by Jade White
Nick’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he groaned; the last thing he wanted was to talk to somebody. He wanted peace and quiet—at least for a few days. He glanced at the screen. The contact details flashed, announcing that the caller was Detective Ayers.
“Hey,” Nick said, as soon as the call connected.
“Your guy’s in custody,” Ayers said curtly. “We had to do a little creative storytelling in the reports, but since he was in the wrong anyway nobody much wants to think about why he’s got claw-gouges on him.”
“That’s good,” Nick said lightly. “What news have you got for me otherwise?”
“He’s being held without bail. He’s pretty badly hurt—good job on that, by the way. DNA test confirms he’s your father’s son.” Nick shook his head, rolling his eyes.
The night before, while he and Cynthia had been at the hospital, having her wounds attended to by a two-natured doctor—the only kind of doctor that Nick would trust, under the circumstances—Ayers had gotten the story out of Lars. The lion had been the product of a tryst between Alexander Trocaire and another woman—a fellow shape-shifter who happened to be a were-lion—before the older man had married Nick’s mother. The elder Trocaire had taken care of his illegitimate child, making sure that Lars went to good schools and had a reliable trust fund to supply at least basic needs, but the lion wanted more. He had considered that since he was, technically, the eldest Trocaire, it was only right for him to inherit the family business empire, even if he was illegitimate.
He had met with Alexander in secret, trying to convince the billionaire to provide him with at least a controlling interest in a company, a presidency, something that would be more than the slightly modest fund set aside to pay out the rest of his life; when Alexander had declined, saying that he had already groomed Nick for the position and the responsibility, Lars had gone rogue from his Pride, and had killed Alexander, doing his best to make it seem like an accident.
All of the details—except, of course, for the shape-shifting aspects—were on the record. It was an open-and-shut case, at least on the surface. All but one of the other lions Lars had recruited to his cause had died; but since they had invaded the home, and since Nick had been acting in self-defense, Ayers was going to recommend against pressing charges.
“So where does this leave us?” Nick reached out and wrapped his fingers around a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks and brought it to his lips, taking a slow, appreciative sip.
“You’re good for now. I’ll let you know when the trial goes on—and if we need your testimony or Cynthia’s. With any luck we’ll be able to get by with written depositions, or we’ll get the asshole to plead guilty right off the bat.”
“Let me know, whatever the situation,” Nick told the detective. He ended the call and put his glass of whiskey down, deep in thought for a moment.
Cynthia had rushed to his rescue, she had grabbed knives from his kitchen and actually held her own against two lions—no small feat. But in the confusion and chaos, and the pain of the aftermath, Nick hadn’t been able to broach the subject of their relationship.
“No time like the present,” he said to himself, rising up from the couch carefully.
The news that his assailants—those still alive—were behind bars, and would remain there for the foreseeable future, was a relief. Nick winced at the ripple of pain along his ribcage as he stood. He walked into the kitchen slowly, wishing again that his body with its preternatural healing ability would hurry up and finish the process of closing up the wounds.
He reached into the fridge and took out the bottle of champagne that he’d bought on the way home from the hospital the night before. Cynthia had been prescribed some pain medication, but Nick knew that she didn’t like taking them unless the pain was absolutely unbearable. A glass of champagne should be safe enough; and it would give him an opening to discuss their relationship.
Nick climbed the stairs, making his way up to the master bedroom with a faint smile curving his lips. The fact that Cynthia hadn’t fought him on the issue of sleeping in his bed was promising. The door to his bedroom was open just a crack; Nick pushed through it quietly. If Cynthia was sleeping, he didn’t want to disturb her.
He found her curled up on the bed, reading on her iPad. “I couldn’t sleep,” Cynthia said, glancing up when she heard him enter.
“I have good news,” Nick told her, brandishing the bottle.
“Champagne? Must be very good news,” Cynthia said, giving him the warm, unreserved smile he’d been missing ever since he’d first transformed in front of her.
“They have the lions in custody without bail. They’re going to go on trial for attempted murder—with murder in the first degree for Lars.”
“That’s great news!” Cynthia sat up quickly, and Nick saw her wince as the sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through her. He hurried to the bed, setting the bottle of champagne down on the table nearby and quickly supporting her body with his hands.
“You’ve had forty stitches, you couldn’t be jumping up like that,” he told her firmly.
“What about you?” Cynthia raised an eyebrow. Nick lifted his shirt to show the healing scratches and bruises. “You know what? That is so unfair. You get to turn into this badass tiger, and you heal at a ridiculous rate.”
Nick chuckled. “The one goes with the other,” he pointed out. “Besides, I am never coming near you with a knife in your hand again. You put down two lions.”
“I didn’t really have much choice,” Cynthia said dryly. “It was either get them or they would get me.”
Nick grinned. “You are the perfect mate; you know that right?” Cynthia’s eyes widened and Nick caught the tendril of fear working its way through her honey-spice scent.
“Mate?” The word left her in a squeak.
“That was why I came up, actually,” Nick said. He licked his lips. He felt more nervous than he would have thought. “I know things got a little… complicated even before the attacks happened.”
“That’s kind of an understatement,” Cynthia said, smiling slightly.
“I know, I know.” Nick smiled, feeling his heart beating faster. “In any case, I was wondering… I don’t want you to be my mistress. I want you to be my mate.”
“What would that mean?”
Nick dared to meet her gaze. “You would—hopefully—eventually become my wife,” he said slowly. “In the meantime, we’d see each other as lovers, not just as surrogate and…” Nick laughed. “Whatever you’d call me other than that.”
“We’ve only known each other for six weeks!” Cynthia shook her head in amazement.
“I know. But I can’t help knowing that I’m in love with you. You smell—just amazing. And you are more than strong enough, and smart enough.”
“Can we put the whole ‘eventually becoming your wife’ on hold for a while? And maybe just see each other?”
Nick grinned. “We can do that.” He licked his lips. “Are you willing to keep seeing me?”
Cynthia considered it. “I’m pretty sure I made that decision when I ran up your stairs with a couple of knives to try and kill whoever was attacking you,” she said, smiling faintly.
“I do still want to have a child. Can we keep working on that while you get used to the idea of committing to me?” Cynthia licked her lips and held his gaze for a long moment.
Instead of replying, she leaned in carefully. Instinctively, Nick wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as Cynthia brushed her lips against his. Nick deepened the kiss after a few heartbeats, his hands beginning to wander over her body, trailing over her curves. Nick had to wonder, as he cautiously worked his way to the hem of her tee shirt, tugging it up along her ribs while trying not to do anything that would make her pull at the stitches, how he could have ever believed that he was capable of holding his feelings for her at bay?
Bit by bit, Nick managed to get the pajamas off of Cynthia’s body, stripping her down and worshipping every inch of skin he
could reach as he exposed more and more of her. Heat flowed through him, seeming to pool between his hips, a feeling like molten lead as he became more and more turned on. Cynthia’s hands went to work as well, carefully peeling his clothes off. In a matter of a few moments—or so it seemed—they were both naked, limbs tangled as they kissed each other again and again. Nick lavished attention all over Cynthia’s body, licking, kissing, and nipping every sensitive spot he knew: the column of her throat, the curve of her arm, her wrists, he worked his way down, nibbling at the curve of her hips, nuzzling between her thighs and licking along the most sensitive skin there with his rough tongue, and then lightly kissing along her ankles.
“We’ll have to be careful,” Nick said, holding himself over Cynthia.
Her eyes had darkened with lust, and he could see the delicious flush that spread down from her face onto her chest, the telltale sign of her rising lust. Her breaths came short and quick, and her pulse fluttered at her throat.
“What?” Cynthia’s voice was breathless, wondering. Nick chuckled, nipping at the sensitive spot just below her left ear.
“You’re injured,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to have to take you back to Dr. Bland and explain that your pulled stitches came from me being too rough with you.”
“So what do we do?” Cynthia squirmed and twisted underneath him.
Nick knew that she could barely feel her injuries anymore. Reaching playfully down between her legs, he slid his fingers along her labia and felt how soaking wet she was already.
“I want to try something,” Nick said, licking his lips. “I want to take you like my mate.”
“What does that include?” The heady vanilla twist to her pheromones—another indicator of her deep arousal—cut through with the brittle gunpowder scent of apprehension.
“You’ll be on your stomach,” Nick told her. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen like—National Geographic with tigers or something?”
Cynthia laughed out loud. “So you’re going to take me from behind?”
Nick nodded eagerly. “God I want to take you like that. I want to take you like my own pretty little mate. Please?” The idea filled his head.
It would solve the problem of keeping Cynthia from moving around in such a way that she would hurt herself further; but the bigger impulse was the rage of his other nature—the instinct to mark his mate, to claim her as his own; an urge that he had been suppressing for weeks without entirely realizing it.
“Okay,” Cynthia said, breathless with excitement. Nick could hear the slight apprehension still lingering in her voice and forced his human nature to the fore. He needed to give her pleasure first, needed to put her in the most receptive mood possible.
“First though,” Nick said, letting his hand slide up between her legs once more.
He sank down onto the bed next to her and wrapped his other arm around Cynthia’s body, pulling her close to him, cradling her. He supported her just below where the lowest of the stitches lie. Nick stroked up and down along Cynthia’s slick folds, teasing her with a lingering, feather-light touch.
“Fuck, Cyn…you have no idea how good it smells when you get so turned on,” he told her. He began to stroke her more firmly, finding her clit by touch. He brought his fingertips up to barely swipe against the bead of nerves and then moved them down to her soaking wet inner labia once more, teasing her again and again.
Cynthia gasped and shuddered against him, writhing in his arms and moaning out over and over again. Nick groaned as the tension mounted in his body. The sounds and sensations of Cynthia’s rising pleasure turned him on more and more every moment, driving him nearly out of his mind with the need to take her. But he wanted to give her as much pleasure as possible first; he wanted to feel her come locked in his arms. He rubbed himself against her carefully, just enough to get a little relief for the aching throb in his rock-hard cock even as his fingers worked Cynthia’s pussy relentlessly, teasing and touching her. Over and over again, he brought her to the edge of orgasm, holding onto her tightly to make sure that she didn’t twist or writhe in such a way as to re-open her wounds even as he felt the rippling tension in her body that accompanied her pleasure.
The sounds of her moans, gasps, and cries of pleasure filled his ears, and all Nick could think of for a few sweet moments was bringing his mate to orgasm, feeling her climax against him. He began to rub her clit steadily with his thumb while he worked his fingers inside of her, sliding along her tightening, flexing inner walls. All at once, it seemed, her whole body tensed—every muscle clamping down—and then Cynthia shuddered against him, moaning out again and again as the waves of pleasure washed through her. Nick kept up his efforts as Cynthia shivered and writhed, panting for breath and crying out in pleasure. He felt her climax intensify, reaching its peak, and then felt the loosening of her muscles, the erratic spasm of her inner walls flexing as the orgasm began to ebb.
Nick held himself back, cradling Cynthia in his arms as she struggled to catch her breath. He smiled to himself, bringing his fingers up to his lips and licking them clean. Another time—and they had plenty of time now—he would spend an entire night just devouring her over and over again, tasting the delicious sweetness of her fluids as they gushed from her when she came. But tonight he would make her truly his mate.
Gradually, Cynthia recovered; Nick watched her closely, following the shift in her pheromones, the slowing of her breathing, the way her body went from fever-hot to its normal temperature.
“I’m not even sure anymore that I have a back,” Cynthia said, looking up at him with amusement in her green eyes. “I can’t feel any pain anywhere.” Nick snorted.
“You’ll feel it in a few hours if you’re not careful,” he told her firmly. “But if you don’t want to keep going…” He felt Cynthia’s hand brush against his abdomen, and then it closed around his rock-hard cock, stroking slowly up and down.
“I definitely want to keep going,” she told him, her voice lowering with renewed desire.
Nick shuddered, holding back the orgasm he could feel building up inside of him, brought to the fore once again by her touch, her scent, the sound of lust in her voice. He pushed her hand away from him gently and sat up in the bed.
“You trust me, right?”
Cynthia nodded without hesitation.
Nick gathered a few of the pillows from the head of the bed and positioned them further down. “I’m going to make you mine—really, truly mine. If you want it.”
Cynthia’s bright eyes took on a brief flicker of shadow—a flash of doubt—but then she nodded, smiling in a lustful daze. “As long as it doesn’t involve, like, scratching or anything.”
Nick laughed. “No scratching, no,” he told her.
Carefully—carefully—he lifted her up. He guided her onto her front, positioning her hips on the piled pillows and spread her legs so that she was exactly the way he needed her to be. The sight of her, the curve of her ass so appealingly presented to him, the pinkish skin of her labia peeking out between her legs, the tautness of her back, was fuel to the fire burning inside of him. Nick clenched his teeth, catching sight of the thick thread stitching up the scratches on her back from the attack. He had to remember to be gentle with her.
He shifted up between Cynthia’s legs, leaning forward and balancing his weight on his knees and one hand. Nick used the other to guide his cock up against the slick folds of Cynthia’s soaking wet pussy, taking a deep breath. He thrust into her slowly, filling her up inch by inch. Nick groaned, a faint shiver running down his spine at the feeling of her wet heat wrapping around him.
“God, you feel so good, Cynthia. So good.” He licked the nape of her neck, holding himself up above her prone body as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of her.
Nick held himself back as long as he could, sliding in and out of Cynthia’s tight, wet pussy as slowly as he could at first. Cynthia moaned, tensing and relaxing underneath him, pushing herself up carefully onto her elbows. Nick panted and
gasped for breath as his mate—the woman he loved—began to move in counterpoint to his thrusts, pushing her hips back carefully to take him deeper and deeper. Nick kissed everywhere his lips could reach along her back, nuzzling the nape of Cynthia’s neck, nibbling carefully along her shoulders while some part of his brain kept him aware of her injuries.
“I love you, Cynthia,” Nick murmured, purring as he rubbed against her neck and shoulders. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Cynthia said, moaning as her hips rose and fell underneath him.
Nick struggled to hold back from the orgasm he could feel so close that he could nearly taste it. He wanted—needed—to feel Cynthia reach her own climax before he could give into the animal impulses raging through his body. Nick carefully reached around her legs, finding her clit by touch, and began to rub her steadily, in time with his thrusts. Cynthia’s moans and cries of pleasure grew more and more frantic, and Nick felt her body tensing and relaxing around him in erratic spasms as she came closer to her climax.
Nick barely managed to keep himself under control as Cynthia reached her second orgasm, crying out and arching against him. He let out a low, guttural growl, pleasure ripping through his body as he succumbed to the pleasure of her flexing muscles tightening around his cock, the wet heat of her body gushing against him. His growl rose up into a roar of pleasure as the first wave of his orgasm washed through him, driving out higher thought. He pressed his face against Cynthia’s shoulders, thrusting harder and faster, pounding into her. Nick felt Cynthia’s orgasm intensifying once more as he came, and reacting to instincts buried deep in the animal part of his psyche, Nick closed his mouth on the nape of Cynthia’s neck, biting down—not hard enough to truly harm her, but just enough to barely break the skin, marking her as his mate.
Nick kept moving until the last waves of sensation ebbed, leaving his body weak and satisfied. He stopped, buried deep inside of Cynthia, shuddering and panting for breath. Nick barely held himself up, mindful even in the daze of his pleasure and satisfaction that his mate was injured.
