“Don’t ever forget.”

“Won’t.” Can’t.

He paused. She nearly shouted.

“I vow to you here and now, Mishka, that I will never hurt you. You can trust me.”

With those words, that erotic vow, there was no stopping her orgasm. Not this time. Pleasure slammed through her, more intense than anything she’d ever experienced before. A scream ripped past her lips, a sultry concerto of freedom and bliss.

When she quieted an eternity later, Jaxon was naked and crawling up her body. Glistening sweat dripped from him. He wasn’t smiling, didn’t look capable of gentleness any longer. He looked savage.

His silver eyes pierced her as he gripped his cock and moved to penetrate her. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

Rather than surge forward, he stilled, the tip teasing her. Absolute agony claimed his features. “Shit. I don’t have a condom.”

“I don’t have any here.” She reached between them and curled her own fingers around the thick base. The heat, the strength captivated her.

He hissed out a breath. “Hell, yes.”

“I can’t get pregnant, but…”

“Move your hand on me. Up and down. Just like that.” His eyelids closed. “But what?”

As she worked him, her knuckles brushed her clit, intensifying her renewed desire. “I’ve never let a man enter me without one. I can’t catch anything, but I never wanted to chance it. I never wanted such close contact.”

His hips pumped forward, the lines of strain around his mouth deepening. “Do you want it now?”

Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. Did she?

“It can be like last time if you prefer, but I want to be inside you. I want to feel you, all of you.”

Oh, yes. She wanted. “I—I think I would like that, too.” She’d chosen him. She wanted him. She craved everything he could give her. “Yes.”

“Thank God. Will you roll over for me?” he asked.

Her eyes widened, her hand stilled. Give a man her back?

He peered down at her. He gave a quick, almost pained smile. “I won’t hurt you. Trust me. Please.”

She’d never even considered giving a man her back. Such a thing required trust, just like he’d said. Trust me. The thought both alarmed and excited her.

This was Jaxon, the man who’d given her more pleasure in two days than anyone else had over the entire, seemingly endless span of her life. And after Jaxon’s bondage confession, part of her wondered if he hoped to spur her into fighting and exerting her will on him.

As she gazed up at him, studying, contemplating, she saw desire so intense it was practically a separate entity.

No. He didn’t want her to fight. He just wanted her.

Though she had no idea what he planned to do, she twisted until she lay on her stomach. The sheet was warm from their body heat, a little damp from their sweat and arousal.

Jaxon sat up and straddled her, his knees caging her hips. He smoothed her hair from her back and traced his fingers up her spine. Goose bumps formed, and she shivered.

“I know I’ve told you before, but the artwork is exquisite.”

“Thank you.” The many surgeries she’d endured to “make her more efficient” had left countless scars. She hadn’t been able to see them unless she contorted herself in a mirror, but she’d known they were there, which made them a constant reminder of what she was.

The feminine flowers had helped combat that, and all remaining insecurities were somehow banished by Jaxon’s praise.

“I wish you hadn’t been hurt.” Leaning forward, Jaxon laved his tongue over each ridge of her spine, might even have traced some of the petals. The hot, wet heat against her skin acted as another brand, leaving an invisible tattoo: Jaxon’s woman.

He kissed her neck; he kneaded her ass. He whispered all the things he wanted to do to her in her ear, told her how beautiful she was, how strong, how sweet, how he was going to bury his cock deep inside her.

Soon she was writhing again. Soon she was desperate for him again.

“Raise to your hands and knees for me.”

Without question, she lifted. He gripped her hips, pulling her against him so that his chest pressed into her back. “Ready, baby?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Tell me if you want me to stop. It might kill me, but I’ll stop.” His erection pressed into her. Not sinking, not yet. One of his hands snaked around her and dipped into her core.

Oh, God. “Don’t stop.”

In…farther and farther, so slowly, he sank into her. She was so wet it was an incredible glide. “Damn, you feel good.”

He reached the hilt, and she moaned. He felt amazing. He filled her completely, stretching her deliciously. Without the condom, it was like being caressed by velvet-covered steel. More, she wanted more.

When his fingers circled her clitoris, taking her a step closer to that satisfaction, she moaned. And moaned. And moaned.

“Next time I’m going to sink inside you deep and hard, pounding.” Every word was spoken with a gentle, torturous slide. “I’m going to have your legs on my shoulders and I’m going to work my dick until you’re screaming my name.”

Everything he said, she pictured in her mind. Him, over her, straining. Her, lost in the bliss of his body. Just like that, she tumbled over the edge a second time. Her core clamped around his cock, her back arched.

He continued to work her, prolonging her orgasm and intensifying it another degree. Just like he’d wanted, she screamed his name over and over again, unable to stop herself. So good, so good. He never increased his rhythm, only dragged the pleasure out for a wondrous eternity.

“Mishka,” he gritted. And then he roared, hot seed jetting inside her. His arms tightened around her, locking her close. His warm breath panted over her neck. “Mine,” he said. “Mine.”

CHAPTER 13

Jaxon traced a fingertip over Mishka’s tattooed spine. He’d never been one to linger after the pleasure was sated, but this time, with this woman, he wanted to stay. Could think of no place else he’d rather be.

All of his protective instincts were engaged, his sense of indignity on her behalf sharpened to a razor point. Surely that explained his softening toward her. Surely that explained his need to hold her and never let go. His need to guard her from the demons that plagued her. His need to move her into his home. Surely that, and not love. Because Jaxon didn’t do love.

Love complicated things, made a person accountable for the other’s thoughts, emotions, and suicide attempts. Jaxon frowned. The last had slipped into the equation of its own accord. Suicide attempts.

For years, the fear of driving another woman to extinguish her own life had colored his every second, every action. And for the first time, he realized why he’d always chosen shallow women. They did not care about deeper emotion. Abhorred it, really. They wouldn’t sink into a spiral of despair if he hurt their feelings.

Mishka wasn’t shallow, but he knew she wouldn’t crumble, no matter what he did or said.

She was strong, inside and out. Perhaps the strongest female he’d ever met. A smile played at his lips. Her right arm wasn’t the only thing comprised of unbendable, unbreakable titanium. Or whatever the metal was. Her inner core was, as well. He highly doubted she’d try to take her own life just because a man hurt her. She might kill the man, though, and Jaxon found that he liked that about her.

His arms tightened around her, and she purred her contentment. Currently she was draped over his chest, asleep and utterly relaxed, her warm breath caressing his nipples, strawberry tresses splayed over his shoulder. Relaxation drifted just beyond his grasp.

What am I going to do?

His mind abandoned the topic of love and strength in favor of survival and safety. He needed to hide Mishka from her boss, but how? The chip allowed her to be tracked.

There was only one solution, obviously: cut that fucking chip out of her brain. Never again would her boss dictate her actions. Even the thought of the bastard doing so filled Jaxon with rage. He would have to research the world’s top surgeons. If there was a chance, even a slight one, that the chip could be removed without killing her or making her a vegetable, he thought she would take it, no hesitation.

Killing her. The two words echoed in his mind. Killing her. Killing her. Did he want her to have surgery if there was a chance she would die? He didn’t ponder the answer. He thought he already knew what it was, and he didn’t like the kind of person that made him. Selfish, greedy, callous.

Damn it! He craved action, consequences something to be considered only in hindsight. Now he felt helpless, and the consequences of his actions could actually destroy a person he, what? Cared about? Yes, he cared for Mishka, he realized. Not love, never love, but there was caring. He couldn’t deny that.

Being with her had rocked him. Every time surprised wonder had flickered over her lovely features, his own pleasure had intensified.

He’d never come so hard.

“Jaxon?” Mishka suddenly said, her voice filled with worry.

He turned his head and looked down at her. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even stiffened, but her eyes were wide open and glistening with panic. His heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t move. My body is frozen in place.”

His brow puckered in confusion. “Frozen?”

“Yes,” a smug, unfamiliar voice said. “Frozen.”

Stiffening, Jaxon searched the hazy bedroom, sifting through the golden moonlight and shadows. He found a tall, excessively muscled man. No, not a man. An alien. Those amber eyes were too bright to be human. Glittery skin, handsome face women probably drooled over.

“Who are you?” Jaxon demanded as he slowly, stealthily reached for one of the knives on the nightstand. If this alien tried to hurt Mishka, Jaxon would kill him.

“He’s the man who’s going to save your ass.”

At the new voice, Jaxon stilled. “Dallas?”

His best friend and fellow agent stepped into a lone beam of moonlight. Familiar brown hair and sun-kissed skin came into view. Dallas was tall and lean and covered in black from neck to toe. His eyes were glowing just as brightly as the alien’s, only Dallas’s were azure and filled with shock.

“Now isn’t this cozy?” Dallas’s gaze had shifted to Mishka, and the shock quickly morphed into anger. “Wrong hair, right face. Freaking great.” His attention returned to Jaxon. “Not exactly how I thought to find you, cavorting with the enemy.”

Frowning, Jaxon gripped the sheet and jerked it over Mishka’s nakedness. “Why can’t she move?”

“I won’t let her,” the stranger said with a grin. “She’s very pretty. May I have her when you’re done?”

Jaxon fought a homicidal urge as jealousy roared to life. Mine, his mind screamed. “Stop whatever you’re doing. Now.”

“Uh, no. She has murder in her eyes. I don’t trust her to behave like a good little girl.”

“Dallas,” Jaxon growled. “Tell your buddy to stop.”

“Sorry, my friend, but I agree with Devyn. She’s bad news. Now, do you want to tell me what’s been going on? We’ve been worried about you.”

The lights suddenly switched on, even though no one had moved an inch. Jaxon figured the otherworlder bastard had used his obviously considerable mind powers to control it.

“Free the girl,” Jaxon said, “and I’ll tell you everything that’s been going on.”

“Jaxon,” Mishka said. The sharpness of her voice cut like a dagger.

He tightened his arm around her in a silent demand for silence. She didn’t know Dallas or the man’s lightning-fast temper. One wrong word and he feared Dallas would turn a weapon on her. If that happened, Jaxon wasn’t sure what he’d do. Dallas was his best friend. They’d known each other for years, had fought together, had killed for each other. But Mishka was…he still didn’t know what she was to him.

“Just let her go, all right?”

“Did you hear that?” Dallas asked the alien, his tone layered with incredulity.

“Yes. I’m standing right here,” was the confused reply.

Dallas rolled his eyes. To Jaxon he said, “Aliens. They never get our sense of humor.” His eyes slitted with menace. “I yell at Jack. For you. I call Mia. For you. I call assassins. For you. I form a crew and let them mess up my house to save your ass. I spend hours breaking into this hellhole. I—”

“I broke into it,” Devyn interjected. “You watched me work.”

“Whatever. The point is, we go to all this trouble because we thought you were dying, being tortured, the usual fare, but here you are. Naked. In bed. Pleasured.”

A low growl emerged from Mishka.

Okay. Off the subject of sex, like, now. “I called you,” Jaxon said. “I told you I was fine.”

Now Dallas frowned. “For all I knew, you made that phone call with a gun to your head, every word forced.”

Shit. Yeah, Dallas had a point. “Mishka, tell the nice men you aren’t going to hurt them if they free you.”

“I’m going to peel the skin from that alien’s bones and make a coat. I’ll wear it when I invade his planet and slaughter his entire family.”

Dallas’s mouth fell open. Devyn’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, though his amusement lingered.

Jaxon rubbed a hand down his face. “Let’s go to the living room,” he suggested.

“You are not leaving me in here,” Mishka growled. “Not like this.”