Author: Lora Leigh
Category: Paranormal
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/24065_20
“Not yet,” Dane sighed. “But the temptation is there.”
Dane was unusually irritating, even for him.
“And what’s with the damned shades? It’s a bar, not high noon in the middle of the desert,” Rule scoffed, wondering what the hell had gotten into the Breed.
Dane gave a short little nod in salute before turning back to the sight on the dance floor.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rule was tempted to close his eyes. But the band was breaking into another song. Something about what a guy had to do for the singer “if he wanted to be her cowboy.” It was an old song, but one Gypsy seemed pleased to hear.
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A second later his eyes widened, his cock grew impossibly harder and he swore he was going to have trouble breathing.
Son of a bitch, it was enough to make his balls tighten in pure appreciation as those lovely legs bent just enough, her head tipping back, her hips shifting, rolling, as delicate hands caressed the air from her breasts to her hips.
“God have mercy. But I love to watch her make grown men crazy,” Dane breathed out in amazed appreciation instead as the tempting little leather-clad flame on the dance floor began working her entire body to the music. Hips, thighs, shoulders and breasts drew his gaze as she approached a table where four Breed Enforcers sat, just as entranced as Rule and Dane were becoming.
Gritting his teeth, he switched to the enforcer channel on his comm device.
“The first one of you morons to touch that woman will face me,” he snapped into the line as Dane’s short, surprised laugh barked across the link.
“Better run hell for leather, mate,” Dane injected just below the laughter level.
Rule didn’t answer the hybrid any more than the enforcers answered the order. Their eyes were locked on that image of pure, entrancing fire as she moved toward the table they were sitting at.
They weren’t listening.
“Good luck, my friend,” Dane advised him, his tone and accent thickening further as the beauty tossed her head, all that thick, thick silken hair brushing around her body as she moved closer to the table in response to the singer’s demands that her “cowboy” take her for a ride.
The hard length of his shaft throbbed like an open wound, too sensitive and too hungry to be contained.
Despite the aching sensitivity of the engorged flesh between his thighs, his tongue showed no signs of the hormone filling the glands. All he tasted was the beer he’d drunk just before catching sight of her and the peppermint and chocolate hard candy he’d finished before his gaze swept the dance floor.
Narrowing his eyes, he prowled through the crowd and headed for the table where those lucky-assed enforcers were enjoying a show no Breed or human male could possibly contain his lusts through.
He didn’t trust those damned Breeds leaning toward her not to touch. Despite the order.
He stepped to the table between two of the younger enforcers; the scent of their lust slapped at his senses, offensive, and pulling a dangerous growl from his chest. And he didn’t attempt to hide the savage warning that the restless animal inside him ensured the sound contained.
The Breeds moved.
As one, they cleared the table, the sight of the female not nearly enough to wipe away the more than two decades of training they carried inside them.
That was more like it.
He ignored Dane’s low laughter as he took the chair at the side of the table and stared back at the surprised little minx with an obvious, silent dare.
If she wanted to tease Breeds, then why not see how she fared teasing a full-grown, well-trained, more than experienced Lion Breed commander rather than a few young enforcers who still carried the scent of the labs they were rescued from.
Lifting his hand imperiously as the waitress passed by, he caught her nod from the corner of his eyes. The waitresses at this bar loved the excellent tips they received, not just from the enforcers, but from the Bureau of Breed Affairs as well for reporting any indications or rumors of Council soldiers lurking in the establishment.
He wasn’t there for the waitress or the information, though. Evidently, he was there to give one fiery little woman a Breed to torture.
Gypsy moved closer, hips swaying, her arms lifting above her head as she moved directly to him. She positioned her legs to each side of one of his, thighs spread just that little bit, her knees bent, hips moving with a slow suggestiveness just above his knee that had lust flaming through his senses.
He swore he could feel the heat of her pussy radiating from between her thighs straight through his mission pants. Hot enough to sear a man’s senses, wet enough to drown them.
And she was indeed wet.
The scent of her sweet juices had his mouth watering, his need to taste her racing through his system.