Protect and Serve: Fox and Feral
Angela Knight

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Angela Knight

ISBN: 978-1-60521-609-6
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Editor: Margaret Riley
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

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Protect and Serve: Fox and Feral

Angela Knight

FBI agents Candace Fox and James Feral have served together for five years, using their genetically enhanced abilities to save hostages and fight a war. But as they’ve tempted death, an intense desire has grown between them -- which they’ve carefully ignored. They’ve had to. She’s his superior officer, and love between them is strictly against regulation. But when a brush with death triggers a frenzied hour of passion, will their surrender to need destroy their lives?

Chapter One

All hell was breaking loose down in the New York street ten stories below. Gunfire sounded in a continuous pop pop pop, sounding thin and harmless at this distance. The way the NYPD cops huddled behind their cars revealed just how far from harmless it really was. They were outgunned all to hell by eight men with M-30s who strolled up and down the sidewalk in front of the bank, firing as if they were at a shooting range, not bothering to take cover at all. Didn’t need to. The robbers were wearing military grade body armor, designed as protection against weapons a hell of a lot more powerful then the cops’ handguns.

Luckily, our armor was better. And we hit harder.

Thing was, they had a hostage. Bank teller, or maybe a customer. The leader held her with an arm around her neck while he shot around her one handed. The woman screamed once, thin and high, like a rabbit being killed.

I could almost taste her terror. We had to get her out before they blew her brains all over the street.

Saving people is the whole point of the FBI Special Services unit. We get called in when hostages are in imminent danger and the cops are afraid rescue is impossible.

“Well, this is a Charlie Foxtrot,” Feral drawled, using the Marine expression for another Marine expression: cluster fuck. “Saving that hostage is going to be a bitch, Cap.”

“I’ll get her,” I told him. “You distract the asshole brigade.” And try not to lose your frickin’ mind. I didn’t say that, though. Thanks to the Desert Warrior program, it wasn’t something he could really control. Besides, three tours of duty in the ’Stans, two as Black Ops, had left Feral with some serious issues.

I keyed my throat mic to broadcast on the cops’ frequency. “Fox and Feral, coming in. Hold your fire.”

Feral leaped, a perfect, flat dive out into space. I tried not to watch the flex of his ass under the dragon scales, but it’s one hell of a view, and I’m a girl who loves a fine male behind. But then, everything Feral’s got is fine.

As he shot his line at one streetlamp, I aimed my fist at another and sent a mental message through my armor. The thin, high tensile line shot out of my wrist unit, and its weighted end swung around the light support. I gave it a tug. It held, so I ordered the line to retract and leaped off the roof of the ten-story building. Any normal human would have been street pizza, but neither of us had been completely human in years.

The top secret military program we’d volunteered for in 2032 had altered our DNA, increasing our endurance as well as the strength of our muscles and the density of our bones. We were now six times as strong as a human the same size and gender. And considering how damned big Feral was, that’s saying something.

Being a hell of a lot smaller, I’m nowhere near as strong as he is. But I’m fast, and agile, and I know how to use what I’ve got.

The line jerked me down toward the streetlamp. For a moment, it was like flying -- a breathtaking swoop through empty air, the ground careening toward my face. If I mistimed the release, they’d have to hose me off the side of the bank.

Christ, I loved this.

My timing was dead on. The line stopped retracting at my command, and I swung upward, slowing my plunge just enough. I released the line at the top of the arc and went free fall, tucking into a ball to hit the ground rolling. The impact jarred my teeth even through ten layers of Titan Laminate helmet and an inch of anti-concussive gel.

I bounced to my feet. There were two thugs between me and the guy with the hostage, so I threw myself into a roundhouse and kicked one robber right behind the ear. His helmet cracked under my Titan-cored boot, and he fell like a bag of wet cement. I glimpsed a figure whirling toward me and drove my elbow into his throat, not quite hard enough to crush his larynx. He choked and collapsed, more interested in breathing than giving me shit.

I raced to the hostage’s captor, snapped one booted foot up and kicked the bastard right in the back of his thigh. Crack! He went down with a howl, dropping his gun to grab for his broken leg. Greenstick fracture, given the way I’d hit him. Served the fucker right.

I hauled the hostage up from where she’d fallen in a heap with her captor, pushed her ahead of me, then bent to scoop up the jackass’s gun. “Go, go, go!”

She looked back, saw my facemask, and screamed like a horror trid blonde.

“I’m a federal agent!” I yelled at her. “Get your ass moving!”

She ran, skittering on her high heels as best she could. I galloped behind her, one hand on her shoulder as I sought to both steady her and shield her with my body.

Hey, I was wearing full body armor. She was wearing JC Penney.

BlamBlamBlam!

Something that felt like a Volvo rammed me in the ribs. The impact spun me around and dropped me. My head hit the pavement with a meaty melon thunk, and stars exploded behind my eyes. When the pretty lights faded, I saw the girl get snatched behind a patrol car by a long, blue-clad arm.

I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt paralyzed.

“Fox!” Feral shouted in my ear on our com frequency, but when I tried to answer, my frozen diaphragm still refused to budge.

He made a weird growling sound, building to a howl that might have been my name. Oh fuck, he’s gone berserker.

The raw panic in that thought punched so much adrenaline through my system that my chest jerked into a huge, desperate gasp, and I started breathing again. I tried to sit up. My ribs howled like a whole pack of werewolves. Some fucker had shot me in the side with multiple rounds from an M-30. My suit’s protection had held, but I’d be black and blue from shoulder to hip.

I looked toward the bad guys, vaguely surprised nobody was using me for target practice.

Oh. Feral had hit them like a cat in an aviary. He wasn’t even using his wrist guns. He snatched one robber’s M-30 and smashed the jerk-off’s jaw with the other fist. The robber flew fifteen feet and hit the side of a building.

They do that when Feral hits them. Especially if he’s pissed.

Another shooter crabbed closer, his gun trained on Feral’s helmeted skull. Asshole must have known our armor can absorb anything but a contact blast with an M-30. Feral spun, bringing the rifle butt down and around in a vicious arc that slammed into the guy’s belly. He bent double, and Feral clubbed him on the base of the skull. He ate parking lot.

The last guy jumped Feral from behind, a knife in his fist. As his arm closed around Feral’s neck, my partner grabbed his elbow and jackknifed, jerking the guy up and over his head to hit the pavement with a crunch. As the creep hit, his knife pinwheeled across the street. Feral leaped astride him and powered a big, armored fist into his face. His arm moved like a piston, punching the bastard ten times in less than two seconds, his fist blurring. Blood flew. I could hear him growling in my earpiece.

Fuck. He was definitely berserk. If I didn’t pull him back in, he’d kill the bastard, and we were screwed. I pushed my aching body to my feet and lumbered into a skull-jarring run down the street toward them. Grabbing his arm in mid-punch, I hauled back on his wrist, only to be jerked completely off my feet as he hit the guy anyway. “Feral!” I shouted as he tossed me around like a rag doll. “I’m okay! Get off him!”

“He shot you!” At least I think that’s what he said. The snarl made it hard to tell.

“Didn’t penetrate my armor. Now let him go, Marine!” I managed a credible battleground bark that time, and his fist froze. Thank God for training. I got my feet on the ground and braced, just in case.

Feral dropped the asshole and got to his feet. I looked around. The eight robbers sprawled on the ground, but they all seemed to be breathing. I blew out a breath of my own, relieved.

Killing people is a pain in the ass. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork.

The cops started cuffing the thieves and tossing them into patrol cars.

“Agent Fox!” a guy in a suit called as he trotted down the street toward us. Probably the incident commander.

Before I could answer, Feral locked one arm around my waist, pointed the other at a streetlamp, and jumped as his line retracted, whipping us both skyward.

“Feral, what the fuck are you doing?” I yelled.

He didn’t answer, swinging his legs up at the top of the arc and releasing the line. We flew through the air to land on the same roof we’d jumped from.

Feral fell to his knees with me in his arms. Rooftop grit rasped under his armor, and I smelled sun-heated tar. A flock of pigeons wheeled overhead in the reddening sky, riding the thermals of sunset. In the distance, I could just hear the crackle of police radios.

He reached for the seal of my chest plate. I tried to knock his hand away, but he grabbed my wrist in one big hand and clicked the release with the other.

“Feral, I told you I wasn’t hurt. Would you cut it out?”

He ignored me. The armor section split in half like a clam shell, revealing my bare torso. I tried to muster my best hard-ass captain snarl and order him to get his hands off! My mouth opened but nothing came out.

Feral froze. I couldn’t see his expression behind his helmet’s polarized faceplate, but somehow I could feel the heat of his gaze on my naked breasts.

Then he pulled off a glove. I caught my breath, but he just rolled me to my side and skimmed my bruised ribs with his fingertips, his touch delicate as a butterfly’s wing beat. I damn near moaned. “Anything broken?”

“No, damn it,” I snapped, finally able to talk. “Would you get off me?”

“I’m not on you.” Then I thought I heard him mutter, “But I’d like to be.”

I decided to ignore that, especially since he sealed my armor back up and helped me into a sitting position.

He pulled off his helmet and raked a hand through his thick hair, leaving it standing up in short sable tufts. Strictly speaking, Feral wasn’t a gorgeous guy. His face was more bad-ass than male model, with deep-set eyes under thick brows, a crooked nose and a lantern jaw. A shrapnel scar bisected the aggressive jut of his chin. But his mouth looked soft and inviting, and I had dreams about kissing him.

Among other things.

Trouble was, I’d been his commanding officer for four years in the Corps, and I was still his control now that we were FBI. You didn’t seduce a guy who took your orders. There were rules against that shit for good reason.

In our case, it’d really be a dumbass thing to do, because everything rode on my ability to snap him out of it. Would he still listen to me if we were warming the sheets? I couldn’t take the chance. Somebody would die, and Feral would spend the rest of his life in jail.

And Christ, my life would suck without Feral in it.

“This isn’t working, Candace,” he said. “I can’t do this anymore.”

My heart stopped. He only called me Candace when things got ugly. The rest of the time I was Fox, or maybe even Cap if he was channeling the Corps. “What’s not working?”

But I knew.

Those bright blue eyes met mine, level and naked in their honesty. He was always honest. I was the one who had to lie. “I want you.”

“Don’t do this to me, Jim.” I unbuckled my helmet, jerked it off, and raked my hands through my sweaty red curls.

“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. Why do you think I gave you so much shit?”

“Everybody gave me shit.” I was a female officer in a Special Ops unit, a good four inches shorter than everybody on my team. Big tits, no testosterone. Of course they tested me, at least until I established I was meaner than every motherfucking one of them.

They’d started calling me Killer Fox inside a month. Behind my back, anyway. Only Feral dared call me that to my face, and I’d made him scrub the latrine with his toothbrush for his gall.

“This thing between us is distracting the hell out of me, Cap,” Feral said. “I’ve jerked off thinking of you until I’ve got calluses on my dick.”

“Christ, Feral!” Heat flooded my face in a humiliating blush. No way would I tell him how many times I’d given my vibrator a workout fantasizing about him. Those hot little daydreams had been getting steadily kinkier, too. Feral in handcuffs, yum. Hell, me in handcuffs.

Nope, not telling him that. I’d known since the Marines that if you gave Feral an inch, he’d take the whole fucking football field -- and dance in the end zone.

I could feel his bright blue eyes like a laser sight boring into my skull. Knowing too much. “You want me too, Candace.”

I bounced to my feet and started to pace, unable to sit still any longer. “I’m your control, Feral. Fraternization is a serious infraction of Bureau regs.”

He rose to his feet, crossed his arms, and loomed. Feral has a talent for looming. “Cap, play that tune for somebody who doesn’t know you. You don’t give a shit about the rules. Hell, you love bending them until they scream.” He smiled, and I felt the wet bloom of need low in my belly. “That’s why I’ve always liked you, even when you’re being a flaming bitch.”

“So we fuck,” I snapped, whirling to face him, wanting him so damned bad my teeth hurt. “The next time you lose your shit on some asshole, and I try to haul you off, what happens? You tell me you’re gonna listen to some piece of ass you’re banging?”

His head rocked back as if I’d hit him. “You’re not a piece of ass to me.”

“Because you’ve never done me, Jim.” I turned away and started striding across the roof again, trying to burn off my frustrated anger. “You think I don’t know how it works? I gave orders to grunts for three tours in the ’Stans. The minute they think of you as ass, you lose any authority you ever had. Remember Bryce and Starnes?”

“You’re not Starnes, and I’m sure as shit not Bryce,” he growled.

I ignored him. “They started sleeping together, and the next time she gave him an order, he fucking didn’t listen. He got shot, and she ended up a guest of the Tangos. We damn near didn’t get her back before they cut off her fucking head on YouTube.”

Feral leaned forward, eyes going narrow. “Richard Bryce was a moron. You’re right, the Lt. was nothing to him but ass. He nailed her because he wanted to nail a lieutenant, and she fell for it. He never respected her. That’s not us. That was never us.”

I shot him the look that comment deserved. “You respect me because you’ve never banged me. I’ve seen you with women, Feral.”

“None of those women were you.”

“Yeah, right.” Christ, I wanted to believe him.

“I’m going to ask for a transfer.”

Chapter Two

A transfer? Ice rolled up my face to my hairline. I stopped dead to stare at him. “You can’t do that. Who’d be your control? You’ve got to have somebody who can snap you out of it, or you’ll kill someone.”

A muscle in his cheek worked as he ground his teeth. “You got shot today because I was looking at your ass instead of the bastard with the gun. Why do you think I lost my shit?”

My jaw dropped. “What?”

He gave me that look again. “I love to watch you move. You’re so fucking fast on those long legs, and you’ve got an ass like a dancer. You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who can make full body armor look hot. I saw you out of the corner of my eye, and just for an instant, I had to look.” He bared his teeth, hot animal rage blazing up in his eyes. “And the fucker I was going after shot you.”

I threw my hands up. “Damn it, Feral, you know an M-30 can’t punch through Special Services armor. Not at that distance. God knows we’ve both been shot often enough to prove it.”

“Maybe I’m tired of watching you take a bullet because I fucked up.”

“Yeah, well, I should have seen the jerk taking aim. As to getting distracted -- you’re human. I hear that’s going around.”

“Ha. Funny.” He walked toward me, and I watched him come, so tall and broad-shouldered and tempting. When we were bare inches apart, he touched my cheek. His fingertips were warm and rough. He smelled of cordite and armor and sweat. I wanted to eat him with a spoon. “Let me make love to you. Or let me go.”

My nipples peaked, and I was glad the armor hid them. “No.”

He curled his lip, and I realized for the first time that Feral was pissed. “I’ve got to get you out of my system. This thing is too damned distracting. I’m going to get you killed, and God help me then. The cops’ll have to put a bullet in my brain to keep me from killing every motherfucker on the scene.”

Wait -- he thought screwing me would get me out of his system? When I knew Goddamn well nothing could ever get Feral out of mine?

I exploded. Just lost my mind, five years of sheer frustration emerging in one furious snarl. “You want to fuck? Fine, we’ll fuck.” I bent over and snatched my helmet off the roof, jammed it down over my head, and buckled it under my chin with a vicious jerk. “If you can catch me, asshole.”

Then I jumped to the top of the roof parapet and balanced on the three-inch wide wall until I spotted a streetlamp. I leaped into empty air before I’d even shot my line. Stupid, but I was pissed. I’d always had a temper, and nobody could set me off like Feral. Not even Dad.

“Damn it, Fox!” I heard him roar, but the line caught, and I was flying, rage blistering me like a desert sandstorm.

In retrospect, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I’d sworn to keep my distance from the man I’d craved like a drug for five long years. I knew all the reasons I had to keep my need under wraps, and they were damned good ones.

In that moment, none of it mattered. I wanted to kick his ass for saying he wanted me “out of his system” when I’d been in love with him for years. Worse, he thought one fuck would do the job. As if I meant that little.

Yeah, well, good luck with that, asshole.

He wasn’t going to catch me. I’m shorter than he is by five inches, but for all his strength, I’m a hell of a lot faster.

Feral spent his thoroughly middle-class childhood playing football. Poor little rich girl that I was, I’d trained to become an Olympic gymnast from the time I was two -- at least until Daddy realized I was growing too tall and way too busty to win the gold.

When my father lost interest in the daughter he considered a failure, I’d tried various ways to win him back. A black belt in Aikido, running track, target shooting. No matter how many ribbons and trophies and medals I won in which butch sports, my father never seemed to care. Eventually I realized he loved the tech company he’d founded a hell of a lot more than he ever would me.

So I’d enlisted in the Marines, the ultimate “Fuck you!” to Daddy. He’d raised me to become CEO of Foxtech, not a lowly Marine. But I liked being a Marine, and I liked being the officer of a Special Ops team even better. I had a talent for leadership, and I could do hard-ass with the best of them.

I wasn’t Steve Fox’s daughter for nothing.

Then they’d given Feral and me a couple of Silver Stars when we’d rescued Lt. Starnes, and the top brass had offered us a chance to volunteer for the Desert Warrior program. The recombinant DNA treatments had hyped my natural agility and speed to a level even Feral couldn’t match.

Then again, I’d once seen him lift a car off a six-year-old. If he caught me, I was fucked. Literally. But he wasn’t going to catch me.

By all rights, I should have burned off some of my rage as I leaped and swung from rooftop to rooftop, flinging myself into somersaults and vaults, building up my speed as I raced along.

Instead my fury grew with every flip and soaring dive. I’d spent my childhood driving myself past exhaustion and pain, trying to prove I’d inherited my brilliant father’s steely determination. Despite my looks, I wasn’t my airhead mother, one of a series of supermodel trophy wives who took him for all the alimony they could get.

Daddy hadn’t given a rat’s ass.

I’d spent my adult years turning myself into Mighty Marine, so I could fight beside a man who desperately needed me as my father never had.

A man who’d just told me he wanted me out of his system.

Fuck running. I skidded to a stop on the roof I’d just hit, clenching my fists in their Titan Laminate gloves. Damned if I was going to run from Feral any longer. Instead, I was going to give him a taste of the pain he’d just inflicted on me.

I scanned the roof, automatically checking out its potential as a battleground. Huh. I’d apparently managed to pick a building belonging to someone with serious money, because they’d planted a rooftop garden. Trees and bushes snuggled against the cream stones of the parapet, and flowers bloomed in a profusion of red and yellow blooms in semi-circular beds around the trees. A cream brick walkway curved a wandering path among the greenery. There was even a patch of grass about twenty feet square, soft and vibrantly green, complete with a wrought iron bench in case you wanted to contemplate your little slice of Manhattan nature.

Off to one side of the plant life squatted a couple of air conditioning units, as well as a rooftop access that rose like a cream stone castle turret. I could see through the glass doors that the lights were off inside. Hopefully nobody was home. The last thing we needed was to get arrested for trespassing.

I considered picking another roof for my brawl, then decided not to bother. Those trees would make dandy concealment for the ambush I was planning. Besides, the beauty of the garden seemed like the perfect setting to kick Feral’s ass.

The sun was setting, and I slipped into the shadows of an apple tree to look back the way I’d come.

There he was, a couple of rooftops behind me, running full out. No showy leaps or flips for Feral. He covered ground with the grim determination of a hunting wolf, sure that sooner or later he would catch up to me.

It was going to be a lot sooner than he expected.

Watching Feral run was enough to make a nun cream. Even as pissed as I was, he was hypnotic. The New York skyline formed a glittering backdrop for his hard-charging strength, throwing glints of light off the armor’s black dragon scales as they rippled over the working ridges and hollows of his body. I admired the brawny pump of his arms with each long stride, the sleek slide of abdominals and pectorals, the bunch and release of powerful thighs. I’d seen him shirtless, and the view was even better. Good enough to inspire dreams.

My gaze dropped to the armor’s groin cup. God, I wanted to see the cock curled tight inside that Titan shell. I wanted to touch the long veined shaft, feel the weight of his balls in my palm, brush my fingers through the thick ruff that surrounded them.

No shaved, hairless perfection for Feral. His chest was covered with a soft cloud of dark hair that narrowed to a teasing treasure trail. I ached to trace it with my fingers even when patching him up, as I’d done so often in the ’Stans.

And every time I saw him like that, I wondered about his cock. Was it as long and thick as his powerful body promised?

I’d imagined licking it like an ice cream cone, feeling him writhe against me, all that masculinity and strength rendered helpless by my mouth. I’d imagined handcuffing him to my bed and touching him, tasting him, bringing him to a gasping peak of pleasure, then doing it all over again.

And all he wanted was me out of his system.

Asshole. Motherfucker. Bastard.

Feral soared over the gap between rooftops to hit the garden walkway with the solid thud of armored boots on stone. He barely took two running strides before he skidded to a stop, his head coming up, as if he’d scented my simmering rage. He probably had. Like everything else it had enhanced, the Desert Warrior Program had sharpened our senses until we could see like eagles and follow a scent like wolves.

I burst from the shelter of the trees and threw myself into a spinning kick aimed right for his muscular gut. He jumped back and knocked my foot aside with one bladed hand. “Damn it, Fox, what the hell are you…”

I didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence, plowing into him with a series of one-two punches, body blows with my full strength behind them. He blocked them with automatic skill, but I still drove him back a step.

Not enough. It wasn’t enough. Even if I got through his guard, his armor would protect him from my fists, regardless of my enhanced strength.

So I flung myself into a backward somersault, kicking my feet up and over to catch him squarely in the jaw. He staggered, shaking his head hard as I hit my feet.

Ha. Got you that time, jerkoff.

I threw myself at the trunk of a tree, kicked one foot off it to build momentum, and flew at him to slam my fist across his helmeted head with all my weight behind the blow. His head snapped around with the force of the punch. Electric pain raced up my abused arm and into my shoulder, but I ignored it, dancing around him, watching for the next opening.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” he snapped, both fists lifting to guard his head as he pivoted, tracking me.

“I thought you wanted to fuck,” I growled, bouncing on my toes and considering another roundhouse kick. “You caught me. So come get it.”

“A kinky chase is one thing, but I’m not going to fight you.” He dropped his fists and stepped back. “If you don’t want me, fucking say so. That’s all it takes.”

“Oh, I want you,” I said bitterly. “I’ve always wanted you.”

“Then what was the kick in the face for? That hurt, Cap. Even through the helmet.”

“Good! You deserved it, you bastard!” I swung at him again and again, hips and shoulders behind the blows, but he blocked the punches, dancing on his toes like a boxer.

“What are you so pissed about? You’ve never gotten violent with me before. We don’t play like this.”

“You hurt me -- and I’m going to hurt you back!” I launched a spinning kick that would have given him a concussion if he hadn’t ducked with that superhuman speed.

“Okay, enough!” Feral pounced on me, grabbing my wrists and driving me backward. One boot caught my ankle, jerked, and I went down under his weight, my shoulders hitting the walkway stones.

But I’m a black belt, and it ain’t that damned easy to pin me. I hit rolling, caught his belly on my boots and flipped him off me. I was on my feet and closing as he scrambled up, my speed telling now.

“Shit!” Feral bounded back, avoiding my kick. There was a note of real alarm in his voice now. “Cap, I think you’ve gone berserk.”

“Bullshit,” I snarled, still looking for a way to get through that impenetrable guard of his. I wanted to make his body bleed the way I was bleeding from the heart. “I don’t do that, remember?”

“It’s a known side effect of the Desert Warrior drugs, Candace. Everybody in the program goes berserk -- except you. Until now.”

“I don’t go berserk.” That’s why they’d made me his control. All the other controllers were Marines who hadn’t been in the program, because you had to have someone who could snap the Warrior out of his killing rage. “I’m just pissed!” I closed in, driving punches as hard as I could, flat-footed and brutal.

He blocked every damned one of them.

I don’t think I’d ever been so furious in my life. The rage had a taste, copper on the tongue, hazing my vision with red like a veil of blood.

He grabbed my wrists again, forced my arms wide, and jerked me full against him. “Candace, snap out of it!”

I snarled and kicked his kneecap with a force that should have broken it. Instead he growled and jerked me around, my back to his front, and wrestled me to the ground.

Somehow we’d ended up on that big grass patch, but I barely noticed. As I writhed and fought, he coiled his big body around me and hooked his legs around my torso from behind, pinning my arms between his thighs. I kicked fruitlessly, my booted toes scrabbling at the sod, but I couldn’t reach him, and I couldn’t free myself from his strength.

Feral reached up with one hand and jerked off his helmet -- a thoroughly stupid move, because I fully intended to give him a head-butt he’d never forget.

Unfortunately, he then unbuckled my helmet and tossed it aside, blowing that plan. I tried to snake my head around to bite his lower lip, but he caught my chin in his fingers and forced my eyes to meet his.

“Your pupils are pinpricks,” he told me. “And it’s way too fucking dark for that to be natural. You’re definitely berserk.”

“Fuck you!” Frustration drove my fury higher, and I squirmed and bucked against his powerful body. Some part of me knew there were ways to free myself, but I couldn’t think beyond my raging need to kick his ass.

Then he thumbed the release of my chest plate, and it split wide. Cool evening air brushed my hard nipples. I froze, disoriented by the sensation.

Feral touched me. His big, callused fingers stroked over the hard pink tips of my breasts, and pleasure slid like a blade through my fury.

“You’re so pretty here,” he whispered in my ear, and I shuddered at the warmth of his breath. “I always thought it was ironic that an ass-kicker like you would have tits like yours.” He cupped them tenderly, then used his rough fingertips in skillful caresses, tracing circles and spirals on my skin.

His tongue flicked out, found the shell of my ear, and tasted it in delicate little licks. He used his teeth next, in tiny nibbles that made me shiver.

My rage began to drain, taking my strength. I opened my mouth to tell him to stop. Then I closed it again, because I knew if I told him to, he would.

And I didn’t want him to stop.

Not with the way his hands cupped my breasts together, mounding them high so he could tease both my pointed nipples. Delight sighed along my nerves like a cooling wind, and the sweet gusts thinned my rage to tattered smoke.

When he started keying the releases on the rest of my armor, I didn’t try to fight him. He pulled off each section and threw it aside as I lay against his armored chest.

The rage died to ashes, replaced by hot need, wet and low in my belly.

When he had me naked, he released the grip of his thighs and turned me in his arms until we were face to face. The sun had set, but there was enough light coming from the office building next door that I could see the vivid blue of his eyes gazing into mine.

“You want me?” he asked in a velvet growl.

“God, yes.” Fervent. Desperate.

Feral kissed me. Slow, soft, his mouth like silk against my lips. Using tongue and teeth, tasting and licking and biting in a gentle seduction I would never have expected of such a big brawler of a man. His lips held such fragile sweetness, as if I was his dream, his obsession, his driving need.

Nobody had ever kissed me like that, not the fumbling rich boys my father had sent to tempt me into marriage, not the careless playboys I’d fucked to piss him off.

No one. Maybe because they’d all been boys, and Feral was definitely a man.

He kissed down the line of my neck, pausing to lick a bead of sweat rolling over my leaping pulse. His fingers slid down my belly, tracing ticklish little designs until I laughed softly, threading my fingers through his hair.

“This isn’t how I thought we’d make love,” Feral said, looking up from my collarbone, where he’d paused for a gentle nibble. “I imagined silk sheets scattered with rose petals on a bed surrounded by candles.” He gave me another thoughtful lick. “A little Wynton Marsalis playing in the background.”

“Romantic, but probably not us,” I murmured. “This is more our style.”

I found the thick muscle of his shoulders and traced my short nails over the elegant shapes. The scales of the armor felt slick and cool, an abruptly unbearable barrier. “I want to see you.” I let the need I felt show in my eyes. “All of you. Let me take off your armor.”

He smiled, slow and hot, and sat back on his haunches, releasing me. I rolled up onto my knees in the grass and reached for his chest plate release. The armor popped open, revealing the tanned width of that gorgeous chest. I peeled the chest plate away from his brawny body and dropped it on the rooftop.

Dark hair grew in a soft cloud on his torso, and I stroked my fingers through it, enjoying the silky texture. His small male nipples jutted. Unable to resist, I leaned forward and licked one of them, savoring his groan of pleasure. Drifting my fingers across the width of his chest, I paused to thumb the release for the arm sections and helped him pull them off.

I’d dreamed of this. Of being able to touch him, to hell with regs. Touch him and taste him. Kiss the shrapnel scars from the IED that had damned near killed us both. One piece of that lethal little bomb had missed his heart by inches. I thought I’d lost him.

I damn near ate my weapon that night.

Chapter Three

“We’ve come so close to dying so many times,” I breathed against one of the hard little dimples in his skin left by jagged steel. “I’ve often thought how bitter it would be to lose you without ever making love to you.”

“I’ve had nightmares about your death.” His fingers slipped into my hair and cradled my face, tipping it up for another of those mind-searing kisses. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you. I’d have nothing.”

I was breathing hard by the time his lips left mine. I wanted him naked, and I reached for the release over his hip.

He groaned in relief as the groin section sprang open, and his erection tumbled out into my waiting hands. “Thank you. That damn cup was cutting into my dick.”

“I can see why.” Feral’s cock was, if anything, even more impressive than some of my fantasies had painted him. Thick, long, and hot, with a vein snaking its length, its head an elegant ruddy cap pearled in pre-cum.

I had to bend and taste him. A flick of my tongue over that clear bead first, tasting its salty heat. Then I drew him into my mouth, suckling until he moaned. I cupped his balls, stroking softly, savoring the warm, furry softness. Widening my mouth, I started working his shaft in deeper, seeing how much of him I could take. Loving the silken texture of his skin, the pure musk of Feral’s masculine scent, the taste of him, dark and raw and tempting.

His hands stroked through my hair. “If you keep that up, I’m going to come. And that’s not what I’ve got in mind at all.”

“So get naked,” I told him, “and show me.”

He started thumbing the releases on his remaining armor, and I helped him pull it off.

At last we sat back on our knees and just looked at each other, drinking in the sight of bare skin and hungry eyes.

God, I’ll remember Jim Feral silhouetted against the New York skyline until they put me in the ground. His skin was damp with sweat, and it caught the jeweled light, the curving contours of muscle gleaming with a sheen like antique satin. His strong chest narrowed to a lean, tight waist, and his cock jutted at me in lusty demand over those powerful warrior’s thighs.

“God, I love your tits,” he told me with that blunt Marine honesty. “They’re so damn pretty and pale, and I love the way they fill my hands.” He reached out a hand, and a rough thumb brushed back and forth across one nipple. I let my head fall back and savored each tiny flick.

He bent his sable head and sucked my nipple into his mouth. The creamy pleasure dragged a ragged moan out of me. He laughed, a low rumble of triumph, and pushed me down on the grass again. The cool green blades caressed my hot skin like the brush of feathers.

As I panted, the scent of soil, flowers, and green growing life flooded my head, overcoming New York’s normal reek.

Over it all, I smelled the dizzying musk of Feral’s skin. I wrapped my arms around his chest and dug my fingers between his shoulder blades in a silent message. You’re not going anywhere.

He didn’t seem to want to, too busy laving my nipple like a cat licking a newborn kitten, slow and thorough. One big hand stroked the length of my torso to slide between my thighs. The pump of a finger between my lower lips made me jolt in raw delight.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. “You’re so tight, so wet…”

“You do that to me.” I ran my hands slowly down his broad back to his powerful ass, then raked it gently with my blunt nails. “Hell, just thinking about you does that to me. Always has.” Always would. But I didn’t say that, afraid of the words. Afraid of his answer.

Another finger joined the one in my slick core, pumping slowly enough to make me squirm.

He got very busy with my nipples, suckling followed by soft little nips and flickering laps of his tongue. Every last thing he did made me hotter. I could feel my clit throbbing in time to my heart.

Even as he played with my breasts, Feral pushed his fingers in and out between my clinging pussy lips, his thumb delicately circling my jutting clit. Pleasure stabbed me in delicious jolts, driving me to new heights of need.

I wormed my hand under him and groped for his cock. When I curled my fingers around the hot shaft, we both moaned. He felt so thick, so solid. I explored him by feel, loving the way his breath grew rough as I traced my fingers from broad base to plump glans. Its tip was wet with pre-cum, and I smeared the moisture over the plump head.

“I love the way you touch me.” His breath gusted over my breast as he spoke, and I closed my eyes and shivered. If such tiny pleasures maddened me, what was I going to do when he finally drove all that cock inside me?

God, I couldn’t wait to find out.

“You feel so good,” I panted. Damn, that sounded lame, but I was too turned on to care.

He started nibbling his way down my torso. As he paused to rim my navel with his tongue -- who knew that could drive me crazy? -- I managed actual English. More or less. “Sixty-nine!” I was begging, but again, I didn’t give a shit.

He growled something almost as incoherent and rearranged himself until he knelt on elbows and knees, head down between my legs.

I contemplated the view over my head and grinned like a starlet in Tiffany’s. His abdomen flexed as he bent closer to my pussy, his knees on either side of my shoulders. His cock bobbed just out of reach. Getting at it was going to be tricky.

I just looove a challenge.

I captured the dancing shaft in my fingers. His skin felt incredibly soft and delicate as it lay over the heated steel of that long cock. “What a nice playtoy you’ve got here.”

“Same to you,” he purred, and licked the entire length of my pussy with the flat of his tongue. I damned near catapulted off the building.

Then he slid a finger in my ass to go with the two in my cunt. Holy God and all the angels… The sensation was so red hot and startling, I almost lost my grip on his cock. “Damn, Feral!”

“Is there a problem?”

“Only if you stop.”

He chuckled and licked my clit and did things with his fingers that made my eyes cross.

So I decided to see what I could do to Feral’s incredible bouncing cock. I pulled the long shaft down toward my mouth and angled my head around, managing somehow to work the glans between my lips.

I loved the rough silk texture of his cock. Its fat mushroom head had a soft nubbiness, like the nap of fine velvet. The angle was too awkward to deep throat him -- as I badly wanted to do -- so instead I pulled back and began licking. I ran my tongue around the rim of his cock head, then started tracing the ruddy underside with long laps. There’s a very sensitive nerve running there, and I wasn’t surprised to feel him shudder.

I also wasn’t surprised when he retaliated by sealing his lips over my clit and sucking, flicking his tongue back and forth across it with wicked skill.

The climax hit me out of nowhere in blazing pulses that arrowed from the depths of my belly right up into the base of my skull.

I drowned in flame.

When I could see again, Feral was still doing things to my pussy and ass that were going to tip me back into another orgasm. Probably in less than a minute and a half.

And I still hadn’t made him scream.

Oh, no. That won’t do at all. I grabbed him by his broad shoulders, planted one foot, and threw him onto his back with my Desert Warrior strength. His fingers pulled from my juicy body, which protested the loss bitterly. I ignored it and pounced on his cock, now in prime sucking position.

“Hey!” he protested. “Trying to work, here.”

“So am I. Come to Mamma.” I engulfed his cock in one long swoop, halfway to his balls.

He yelped. “Mamma never did that.”

I wrinkled my nose and pulled off him. “I’m relieved to hear it.” His cock went back into my mouth, and I concentrated on making him swallow his tongue.

He had other ideas, plying that tongue in lazy spirals, teasing my clit and fingering my ass and pussy.

All of which was one hell of a distraction, but I was determined. I cupped his furry balls in one hand, stroking them gently and sucking him, my head bobbing slowly.

Both of us stood it as long as we could. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that long.

“I’ve got to have you.” Feral said in a low wolf growl. “Right now.” He withdrew tongue and fingers, and I barely had time to get him out of my mouth before he tumbled me onto my back.

When he rose over me, his eyes shone in the city lights with a fevered gleam. He scooped my ass up in his hands, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

That first thrust was like sucking star fire, a searing flight into blind pleasure. His big shaft burned as he slid it into my pussy, so thick and long he had to push hard, working it between my slick, swollen lips. I gasped and grabbed his shoulders with both hands.

He froze. “Am I hurting you?”

“God, no!” I gritted the next words between clenched teeth. “Fuck me now.”

So he did, lifting my ass in both hands, pulling me into an arch, shafting deep, so deep I swore I could feel him in the back of my throat. It should have hurt, but I was so damned hot it was just what I needed. I shifted my grip to his spread thighs and tightened my knees, grinding up at him as he ground down on me, fucking hard, furiously, losing myself in wild heat.

He’d balanced me right on the edge with his mouth, so it wasn’t long until I flew right over the edge, soaring into fire. The gripping pulses made me writhe in his arms, clawing at his legs. I didn’t bother to muffle my screams.

His hips ground hard against my clit, sending me shooting even higher, hotter. Raw pleasure seared every sense I had, burning and glorious. He threw his head back, the cords of his neck standing in stark relief. Ramming to the balls, he froze, pulsing hot, liquid jets of cum into my depths. His roar echoed between the skyscrapers as I yowled a note I didn’t even know I could hit.

Finally we collapsed into the grass, limp with exhaustion and exhilaration.

Feral rolled over and pulled me against his side. I wrapped my arms around him and lay there, limp as a rag, listening to both of us pant.

“God,” he moaned finally.

“Um. Yeah.” I’d manage something more eloquent after the blood returned to my brain.

I could hear his heartbeat, the furious thunder slowing as his breathing regulated. I watched a bead of sweat roll down his ribs and lifted my head to lick it away.

He chuckled. “Tickles.”

Ooooh. He’s ticklish. I stored that little tidbit away to use later, preferably when he least expected it.

At the moment, I needed a nap.

* * *

I was dozing when I heard the familiar thump of rotors in the distance. Career paranoid that I am, I opened one eye to see a police helicopter flying toward us, a searchlight dancing over the rooftops. Judging by the flight path, he’d be over us in about four minutes.

“Shit!” I jumped up and started looking for my armor.

“Wha --” Feral asked sleepily, then spotted the copter and rolled to his feet, cursing under his breath.

Putting on armor is a complicated process that can take a newbie fifteen minutes. We had it down to an art, slapping on sections and snapping them together, click, click, click, as quickly and easily as putting together an M-30. When people make a habit of shooting at you, you get good at armoring up.

So by the time the helicopter’s searchlight splashed over us, we were both dressed and standing around looking innocent. “Agents Fox and Feral?” the copter pilot called via his copter’s bullhorn.

I clicked my throat mic. “Agent Fox responding.”

“Report in, please,” the pilot said, this time using the radio. “The brass is wondering where the hell you flew off to.”

Turns out NYPD Dispatch had been trying to contact us on our com frequency for the better part of an hour, since the FBI Special Agent in Charge was really insistent that he wanted to debrief us. Which, translated from FBI speak, meant he wanted to chew us out.

I put in a call to the SAC, who told us to get to headquarters -- now.

Yeah, we were definitely in deep shit.

* * *

The FBI’s New York HQ had been built in 2028, so it was a relatively new facility, all soaring architectural spaces and gleaming marble floors, at least in the areas the public saw.

We went in the back door, where the walls were stark cement block and the floor was covered in cheap blue carpet. At the end of a twisting rats’ maze of halls lay the combination locker room and exercise facility they’d set up especially for us.

Being what we were, we couldn’t use the equipment un-enhanced agents used. I’d broken more than one weight machine that way.

For privacy reasons we’d been assigned separate combo locker rooms/showers. Feral ducked into his while I slipped into my own to undress and store my gear.

I spent a long time in the shower with the massage heads on high, letting hot water pound my sore muscles while I thought about the disaster the day had been. Not only had I gone berserk -- something I was supposed to be immune to -- I’d had sex with Feral. My career was totally fucked if the brass found out about either event.

Nor could I hide the fact that I’d lost it. A cover up would only make things worse. It would also be utterly irresponsible. A berserk agent was dangerous. What if Feral and I went nuts at the same time and there was nobody to snap us out of it? We could kill people. Admittedly, any asshole we’d kack probably needed killing. But still.

Besides, assholes always seemed to have sweet, gray-haired mothers who’d find a camera and sob for poor dead Timmy. Everybody would ignore the fact that Switchblade Tim was a sociopath who’d killed six people and robbed fifteen banks. All they’d care about was that one of us had lost his shit and beaten ol’ Tim into strawberry jam.

The talking vidheads on the tube would accuse the FBI of hiring thugs, and our superiors would lose their jobs. And we’d go to jail, despite all the medals we’d won bleeding for the U.S. of A.

I was still bitterly contemplating how fucked I was when I walked out of the locker room to find Feral waiting for me. He’d dressed in one of those nondescript suits that were practically a uniform at FBI headquarters. It was off the rack, and the gray pinstripe fabric strained around his massive shoulders. I wore the female version in dark blue, with the addition of low black heels and a cream silk blouse.

He looked determined, but scared out of his mind.

“What?” I demanded, stiffening in alarm. Not much this side of a great white shark scares Feral.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, three little words which in my experience always mean trouble. “And it’s not just because of tonight either, because I’ve felt this way for a long time.”

Oh, fuck, he wants to end it, I thought, cold with panic. He wants a new partner, because now I go berserk, too, and we’re so screwed.

“I think we should get married,” he said.

My jaw dropped. It took an effort to close it. “What?” I actually squeaked. “I thought you wanted me out of your system!”

“I lied.” He shrugged. “Hey, I knew it would piss you off, and I figured it would get us talking.”

“We did a hell of a lot more than talk.”

Feral muttered a curse under his breath and raked his hand through his shower-damp hair. “This isn’t the way I planned it, Candace. I was going to propose over the veal scaloppini at Andre’s, but after today…” He shook his head. “I figured I’d better ask you now.” Then he pulled something small and dark blue out of his pocket and went to one knee. “Candace Fox, will you marry me?”

He flicked open the little velvet box to reveal a ring that must have cost him three months’ salary. The ruby was at least two carats, and it was surrounded by a swirling diamond-studded filigree on a platinum band.

Holy hell, he was serious. “God, Feral,” I breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you are.” His blue eyes were utterly steady as he looked up at me. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you. The question is, do you love me?”

I couldn’t look in those eyes and lie. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Chapter Four

“Jim. The Bureau… Once we’re married, there’s no way they’d let me be your control.”

His jaw worked. “I’d give up the FBI before I’d give you up.”

And we’d probably have to. Ordinary agents could be married and still serve together, but the rules were different for Special Service personnel. They consider us too dangerous. “What the hell would we do? We’re not regular humans, Feral. You can’t exactly become a stockbroker.”

“I don’t care if I have to flip burgers,” he told me. The fear that had been in his eyes had vanished, and his gaze had that determined glint it held when he was getting ready to charge a machine gun nest. “That’s just a job. What’s important is whether we’ll be together. Are you going to marry me or not?”

My mouth was as dry as a sand dune. “Give me twenty-four hours. Let me think. I have to think.”

Feral’s eyes went stark with betrayal. Without another word, he got up off the floor, closed the ring box, and tucked it back in his pocket. “The SAC called. He wants to see us.”

“Now?” I thought I’d have until morning to figure out what the hell to tell the brass.

“Now.”

“Shit.”

He didn’t answer. He just led the way from the room, his shoulders squared, radiating cold like six feet four inches of dry ice.

Double shit.

* * *

When we walked into his office, SAC Terrence Corley was watching VNN. He didn’t even glance away from the wall-width vid screen when we entered.

It didn’t take me long to realize what so fascinated him -- and feel my stomach clench into a knot the size of a volleyball.

The news crew had caught a great angle of me hustling the hostage across the parking lot. Right up until the bullets slammed into my side. The impact spun me around and dropped me like a dead ox.

The camera zoomed in on Feral’s helmeted head. You couldn’t see his expression behind the polarized faceplate, but the rage in the set of his shoulders said plenty. So did the way he slammed into the bank robbers and took every one of them out with a few more-than-human blows.

Especially the jerk who’d shot me. That one he beat so hard and fast his fist was a blur.

Christ, I thought, sick, it all looks so much worse on vid.

The vid image showed me staggering upright and running over to grab his arm, only to get tossed back and forth as I clung like a bull rider trying to wait out eight seconds.

He finally stopped pounding the robber, only to get to his feet, jerk me into an obviously possessive hold, and leap skyward, swinging away like some kind of vid superhero.

A silence fell, so thick I could hear the faint gritty rasp of Jim’s teeth as he ground them.

Corley swiveled his chair to face us and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the screen. “What the fuck was that?”

Oh, he was pissed. The SAC was normally such a stick-up-the-ass, I’d never heard him swear.

He glared at us, his hazel eyes snapping in his round, nondescript face. “Well, the good news is that George Kristov survived the beating you gave him -- so far. He’s in critical condition, but they think he’ll make it. Probably.”

“How’s the hostage?” I asked sweetly. “The one they didn’t shoot because Agent Feral and I saved her life.”

“Well, that’s one thing you did right.” He tossed the vid controller on his desk with a plastic clatter. “Count it. One.”

“Nobody died,” Feral snapped. “No cop. No hostage. Not even one of those murdering bastards. Do you know how many people died the last time Kristov hit a bank? I do. Five. Three customers, a teller, and a cop.”

“So you get a gold star,” Corley snapped, snatching up the control again and clicking it to pause the vid. “But what the hell is this?”

The screen showed yet another view of Feral sweeping me into his arms and leaping into the sky. “Who the fuck are you, Rhett Butler? And then you vanished for a goddamn hour before a police chopper found you. Standing in a rooftop garden, like you were shooting a perfume commercial. The vidheads are having a field day speculating about your sex life with your superior officer. You’ve answered the prayers of every late-night comedian hungry for material. And you’ve made the Bureau look like the next location for Passion Island.”

“He’d just come out of the berserker state,” I managed through dry lips. Somehow I managed not to stammer. “There’s a great deal of adrenaline flowing after…”

“That ain’t adrenaline!” Corley interrupted, pointing at the screen. “That’s testosterone. You two are done, Agent Fox. You’ve been reassigned to the Los Angeles Riot Unit. Agent Feral’s staying here where I can watch his ass. We’ll find somebody else to keep him from killing people.”

At least he didn’t fire me, I thought frantically. I can recover from this. All I have to do is keep my nose clean for a couple of years, win a few more commendations to go with the others, and…

From the corner of one eye, I could see Feral standing at attention, shoulders squared, like a man in front of a firing squad. I remembered him down on one knee, offering me that beautiful ring.

I could keep my career. Or I could keep Feral. In the end, it didn’t require any more thought than that. “No,” I told the SAC. “No, sir, that’s not acceptable.”

He stared at me in astonishment. “What’s not acceptable?”

“I will not accept reassignment.” I plucked my badge out of my pocket and dropped it on his desk. “I’m resigning from the FBI, effective immediately.” Ignoring the SAC’s incredulous gape, I drew my service weapon, checked the safety and put it down on the desk with my credentials.

Feral dropped his badge and gun on top of the little pile with a metallic clatter. “You had it right, Terry. We’re both done.”

“But… But what about…” Corley sputtered. Neither of us bothered to hear him out.

As we left the office, I looked at Jim. “Is that ring still available?”

He grinned at me like a man who’d just had the weight of a planet lifted off his shoulders. “You bet your pretty little ass.”

* * *

Feral’s place was bigger, so we decided it was going to be home until we figured out what to do. I could sublet my place in the meantime.

I took the subway back to my spartan little apartment to pack a few things I’d need until we got a chance to move the rest of my stuff. An hour later, I unlocked Feral’s front door with the key he’d given me when we’d moved to New York. In a mood of lunatic good humor, I stepped inside and caroled, “Honey, I’m home!”

“Good,” he rumbled from somewhere inside, sounding remarkably like a very big predator. “I’m waiting.”

Which was when I saw the trail of red rose petals on the parquet floor. Smoky jazz filled the air from Feral’s impressive sound system, and the smell of sandalwood floated from the bedroom.

Oooooh. Jim’s feeling romantic.

Anticipation sizzling through me, I followed the rose petal path, shedding my snug black dress as I went. By the time I got to his bedroom, I was down to the black lace bustier and panties I’d put on before leaving my apartment. I’d completed the look with thigh-high lace nylons and a pair of black stiletto heels.

Hey, Jim wasn’t the only one feeling romantic.

When I pushed open the bedroom door, I found him lying across his huge king-sized bed, gloriously naked. His tanned skin gleamed in the golden light of the forest of candles that stood burning on his massive cherry bureau and chest of drawers.

A dozen roses bloomed in glorious profusion in a vase on the nightstand, and more petals covered the bed around him. A bottle of champagne stood beside the roses in a silver ice bucket, along with a couple of glasses, a crystal bowl of strawberries as red as the roses, and a second, smaller bowl of what smelled like chocolate. Examining the setup, I realized he had the chocolate bowl sitting in a second, larger bowl full of hot water to keep the candy liquid.

“Wow,” I said, blinking in surprise as I gazed around the room at all his preparations. “You’ve been planning this a while.”

“I’d intended to propose tonight.” Jim’s eyes darkened as he took in my clothing -- what there was of it, anyway. “That’s one reason I was so pissed when we got the hostage call. Blew the entire plan.”

He sat up to open the champagne. The cork popped and sailed across the room. I caught it neatly out of the air and sauntered over to join him while he poured the wine.

As I moved, I tugged the ribbon ties at the top of my bustier to liberate a bit more cleavage. Feral’s impressive cock, already hard, jerked and lengthened still more as he eyed the white mounds of my breasts.

I slid a hip onto the bed beside him and raised an eyebrow at the slick, cool texture of the cream sheets. “That chocolate’s going to stain the hell out of all this silk.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the sheets,” he growled, and dipped a finger in the chocolate. He smeared sticky sweetness across my lips and leaned in for a kiss. “All I care about is giving you a night you’ll never forget.”

I smiled into his eyes. “I’d say you’ve already got that part nailed.”

When Feral kissed me, my senses seemed to detonate. His lips burned hot against mine, and his tongue swept inside my mouth, tasting of expensive chocolate and that rich, dark tang that was uniquely his.

As I melted into the hard strength of his body, I slid my hands up over his brawny shoulders. A red flash from my hand caught my attention -- the ring’s ruby catching the candlelight, surrounded by the bright glitter of diamonds. Smiling, I closed my eyes.

I was going to marry James Feral. He was mine at last, after all the fear and frustration. “It’s strange,” I said, when we finally drew apart. “I should be worried about what the hell we’re going to do, but I feel so free, it’s almost like being weightless. I loved that job, but…” I stopped mid-word as a new thought occurred to me. Had it really been the job I loved, or was it being with Feral?

“I wouldn’t worry about money. We’ve already had a job offer,” he told me, handing me one of the glasses filled with bubbling gold.

My brows flew up. “Oh?”

“Remember Colonel Ross?” Peter Ross had been our Marine C.O. back in the ’Stans. “He opened that private security firm after the war. I gave him a call. He wants to hire us. Bad.”

“How bad?” I took a thoughtful sip of my champagne. It tasted just slightly sweet and fruity, precisely the way I liked it.

Feral named a sum that made me choke on my wine. “Yeah,” I gasped, “he wants us bad, all right.”

“He’s interested in branching off into hostage rescues for international clients. Kidnapping’s big business in some countries.”

“And half the time rescue attempts end up with the hostages dead in the crossfire.”

“Exactly. Pete figures we’d have a hell of a lot better success rate, given our talents.”

I considered the idea. “Ross was a good C.O. -- smart and committed, and he knew how to put together missions that got everybody in and out with a minimum of shit and bloodshed. I think we should take him up on it.”

“I’ll give him a call,” Jim said, and reached for the laces of my bustier. “Tomorrow.”

I grinned. “Oh, yeah. It can definitely wait.”

He went to work on the crossed ribbons that laced the bustier from my cleavage to my waist. Apparently the process called for more patience than he had, because he finally cursed, slid both big hands in the top of the bustier, and ripped. It tore like paper in his superhuman grip. “Hey!” I protested as he tossed the scraps of lace aside. “That was Victoria’s Secret. Expensive Victoria’s Secret.” I’d had him in mind when I’d bought it, too.

“I’ll buy you another one.” Feral eyed my bare breasts with wolfish hunger. “Though I like you better naked.” He reached for one of the bowls. “And covered in chocolate.”

Five minutes later, I lay across the bed wearing nothing but nylons and heels -- which apparently appealed to Feral’s kinky streak -- while he used a strawberry to paint dark, rich swirls across my skin.

Lazy as a queen, I enjoyed the absorbed passion on his face as he covered me in chocolate. The candles poured honeyed golden light across his body, hard muscle casting intriguing shadows that rippled and shifted as he moved. His shoulders looked impossibly wide as they narrowed to his tight waist, and his cock bobbed, a length of rosy velvet shaft adorned with a single glistening tear of arousal. His balls had drawn tight with lust, and I knew I could tip him over into orgasm with one stroke of my hand and a few hard, sucking pulls.

But I didn’t want this to be over that soon. Especially since he was bending that dark head toward my chocolate-covered nipples.

The warm candy was thick and sticky, and he had to use his tongue in long laps to clean it off, stopping every little bit to suckle this or that.

God, it felt so good. His mouth was hot and wet, and I loved the way he raked his teeth over my skin with such exquisite tenderness.

He flicked a look up at me. “I’m hogging the chocolate. Want some?”

I grinned, knowing what he meant. “Oh, yeah.”

And met his mouth. His kiss tasted dark and sweet, and I recognized the flavor. “Godiva’s?” I smiled against his lips. “You melted Godiva’s?”

“I know what you love.” As if to prove it, he slid his hands over my body in slow, sweet caresses, without the hungry hurry of our rooftop loving. Cupping my breasts so my nipples rose fat and hard for his mouth, he went back to licking them until I squirmed in panting need.

“Getting a little hot?” Feral’s blue eyes appraised my no-doubt-dazed expression.

“Yeah,” I moaned. “You make me burn.”

“Then I’d better cool you off.” He sat up, gave me a pirate’s smile, and reached for the champagne bottle.

“Feral!” I yelped. I tried to roll off the bed, but he pinned me down with one big hand, smirking like a naughty boy. “Don’t you dare!”

Which was exactly the wrong thing to say to Jim Feral. He poured a cold golden stream the length of my torso from breasts to pussy, laughing as I gasped and swore.

Then he licked up every last drop of the champagne. By the time he finished, I was halfway out of my mind.

When he flipped me onto my stomach in the damp sheets, I rose to my hands and knees and spread my thighs. I don’t think I’ve been hotter in my life.

I watched in the bureau mirror as Jim took his cock in hand and aimed it for my pussy. He took his time getting it all inside me, too, though I was slick and more than ready.

God, the way he felt. So broad and long he made me quiver, thigh muscles jerking, helpless with pleasure.

Which didn’t stop me from watching him in the mirror. Feral rolled his powerful ass in slow thrusts, each stroke a shuddering delight edged with the faintest trace of pain.

The intensity of the sensation was maddening. I cried out, not giving a damn if all New York heard me yowling like a cat. I loved being filled by him, with him, having him inside me as deep as he could get. He was my partner, my lover, my dream man, my hero.

The man I loved.

I screamed when I came. He stiffened and roared a heartbeat later, his head thrown back as he shot and shot and shot.

* * *

The silk sheets were a total loss. We had to strip the bed and flip the damp mattress over, then make it up all over again with clean linens. Then, of course, we had to blow out something like two dozen candles and clean up puddles of champagne and soggy rose petals from the hardwood floor.

Just before I finally drifted off in Feral’s powerful arms, I murmured sleepily, “I love you.”

In the moonlit darkness, I saw the flash of his smile. “And I love you too.”

Smiling in contentment, I cuddled closer to my partner, and went to sleep.

Angela Knight

Angela Knight is the New York Times best-selling author of books for Berkley, Red Sage, Changeling Press, and Loose Id. Her first book was written in pencil and illustrated in crayon; she was nine years old at the time. A few years later, she read The Wolf and the Dove and fell in love with romance. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s publishing career includes a stint as a comic book writer and ten years as a newspaper reporter. Several of her stories won South Carolina Press Association awards under her real name.

In 1996, she discovered the small press publisher Red Sage, and realized her dream of romance publication in the company’s Secrets 2 anthology. She went on to publish several more novellas in Secrets before editor Cindy Hwang discovered her work there and asked her if she’d be interested in writing for Berkley. Not being an idiot, Angela said yes.

Angela lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a polygraph examiner and hostage negotiator for the county Sheriff’s Office. The couple have a grown son, Anthony.