In Death 11 - Judgment in Death

at his hand, twisted, and only succeeded in ripping the shoulder seam of her shirt. Alarm bells went off in her head even as she tried to break his hold with another counter maneuver. She ended up with her back pressed into him and her arms pinned.
    "You've crossed a number of lines in a short time, Lieutenant." His voice was warm against her ear. Warm and dangerous. Erotic. "Do you think I'm a man who'll go meekly about your bidding? Do you think loving you has taken my teeth?"
    As if to prove otherwise, he sank them lightly in her throat.
    She couldn't think, not with the red haze covering her brain. She quite simply couldn't get her breath. "Let go of me. I'm too mad to deal with you tonight."
    "No, you're not mad." He whipped her around again, slammed her back to the wall, and yanked her arms over her head. And his face, the face of a condemned angel, was close to hers. "Intrigued is what you are, and reluctantly aroused. Your pulse is pounding, and you tremble. Some of it's fear, just a touch of it to add an edge."
    He was right. She could have damned him for it, but need was crawling through her like savage little ants.
    "You're hurting me. Let go of my hands."
    "No, I'm not, but perhaps I've been too careful, too often, not to hurt you. Have you forgotten what you took on with me, Eve?"
    "No." Her eyes skimmed down to his mouth. God help her, she wanted it on her.
    "You're mine, and you'll say it before we're done tonight." He reached out with his free hand and ripped her shirt down the center. "And now I'll have what's mine."
    She resisted, but that was pride, and pride was weaker than lust. She twisted her body, hooking a foot behind his in an attempt to overbalance him. He merely shifted his weight into the move and took her down with him.
    The shock of the fall knocked the breath out of her, but her knee came up, an automatic jerk of defense. He rolled away from it, still gripping her hands. Pinned her. She bucked, swore at him, whipping her head to the side as his mouth came down.
    He settled for her throat. Savaged it, and sent the pulse beneath his teeth and lips bounding.
    He might have stopped himself. The civilized veneer he'd coated over himself was hard set and hard won. But the beast inside him had been teased to raging. He wanted it loose. And the scent of her, of his mate, was humming in his blood.
    She was strong. He'd pit his strength and his will against hers before, but always with a sense of fair play underneath. Not this time, was all he could think.
    Not this time.
    He clamped a hand over her breast, found the skin hot and damp. She made some sound between a snarl and a moan, and when he crushed his mouth to hers, she bit.
    The quick flash of pain only appealed to the primal lust surging inside him. When he lifted his head, his eyes were wild and fierce. "Liomsa."
    He'd said it to her once before, in the language of his youth. Mine. She struggled, fighting herself now, but when his mouth came to hers again, hot and hard and hungry, she lost.
    Desire, with its more primitive barbs, scraped through her. She wanted. Wanted. And now her body arched not in protest but in demand, and her mouth met his with feral force.
    He released her hands only to jerk her up, yanking what was left of her shirt over her shoulders. Her weapon harness tangled, locking her arms as effectively as restraints. And now the fear leaped back. She was defenseless.
    "Say it back to me. Damn you, Eve. Say it." His mouth fused to hers again, then streaked down her throat, over her breasts. His teeth raked at her. And his hands.
    On a sharp cry, her head fell back. Pleasure, its edge as keen as razors, sliced at her, leaving what was left of pride in tatters.
    Then she was rolling with him over a floor littered with splintered wood in something too fierce to be surrender.
    She fought free of the harness and tore at his shirt. She wanted flesh, his flesh. The feel of it, the taste. Every breath she took was a desperate gasp.
    His hands took, possessed, bruising as they moved over her. Those long, skilled fingers arousing mercilessly until she was mad for more. He yanked her trousers down her hips, flung them aside. And ruthlessly used his mouth on her.
    Release gushed through her, a flood that scorched her system. Floundering, she dug her fingers into the rug, tried to find some anchor to hold her. But she was flying, catapulted out of control.
    And still he wouldn't stop.
    Couldn't stop.
    The small, mad sounds she made