That studied concentration on her face pricked at him. He could feel an awareness he didn't know how to describe moving inside him.
His flesh tingled at the sensation, muscles rippling as though they were being invaded. The hair along the back of his neck prickled, a feeling he was highly uncomfortable with.
Mercury wasn't accustomed to the signs of primal awareness that other Breeds took for granted. The drugs the scientists had given him to suppress his animal genetics years before his rescue had completely eradicated not just the instinctive responses of his animal genetics but also the feral, uncontrollable intensity he used to possess.
But now, as he watched Ria's studied concentration of the files, the hairs at his nape seemed to lift in warning.
"Do you think you can find a spy in those files?" Suspicion echoed heavily in his voice.
She lifted her eyes again, her expression disparaging.
"That's not my job," she drawled. "My job is to determine if you have enough control of the situation to allow you to possess the nifty little gadgets and toys that Vanderale sends you before they ever hit production. Don't fool yourself, Mercury. I'm not here to do your job for you."
She snapped the file closed, her eyes gleaming with an edge of anger as she rose from her chair and stalked back to the file table. The file was slapped back onto the pile before she bent over for another.
She bent over.
The skirt tightened over her shapely ass.
Full, beautiful globes filled his vision. His hand fisted, stretched, his fingers bending as though clawed, as a sudden, horrifying haze of hunger washed over him.
He had to have her.
* * *
One minute she was searching for the file she remembered seeing the day before, the next minute there was an iron rod pressing against the seam of her ass through her skirt and Mercury's pants.
Eyes widening, her gaze flew to the arms trapping her at the sides, heavily muscled arms, with attached hands that were gripping the wooden table, nails biting into it as a low growl sounded at the back of her neck.
Oh hell. This was not good. She could feel the need to back into him, to roll her hips against his straining c**k and feel the fierce throb of hunger in it.
"The cameras," she suddenly managed to gasp, remembering the small piece of electronics in the corner of the room behind them.
"They can't see shit," he snarled at her ear. "Pull your skirt up for me."
"I will not," she hissed, scandalized. "I'm not here to"
"Do it or I will. And if I touch you, I may not let go until I'm coming inside that hot little pu**y I smell. Now pull the f**king skirt up."
Ria shuddered. Bent over as she was, her elbows braced on the table, she was in one of the most vulnerable positions that a woman could know. And he wanted her to make it worse?
"Merc"
"Now." His breathing was hard at her ear, lust echoing in the imperative need of the word he uttered.
Ria fought back the shiver building in her spine and the uncontrollable impulse to do as he commanded.
"Mercury ..."
"Make me do it, and it's over with," he snarled, his teeth nipping at her ear. "I'll f**k you, Ria. Right here, right now. If I touch you with my hands, we're both screwed, and I don't care who's watching."
Oh God.
She lay against the table, feeling him shift as her hands moved to the sides of her skirt.
She was actually doing it? She was inching her skirt up her legs, baring her thighs and the naked curves of her ass. And they were naked. The thong she wore did very little to hide the rounded globes of her ass.
And as she did, Ria could feel her arousal growing, blooming. Her pu**y was dampening, preparing for him, aching for him.