Dark Taste of Rapture (Alien Huntress #6)(26)
Author: Gena Showalter

“When you’re an agent you can date whoever the hell you want,” he said with a potent mix of hope and loathing. “Anyone except me. I don’t date women, Noelle. Ever.”

Her breaths came fast and shallow, yet every single one brushed her pebbled ni**les against his chest. The friction speared lance after lance of pleasure through her. Hot, tingling, all-consuming.

“Men, then?” No, please, no.

“No.”

Thank God.

“I don’t date, period.”

Oh. “Then …” She chewed on her bottom lip, pondering the dilemma he’d just created, but no answers were forthcoming. “What?” she managed to get out, unsure how to phrase her next question.

“What do I do when I need to get off?” he asked, even as he rubbed the hard, thick length of his erection between her legs, just as he’d done the last time they were in this position.

Was he doing that on purpose, urging her need for him higher, simply to leave her? Or, like her, was he acting on instinct?

Having trouble filling her lungs with oxygen, she nodded.

“I used to pay for it. Does that shock your privileged sensibilities? Offend you? And stop nibbling on your mouth.” He leaned down and sank his own teeth into the sensitive tissue. Not enough to sting, just enough to stake a claim.

Oh, God. He was a biter. She really wished she hadn’t learned that fact. No doubt she’d start fantasizing about those teeth claiming all of her.

Claiming …

Have to … touch him …

“No response?” he demanded.

She flattened her hands on his chest. His pectorals jumped up in response, flexing.

“Noelle.” A snarl.

What had he asked? Oh, yeah. The prostitutes. “It confuses me.” His intensity probably scared a lot of women away, but it would draw some, too. There was no reason for him to pay for what he wanted. “You kissed me, and I liked it. You shouldn’t have to—”

Wait. He’d said used to, hadn’t he? What did he do now?

“Too bad,” he snapped. “I won’t explain.”

“Will you tell me if you liked kissing me?”

Such a tortured expression. “Yes. No. Damn it, it doesn’t matter. We can’t do it again.”

Oh, really? “Challenge accepted,” she purred, already rising on her tiptoes.

He opened his mouth, maybe to tell her off, maybe to welcome her inside, but either way, she rolled her tongue over his lips.

An agonized moan left him, and just like before the kiss immediately spun out of control. Their teeth banged together, and they both angled for deeper, better contact. He tasted sweet, decadent, and she thought she might already be addicted.

She gave him everything she had, feeding him kiss after kiss, conforming her body to his, kneading the muscles at his back. Pleasure rocketed through her, and she arced against him again and again, tossing fuel on her own need because, with every forward glide, her clitoris brushed against him.

This was far better than the first kiss, and that had been spectacular. But she knew more about him now. Wanted more of him. Had dreamed of this, night after night.

“Hector, touch me. Please.” Knead her br**sts, pinch her ni**les. Give her more.

The rock wall behind her shook … shook …

“Hector. Please.” She slid a hand down his chest, to the waist of his pants. So long and thick, his erection strained past the material, the tip already weeping for her. Mine, she thought. This is mine.

He wrenched his mouth away with a roar. “Damn it!” Still he ground that erection against her, and she closed her fingers around it as best she could. “I can’t do this!”

His skin was like a lick of flame, blasting heat at her. Little beads of sweat broke out on her brow. She loved it, wanted more. Wanted it to be hotter. “Lift my shirt. Suck my ni**les.”

“Shit! Are you listening to me?” he snarled. “Do I have your full attention?”

“Yes.” Yes, yes, yes. She could feel his heartbeat, pounding against her other palm.

“Good.” The rubbing ceased abruptly, and she moaned. “I told you before not to seek me out. Now I’m telling you not to even speak to me. Not to even look at me. And I’ll extend you the same courtesy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you, Noelle.” With that, he straightened, severing all contact, and walked away.

Walked away from her. Again.

He never glanced back.

What. The. Hell? She’d suspected, but …

Noelle rested against the wall, her knees weak, her blood on fire, with fury … with passion … She’d wanted his mouth on hers, taking, giving, ravaging. She’d wanted to relearn his taste—and not just from his mouth—wanted to hear him groan as the pressure became too much for him, too.

And all along, he’d merely thought to prove a point. To humiliate her.

To force her into avoiding him.

Well, he’d get his wish, she thought. She wouldn’t spend another moment craving him. She wouldn’t even allow herself to think about him. They were done. Before they’d ever really started, they were done.

His loss.

Squaring her shoulders, determined, Noelle returned her weight to her feet. She spun, would have marched back to the bunk, but a thick waft of smoke, scented with burned syn-cotton and spiced with molten metal, danced in front of her face. She gazed around, searching for the source.

Not her this time, but the wall. Two perfect handprints had been burned into the brick. Big hands, a man’s hands. Exactly where Hector had placed his.

Gulping, confused, she reached out and ran a finger over the indented stone. She hissed at the moment of contact. Though she didn’t feel the sting, she knew the metal was hot enough to blister her skin.

So, the marks were fresh. But … how was that possible?

Her gaze returned to Hector. Or rather, to where he’d once been. He was gone now, no sign of him in the darkness. Was he … could he be an otherworlder capable of flaming objects with only a touch? Even though he appeared one hundred percent human?

Maybe. Many races possessed special abilities that their human counterparts did not. She’d always embraced those differences, and she would have embraced Hector’s, if he’d given her a chance.

But he hadn’t. By his own admission, he’d rather pay for sex from a nameless stranger than have Noelle for free. So, he would get his wish, she thought again. She would leave him alone.

A stray, torturous thought formed. One day they were going to have to work together, and she’d have to act cool, collected, as if this night had never transpired. And really, that should be easy to do. Ultimately, the men in her life always found something wrong with her. So, in that regard, Hector was no different than the rest. He’d simply been more upfront about it than the others.