she sneered mockingly.
Storme could feel the anger surging through her now; the aching, torn emotions that ripped through her were harder to define, but the anger was clearly recognizable.
As she stared back at him, seeing the seeming sincerity in his gaze, the urge for violence rose inside her like a dark, vicious cloud.
Fists clenched, she swung away from him, turned and tried to race from the kitchen, from the man, the Breed. She'd spent the past week hiding, running, avoiding this Breed that made her feel emotions and sensations she didn't want to feel.
He made her feel guilty, regretful, and he made her wish things were different, made her want to find reasons to trust him. And Storme knew there was no trusting a Breed.
How many had taught her that lesson, beginning the night her father and brother had died.
"By God, I'm sick of you running from me." Before she reached the door, his arm latched around her waist and she found herself pulled flush against his chest, his hold firm, possessive, as she felt his heart thundering at her back.
"And I'm sick of being locked up and made a prisoner," she cried out furiously.
"I'm sick of being used by you and I'm sick of being lied to."
She was turned before she could fight. His fingers threaded through her hair, pulled her head back, and his lips covered hers as she parted them to scream.
At least, she told herself she meant to scream. Instead her tongue met his, licked and stroked until she tempted it inside, where her mouth enclosed it and she suckled it with sharp, demanding movements of her lips.
A harsh growl echoed around her as her hands moved over his chest, his shoulders, pulling at the dark gray shirt that had complemented the long red hair and vivid blue eyes. She wanted it off his body. She wanted to feel him against her, the warmth and the strength she craved wrapped around her.
She tasted the softest hint of cinnamon before it was gone. The taste drew at her senses and had her reaching for more of him, the kiss growing deeper, stronger as she pulled at the edge of the shirt.
Her fingers fumbled as she tried to unbutton it. A ragged groan tore from her throat as she tried to pull the hem of the shirt from his pants.
Storme gave a groan herself as he pulled back, nipping his lips in retaliation as she tried to draw him to her.
There was something desperate, something ecstatic about being in his arms, feeling his touch, touching him and relishing the excitement that began to surge through her.
As his lips moved along her jaw and down her neck, Storme found her head tipping back in invitation. The thought of pain never entered her mind. Only pleasure could come from his touch there.
And only pleasure came. The rake of his teeth, the lick of his tongue, the feel of his lips smoothing along the column pulled a desperate mewl of pleasure from her lips.
"Come here." The demand was followed by his arm hooking beneath her knees as he lifted her against him, turned and strode through the living room and into the bedroom.
To the bed.
Storme felt her back meet the mattress as Styx came over her, his hands going instantly to the edges of the shirt she had borrowed from him, to rip the buttons from their moorings with a quick jerk.
She tried to follow suit, but his lips returned to hers, kissing her mindless as she felt him moving. His shirt was gone, giving the bare expanse of his flesh to her eager touch.
His fingers were at her jeans, tearing at the metal buttons, pushing the denim down her hips as her legs lifted and moved, her hips shifting, helping him undress her as their lips and tongues mated and dueled with a hunger that flared hotter, brighter than ever before.
Within minutes she was naked, then crying out hoarsely as he jerked back from her.
Moving to the edge of the bed, he yanked his boots from his feet, rose and stripped off his jeans, then turned back to her.
Storme felt the breath leave her chest at the sight of his cock, so thick and hard, the crest flushed nearly purple as it throbbed in lust, a sheen of pr**cum glistening on the tip as he hovered over her.
Her thighs parted for him, but he didn't fit his hips between them. Instead, before her astounded gaze, his head lowered and his tongue swiped through the hot, slick folds of flesh that ached in fiery need for his touch.
Storme shuddered as pleasure whipped through her. His tongue licked and stroked, flickered around her clit and ignored the desperate arch and shudder in her thighs.
"Styx, oh God, I can't stand it," she cried out, her voice hoarse as the need burned like wildfire through her sex.
Storme could feel her juices gathering inside before rushing to meet his licking tongue. His fingers parted the swollen slips as his tongue lapped at the sensitive flesh before circling her clit with fiery hunger.