A. Arthur: Passion's Prey

She was enjoying this as much as he was and for X, that was huge.

He pulled back from her, dropping his hands from her breasts and moving them to her rounded ass once more. Pulling her to the edge of the table, he used his thighs to push hers farther apart, then speared his dick right into her entrance. She bucked beneath him, her arms going around his neck to scrape along his back.

Pumping began immediately because he couldn’t hold back. Blood roared in his ears as he drove deeper into her. She lifted her legs, locked them at the ankle behind his back.

“Come for me,” she taunted, her eyes glittering with arousal as she held on tightly.

He gripped her ass, his fingers slipping into the crevice as he pulled her closer to him. “After you,” he replied.

She pumped back, matching his motions stroke for stroke. Her acceptance of his entire length at one time was phenomenal. No woman had ever been able to take him all at once.

He’d thought her taste exquisite; now the feel of her threatened to consume him. She was so wet, her walls clenching him so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe. Years ago when he’d decided that piercings could also offer the stinging pain he seemed to thrive on, X had gone to his old pal Geo—who’d done all of the seventeen tattoos on his body—and explained what he wanted. Geo hadn’t bristled, just set to work. The four one-and-a-half-centimeter metal balls that had been inserted just beneath the skin of the underside of his penis created exactly the effect X wanted. At the moment of insertion and for a short time thereafter there had been pain, but whenever he was inside a female the pleasure was damn intense and well worth it.

Right now, as he thrust deep and pulled out of Caprise, he felt like roaring, it felt so damn good. Instead he lifted her into his arms and turned her away from the table. She could only hold on to him for support now. And that she did well. Her breasts were plastered to his chest, her wet pussy sucking his dick like a hungry baby. X pumped harder, faster, wanting her release right now.

She didn’t moan his name but her nails were going to make a permanent mark on his back, her signature of sorts. Inwardly he smiled at the thought of walking around with a piece of her with him for all time. When she pulled back from him, X moved a hand to the small of her back to keep her steady.

“Now,” she said through clenched teeth. “Right now!”

Her words echoed his thoughts as their thrusts continued, the smacking sound of their connection filling the room. He knew the moment her release hit her because her back arched almost all the way back. If she weren’t a cat she would have surely broken some bones with this position. But she was, and she was a beautiful feline at that. Her eyes were bright with desire, her body long, lithe, sinewy.

His dick was buried inside her to the hilt, his own release coming seconds after hers began. X had to hold on to her extra tight as the effort racked his entire body, had even his bicep muscles trembling. He’d barely made it to the wall before he felt like his legs would give way.

But they didn’t. X held her tight to him as his dick continued to pulsate inside her. She was releasing her legs, trying to push away from him when he bit the lobe of her ear to keep her still.

“Not yet,” he whispered roughly. “Not fucking yet.”

She lowered her head to his chest, not lying on him, but her forehead resting against him as she gathered her breath. Her hands were no longer on him and X felt her pulling away second by second. The desire was ebbing, if only slightly. In a minute she’d be ready to bolt or to kick his ass, neither of which he was going to stand for.

He had some really bad news for Caprise Delgado—he wasn’t leaving this place without her. And if she wanted to argue about that … wait. X paused, lifted his head to the air, and inhaled.

Rogues.

The foreign shifter was right behind him. Black and Thunder were both at his side, until the hallway narrowed out just before hitting the dressing rooms. Darel calculated the odds of him taking the Goddess and Black or Thunder killing the new shifter, Rolando. Odds were heavily in their favor. As he’d come down the stairs his mind had only half been on Rolando and the look of pure rage on his face. The other part of him had been focused on following the scent that came from that fuckin’ Faction shifter. After their altercation on the side of the road he’d never forgotten the three of them—the leader with his pompous ass, the second that walked around like the Incredible Fucking Hulk, and the one who’d tried to kill him. His side still ached a bit from the injuries he’d sustained that night. He was healing, albeit a little too slow for a shifter. But Darel wasn’t in the mood to question the whys about that. Now he was out for blood—and the Hulk was on his turf.

At the last door near the end of the hallway Darel stopped. Placing both his palms on the door he lowered his head, inhaled deeply over and over again. “They’re in here,” he said with a growl rumbling deep in his chest.

“What are we waiting for?” Rolando questioned.

“Shut up!” Black warned.

The air was thick with scents, from rage, to feline, to lust, and finally resting on sex. They’d had sex, of that Darel was sure. He didn’t really give a damn if the Faction shifter had sex just before he died. Maybe that would make death more acceptable to the big bastard. Rolando would probably go nuts once he picked up that scent, but Darel wasn’t in the mood to care.

He took a step back and nodded at Thunder. Darel hadn’t been sure how this shifter had gotten his name until he’d heard his growl, which sounded like a rolling clap of thunder that rippled through the sky. That same sound was emitted from the six-foot-one-inch, 290-pound Rogue as he lifted a foot and kicked the door to the dressing room right off its hinges.

X had never run from a fight, not in all his adult life, nor in his life as a shifter. He’d always stayed and fought to the bitter end.

Not tonight.

He scented the Rogues, knew there was more than one, and looked at Caprise—who was still naked, damn beautiful, and glaring at him as if she, too, would like to clamp her teeth into his neck. The decision was already made.

“Let’s go!” he told her while he looked around the room for something, anything she could put on.

There was a bag by the table with clothes sticking out of the top. He reached down and grabbed the garments without even knowing what they were or if she could fit into them. “Put this on.”

“You are not in control here,” she told him.

X heard her words but was too busy kicking out the window across the room from the dressing table where he’d just fucked her to reply. When he turned she was standing there, arms folded across her generous breasts.

“Dammit,” he growled, stalking over to her. “I said put it on!”

Ripping the garment from her he found an opening and pushed it over her head. It looked like a shirt, but it was long enough to cover her ass and that was all that mattered. Of course she fought him the entire time, her arms flailing out, her knee coming up to just miss his unsuspecting groin. But X was used to fighting dirty. He bent forward, grabbed her at the waist, and tossed her kicking and screaming over his shoulder.

“You’re a big stupid jackass ogre!” she screamed, the effort to get out as many names as she could almost funny to X. Except for the fact that in about two seconds Rogues were going to knock down this door and most likely either take them captive or try to kill them.

X hated having to leave the Rogues behind, especially since they were the original reason he was there. But the risk of Caprise possibly being hurt was not one he was willing to take.