Guild Hunter 04 - Archangel's Blade

mortal who was so much weaker and yet who had brought him to his knees. Honor wasn’t like him, hadn’t been turned cynical by an experience that would’ve twisted many only toward bitterness and hate, would never use that power in a malicious way. But the knowledge, it allowed her to play these games with him.
    Good.
    Pushing back his chair just a fraction, he crooked a finger.
    She kicked off her boots before crossing the carpet to straddle him. Her hands lifted to the buttons of his shirt. “I love the color of your skin,” she murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss on the bared skin of his breastbone.
    It was the sweetest of caresses, and it made him weave his fingers into her hair and insist on another. Laughing, she peppered his chest with kisses, the shirt gaping to his waist now. “Such beautiful, pretty skin. Does the shade change over your body?”
    He tugged at the bottom of her top, waited until she raised her arms to pull it off over her head. “I told you. You’ll have to”—clenching his abdomen against the impact of her—“wait and see.” It was his turn to lean forward, press his lips to the sun-kissed honey of her skin, his hands possessive on her hips.
    “I have scars.”
    Those responsible for creating those scars would pay for decades to come, because Dmitri had no mercy or forgiveness in him. Not for this crime. “I see only you.” Another lingering kiss before he drew back. “And you’re my own personal addiction.”
    Cupped in black lace, her breasts were lush curves that made his mouth water, his fangs aching to sink into that sweet flesh. He wouldn’t do it, not until she issued the invitation, but that made no difference to his cock. It was as rigid as rock, blood pulsing hot and thick. And that was before he allowed himself to think of the tight, wet sheath of her core.
    “I want to be inside you.” He sucked on the upper slope of her breast, licked the red mark. “So deep you feel branded.”
    Honor’s fingernails dug into his nape, her voice a husky whisper. “You make me want to do things no good girl would ever do.”
    Her words relaxed the final relics of the twisted knot inside him. “I’m never going to stop you.” Raising his head, he claimed her. Lauoking his hands along the dip of her waist and over her rib cage to cup both breasts at the same time. The generous mounds were teasingly covered by the fine lace of her bra, a small red bow in the center. “I thought a hunter would be more practical.” He ran his thumbs across nipples pebbled and tempting.
    “Complaining?”
    Squeezing her taut flesh, he took her lips in an openmouthed kiss in answer.
    Her head fell back when he released her mouth, the position exposing the slope of her neck. His blood hummed, his gaze locking on the pulse in her throat. Teeth gritted, he distracted himself by focusing on her breasts. It worked. They were luscious, a little too large for a hunter’s active life, and perfect for Dmitri’s hands.
    Sliding his hands to just below the exquisite curves, he was bending his head to indulge himself with her when Honor tugged on his hair. “Kiss my throat.” A whisper as soft as the air itself.
    His hands spasmed on her rib cage. “That might not be the best of ideas.” He was starving for her, his entire body one big pulse.
    “You’re old enough to control it.” A sensual challenge. “I’m sensitive there.” Raising her hand, she ran her fingers down the arch of her throat.
    His cock jerked, his mind full of a thousand debauched images of what he wanted those strong fingers to do to him.
    “I hate that I’ve lost that pleasure because of what they did,” she said. “I want it back.”
    Instead of obeying the order, he filled his hands with her breasts once more, her nipples hard points against his palms, glorying in the escalation of her heartbeat, the jerking cadence of her breath. “Sensitive here, too, aren’t you, Honor?” Plumping her up for his delectation, he lowered his head to grip one of her nipples with his teeth, knowing the lace would rasp against her flesh, an exquisite pain.
    A hotly feminine sound of frustration. “That whip of yours”—breathy words—“ever felt it on your own body?”
    Releasing her nipple with a flick of his tongue, dampening the lace and increasing the friction, he looked up. “No.” He was always in control. That was who he was. But—“Maybe we could trade.”
    Narrowed eyes. “I know you’re getting something