Dark Predator d-22

by Christine Feehan

  He captured her nipple and tugged just to feel the wonderful sensation of streaking fire, filling his groin, vibrating through him. His mouth found hers again, a little brutally this time, taking her response, demanding she give him everything she was. He wanted nothing less than everything from her, nothing less than complete surrender.

  Marguarita never so much as pulled away from him in her mind. His hands grew rough as they shaped her body, claiming her, wanting her to know and accept him as he was. He would give her everything he was, pour himself into her, give everything he was to her—it was all he had.

  She was incredibly responsive to him, her body writhing and bucking as he stroked caresses over her belly and thighs. He inhaled, wanting to forever remember this moment, wanting to savor every new separate experience and emotion. He’d never had such a sensual, tactile experience. Pure sensation. Pure pleasure. Lust was deep and driving, in his blood, pounding with need, clawing and raking, yet at the same time, spreading like fire through his body—and through her body. The dual sensations were overwhelming and irresistible.

  He completely indulged himself, exploring every inch of her soft, curvy body. Every streak of fire that went through her, went through him. He felt drunk on the building hunger, this time for her body, for that scorching hot sheath that begged and wept for him. He was just as addicted to the rush of electricity streaking through his body and filling his heavy erection as he was to the taste of her blood.

  He had no idea of passing time, only of her body, of her taste and texture. Of knowing her gift was real. Never once did she protest, even when he took her too high and she was gasping and pleading with him for release. She stayed connected, wanting his pleasure, giving herself to him without reservation, keeping her word.

  And he found her pleasure was just as important to him, if not more, than his own. Each gasp, every plea in his mind, the score of her nails raking down his back, her fist in his hair—all of it added to his pleasure. He loved seeing her needy for him, seeing her eyes dazed, her mouth open, the soft cries in his mind. The mindless chant of his name. He was rough, yes, but he made certain that she felt nothing but pleasure. He wanted her to want to be with him in every way he could conceive, and hurting her or ignoring her needs felt repugnant and wrong to him.

  He indulged himself for the first time in his life, taking this time for himself—for her. The two of them were one now, soul to soul, and as long as he was in her mind, he felt. He saw in color. His world was rich and emotional. There was no ice in his veins, no shadows in his heart. Her bright light illuminated him inside and he felt as if he could soar to the heavens or run in freedom across the land. She made him free.

  When he knew she was more than ready for him, slick and hot and gasping, he knelt between her legs and lifted her hips, pushing into that tight hot space created just for him, joining their bodies in the same way their minds were joined. He was careful, feeling her response. He was thick and long and she was tight. He could feel the burning and stretching with his invasion just as she could feel the sizzling pleasure racing through his body as her sheath grasped him in scorching pleasure.

  He had to fight a battle to control himself. He needed to plunge into her, bury himself deep, and had he not been in her mind, feeling what she felt, he had no doubts that he would have selfishly done so, but the burning was bordering on pain for her. He forced his body to go slow, whispering to her in his native language, soft words of encouragement. He found himself calling her sívamet—my love, or more literally, of my heart.

  He hadn’t known until that moment of pure revelation that she was of his heart. She had given him so much, this small slip of a human woman with more courage than good sense and she had somehow slipped inside of him and wound herself tightly around his heart. He was more careful than ever, slipping into her inch by slow inch until he felt that thin barrier.

  “Take a breath, kislány kuηenak minan.” Deliberately he leaned closer to her, pressing on the spot that brought her the most pleasure and translating what had become an endearment, “My little lunatic, you have given yourself to me, and I accept you into my keeping.”

  He took her then, making her fully his, burying himself inside that tight cauldron of heat, claiming his home, his sanctuary. The ice was gone from body and mind to be replaced with Marguarita. He had found home and he never wanted to leave.

  He took his time, careful to allow her to catch up to him, at first setting a slow, excruciating rhythm, and then, as her body became more receptive to his invasion, as pleasure sizzled through her, he picked up the pace and drove into her as he needed to do, hard and fast, his hands biting into her hips, his body plunging home again and again, burning light into him.

  He threw back his head in a kind of ecstasy, fire burning him through the inside out, driving him higher and higher. All the while, he was aware of her, every caress, her fingers in his hair, her soft little gasps, her hips bucking under his, that exquisite tight sheath, grasping and milking, just as needy for him as he was for her.

  He could hear her soft gasp in his mind and knew the exact moment the building tension in her body hit that shocking point where she was stretched on a rack of intense pleasure that touched pain. He pushed her over the edge, her body taking his with it, her muscles massaging, milking and grasping so tight he burned for her.

  He lay a long time over her—in her, mind to mind, connected, forever wanting to live there—knowing the moment he withdrew, he would be that köd, varolind hän ku piwtä—dark, dangerous predator, filled with shadows and tainted with evil. The brilliant colors would fade and his vivid, intense emotions would fade. He hoped to hell his care of her wouldn’t do the same. They were tied now, for good or bad. He couldn’t undo what he’d done and she could not survive without him—or he without her.

  11

  There was no going back. Marguarita had known that when she’d offered herself to him and she didn’t want to take back her offer. He’d taken her to paradise, but still, she could have used a brief respite from his overwhelming, intense personality. Zacarias seemed to love the scent of her bath. He’d insisted on pouring her fragrant oil into the water, and now he sat on the edge of the sink, watching her with that unnerving, focused stare of his. He knew he was making her uncomfortable, but he made no apologies, nor did he stop staring so possessively at her.

  Are you going to stare at me forever? She touched her hair self-consciously. It was piled on top of her head to keep it out of the oily water, and she knew she looked a mess. The room was lit with candles, so the light was soft and flickering, but still, she didn’t look her best.

  He suddenly smiled, robbing her of all breath. “You will have to get used to me staring. Watching you take a bath brings me pleasure.” He folded his arms across his chest, never taking his gaze from her. “And you look sexy with your hair messy. It is my favorite, when it’s down and all over the place, but this look is a close second. I like when you have all those curls falling around your face and down your back when you’re trying to look very severe, putting it up. It is wild, like you. Very sensual and pleasing.”

  She felt color creeping up her neck into her face. You’re easy to please.

  His eyebrow shot up. “I assure you, I am anything but easy to please. And you are covering yourself again. Please take your hands away from your breasts. I enjoy looking at you. Your body is beautiful and I am certain it will be an everlasting source of pleasure.”

  She hadn’t realized she was covering her body for the second time. He had already asked her to stop once. She felt her color deepen. Really, she was trying to do what he wished, but his stare was so possessive and intense, she felt a little as if she were under a microscope. Reluctantly she put her hands under the water, grateful for the steam rising. It didn’t exactly provide protection, but at least there was the illusion of it.

  Marks of his possession covered her body, and between her legs, she was definitely sore, but the water was soothing, and he had been
incredibly gentle, carrying her into the bathroom and filling the tub for her before placing her in the hot water. Her heart was pounding so hard she had to fight not to press her hand over her chest. The enormity of what she’d done hit her hard after she’d floated down from subspace.

  She had thought long and hard about what she was going to do to save Zacarias De La Cruz. He was so far on the other side, already with one foot out of the world she knew. If she didn’t do something drastic, she would lose him. Wherever one went after death, she didn’t want him alone for one more moment. She’d made up her mind to seduce him into staying with her—but now it was clearly a case of beware of what you wish for.

  “You have every right to fear your new life, Marguarita.”

  She closed her eyes. His voice was so mesmerizing, so sensual she felt it like fingers brushing over her body.

  “But do not try to hide your fears from me. I will not always do the things you will need and I will make many mistakes, I am certain, but you have to talk to me. Tell me when you are hurt by things I say or do. I will only make the mistake once. I am not asking this of you, so do not make the mistake of treating what I say lightly. I am commanding this. It will take great courage to confront me, and even more to live with me, but I expect nothing less from you.”

  She went back and forth from being annoyed to amused with his commands. He had spent centuries giving orders and expecting—and receiving—obedience that of course she knew he would continue to do so. Sometimes it made her want to laugh. He truly expected her to do every little thing he said. As if that was even possible. It isn’t necessary to make everything an order, Zacarias.

  “Perhaps with others, but you defy logic and reason. I have never known any other who disobeys direct orders the way you do. Even today you were sitting on your windowsill bandaging your friend Julio. Did you think I would not know exactly what you were doing?”

  Her lashes lifted and she stared him straight in the eye. She would not be intimated by him. She saw inside of him—better even than he did—and she was safe. She just had to have the courage to stand up to him when he was being unreasonable.

  I know you don’t mean to make me feel like a prisoner, Zacarias, but it does feel that way just a little bit when you say things like that. I have a duty to those on this ranch . . .

  He held up his hand. “Not anymore. Your sole duty is to see to my needs. I think I made myself very clear on that.”

  Yes, well, I still had to see to Julio’s wounds. It wouldn’t do to have them get infected. Did you do something to his dog? His dog suddenly went crazy, attacking the horses and then attacking Julio.

  “I stopped the animal from snarling at me, but that would not explain his behavior. Where is the dog now?”

  They had no choice but to shoot it. Julio asked me to see to the horses and cattle. Something’s wrong. She rubbed the little dent in her chin, frowning a little, hating that everyone on the ranch believed the dog’s behavior had something to do with Zacarias’s presence.

  “Your eyes are sad. Do not feel sorrow for me, my beautiful lunatic.” He shrugged. “You believe they all think I am causing this reaction in the animals. It is probably the truth. Animals sense the shadows in me. Even my own people call me köd, varolind, hän ku piwtä, which means dark, dangerous predator, and even the most experienced hunters call me hän ku tappa—which means violent, but more. I am used to others fearing me. It does not bother me. I expect it.”

  It bothers me, Marguarita admitted, shivering. The water is growing cold and I need to get out. It wasn’t the cold water, but more the realization of the enormity of her decision. She had made up her mind to save this man—to love this man—without fully understanding just how different and dangerous he truly was. She didn’t regret the decision, but she was feeling her way through a minefield.

  He reached almost lazily for a towel and held it, clearly expecting her to step out of the bath in front of him. She had asked for this, she reminded herself. She had wanted to belong to him and she’d told him she would do whatever it took to make him happy. Standing naked for him didn’t seem too much, not after the way they’d had wild, abandoned sex, yet she felt herself blush from head to toe as she stepped from the tub and allowed him to envelope her in the large towel.

  “Why does it bother you, Marguarita?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. “These people are nothing to me. What does it matter if they think I am the devil?”

  These are my people, Zacarias, she explained carefully. She stood very still as he gently wiped the beads of water from her body. I love them and I don’t want them thinking untrue things of you. I want them to accept you as my choice.

  His hands stilled. “Why do you presume they think untrue things about me? Animals are restless in my presence. No horse has ever tolerated me near them. I am certain what they say is true—the cattle and horses are all edgy with my continued presence. I rarely stay near humans or animals. Long ago I noticed the reaction.”

  His voice was expressionless. Even. Factual. But she felt the little catch in his heart when he specifically mentioned horses wouldn’t tolerate his presence. He didn’t mind humans shunning him, but it bothered him that horses did. She drew in her breath. Another secret buried deep in his subconscious, one he didn’t acknowledge, but she saw it so clearly. She loved horses. Only another horse person would understand the deep need in her to spend time with the proud, beautiful animals. And she understood that unsaid, unacknowledged hunger in Zacarias.

  She wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him—but the irony was—he didn’t know he needed comforting. He was Zacarias De La Cruz. He felt no pain. No emotion. He was the ultimate killing machine, shadowed and tainted with evil and he accepted that with no self-pity in his heart. He simply was.

  How did one stay annoyed with such a man? It wasn’t in her to do so, no matter how many silly orders he threw out or how skewed his thinking was. She turned to face him and circled his neck with her arms, linking her fingers behind his head. She leaned her body against his, her breasts rubbing tightly against the towel as she turned her face up to his throat and kissed him. Her heart felt as though it was melting in her body when he simply stood there for a long moment as though shocked by her action. Then his arms came around her, locking her against him and it felt like—home.

  I know I did not ask permission to touch you, but I couldn’t help myself. She deliberately pushed a teasing note of mischief into his mind. I know how important these rules are to you, but that particular one is very difficult for me and may take some time for me to fully obey it. I ask for your patience.

  His hands immediately swept down her back to her bare bottom, shaping and kneading her firm muscles there. He lifted her a little, tilting her hips so that she rubbed against his thick groin. “Perhaps I will have to overlook your need to touch me.”

  Butterflies took wing in her stomach at the small note of happiness edging his voice. Thank you, Zacarias. I have a great need to touch you often. I know I would always forget to ask first. I appreciate you relaxing your rule.

  “Just the one,” he pointed out, a hint of laughter creeping into his eyes.

  Her heart stuttered. For one brief moment, there in the steamy room, with the soft light of the candles, his eyes, always so black, appeared a dark sapphire. As his smile faded, so did the deep, true color from his eyes. She had been looking at the real Zacarias as he should have been before the world shaped him into a killing machine.

  She held him tight to her, resting her head against the steady rhythm of his heart. He didn’t seem in the least impatient, he simply held her close. She waited until the silly emotions choking her were firmly under control before she lifted her head.

  I’d better get dressed. I need to check the animals and see what’s going on.

  He buried his face in her hair, nuzzling the top of her scalp. “I suppose I did agree the other evening when I spoke to Cesaro. I do not like you endangering yourself. If the animals
are as vicious as the workers claim, letting you around them is inconceivable.”

  I love my horses, Zacarias. I need to ride every day. It clears my head and makes me feel so free. You’ll have to try it so you can understand.

  His hand rubbed her buttocks, lingered, so that her body began to heat. She hugged him tighter and then stepped back.

  “No horse has ever tolerated me that close and I refuse to use mind control on them.”

  You won’t have to, she assured with confidence. I know you like skirts, but when I ride, I prefer jeans. It’s safer.

  His smile was a small quirk of his lips, but the action sent her pulse tripping. It also gave his eyes that dark sapphire glint that robbed her of her breath. His eyes were beautiful in their true color. She couldn’t stop herself from tracing that small smile.

  You really are beautiful, Zacarias.

  He caught her wrist and pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Men are not beautiful. And you are simply trying to distract me from the fact that you are trying to break another rule.”

  She sent the impression of laughter into his mind. I wish that were true. I wish I wasn’t so enamored with you that I could think so quickly on my feet. Was dressing in a skirt really one of your rules?

  “I prefer feminine clothing. You are to please me in all that you do. So dressing in skirts is naturally preferable to men’s clothing.”

  She went up on her toes and brushed a kiss across his mouth. She loved his sensual mouth. She was afraid she could stare at it for hours and just fantasize. She didn’t even care that he was in her mind reading her thoughts. I could you know, just make up fantasies for hours. But I think men’s clothing can be quite sexy as well. Let me try.

  “I will not have access to you.”

  She smiled at him, rubbing his shadowed jaw. Fortunately you can do that thing with your mind.

  “What thing?”