Fear.
Uncertainty.
What was she thinking?
She’d never done this before so she couldn’t even guess. She didn’t know how to do this.
She was standing naked but the for the panties that hid the genetic mark of the Coyote just below her womb, in front of this Breed. A Coyote …
Swallowing tightly she hooked her fingers in the band of black lace and lowered them, forcing herself to slide them over her thighs before letting them fall to the floor. His gaze touched the hardened points of her nipples, then lowered to that mark. The faint lines, in the form of jagged scars, shadowed her flesh and had the scent of male lust spiking in the womb.
Rather than removing his pants as his need increased, he stepped to her, calloused fingers touching her cheek before cupping it gently.
He was warm. So warm.
“No kisses,” he whispered. “But you didn’t rule out this.”
As he spoke, he swung her up in his arms, sweeping her from the floor and striding to the bed, where he laid her in the middle of the mattress. Lying down beside her, his head lowered, but he kept his word. He didn’t kiss her lips.
What he did was even more maddening, more erotic. His lips touched the corner of hers; just the tip of his tongue edged at it before his lips moved to her neck, his tongue taking little tastes of her flesh as her breathing accelerated.
Because it felt good. So damned good.
One hand twined in her hair, gripping the curls and pulling just enough that the slight sensation was a merging of erotic and the edge of pain. And she liked it. Dark need and that restless, shadowed force inside her merged, clawing at her, demanding she take what was hers.
“There, little halfling,” he whispered as his lips moved to her neck, smoothing over her flesh as his tongue, ah mercy, his teeth, awakened nerve endings she didn’t know she had.
Before she knew it, her hands were on his shoulders as he rose over her, then in his hair, sliding through the cool strands, clenching in them as she arched to him. And she tried to make sense of the sensations racing through her.
The rush of heat that engulfed her body, the pinching tightness of her nipples, the warmth growing between her thighs. The ache centering in her clit as she felt her juices flowing from her sex and the demand building in her that she let go, give in, that she free the hunger raging through her.
“Feel good?” he whispered as his lips kissed slowly lower, moving for the heaving flesh of her breasts.
“Feels good.” She didn’t even sound like herself.
Why did he care if it felt good?
“You taste like heaven.” The rasp of his voice was deeper, more animalistic. “Son of a bitch, love, you taste good.”
Sensation was overtaking her, pleasure like she hadn’t expected, couldn’t have anticipated.
“Oh God. Yes …” she couldn’t hold back her moan as his lips covered a sensitized nipple, drawing it into his mouth, sucking with firm, hungry draws of his lips, licking it, rasping nerve endings with such pleasure.
She arched into the sensations, her eyes closing, though she wanted to hold them open. The heat was building, sensation upon sensation as he moved from one engorged peak to the other. She wanted to be closer …
She wanted his kiss.
Her head twisted against the pillow as he slid one hand down her side to her thighs, then settled between them, covering the slick folds he found there with his broad palm.
It wasn’t supposed to feel good. Not this good. She could feel the perspiration gathering on her skin, hear her own moans as she felt him working his pants free of his thighs.
His lips were still at her breast, sucking, his tongue abrading her nipple. His hand moved from her sex, pushed her thighs apart, and then he was kneeling between them. With one hand he clasped her hip, his lips moving from her breast to her neck.
She felt the crest of his shaft, broad, throbbing as it pressed against the entrance between her thighs. So hot, pressing inside her, opening her, stretching her …
Each hard, pulsing throb was followed by heated pleasure, like a rush of liquid fire filling her, easing her, amplifying the sensations.
She arched to him, knowing she shouldn’t, knowing there was something she should remember; something wasn’t right. Then he was pushing inside her, pleasure and pain merging, white-hot in its intensity, tearing through her as the short strokes inside her vagina tore through her virginity, lengthened, became quicker, harder, burying him inside her fully.