Drive Me Wild

by Christine Warren

  Sucking in a deep breath, Tess released it with a strangled groan and set off for her apartment as fast as her injured leg would carry her.

  For the first block and a half, she paid more attention to listening for anyone approaching behind her than she did to the route home, which she knew like the back of her hand. She honestly wasn’t sure whether the irritated and irritating Ms. Cuma would actually take her at her word and go back to wherever she’d come from, and she really didn’t think she could take any more surprises tonight.

  Come to think of it, she didn’t think she could take much more of anything tonight.

  By the time she turned the corner onto her own block, Tess felt ready to curl up in a little ball and whimper like an abandoned kitten. Her thigh ached so badly she knew the bruise she would find there must go all the way to the bone, and her back and shoulder felt like someone had beaten them with a lead pipe. Appropriately enough. All she wanted was a hot bath, a cold compress, and an entire bottle of extra-strength Advil. Not necessarily in that order.

  Hell, she’d take them in any order she could get them.

  Her left hand fumbled in her pocket for her key ring, a task made doubly awkward by the facts that she kept her keys in her right pocket and that her right shoulder screamed like a banshee every time she so much as jostled that arm. After three painful attempts, she finally managed to pinch the fob between two fingers and palm the keys. She was trying to fit the key to the outer door lock when a large, masculine hand covered hers and squeezed.

  This time, Tess didn’t scream. She whimpered.

  “What is the matter, gatita?”

  Rafe’s voice held only mild concern as he stepped up behind her, taking away the keys and opening the door himself. He ushered her into the building and the bright lights of the lobby area. When he caught a glimpse of her face, he cursed like a stevedore.

  “What in the name of God happened to you?” he demanded in a roar loud enough to wake every occupant of the building.

  The building across the street, that is.

  Tess flinched. She’d had enough of being yelled at for the evening, thank you very much. Ignoring her irate lover, she limped over to the elevator and pressed the button with her left hand.

  “Tessa,” Rafe snarled, reaching out with the intent of turning her to face him. He didn’t abandon the plan when she cried out, but he did hiss something in Spanish that she decided it was just as well she couldn’t translate.

  “Tessa,” he repeated, his voice hard and deep and menacing. “Don’t ignore me. Tell me what happened to you. Now.”

  Tess shot him a glare and stepped out of the elevator as soon as it stopped on her floor. He followed so close behind her that she thought they might have stepped into her apartment at the exact same time, laws of physics be damned.

  “I got mugged,” she said resentfully, her left hand fumbling with the buttons on her coat. “Some guy came up behind me as I was walking home from the subway and took a couple of swings at me. I got a flash that something was about to happen right before it did, so I managed to duck the worst of the initial blow, otherwise I’d have been knocked unconscious.”

  Or worse.

  Rafe looked grimmer than any reaper could hope for. He brushed her hands away and eased her coat off himself, his sharp eyes noting the way she winced whenever she had to shift her right arm or shoulder. He didn’t stop with the coat, though, just shifted his hands to the buttons on her shirt and began flicking those open as well. Fatigue began to settle on Tess, taking away her ability to protest. She simply stood there and let him undress her in the middle of her living room.

  “What did he look like?”

  Tess shook her head. “I didn’t get a good look. He came up behind me, like I said, and he was wearing a jacket with a hood pulled all the way up. Plus, it looked like he had a bandanna wrapped around his face, like some kind of gangster. That’s probably what he was, some gang member looking for money or street cred or something. He only got in two hits before someone saw and scared him off.”

  Rafe dropped her blouse on the floor and unsnapped her bra, easing it down her arms before tossing it aside. Gently he turned her to the side so he could assess the damage to her back and shoulder. He said nothing, but Tess could feel the rage billowing off him like clouds of steam. He hadn’t been this angry when he caught her tailing him. Not even close.

  He trailed his fingertips over her shoulder in a feather-light caress. It still made her hiss in discomfort.

  “You said two hits.” His voice sounded strangely flat, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that he’d grasped the reins of his temper in an iron grip. “Where else did he strike you?”

  Tess ventured a quick glance at his face and knew that now was not the time to assert her independence.

  “On my leg,” she admitted. “My left thigh.”

  He said nothing, simply sank down to kneel at her feet and reached for the fastening of her jeans. He had them open and sliding down her hips in the space of a few heartbeats, taking her panties with them. He grasped each ankle in turn and helped her step out of the pooled fabric. Them he lifted his eyes to her left thigh and surveyed the damage.

  Unlike the blow to her back, this time Tess could see the marks left by her attacker. A thick, black bruise ringed by an angry red halo had already begun to form against her pale skin. About two inches wide and eight inches long, the contusion angled down from her hip and across the front of her leg, pointing vaguely toward the opposite knee. It looked nasty and painful and Tess knew it would hurt even more over the next few hours.

  Rafe’s fingertips traced the discoloration as lightly as a breath, and Tess could see the muscles in the side of his jaw jumping as he struggled to maintain his composure. Somehow, knowing that he felt such anger on her behalf made her own anger at her unknown assailant lessen. He had taken the burden on himself.

  Tess lifted her left hand to brush over his silky dark hair. “I know it looks terrible, and I can’t say it doesn’t hurt like a sonuvabitch, but it’s not serious, Rafe. Nothing is broken, and the bruising will fade in a couple of weeks. I’ll be fine.”

  He said nothing for a long moment, just stared at her injury and soothed it with barely there caresses. Tess watched his golden eyes glow intently with emotion and wanted suddenly to wrap her arms around him, to be the one to offer him comfort.

  “I should have been there,” he finally rumbled, his voice hoarse and thick with gravel. “I should have been there to protect you. No one should be allowed to harm you, gatita. I would kill any man who tried.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, a thoughtless platitude or a flippant remark ever on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her. Maybe it was the fierce tenderness that turned his gaze into molten gold, or maybe it was the fist of something powerful and frightening that tightened around her own heart. Either way, Tess found herself at a loss for words.

  She gazed down into those beautiful old-gold eyes and suffered another clench of that fist. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that what she felt every time she looked at him wasn’t deep, irrevocable love.

  Just the thought made her tremble, and Rafe interpreted the movement as cold or shock or pain, because he stood and swept her carefully into his arms, cradling her against him warmth like a precious treasure.

  “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “No one will ever harm you again, gatita. I will not allow it. I will take care of you. I will keep you safe. I promise.”

  It would be so easy to let herself believe that those intensely spoken words of possession and protection meant Rafe loved her, Tess realized. If she allowed herself, she could move forward happily believing that this ultimate tomcat loved her enough to put aside all other women and be hers alone for the rest of their lives.

  God, how she would love to believe that was true.

  The way her heart jumped at the thought told Tess how far she had already fallen. She’d be lucky if she ever saw the surface
again. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t maintain her dignity. She didn’t have to act like an idiot just because she’d fallen head over heels in love with a man who redefined the notion that “men just aren’t monogamous animals.” She could at least try to maintain a semblance of dignity. And she could begin by putting her foot down when the feel of his arms around her began to make her knees go as weak as water.

  “Rafe, I said I’d be fine, and I meant it,” she said, pushing at his shoulders in an attempt to separate them by at least the width of a sheet of paper. “All I need is a hot bath and some of my arnica-and-comfrey liniment. That will help with both the pain and the bruising and will even get some of the swelling down. I keep a jar of it in the bathroom. Just let me go get it and get the bath running, and I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  He shook his head and thwarted her attempts to get him to release her. Instead, he adjusted his grip and scooped her up in his arms like a swooning damsel in distress.

  “I will run your bath,” he informed her, carrying her toward the bathroom, his face set in an expression of stalwart determination. “And I will apply your salve. I might not have been there to protect you earlier, gatita, but at least I can be here to care for you now.”

  “Rafe, really. That’s not necessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I never said otherwise, though I would like to point out that the wound on your back would require the flexibility of a contortionist for you to be able to tend it on your own. I know you can take care of yourself, but tonight I would very much like if you would allow me to take care of you.”

  Tess saw the sincerity and tenderness in his eyes and felt her heart melt a little more. How was she supposed to resist this man?

  Why would she want to?

  “Well,” she said, her strength waning, “I suppose you could help me with the salve, at least. I mean, if you really want to.”

  “I want to,” he confirmed, setting her down on the fluffy rug beside the bath and squeezing her arms gently. “Believe me when I tell you, gatita, that caring for you will be entirely my pleasure.”

  Eighteen

  Rafe’s pleasure apparently also involved licking every square inch of her body with that rough sandpaper-velvet tongue.

  Not that he mentioned that until later. Much later. First he let her soak in the tub for what seemed like forever, the gently steaming water loosening her abused muscles and soothing the sting of the deep, violent bruises. When she felt nearly as relaxed as warm molasses, he picked up a washcloth and a bar of her lemon balm soap and began to wash her with all the gentle patience of a mama cat caring for her kittens. Finally, after he’d rinsed her clean, he bundled her up in a nest of warm towels and carried her into the shadowy recesses of her bedroom.

  He laid her on the cotton sheets as if laying her on an altar, all tenderness and reverence and warm, gentle hands. With infinite care, he opened the jar of arnica-and-comfrey salve she had given him earlier and began to smooth it onto her injuries. He kept his touch light, murmuring soothing nonsense when she winced at even his careful pressure on her abused shoulder and thigh. Still he spread the balm thoroughly to allow the herbs to work their magic. When he finished, he began to massage her unwounded muscles, making them go limp and heavy with pleasure. His warm, slick hands held magic of their own—powerful magic—as they kneaded every last bit of tension from her back, arms, and legs.

  By the time he flipped her over and began to smooth his palms over her chest and stomach, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to fall asleep or yank him down to her and indulge in some vigorous exercise. Judging by the expression he wore, he knew perfectly well what she was thinking, and he had his own answer to her conundrum.

  His eyes glinted in the darkness while his hands skimmed her flesh, not so much touching her as waking her up to his touch. Where his hands went, they left her skin aching and sensitive.

  “Keep still,” he purred. “You need to be careful of your injuries. I never want you to feel pain while you are in my arms, gatita.”

  Tess shivered when he moved away, the loss of his radiant heat chilling her. Right now she could barely remember her injuries. All she could feel was him.

  She stayed where he had placed her while he moved to either side of the bed, adjusting the lamps that sat there to dim golden glows. The light made his skin glow almost copper in places, and shadowed it in deep, aged bronze in others. All planes and angles, he was gorgeous in her eyes, the perfect figure of a man. She shivered again, this time in anticipation.

  “If you don’t hurry, I’ll be really still.” Her voiced sounded husky in her own ears. “As in asleep.”

  He chuckled and rounded the end of the bed, climbing onto it and prowling toward her on all fours, looking a lot like he had the other day, when he’d sported three-inch fangs and a thick, plush layer of fur. “Oh, I don’t think so, sweet Tess. I think you’ll be wide awake for as long as I want.”

  She wondered if her own eyes could flare as brightly as his, or if that was just a Feline thing. “Really? I guess that’s up to you, then. If you give me a reason to stay awake…”

  “I’ll give you plenty.”

  That’s when he set his tongue to the skin inside the arch of her foot and licked.

  Tess moaned.

  She’d heard of foot fetishes, of course, but she’d never really taken them seriously. After all, how sexy could a foot possibly be? For heaven’s sake, she spent most of her time walking on them. Aside from providing a means of locomotion to get her to a chosen partner, what the heck could they possibly have to do with sex?

  Under the stroke of Rafe’s tongue, they had everything to do with it. They felt like satellite sex organs, each flick and rub and nibble sending pleasure shooting from her feet directly to her core. He bit delicately in the middle of the arch, and she got wet. He scraped his teeth across her sole, and she quivered. He licked the base of her toes and she could feel her clit throbbing in response. The man had more magic in the tip of his tongue than she had in her entire, aroused, aching, needy body.

  “Reason number one, sweet Tess.” His growl had the same rough-smooth texture as his tongue and drove her almost as crazy. “Shall we move on to number two?”

  She whimpered in reply, then stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle any more embarrassing and revealing sounds. Luckily even in her aroused state, she’d known better than to move her right arm. She had to settle for the left.

  “Ah-ah,” he chided, dragging her hand slowly back to the mattress. “I said stay still. And I want to hear those noises. They’re part of the fun.”

  “I’ll give you more than noise in just a minute if you don’t—”

  Her useless threat strangled in her throat when he closed his teeth around the back of her ankle and began nibbling his way north. “Ah!”

  He chuckled and massaged her calf with long, thorough strokes of his tongue.

  Tess lay back on the bed and tried to think of England, or muggings, or quantum physics, but all she could really think about was the shift and slide of his mouth up toward her knees. His teeth and lips and tongue all conspired to cause her downfall.

  What else could she think when he found a particularly sensitive spot at the back of her right knee and proceeded to exploit it with nibbles and scrapes and sweet hot suction until she actually cried out. From having her knees nibbled!

  “Rafe! Stop it! Just stop!” Her breath was coming fast now, and she sounded panting and eager. Probably because she was both. “Stop teasing me and get up here.”

  He shook his head, his thick, dark hair caressing her thighs as he laved his way around her knee to her inner thigh, taking care to avoid her livid bruise. “Can’t. Busy.”

  “Argh! Busy my ass!”

  He lifted his head, grinned at her, and shook his head again. “Not yet. I’ve got other things to do first.”

  Then he lowered his head, and she felt his tongue glide in one, long drag from her knee across he
r thigh to her waiting core.

  He might as well have killed her.

  She cried out like a murder victim, a long, high wail that begged for mercy. He showed her none. His tongue slid between her swollen folds, seeking out her very center and drinking from her like she was a fountain of cream. She could feel the vibrations of his rough purr traveling from her sex to her thundering heart. She groaned in response and whimpered when he dipped inside, tongue penetrating and thrusting into her in a breathtakingly intimate kiss.

  Orders be damned. She buried her hands in his hair, desperate to have something to hold on to while her world spun dangerously out of control. She could barely feel the tight strain of her bruised shoulder muscles. She couldn’t even feel the mattress beneath her. All she could feel was Rafe’s mouth and teeth and tongue and hands and breath and purr wreaking havoc inside her.

  “Please! Rafe, please. I need—” She arched into a bow as his tongue curled around her most sensitive nub and tugged with agile precision. “God, I need you! Please—”

  “I am pleasing you,” he murmured, shifting a hand between her thighs. “And you’re going to come for me. Now.”

  He thrust two fingers high and deep inside her and she had no choice but to obey. “More,” he growled.

  * * *

  She rained down on him like April, flooding his hand with cream and his ears with a torrent of gasping cries. She screamed his name. She screamed to God. She screamed for mercy. But mostly she screamed for more. He gave it to her.

  More.

  Eyes feasting on her, Rafe gave her another finger and watched a new wave of convulsions seize her. He could feel her inner muscles clench around his fingers like a fist, then the tensing and release of her climax. Her moisture slicked his palm. He bent his head to lap it up, thick as cream, sweet as honey, and rich as her scent. He couldn’t get enough.