Victor wanted her, still. Wanted her so badly he imagined he could taste her, as surely as if he had buried his face in her sex. She had been magnificent in Amsterdam, killing with the ease and power of a born hunter. When she had faced him down, ordering him to stop, hair disarrayed, covered in blood, he hated and desired her more than life itself. Lying on his lumpy hotel bed, he ground his teeth, frustrated and horny. Even though he was six doors away, he could hear Jimmy making love to her, hear his grunts and her moaning. When she came, with a shriek, he stumped irritably to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, leaning his burning face against the cool, porcelain tiles. Morosely, he leaned his chin in his clawed hand, realising he had come as close to moping over a woman as he ever had in his long life. Closing his eyes, he bit the inside of his cheek, attempting to chase the feeling with the brief stab of pain.
Tonguing the area, which healed over almost instantaneously, he sighed, feeling the throbbing demand in his crotch. Unzipping his fly, he took out his cock, running his claws lightly from root to tip. Shivering slightly, imagining her hands, recalling her scent when they had fought, peppery, sweet, aroused, he hardened. Jet eyes sliding shut, he stroked himself, feeling his organ thicken and lengthen. He ran his fingertip over the head, the slit opening to expel a tiny bead of moisture. Now ruined by the confrontation with Van Djik's men, he remembered the crimson silk dress, how it left her pale shoulders bare. He recalled the diamonds at her décolleté, sparkling, her hand at his thigh and the kiss on his cheek. It had taken all his self control not to rip the warm silk from her body, despite the fact he knew it had all been for show, for the mission. Or had it?
She knows, she knows, the fucking little bitch. She's taunting me, daring me to try to take her from Jimmy...
The rhythm of his hand quickened as he massaged his balls with the other, gasping, one knee braced against the bathroom wall. His head snapped up as the door lock clicked, upper lip skinning back from his great teeth. She stood in the bathroom doorway, draped in a black satin dressing gown, nipples hard points beneath the thin material. Her gaze dropped to his groin, an eyebrow quirking, and she smiled. Victor opened his mouth to snarl, to sneer, to cover his embarrassment, and was totally unprepared when she knelt and took him in her hands. He grunted with surprise, then pleasure as her deft fingers caressed him, dancing along his thick shaft.
Leaning forward, he reached into her robe, filling his eager hands with her breasts, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She tugged at him, causing him to exclaim with mingled pain and pleasure, eyes narrowing dangerously. Rising up on her knees, she stared challengingly into his face, green eyes blazing. She was not afraid of him, unlike virtually all the other women he had ever known. The thought infuriated and excited him. Growling, he grabbed her elbows, hauling her up into his arms. With two slashes of his claws, he dispensed of the dressing gown, tossing away the silken rags. Burying his face between her breasts, testing the soft flesh with his teeth, he inhaled her scent. Hearing her heart racing, he chuckled, lathing his rough cat tongue across a nipple to hear her gasp.
She took hold of his beard, the hair straining at the roots as she dragged his face to meet hers. Her kiss was savage, tongue forcing past his teeth to steal his breath, arms locked about his neck. One hand dropping to her firm buttock, he squeezed, lifting her thigh to part her legs. His claws left red weals that faded in moments, sliding a finger up and under, feeling her slick wetness. Victor scooted forward, his erection brushing her upper thigh as he tried to pull her down into his lap. Laughing, she slammed him back, hard, skull striking the tiles, spider web cracks racing across the porcelain.
Shaking a chiding finger, she turned and sashayed into the bedroom, crooking a commanding finger at him. Leaping from the toilet seat, he football tackled her to the carpet, sending her sprawled, face down. Lying on top, the rigid length of his cock pressed to the cleft of her backside, lips pressed to the nape of her neck, he breathed quick and hard. She wriggled beneath him, and at first he thought she was attempting to escape. Still, there was no fear in her scent, just arousal, thick, sweet and demanding. Realising what she wanted, he planted his hands palm down and lifted his weight off her. Knees sliding apart, she lifted her pelvis and spread herself, looking back over her shoulder, eyes dark with need.
Cupping her buttocks in his hands, Victor lowered his head and lapped at her, delighted as she cried out and pushed back beneath his ministrations. Intoxicated by her taste, he slid his tongue into her cleft and reached forward, finger bent into a knuckle to keep away his claws. He rubbed against her clit, circling, then back and forth. She growled at him, hips moving, grinding the hood against his fingers. Suddenly, he spanned her waist with both hands, and with a single, hard thrust, entered her. Braced on her palms, she threw back her head and groaned aloud, dark curls spilling down her spine to brush the carpet. Drawing back, he slammed into her, freed by the knowledge he could not injure her, yet chained by the fear her may not satisfy her. Snarling, encouraged by her sobbing his name, Victor consciously let his control slip.
Sweat snaking down his spine, he panted, teeth in her shoulder, her blood metallic on his tongue. Whipped on by her urging of faster, harder, deeper, he obliged, ramming her off her palms, only to snatch her back against his chest. Sucking the pulse at her throat into his mouth, pressing his tongue against the frenetic beat, he folded his arms across her body, imprisoning her. She clawed at him, hips matching his rhythm, breasts bouncing against his forearms. He felt her vulva constrict about him, the quick pulse heralding climax. Increasing his pace, feeling his own orgasm beginning to ignite, white hot tendrils spreading from his scrotum, he roared. Somewhere, he heard her scream, almost begging, his vision fuzzing out as he came.
Lying quietly in Logan's arms, six doors down, his slumbering breaths warm against her neck, Helena Draven opened her eyes with a suppressed shudder. Tying off the last knot of her telepathic programming, a little dizzy at the effort, her mouth watered with sudden nausea and a small, guilty echo of arousal.
Gotta have insurance, for when the time comes, she told herself. Victor's gonna be the biggest problem when it all hits the fan. Have your wet dream, Creed, let it soak right into your subconscious and shut you down like a robot when I give the word.
Rolling over, she snuggled closer to Logan, trying to purge herself with the heat of his skin and his satiated, relaxed scent. Six doors up, Victor twitched in his sleep, whimpering into his pillows, lost in his dreams of blood, sex and carnage.