Marie Harte - Gunnar's Game

“You're so pretty,” Ava growled, her beast there in the depth of her voice and the hint of fangs touching her lower lip. “So big. I wonder what you'll feel like inside me.”

“Not gonna happen.” His hoarse response caused her to smile.

She rose from the bed and straightened her shorts. Ava stared at his half-hard cock now covered with cum and nodded. “Oh yeah, we're going to happen soon, Gunnar. I'll play your games now, but in the end, I intend to win.” He had the strangest sense she meant what she said. A woman stalking Frederik Gunnar Tersch? “Baby, I can eat you for breakfast.”

She approached until she stood right in front of him. “Why wait for breakfast?” She lifted a finger and rimmed his mouth.

The scent and taste of her cream turned him inside out. Before she could draw her hand away, he grabbed it and took her finger into his mouth. He closed his eyes and sucked, his beast and berserker both rolling in delight as they absorbed the scent of his mate. When he couldn't take another taste without fucking her good and hard, Tersch pulled her finger from his mouth.

“You keep pushing, you won't like what you find.”

“Baby, you don't know the meaning of the word 'push.'” Ava chuckled and had the nerve to tuck him back into his trousers. The feel of her hand on his cock brought out his berserker.

In a flash, he put his hand to her throat and squeezed, warning his mate to understand her place. “Let me go before I hurt you. Because I want nothing more than to hear you scream,” he warned, shaky and trying to tamp down his hormones.

He forced himself to let her go but didn't step away. Neither did she, and his berserker smiled at her fearlessness.

“Promises, promises,” she said and drew her hand from his cock. She licked his cum from her fingers and winked. “I'll see you later, big guy. Try to get some rest and dream of me.” Ava pranced away, flaunting that tight, round ass at him, like waving a red flag at an angry bull.

He took a step in her direction.

Fortunately, Ava left his room and closed the door behind her. He missed her the moment she left. But aside from pining for the woman he couldn't have, he felt a huge wave of unease. Ava had sounded as if she expected to have him in the end.

And that would spell disaster.

The uncanny woman had a knack for getting under his skin. His eyes nearly crossed at the thought of tasting more than her arousal off her fingertips. He could too easily imagine going down on her, eating her out until she cried his name, then fucking her so hard they saw stars.

He grimaced down at his painful erection and stripped. Heading for his shower—which was what he'd initially come back to the room to do—he stepped into the stall and let the cold water flow. But it did nothing to stem his arousal, especially when he heard a few hoarse shouts from his team caught up in their mates.

Gunnar jerked himself off twice more before he found a measure of peace. He fell asleep in his bed, awash in her scent.

For the first time in a long time, he slept like the dead. But he dreamed of Ava, all the same.

Lonnie shot up in bed, covered in sweat. The dreams had come again. Blurred images of death, torment, and the ultimate prize out of reach. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, glad he'd at least woken alone. The sound of a shower told him Melissa hadn't yet left his hotel room. Arriving hours earlier, the annoying bitch had whined and complained, but at least she'd agreed to suck him off so he could catch some sleep.

Melissa defined the ideal of a wet dream. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes, full, pretty tits, and a tight cunt that could wring him dry with ease. Unfortunately, her constant clinginess was wearing thin.

When they'd first met, he'd seen her instant response and had been glad of it.

He considered himself an attractive man, but he knew what had really drawn her to him. Power. Lonnie could manipulate psychic energy as easily as he'd influenced his peers and superiors in his long trip up the political ladder. Now he had more than mental strength, but the position in Washington to do great and terrible things.

A chance meeting with Jack Keiser had convinced him Melissa would be the key to giving Lonnie the edge he needed. Jack had been perfect. A spotless record with the government, the instincts of a deadly hunter, and the psychic status as one of the Psychic Warfare Program's—the PWP's—best new recruits. A few blasts of Lonnie's psychic energy, and he'd convinced Jack that Jack and Melissa had married. Quite a coup, because not only had Lonnie been able to keep tabs on the Circs, but he'd had firsthand knowledge of how Jack worked in the field.

Lonnie rubbed his fingers together, pleased at the fiery tingle they produced.

When Melissa stepped out of the bathroom, her hair damp, clad in a towel, she stopped at the sight of him.

He spread his naked thighs, aroused at the thought of controlling her once more. Melissa had such strong shields. Taking them down, brick by painful brick, aroused him to no end. “Come here.”

She smiled, no doubt thinking herself in love. Selfish, vain, and needy, Melissa Ramirez was just his type of woman. He didn't bother hiding his physical response to her beauty as she drew close. “On your knees, my dear.” She knelt before him.

“I think next time we'll bring Grayson in to join our fun.” He knew how much she loathed anything related to the Circs.

She frowned at him, and he touched her right between the eyes. He concentrated a blast of manipulation, and her frown eased.

“Whatever you want, lover.”

“Yes, whatever I want,” he repeated. He looked to the nightstand. “Get me the lube.”

Melissa blanched. “But I thought—”

“Do it.”

He could tell she tried to fight the compulsion, but she couldn't. Her fear felt delightfully thick as it settled over him.

“That's it.” He watched her return with the tube in hand. “Now spread it over me. All over me.”

She did, and he swelled, so excited. Fucking Melissa's ass degraded her. She hated it, absolutely hated it because she loved it, thanks to some delightfully dysfunctional drama in her past. It had become his favorite way to take her, and a way to punish her for enjoying Jack Keiser so much. Though he'd ordered her to feign a life with Jack, he'd never intended her to enjoy the man's clumsy attentions.

As he took her hard, forgoing any foreplay, he enjoyed the snug feel of her ass around his cock and dissociated his emotion from the act. He thought about what he had planned for Dawn Endeavor, and in particular, Alicia Sharpe.

It had taken a lot of time and effort, but he now counted her among his arsenal of weapons. With every meeting and every slight touch, he drew her deeper and deeper into his web. Unfortunately, it had taken longer than he'd anticipated bringing her to heel.

The woman infuriated him, because he knew the truth about her. What he wouldn't give to have so much power. And none of it had been artificially manufactured. The woman had been born with magic. An anomaly even among psychics, Alicia Sharpe had lived far longer than anyone he'd ever met. A fact he'd only found out due to a freak coincidence. Imagine his father having a photograph of the woman from thirty years earlier looking exactly the same. For once, his father's devotion to South American causes had come in handy.

Not only had Sharpe helped his father take care of some illiterate villagers in the remote jungle, she'd introduced him to the notorious Elliot Pearl, founder of the Circe serum and all-around mad scientist. Another piece that fit the puzzle, since Lonnie had learned from Pearl that a woman matching Sharpe's description had given him the kernel of the idea to develop the serum. Through trial and error and a mysterious sample of mutated blood—Alicia's blood—Elliot had revolutionized genetic manipulation. And the Circs were born.