Blood Assassin (The Sentinels #2)(41)

In this moment he would have agreed he was the f*cking king of England if it would convince Serra to put him out of his misery.

“Serra.”

His plea was cut short as she swirled her tongue around his sensitive nipples before exploring ever lower.

Fane clenched his teeth and clutched the comforter beneath him. This was clearly his punishment for having denied the hunger that raged between them.

Unaware of how close he was to the edge, or more likely relishing her power over him, Serra continued to torment him, her lips sending sparks of bliss through his body. Then without warning, her seeking mouth closed over the tip of his cock, the moist heat nearly making him come on impact.

“Holy shit.” He reached to grasp her arms, yanking her upward to kiss her with savage force. “Do you want me to beg?”

She tossed her dark hair over one shoulder, her smile smug. “I thought Sentinels were trained to last for . . .” Her eyes widened with shock as Fane arched his hips upward and with one smooth motion had impaled himself in her damp heat. “Oh, God.”

Grasping her hips, Fane sucked the tip of her breast between his lips, delighting in her shocked groan of pleasure. She was tight around him, clenching his cock like a glove. Trembling from the effort, he waited until she relaxed.

“Are you okay?” he rasped.

“I’ll let you know later,” she murmured, lifting herself on her knees so she could draw him out to the tip of his cock before slowly sinking back down, burying him deep inside her. “Much later.”

Fane choked back a curse, his grip tightening on her hips as he battled back his looming orgasm.

Dammit. She was right. Sentinels were infamous for pleasuring a woman for hours before claiming their own release. But this wasn’t a woman.

This was Serra.

His woman.

Holding her gaze, he allowed himself to become mesmerized by the beauty of her pale emerald eyes. For once they were unguarded, darkened with passion as she quickened her pace.

His hips lifted to meet her downward strokes, his moan of pleasure echoing through the air as she planted her hands on his chest for better leverage.

The air was spiced with the erotic scent of sex, her slender body tensing above him as she closed her eyes and lost herself in the pleasure.

“More?” he demanded, bewitched by the soft flush staining her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, giving a moan of bliss, as Fane took command, pumping deep into her at a ruthless pace. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m yours to command, Serra,” he swore, abruptly sitting up so he could grab the back of her head and claim her lips in a savage kiss. “Whatever you need from me.”

Their tongues battled, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. As if they were specifically created for this mating dance.

Then, as Fane felt the glorious rush toward his climax, Serra at last stiffened in completion, her cry of pleasure muffled against his lips.

Threading his fingers in her hair, Fane hissed as her pulsing orgasm milked his cock, his hips slamming upward, unleashing his desperate hunger.

Gasping in stunned pleasure, Fane felt his seed burst from his cock, the shock waves of pleasure radiating through his entire body.

Serra.

Valhalla

Nine levels beneath the public rooms of Valhalla were the headquarters of the Sentinels.

The long communal room was a stainless steel masterpiece filled with state of the art computer systems and monitors directly linked into their personal satellites as well as a few owned by the government. The heavy wooden furniture was spaced to give the techs a sense of privacy and yet allowed them to share information with ease.

Along one wall were several doors that were closed and heavily monitored to protect the weapons as well as the more sensitive secrets of Valhalla. And at the far end was the Office of the Tagos.

The private room reflected the current leader of the Sentinels.

The office was sparsely furnished with a large walnut desk and two black leather chairs. Its wooden floor was left bare and the ivory painted walls decorated with a collection of priceless samurai swords.

It was stark. Efficient. And uncompromisingly male.

Seated at his desk, Wolfe was sorting through a stack of bills when he sensed an approaching visitor. Oh, thank God. He tossed down his pen and rolled his stiff shoulders.

Shit. He hated paperwork.

Duty rotations. Inventory. Accounts.

He was supposed to be a warrior, not a damned pencil pusher.

But leadership wasn’t just about giving orders. Keeping the Sentinels properly trained, armed with the latest high-tech weapons, and rotated throughout the world was as important as picking up a gun and fighting at their side.

That didn’t mean, however, that he had to like it, he ruefully acknowledged, watching as the hunter Sentinel filled the doorway.

Arel was the current favorite of the young women of Valhalla. With features that were just a breath from pretty, he had honey highlights in his light brown hair and eyes that were the color of molten gold.

It was easy to dismiss him as a playboy with more charm than skill, but Wolfe was well aware Arel was a ruthless opponent who could kill without mercy.

His angelic beauty only made him more dangerous.

“What do you have for me?” he demanded.

Arel held up a file folder. “I’ve got the info on Hull Insurance.”

The younger Sentinel was dressed like Wolfe in worn jeans and a casual tee, but while Wolfe preferred heavy boots that he could use to kick ass, Arel wore running shoes that allowed him to move in silence.