The anger boiled, a living thing crawling in her gut. Wetting her lips, she slicked moisture over the shimmer of red lipstick. His body language shifted, keen and sharp. He bent his entire focus upon her, and she shuddered. Opening her mouth to speak, she froze when the waiter appeared with their food. After an imperceptible shake of his head in her direction, Shim smiled and thanked the waiter. He raised his silverware and cut a thick slice of the rare steak in front of him. Tilting his head toward her plate, he lifted the piece of meat to his mouth.
“You need to eat, querida. You look magnificent in your fury, and it’s such a turn-on, but if we’re going to have a proper fight, then you need to keep your strength up.” He chewed the steak, cut another slice before placing his knife and fork down. “Eat, Ceara.” This time it wasn’t a request, and she couldn’t help but respond to the dominance in his command.
She ate mechanically—cut, bite, chew, swallow, repeat. The last vestige of rationality in her mind said the food tasted delicious, had been prepared to perfection. It might have been a fast food burger for all the attention she paid to it. He ate fast, his efficient movements clearing his plate well before she finished, although he’d started with a much larger portion. Handing her the glass of water, he watched her raise it to her mouth. She drained the contents until he nodded in satisfaction. Rising from his chair, he prowled around the small table to stand at her back. He eased the seat as she stood then captured her hand. Placing it on his forearm in a courtly gesture, he escorted her from the dining room. Rage boiled so close to the surface, her entire body vibrated with the tension of it.
Leaning close, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Hold on to it for just a little bit longer.” He bit down on the tender lobe, a sharp sting, followed by a soothing lick. She stiffened her posture to avoid arching her back, pleasure racing through her. Passing the reception desk, he smiled at Myron.
The young woman grabbed her deck of cards and dealt five out on the desk before she laughed. “You are in so much trouble, kitty.”
Shrugging as though it were no big deal, he continued to lead Ceara outside.
The moment they cleared the light shining through the entranceway, he quickened his pace, dragging her into a stand of trees just off the pathway. She yanked her hand away, her action so violent she staggered a little before rounding on him. He towered over her by at least a foot, and she stretched up on tiptoes to deliver a hard slap to his cheek. The blow knocked his lip against his teeth, and he grinned, licking the spot of blood from his mouth.
“Feel better, querida?” he taunted.
She launched herself at him, a flurry of fists and teeth, striking him over and over. Standing firm, he let her vent her frustration against him. Her hands hurt from pounding against his thick chest, his solid thighs and arms, but she couldn’t stop. All the pain and sorrow she’d buried came flooding to the surface. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them free. She didn’t want to mourn, she wanted the rage, needed it to keep her heart protected.
Shim grabbed her by the waist. Over-balancing Ceara, he took them both to the ground, rolling in a fluid motion so he landed flat on his back with her sprawled over him. She clawed at his shirt, ripping the buttons free to find his flesh. Nails digging deep, she marked his golden skin. He let out a moan, lifting his knees so she slid down to straddle his lap. The thick length of his cock rubbed against her pussy through the thin silk of her dress. Incapable of rational thought, she crawled up his body to clamp her mouth over his.
She bit his lower lip hard, and he rumbled in approval, the vibration in his chest teasing against her nipples. He gripped her chin, forced her mouth to open, and plunged his tongue deep. Palming her ass, he pressed the juncture of her thighs down, thrusting his hips against her.
Tearing her mouth away, she scored his chest, threw her head back, and screamed. The fat disc of the burgeoning moon shone through the tops of the trees, the symbol of the goddess watching over them both. She ground her hips, rubbing desperately against the seam of his pants. It wasn’t enough. She needed to be closer. Needed skin against skin. Lifting off, she fumbled with his belt buckle.
Shim grabbed her hand. Stilling her movements, he panted for breath. “Not here, flamita. We are too close to the Haus and someone might disturb us. Where are you staying? I didn’t scent you on the second floor. Not with the human guests?”
“They gave me a cottage. It’s near the meadow.” Her voice sounded husky and unfamiliar to her ears. He had successfully transmuted her anger to lust, and she wanted nothing more than to ride this man to oblivion. She rubbed against his hips again, and he growled, smacking her ass. Rolling to his feet in one graceful move, he threw her over his shoulder.
The indignity of it would not be borne. “Put me down, you beast!” Ceara yelled.
Sharp teeth sank into the rounded flesh of her ass. She yelped in shock, and his palm cracked across the other cheek before he flowed into action. He ran like silk, like water flowing over rocks. His feet ate up the ground, giving her no choice but to grab the back of his belt and hold on for the ride. They reached the gates of the meadow before she knew it, and he paused. Ceara shoved her hair out of her face, pointed up the hill, and he moved again.
Shifting to the left, he dove into the tree line, finding the little path to the cottage without her saying anything, no doubt following her scent trail. Slamming the door of the cottage open, he lowered her onto her feet, stepping back to leave a modicum of space between their bodies.
His chest rose and fell in a lazy action, jade eyes glittering in the firelight. She’d banked the fireplace before she’d left. The inside of the cottage remained warm, the soft glow from the flames lit the room. He studied her, his intense look sending shivers down her spine. Whatever courage, or madness, had caused her brazen actions in the trees had fled somewhere during the journey. Ducking her head away from his eyes, she glanced at his chest, his powerful physique visible through the tattered remains of his shirt. Thick scratches gouged his skin, and she raised her hands in front of her, shocked at the sight of blood beneath her nails. She flicked her eyes up, blinking in astonishment at the look of pleasure on his face.
“I like your marks on me, querida.” He growled, tugging the remains of his shirt free. Slabs of muscle cut down his abdomen, a clear line defining each side arrowing down to his hips. She licked her dry lips, wanting to trace the indent with her tongue, to chase it lower and lower until she reached the prize she knew awaited her.
He loosened his belt and unzipped his slacks. The dark material slid to the floor, revealing soft cotton boxer briefs stretched over his cock like a second skin. Stepping forward, she grasped the waistband. Sliding them down his thighs, she dropped to her knees. His rigid flesh sprang free, slapping against his lower belly. She moaned, reaching greedily with both hands. He grunted as she guided the head of his cock between her lips. Gathering her hair in a tight grip, he pulled it back into a long tail, wrapping the strands around his fist.
She hummed in pleasure at the sting across her scalp when he pulled her hair. Bobbing her head, she sucked more of his length into her mouth. Playing her tongue along the underside, she probed with the tip into the sensitive spot just beneath his head. Shim growled, bucking his hips. Nudging his thighs apart, she slipped her hand lower to cup his balls, stretching her lips wider to draw the last few inches into her mouth. The taste of him on her tongue, rich and heady with a hint of eucalyptus and spicy cloves, sent her desire into orbit. Moisture pooled between her thighs. Hard hands tugged on her hair again and she saw stars.
She rolled her eyes up to meet his; the jade green glittered in the firelight. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard on his cock, and his eyes blazed. Withdrawing her mouth in slow increments, she stopped when just the head remained between her lips. She swirled her tongue, holding his gaze, teasing the slit. He pulled her head with a sharp jerk of her hair, and she released her prize with an audible pop. Sweat glistened on
his chest. Holding her still, he drew a couple of shuddering breaths. The grip in her hair loosened, and he reached beneath her arms, lifting her to her feet. His hands skimmed her arms, petting and stroking until they met at the neck of her dress. A sharp noise filled the air as he tugged his hands apart, rending the silk in two. The ruined material slid from her shoulders, leaving her naked except for a wisp of matching silk at her hips.
“Mine,” he growled.
Chapter Eight
Saliva pooled in his mouth at the sight of his perfect little mate almost bared to him. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her underwear and flicked a claw, shredding the material so it fell to the floor at her feet. The soft red curls at the juncture of her thighs glistened with evidence of her arousal. He trailed his thumbs across the jut of her hip bones that framed the feminine curve of her belly. Muscles twitched beneath his hand. He skimmed lower, delighting in every shudder. Parting her labia, he knelt before her, bent his head, and thrust his tongue between her lips. Her unique smoke-and-spice flavor burst in his mouth.
He wrapped his lips around her clit, growling hard, knowing the sensation would drive her crazy. She moaned and squirmed away from him, which didn’t please Shim or his cat. Wary, he tracked her movements, stalking her every step on his hands and knees. His little fae spun away, fleeing toward the back of the open-plan room. She ducked behind a thin curtain, vanishing from sight.
Shim roared and lunged through the gauzy material, pulling up at the arresting sight. His mate posed on her hands and knees in the center of a huge bed, flame-red hair spilling everywhere. She peered at him over her shoulder, a wicked smile curling her lips.
He fisted his cock and, squeezing the base, he sought a modicum of control. His mate licked her lips then lowered her face to the bed covers. The motion caused her hips to undulate and she parted her legs, displaying her pussy to his greedy eyes. He climbed behind her, the bed shifting beneath his weight. Tracing his fingertips up the backs of her calves and thighs, he locked them on her hips. She sighed, relaxing into his firm grip. Shim lined his cock up at her entrance, thrusting balls deep in a single stroke. Heaven, right there in her slick, hot channel. He fought to hold still, giving her a chance to adapt to his thickness. His muscles twitched with his desire to pull back and thrust again, but her tight sex clenched, squeezing his cock until his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Move, Shim! For the love of the Lord and Lady, fuck me!”
Helpless to do anything else, he obeyed her demands. Withdrawing almost his entire length, he slammed his hips forward, pistoning in and out of her pussy without relenting. Sights and scents sharpened, the jaguar rising within him. The increased stimuli set his brain on fire. His mate braced her head on her arms, lifting her body in an act of the sweetest surrender. The pressure in his balls increased with each thrust, until they drew up tight. He shifted his hips, blanketing his body over her back, fighting the urge to flood her sweet pussy with his seed.
Sweat drenched them both, their slick bodies slipping and sliding together. Shortening his thrusts, he curled an arm around her slender waist, delving between her legs. He captured her clit between his seeking fingers, pinching hard. The sheets muffled her cries of passion. He tweaked the bundle of nerves in time with the motion of his hips, and her pussy clamped down on his cock like a band of molten steel.
A deep roar ripped from his throat. Her wild release milked his own. He relished the burn of his seed filling his mate, coating her in his scent, marking her his forever. The siren call of the full moon rippled through him, and Shim threw his soul wide open as the mating bond snapped into place.
His strength gave out, and he fell sideways, twisting his hips so she landed on top, not wanting to crush her with his weight. Her sweat-dampened hair draped over his face, but he didn’t have the strength to brush it away. Chest heaving, he sucked in oxygen, reveling in the new connection to his mate.
“I’m still mad at you.” She panted, although made no move to separate their bodies.
Shim chuckled, tracing a finger down her side, loving the shiver of goose bumps rising to greet his touch.
“Give me a minute to recover, and we can start that fight again, mi tesoro.”
The spicy scent of ginger and peppercorns tickled his nose. He cracked an eyelid, squeezing it closed at the bright sunshine flooding through the window above the bed. Water pattered against tile before shutting off. Forcing himself to his elbows, he watched the bathroom door swing open and Ceara appeared in a cloud of scented steam, body and hair wrapped in matching dark-green towels.
She rubbed a spot on her shoulder. He grinned to himself, knowing she traced the mark he’d placed on her skin during their second coupling. A matching one rode high on her hip, a trophy from the third time he took her. His jaguar stirred, the cat still drunk on the scent and sensation of claiming their mate. She intoxicated him, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into bed with him.
“Good morning, querida.” He purred, patting the empty side of the bed next to him.
“Good morning, Shimeer.” Her voice sounded haughty, a little cool, and he held back a snarl of displeasure.
The cream cotton sheets knotted about his legs, thwarting his efforts to grab her when she skirted the bed. Keeping her back to him, she pulled clothing from the chest of drawers tucked away in the corner. Wrestling free, he flung back the sheet, pausing on the edge of the bed when she turned to face him. A faint blush stained her throat and the top of her chest. His erection stiffened further under her stare. Stroking his flesh, he contemplated all the ways he wanted to play with his mate. Regardless of her icy tone and stiff posture, his woman’s scent told a different story. A day in bed would soon have his little spitfire sinking her nails into him.
“There’s some tea if you want it.” Her voice brisk, she tugged on plain cotton shorts and a matching tank-style bra. He growled, hating the material shielding more of her delectable skin.
“Come back to bed, flamita. I have lots of plans for you, and none of them involve you wearing any clothing.”
Ignoring him, she pulled on a pair of stretchy yoga pants to match the navy, long-sleeve top she already wore. The material covered his marks on her skin. He snarled, wanting them on show. While shifters would recognize his scent claim the instant they came into contact with Ceara, his bite would act as a visible display, warning other paras to keep their distance, too.
She is my mate and should be proud to display them.
“I’ve got an appointment this morning. Sage has arranged for me to meet with one of the other healers, and I’m willing to try anything at this point.”
He sighed to demonstrate his aggravation at being thwarted by practicalities. Romping with his beautiful little fae would have to take a backseat for the moment. Her healing was of paramount importance to him. He wanted her fit and whole, and it was also time to focus on his own problems. Not being able to use his jaguar form to protect her was unacceptable. He would swallow any number of noxious potions, suffer the indignities of “downward-facing dog” if the Rowans believed it would break him free of the curse.
His jaguar grew increasingly restless, the tug of the full moon making it worse. He jumped from the bed and headed for the shower. At least he could use his mate’s soaps and carry the scent with him while they were apart.
“I thought we could take a walk later. I’ve heard great things about the hot springs if you—” He stopped scrubbing his hair with a towel. He spoke to an empty room. His sneaky little mate had escaped in the few minutes it took him to use the bathroom. Her absence settled along his skin like the ashes coating the fireplace.
He dressed, taking the time to clean out the hearth and build a new fire ready to be lit on her return. The needs of his mate came first, but if she thought she could evade him for long, she would be sorely disappointed. Shim might not be able to hold his shift, but he retained every single one of his predatory instincts, and he was on th
e hunt. He’d successfully claimed Ceara’s body, now to fight for her heart.
Myron greeted Shim with a broad grin and a wink, pausing in her conversation with Cyrus. The dark-haired Wiccan looked relaxed, bantering back and forth with the receptionist. Did the nature of their relationship extend beyond employer and employee?
Rekkus stepped out of the office behind reception. His attention swiveled straight to him. Moving with imperceptible swiftness, he glided from behind the desk to place himself between Shim and Cyrus. He might be head of security on the island, but first and foremost he served as Cyrus’ bodyguard. A flare of nostrils and a single blink were the only tells Rekkus gave to acknowledge Shim’s altered scent. He leaned into Cyrus to whisper something. The Wiccan removed the mirrored glasses from his face. Tilting his dark head to one side, he studied Shim with piercing blue eyes, identical to his sister’s.
“Fascinating. Do you feel any different?” An undercurrent of excitement laced the man’s voice, and Shim grasped at it like a lifeline.
Could it be so simple? Was his mating the key to breaking the curse? Clad only in a T-shirt and sweatpants, it took moments to shed his clothing. He’d changed in his room in the barracks before heading to the main Haus. He had nothing to hide about his activities of the previous night, but Ceara might not appreciate the rumors it would cause if he did a walk of shame in the same clothing he’d worn to dinner. Especially if she was under the misapprehension theirs was a casual fling.
Myron whistled, clapping her hands together. “One of the great things about this job is the amount of fine ass I get to see,” she exclaimed.
Rekkus snarled, grabbed his arm, and shoved him into a room behind reception, Cyrus on their heels.
“Not in front of the humans, dammit! It took all of Cemil’s considerable powers of persuasion to get them to swallow our explanation after your stunt in the bloody dining room.”
Soul of Flame Page 6
