"I will not get over it," he rasped, the icy silver of his eyes unthawing to boiling mercury. "I should have torn the bastard's tongue from his throat."
Rachel's brows arched. "Why? Because he was an asshole? Good Lord, Jonas, when did you decide you were my keeper?"
"The day you walked into my office and I realized you were my mate," he snapped back.
For a moment, the normally suave, calm Jonas was the animal she had always sensed lurking beneath the carefully clothed exterior. His eyes raged, his body was tense with the need for action, his expression shifting between sensuality and fury.
"I'm not your mate . . ."
He was on her. That quick. Rachel found herself lying back along the seat, his large body straddling her, the feel of his cock, heavy and hot, through the material of his slacks as his hips pressed against hers.
"Jonas." Her gasp was part protest, part sudden pleasure.
How the hell was she supposed to control herself when he did this? When the forceful dominance he was displaying was the stuff of her fantasies?
"Never deny me again." His hand gripped her wrists, pulled her arms back and secured them above her head as he stared down at her.
The position lifted her breasts, made them appear fuller, more alluring. Her nipples pressed against the blouse where her jacket had fallen open, as the soft lace of her bra showed clearly through the pale material.
"God, I want to feel your nipple in my mouth." The words sent a punch of sensation straight to her womb. "If I touch you with my mouth, with my tongue, everything you don't want is going to come crashing down on you. You know that, don't you, Rachel?"
She knew it, and still, the sudden ache for it was almost more than she could bear.
"Touch me," he groaned. "Just once." He brought her hands to his chest. "I swear to God I'll control it. Just once."
Jonas found he wasn't above begging. He'd spent a lifetime in those fucking labs and never begged for anything, but now, he would go to his knees for a single touch from the delicate hands pressing against his shirt.
"This is dangerous," she whispered.
"Not touching me is more dangerous," he snarled. "Do it, damn you. You're killing me."
The need for it was ripping him apart.
Slowly, staring up at him, her eyes locked to his, she slid her fingers to the buttons of his shirt and slowly undid them.
She surprised him. He could feel the need in her, smell it. She wasn't trying to hide it. He hadn't expected her to actually touch him, but there was no doubt she was going to do just that.
The only question was, could he survive it?
As she spread the edges of his shirt apart with deliberate slowness, Jonas had to fight just to breathe as her fingertips raked over his hairless chest.
The fine hairs that covered his body lifted to her fingertips as a ragged groan tore from his body. Just the tips of her fingers were like flames as they stroked over the flexing muscles, rubbed, caressed, rasped his flesh with her small nails.
Jonas felt his claws sink into the leather of the seat by her shoulders. Never had he lost such control. Only during moments of rage did the lethally sharp bonelike matter flex from beneath his flesh.
But never had he known such pleasure, or need, either. It was burning inside him, stealing control, making him so hungry for her kiss that he had to clench his teeth to keep from begging for it as well.
"Your flesh is tough," she whispered as her fingertips rubbed against his pectoral muscles.
"Yours is like silk." And he wasn't even touching her. He knew what it would feel like, sensed it from the touch of her hands.
"Jonas, this is so very dangerous." Her voice was husky, filled with arousal.
Shifting his hips, he moved until he was pushing her legs apart, her skirt rising, allowing him to slide into place. Only the clothing they wore separated him from the sweet, wet flesh of her pussy.
"Shh," he soothed. "No danger here, baby. Just touch me. Just for a minute."
Her fingers curled against his chest, two little nails scraping over the flat, round disc of one nipple.