This hothouse flower was one week from final testing before her induction into one of the most professional, most secretive rescue forces in the world.
She could spar with him.
She highly doubted she could take him, but she knew he would take her.
Sensually.
Erotically.
Creaming her panties was an understatement for the slick moisture now gathered on her pu**y.
Hunger didn’t come close to describing the need rushing through her body.
Her ni**les were so hard the lace of her bra was such an abrasion it was painful.
Liza wanted nothing more than to pull her clothes—No, she wanted Stygian to tear the clothes from her body. To want her with such strength, with such uncontrolled lust that nothing mattered but f**king her. But pushing the broad length of his c**k inside her, driving her mad with each thrust until the wicked additional erection filled her, locking him inside her as his release spurted to the very depths of her vagina.
She wanted him until she felt on fire for his touch. Until the soft cotton of the dove gray lounge pants and matching camisole top were so irritating, so impossible to bear she wanted nothing more than to strip.
She needed to be naked.
She needed her mate naked.
Now!
CHAPTER 18
As sparring sessions went, it was one of the rougher ones.
Stygian knew he would have bruises in places he hadn’t had bruises in years. Coyotes were mean gutter fighters, and that was just a fact of life.
That meant bruises in places a man normally didn’t have to worry about bruises when sparring with them. He seriously couldn’t remember a time when sparring with a Lion or Wolf that he’d ever had his arm dislocated by a kick beneath his arm.
How the hell Dog had managed that one, he wasn’t certain yet. All he knew was the dirty bastard had caught him unaware at the same time Flint had been coming at him with a mean right hook.
Moving quickly to the side to avoid a hard jab at his nose—no one could accuse Flint of playing nice—Stygian came back with a powerful blow to the other Breed’s stomach, quickly followed by a mean left hook that Stygian only barely softened before connecting with Flint’s jaw.
Even pulling the punch, Flint was sent flying back against the padded wall. His dark hair dripping with sweat as he shook his head, Flint came back at him.
Blocking a hard kick aimed for his abdomen, Stygian was in the process of sweeping the other man’s leg out from under him when the scent caught him.
Like a sledgehammer, the scent of feminine lust tore through his senses.
He froze, his head lifting, drawing in the sweetest, most addictive scent he could have imagined.
In the same breath Flint delivered a powerful blow to his midsection with a kick that nearly knocked him from his feet.
A rush of air exhaled from his lungs as Stygian found himself crashing into the padded wall.
Done in by the scent of his mate’s lust.
God help him, he had to get the others out of here. There wasn’t a chance he was going to make it to their suite before he buried his dick inside the lush, honeysuckle sweet depths of her pu**y.
Catching Flint coming in for another hard kick, Stygian gripped his ankle, twisted then jumped back as the other Breed did a midair flip that would have ended with his foot in Stygian’s jaw if he’d been a breath faster.
Landing in a crouch, Flint grinned back at him.
“You’re getting old, Stygian,” he claimed. “You damn near knocked me out last week when you countered that same kick. But then”—his brows lifted suggestively—“the scent of your mate’s hunger wasn’t there to tempt you either. Was it?”