She nipped at him again for being so damned inconsiderate.
Her dream. Nips allowed.
But then she licked over the little bite and moaned at the taste of him. God she loved his taste. She wanted to taste all of him, from his lips to his thighs and all parts in between.
She wanted to feel the heavy heat of his erection between her lips, she wanted to lick the broad head, wanted to taste the hot essence of the man. She wanted him until she was burning for it.
A distant corner of her mind was warning her to beware, that this dream was too intense, too rich with sensation. But she didn’t want to wake up yet.
Her hands petted his arm, then traveled to his hard waist and hips. He was just so damned hard all over, and so warm.
She let her thighs clamp on the erection between them, creating a friction and pressure against her clit as she heard a muttered curse above her. She smiled at the sound. His voice was very husky, very rumbling and primal. She liked it. She wanted to hear more of it.
Later.
First, she wanted her kiss. She had longed for his kiss for so many months. Sometimes she swore she could almost taste the spicy hot wickedness of it in her mouth. Sometimes she swore she was still in heat, though Dr. Armani assured her that her hormone issues were stable.
“Kiss me,” she ordered him. It was an order, a command. She wanted to be kissed and she wanted it now. And he’d better comply. Her dream. Her kiss. It was time the coya got her due.
Del-Rey knew he was going to die. He was going to go up in flames right there in that damned bed and go to hell for every sin he’d ever committed. And kissing her would send him there.
He arched his neck back from her inquisitive little lips. No kisses. But damned that order to give it to her had sent a punch of lust slamming into his gut. She’d sounded commanding, hot. Fuck, he was so perverted. He could see his wild little coya straddling him, on her knees, demanding his cock. Instead of Kiss me, she’d order Fuck me.
He was so close to panting it was f**king pathetic.
He let one hand tangle in the red gold curls of her hair as he held her in place. No damned way he was pushing her away from him, but if he kissed her now, he was likely to find himself in front of the Breed tribunal again.
No kisses, Dr. Armani had warned him months ago. Not without Anya’s permission. And he was sure the good doctor didn’t mean her sleeping approval. The hormonal aphrodisiac in the glands of his tongue was like a damned erotic TNT. He knew. Been there, kissed her and burned in the flames.
Kissing her was only going to make it worse.
But God help him, he ached to kiss her. To sink his swollen tongue into the hot depths of her mouth and feel her sucking that hormone into herself. Then, he wanted her lips lower. Sucking his dick with the same hunger she was reaching for his kiss with now.
He sure as hell wasn’t cold now though. He was burning from the inside out, so f**king desperate for the taste of her that he wondered if he could actually hold out.
“Kiss me.” Her voice deepened, sexy and rough, that hint of command causing his hips to jerk against her, burying his c**k deeper between her thighs.
“Anya.” His hand tightened in her hair. “No kisses.”
Cunning, manipulation, calculation. He was a Coyote, that was what he was good at.
He pulled her head back, staring into the dazed features of her face, the drowsy sensuality. She moaned, a lost little sound that tore into his soul.
“One kiss,” she whispered.
“Anya. Wake up.” His voice was such a hard growl it surprised him. “I won’t go before another tribunal for tricking you.”
Her lashes fluttered open; her blue eyes were darker, sexier. She looked tousled and ready to be f**ked. He was sure as hell ready to f**k her.
“Wake up, Anya.” He glared down at her. “The next time I kiss you, it will only be because you know what’s coming. I will not stand before another tribunal and be flayed for taking what’s mine.”
Awareness shifted into her eyes. Heat rushed into her cheeks, staining them a perfect pretty pink as he watched realization transform her features.
“Oh my God. It’s not another dream.” She stiffened, her fingers curled against his shoulders, and Del-Rey knew what was coming.
Anya was out of the bed as quickly as she could untangle her legs from his and tear herself out of his grip. She stumbled at the side of the bed, fighting to get her weak legs beneath her as she stared back at Del-Rey in horror.
She was in his bedroom. In his bed.
“How did I get here?” She heard the squeak in her voice as he shifted lazily and lifted himself on an elbow.
“Your pu**y is so wet those thin little pants are damp,” he growled. “Fuck, Anya. I can see it.”
Outraged horror exploded inside her as she looked down, seeing the faintest of dark prints against the light gray material where his c**k had rubbed her pants against her sex. She hadn’t worn panties. Why hadn’t she worn panties again? Oh yeah, they had rasped her engorged clit and irritated her.
“Why am I in your bedroom rather than my own?” she snapped back at him.
He grinned slowly. “Sleepwalking? My, my, Anya, trying to accost me in my sleep? Should I protest this myself in front of the tribunal?”
She started to shake. She had actually done that a time or two. Gone to sleep in her bed and awoken in Del-Rey’s. Just a few times though. And never had he been in it.
She shook her head, feeling herself pale. “I did this?” she whispered, shuddering at the knowledge that she could have set herself up like this.
His brows lifted as he grinned again. “Actually, I carried you here from the lounge and tucked you in myself. You sleep deep, baby. I could have had you f**ked and knotted before you knew what happened to you.”
Oh shit.
Anya swallowed tightly. He had carried her from the lounge and put her in his bed. And this was what had happened the first chance she’d had to forget what a lying snake he was.
“You bastard!”
“Yeah? So?” He smirked. “We’ve established this already, haven’t we? Are you going to start throwing things now?”
He was laughing at her. Daring to laugh at her because he had done this to her. This, made her sleep with him. But she remembered the dream clearly. She knew who had started touching first and who had been demanding. It hadn’t been him. It had been her crawling all over him like a bitch in heat.
Heat. The mating heat. She threw him a contemptuous stare before rushing across the room and throwing open the door to her own bedroom.