Kinked (Elder Races, #6)

What to do.

She wanted, needed him to continue. She almost grabbed him to kiss him again. In fact, she was surprised she didn’t. The only thing that stopped her, the one thing that was more compelling than the hunger rampaging through her body, was a single thought.

She yanked her talons out of the wall and retracted them, and smacked his shoulders with the palms of her hands, hard enough to make him stagger back a few steps. With a smile that blazed across her face, she said, “My turn.”


Quentin was on fire. His body was ablaze, his mind hazed with smoke.

This small slice of power that Aryal had given him was the headiest thing he had ever experienced. It ravaged his senses like napalm, clinging to everything and transforming the landscape inside of him. She, who was normally so uncontainable, was under his control.

He looked into her uncommon face, twisted with agonized desire. The tendons in her arms stood out as she dug her talons into the wall and struggled to do as she was told. She had arched her torso away from the wall in an unconscious offering to him. It caused her abdomen to hollow out underneath the graceful arc of her rib cage. Above that, the curve of her slender breasts flared. The small nipple he had bitten and sucked had turned red as a ripe cherry.

Everything about her was racy, streamlined and built for speed.

Greed swallowed him whole. He gripped her with both hands, fingers imprinting on the canvas of her flesh, and thought, you are mine right now.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

What? He shook his passion-fogged head.

Her head came up, dark eyes wild with some internal storm. Something hit him, knocking him back a few steps. A half second later, he realized it had been her.

“My turn.”

No. NO. He wasn’t ready to stop, to give her up.

“I need more time,” he said. He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice.

“That’s another bargain.” She yanked down her tops and gestured with a shaking hand at the noisy iPhone. “Do something about that or I will.”

Dear Christ. He stalked over to the table and jabbed at the phone, and it stopped the incessant noise. Then he leaned both hands on the tabletop and struggled to get control of his breathing. The scent of her arousal was an aphrodisiac so strong he felt kicked in the teeth.

“I’ll set it for the next fifteen minutes.” He began to punch it in.

She moved up behind him, curving her long body along the line of his as she laid her cheek against the back of his neck. “What if I wait?” she said against his skin.

He froze, not quite believing what he heard. “You wouldn’t,” he growled. She couldn’t wait. She didn’t have it in her. Hell, he didn’t have it in him to wait either.

She put her arms around him and ran her hands down his chest. He looked down, compulsively, watching her hands travel down his body. His cock was on fire along with the rest of him, and it jerked as her hands came closer to it.

“Have you ever been taken from behind?” she whispered.

He tilted his head back, astonished at his own crazed reaction to everything she did or said. He said roughly, “Men aren’t my thing.”

The pressure from her hands grew lighter as they reached his jeans. She passed them over the aching bulge at his crotch in a teasing caress. “Have you ever been taken by a woman wearing a strap-on? Using a dildo? Fucked from behind until you explode all over her hands? I doubt it. You’re probably too dominant, aren’t you?”

The images she created seared his mind, and his own reaction astonished him. He would never consider such a thing, never give himself over to someone else like that.

Except.

He thought of Aryal moving behind him, moving inside of him as she cupped his penis in both hands. The concept was so startling and strange, he nearly came right there in his pants.

It wasn’t as though he had never heard of a strap-on before. It was the thought of Aryal using one. On him. Everything she did was so goddamn sexy, it was breaking every rule he thought he had in his head.

He hissed, “Am I setting the alarm or not?”

Her hands flexed. He listened to her hard breathing, feeling it against his back. She wanted it bad. He could feel it in the rigidity of her body, smell it on the rich scent rising off her skin.

The bizarre thing was, he was starting to want it bad too.

Even though it wasn’t like him, and he never gave up control. There was something about her impetuous leaping into situations that was seriously screwing with whatever scraps of sanity he might have otherwise had.

She said, “Set it.”

He punched the button and stared at the screen as fifteen minutes began to scroll by.

He wore a belt with his jeans so that he could attach his knife sheath and the holster of his gun to it. He watched her hands go to the belt and unbuckle it. She yanked it out of his belt loops. “Take off your sweater.”