Wolves and Coyotes had been her father and brother's specialties. Their genetic genius had created Breeds other scientists had been in awe of. Breeds that had turned on their creators.
And one of those Breeds was touching her. Not one they had created, but one created just as they had created others.
She looked down, watching as the fingers of one hand loosened the buttons of her plain black blouse. The material parted slowly, the edges easing apart to reveal her unbound br**sts.
Storme stared down at the flushed, swollen mounds of her br**sts. Her ni**les, normally a soft pink, relaxed and uninteresting, were now hard, pointed and much darker.
"Lord love a Wolf." The soft breath of sound had her gaze jerking up to his expression.
He looked rapt, staring at her br**sts as his hands slowly cupped the hard mounds, feeling them, holding them in his palms as though they were in need of his support.
The feel of the calloused flesh rasping against the silken curves had her ni**les throbbing. They were tight and hard, painfully sensitive and aching for touch.
He wasn't gentle. He wasn't rough. His fingers caressed, molded and experienced the feel of the hardened flesh as Storme felt her knees weaken from the sensations tightening. God, she just needed him to touch harder, firmer.
No, she needed more. She wanted, needed his lips on her. She wanted them covering the tight peaks, suckling on them, drawing them into his mouth and driving her insane with the pleasure.
"Styx," she whispered his name, just to feel it on her lips, to feel a part of him on her lips.
She wanted to taste him as desperately as she wanted to be tasted. She wanted to give and to take. She ached for an intimacy she had never dared to even consider before tonight.
How dangerous was this? So dangerous she knew she might never recover from this night if it continued in this way.
She was going to have to stop this, very soon.
But she didn't want to stop it. She could feel the conflict rising inside her, beginning to tear at her. Fear and need, memories and past hatreds, a decade of running, hiding, fighting for just a few moments to find peace, to find warmth. In ten years she hadn't found it, until a Wolf pulled her into his arms.
Until the enemy touched her.
"Sweet mystery," he whispered. "Tell me, if I suck these pretty ni**les, will you be a good lass and tell me your name?"
She didn't dare. God no. She couldn't handle the thought of having him realize who she was, of having the lover, the protector, turn into the jailor.
Storme shook her head.
"I'll be making a name for you then, love, because sucking those ni**les is something I cannot resist," he warned her as his lips brushed against hers and his thumbs stroked over her ni**les. "I'll not suck your pretty ni**les without a name to lay to one who possesses such a perfect bounty though."
She was going to melt right there in his arms. Was it really fair that a creature such as this should exist? That he could tempt and seduce where only hatred should exist?
"My little mystery. My sweet, tempting little Sugar."
He found his name for her at the same time he found her lips.
Storme felt the moan trapped in her throat as the most incredible lash of sensations began to rush through her. His lips, impossibly knowing, heated, hungry, flowed over hers as his tongue licked against the seam of her mouth.
She swore she tasted the chocolate he had relished at dinner. That and perhaps a hint of cinnamon. A hint of heat.
Her lips parted.
She couldn't help but open to him, to allow his tongue to lick at hers, his lips to slant over hers, as his thigh pressed tighter, harder against the mound of her pu**y.
She was incredibly wet. The feel of moisture collecting between her thighs added to the sensitivity of her suddenly swollen clit as she felt her arms lifting, her hands gripping his strong neck.
She wanted his kiss, and she shouldn't. She should fear the feel of his longer canines as he nipped at her lips then returned for a deeper, hotter kiss.
His lips moved over hers, creating a fire she couldn't control as she felt the need tightening in her belly and clenching in her pu**y.
Storme felt her senses dissolving, her fear evaporating. And they shouldn't be.