Kidnapping His Bride

The need to mark, to possess, let the entire world know that this woman belonged to him and no one else.

Hard to believe this sweet, seemingly innocent woman made him feel like this. Their fathers had been right.

Cat was his perfect match.

The ride back to his apartment started out quiet, with Cat staring out the window, watching the city lights pass by, her right arm resting in the center of the bench seat. Rafe kept his gaze fixed there, studying her small hand, her long, slender fingers, the short, painted, bright pink nails.

Without thought, he touched her, drew his finger lightly across the top of her hand. Then brought his index finger back up the original path it took, gently crossing her knuckles, blazing a path up each finger. Driving himself mad with the need to touch her further.

More, his thoughts, his body demanded. Take more.

He hooked his index finger around hers and slowly brought their connected hands up to his mouth, dropping a soft kiss to her closest finger. It curled tight around his as he continued to rain kisses on every one of her fingers. Her knuckles. The back of her hand, where his tongue darted out for a quick taste.

Glancing up, he caught her staring at him, her eyes wide, damp lips parted. She swallowed—he saw the delicate movement of her throat, his gaze drawn to the rapid pounding of her pulse at the base of her neck. He drew her pinky finger into his mouth and sucked, savoring her taste.

A soft, feminine noise escaped her, and he released her finger from his mouth, licking the tip. A shuddery breath left her and she leaned forward, as if she wanted more of him.

He felt exactly the same. He wanted more. His body demanded more.

Hitting the button the control panel in the armrest, he watched the privacy screen slide up so the driver couldn’t observe what was about to happen. “Undo your seatbelt,” he commanded, gently pulling on her hand, trying to bring her closer.

“But…” Her voice trailed off, and he tightened his grip on her.

“Do it, Cat. I’m tired of denying myself. Of denying you.” He was being a jackass, asking her to take off her belt. It was unsafe, but they were close to his building, and at this very moment, he could give a shit about seatbelts and safety and whatever else.

Unbuckling his own belt, he moved toward the middle of the seat the same time she did, his hands going to her waist, her hands reaching for his shoulders.

And then he was pulling her on top of him, her body curving around his. She straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips, the skirt of her already short dress hiked far up her thighs. He cupped the back of her head and brought her down to him, their mouths fusing, tongues lashing in a frantic, take-no-prisoners kiss.

It wasn’t tentative or gentle. Their kiss was a claiming, hard and fast and full of unrestrained passion. He gripped her hips, pulling her to him, thrusting up so she could feel his erection, letting her know how much he needed her. Wanted her. She gasped against his lips, moaned when he broke apart from her to lick his way up her salty-with-sweat neck, nibbling on her skin like he was some sort of feral beast.

Having her surround him brought out the beast in him. He felt completely out of control.

“I want you,” he whispered harshly against her throat, his hands moving around to grip her ass, his fingers kneading into her pliant flesh. Damn, she felt good. “So fucking bad, Cat. Tell me you feel this. Tell me you want me too.”

“I want you. I do.” She rose a little higher on her knees, falling into him, her hands gripping the top of the seat on either side of his head. Her breasts were at perfect eye level. He pressed his face into her cleavage, felt the sting of the hundreds of sequins cutting into his skin. He tugged at the fabric, watched with utter fascination as the shoulder straps fell down her arms, the neckline loosening from the action.

Revealing that she wore no bra, and all that bare creamy flesh was his for the taking.