by C J Cade
And she'd do the same, and quell the niggling familiarity in his rough velvet voice and those eyes, the shape of his head. He was clearly fabulously wealthy, so she'd probably seen him on the news or gossip holovids.
Didn't mean she knew him, or that he truly wanted to know her, except physically.
#
Roxie used the suite's incredibly luxurious lav to wash up. The fitments here were all of creamy faux stone and platinum, with holomirrors that sprang up at a murmur, a shower dry big enough for four adults. It smelled of expensive soaps and lotions and the damp foliage in the arboretum, which could be reached directly by a second door.
She washed up, giving her reflection an abashed, but gleeful smile as she finger-combed her tousled hair. She looked...fabulous. Flushed and relaxed, her skin gleaming with health. The red marks on her ass and the redness of her swollen nipples sent remembered pleasure wisping through her. No one had ever been as rough with her—and she hadn't known what she was missing. No wonder tygresses smiled so dreamily when they talked about mating with a tyger in shift.
A pair of lii silk robes hung near the showerdry. Roxie donned one, enjoying the cool slip of the fabric over her warm skin. Fastening it at her waist, she padded barefoot through the back door, out into the arboretum.
The air was quiet, with a heavy, expectant hush among the lovely plants, swaying gently in an unseen breeze. Small birds twittered quietly in the background, and water splashed into a pool from a faux-stone fountain.
It was quiet, that is, until a lithe, furred male flashed by Roxie and leapt into the pool with mighty splash, sending water flying in sheets. Roxie shrieked as she was drenched from head to toe. Swiping her wet hair from her face, she glowered at Charlie, who now lounged in the center of the pool, giving her a look smug as only a Tyger can.
"You got me all wet," she hissed, flapping her hands at the robe, now clinging to her in transparent folds. "You alley-bred feline!"
"Huh," he grunted. "Guess you'd better pay me back, tyger-pussy."
"Oh, I'll pay you back," she promised, curling her lip at him as she stripped off the robe and tossed it aside. She reached up and unfastened the clip that held her hair up, and tossed it too. Then she dashed into the pool and leapt on him, bearing him under the water.
It was warm, and smelled of flowers and Tyger. And he was hot, and wet, and already hard again. And all of this was hers...for now.
He kicked off from the shallow bottom and bore her up with him, both of them sleek with water, both half-snarling, half-laughing. Then he pulled her tight against him and thrust into her, and licked her with that rough, sandpaper and velvet tongue.
Roxie wrapped her legs around him and rode him like an acrobat, their bodies smacking together with wet, frantic abandon until she screamed with pleasure and he let out an answering roar that echoed through the quiet garden, stiffening in her arms as he came.
Then he sank back in the water, only his face emerged, his hair floating around his head. So handsome her heart swelled, and she had to claw her thoughts back from where they wanted to go...to a time when his mating frenzy was over, and he still wanted her with him. She might not know his name, but she felt as if she was beginning to know him.
"I guess that will teach you to get me wet," she told him, stroking him under the water.
Without opening his eyes, he gave a growl of laughter. "Yes, you certainly taught me a lesson, Rouge. Except I like making certain parts of you wet. I like it a lot."
Blushing hotly, despite the intimacy of their position, Roxie pulled off of him. He made everything sound so filthy...and what was worse, she loved it.
His hand touched her leg and he stroked her as she floated beside him. "What's your last name, pretty Rouge?"
"Fellura," she said cautiously.
"Ah. I know a few Felluras." His tone was still casual, relaxed.
"What's yours?" she asked, then bit her lip, almost wishing she hadn't asked. "Never mind, you don't—"
"Crawfur," he said, giving her a look that revealed a touch of the same wariness she felt.
She nodded, and her lips curved up in a smile. "Nice to meet you, Charlie Crawfur. I don't know any of your people."
"No?"
"Nope." Which was fine, wonderful in fact. He might be wealthy, but he wasn't a celebrity. He was just a tyger like her.
"This is my first time," she told him. "Being a shift mate."
He gave her a look of pure amusement. "Rouge... I knew that."
"Wait, what? How did you know?" She flushed again. "Am I doing something wrong?"
He hesitated, and then shrugged. "Well. There is one thing."
She moved toward him, her hands resting on his shoulders. "What?" She'd do it, if it was within reason, that is.
He slid his arms around her, pulling her tight against him, and began walking them both toward the lip of the pool. "You haven't let me lick your pussy yet. You should always offer to let me—I mean a shift mate—lick your pussy."
"Really?" she mewled. Her pussy squeezed with renewed excitement, and she was suddenly breathless. That rough, knowing tongue of his on her clit? Oh, tygress, yessss.
"Really," he assured her, his voice a deep rasp of intent. "Every hour or so would be about right. Now, I'll show you how it's done."
He set her on the smooth lip of the pool, her hips and bottom just above water, and pushed her thighs open. He surveyed her, then pushed them farther apart. "Now, invite me. Say, 'Charlie, would you like to lick my sweet little puss until I cream in your mouth?"
Since he looked into her eyes as he spoke, and licked his lips, Roxie was torn between suffocating excitement and the urge to giggle like a tyger teen. The laughter won. "I can't say that," she managed, then giggled some more as he dropped to his knees in the water and nuzzled her, tickling her.
He inhaled her scent and then growled theatrically, flaring his feline nostrils. "Are you sure, tyger pussy?"
She moaned, and reached for him, cupping the side of his face. "You could... do it anyway, if you like."
He sighed. "Sorry, no. Not without an invitation."
"You are a varmint," she told him, her skin burning with heat as she blushed again.
"I know," he said, giving her a dark, lustful look. "I'm a very bad Tyger. And I can do things with my tongue that you won't believe, my Rouge. Now ask, before I spank your pretty ass."
"Charlie, would you lick my pussy?" she asked in a rush. "Please?"
"Until you cream in my mouth."
"Un-until I cream in your mouth. Oh! Oh, Charlie. Oh, Tygress." Then she couldn't talk at all, because she had a tyger between her legs, using his long, rough, exceptionally talented tongue in ways that he was oh, so right, she could not believe.
After he'd tasted his fill, he flipped her over and had her there, bent over the lip of the pool like a willing sacrifice while he took her from behind, a long, slow plundering that made her arch up and back in his arms, her head back on his broad shoulder, his hand cupping her throat as he growled his pleasure into her ear, his other hand cupping her where they were joined. When he came, he sank his fangs gently into the side of her throat and held her there, growling.
Roxie's legs would not hold her up any longer. Exhausted and trembling, she let her lover gather her up in his arms, and bear her out of the pool. He dried her off with a huge, soft towel, and then carried her to a chaise lounge cloistered in the shrubbery and laid her down, lying beside her, his heavy arm over her breasts.
"Rest," he purred. "Then I'll have you again."
She wasn't sure she'd survive the pleasure.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Chaz woke, he stretched luxuriously, and then reached down to give his cock a soothing stroke.
The initial frenzy had abated, which likely meant his moons were past their peak.
But the woman in his arms was lovely, lithe and curvy, her skin silky under his hands. And he wanted her again.
He woke her by depositing her carefully on her back in the bed
, and then using his tongue on her nipples, sweet little catnip morsels, in the way she'd shown she liked.
"Charlie," she murmured, arching into his caress. "Mm-mm, I love your tongue."
He loved her nipples, and her pussy, her skin—even the shape of her mouth when she made that little moue of want and need. He especially loved her honest reactions to everything he did. She could no more hide her shy pleasure or her wriggles of delight than she could fly.
When she was squirming under him, whimpering, her hands tight in his hair, he moved between her thighs and forged into her hot, slick, secret center. Sensation crackled down his spine and arrowed straight through his groin into his cock, his scrotum tightening up as his need grew. He snarled, hooking one of her legs over his arm so he could take her deeper.
He gazed into her pretty eyes, now sheer gold with need, and snarled, his hands tightening on her ass. How could he feel at once cradled in bliss and frantic to have more?
"Oh, yes, there," she moaned, clutching at him. "Charlie...oh, that."
He did that again and then again, harder and faster, until she came, squeezing him like a fist. Ecstasy exploded through him, pulsing out into her in flashes of heaven. Then he collapsed on her and snuggled into her curves like the very best pillow.
He patted her hip. "You can stop growling, I'll move if you want me to."
"That's...my stomach growling," she said.
Chaz lifted himself off of her. "Right. We need to feed you, and I'm hungry too. There's food here somewhere."
He prowled into the main room and found the food hover-cart that had been brought it. Guiding it back to the bedroom, he opened up the hatches and foraged, sniffing various savory scents. "There's veg, a roast fowl, pasta—"
"Oooh, pasta." She crawled over to kneel beside him, reaching for the covered dish. "I love pasta."
He handed it over. So did he, normally. Just now, in his shift, it sounded bland and unappetizing. He wanted meat.
They dined in bed, on the finest of viands, and drank Pangaean wine so light and delicate it tickled across his tongue.
"I need another robe," she told him, licking butter from her fork. Her full, kiss-stung lips glistened with it. "I can't just wear my undies."
"You could just wear nothing," he drawled, tearing off another hunk of roast fowl and offering it to her.
She took a small piece and popped it into her mouth, blushing again, to his delight. "Not all the time. Only when we're...you know."
"No, I don't know," he said, raising his brows. "Whatever do you mean, Rouge?"
She rolled her eyes at him, and he snuck a fondle of her nearest breast, deliciously bare and full. "I'll buy you more spider lace," he offered generously. It was the perfect tease, nearly transparent, the lace emphasizing the skin beneath it.
"Mine are special," she said, and took another drink of wine.
"Really, why? Did a lover give them to you?" Because if so, he would find the male and eviscerate him.
Her eyes widened, and he realized that he had snapped the sturdy fowl bone in his teeth. He was also growling.
"No," she said, shaking her head so hard a lock of her long hair fell over her shoulder, curving around her nipple. "My granny Fellura."
Chaz forced himself to relax. He took a large bite of succulent meat. "Tell me."
She stirred her pasta, rolling the plump, buttery strands around her fork. "She told me they would give me the courage to be brave and go after what I truly want," she said, smiling to herself.
"Your gran must be something," he said. Giving her granddaughter naughty underwear, guaranteed to seduce.
"Mowra Fellura is definitely something," she agreed, smiling back at him as she stroked his furred skin.
"Wait, you're one of Mowra's grand-kittens?" he asked. "I've met her."
"You have?"
"Yes, and now I see the resemblance. She was a beauty in her day, according to the holovids—and my grandfather."
"You think I look like her?" she asked, charmed.
"I do. So, did the panties give you courage?"
Roxie hunched her shoulders uncomfortably. "The first time? No. I... went after the guy, but—well, let's just say it didn't work out—at all."
"Aw, want me to find him and claw his face for you?"
She laughed, her lovely eyes bright as they met his. "No. He's so far out of my reach... it was just a stupid, kitten dream. Since then I've grown older and wiser. And braver. I'm here with you, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are," he agreed. "Although I'll have you know I'm something of a catch myself. And here we are. So that guy—whoever he is? He's a real woofer."
"Compared to you," she said, her gaze trailing over him. "You're absolutely right."
"Thank you," he said. He tossed the remains of his fowl back into the open container, and reached for another container. Ah, yes. Berries and real whipped cream.
Leaning back in the pillows, he showed her the open container. "Care for some dessert, tyger pussy?"
Her eyes lit up. "Ooh, my favorite, mar-barries. I'll get a spoon."
He dipped a claw in the whipped cream, and dabbed it on the head of his cock. Then he took a berry and set it in the mound of whipped cream. It was cool and silky on his sensitive flesh. And her clever tongue was going to feel even better. "Oh, you won't need a spoon," he assured her.
She looked at him, color flushing under her golden skin, her eyes going golden again. Then she turned onto her hands and knees, her pretty breasts dangling, and crawled slowly to him. Looking down at the treat he'd prepared for her, she licked her lips.
"Yum," she approved.
His cock jerked in approval, and the berry and cream dripped down his shaft. With a breathless giggle, she dove to rescue it, and him.
Her dessert was everything he'd hoped it would be, for both of them.
As he came helplessly, his cum spurting into her eager mouth, his claws ripping holes in the soft sheets, Chaz thought hazily he just might have found the perfect shift mate. And possibly the perfect woman.
Ironically, as one of the most sought-after bachelors on planet Bryght, true romance seemed to elude him. Sure, he met plenty of females that sparked his desire, and with whom he could share a fine time in bed. But despite their eagerness to hang onto him, none of them made him want to see them more than a few times. And none of them gave him any inkling it was time to purchase a betrothal collar.
He'd alway assumed he'd one day meet his true mate, and settle down to raise a family with her. It could be done, even as a celebrity. Wealth helped erect barriers of privacy. But his wealth and uber-fame brought out the worst in many beings. He'd been burned too many times by females who only truly wanted what he could give them. They wanted Chaz Jaguari, not Charles Crawfur, the tyger cub who'd turned out to have a voice.
Lying back with his shift mate snuggled beside him, he smiled. This female, as least, was enjoying him purely as himself. She was unaware of his star status. She thought he was sexy and funny and he made her blush and sigh, though she knew him only as Charlie.
How sweet and how ironic was that? She came from a good family—with a few notable exceptions—and she was fine company in more ways than one.
He didn't want to let go of her. After this was over, he'd see about continuing their liaison. See where it went.
Yes, that would work.
CHAPTER SIX
Chaz woke slowly, becoming aware in increments of his surroundings. He was in a soft, supremely comfortable bed, in a cool, dark room with a soft breeze blowing over his face, laden with the scent of flowering plants and... sex.
His eyes opened, and he turned his head just enough to peer down at the woman sleeping on his shoulder. She was draped over him like a living blanket, her silky arm and leg curved over his chest and groin, her soft breasts pillowing him, her mons against his hip. Her dark hair curled in wild abandon, draped over the pillow behind her, stray curls on her cheek.
He smiled to himself, his cock givi
ng a twitch of interest. But certain muscles twinged as well, and he winced. They'd spent the last three days and nights fucking in every position he could coax her into, and face it, he was done... for now.
He lifted his free hand to his face, and met the normal rasp of whiskers that meant he hadn't shaved for a few days. He ran his tongue over his teeth, and found his fangs had receded. And when he lifted his hand to peer at it, even in the dim light he could see his hands were back to normal.
His mating shift was over. He'd made it through in fine shape, thanks to the female at his side.
Time to thank her, give her an expensive parting gift, and send her on her way. Huh. Except he wasn't entirely sure he wished to do so. In fact, he did not want to do so—he wanted more time with his feisty, sexy, amusing tyger kitten. She had a job to get back to, though, so he'd have to coax her. Though probably not too hard, he thought wryly. After all, he was who he was. He'd never had trouble getting any female he wanted, why should that change now.
Especially since he knew quite well this particular female loved the way he fucked her. And he could well afford to pay her a lunar year's wages—or more—as a gift, so she'd be free to stay with him. Although she might not accept it. He remembered her saying something about not being a prostitute. She'd been very adamant about that.
Great God beyond, she was a refreshing change from all those who wanted him for what they got out of it—credit, a moment of fame, the chance to say they'd fucked Chaz Jaguari, an entree into the entertainment world. Not to mention those who wanted to bring him down, waiting avidly for chance to knock him off of his hover-pedestal, to prove to themselves the galactic idol was no better than they, after all.
She sighed in her sleep and moved, nestling closer. Her soft curves slid over his body.
His cock gave another twitch, and he gave it a stroke, enjoying the slow curl of arousal, the anticipation of what would follow.
Then he sniffed, and his lip curled. Gah, he could use a shower-dry first. He was ripe, coming off the surge of pheromones that accompanied a shift. Carefully, he eased out from under her, depositing her on the pillows. She gave a protesting sigh, then turned onto her belly and subsided back into sleep.
