His lips curved into a smile. “Maybe.”
She laughed softly, femininely. “This is…interesting,” she remarked, trying to follow him as he gently swayed.
It wasn’t that she was awkward as she moved. More, hesitant. “You’ve never danced with a male before, have you?”
“Like I said, I’m rarely out of my cat.”
“Weird.”
“Hey!” she shot back, her laugh turning playful and girlish now as her hand closed around the back of his neck.
He laughed too. “I’m kidding.” Then he lowered his head and whispered, “I like it.”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s true.” The mirth suddenly died away and was replaced by the sobering feeling that something was happening there, in the air around them, between them. Something far more complicated than lust or a cat-and-mouse chase and capture. “I like that you haven’t done this with anyone else. See.” He arched a brow. “I still have my Pantera male instincts.”
“Yes, I believe you do.”
Her eyes remained locked with his as they moved. As the ocean crashed against the rocks outside the doors. Clearly, she felt it too and it sobered her as well. What did it mean? That she hadn’t completed her mission and dragged him back to the Wildlands? And what did it mean that he wasn’t running?
“Why do you think you prefer your cat to…this form?” he asked. He couldn’t imagine. For a few reasons. One being that this form was…spectacular.
“It’s my comfort, I guess. I feel…content, at peace.”
“So you understand, then.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
He stopped moving, and his eyes bore into hers. “Being away from the Wildlands is my comfort, Tryst. I feel content. At peace.”
She considered this for a moment, her expression a palette of conflicting emotions. “No one’s asking you to return for good.”
“No one’s asking at all.”
“Raphael’s our leader, Simon.”
It was the first time she’d used his name, instead of “pretty boy” or “male.” Or it was the first time he recalled it. Either way, the word on her lips burned and hummed inside him. “He’s not my leader. Not anymore.”
She didn’t like that answer at all. Her body stiffened, and her stubborn face was set once again. “You have to go back.”
“Not happening, female.”
“I have a mission.”
“You already failed it.”
Her lips parted and she growled at him.
“Look at us, for fuck’s sake.”
Her expression frosted over and she said in a deadly voice, “I never fail.”
“I believe it,” he said easily, then leaned in and whispered close to her ear. “We both know what you’re capable of, kitten. If you wanted me incapacitated right now, you probably could manage it.” And if I wanted to escape, I would’ve already done it.
A soft growl vibrated in her throat. “No probably about it, male.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s incredibly sexy.” Slow and gentle, he licked the shell of her ear. When she shivered, he grinned. “My point is, we’re both here because we want to be.”
“For now,” she breathed.
“Yes,” he agreed. “For now.”
Several long seconds ticked by and she remained still, though her breathing grew more labored, in sync now with the rhythm of the ocean against the rocks. Goddess, this female intrigued him. Her brain, her brawn, not to mention the raw sexuality she displayed. She was like a forbidden fruit, and he wanted to taste her skin again. The curve of her ear, maybe the lobe, maybe the band of muscle on her neck that housed the beat of her heart. For starters, that is. Every inch of him was humming with need.
“Tryst—” He barely got her name from his lips before she drove him backward and slammed him against the wall.
“I didn’t fail,” she ground out, her chin lifted, her mouth impossibly close to his. “I postponed.”
His own pulse knocking against his ribs in a frantic tattoo, he grinned down at her. “Okay.”
Her hand slipped between them and she ripped at the button of his jeans, then yanked down his fly. “But I will get you back there, make no mistake about it.”
His nostrils flared as her fingers dove into the waistband and threaded through his hair. “I’d never make the mistake of underestimating you, Tryst. You’re in control here.”
“Liar,” she said with a wicked grin, then wrapped her hand around his rigid cock, which had sprung free the second she’d pulled his zipper down.
A snarl ripped from his lips at her possessive touch, but his eyes remained fixated on her. “Fine. We’re mutually out of control, how’s that?”
She cursed as she squeezed his erection, shook her head in frustration. “It’s crazy. It’s not me. But I can’t stop thinking about this… You…” She started to stroke him, long, possessive strokes, up and down, pausing for only a second or two to run her thumb across the head.
“Tryst,” he groaned, knocking his head back against the wall to keep his sanity. Her touch was fire and ice and sweet and soft, and he never wanted it to stop. “Fuck…”
“No,” she said breathlessly in reply, dropping to her knees and dragging his jeans down with her. “Not yet.”
Chapter Six
She gazed at it. At him. Almost lovingly.
Long, hard, pink.
Mine.
Taking a male into her mouth was foreign to her. Of course, she’d heard about it. Even seen it. Pantera weren’t shy creatures. A bed of grass or the shore of the bayou—even up against a tree—served as a fine rutting space. But she’d never done it. Never even thought about it. To her, sex with a male was an animal’s reaction to a base need. An exchange. Most of the time on all fours.
But with him…this male, it was like she wanted to see everything, every inch of him, explore him with her tongue. Taste him, scent him. Know what his heart sounded like inside his chest as he grew more and more excited. And all in her female skin.
What was this?
This strange hunger?
Poised on her knees, her hands stacked, fingers wrapping around his incredible cock, she lowered her head and took him into her mouth. All the way. Not stopping until he was at the back of her throat. Then she inhaled deeply. She liked him there. Deep inside her. Consuming him.
And the sound that erupted from him as she did told her he liked it too. More than liked it, she guessed.
“Tryst,” he growled. “You’re going to send me off, over the fucking edge.”
Perfect. Slowly, she began to move, drawing him out, then sucking him back in. Again and again, slowly and deliberately, reveling in the grunts and growls, following the rhythm of his body.
A salty taste met her tongue and she moaned softly.
Drawing back, holding him in her hands, she looked up at him. He was pressed into the wall, hands fisted. His face and neck were filled with tension. His lips were parted and his nostrils were flared. He was breathing heavily. She wished he was naked. Wished she could see every bit of him.
“I love the way you taste,” she said.
He groaned. “Fuck, Tryst. You’re killing me.”
“No, male. You’re very much alive.” She leaned in and lapped at the head of his wet cock. Yum. She could live off him. “And you are Pantera. Every inch of you. Your scent, your taste, your sounds.” Her eyes closed and she dipped her tongue inside the slit. “Mmmmm,” she whispered before taking him into her mouth once again.
As he cursed into the ocean breeze, she reached around and grabbed his ass, which was as hard as his cock.
Mine.
She felt like a female possessed.
No, she realized, stunned. She felt like her cat. On edge, ready, humming to attack, so hungry.
Her fingers wrapping the base of him, she let him take the lead, thrust into her mouth at his own pace. All she did was take. His pre-come, his pounding strokes. She couldn’t get en
ough. And when he warned her, let her know he was on the brink and he would flood her if she remained, not only did she stay, but she squeezed his ass and pressed him closer still.
A snarl broke in the salty air that rushed into the small dining room and spurred on several deep thrusts and the pounding of fists into the wall behind him. No doubt he was leaving marks, but neither of them paused to look.
“Tryst.” The word was guttural on his lips as he came, hard and hot and abundant into her mouth.
And like the thirsty cat she was, she drank him down.
What was this? she asked herself again. Lust? Maybe. Curiosity? Possibly. A need for something more than she’d ever had, or wanted, or thought existed?
She eased back, wiped her mouth and tried to stand. But Simon was already upon her, over her, guiding her back onto the rug.
“Don’t get up,” he said, his eyes flashing with unclaimed desire. “Don’t you dare.”
As she watched, he pulled off his shirt, tossed his jeans over her head, then started in on her. It was the strangest sensation, yet felt incredibly right. With each inch of skin he exposed, the sea air would coat it—skin, not fur. It tingled, heated, then cooled.
“You are breathtaking, female.”
So engrossed in the new sensation, she hadn’t realized Simon was sitting back on his haunches, staring at her. His eyes were glazed with lust and admiration as he took in every inch of her nakedness. What would it feel like? she wondered. His skin; his strong, hard skin pressed up against hers? Rubbing against hers?
But he didn’t touch her as he moved over her, holding himself up on his hands. His eyes were fixed on her eyes now, their mouths close together, breath commingling. He was going to kiss her, press his lips to hers. It was wildly erotic. Granted, she’d been taken—as a cat, she’d been taken. But never had she been face-to-face with a male as he made love to her mouth.
It was too intimate.
When breath collided with breath, a trust, a vulnerability, was formed
“Tryst,” he whispered, his eyes closing as his mouth covered hers in a slow, drugging, perfectly wet kiss. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, but—”
“I love it,” she uttered, tipping her chin up, wanting to get closer.
He smiled. “Me too, kitten. Goddess, me too.”
Once again, he kissed her, capturing her in a series of brutal, then tender, assaults. His tongue was hungry and determined to play with hers, and she happily obliged. This was dreamy, she mused, making out with the very male she should be returning to the Wildlands. Perfection. And she never wanted it to stop.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered against his lips, “Do you taste yourself when you kiss me? Salty and sweet all at the same time.”
He groaned with the query and she felt his cock turn to stone against her belly.
“I taste me, you, us,” he said before capturing her mouth again in a series of sensual kisses that left her breathless. “It’s all I want. More of this, of you. Goddess, you’re sweet, Tryst. I’m addicted already.”
And with that, he abandoned her mouth and started to move. Down. Capturing her neck, sucking at the band that housed her pulse, then biting at her collarbone. Tryst let her head fall back, let her fingers dive into his thick black hair. Relishing in the movement, the beautiful assault to her hot skin.
It was like he was everywhere at once. His heavily muscled body and limbs on her, moving on her. And his mouth and tongue tasting every inch of skin he could find. A gasp tore from her throat as he found her right breast and suckled the nipple deep into his mouth.
Shards of painful, wonderfully painful heat ripped through her sex and she canted her hips. Goddess, this was heaven. How had she not known or cared? Was she waiting for him? For this male?
Was he the one, the only one, who could bring such deep, glorious feeling out of her?
Her fingers pressing into his scalp, she forced him to her left breast. He chuckled softly but did as she wished, his warm breath making her pussy cry with arousal. He was magic, the way he licked and sucked and tortured her with the tip of his nose. And she was madness. Thrusting her hips, calling out, begging for more, him, everything.
Suddenly, she realized he’d moved. Down. Kissing his way. Nibbling at her hipbones, opening her thighs and pressing her knees back. “What are you doing?” she demanded in an utterly breathless tone.
“Kissing you,” he said with ferocity, his eyes fixated on her pussy, spread wide for his seemingly utter delight.
“You’re going to lick me?”
He glanced up, his eyes so hooded and dark her heart jumped in her breast. “Oh, yes.”
She inhaled sharply. “Bite me?”
“If you want me to.”
“I didn’t bite you.”
“That’s okay.” His grin widened. It was the grin of a cat with a plate of delicious milk in sight. “Next time.”
A response never crossed her lips, because the moment he lowered his head and nuzzled between the lips of her pussy with his nose, Tryst was gone.
Floating.
Alive.
* * * *
Simon inhaled. Breathed the scent of her into his parched lungs. He refused to think, analyze, do anything that would draw his mind from her. From this moment.
As the wind rushed in through the doors to his right, Simon took her in. Pink, flushed skin, pale blue eyes alive with fire and trained on him, on his every move. Yards of thick red hair spread out around her perfect face. Chest rising and falling, quickly, as she anticipated his touch.
Spreading her lips, he dropped his head and licked her, from her entrance to the hood of her clit. The soft groan that followed made his dick impossibly harder and his tongue desperate to play, and to bring her to climax. Careful not to overstimulate her, he flicked the swelling bud. Back and forth. And with every flick, she released a cry of need, canted her hips.
He brought his fingers up and played with the entrance to her sex, circling, coating each digit in her cream. Hunger drowned him, made him mad with lust, and he sank those fingers into his mouth and sucked. Goddess, she tasted like heaven. How was this happening? How had the perfect female been sent to him?
A whisper of worry trod through his mind, but he sent it away. They were both here. Had chosen to be here. With each other. That was all that mattered right now.
“Come for me, Tryst,” he said, slipping two fingers inside her and slowly thrusting. “I want to watch you. Every second. As your body takes me, takes what I’m doing to you.”
His eyes on her still, he circled her clit with his tongue, then suckled it into his mouth. Over and over he worked this pattern as he pumped his fingers inside her. So deep he felt lost. So wet the sound of them echoed over the ocean.
She was close, the walls of her pussy clenching and vibrating and creaming around his fingers. He couldn’t wait, wait to hear her scream—wait to drink her come as she drank his.
“It’s too much, male,” she suddenly cried out. “Goddess, please!”
Her words halted him firm, and he looked up. “What’s wrong?”
She lifted her head, gazed at him with eyes wide and filled with sexual madness, skin flushed and vibrating with arousal. “It’s too much.”
“Too much of what, ma chère? Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”
“Too much heat, too much good, too much I want. But it’ll never be enough. I’ll never have enough.”
Simon stifled a smile. A stunned smile. What was happening here? It was as if she’d never… His smile died. Had she never come before? No…that would be impossible—at least with her own hand. What about at the hand of another male? Fuck, he refused to even acknowledge the possibility. She was to cry out from him—only him. That’s all he was willing to grant at that moment.
His gaze moved over her. Her pink skin, glistening with sweat, hands fisted on the rug, her breathing labored, and her expression…confusion mixed with animal-like hunger.
“No,” she growled at him, baring her teeth. “Do it and I’ll bite you. And you won’t like it.”
His mouth twitched. “Then stop thinking. Let yourself feel. Even if it’s too much. Feel all the good, all the heat…”
He said nothing more. His fingers started to pump inside her once again, and he tucked back into his feast. Licking, suckling, flattening his tongue and moving with each thrust of her hips. She was mewling now, like a kitten, creaming around him so fitfully the insides of her thighs were soaked.
Maintaining the pace, Simon growled into the air. Mine. Mine. Mine. She was shaking—her hands, her legs, her pussy.
“Goddess!” she screamed, her hips slamming up and down as he thrust inside her. “Yes! Yes, please.”
She came in a roar of sound, crying, keening, mewling, sighing. And Simon took it all in, with his mouth, his tongue, his eyes and, Goddess help him, his heart. It was truly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
She was the most beautiful sight.
This Pantera.
This female he knew, in his gut, belonged to him.
Chapter Seven
“This wasn’t at all how I thought my mission would go,” Tryst said on a sigh, nuzzling deeper into Simon’s shoulder as around them night fell and the moon glowed brilliantly over a calm sea. She’d never felt so content, so at peace.
Not even in the Wildlands, or in her cat.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, female,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “you did capture me. Just not in the way you originally planned.”
Laughing softly, she came up on her elbow and stared at him. This ridiculously gorgeous male. This pretty boy who, with every touch, every sound, every movement, couldn’t mask the warrior beneath. The loner and rebel who had left his family, barely out of cubhood, to take a power position as a Suit. He was cunning and clever, and had the most wicked of tongues.
He was hers.
If only in an alternate universe.
He brought his hand up and sank his fingers into her hair. “What are you thinking, female? Your eyes won’t tell me a thing.”
1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Twelve Page 11
