A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)

A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7) Page 25

His breath left him on a sigh. It was the first time he’d seen her. “So beautiful.” His thumb brushed over one taut nipple. “You wear no bra.”

She smiled, a twinkle in her eye that threatened to slay him. “There were no Victoria’s Secrets around in my youth. I got used to going without.”

He grinned, flicking his thumb across her nipple again as she gasped with pleasure. “So perfect,” he murmured, then knelt before her, gripped her hips lightly, and dipped his head, taking one breast into his mouth. She tasted as good as she smelled, like fresh air and wild, sultry nights. As he flicked his tongue back and forth across her nipple, her fingers dug into his hair, holding him close, filling him with a rightness he couldn’t explain and didn’t question.

He was beginning to tremble with the need to taste her in other places. Everywhere. When he moved to kiss the valley between her breasts, she gasped with pleasure. Fox glanced up at her. “Tell me what you want me to do, angel.” If she told him to stop, to leave her alone, he’d do it. He’d expire of wanting, but he’d do it.

“Love me,” she said instead, and his knees weakened with relief.

“Aye.” He reached down and pulled off one of her boots, then met her heated gaze. “You can tell me to stop at any moment. You know that.”

“Yes.”

He pulled off her other boot, then reached for the waistband of her leggings and slowly began to lower them, revealing her to his hungry gaze one inch at a time. His heart pounded with fear that she’d tell him to stop, that she’d back away and refuse to let him touch her more.

But she said nothing. Her fingers trailed over his shoulders as he pulled her leggings down to her thighs, then lower, and finally off. Sitting back on his heels, he looked at her thoroughly, in thrall to her beauty, his pulse beginning to hammer in his veins.

“You are so lovely, Melisande.”

She watched him in return, a soft smile on her mouth. But there were shadows in her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Yes. The hunger rages, the desire to touch you is almost more than I can bear.”

“But the memories haunt.”

“Yes. I suppose they always will.” She reached for him. “Touch me, Fox. Make me forget.”

And there was nothing in the world he wanted more. “Will you free your hair for me?”

With a smile that was almost shy, and incredibly sweet, she nodded and pulled her braid over her shoulder, unknotting the tie that held it. As she freed her braid, he slid one hand slowly between her legs, pleased when she adjusted her stance to afford him access. She was so wet, so hot for him that he nearly lost the last of his control and pulled her under him. Instead, he stroked her. His finger slid through her wetness, into her body, and she gasped, arching back even as her fingers worked her lovely blond locks from their braid.

Pulling her against him, one arm around her waist, his other hand between her legs, he once more took her breast in his mouth as his finger worked her, in and out, his thumb circling her sweet nub until she was rocking against him, gasping.

He had to taste her. Pulling his hand from between her legs, he gripped her hips with both hands, then kissed her stomach. Slowly, he dipped lower, kissing one thigh, then the other, until finally he found the nectar he sought, licking between her legs, tasting her sweet essence.

“Fox,” she gasped, and clung to him, her cry of pleasure the sweetest of sounds. And he had no intention of stopping until he pushed her over the edge.

His fingers pressed into her soft flesh, caressing even as he held her close, her scent invading his senses until she was all that existed—this woman, this moment, and the need to make her scream with pleasure.

As her hips began to rock, he continued his gentle assault, stroking her with his tongue, suckling her, licking her until she was gasping, rocking, digging her small fingers into his shoulders with sweet desperation. And, finally, she was there, arching on a gasping, keening cry, shattering in her pleasure.

Her knees gave way, and he pulled her against him, her glorious hair cloaking them both. She reached for him, her hands on his shoulders, then in his hair, her sapphire eyes blazing as she stared at him with heat and joy.

“I want you, Fox. I need you inside of me.” Her temporary weakness evaporated, and she shifted, grabbing for his belt, unbuckling it as she grinned at him, seduction in those marvelous eyes. “There’s something you should know about me. Before . . . my captivity . . . I was a woman without inhibitions.”

“Thank you, goddess,” he muttered, as her sweet fingers unbuttoned the button on his pants and slid down his zipper.

She glanced up, her eyes serious. “Don’t cover me with your body, and I think we’ll be okay.” Then her attention returned to her task, and her cool little hand dipped beneath the waistband of his shorts to slide over his thick, throbbing erection. “If I’m not, we’ll both find out.” Hot eyes met his. “Let me pleasure you.”

His breath hitched as he stroked her cheek. “Is that what you want?”

Her hand slid down over his erection, a shock of pleasure that had him arching back, his eyes dropping closed. When he opened them again, it was to find her watching him with a cheeky smile. “Trust me, Feral. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want.”

Truly, he’d died and gone to heaven.

The next thing he knew, his pants and shorts were down around his thighs and her warm, sweet mouth was on him, kissing the entire throbbing, sensitive length of him. Never had he known anything so erotic. Her fingers closed around him, her thumb brushing the tiny drop of moisture that had escaped the tip. Then she guided him to her lips and closed her mouth around him.

Gripping her small head, diving his fingers into her glorious hair, he struggled not to rock his hips as she licked him, sucking him. And lost. Of their own volition, his hips rose, pushing his erection more deeply into her mouth and she took him, her free hand finding his stones, playing with them, wrenching a moan from his throat. The pleasure built and built until it was all he could do not to come.

“Enough, angel.”

Melisande released him, wiping her mouth, looking up at him with a sultry, shining joy. “I would bring you to release.”

“I don’t want to go there without you.”

Melisande slid her hands up under Fox’s T-shirt, reveling in the feel of warm skin over hard muscle beneath her palms. “Undress for me,” she breathed, her voice husky, delighting in the rush of pleasure she’d been denied for so long, a pleasure all the more intense because of the man she shared it with. A man who made her smile, who lit her up inside, burning away the shadows and the darkness, holding the worst of the memories firmly at bay.

He smiled at her now, a slow, carnal smile that thrilled and delighted her. Never had she been with a male who was more gentle, or more considerate. Or more beautiful.

As he whipped his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside, she watched the play of firelight over muscle and the way his golden locks caught the light of the flame. He was like an angel in his own right, a warrior angel if there was ever such a thing.

But her gaze caught on his shoulder where he’d been wounded. And had yet to fully heal. And there was another cut on his forearm. She frowned. “It worries me that you aren’t healing.”

“Me, too,” he admitted as he sat at her feet and began to pull off his boots. “I’m sure it’s just the mountain’s magic.”

She reached for her knife and made a slice across the pad of her middle finger. Pain seared, blood bloomed, but within seconds, the wound closed and she licked the blood away.

“What are you doing?”

“Testing your theory that it’s the mountain’s magic.” She held up her fully healed finger. “It’s not affecting me that way.”

Fox held out his hand to her. “Do the same to me.”

She met his gaze, hesitating for only a moment before she took his hand and cut a far-more-shallow slice, then watched with dismay as the blood welled up, and up, until it ran down his hand, dripping onto the ground.

Her gaze flew to his, and she frowned. “It makes no sense why the mountain would try to kill you this way when it has so clearly been trying to trap you alive.” She grabbed the hem of her discarded tunic and wrapped it around his bleeding finger. Moments later, she eased back the pressure to study the wound. “It’s starting to heal,” she murmured, then pressed the wound some more.

He touched her hand, brushing his thumb across the back of it. “I’m fine, pet. No, not fine. I’m in pain of a different kind.”

But it worried her that he wasn’t healing properly. Something was obviously wrong with him. And that bothered her far more than she wanted it to.

Fox stood and shucked the rest of his clothes, and she watched, loving him, drinking in the sight of his beauty. He was glorious, his legs thick with muscle, his hips and waist narrow, his chest broad and beautifully sculpted. And his erection . . . as fine as any ever made.

Hunger burned in her belly. Affection and joy built in her chest, a pressure she wasn’t sure how to ease.

He pulled her into his arms, and she went happily, loving the feel of flesh to flesh, loving the slide of his hands down her bare back and the press of that protruding thickness against her belly. She drank in the sweetness of being held, of feeling utterly safe even when danger lurked just outside.

The brush of his whiskers and the soft press of his warm kiss to her temple melted her. Nose against his neck, she breathed his scent deep into her lungs, shivering with the raw pleasure it brought her, and pressed her own lips to that warm skin.

His hold on her tightened, his hands once more telegraphing the need that had raged before and that raged again. Lifting her head, she met his kiss in a fiery burst of pure desire, their mouths fusing, their tongues sliding and tangling. He tasted like a clean, fresh spring on a hot summer day, and she didn’t think she would ever get enough of him. Reaching up, she gripped his skull, the long, soft strands of his hair slipping sensuously through her fingers. His hands roamed her back, sliding down to cup her buttocks, to pull her tight against his thick erection.

“I have to be inside you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I can’t wait any longer.” He pulled her down with him, lying back with a small smile that wrapped around her heart and squeezed. “Ride me, angel,” he said softly.

And there was nothing she wanted more. Straddling him, she lowered herself slowly until the tip of his erection pressed between her legs, seeking entrance.

“Can I hold on to you this time?” he asked carefully. “Will you let me join you?”

“Yes. Please.”

He grinned, then gripped her hips and pushed inside her, slowly, carefully, filling her, claiming her.

Melisande arched back, drenched in pleasure. She rolled her hips, sliding him out, then in again in a sinuous move that had always driven her lovers to madness. At the sound of Fox’s groan, she smiled, peering down at him, meeting his passion-filled gaze. As she stepped up the pace, his grip slid to her buttocks, his fingers digging into her, driving her own passion higher.

“You’re good at this,” he gasped.

“Am I?” She laughed, all worries gone for this moment. Her senses swam, overwhelmed by the feel of flesh on flesh, of Fox’s wonderful, masculine scent, of his heat, and the sheer perfection of his powerful body. As her need built, emotion welled up inside of her—pleasure, joy. Love. How it had happened, she didn’t know, but she’d fallen in love with this man.

The passionate storm picked her up. Fox’s grip on her tightened. “Look at me, angel.” His blue eyes pulled her in, snaring her, holding her with the softest, sweetest touch as he pushed into her, harder and harder, driving her up, and up, and up.

She met him, thrust for thrust, telling him without words that he didn’t need to be careful. Not now. Not in this. Together, they mated, sex in its most primitive form, hard, desperate, loving. One. It was glorious, a melding of both flesh and spirit. Grinning at one another, gasping, they screamed their release, her cry to his shout as the storm broke over them.

As her heart began to settle, Fox slid his hands up her side, reaching for her. “Kiss me, Mel.”

And she did, lying atop him, stroking his damp face, pressing her lips to his. His hands stroked her back, caressed her head, as her hair fell over them both.

Finally, she tucked her head against his shoulder and knew peace.

“This place could have filled with Mage, and I wouldn’t have known it,” he murmured against her hair. “For once, the goddess was on our side.” He kissed her forehead with such tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes.

Lifting up, she pressed her hand to his cheek. “That was . . . the very best it’s ever been for me.”

Pleasure warmed his eyes along with wry amusement. “And you remember those lovers from long ago?”

She smiled. “I do. An Ilina never forgets.”

“I thought it was the elephant that never forgets.”

“Funny story . . .” She traced his bottom lip with her finger and he pulled her digit into his mouth. “In ancient Persia, the word for Ilina and elephant were nearly the same. Somehow it slipped from the Therian lexicon to the human.”

“So the original saying really was ‘an Ilina never forgets.’ ” He laughed, then gripped the back of her head and kissed her thoroughly once more.

But thought of the past had opened more doors, allowing memories to pour through. She pulled away, laying her cheek on Fox’s shoulder. He cupped her head, caressing her, comforting her, and they lay there for a long time.