Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) by Hart Jade

Author:Hart, Jade [Hart, Jade]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, New Adult, Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Jade Hart
Published: 2012-12-04T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-three: Callan

Fuck, she was amazing. Liquid heat around me, her wild scent intoxicating. Ocean rode me as wild as I could've ever fantasized. My eyes snapped shut as my orgasm ripped through me, more demanding and fiercer than ever before. My entire body froze with exquisite sensation, quivering with convulsions.

Then, a rush of wind and a tug in my stomach, as if gravity wanted to dump me off the couch. Next thing I knew I was grinding into a cushion. Ocean disappeared from beneath me, leaving nothing but my heavy breathing and total disbelief that she'd gone.

She left!

What the fuck?

She took her pleasure and left. Leaving me to jerk off like a hormone-raged teenager into a pillow. And I had unprotected sex with her! All my common sense was in the garbage. What was I thinking? She was too delectable, too tempting for me to stop.

Panting hard, I swung my legs around and sat up, wrenching my boxers back into position. What happened? Where did she go?

My heart raced—the rush of being with her roared in my blood. Her scent was in my nose, her taste in my mouth. Her heat rapidly dissolved from around my cock.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Groaning, I swiped hair from my sweaty forehead. My eyes snapped open as horror replaced my anger. She disappeared while naked, her back bleeding. Surely it wasn't good to teleport with no clothes and while injured? I didn't know the rules, but that couldn't be normal practice. Was it her orgasm that shot her from my arms and into oblivion? Shit!

I'd had her here. Writhing beneath me, hotter and wilder than any dream I could've conjured, and now I was alone again. Left with only a memory—a thirst for something I tasted for a brief moment.

I was wretched. Utterly addicted to the violent passion of Ocean Breeze.

Flashbacks of kissing her in my kitchen made me bolt from the sofa and pace. Her back was in shreds, but those strange marks freaked me out. Maurice’s emails mentioned black blemishes. Were those what he spoke of? It looked as if someone had splashed her with dirty motor oil—shiny, irregular. Ocean lied. They weren’t tattoos. I knew because I had a tattoo on my left shin—an image of my broken femur when I was a kid. It looked as if my leg was an x-ray of splintered bone, and the ink didn’t look anything like Ocean’s.

Christ, she was going to kill me. Bloody woman. How could I find her?

Pacing furiously, I glared at my laptop. There was no program I could use to track her. No magical code to bring her back. She was gone.

The entry buzzer shattered my thoughts. I looked at the microwave; the flashing digits showed it was almost 11:00 p.m. Could it be her?

I skidded to a stop in front of the intercom. “Yes?” My heart raced a million beats per minute.

“Delivery for Callan Bliss, apartment 8D.”

It took a moment for me to realize it was a guy on the other end, not Ocean.

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