Torn (Second Sight) (10 page)

It began as a gentle nudging of the tip of his tongue, so soft that she almost hadn’t realized he was touching her. But as his wet tongue pushed into her sweet spot, a desperate aching unlike anything she’d ever known suddenly blossomed. She moaned at the unbelievable pleasure of it as her fingers dug into his hair. The tiny flesh there swelled and stiffened in a way she hadn’t known was possible and she raggedly gasped. His tongue responded with a flickering movement, directly on it, that set every nerve in her body on fire.
 

“Oh god,” she gasped breathlessly, her voice a high whine. “Oh god.”

Her thighs trembled at the fluttering on the too-sensitive center. Her hands flew to the comforter and bunched it up in her fists. Her back arched repeatedly in writhing torment. Her mound panged and pulsed with the mounting ecstasy at her entrance. Unbearable pleasure shot through her, spiraling higher and higher, threatening to sweep her over the edge.

But as Mac sucked the engorged and plump little seed into his mouth, Isabelle could no longer contain the wild sensations he had released. Molten heat poured into her sweet spot and she fought to call out Mac’s name but instead a high, keening wail was ripped from her.

Suddenly Mac was on top of her, his chest skimming across hers, as his arousal quickly nudged inside.

• • • • •

It was more than Mac could take. Isabelle’s gorgeous figure had erupted into a voluptuous writhing that his body could no longer ignore. The need to be inside her, to touch that most secret part of her, overwhelmed him. Agonizingly slowly, so she could feel
every
inch of him, he pushed inside.

Her hands clutched at his back and her entrance tightened, gripping him, urging him deeper. Her hips tilted up to accept him and her ragged gasps puffed against his throat but still he thrust into her slowly, guiding himself into her body, pressing into the sweetness he’d just tasted.

Tight and wet, her body tugged at him, as they steadily joined. He lowered himself to his elbows, felt her swelling breasts press into him, and her hips gyrating under his. Eyes closed, her delicate face was alight with passion, her parted lips a sensual invitation. He would take her, make Isabelle his, and tell the whole world if need be. His lips closed on hers as his stiff shaft steadily sank inward. Her moan filled his mouth and her lips pulsed with life as he captured and suckled them.

As he sank the remainder of himself inside, his tongue thrust inward as well. He reveled in the two penetrations, owning her completely. Her warm center enveloped his straining and rigid flesh and her velvety mouth enclosed his sweeping tongue.

Though he began the slow glide of his arousal outward, Isabelle’s legs quickly wrapped around his waist and squeezed. She ground herself frantically against him, her pelvis gyrating hard. The possessive grip of her thighs and her frenzied tugging and jerking on his rigid shaft could no longer be denied. He drove up into her without hesitation. As his hips thudded hard against hers, their mouths separated and a grunt was forced from somewhere deep inside her. He plunged into her again, remembering the glistening moistness, the petal-soft folds of her, and again Isabelle grunted at the collision. Her receptive body urged him on, making him seek the deepest places at her center. He thundered into her once, twice, then a third time as she arched upward to meet each greedy and eager thrust.

“Yes,” he hissed, her thighs squeezing fiercely at his sides, her hips rocking up toward him.

This
was how he wanted her–her
need
for him exposed and the same as his need for her.
 

As Isabelle’s back arched to meet his next thrust, he scooped his arms behind her and lifted. With her legs still locked behind him, Mac rose to his knees as his hips bucked upward, hard and fast. As he held her in place, he speared himself up into her, deeply, forcefully, and sheathing himself completely. Her body shuddered at the hammering penetration, as a deep ‘unh’ flew from her lips and her breasts pushed into his chest. He buried himself in her, pushing at her walls, and quenching the fiery need to possess her. And as her legs relaxed ever so slightly to give him all of her weight, he surged upward yet again as Isabelle’s back arched in a groaning response that he could barely hear above the roaring in his own ears.
 

Desire compounded with need, her body melded with his, and as Mac thrust himself into her higher and harder than ever before, one thought blazed in his mind.

You are mine.

• • • • •

Isabelle landed with a bone-jarring thud as Mac’s iron-hard arousal threatened to split her.
 

“Isabelle,” he groaned as he filled her yet again. “Isabelle,” he whispered hoarsely, as his hips surged upward.

Impaled on his swollen shaft, sweet agony erupted deep inside her abdomen. Though she groaned and writhed, her body eagerly sank down on him despite the overwhelming fullness. The wild pulsing he’d created in her sweet spot had never abated and now, as it raked down his washboard abs and ground frantically into his hard groin, the engorged flesh began to burn with a renewed and frenzied fever.
 

He was doing it again. With each thudding pump of his hips, he was building the pressure in her body. She ached for it and dreaded it, as he pulled her down onto him again. Though she bucked and moaned and her head tilted back, he held her firmly in place, the rock-hard muscles of his arms encircling hers, her fingers digging into his back.

He sank himself into her, again and again, each time harder, jerking her higher, his rhythm increasing. The heat and friction of their bodies rubbed between her legs, throbbing against her already too-sensitive flesh. Her nipples scraped against his heated skin and as Mac kept up the feverish pace, the ecstasy built there too, torturous, wonderful, rising to an unbearable level.

“Oh god,” she whimpered, her breath harsh and uneven.

Suddenly, her lower body spasmed. A chain of frenzied explosions shattered her abdomen, took away her breath, and seared into her core. Chaotic, flailing gyrations of her hips banged her against him, thrashed her sweet spot, punished it until the need there spiraled outward like a rocket and a red-hot convulsion seized her.

Mac immediately thickened inside her and the peak of her climax erupted in a cataclysmic response. Shuddering clenches built one on top of another, threatening to rip her apart. The pulsating waves of it surged along Mac’s swollen flesh as he jerked inside of her, first one way and then the other.
 

“Mac,” she tried to scream but it caught in her throat as he pulled her down hard.

He grunted repeatedly, pinning them together, as her rhythmic convulsions clamped down him. She had no choice but to grind on him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her, intolerable, immense, and glorious. Suddenly Mac’s hips erupted in a staccato burst of short thrusts. Now Isabelle did scream, her body shaking with ecstasy, convulsing around him. Her legs fell from his waist and her hands from his back as Mac pushed hard into her one last time. He leaned forward, curling his body over hers, pressing his face to her breast, rocking with the last of his release.
 

Her final clenches closed savagely around him and, over her rasping gasps, she heard him hiss. He held her weight completely now and though her head lolled back, her hips couldn’t stop. Jerking, erratic pumping bucked against him but, as he leaned farther forward, her shoulders touched the cool comforter below them, then her back and finally her hips. Mac was on top of her and inside her as the last of her intense climax made her pelvis pulse one final time before she could lay still.
 

Their breath rushed in and out but Mac slowly leaned his mouth down close to her ear.
 

“I love you, Isabelle,” he whispered.

Her heavy eyelids fluttered open, almost not believing what she’d heard. Mac raised up a little from her and his face came into view. His eyes quickly searched hers and then watched her lips.

“I love you, Mac,” she whispered breathlessly.

He smiled then–a smile so full of happiness that it seemed to light the dim room. But in moments, she could no longer see it, as he embraced her tightly and her arms wound around his back. As her eyes slowly closed, though, she imagined she
could
see his smile and knew with certainty that it must look something like her own.

• • • • •

Sharon’s email almost made Mac sit up in bed but that would have woken Isabelle. After two consecutive nightmares, she had finally settled down sometime between two and three. Now she slept soundly, gathered into the crook of his arm, her soft breath drifting across his chest. Although the light at the window meant that it was late morning, he had no intention of waking her.

He scrolled back to the top of the phone’s tiny screen and read the email again. Forensics had found some type of foreign substance on Angela’s body that they were trying to identify. And a
glove print!
The scalpel had a partial thumb print. The Chameleon had likely been wearing surgical gloves, ultra thin and dextrous. He must have been gripping the steel hard. The print had come through the latex.

The Chameleon’s making mistakes.

Already sketch artists were working on melding the drawing of the Priest, the descriptions from Isabelle’s reading of the stethoscope, and the security camera footage to come up with a new image. Quantico had promised digital support this time. News of the Chameleon was going nationwide.

Quantico,
Mac thought
. Home.

“I hear your heart beating faster,” Isabelle whispered, looking up at him. “What is it?”

Mac set the phone on the bed.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling down at her. He moved a few strands of hair out of her face and her sleepy smile told him she needed more rest.

“Good morning,” she said. She ran her gloved hand up the middle of his chest, almost to the base of his throat, and then back down again. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

It was too early to talk about the Chameleon. That could wait for later. Instead, Mac had something more important to say.

“I’m staying,” he said.

“I should hope so,” Isabelle said, settling her head back down to his shoulder as her hand drifted up his chest again. “We haven’t even had breakfast.”

“I mean I’m not going back to Quantico,” he said.

Her hand stopped and she suddenly raised her head.

“What?” she said.

“I’m not going back to Quantico,” he said again. “I’m staying in LA.”

“But your job–”

“Is to catch the Chameleon,” Mac finished.
 

Isabelle was silent for a few moments but then a smile began to grow as though what he was saying had begun to sink in.

“You are mine, Isabelle,” Mac said lowly as he wrapped his arms around her. “And I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

At that, she tucked her head under his chin and lay her face against his chest and, in that moment, he knew he wouldn’t lose her. He couldn’t. Not after…Lynn.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

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Torn
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• • • • •

Though deeply in love and struggling for the next level of intimacy, Isabelle and Mac are both put to the test. Read the thrilling conclusion of their hunt for a serial killer who has set his sights on Isabelle, as the pursuer becomes the pursued.

TAKEN

A Second Sight Novella

Book 3

Although psychic Isabelle de Grey and FBI Special Agent Gavin “Mac” MacMillan are most definitely a couple, they hadn’t counted on being together 24/7. But when a serial killer known as the Chameleon takes a special interest in Isabelle, Mac refuses to leave her side.

Though deeply in love, their relationship is put to the test when the FBI, against Mac’s wishes, asks Isabelle to act as a decoy. Although Isabelle is willing, the plan unwittingly plays into Mac’s darkest and secret fear. As their relationship strains to the breaking point and Isabelle’s life hangs in the balance, Mac finally understands that every predator must have their prey.

Available NOW at Amazon
.

Copyright © 2013 Hazel Hunter

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
 

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