Dark Hunter's Touch. Jessa Slade

her eyes and swayed into him.

      He caressed her wing again in one long, slow sweep from shoulder blade to backside. His fingers were faintly slicked with a silvery powder that smelled like sex; as if she wasn’t irresistible enough, her wings cast off an aphrodisiac.

      He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to find his control even though the musk of arousal was pushing him toward an edge with a sharper drop than the other cliff she’d pushed them over. “Do you want me to stop?”

      She shuddered. No, the movement wasn’t hers. The sand beneath their feet quaked. Their pursuers were coming closer.

      “Don’t stop!” A chill mist rose around them, and her cry twisted in a desperate plume.

      He gathered her closer. His shoulders stiffened as if he could warn off all that threatened her with his possessive stance. Even as he claimed her for himself, he understood why the Hunters would never stop searching; with the silver glow of her spirit and the sky-blue sparkle of her eyes, she was too precious to lose.

      The pounding of hoofbeats echoed in his ears, along with the sound of hungry hounds panting....

      Or maybe that was just him.

      He flattened one hand against her back to brace her and then bent her gently to trail his lips down her neck. The slender arch of her throat trembled under his mouth with the resonance of her breathy moan. He inhaled the earthy perfume of salt and damp sand and rousing flesh. His own shaky exhale unfurled like dragon smoke across her skin.

      The mist had thickened and coiled in sinister figures, half seen and menacing…ravenous and seeking.

      Well, they could back the hell off; he already had her.

      The pendant had slipped off center and the V of the chain arrowed over her left breast. He framed the lower curve of her breast between his thumb and forefinger and plumped the flesh until the blue stone shifted over the darkening skin of her nipple. She moaned again as he pressed his lips to the center of the V, just off the upper swell of her breast where her heartbeat matched itself to his.

      “I refuse to scream ‘Mo’ when I come,” he whispered. “Give me your real name,”

      She shook her head fretfully. “Who said you are going to come? And my name doesn’t matter.”

      “It does to me.” He looked at her. The cold nipped at the moisture of her skin, dampening his lips.

      “Imogene,” she gasped. “Just don’t stop.”

      He dipped his head again and laughed against her flesh. His lower lip brushed over the steel and closed on her puckered flesh. He traced his tongue in a slow circle around her nipple, drawing the peaked pebble deeper into his mouth.

      She moaned and threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him close.

      Around them, the shadows shifted in vain, as if casting around for something gone missing. Vaile closed his eyes and ignored the cold darkness that pulsed around them in favor of the vibrant warmth beneath his hands.

      His body shifted in response to each minute motion of hers, like a dance. She tilted her shoulder, and he suckled at her other breast. She angled one foot back to take his weight, and he nudged his knee between her legs. The wispy fabric of her shorts slipped over his thigh, less obtrusive than even the sheerest bedsheets. He might as well be naked for all the modesty his own shorts offered.

      As if she’d read his thoughts—certainly she could not mistake his interest—her hands slipped along his shoulders and down his arms to settle just above his hip bones. Another scant inch and she could slip down his waistband.

      Instead, she pushed him back. “Vaile.” Her voice was hoarse. “They’re gone. You can stop now.”