She drew on his tongue, moaning that soft, feminine little sound of hunger that he remembered only in his dreams.
He pumped his tongue between her lips, f**king her mouth with it as she sucked at it. The mating hormone flowed free now, drawn by the heat of her mouth and the unique taste of her kiss.
He could feel fire gathering at the base of his spine. His balls drew tight and hard beneath his cock, and his muscles locked as he fought for control. Fought to please his fiery little mate.
“Damn you.” His lips jerked back, moving over her jaw, nipping roughly as she arched in his arms. “You’ll drive me insane.”
He jerked at the neckline of her snug sweater, pushed it over her shoulder and attacked with lips and tongue the mark he had left between her shoulder and neck. He stroked it; he sucked at it. He worked his tongue over it and scraped it with his teeth, as his other hand moved from her hair to the hem of her sweater and pushed beneath it roughly.
She was his. His mate. His sweet, tempting little Anya. So soft and defiant. A challenge and a pleasure. She was the perfect mate for him, smart-mouthed little hellion that she was. He loved that about her. She gave him that spark of challenge he needed and kept him on his damn toes.
He intended to keep her on her back.
He picked her off her feet, one arm behind her back, the other at her hips as he laved and caressed the sensitive mating mark.
As he bore her back to the bed, his lips caught hers again. He didn’t want to hear objections. If she dared push the word no between her lips, then he might lose any control he had on the fragile leash of his lust.
Her back met the bed as he pushed her legs apart, settling between them with a groan of triumph. He had her where she belonged. Beneath him, locked in his embrace, his lips moving over hers as he pushed her sweater over her br**sts and palmed the lush, full curves.
“Bra off. Off.” He tore the fragile lace, but her br**sts were released to him, her hard little ni**les like ripe berries. A delicate, fragile pink. Hard, stiff.
He growled, a demented animalistic sound, as his lips covered one, his tongue licking and stroking, laying that powerful hormone along the throbbing tips.
Oh, dare him, would she? Push him to show her who her alpha was, would she? She would learn better than that here and now, right here in her own bed where she would never forget his possession of her. Then, he would take her to his bed. If he could still walk.
Her ni**les were so damned sweet. She was too sweet. The taste of her fueled the flames burning in his gut as the glands in his tongue became sensitive, swollen again.
He lifted his head from her breast, pulled the sweater from her then stared down at her in amazement. She was perfect for him. Beautiful. So sweetly rounded. Lush br**sts, curvy hips, thighs that could hold a man through the night.
He eased his hands down her waist. Slow, he reminded himself. Slow and easy. Love her. Touch her. Feel every inch of her silken flesh.
He pulled the button of her jeans free, watching her face, her eyes. His fingers brought her zipper down.
“Toe off the shoes,” he growled.
He expected her to object, to deny him. God help him if she denied him.
She moved, pushed her sneakers from her feet as he pushed his hand beneath the material of her jeans. He was breathing so damned hard it hurt his chest. His fingers slid over her lower stomach, into the band of her silken panties, and he found paradise.
Slick, saturated curls. He loved curls between a woman’s thighs. Breeds had no body hair, though over the past months he had developed chest hair, since mating her. But there was none on his genitals. He was fascinated with his mate’s fiery curls.
He let his fingers pet the sweet curls, scratch through them, feel her heat and the promise of her passion as her hips arched to his hand.
His tongue was throbbing as he lowered his head, his lips taking hers again, capturing the deep, tongue-thrusting kiss he craved from her.
She sucked his tongue into her mouth, moaned at the taste of him, her arms digging into his hair, clenching in the strands and holding him to her. His fingers slid through the thatch of wet curls again, then delved into the narrow, swollen slit of her pu**y.
“Fuck!” He snarled the word against her lips as he found the luscious, juicy flesh beyond, filled with her sweet syrup, the temptation of it filling his senses as she lifted to him again. He was drowning in her, and he wanted nothing more than to sink farther.
Anya’s lips parted for air. She couldn’t seem to draw enough into her lungs, couldn’t seem to drag herself from the heated haze of hunger and need that enfolded her. Her thighs parted farther, allowing his fingers privileges she’d sworn she would never give them. Privileges she ached for now.
“More,” she whimpered, desperate for his taste.
It wasn’t like the first time. That freezing, burning, clawing agony. This was just hot, desperate pleasure. So much pleasure she pulled at his hair, dragging his lips back to hers, wanting more of his kisses.
The taste of him was addictive; even with the hormonal therapy in her system, his taste was like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. Was this normal or mating heat?
It was a stronger need than the one she had known before he had betrayed her. Before he had lied to her. It was that same driving, intense need to explore. But the pleasure. Oh, the pleasure was exquisite.
Hours. He could keep this up for hours?
Could she?
She tossed beneath him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and tasting the spicy heat of the hormone that spilled from it.
She could feel his body tensing, growing steel hard as he held himself above her. Her hands moved from his hair to his shirt. She wanted to unbutton it, but couldn’t. Her fingers fumbled; they slipped. She gripped the secured edges, one in each hand and jerked, feeling the buttons pop, tear.
The growl that tore from his throat was primal, feral. It was pure animal hunger and sent racing tingles of electric energy spreading through her body. She could feel them, like little sizzling fingers beneath her flesh as his calloused fingertips rasped around her clit.
“You make me crazy.” He tore his lips from hers, his teeth nipping at her jaw, her neck. “I’m going to come in my f**king jeans.”
She smoothed the shirt back from his broad chest, relished the warm mat of chest hair beneath her fingertips. That was so sexy. Most Breeds had no body hair, she’d heard.
But Del-Rey had a light mat lying over his chest, arrowing down the center of his body to just below his navel. And it was sexy. And warm. And she wanted her tongue in it. She wanted her lips on it. She wanted to lick his flesh, taste him all over.