She choked back ragged cries of pleasure as his body moved deep and strong inside her. His spines, designed to stimulate her to ovulation, rasped against her inner walls with every withdrawal. The sensation was like fingernails on her clit, one part pain and three parts ecstasy. She thrust back against him, trying to match his demanding tempo, struggling to wring every drop of sensation from the fierce mating.
The sound of high-pitched whines and sobs almost distracted her until she realized they came from her own mouth, broken and ragged because of the way she had to struggle for breath. She might as well have been running a marathon, because every ounce of oxygen became a rare and precious resource. Under the sounds she made she could also hear the rough slap of flesh against flesh as his hips thudded against her backside on every powerful thrust. She heard the raw, wet sounds of her sex clasping around him, and the animal grunts he made as he worked furiously over and within her trembling body.
She lost all track of time. They could have strained together for hours, or days, or seconds; Saskia had no idea. All she knew was that this, this was what her tigress had been craving, hungering for, since the moment she set her eyes on her childhood crush all grown up and glorious. The beast within her had needed to be taken, claimed, possessed, and the disappointment of the night before had driven her to the brink of her self-control. Now that control had snapped, and Saskia had become a creature of pure lustful instinct, a needy, greedy female at the mercy of her ferocious mate.
Oh, how she gloried in it.
The firm grip on her shoulder didn’t hurt in the least; instead it acted like a live wire from her mate’s mouth straight to her quivering pussy. Every swipe of his tongue, every sting of his teeth, every draw of his mouth as he swallowed and purred and pinned her in place made her muscles clamp around him like a fist. In fact, she clasped around him so hard, it amazed her he could still manage to pull out far enough to power his mind-numbing thrusts.
Her breath worked in and out like a bellows, making her head spin and her throat go raw. She strained for air, strained for pleasure, strained for more until she thought her heart would burst, and she didn’t even care. All she cared about was this moment and this man. This mating.
The climax snuck up on her. It stalked her like another tiger, crouching low in the camouflage of the forest, waiting and watching for its moment to strike. The moment came, unexpectedly, when strong white fangs released their grip on her shoulder and grazed a careful line up the curve of her neck to the sensitive hollow behind her ear. Hot breath stirred the tendrils of hair that curled there, caressed the tender skin into trembling softness. Then, a tongue came out, swiping at the tiny trickle of blood at her shoulder, following the path of the tendon back to that magic patch of flesh, and lapping away a salty film of sweat. A cry tore from her throat, rough and aching, and her body clenched, quivering endlessly on the edge of the precipice. Until her mate shifted, pressed himself high and hard inside her, parted his lips, and let his teeth graze the delicate shell of her ear. In a soft, toneless, airless whisper, he purred one word directly into her head and heart, and Saskia leapt blindly into climax.
He whispered, “Mine.”
* * *
She woke feeling as if either she’d just been in a car crash and trauma had wiped away all memory of the incident or someone had snuck into her room while she slept and beat her soundly with a baseball bat, for some reason concentrating rather obscenely on the sensitive area between her thighs.
Wincing, Saskia rolled and stretched and discovered her muscles would scream in protest. She groaned, the sound oddly hoarse, and memory came rushing back. With about the same force as the previously mentioned baseball bat, this time aimed right at the back of her head.
She was mated.
Quite thoroughly, from the feel of it.
Flipping onto her back, Saskia pulled the rumpled blankets to her chin and scowled at the empty bed beside her. Judging by the light spilling in through the windows, she had dozed until mid-afternoon—hardly surprising given the vigorous bout of pre-nap exercise—but the scene before her bore a disturbing similarity to that morning. Once again, she had been deserted in her own bedroom, her mate nowhere to be found.
Clearly, the two of them still needed to discuss a thing or two.
Saskia pushed herself into a sitting position and winced at the tenderness between her legs. When she slid her feet to the floor and took a tentative step toward the bathroom, she actually groaned. She’d known that the use of a bunch of unfamiliar muscles in an unfamiliar activity might leave her a little sore, but this seemed excessive. She could barely walk.
Hobbling carried her into the master bath, where she used the toilet, hissing in a breath when the tissue came away stained pink with blood. Knowing that a ruptured hymen led to virginal bleeding was one thing, but seeing proof of it in her hand felt like something very different. She felt a little contemplative as she stood at the sink washing her hands, then removed the few remaining pins from the tangled mass of her hair. It had fallen halfway down her back sometime during the wrestling match with Nicolas, and sleeping on the resulting birds’ nest hadn’t done her any favors. She brushed it out quickly and secured it in a no-nonsense ponytail before returning to the bedroom to dress.
She couldn’t quite decide how she felt as she tugged on comfortable, stretchy yoga pants—about all her body would tolerate at the moment—over a plain set of cotton bra and panties. She had always thought that joining with her mate for the first time would leave her feeling content, at peace, secure in her mating and her place in the world. Instead, she felt as if she’d opened a door with excitement brimming over, only to find herself stumbling into a dark room without having any idea where to find a light switch. Sure, the sex had been better than anything she’d ever read about or heard spoken of or even contemplated in the furthest reaches of her subconscious, but that didn’t mean she had any idea how she ought to feel about it.
She tugged a soft jersey pullover on over her head and stared into the full-length mirror that decorated the inside of her closet door. Her face looked pale, and with her makeup from the morning a distant memory, the dark circles had returned to the skin under her eyes. She looked tired and vulnerable and a little uncertain. Was that really the way she wanted to appear when she went to beard her tiger in his den?
Was there really anything she could do about it?
Making a face at herself, Saskia closed the closet door and once again padded barefoot out of the master suite, searching for her mate. This time, at least, she managed to find him.
He’d left the door to his office slightly ajar, lamplight spilling out into the hallway. The interior room lacked windows, so when she poked her head inside she saw Nicolas’s face lit by the glow of the banker’s light atop his desk and the tall floor lamp beside it. He didn’t look up when she stepped closer, but she saw his fingers tighten around the pen he held and she knew he had sensed her presence.
She pushed the door fully open and hesitated on the threshold. She felt like she should say something, but she couldn’t think what. Did she apologize for screaming at him earlier? It didn’t seem appropriate, considering she’d meant every word she’d said; and thanking him would feel ridiculous, not to mention pathetic. She supposed she could ask him what he was doing, but she wasn’t sure she cared. What she really wanted to know was what he was thinking, but she couldn’t ask him that for fear he might tell her.
Was it supposed to be this hard to talk to the man she’d be spending the rest of her life with?
Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, and Nicolas finally raised his head. For a minute, they stared at each other, neither speaking. It felt like the longest minute of Saskia’s life. Then Nicolas carefully laid down his pen.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice even and very controlled.
It made Saskia shiver. “Fine.”
Another awkward silence.
“Did you sleep well?”
&
nbsp; She nodded stiffly. “Very well.”
“Good.”
He stared at her, his eyes dark green and impenetrable as virgin jungle. She could almost see the vines and bushes blocking her path.
Saskia cleared her throat. “I, uh … I thought that … since we both missed lunch … I thought you might be hungry. I could make something to eat.”
She held her breath, hoping he would recognize the offer as her tentative overture of friendship. Not that “friendship” seemed even remotely to describe their complex relationship, but it was the best Saskia could do while she still nursed both anger at the night before and the soreness from their earlier encounter.
He waited a long time to answer, so long that she wondered what she would do when he rejected her, but his words, when they came, almost reassured her.
“That sounds good. I just need a few minutes to finish up here.”
As reassurances went, it wasn’t much, but Saskia would take it. At this point, any positive sign made the engagement between them feel less like a chain around her neck.
“Great.” She tried a tentative smile, had no idea if it succeeded. “I’ll just go get started.”
* * *
Nicolas watched his mate walk away from him with an impassive expression on his face and the feel of his own claws digging into the flesh of his thigh behind the concealment of his large, heavy desk. The expression was meant to keep her from seeing how quickly and deeply her presence disturbed him, and the self-inflicted pain was to keep him from leaping over the polished furniture and dragging her to the floor for another round of primitive mating sex.
Christ, she got to him like a drug. No man would ever need heroin if he could just spend five minutes in Nicolas’s mate’s addictive company. Not that he intended to let another man within fifty feet of her anytime this century. Even her father would need to be evaluated on an individual basis. Never in this life had Nicolas felt possessive of a woman before, but when it came to Saskia he felt himself turning into a jealous monster. What the hell was going on?
Tossing aside his pen, Nicolas ran a hand roughly over his face and scrubbed restlessly at his short-cut hair. Less than twenty-four hours since their engagement, and the woman had him tied up in knots so tight, he didn’t think anything but a chain saw could hack them loose. This did not fall in line with his plans.
He snorted. Every time he saw her, his plans skittered further and further out of his grasp. He reminded himself of a clumsy puppy chasing an ice cube across a kitchen floor, only he wasn’t having nearly so much fun. Instead, he felt himself running in circles, somehow ending up further and further away from his goal of a peaceful, orderly, traditional life with the peaceful, orderly, traditional mate he had selected. About the only traditional thing he’d discovered about Saskia was that she’d somehow managed to come to him a virgin, a fact that had blown his mind a few hours earlier and that still had the power to make his dick hard just thinking about it.
He hadn’t been expecting that, he admitted, and the sharp, sudden scent of blood, the abrupt tensing of her muscles, the unexpected resistance he’d encountered inside her, had nearly given him a stroke. He’d known his mate had been raised strictly by parents who still valued the old Tiguri ways; it had been one of the reasons he’d agreed Saskia might suit him. But he’d never expected innocence. What woman these days made it to her late twenties without ever having sex? Tiguri or no, his mate was beautiful and tempting and so stunningly sensual, he wanted to hide her away from all the men who must have noticed it just watching her walk down the street. How was it that none of them had managed to seduce her before this afternoon? Nic knew that if he had met her some other way, just run into her at a party or a club, he would have chased after her like a hound on a rabbit and he wouldn’t have stopped until he’d had her under him, until he’d tasted all that hot, wild passion he now knew bubbled beneath her elegant surface.
The memory of it made him grateful to be sitting down. It weakened his knees even as it hardened his dick. He recalled the way she had fought him so fiercely in the beginning and the moment when his last, desperate attempt to subdue her had flipped that internal switch and transformed her anger into lust. He’d been able to taste the change on her tongue, a spill of heavy sweetness washing away the metallic tang of her rage. He’d felt the way her body softened and yielded to him, the way she began to struggle not to get away but to get closer, to feel and experience more of the electricity their two bodies generated.
Nicolas groaned and sank back in his chair. He could almost feel her sweet flesh wrapped around him again, so tight and hot he’d almost lost his mind. Hell, he had lost his mind. Otherwise, there was no excuse for the rough way he’d taken her. Even when he’d registered her broken barrier, he’d been unable to pull back, unable to slow down, unable to do anything but rut hard against her. He’d staked a primitive claim on her, marking her with his scent and his teeth. He remembered the feel of her soft flesh under his jaw, recalled the taste of her blood in his mouth, the way she’d uttered the tigress’s version of a purr, a deep, rumbling reowwwr escaping her with every exhaled breath. He shuddered, the sensory memory literally washing over him like an ocean wave, dragging him under and flipping him ass over elbow until he barely knew which way was up. That was how his mate made him feel, and to Nicolas that was utterly unacceptable.
He shoved away from his desk, unable to sit still any longer. Obviously, the time had come to set down some rules for his new mate. She needed to understand the way he intended for this relationship to work. He had every intention of caring for her, providing for her, and treating her with respect, but if she thought he would allow himself to be led around by his dick, she was sorely mistaken. He would make it clear now that he had taken charge of their union and he would steer it in the direction he deemed most appropriate. If she had a problem with that, she’d better start learning to cope, because Nicolas Preda had a plan, and he intended to see it through.
Five
Nic had himself back under control a few minutes later when he made his way into the kitchen. The sight of his wife—politically incorrect and clichéd as it might be—standing barefoot at the expansive counter contributed nicely to his newly acquired calm.
She looked at ease in the space, her classical features and feminine delicacy somehow striking a pleasing balance with the slick, dark modernity of the utilitarian room. She held a large, sharp knife comfortably in one hand, the other guiding a pile of cleaned and stemmed mushrooms into the path of the flashing blade. She barely hesitated when he approached, offering a tentative smile across the granite peninsula.
“I thought a stir-fry would be quick and easy,” she said, and he noticed the small prep bowls of neatly chopped vegetables spread around her.
He tried to look pleased. “The vegetables look … pretty.”
She laughed. “Don’t be scared. The beef is marinating in the fridge.”
Nic relaxed in relief. “Ah.” He lifted his head, sniffing at the fragrant air. “Something already smells pretty good.”
“I put the rice on first. It should be ready by the time I have everything else cooked up.”
“How long?” He didn’t really care. As hungry as he was, he just wanted to keep her talking, and the subject of food seemed like a safe territory to explore.
She glanced over her shoulder at a digital timer. “About ten more minutes.”
He nodded and slid his hands into his pockets, scanning the room for something else to say. When in doubt, he told himself, offer assistance. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“No, I’ve got it under control.” She kept working for a couple of minutes, then glanced up with a tentative smile. “You could get us something to drink, though. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to keep me company.”
Right. Drinks. Nic could handle that. He glanced at the clock on the double oven. Just after four. That meant the sun was over the yardarm, right?
“How about a glass of w
ine?”
“That sounds nice.”
Crossing to the well-stocked cabinet against the wall, he scanned labels thoughtfully before reaching for a heavy green bottle. “Red okay?”
“Mm-hm.”
He busied himself with the production of opening the wine, letting it sit on the counter to breathe while he pulled down a pair of balloon goblets. The cozy domesticity of the scene, each of them working at their chore, companionably sharing the family space, eased a bit more of his tension, and Nic found himself almost relaxed and he took a seat on the stool at the other side of her work surface.
“Where did you learn to cook?” he asked, pouring them each a glass of wine.
She thanked him for hers but left it on the counter as she moved on from mushrooms to carrots. “I’d love to say Paris, mostly because I wish I’d gotten the chance to spend that much time there, but oddly enough, it was in Bern.”
“Switzerland?”
She gave a small grin. “Yeah, not exactly famous for the cuisine, is it? But it’s true. My school was just a couple of miles outside of the city, so I got to go there a lot. I spent so much time in this one little bistro that the owner finally got exasperated at my taking up space and decided to put me to work. She dragged me back into the kitchen so she could show me how to make my own crêpes, and after that she had trouble getting rid of me.”
“You enjoyed it?”
“Very much. I like to use my hands, and I like to make things. The fact that cooking means I can make things that also taste good is like a big bonus.”
He asked her more questions about her years in Switzerland and about her childhood and found himself actually listening to her answers. Her words painted a picture of a pleasant but somewhat isolated existence. Her parents had constantly reminded her of the importance of her heritage, and while they had encouraged her to pursue the things that interested her, like cooking and art and—to Nic’s surprise—needlepoint, they had always made her aware of how her choices and her hobbies would have to fit in with the life for which they believed her destined. He wondered whether it was some sort of miracle that Saskia’s interests all seemed to suit her role as Tiguri mate so well or she had subconsciously only chosen to pursue things she knew wouldn’t upset her family. The idea made him somehow uncomfortable, and he had to make an effort to push it away.
On the Prowl Page 9
