Demon Branded (Demons of Florida) (12 page)

“I want to own each other. I want you in every way. I want your body, your heart, your name on a human marriage certificate. I want you to own me. Own my name. We are one.”

“Fuck,” she breathed and her body went rigid. Pleasure burst through her and she shuddered through an intense and lingering orgasm. The tension bled from her and she held tight to Tiago.

The words as much as his cock still worked into her. His fingers brushed over her clit, eliciting aftershocks that made her hiss. That need built swiftly again and shoved her to the edge of the precipice again so quickly and intently. She fell and fell and fell.

“Yes, I want to fuck you, too.” He chuckled—a wicked and decadent sound only a demon could make, and when had that sound become sexy to her? Demons were her natural enemy.

“Sure you’re not an incubus?”

His lips covered hers again, and he set another languid rhythm. He surely intended to make her insane. She broke from his kiss and pushed his head back to stare into his eyes. His hips stopped their torturous movements. The gravity of the moment made every second sharp, intense.

“You didn’t ask me before. Just had me ambushed and then branded. I can understand your reasons, but you will make it up to me.”

He winced and opened his mouth to speak. She slid her hand between them and clamped it over his mouth. “Shh. I’m talking now.”

He nipped her palm. She dropped her hand and he raised a brow, staying silent.

“But now you’ve asked, even though I’m kinda stuck with you. That you’ve given me a choice though you can’t afford to have one. Not only did you tie our lives together—and I still don’t know how I brought you back from the brink of death. Shh. Still not done.” She wrapped her arms around his back and enjoyed a moment of his frowning frustration at not being allowed to speak quite yet. “You see the war for what it is and you’re willing to sacrifice to keep the demons at bay. You are loyal. Determined. Smart enough to find a subtle way out of a violent and world-ending war sort of way. Not to mention, sexy. All the things I could want in a mate.”

She ran a hand over his arm and ignored the deepening emotions in his dark eyes and the continual wicked motions between her legs. But he didn’t talk. He listened to her with his entire body subtly thrusting, forcing her to admit how well they fit together. She gripped him and exhaled. “And strong.”

For a moment, she paused, let the lump in her throat subside as he circled her ear with his tongue and his hips rolled into her. She pushed his shoulders back. She wanted to see his face when she made the vow.

“We are tied, and so far, we do seem to get along. We’ll stick together. See if it works. I’ll give you that promise.”

“I’ll take it.” His mouth crashed down on hers again and he thrust into her with force. Over and over again, pushing them higher and higher until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move a muscle without feeling his length working her.

He made a grunt sound in the back of his throat, and that loss of control sent her over the edge again. His hands gripped her hips as he plunged one last time and filled her with intense heat.

Holding her, his cock pulsing, emptying inside her, he stayed there as he kissed her nose, her cheeks, and her throat. Peace washed over her and she relaxed into the bed. For the first time ever, she stayed with a man—willingly—for the entire night.

When the sun rose, he made love to her again. As the heat finally cooled and the sounds of the day filtered in, he finally won her heart.

“Wherever you want to live, we can do it. With the PACk, or here. And if you continue your work with the Orions, that’s fine, too. I don’t want to change how you make the world better.” He palmed her belly and stroked her torso gently. She melted.

“We’ll need to get you a bike. Some leather. Or maybe you’d ride in a side car.”

His head jerked back and his mouth dropped open. Gently, she closed his mouth with a finger and smiled. “Well, at least the leather. You’d be hot in leather.”

Laughing, he hugged her to him and ran a hand through her hair.

“Never, woman. You can make me do just about anything except dress like my father.”

“No leather?”

“No.”

She raised a brow, pushed him to his back, and slid down onto his ready and willing cock.

“We’ll see who comes out on top of this difference of opinions, won’t we? Trust me. A Wolfrick always comes out on top.”

“We’ll see, Mrs. Montevedo. Yes, we will.”

And he flipped her.

Excerpt from Firestorm on E’Terra

Firestorm on E'Terra

by Ella Drake

Smokejumper and former refugee Wilson Dex takes the latest in a long line of risks, a mission to quell the firestorm on planet E'terra. Equipment from his transport ship malfunctions, forcing by-the-book Commander

Samantha Varde dirtside to help Dex though she suffers from landsickness. While fighting the ill-timed and against-code heat between them, they have hours to reprogram a torpedo, fly into a tornado, and chute into a firestorm, all to save the colony before the storm flames out of control.

Firestorm on E’Terra
Copyright © 2009 by Ella Drake.
Cover Copyright © 2012 by Ella Drake
 

Chapter One

Master Sergeant Wilson Dex checked the buckle on his chute, adjusted the fit of his pack strap, and twisted his hips to ensure the equipment on his back didn’t jangle. With a slight tap, he verified his rebreather sat on his chest, ready to fit over his face. All set. In the vast, multi-craft launch bay, he sat next to the hotshot team lining the benches and waited for the go.

“Hey smokejumper, ever taken a helo down from a slapshot on the stratosphere? It’s a wild ride.” The punch on Dex’s shoulder would have told him if the laughter following the challenge had not.

“Chief,” Dex rolled his shoulder to ease out the sting. “I’ve logged enough jump hours to make your entire team look like the babies they are.”

Another punch, in the exact same spot, and a knot started to throb in Dex’s upper arm. Without a flinch, he resisted the urge to cup the forming bruise and didn’t move a muscle.

“Hell, I know, son. Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought a wild card to work with my team.”

Assigned to the mission as a subject matter expert (SME), Dex didn’t point out Chief
hadn’t
brought him on board. Before the banter could descend into the usual barbs between the loner smokejumper and the cohesive hotshot team of twenty men, the crackle of the speaker reverberated through the open space of the dock bay. “Jump is on hold until turbulent electrical storm passes the landing site.”

The Chief clicked on the comm attached on his shoulder chute strap. “Chief Klein to Captain Varde.”

Dex stilled and tried not to eavesdrop on the civilian fire chief who’d muscled his way onto the bench next to Dex, shifting the team, grunting and grumbling, further down. When Dex noticed he held his breath, waiting on the response over the comm, he pushed the air from his lungs with a long sigh.

While Chief’s hail went unanswered, the burly man raised his brows and grinned at Dex. “Eager for the jump, eh? Can’t control the weather. Well, not on this new terraform, anyway. When the startup colony makes the money, I’m sure they’ll bring in a weather control expert to get them going.”

The leader of this band of firefighters was winding up for another long-winded lecture when his comm clicked.

“Chief,” came the precise, even tone of Captain Varde. Though the voice was nearly asexual, and the woman herself controlled and put-together, Dex’s groin tightened, and to his chagrin, his cock hardened. He shifted on the bench and brought his helmet from hanging on a knee to his lap.

“Ma’am, do we have an estimate on how long we’re delayed?”

Despite trying not to do so, Dex leaned toward the comm on Chief’s shoulder. The Chief raised his brows again, and Dex sat back.

“At least a day, Chief. Disperse your team to regroup again in twenty-four.”

“Aye, aye, skipper.”

The off-click took away her voice, as warm and inviting as the synthesized AI unit that ran this ship’s enviro and café systems. Yet, he’d hardened even more, picturing her still face, neat blonde hair with every strand in place, and perfect lipstick he wanted to muss and smear all along his cock.

Dex shifted on the seat again, bumping the hotshot jumper next to him and elbowing Chief. His temporary superior stood and addressed the group of men.

“Well, you heard the boss. Same drill, same time tomorrow. Get your gear stowed and put in a regular day. Blow off the steam you all built up waiting for word. Dismissed.”

The heat-resistant chromoter strapped to Dex’s wrist showed ten minutes before his reserved zap-ball workout slot. When he’d boarded, he’d received an assigned daily exercise, based on preferences, which he’d not missed, not once, in the two-month intragalactic voyage to E’terra.

With the usual routine disrupted when the StratGlider had achieved orbit and the pending mission aborted, Dex hustled out the door. He hoped his partner wouldn’t miss today’s match.

* * * *

Captain Samantha Varde flipped off the intercom and refused to look at the news feed that had gripped her attention for the past three hours. Still, no matter if the images flashed on the jumbo screen on the bridge of her ship, or played in the privacy of her captain’s quarters, they seemed burned to Samy’s corneas.

The vid played in her mind from memory. Three firefighters, part of a hotshot team specifically trained to put out wildfires, stood around a virtual storylogger to update the public back home on United One. A funnel cloud from the raging firestorm dropped from the sky and vaporized them in a bloody geyser of steam in front of billions of live viewers. The team on board her ship, sent to relieve those three men and the rest of their crew, still hadn’t been informed of those deaths.

They were aware of the dozen deaths over the past six months since the violent beginning of the firestorm, continually fueled by a natural reservoir of flammable gas. More than half the fatalities had occurred in the past two months while they’d been on route aboard the StratGlider.

The United One Protectorate was considering implementing concern level tango. This esoteric term meant they had a crisis on their hands, and if the spin couldn’t get them out of the mess, then the entire project would be pulled. The Protectorate had lost enough troopers. One more blip of concern would cause the colonists to be evac’d to the nearest refugee station, already overcrowded, and planet E’Terra would be deemed a lost cause. The firestorm would progress undeterred until the planet was one massive ash-swept desert.

Samy hesitated in ordering the hotshot team to slapshot down to the surface during an electro storm. She’d even convinced herself she’d delayed the mission because one more accident would mean her ship would go from troop transport to refugee hauler before she could blink. It didn’t have a thing to do with concern for a certain smokejumper along for the ride. Nor for one more zap-ball game since she’d failed to voice her goodbye yesterday when her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth.

No, she’d postponed the mission for entirely platonic reasons tied with adding a humanitarian mission to her record and one more shot at the Admiral’s stripe. This had everything to do with her professional career and not her policy-regimented exercise routine. Nothing to do with her AI-assigned workout partner. Nothing to do with the tiny zap-ball outfit that exposed so much of a certain well-cut Master Sergeant’s creamy caramel skin.

“Lieutenant Commander Shields, you have the bridge.” Samy gave an abbreviated salute to the older man, straight-backed and silver-haired, who didn’t hold it against his much younger CO that he flew second in command.

“Aye, Captain.” Shields returned a snappy salute and moved to the central bank to oversee the weather watch. At Samy’s back as the lift door closed behind her, she heard his call, “Captain off the bridge.”

The efficient sounds of her crew gave her confidence as the door slid shut. If she hurried, she’d have time to whip up her latest changes to the health shake she’d been satisfied with only two months ago. She shook her head.

For years, after every workout, she’d gulped back the nasty tasting concoction and appreciated the energy it gave her. Now, she toyed with it every day before heading to work out.

Samy glanced at the time display in the lift’s console. No time. She had to go straight to the locker room.

“Locker Room Delta, please.”

“Yes, Captain,” the ship AI responded.

Though not necessary, Samy replied with her usual politeness to the intelligence that had no emotional feelings programmed into it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

To Samy’s knowledge, she was the only crewman to ever get that particular response from the ship’s sterile personality. Perhaps she felt a certain kinship with the monotonous voice.

Her feet spread wide, Samy rode the lift as it zipped down then sideways, before a swift backward push. Without a stagger or a hand on the rail, she didn’t flinch with the fast, succinct maneuvers.