by Terry Spear
He stalked with her into her bathroom, set her down on the floor, then considered the whirlpool tub, and smiled.
“What took you so long to come for me?” she asked, leaning over the bathtub to turn on the faucets.
He took hold of her hips and pressed his growing arousal against her ass. She wriggled a little against his groin and smiled when he groaned. That would teach him to play with fire.
“If I waited long enough,” he said, slipping his hands under the shirt and cupping her breasts, “I knew you’d really appreciate the rescue.”
She moaned with delight. “I thought you were a hot-shot Golden Claw,” she said, turning around as the water filled the tub, her hands sliding up his bare chest over rock-hard abs, her nails softly raking his skin. “And would have come sooner.”
He slid his hands up her shirt—well, technically his shirt—again to fill his large hands with her breasts and rubbed his thumbs over the taut and sensitive nipples. “I am a hot-shot Golden Claw.” He kissed her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers as he tightened his grip on her breasts.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling, just waiting to hear what he would say next. His eyes were sparkling with good humor.
“Some wild cats are just a lot harder to get a handle on.”
His voice had grown husky and his eyes had darkened with lust. She rubbed up against him, sliding a leg over his hip and caressing the back of his thigh with the heel of her foot. He took advantage of her posture to slip his hand between her legs and insert two fingers deep inside her. “But I’m getting a handle on it,” he whispered against her mouth as her lips parted on a sigh, and she felt she was dissolving in a puddle.
With their mouths fused and their breathing labored, she was ready to skip the bath and take him to her bed. But he quickly remedied that and stopped the water from filling the tub.
“It’ll take too long,” he said brusquely. When she looked up into his gorgeous blue-green eyes, he smiled. “I can’t wait.”
Then he flipped on the water in the glassed-in shower stall, carried her into it, clothes and all, and shut the door before he began kissing her all over again.
She was trying not to laugh, thinking he must have some kind of fetish for feeling her up when she was wearing clothes in a shower, when she was soaking wet with the fabric clinging to her like a slippery second skin.
The first time had been when she was wearing her nightie on the cottage deck, and he’d pulled her into the shower with him. And now again, his hands were stroking her breasts through the wet shirt, his smile saying how much he enjoyed being with her like this.
She smiled back, loving the hot Special Forces cat and all he meant to her. She grabbed a bottle of body wash, poured some of it out, and began soaping his chest, his muscular arms, and his jeans, focusing primarily on the rigid arousal begging to be freed.
He groaned as she stroked him through his jeans, and he began to struggle to unbuckle his belt. She wasn’t giving up and continued to run her hand over his swollen cock.
He fumbled with his zipper like a man being exquisitely tortured. That’d teach him to wear his pants in the shower if he was going to get her all worked up.
He jerked his pants off and tossed them on the shower floor.
She slipped her hand inside the opening of his wet boxers clinging to his erection and felt his hard flesh jump at her touch. He leaned down and kissed her again, his mouth claiming hers as he slid his hand between her legs and began to stroke her hard and fast, making her melt under the warm water. His stroking was drawing her to the zenith of pleasure, her eyes closing as she absorbed the sensual onslaught.
She gave a strangled cry of pleasure as he took her over the top, released her, and then pulled off the sopping wet boxers that had molded to the most delectable parts of him.
In one smooth movement, he lifted her, centered himself, and impaled her eager body. She straddled him, his steel-hard erection embedded inside her. With her back against the smooth porcelain wall, he rocked into her, thrusting deeper, harder, faster. His sexy male cat smell and the vanilla body wash mixed in a tantalizingly delicious fragrance.
She combed her fingers through his wet hair as her legs wrapped tightly about his lean hips. He kissed her again, his tongue plundering her. Ready for him, she sucked on his tongue hard, arching against him. And he lost the battle.
Groaning her name in a wickedly lust-drenched voice as he climaxed, he leaned his forehead against hers and laughed.
She furrowed her brows at him.
“You’re still wearing my shirt,” he said, grinning.
“And whose fault is that?” she asked as she slid down his length and rested her feet on the shower floor.
“As long as you don’t wear my pants.” He started unbuttoning the shirt and dropped it on the shower floor to rest with the other garments. Then he rinsed off and turned off the water. “What’s next on the schedule?” He grabbed a towel and began drying her hair.
“You have to ask?” she said, cupping him.
He grinned down at her. He might think he was one hot Special Forces Golden Claw, but she had some pretty nifty moves of her own.
The bed was next. The lake after that. Maya had to smile at Wade’s request. He had wanted her to wear a black lace bra and panties like she’d worn in the Amazon River. Then it was back home to the whirlpool bath to clean up. And then to bed again.
Later that night, lying against Wade’s naked chest on the soft mattress, she thought she heard Kat and Connor sneaking in through the front door and making a quiet retreat to their bedroom. She wasn’t sure. Jaguars and their shifter cousins could be as quiet as shadows.
She snuggled against Wade and wondered again about her dad and if he was or wasn’t her father. And where Thompson’s jaguar had gone off to. She wanted to ask Wade what he thought. She wanted to have resolution.
“Wade?” she said softly.
“Yeah?” He sounded like one worn-out cat.
“I love you.”
He smiled at her, then wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing her on the forehead. “Good, because there is no doubt in my mind that you’re the only one for me.”
She kissed his chest and looked up at him. “Want to prove it to me? Again?”
“Insatiable,” he murmured, rolling her onto her back.
She was. She hadn’t realized it… not until she met the cat of her dreams.
About the Author
USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of paranormal romance and medieval romantic suspense, Terry Spear also writes true stories for adult and young adult audiences. She’s a retired lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army Reserves and has an MBA from Monmouth University. She also creates award-winning personalized teddy bears, Wilde & Woolly Bears, that have found homes all over the world. When she’s not writing or making bears, she’s teaching online writing courses or gardening. Her family has roots in the Highlands of Scotland where her love of all things Scottish came into being. Originally from California, she’s lived in eight states and now resides in the heart of Texas. She is the author of the Heart of the Wolf series and the Heart of the Jaguar series, plus numerous other paranormal romance and historical romance novels.
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