The Wrath – Rise of the Warlords Read Online Gena Showalter

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
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He shrugged. “I do what I must to get what I want.”

More vulnerable by the second, she searched his magnificent black diamond eyes. “You must want me desperately.”

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Six words. One powerful knockout punch. Common sense went down for the count. Defense after defense followed, crashing and shattering until only ravenous hunger remained. This powerful royal desired her above all others. Her. The Unwanted. Scratch that. The Wanted. She’d officially scored a new name.

He palmed her backside and eased her hips forward, grinding his erection between her legs. “Is that a yes?”

Clinging to him, no longer able to stand on her own, she rasped, “Yes.”

Rathbone swooped low, claiming her lips with his own. There was no stopping her reaction. She surrendered to her need, kissing him back and pouring her body over his. She yearned for him and longed for this.

Pulling at her clothes, he backed her across the room. Her knees buckled as soon as they bumped into the bed. Down she tumbled, crashing onto the mattress but not bouncing because he followed her down, never breaking the kiss.

Needing skin-to-skin contact, she ripped at his leathers. The second he was naked, she wrapped her fingers around his pierced length. Such delicious heat paired with hotter metal! As if he’d had been forged in flames.

He touched and kissed her everywhere, traveling from top to bottom and visiting every inch in between, and he wasn’t gentle about it. He squeezed and kneaded, pinched, and caressed, branding her on a cellular level. Drunk on pleasure, Neeka writhed and strained against him.

“Yes! More!” she cried, arching her hips. Grinding on his fingers. His mouth. Seeking a measure of relief as pressure built and built and built and—ah! Yes, yes, yes. “Right there, right there, right there.”

He did something with his tongue, and she garbled a stream of nonsense. The ecstasy! Too much. Not enough.

“Be a good boy and get me to the finish line,” she commanded between moans and sawing breaths.

“Greedy little harpy.” He lifted, chuckling against her lips, his warm breath fanning her chin. “Are you fertile?”

“No.” She had months to go before harpy mating season. Right? Argh! She didn’t know anything anymore, couldn’t think.

“Do it then. Take what you need from me.”

Yes! She would ride him. Would take everything... Neeka nipped his lower lip with her small harpy fangs. When the sweetness of his blood and power hit her tongue, she cried out, as if she’d been tagged by a sexually charged Taser. Sensations heightened in a nanosecond. Aches and tingles and emptiness, oh my.

Groaning, she flipped him to his back and rose over him to straddle his thighs. Rathbone stretched out beneath her. Propped on a mound of pillows, he was a buffet of masculine deliciousness. Glorious in his passion, with his silken hair mussed. His dark irises flashed with internal flames. Kiss-puffed lips glistened with her essence. His crimson skin was aglow, his muscles bulging with strength and sinew. Such a beautiful male.

Her wings buzzed as she slid up and down his length without initiating penetration. She watched him, loving that he watched her right back. In fact, all of him watched her, seeming riveted by the sight of her. Pleasure spiking, she snapped her hips.

He hissed and bared his teeth. “Having fun?” He palmed her breasts. Kneaded. Circled his thumbs around her nipples.

“Yes.” Up, down. “No.” Up, down. “Maybe?” Not even this play, as incredible as it was, pushed her over the edge. “I want... I need...”

“More.” He flipped her to her back, pinning her wings. Hovering over her, shockingly intense, he unveiled a slow grin. His gaze grew hotter, hotter still, scorching her. “Prepare yourself. You’re about to feel me in the marrow of your bones.”

Shivers rained over her.

He dipped his head and got to work. The things he did... Sometimes infinitely tender, often deliciously firm, always blatantly possessive. If Neeka had been intoxicated before, she was bombed now. Rapture hit in waves, growing intensity. Every crest inched her closer to the brink.

Oh! “Where did you learn...” Silly question. His stable. “Your tongue is...your fingers...”

He shot up, putting his face over hers. His rumpled hair and strained but satisfied grin melted her. “I studied.” Back down he went.

Rathbone whipped her to a fevered pitch. Until she panted every breath, cried out incoherently and pleaded for mercy.

“Now you’re ready.” He returned to his back and positioned her atop him. “Do it,” he repeated, a command this time. He gripped her hips and squeezed. “No more waiting. Put me inside you.”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Shaking, soaked and aching, she set the tip of his length at her opening. Sweat trickled from his temples. Strain etched each of his features.

Slowly, with her world spinning out of control, Neeka sank upon him. Every inch she accepted brought a new flood of bliss. The stretch! The fullness! The intensity! Those piercings! The fact that he never looked away from her, never shoved her down, just held on tight and waited for her to adjust...


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