Man of steel. Unconquered. Undefeated. Oh God, she needed him. Needed to assure herself he was alive, that he was hers. That nothing could take him away from her.
“I really don’t care if you are.” She pushed against his shoulders, trying to shove him back, and he wasn’t moving. His hands were braced on the seat at her side, his nose nearly touching hers, his black eyes glaring into hers.
“Oh, I know just how much you don’t care,” he bit out. “To the tune of eight months. Without my mate.”
“Oh yeah, I can really see how you suffered.” She was shaking with emotion now. So many months of loneliness, fear and even, at times, guilt raging through her. “I saw that when I walked into my bedroom and caught you all but f**king Sofia. Damn you to hell.” She shoved harder, and was surprised that he moved back, even more surprised that she followed him.
She was in his face. Nose to nose. “You let that bitch touch you.”
“It’s not as though you attempt to touch me.” He bared his teeth at her. “You ran. Like the child you were, rather than facing what you knew couldn’t be changed.”
“I changed it. I suffered those damned tests and I got what I needed to make sure you couldn’t control me again.” She slapped one hand to his chest, then the other. She gripped the lapels and jerked.
Buttons flew as his gaze reflected surprise, then burning lust.
“And I’ll change it now if I want to.”
Desire and need was like a demon inside her. Not like the mating heat, but like a surge of pure, white-hot lust that didn’t need hormonal help. Like it had been earlier. Powerful. Desperate.
It was helpless emotion, caught in a grip of fearing for his safety, terrified, aware that anytime in the past months she could have lost him. A knowledge that she might never have the chance to touch him again.
Nights of tossing and turning. Dreams that didn’t stop. An aching hunger she couldn’t rid herself of. And fear. In one striking moment she could have lost all those dreams. He could have died in front of her eyes because she wasn’t prepared, because she was a liability. She had to be protected for his sake because she was too damned frightened to accept the place he had made for her. As his mate. As his coya.
Well, he had to be protected too. Because he was hers. Mate, lover, man, whatever. She couldn’t name the possessiveness that rose inside her, not yet.
Her hands pressed against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her palms, the muscles that bunched and rippled at her touch. Her fingers curled, her nails scratched across his flesh, and she reveled in the rumbled growl that left his chest.
“Did you want Sofia after me?” She shocked herself with the question, then with the actions that followed it. She bit his lower lip, and it wasn’t a love nip.
“Do you care?” His voice was graveled, so rough it was feral.
Did she care? Oh hell yes, she cared, but she’d be damned if she would give him the satisfaction of hearing it from her lips.
“Do you care if I f**k another?” she asked him. “Maybe I should have found someone else.”
She was challenging him and she knew it. Daring the Breed, part man, part animal, to claim what was his. To claim what she didn’t know how to give him.
He buried his hand in her hair and jerked her head back as he snarled in her face. “Don’t make that mistake.”
“Why?” Her nails scratched his hard abs. She felt the flexing power in them, heard the growl of hunger that parted his lips. “Why would you care?”
He didn’t answer the question. He bore her back until she was beneath him, stretched along the leather seat, arching against him as his lips covered hers, his tongue driving into her mouth.
Fire and lightning sizzled around her. Hunger and need clashed inside her head. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers speared into his hair as she met the kiss, sucked his tongue into her mouth and gave them both what they needed.
He hadn’t f**ked Sofia since he had taken Anya. She could feel it. She knew it. Sensed it. The female part of her, the woman who knew when something had touched what belonged to her, assured her of that. And she was going to make damned sure the bitch never touched him again. The man she held in her arms belonged to her. And she was going to claim every inch of him.
CHAPTER 10
Her common sense was screaming, Mistake. Her independence was clawing against the need thundering through her system, but something stronger, something more vital had Anya pulling Del-Rey closer, holding on to him tighter, her lips moving beneath his, tempting his kiss deeper, hotter, stronger.
He kissed her as though he were starved for her, just as he had earlier. And she kissed him, knowing she was starved for him. Not just for the taste of the mating hormone, but for the man. The man who filled her senses even when he wasn’t touching her. The man who could have been lost to her forever.
When had it begun to matter?
It had always mattered.
As she felt the hem of her gown rising above her stockings, Anya admitted that to herself. When she heard his hungry growl, felt his hand on the bare flesh of thigh, she knew it would always matter.
Twisting, arching beneath him, she held on to him, her lips caught by the pleasure of his kiss, by the storm tearing through her.
“Part your legs.” His voice was so deep, filled with such rough hunger, that she whimpered, her lashes lifting to stare into the fierce, black depths of his gaze.
“No woman has mattered to me as you do,” he rasped, one hand cupping her cheek, holding her still as his thumb curled under her jaw. “I’ve taken no woman since I touched you. Desired no woman. I’ve craved nothing but the taste of you, Anya.”
His body lowered, his hips wedged between her thighs as he lifted her leg and laid it along his hip.
“Feel how hard.” He nipped her lower lip. A tiny sting against the sensual pleasure raging through her. “Feel how I’ve needed you, Coya. Your touch and your heat. Only yours.”
She licked her lips, staring back at him as she fought to draw enough air into her lungs just to breathe.
“The hormonal therapy.” She knew there was a therapy for the males as well. A way to tame the raging need that burned in them, though it was said not to be as torturous for them as it was for the females.
He shook his head. “Do you think I wanted to lose a single moment of knowing something in this world belonged to me?” he asked her, destroying her. “One thing, Anya.” His thumb ran over her lips and his hips rolled against the mound of her sex. “In this world, God granted me one thing for the honor I chose rather than the evil I could have followed. He gave to me the woman that I saw as a tender woman-child, and desired above all things. When you were no more than sixteen, tender and so innocent, I claimed you. I don’t want to lose a moment of knowing, even if you walk away, that there is proof that I’m worthy of something that isn’t marked by blood.”