Cullen slanted his lips over hers, his tongue plunging into her mouth as a growl tore from his chest. His hand tightened at her hip as the last thread of control unraveled.
Her knees lifted to clasp his hips as he began stroking inside her hard and deep, furious, desperate strokes as Chelsea writhed beneath him, hips lifting for each lunge of his erection inside the snug depths of her body. Her wild cries of building ecstasy intensified the blistering pleasure tearing through him as he fought to hold back his release. Just another minute. Just a few more strokes—
He wasn’t going to last and Cullen knew it. And he wanted it to last. Needed it to last. He wanted the sweet heated depths of her pussy consuming him forever.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his balls drew up to the base of his cock as he slammed inside her, over and over. The need to come, to fill her, to mark her senses and her flesh, was suddenly so imperative, filled with such primal demand that as he felt her orgasm exploding through her, his lips tore from hers. He covered the mark at the bend of her shoulder and neck and rather than just gripping it, he felt the longer canines pierce her flesh instead.
The faint coppery taste of her blood was overshadowed by the cinnamon taste of the hormone. His tongue lapped at the wound as he released his grip on her, feeling her jerking, shuddering beneath him.
A second later a snarl tore from him as his release ripped through him with an explosion that shattered his senses to hell and back.
Thrusting deep, he arched his back as a band of pure rapture tightened around his dick. The mating barb extended, the ultrasensitive erection emerging and locking inside the convulsing depths of her vagina as the explosion shook him to the core.
He jerked with each heavy spurt of semen erupting from his cock.
The agonizing pleasure shooting through him was euphoric, his release so deep, so strong he wondered if he’d survive the aftermath. Because in that moment he realized Chelsea might well hold more of his soul than he could safely live without if he lost her.
What the hell happened?
How had it happened?
Trying to process the physical and emotional quagmire he found himself in wasn’t easy for Cullen.
Hell, dealing with his emotions had always been something he avoided at all costs. Breeds were stripped of emotions at an early age for the most part, the horrors of their creation and their training teaching them quickly that emotions meant not just the death of one Breed, but littermates as well.
The scientists and trainers had learned early that even if their emotions were suppressed, Breeds were incredibly loyal to littermates. They depended on one another, silently—they learned early to hide it, but those who oversaw them caught on quickly.
Breeds knew that if one of them escaped, then those littermates would pay the price. Any attempts to escape resulted in the young being viciously beaten or tortured to death as the offending Breed was forced to watch.
It was a brutal world they’d been created to be a part of, a world so many hadn’t survived. Only the strongest and most cunning of those created lived to see freedom.
Freedom hadn’t given Cullen the luxury of learning how to deal with everything he’d been taught to push back and ignore, though.
Less than six months after being brought to the Navajo Nation and given a new identity, a new life, he’d met Lauren and married. The next two years had brutalized the few emotions he’d allowed free. When it was over he had forced it all back and returned to his training feeling the least amount of emotion possible.
And that was why when Chelsea came to work for him at the Covert Law Enforcement Agency, she’d so fascinated him. Because Chelsea seemed to feel everything. She could give him a blank stare and pop off a smart-ass comment while her amusement would reach out to him, stroking against him like the whisper of a summer breeze. Or she could narrow her eyes, those pretty lips thinning, and the summer breeze would turn to a blast of fiery anger.
She didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve, though. Cullen doubted anyone besides a Breed could even detect the subtle scents and signs she gave off unless she wanted them to.
She was a strong woman, didn’t take offense easily and watched the world with interest and a desire to live that terrified him.
And she kept her word.
That was one thing Cullen admitted he’d been surprised by when she came to work for him. If she said she would do it, she did it. If she gave him a report, then it was, to the word, an accurate accounting of what happened.
So why the hell was he having such a hard time figuring out what the hell she was feeling now? He’d assumed with the Mating Heat that she loved him, but not once had she mentioned the L word or asked for anything resembling a commitment.
Hell, she was still giving the impression that the mating and Cullen were more an inconvenience in her life than anything else. If it weren’t for the pleasure he knew she felt and the fact that she said all she’d asked for was to work and fight beside him, he’d have assumed that nature had finally been fucked in her judgment.
Now, two days later, sitting next to her in a borrowed sedan as she made adjustments to her telephoto sunglasses, he found himself clenching his teeth, again, until his jaw hurt.
She was completely focused on those damned glasses despite the fact that the scent of her arousal in the closed vehicle had him so hard again, his cock so engorged, it was all he could do to stay in a sitting position.
“You want to explain to me why we’re sitting outside the police station rather than going in?” he asked, realizing he wasn’t hiding his testiness.
And he did feel highly testy.
He still hadn’t figured out how she’d talked him into this.