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Dark Taste of Rapture

Dark Taste of Rapture (Alien Huntress #6)(79)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Love this,” she panted.

“Love.” His thoughts short-circuited. There was only here, now, this moment. This woman. Her intoxicating flavor in his mouth, a sweetness only Noelle possessed.

Her ni**les rubbed at his shirt, but he wanted them on his skin.

“Lean back,” he commanded.

At first she didn’t seem to hear him, so he growled the words at her. Her eyelids blinked open, and she tilted, resting her back against the driver’s console. The new angle gave his pleasure a sharper edge, and he gritted his teeth to stop himself from coming.

With shaky fingers, he ripped the buttons down his shirt, causing the fabric to gap open and revealing his chest. “Up,” he commanded now.

This time there was no hesitation, and she pressed against him. Skin to heated skin, and hell, the most delicious torture. She rode him, slamming down, faster and faster, until she was clamping down tight, shouting his name, tugging at his hair.

Just like that, tingles of sensation sparked in his balls and shot up his length, and he jetted inside her. He had to grip the rim of the seat to stop himself from grabbing hold of her. Already he could smell smoke.

When she stilled, collapsing against his chest, his muscles tensed and he tried to buck her off. “Noelle, please.”

“You want to go again?” she asked with a wicked smile.

“You have to—”

“Oh, all right. I know the drill.” Frowning now, she wiggled to her seat, ending the connection.

He looked his arms over. Holes in the material, but smoke no longer wafted through them, and there was no longer any hint of the glow. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Like she’d really admit the truth, though. “Let me see your hips.”

“No.” She fisted her hands over the waist of the skirt, but not before he spotted the charred waistline.

He had burned her. Had probably blistered her.

She must have read the horror on his face. “Hector, I can’t feel them. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

No, it f**king wasn’t. “We are not doing that again,” he said. And he meant it this time.

An innocent smile. “Whatever you say, darling.”

Thirty-five

SIDE BY SIDE, HECTOR and Noelle entered the dirty building.

He’d donned his jacket to hide his decimated shirt, but a patch of skin was visible between the lapels. Gorgeous, Noelle thought, already hungry for him again.

Eyes ahead. “Are you sure you don’t want to field this one solo?” she asked with a shudder. Threadbare carpeting snagged on her boots. A different  p**n o played on each of the walls, moans and groans echoing from speakers placed throughout the lobby.

“I’m sure.”

Once again with the snappy answers. Fabulous. “One hundred percent sure or is there a way I can talk you into changing your mind? Because I’m pretty confident I came into contact with a flesh-eating bacteria when I opened the door.”

“Hundred percent.”

Anyone else would have pretended not to notice the grimness of their surroundings, thinking to spare his feelings. But he would have seen through the pretence, and that would have made everything worse. He didn’t need coddling. He needed someone to prove he was better than the location of his birth. “Little tip for you. Now that you’re blissed out,” she said, “you should be nicer to me. Otherwise I might start to think you’re serious about never again getting busy with me.”

He scowled at her. She smiled.

Several men sat on well-used couches, each of them eyeing her like a slab of ribs as she passed. Feel so special.

“Since you’re actually making me do my job,” she said to Hector, pausing a moment to let him pipe in that yeah, okay, she could head back to the car. He didn’t. “I’ll handle this first part.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Don’t laugh. At the reception desk, Noelle propped her elbows on the counter, just in front of a girl who reminded her of the AIR agent, Kitten… whatever. A Teran, only this one was mocha everywhere but her hands. Those were white, as if she were wearing mittens. Her outfit consisted of an ill-fitting black bra, wrinkled black-and-white panties, and fishnet stockings with a run in the thigh.

“Can I help you?” Purring tone, probably seductive to most humans, but Noelle heard the boredom laced through it.

“You sure can. You can listen. One way or another me and my guy are getting back there. I’ll let you pick the way we handle things. Easy way or the hard way?”

A flash of irritation in that feline face. “Fuck you, bitch. Only one rule here and that’s customer privacy. Now if you wanna book a session, be my guest.”

“Easy way, then.” In less than a second, Noelle had her pyre-gun palmed, aimed, and the trigger squeezed. A blaze of blue, and the otherworlder was stunned, unable to move or speak.

Behind her, curses and footsteps resounded as the men on the couches beat feet outta there.

“That’s the easy way?” Hector asked, incredulous.

“Of course. Now she can’t fight us.”

“Well, we need her print to open the back room doors. What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Hello. Cut off her hand.” Problem meet solution. Practically skipping, Noelle rounded the desk, pushed the girl out of the way, and did a little typing on the computer. “Our guy’s in room six. With Olga. A very popular girl, our Olga. I wonder if she’d be willing to share trade secrets.”

“Here’s another idea. I’ll just carry our key. Though this seems like the hard way.” He did, hefting the Teran’s body over his shoulder. He carted her to the side door, then motioned Noelle over. “Place her hand in the ID box and hold it there.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but had you not utilized my services in the car, you wouldn’t have been able to handle her. Think about that and get back to me with an apology for your attitude, then a poem of your own creation about my amazing thoughtfulness.” As she spoke, she did as commanded, and a flash of yellow light descended over the girl’s palm.

Beep. The door slid open, and they strode into the hallway. Several otherworlders strode this way and that, hustling in and out of rooms. The moment Noelle and Hector were spotted, the “masseuses” took off running in the same direction. Outside.

“They’re going to give me a complex,” she sniffed.

“You’ll get over it.”

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