ignored
the
pointed
complaint, even if it had merit. “I see
you didn’t eat anything either.”
“What do you care?” she tossed
back, her fine auburn brows pinched
together.
“I care, Melena. For now, you’re
under my watch. It’s my responsibility to
ensure that you’re comfortable and
healthy. That you’re fed and clothed.”
He gestured toward the boutique box on
the bed. “I arranged for some things to
be sent here for you from one of the
local shops.”
She cast a sidelong glance toward
his gift, then back toward the bathroom
where her ruined skirt and blouse lay in
rags on the tile floor. Warily, she drifted
over to the bed and lifted the lid off the
box. She glanced inside, then one by
one, pulled out the skirt and pants, then
the blouse and sweater he selected for
her.
“I didn’t know what you’d prefer,”
he murmured.
She lifted the charcoal gray, fine-
gauge sweater first, then the pair of
black slacks. The understated classics of
the collection, which didn’t surprise
him. She glanced at the two pairs of
shoes he’d purchased as well, taking out
the elegant Italian flats. “These are all in
my sizes. Perfectly in my sizes.” She
slanted him a guarded look. “I wouldn’t
think you’d paid attention long enough to
notice.”
“I
noticed.”
Lazaro
slowly
approached her near the bed. “I should
be focused on a thousand other things
right now. Instead, here I am. Noticing
everything about you, Melena.”
If she had flinched at all when he
came to stand beside her, Lazaro would
have somehow found the strength of will
to leave her in peace.
If she had resisted even a little
when he lifted her chin on his fingertips
and drew her gaze up to his—if she had
looked into his transformed Breed eyes
with anything close to fear or uncertainty
—he would have forced himself to let go
of her and refrain from ever touching her
again.
But Melena did none of those
things.
And when he slowly lowered his
mouth to hers, this time, not even he or
his iron will could pretend the desire
that arced between them was anything
either of them would be able to deny.
He kissed her, hard and hungry.
Any illusions he might have had for
taking things slowly with her, or giving
her a chance to get away before he
pounced, were all but obliterated once
their lips and tongues had come together.
A fresh surge of molten need
scorched through his veins, and all at
once it didn’t matter to him that getting
involved with Melena Walsh was the
last thing he needed to be doing.
He wanted her.
She wanted him—he knew that
even in the cave.
And the fact was, he’d already let
himself get involved, whether or not they
allowed this undeniable, if untimely,
desire for each other to flare any further
out of control.
Melena awakened a need in him
that he hadn’t felt in a long time. A new
kind of need, something white-hot and
irresistible. She had done in less than a
day what no other woman before her had
managed to do in two decades.
She made him feel alive again.
Lazaro growled and took her mouth
in a deeper kiss. She moaned, reaching
up to burrow her fingers into the short
hair at his nape. Her soft curves felt like
heaven against him, even through the
barrier of their clothing. Her mouth
tasted warm and sweet. Her body arched
into his, pliant, consenting.
Welcoming.
Hot with need.
He smoothed his hand down her
throat, breaking their kiss as his thumb
grazed over the Breedmate mark nestled
in the hollow between her collarbones.
He lifted his head to look at it—to
he could not allow himself anything
more than this desire they shared.
“I should ask you if there is
someone else,” he uttered thickly. He
dragged his smoldering gaze back up to
hers. “I should ask, but right now I don’t
think I’ll give a damn if you say there
is.”
“No.” She gave a faint shake of her
head, her breast rising and falling with
each rapid pant of her breath. “There’s
no one. Not for more than a year. And
even then, I never wanted anyone like
this...”
He registered that sweet confession
with a growl that vibrated deep in his
chest.
He kissed her again, gathering her
face in his hands while his mouth moved
intensely, hungrily, over hers. Being Gen
One, his appetites were stronger than
most. With Melena all but undressed and
willing in his arms, those appetites were
on the verge of owning him. It was only
the dim knowledge of her lingering
injuries that kept him in check.
And she wasn’t helping in that
regard.
Meeting each thrust of his tongue,
parting her lips to take him deeper, she
stoked his arousal even further. Her
body pressed against his, heat igniting
everywhere they touched. He couldn’t
resist the loosened opening of her robe.
His hand slipped inside to feel the
softness of her skin. Her pulse banged
against his fingertips, strong and certain.
Erotic and primal.
Melena groaned in pleasure. Her
voice rasped sensually against his
mouth. “I like the way you kiss me,
Lazaro. I like the way you touch me.”
Holy hell. Her words made fire
erupt in his already molten blood.
With fangs filling his mouth and his
cock gone hard as granite behind the
zipper of his pants, Lazaro moved his
hand to cup the buoyant underside of her
breast. A hot, pent-up sigh gusted out of
her as he caressed her bare skin beneath
the slackened robe. Her nipple was
pebbled and erect, a temptation he
lightly tweaked, then rolled between his
fingers. Melena’s grasp at the back of
his neck tightened, her fingers curling
into his hair as a moan leaked through
her parted lips.
Every taut fiber of his being ached
with the need to put his mouth on her
silken skin, to feel all of her. Taste all of
her.
His hands obeyed that need,
reaching up to gently ease the
robe off
Melena’s shoulders. It slipped down her
arms, baring her to the waist. She was so
lovely. Porcelain skin dusted with a
smattering of sweet, peachy freckles and
lush, feminine curves that begged to be
savored.
The purple contusions and mending
cuts on her torso and abdomen drew his
eye just as intensely. Rage for whoever
did it swirled through him like a fierce
tempest. When he thought of how close
she’d come to being lost in the explosion
along with everyone else, that rage
turned murderous and black.
But tenderly, he let his fingers light
on a couple of her worst bruises. She
flinched a little and some of his fury
snarled out of him. “It hurts?”
“Only a bit.” When he drew his
hand away, she caught it, placed his
palm atop her bare breast. “I don’t want
you to stop touching me.”
His cock jerked in response, more
than eager for him to oblige her. He
filled his hand with her breast, then took
her mouth in another deep kiss.
But feeling her, kissing her, only
made him ache to explore some more.
His entire Gen One being throbbed
with the need to claim, to possess.
He drew the robe off her
completely. Let it fall in a pool at her
feet. For one indulgent moment, he
soaked in the sight of her through his
amber-drenched, fevered eyes.
Then he lifted her off her feet and
spread her out beneath him on his bed.
CHAPTER 7
Melena sank down onto the soft
mattress and watched, wide-eyed and
trembling, as Lazaro prowled up the
length of her naked body.
It wasn’t fear that gripped her.
Nothing even close to fear.
Her every nerve ending had come
alive—gone dizzyingly electric—under
his careful, caressing touch and the
sensual promise of his lips and tongue as
he’d tenderly explored her skin.
Now, lying exposed to him
completely on the bed while he
remained
clothed,
she
wasn’t
uncomfortable in the least. And whether
that made her a wanton harlot or a daring
fool, she didn’t know. Nor did she care
in that moment.
She wasn’t nervous or uncertain
about anything she was doing with this
man.
She wanted more.
He sent the boutique box to the
floor with a sweep of his strong arm,
making more room for them. She
jumped,
breath
catching
at
the
animalistic power that poured off Lazaro
in palpable waves. She’d never felt so
much energy and heat focused on her.
In
her
handful
of
failed
relationships, no other man—Breed or
human—had stirred her passion so
easily,
so
masterfully. Difficult to
please, more than one lover had called
her. And they’d been right. None of them
had taken her breath away. None of them
had been able to hold her interest, in or
out of bed, for more than a few months.
Then again, they weren’t Lazaro
Archer.
She’d never been in the presence of
a Gen One male with carnal hunger in
his eyes.
And Lazaro’s hunger was intense.
His eyes were twin coals, locked
on her as he positioned himself above
her, braced on his strong fists on either
side of her head. His fangs gleamed
razor-sharp,
enormous
and
fully
extended.
And while his dermaglyphs were
obscured by his black shirt and combat
pants, she knew they had to be vivid
with deep colors—not unlike the
pulsating, blood-red aura that radiated
from him as his consuming gaze drank in
her nakedness from forehead to ankle.
He spread her legs with his thigh,
nudging her open to him. As he covered
her, the rigid length of his arousal
ground against her hip. Her pulse sped
up, tripping as he gave her a meaningful
thrust of his pelvis, those smoldering
amber irises burning her up.
He took her mouth in a slow but
demanding kiss. He took her lip between
his teeth, sucked her tongue deep into his
mouth. Kissed her until she was panting
and writhing beneath him, grasping at
him with needy hands. “Now, I’m going
to taste you, Melena,” he murmured
against her slack mouth. “Every last
creamy, delectable inch of you.”
And then, heaven help her, he
proceeded to do just that.
He started with a maddening sweep
of his tongue just below her ear. She
shivered, even though her blood was on
fire for the heat of his lips and the gentle,
but unmistakable, rasp of his fangs as he
dragged his mouth down to the curve
where her neck and shoulder met. He
suckled and nipped, working his way to
her breasts. Kneading them in strong
hands, tonguing the tight buds at their
peaks, he didn’t move on until she was
moaning with pleasure and aching for
more.
Her back arched into him as he
began a slow and steady exploration of
her rib cage and abdomen. He took care
around
her
bruises,
astonishing
tenderness from a Breed male who had
lived ten lifetimes and counting, whose
own otherworldly body was virtually
indestructible. Yet he navigated her
minor wounds as though he were
handling glass.
That moved her deeply, even more
than his passion had overwhelmed her.
Melena reached down, cradling his
dark head in her hands while his kiss
traveled lower.
Across her stomach, onto each hip
bone, over the quivering tops of her
thighs. She trembled as his mouth blazed
a slow path down the entire length of her
right leg and ankle, then returned up her
left calf, to her knee and the tingling
flesh of her inner thigh.
If he wanted to make her wet and
vibrating with the need to have him
inside her, Lazaro could have stopped
right after their lips had met for the first
time here in his bedroom.
But it was patently clear from the
wicked look he shot up the length of her
nude body that he was only getting
started.
His head lowered between her
spread legs. When the heat of his breath
rushed out against her sex, she
shuddered. When his lip
s touched down
and his hot, silky tongue cleaved into her
slit, she let out a strangled cry.
Fingers gripping the coverlet on
each side of her, she held on for dear
life as Lazaro licked and kissed and
fucked her senseless with his ruthlessly
skilled mouth.
She came in mere moments,
pleasure shooting through her in wave
after glorious wave. She didn’t know if
she sighed or screamed or both. She only
knew that while her body was still
floating in a million tiny shards of bliss,
Lazaro started climbing back up to her
on the bed.
He stroked her face, watching her
—smirking in obvious satisfaction, for
God’s sake.
Then his grin was gone as quickly
as it had arrived, and he covered her
mouth with his, kissing her hard and
deep and wild.
He drew back on a curse, his breath
sawing in and out of his lungs. He
stripped off his clothing and boots in
mere seconds. Then he pivoted back to
her, gloriously naked. He found his
place between her thighs again and held
himself there, unmoving, watching her.
Considering her in some way.
His big body threw off waves of
heat and power. The glyphs that traced
his bulky shoulders and muscular arms
continued onto the contours of his chest
and rippled abdomen. They pulsed
vividly on his skin, alive and flooded
with color.
Those Gen One skin markings
trekked farther south as well. The thick,
long shaft of his cock was circled with
glyphs, their hues flushing even deeper
as Melena admired him with unabashed
approval.
God,
he
was
immense.
Magnificently so.
And sexy as hell.
She rose up to touch his face,
cupping his stern jaw in her palm when a
scowl thundered across his expression.
“It’s been a while for me too,” he said,
then gave a small shake of his head. “I’m
not sure I can be as gentle as I’d like for
you. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
Melena saw the torment in his aura,
even if his body was being driven by a
stronger need now. He didn’t want to let
her in, but he couldn’t shut her out either.
He cared, even though he wanted to
deny it.
She thought back to what he said to
her in the cave. That just because he’d
helped her stay alive, didn’t mean she
was safe with him.
Melena had never felt more
protected or secure with anyone in her
life.
And she’d never known anything so
raw and consuming—so impossible to