She winced as its teeth dug into her throat; knew the entity was waiting for its answer. “You’re not being rational.” And those teeth dug a little harder. Having no curiosity about how it would feel to have her throat ripped out, she said, “Okay, okay, there’ll be no other guys while Tanner and I are together. Now ease off, Fido. I’d like Tanner back—he has a job to finish.” She’d been very close to coming when the damn entity made its appearance.
The demon lifted its head. That dark gaze shimmered with something that might have been amusement. It lowered its mouth to hers, bit her lip. And since she had no intention of letting it dominate her, she snapped her teeth at it. Yeah, that was now definitely amusement in its eyes.
It nuzzled her neck again. Nipped at her pulse. Licked over the small hurt to soothe the sting. And then the flesh of her wrists started to burn—the flesh beneath its fingertips.
She hissed. “What the …” Her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” The motherfucking psycho was branding her.
The demon retreated just as the burn faded. Golden eyes stared down at her, looking far too satisfied for her liking.
“Your damn demon just—” She cursed as Tanner slammed into her.
“We can chat, or I can fuck you. Choose.”
She tightened her legs around him. “Fuck me, you bastard.”
He powered into her with a growl and—Oh, God, yes. She lifted her hips to meet each brutal thrust as he drove deep again and again, building the friction inside her once more. His expression was cold, but his eyes were so hot they seared her.
Devon struggled against his grip, wanting to touch him, scratch him, fist his hair. But the prick wouldn’t let go, and that—warped as it was—only seemed to make her hotter.
“Fuck, baby, I’m close.” He moved his mouth to her ear. “Want me to pull out? Or do you want me to come inside you?”
She swallowed. “In me.” She felt his mind brush against hers, and she immediately dropped her shields. He poured in, letting her feel an echo of the sensations that were pushing him closer and closer to his release. All of that fueled her own arousal, winding her so tight she couldn’t take it.
His pleasure, her pleasure—she couldn’t tell the difference anymore—built and built like a pressure cooker. And then it exploded.
Surge after surge of white-hot bliss whipped through Devon and zipped up her spine as she came with a scream. Grunting against her neck, he pounded harder, faster. The headboard thumped against the wall with each feverish slam of his hips as he drove his cock impossibly deep over and over and over.
Tanner spat a harsh curse as he rammed into her one last time. She felt his cock swell and throb inside her, felt every hot splash of his come. Then they both sagged.
Muscles quivering, heart racing, Devon lay there as they each struggled to catch their breath. Her limp body felt utterly sated and deliciously sore. She’d needed a good, hard ride, and he’d given it to her.
Hauling her close, he pressed a kiss to her neck and then rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Draped over his chest, she lifted her head and found him staring at her through languid, heavy-lidded eyes that gleamed with a wicked satisfaction. And then she remembered.
Sitting upright, she examined her wrists. And gaped. “What the fuck is this?”
Lips twitching, he splayed his hands on her thighs. “They look like fingerprints to me.”
Because that was exactly what they were. “Your hound is out of its everloving mind.” If demons became very possessive of someone, they sometimes branded them—hell, Harper had quite a few brands from Knox. To the human eye, they look like tattoos. But demonic brands weren’t permanent; they could fade if an entity lost interest in the person. And that meant that until his hound lost interest in her, she’d be walking around with these goddamn fingerprints on her wrists.
Hell, she’d known that the mark on her palm was going to bring her nothing but trouble. It had obviously sparked a possessive streak in his demon, and now she was dealing with this crap.
Devon narrowed her eyes. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”
“No.” Tanner caught her hands and took a closer look at the brands, feeling satisfaction once more swell low in his belly—the same satisfaction his hound was feeling. “I think it’s hot.” He could be incredibly possessive when it came to Devon Clarke, so seeing his fingerprints on her wrists … maybe it made him fucked up, but he liked it. “My demon has never branded anyone before.”
“Well you’d better tell it not to pull this shit again.”
He gave her hands a sharp tug, drawing her toward him so she was once more sprawled on his chest. “I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again.” Not just because his hound was territorial of her, but because its instinct when she fought that possessiveness was to make it exceedingly clear that it had rights to her.