Resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding it.
Hell, resigned to the fact that soon, very soon, she would be begging him to f**k her.
Watching, her heart racing, her breathing uneven, Liza parted her lips as his head lowered, his lips almost touching hers, so close she swore she could feel the warmth of them caressing her softer curves.
“I don’t want your kiss until I’m certain the sheer anticipation of it will make me crazy.”
“Breeds are already crazy,” she promised him, her voice weak enough now that she was mentally cursing herself for it. “So don’t try to blame that one on me. And you can just keep anticipating, because I’m rather inclined to keep my kisses to myself.”
Yet she was tilting her head to the side to give him greater access to the lobe of her ear as she felt his lips brush against it.
“You don’t know what you’re tempting.” The rough, primal sound of his voice had her heart skipping a beat before racing double time.
“Let me go and it won’t be a problem,” she promised him, even though she knew from the bottom of her soul that the last thing she wanted was for him to release her.
The last thing she should do was remain there in his arms—not when she wanted his touch like she had wanted nothing in her life.
And that thought, so shocking, so terrifying, had her forcing her hands to push at him rather than simply absorbing the heat through his shirt, into her flesh.
“Letting you go isn’t so easy, Liza.” His lips moved lower, brushing against her neck, intensifying that arc of sizzling sensation from her neck straight to her ni**les, then to her clit.
Liza forced herself to drag in a deep breath, only to find her senses infused with the scent of midnight and forests. And there wasn’t a single damned forest anywhere close. Which meant it was the scent of the Breed holding her that was tempting her with the lush, sensual scent.
“Make it easy.” Forcing the words to her lips was harder than she had ever imagined it would be. “Let me go, Stygian, because this isn’t what I want.”
He stiffened against her.
Oh God, if he didn’t listen to her soon, she was going to be begging him to kiss her, to touch her, to f**k her right there against the kitchen cabinet where her friends could walk in at any moment.
“Liza, there’s a strange cycle in the driveway. Do you think it’s—Oh—” Chelsea’s voice dwindled to nothing as Liza jumped in guilt and tried, once again unsuccessfully, to push Stygian’s broad form away from her.
Her head turned, catching her friend’s shocked expression as she stood frozen in the patio doorway. It was as though she was unable to tear her gaze from the sight of Liza held so close to Stygian’s much larger body.
“Close your mouth, Chelsea,” Liza ordered irritably as she pushed at Stygian again. “He’ll let me go or I’m going to see how much damage I can do when I start driving my knee into certain parts of his body.” She shot him a decidedly threatening look with a tight smile as she tensed her knee in preparation.
His lashes lowered again, that wicked “fuck you” look spearing straight to her core and clenching her womb in an exquisite need that nearly stole her breath.
She was going to leave with him. Liza knew she was.
She was simply too weak, and she wanted to be close to him, wanted to tempt her own destruction too desperately.
Emotional suicide.
That was what it was, emotional suicide, and she was helpless against the voice whispering inside herself to just go for it. To take it. To tempt fate. To tempt destruction.
To tempt a Breed.
“I’m going out for the morning, Chel,” she told her friend as her gaze locked with Stygian’s once again. “I’ll have my phone on me if you need me.”
If Cullen called and plans changed or if Ashley, Emma, Chimera and Shiloh decided to arrive earlier than normal.
But would either of those things really matter?
Because it was the job of the Navajo Breed Underground Network to find her first, and to offer her asylum.
That was her job, and if this Breed had information about how to find the two women and the Bengal Breed they were searching for, then perhaps it would help her to find them first.
“You’re going with him?” Wide-eyed and a little too amused to suit her, Chelsea asked the question with artful innocence. “On the back of a motorcycle?”