Leopard's Rage (Leopard People 12)

His heart felt as if a vise squeezed it hard. “You need me, baby, you know I’m yours.” Very gently, his hands went to her waist and he lifted and turned her so her body faced his. “Straddle me.”

Blood from Shturm’s puncture wounds still trickled down her shoulders, but she hadn’t even seemed to notice that he’d reclaimed the female, or that part of her extreme sensitivity was due to her cat being close. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and held him steady as she slowly sank down, sheathing him in her tight folds. She threw her head back as her burning folds engulfed him.

He wanted to do a little head throwing of his own. She was pure scorching fire. The look on her face, a kind of ecstasy, only added to the beauty as she rode him, sliding over his cock, her muscles squeezing tight. He caught her hips and slowed her down, not allowing the frantic pace she tried to set.

“Shh, baby, relax, take it slow and easy,” he coaxed, setting the rhythm. Her body was a silken sheath, so scorching hot, grabbing at him with greedy fingers and squeezing down over and over as she pumped her sexy pussy over his cock.

Her breasts jolted and swayed invitingly with every movement of her body, dancing for him as she ground down, her breath coming in panting sobs. Deliberately, he slid one hand up from her hip to her breast and flicked her taut nipple. She gasped as if he’d held a flame to it. He pinched and tugged and then ran his finger from her breast slowly down her belly straight to where their bodies came together.

“Look at us, baby. Look at the way you take me inside you.”

He circled her clit and then flicked it just as he had her nipple. She cried out and clamped down hard with her muscles around his cock—rode him harder, breaking the slow rhythm. He pinched, using his finger and thumb, holding her little inflamed clit hostage while he pumped into her, surging with his hips and then suddenly letting her go so the blood flowed back. She cried out again as he gently flicked and teased the inflamed bud, while she pressed down harder into him, her muscles like a vise.

“One day I’m going to do a tie with clamps on your nipples and clit, malen’koye plamya. I’ll have you dripping with jewels and rope both. You always look so damn sexy.” Sevastyan slid his hands up her hips to her waist, holding her, needing to hold her. Wishing he could find a way to reach her other than through sex. He was willing to take what he could get, but she was perfect. So damn perfect.

The roaring started. Thunder in his ears. He felt the volcano in him, that deep dark well of savage, red-molten rage that only Flambé seemed to be able to tame. Even if it was for a short while, a small respite, she still managed. The sounds she made told him she was close. He recognized every little sign of Flambé’s needs, every tiny nuance, expression, moan of pleasure, sob of desire or lust, her body language, he knew all of that and yet nothing of her. Nothing of his woman.

He caught her close and held her heart to heart as her body clamped down hard on his and the tidal wave took her, took them together. She dropped her head on his chest, her arms sliding around his neck in absolute exhaustion. He could feel her heart beating, surrounding his cock, the same rhythm against his chest. If the emotion welling up in him was actually love, he wouldn’t have been surprised. It was stark, raw, overwhelming. And all for her.

He buried his face in the silky mess of her hair, taking advantage while he could. It wouldn’t last. She didn’t want him. He got that. Even Mitya got that. He was so angry with Mitya taking it out on him, but the truth was still the same. She didn’t want him. He would have to face that soon.

She had completely collapsed into him, breathing raggedly, her face pressed against his chest, eyes closed tightly. He kept his arms around her, holding her close to him, their hearts beating hard. He was leopard and he could hear them both hammering out of control. His began to settle first. He opened his eyes to look down at her, just to drink her in while she wasn’t paying attention.

Flambé was at her most vulnerable in the ropes, during sex and right after. Those were the only times he felt he had the real woman. The rest of the time she was so elusive he was certain she was moving just out of his reach, always one step ahead of him. He was very intelligent and used to being the smartest man in the room, even if few others were aware of it. To have Flambé always eluding him was both intriguing and disconcerting.

A flash of red caught his eye and he tightened his hold on her and sat straighter to look over her shoulder. She was bleeding from the puncture wounds. His heart jumped.

Shturm. How deep did you bite?

Not too deep. You said to make certain my claim was established and I did.

Sevastyan cursed silently. He had said that. Did you close the wounds with your saliva? He couldn’t remember if the male cat had licked the bites or not. He had the first time, but they’d been shallow punctures. These, clearly, were deeper.

No, she was distressed and I shifted.

What had he read about her mother dying in childbirth? She’d hemorrhaged. He’d had Ania do some investigating for him and several of the strawberry leopards had died from hemorrhaging. This was a careless mistake. He took a deep breath, refusing to panic. He stood up, lifting her off of him and into his arms, taking her to the bed and laying her facedown. She barely moved she was so exhausted.

Shturm, you’re going to clean those wounds. Shift now. Sevastyan was in no mood to take any bullshit from his leopard. Be gentle with her.

For once the cat obeyed without giving him any lip. Shturm lapped at the puncture wounds, and then shifted again. Sevastyan hurriedly yanked the first-aid kit from behind the bar where he’d stashed it. He cleaned the bite marks thoroughly, noting that even with the cat cleaning them they were still bleeding. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but enough that it told him she would have trouble if she really got a deep cut—or she had a baby. He wasn’t like so many others of his species—he wasn’t all about having children to save the shifters.

He tried butterfly bandages and waited to see if they would stop the flow of blood. If that didn’t work, he would put a stitch in each of the bites. He was also contacting the doctor immediately. He wasn’t taking chances with her.

“Sevastyan?” Flambé’s voice was husky. Drowsy.

“Shh baby, just lie still.”

“I need to clean up.”

“I’ll get you cleaned up in a few minutes. I’m admiring my handiwork. The ropes looked good on your skin.” He smoothed his hand over her thigh where the marks from the ropes were still faint.

She didn’t respond. The butterfly bandages were holding. Relief spread through him. He contemplated the perils of landscaping and how many ways she could cut herself while working as he ran a hot bath for the two of them. He’d given the cook and housecleaners the day off as well so after he bathed her, he’d put her back to bed and he’d fix brunch while she slept. That would give him time to try to figure out why she was afraid of him.

She never acted afraid of him. It would stand to reason that if she was, she wouldn’t let him tie her. She would never trust him the way she had that morning. Nothing about the situation made any sense.

Sevastyan scooped her off the bed and carried her into the bathroom once the tub was filled. He’d added bath salts to the water to help heal any soreness. She curled into his chest, feeling lightweight, almost insubstantial to him. There were rope marks on her body as well as marks from his mouth and hands. She had skin that displayed his artwork beautifully. Someday, he’d take pictures of her body after he removed the ropes as well as with the various ties on.

“Sevastyan.” His name came out a husky protest as he sat down in the tub, her body between his legs, the hot water nearly to her neck. “It’s too hot.”