Claimed by the Beast. Saranna DeWylde

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СКАЧАТЬ hand rose of its own accord, slowly, as if it was moving through water, and settled, palm flat, against the spot where his rested. She wanted to jerk her hand away. He was a monster. He was a test subject. He was the enemy.

      Daphne’s muscles rebelled and refused to obey her. The hot jolts of need bursting through her at the pseudo contact were even worse. Even though he was a beast, she waited for him to mock her. He had that same sly, knowing look as when he’d scented her, but he didn’t mock her. He seemed to be studying her, waiting for her to cycle through her thoughts.

      His hands, even in this form, were like paws. Huge—the tips of her fingers reached to only his first knuckle. She knew he was big, but the reality of his size hadn’t been clear until just now.

      He whispered something in a language she didn’t understand. At least her conscious mind didn’t, but her body, it understood more than she wanted it to.

      Every nerve ending flickered, sparked and burned. It was as if his hands were everywhere, on her waist, sliding up her rib cage, down her spine, cupping her breasts. And his mouth, sweet lord, his mouth...

      Daphne knew the horrors that lay in his mouth with all those sharp teeth, but the sensation of lips on her breasts, his tongue flicking and laving at her tight nipples, pushing her ever higher and closer to the edge... Each stroke on her swollen flesh heightened the sensation after it.

      In her mind’s eye, she was on her back with her legs spread wide, the black cascade of his hair draped over her thighs, and that evil mouth working her slit—tongue and fingers plunging and caressing faster, harder and hotter.

      She bucked and moaned, begged him for more—and he obliged her. Daphne’d never experienced anything like that, not in the real world and certainly not in her own head. As impervious to damage as he was, her nails raked little gashes up the smooth plane of his back—her mark on him.

      Mine. No, no! Not hers. She shook her head.

      Only, she’d said the word aloud.

      Konstantin.

      His voice touched her as intimately as these foreign thoughts, reverberating through her and burrowing under her skin, past fascia, deep into the marrow of her bones. Invading her on a cellular level.

      There was a bomb inside her, and it started the countdown to detonation.

      “Mine,” he said, his lips curled in an expression of purely male satisfaction as the aftershocks of the orgasm shook her.

      He dropped his hand and backed away from the observatory slowly, as if she were the animal and he the scientist.

      The ramifications of what had just transpired made Daphne grab the console for support, before she crumpled to her knees. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

      Daphne slapped blindly at the console, sending the wall crashing down between the observatory and terrarium, but it was too late.

      A demonic aria of howling echoed throughout the facility, but it was his howl that took the lead. His howl that scraped against her skin. And in every nuance of the song, all she heard was that one, single damning word.

      Mine.

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