Savor Me Slowly (Alien Huntress #3)(43)
Author: Gena Showalter

Oh, yes. She wanted. “I—I think I would like that, too.” She’d chosen him. She wanted him. She craved everything he could give her. “Yes.”

“Thank God. Will you roll over for me?” he asked.

Her eyes widened, her hand stilled. Give a man her back?

He peered down at her. He gave a quick, almost pained smile. “I won’t hurt you. Trust me. Please.”

She’d never even considered giving a man her back. Such a thing required trust, just like he’d said. Trust me. The thought both alarmed and excited her.

This was Jaxon, the man who’d given her more pleasure in two days than anyone else had over the entire, seemingly endless span of her life. And after Jaxon’s bondage confession, part of her wondered if he hoped to spur her into fighting and exerting her will on him.

As she gazed up at him, studying, contemplating, she saw desire so intense it was practically a separate entity.

No. He didn’t want her to fight. He just wanted her.

Though she had no idea what he planned to do, she twisted until she lay on her stomach. The sheet was warm from their body heat, a little damp from their sweat and arousal.

Jaxon sat up and straddled her, his knees caging her hips. He smoothed her hair from her back and traced his fingers up her spine. Goose bumps formed, and she shivered.

“I know I’ve told you before, but the artwork is exquisite.”

“Thank you.” The many surgeries she’d endured to “make her more efficient” had left countless scars. She hadn’t been able to see them unless she contorted herself in a mirror, but she’d known they were there, which made them a constant reminder of what she was.

The feminine flowers had helped combat that, and all remaining insecurities were somehow banished by Jaxon’s praise.

“I wish you hadn’t been hurt.” Leaning forward, Jaxon laved his tongue over each ridge of her spine, might even have traced some of the petals. The hot, wet heat against her skin acted as another brand, leaving an invisible tattoo: Jaxon’s woman.

He kissed her neck; he kneaded her ass. He whispered all the things he wanted to do to her in her ear, told her how beautiful she was, how strong, how sweet, how he was going to bury his c**k deep inside her.

Soon she was writhing again. Soon she was desperate for him again.

“Raise to your hands and knees for me.”

Without question, she lifted. He gripped her hips, pulling her against him so that his chest pressed into her back. “Ready, baby?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Tell me if you want me to stop. It might kill me, but I’ll stop.” His erection pressed into her. Not sinking, not yet. One of his hands snaked around her and dipped into her core.

Oh, God. “Don’t stop.”

In…farther and farther, so slowly, he sank into her. She was so wet it was an incredible glide. “Damn, you feel good.”

He reached the hilt, and she moaned. He felt amazing. He filled her completely, stretching her deliciously. Without the condom, it was like being caressed by velvet-covered steel. More, she wanted more.

When his fingers circled her clitoris, taking her a step closer to that satisfaction, she moaned. And moaned. And moaned.

“Next time I’m going to sink inside you deep and hard, pounding.” Every word was spoken with a gentle, torturous slide. “I’m going to have your legs on my shoulders and I’m going to work my dick until you’re screaming my name.”

Everything he said, she pictured in her mind. Him, over her, straining. Her, lost in the bliss of his body. Just like that, she tumbled over the edge a second time. Her core clamped around his cock, her back arched.

He continued to work her, prolonging her orgasm and intensifying it another degree. Just like he’d wanted, she screamed his name over and over again, unable to stop herself. So good, so good. He never increased his rhythm, only dragged the pleasure out for a wondrous eternity.

“Mishka,” he gritted. And then he roared, hot seed jetting inside her. His arms tightened around her, locking her close. His warm breath panted over her neck. “Mine,” he said. “Mine.”

CHAPTER 13

Jaxon traced a fingertip over Mishka’s tattooed spine. He’d never been one to linger after the pleasure was sated, but this time, with this woman, he wanted to stay. Could think of no place else he’d rather be.

All of his protective instincts were engaged, his sense of indignity on her behalf sharpened to a razor point. Surely that explained his softening toward her. Surely that explained his need to hold her and never let go. His need to guard her from the demons that plagued her. His need to move her into his home. Surely that, and not love. Because Jaxon didn’t do love.

Love complicated things, made a person accountable for the other’s thoughts, emotions, and suicide attempts. Jaxon frowned. The last had slipped into the equation of its own accord. Suicide attempts.

For years, the fear of driving another woman to extinguish her own life had colored his every second, every action. And for the first time, he realized why he’d always chosen shallow women. They did not care about deeper emotion. Abhorred it, really. They wouldn’t sink into a spiral of despair if he hurt their feelings.

Mishka wasn’t shallow, but he knew she wouldn’t crumble, no matter what he did or said.

She was strong, inside and out. Perhaps the strongest female he’d ever met. A smile played at his lips. Her right arm wasn’t the only thing comprised of unbendable, unbreakable titanium. Or whatever the metal was. Her inner core was, as well. He highly doubted she’d try to take her own life just because a man hurt her. She might kill the man, though, and Jaxon found that he liked that about her.

His arms tightened around her, and she purred her contentment. Currently she was draped over his chest, asleep and utterly relaxed, her warm breath caressing his ni**les, strawberry tresses splayed over his shoulder. Relaxation drifted just beyond his grasp.

What am I going to do?

His mind abandoned the topic of love and strength in favor of survival and safety. He needed to hide Mishka from her boss, but how? The chip allowed her to be tracked.

There was only one solution, obviously: cut that f**king chip out of her brain. Never again would her boss dictate her actions. Even the thought of the bastard doing so filled Jaxon with rage. He would have to research the world’s top surgeons. If there was a chance, even a slight one, that the chip could be removed without killing her or making her a vegetable, he thought she would take it, no hesitation.