Play of Passion (Psy-Changeling 9)

“No more.” She’d been hungry too long, and it only took a few wicked caresses to have her body riding a near-painful edge. “Drew.”

He let her escape with one final lick. His eyes were pure wolf. “Next time,” he said in a voice gone husky and deep and in no way human, “you’re going to lie still until I’ve finished tasting you.”

A growl rumbled in the back of her throat. “Am I?”

“Fair’s fair.”

Her wolf didn’t understand his logic, its mind too torn with the hunger for the most intimate, most luscious, of skin privileges. “What?” Sliding down his body, she brushed herself against the velvet steel of his arousal.

Drew’s abdomen was taut as rock under her palms, his c**k even more rigid. “Because,” he said in that gravelly, inhuman voice, “I’ll lie here and let you do whatever you want, too.”

Her wolf froze, looked at him, licked its lips. Big and gorgeous and dangerously aroused, he made her want to . . . The words wouldn’t come, her body too hot, too needy. Ending the teasing play of her body against his, she said, “Now.”

His hands tightened on her hips, and then he was flipping her so she lay beneath him, her legs spread wide to accommodate his bigger, heavier body. His skin shimmered with perspiration, and the tension in his muscles had turned them to steel. But though he nudged at her with the blunt head of his erection, the shaft pushing eagerly at the entrance to her body, he stopped long enough to give her a wet, openmouthed kiss that was all licks and little bites, tender and affectionate and sexy all at once.

And then, as her body arched up, he thrust into her in a single hard push.

Her scream fell into his mouth, her fingers clenching on his biceps.

Neither of them moved for the next few seconds. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her palms, and it echoed the frantic pace of her own. Realizing her claws were out just a tiny bit, just enough to blood him in the throes of passion, she went to pull them back.

He bit her lower jaw. “I like it.”

Taking him at his word, she scratched lightly at him as she tried to get used to the feel of him inside her. Hard and thick and deliciously long, he stretched her to the limit, but they fit. Oh, they fit very, very nicely. “Guess,” she managed to gasp out after several seconds, “the rumors weren’t exaggerations.”

He didn’t answer, his entire body trembling with the effort it was obviously taking for him not to pound her into the earth.

“Drew,” she whispered, nipping at his ear, “I’m not fragile.”

Wolf-copper eyes met hers, nothing of humanity in them. “No, you’re mine.” Gripping her hip with one hand, he braced himself over her with the other, and then he rode her.

There was, Indigo thought as her senses exploded, no other word for it. It wasn’t any kind of sophisticated mating—it was raw and hard and primal, the power of Drew’s thrusts sending shock waves through her entire body. She’d have been shoved off the sleeping bags more than once if his grip hadn’t pinned her to the earth, if she hadn’t locked her legs around him and given in to the heat and strength and driving sexual hunger of him. She’d never had a lover as abandoned in her life, and she loved it. Adored it.

Adored him.

Clawing at his back, she lifted her h*ps to meet his strokes, but his rhythm was too fast, too aggressive, and her body was already tightening into an explosive bow. It didn’t matter—it was impossible to halt the movements of her h*ps now, her flesh claiming and releasing his in an abandoned sexual rhythm that drove him impossibly deeper. Somewhere in between, she realized the fingers of his free hand were locked with hers as it lay palm up beside her head.

The tension built inside her. Tighter. Hotter. Agonizing. “Drew!” It was a scream as the pressure reached boiling point and exploded.

Her last thought was that Drew, too, had finally let go.

She roused some time later to find that he’d flipped them again, so that she lay sprawled on his chest. Her right hand remained entangled with his, while her left hand was curved around the back of his neck. She’d hooked one leg over his hip; the other lay stretched over one muscular male leg, the hairs on his skin deliciously abrasive against her sensitized flesh.

His own hand stroked up and down her back, a little rough, all perfect. “Wake up, Indy.”

“Mmm.” Shifting a fraction, she felt his renewed erection against the skin of her inner thigh. “Even changelings can’t recover that fast.” Her heart was still pumping from the ecstasy of the first ride. She was fairly sure the stars dancing in her vision had nothing to do with the ones in the sky.

He turned her onto her back, one of his arms cushioning her head. “See,” he said, “this is what you get for choosing a younger lover.” That cocky, teasing light was back in his eyes.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it, missed him.

Swinging her leg back over his hip, she pulled him down until he was braced on his elbows above her. “Is this where I have to lie still?”

“Yes.” He pushed up her other leg so it was bent at the knee . . . and slid into her in a blunt thrust.

Her spine arched off the sleeping bag. “Drew!”

Freezing, he brushed her hair off her face. “You weren’t ready?”

She heard the na**d concern, saw the wolf flicker in his eyes. Stroking her arms around his chest, she nipped at his jaw. “Oh, I was ready—but a little warning might be nice.”

A slow smile spread across his face, the wolf continuing to glow in his eyes, but amused now in the most sensual of ways. “No, I don’t think so.” Taking her mouth before she could snap at him for that adorably arrogant statement, he began to move in her.