Warlord's Mercy - Cynthia Sax Page 0,21

around her. His chest rose and fell against her back. His cock pressed between her ass cheeks. She was held and touched and protected.

A smile curled her lips as she fell asleep.

She woke mid-rest cycle. Her Warlord was braced over her. His hips pinned hers to the sleeping support. His cock was nestled between her pussy lips. Her legs were hooked around his waist.

“This isn’t what you want.” She lifted her gaze, met his.

His eyes were as black as open space and shone with the glow of passion.

He did want this.

Not that he would ever acknowledge that verbally.

She would talk for both of them. “Use me any way you desire, my Warlord.” Lea placed her hands on his chest. “My body is yours.”

A shudder rolled through him and he began to move, stroking his shaft along her flesh, her wetness easing that decadent slide. With each surge forward, his rim brushed against her clit, sending tremors of pleasure throughout her form.

Her need for him, primed by their platonic touching, escalated. She ran her hands up his chest, savoring the muscles she encountered, the scars decorating his skin.

He was a warrior, a Warlord, and his violence-filled past was written on his unbending physique. She curled her fingers over his shoulders, holding onto him as he rode her without entry.

Her Warlord grunted, that uncivilized sound thrilling her, and he ravished her faster, pressing harder into her. She branded his cock with her pussy juices, putting her claim on him.

He was hers…for the moment.

But he was holding back, and she didn’t like that. “Take me harder.” She kicked his clenched ass with her heels. “Give me more.” She wanted him as wild as she was, craved the sweet pain only her savage warrior could give her.

Her male resisted her, handling her willing form with a frustrating hesitance. She wore his bite marks, his bruises, yet he treated her as though she was fragile.

Breakable.

“I said, give me more.” She surged upward and clipped his square chin with her teeth.

He growled and smacked her back down, driving her against the sleeping support.

“More, Warlord.” She nipped at him again.

He covered her lips with his, punishing her impudence with a harsh kiss. Her Warlord ground against her, spearing into the seam, demanding entrance to her mouth.

She moaned with happiness and opened fully to him. He slapped his tongue against hers. She trembled and clung to him, wanting, needing—that reprimand, that slight taste of hurt.

He rumbled and his fucking-without-entry intensified. Their bodies crashed together and parted. He beat her pussy with his shaft and her mouth with his tongue.

And she loved it, glowing under that delectable abuse, quivering, shaking as her passion escalated. His need grew at the same head-spinning rate, the ring around the base of his cock expanding.

She broke their combative kiss, tilted her head to the side.

“Bite me.” She offered the spot he had previously claimed, yearning for the hurt his teeth piercing her flesh would grant her.

“Can’t.” His voice was an endless void of dark cravings. “Fragile.”

He was pounding her into the stack of leathers. Her pussy hummed with that impact. And he continued to view her as being delicate.

“Mark me.” She appealed to his primitive, possessive nature. “Show the other males I’m yours.”

“There will be no other males.” He grabbed her wrists, stretched her arms high above her head, his hold on her thrillingly severe. “You’re mine.”

With that declaration, her Warlord lowered his head, fastened his lips over her, and bit, puncturing her skin with his sharp teeth.

Pain shot through her, the most exquisite pleasure accompanying it. She shattered, screaming, flinging herself upward, her hips and wrists secured to the sleeping support by him, her scarred male.

He roared. Wet heat coursed over her stomach, between her breasts. He came with a vigor no human could match, coating her with hard pulses of cum. One, two, three, tremors rocked him and he collapsed on top of her, subduing her writhing with the weight of him.

She couldn’t escape him, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to do that. The link between the two of them strengthened with each encounter, each touch.

That alarmed her. She had to leave the planet. It wasn’t safe on Chamele 4 for her to stay. And while he might use her form, he had rejected her as a mate. The evidence of that was on her chest. Her Warlord had refused to fuck her fully.

He rumbled as though agreeing with her thoughts, and he rolled onto his back, taking her with