her into rapture.
A muffled, weak scream tore from her lips as her hips jerked up, her thighs shaking, her clit radiating with a wildfire of pleasure as her orgasm overtook her and threw her into a brilliant fire burst of light, color and screaming pleasure.
Styx was desperate. An agony of hunger and lust throbbed through his entire body. His cock was harder than he could ever remember it being. It throbbed and pulsed, pre-cum dampening the crest and slickening the bulging flesh as he came to his knees and positioned himself between her thighs.
The bare flesh of the folds of her pussy flowered open, glistening and shimmering slick and wet as he gripped the shaft of this thick flesh and placed the head at the heated entrance.