The Wanting (D'Shar Men 1)

The tension was palatable as sparks of electricity coursed through his body. His lids lowered with lust, and he bit the inside of his cheek. If he went after her like some caveman, she would only run again. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon, peachy-purple water-colored sky, the perfect back drop to the scarlet button down dress that encased Zasha body. Her toned legs seemed to go on forever in the red and white polka dot espadrilles with a bow on the top.

Her thick locks had been tamed into a ponytail that caressed her back. Her eyes were wide with shock in her oval face, and the white teeth that bite down on her lush lips made him choke back a moan.

“You okay, bro?” Bastian asked.

“Yeah, let’s find a place to sit.”

Phelan led them to a cluster of trees about a hundred yards away from where the girls sat. It was a struggle to maintain his conversation with Bastian, but he managed. The feel of her eyes on him, a burn he rejoiced in. If her stare was any indication, Zasha wasn’t as unaffected as she made out to be. He’d worried that the biological response might be different for a human. But now he could see it was stubbornness. The first strains of the Swan Lake symphony weaved a spell of romance, and he sent a silent thank you to the Northern Kentucky orchestra when he saw her stand from the corner of his eyes. Her stroll was brisk as she ate up the distance between them and lowered her body to sit next to his.

“I’m going to say hi to Taye,” Bastian said. Quick to beat a hasty exit before Zasha could protest.

“What are you doing here, Phelan?”

“Enjoying the music.”

His eyes remained on the orchestra as he did his best to act as a human would. Her proximity had kicked the Wanting in to third gear, and he was grateful for the dark. Because it hid the way his amber eyes had turned black. Another side effect of the Wanting.

“Don’t give me that bull.”

Her arm pressed the length of his arm as she leaned in to keep their conversation private.

“It’s a small town. There’s going to be times when we run into one another. The real question is why it bothers you.”

“You know why.”

“No, Zasha, I really don’t. You wanted me to leave you alone, and I have. Tonight, you came to me.”

His head turned, and the lust that burned in her hazel eyes made him gasp.

“I don’t know what kind of alien sleight of hand you worked on me, but it needs to end.”

“D’Shar men mate for life. I told you this,” he said.

His demeanor softened by her shaken voice.

“I can’t eat or sleep, and when I do my dreams are filled with you,” Zasha said.

The darkness settled over them and wrapped them in its embrace like a blanket. The false intimacy it created along with their position between the trees concealed them from prying eyes. That knowledge made him bold.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said. His large hand slid up to free her hair from its constraint.

The heavy weight wrapped around his fingers. The contact between them served as a balm to the frayed nerves worn with each day that passed. Before they were civilized, his people’s behavior was deplorable. Public mating rituals were performed in front of the pack to prove their claim to all, and a fight to the death over the woman of their choice was considered normal. Much of the behavior had been bred out, and what was left was usually controllable. Her reluctance to admit their bond pushed him to the brink of his limitations. He’d never felt as alien as he did this past week.

“Relief, I need relief.” Zasha’s voice had gone husky with need. Her slim fingers wound in his hair as her body trembled.

“Okay,” he said.

Phelan bent to take her lips with his own. The sweet flavor of peaches danced along his tong

ue as her nails scrapped his scalp. Her full lips were pillow soft against the gentle nips she administered turned aggressive as they moved from his mouth to his neck and back again. Tiny white teeth marked their territory, and he loved every moment. Zasha’s urgency was a delicious torture that overrode rational thought as he lowered her body down to the soft blanket below. Under the concealment of night they were nothing more than two lovers ensnared by the romance found in the classical chords.

“God, Phelan, I’ve missed this. I’m so cold when you’re not around.”

“Then let me warm you,” he whispered into her ear.

His tongue traced the delicate shell of her ear before he indulged in the column of her neck. Zasha’s content sighs and the feel of her nails on his back beneath his shirt spurred him on. His hips ground into hers, the hardness between them unmistakable.

“Phelan,” she moaned. Her long legs spread as wide as she could manage in the pencil skirt fit of her dress.