The Tiger's Tale

by Nara Malone

She laughed. “I’m serious.”

  He didn’t laugh. “So am I.”

  * * * * *

  Her fear reached out to Ean while she was still upstairs. He could feel her heart beat with the high, rapid ping of a rabbit headed for the stew pot. And how should she feel, coming to lunch with him, a lunch where she was the only item on the menu that mattered? Her scent rode to him on currents of artificially heated air. Vanilla and spice couldn’t mask the moods her scent carried, a tangy mix of fear laced with desire. They were at the top of the stairs. A few steps and a hallway lay between him and the moment she stepped into the kitchen, a few steps that would start her on the journey toward discovering that the world, and she herself, were nothing like she assumed them to be.

  Ean wished he could leave her unaware. He wished he could soothe away her fear.

  But she should be afraid, as much of herself as of him. Waking her up, revealing the truth, unleashing that primitive untrained power, should scare them all.

  That edge of danger ran through him like a drug, an aphrodisiac, coloring and shaping everything he did. He didn’t turn when they first entered the kitchen, allowing his apparent distraction to invite her closer, lure her in. The tigress would respond to the subtle body cues he sent her, even if she couldn’t interpret them on a conscious level. He poured mugs of mulled wine, his lips curving over the almost soundless approach of bare feet on the tiled floor.

  He heard her shallow breaths, her skittering heartbeat as she gathered her courage. “Hello, Ean.”

  He waited, his keen senses sweeping out to place Adam, just the other side of the counter. Adam’s job was to keep her true nature contained while they slowly got her used to the idea there was more to her than she’d imagined. Adam’s heart thumped at a placid pace, steady as a clock, bringing to mind the time marching them all toward a choice. Ean drew a slow breath and willed his own heart to slow before turning to offer her wine.

  “Hey.” He could feel warmth flowing effortlessly, giddily into his smile. She was such a treasure. Waves of red hair, round curves and lush breasts. He longed to lick her from her ears to her toes.

  Her hands curled around the brown stoneware and she stared up into his face. He watched her casual gaze focus and narrow. She sent a glance back at Adam and then her eyes darted nervously about the room. Her head down, shoulders hunched forward, her mood took a dive and the temperature in the room with it.

  Baffled, he looked toward Adam for some clue.

  Age.

  The single word telegraphed to him. Ean’s acute senses opened her moods to him but not her mind. Adam could both hear and send thoughts when he chose.

  Age? Ean was a few years younger than Marie. Wasn’t that a plus in choosing a mate?

  But her eyes were on the floor now and she was shifting uncomfortably in her towel, trying to tug it tightly closed around her with one hand.

  Adam moved in.

  He moved up behind Marie, crowding her forward and closer to Ean and reached for the other mug Ean held. “No one has the knack for mulling wine like Ean.”

  Their eyes met in a stare over Marie’s head. Adam was telling Ean to mix some magic between the three of them. But that kind of chemistry had a mind of its own. They’d brought the main ingredients together. He would apply the heat, but the result was out of his hands.

  Adam’s free hand came around Marie, coaxed the mug in her hand upward. Nestled there against Adam, in the curve of his arm, she peeked at Ean over the rim as she sipped. He watched her nostrils flare faintly at the spicy scent, her pink tongue slip out to test the heat and lick up a drop. He thought of exactly where he’d like her to lick him, of where he’d like to lick her. Everywhere.

  His tongue craved her skin with an intensity that was consuming. Licking her was not a desire but a necessity. But you couldn’t just grab a woman and start licking her. Unfortunately.

  And this particular female had been raised with human ideas about sex, beauty, and how old her lover could be. He felt a growl rising in his chest, turned his head and coughed to stifle it.

  She jumped and wine sloshed on her fingers. Before she could wipe the hand on her towel, he captured it, lifting those quivering fingers to his lips. He felt the heat of wine against his lips and blood pulsing in her veins under silky skin. His tongue trembled, caged behind his teeth, screaming the need to start at the tips of her fingers and lick and lick and lick. Somewhere, somewhere deep, he found the discipline to shape his lips into the semblance of a kiss. How could he move politely from kissing and handholding to the business of licking?

  An idea formed, a sinful idea. He flashed a smile that had her wedging deeper against the safety of Adam, even while her eyes widened and pupils darkened. He knew just how he would apply the heat.

  She watched him like a doe watching a lion. That sweet pink tongue darting out to swipe her lips had the same effect as a deer flicking its tail at a lion. Or like waving the red flag at a bull. Or—

  Enough! Adam’s intrusion snapped Ean’s mind back to the point in hand.

  He might be a predator but she was a mate—not prey. Let the wooing begin.

  “It didn’t burn,” she said. He must have looked as blank as he felt.”The hot wine…” He realized he was still poised to kiss with his lips against her fingers and straightened. Her gaze dropped to his chest, his bare chest, and he drew a sharp breath at the heat he felt where eyes touched. She licked her lips again. “It didn’t burn me.” Sweat sprang up at the back of his neck under hair that suddenly felt too thick and heavy. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry. Heated rooms are stifling for me. I should’ve put my shirt on before you came down.” Now he was babbling.

  “It’s okay,” her voice cracked. She coughed, commented on the strong spices in the wine and looked away. But her eyes came back, a little flick of a glance. At his nipples?

  At a look from Ean, Adam nodded and edged aside, allowing Ean to maneuver her toward the stove. Ean slid an arm around her shoulder, curled her close to him as they moved. The gesture was casual enough that she couldn’t protest and possessive enough to stir her embers and set the scent of her desire loose to tease his nostrils. The temperature crept up another ten degrees.

  “So, you know your way around Adam’s kitchen. You can help me.”

  It all looked ordinary enough, bowls, spoons, clean towels, wax paper. Yet she held back, leaning into him and away from the stove as if she found it more threatening than him.

  “I don’t normally spend much time in the kitchen,” she mumbled. “Things have a tendency to go up in flames when I do.”

  Ean swiped the back of his hand across his damp forehead. That side effect he could certainly understand.

  “Cooking is an art,” Ean told her, wishing he didn’t sound like a professor launching into a lecture. He’d be happy when he could use his tongue for something it was good at. He reached behind his back and Adam pressed a thick chocolate bar into his open palm. “You mix just the right elements, in the right order, add heat and you create something new and unique.”

  “Sounds more like chemistry.”

  “No, it’s more than science, there’s a bit of magic to it, an alchemy.” He brought the bar of chocolate around in front of her.

  “Dipping chocolate. What are we dipping?” She tipped her head back against his chest to see his face and Ean was pleased to see gold sparking in her blue eyes, the shy curve to her lips. She must hear what that did to his heart; it was banging like a jungle drum right next to her ear.

  He clamped his jaw tight. He had to lick her. Just one quick swipe of his tongue, along her neck, over her ear. He looked longingly at her ten pink toes. They were licking toes.

  Ean!

  Right.

  “I’m sure we can find something that needs dipping.” He gave her a look, a look that said I’ll melt you in my hands and in my mouth and on my tongue.

  He felt her quiver, a yes-please quiver, a delicate little shudder that had his wi
llpower going liquid, melting him.

  She swallowed carefully, glanced quickly around and tried to pretend she didn’t know what they had just said to each other.

  She knew.

  “So how can I help?” The whispery tremor in her voice did not get by Ean’s heightened senses.

  He smiled. “You can be the magic.”

  He handed Marie the chocolate. “You know bain de marie?”

  She slid a short, polished nail under the wrapper edge and peeled the brown paper back. Adam was already at the sink filling a stainless steel pot. Ean reached above her head and lifted a clear Pyrex bowl from the cabinet.

  Adam moved past them to the other side of Marie, lit the stove and set the pan to heat. “Break it into small pieces, love.”

  She obeyed, still frowning over Ean’s question. “Something to do with baths?”

  Ean’s mind had run off again. It left him standing there with the bowl raised in one hand while his other hand got lost in her copper curls, still damp at the ends from her bath. Her creamy skin flushed pink. So very lickable.

  Adam reached up and grabbed the bowl with an impatient twist that refocused Ean. Say yes, Ean.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice creaking. He grabbed his own mug of wine and drank deeply. What had he said yes to?

  Adam filled in, “It’s an alchemist’s technique, a gentle way to heat something volatile and delicate.”

  Ean ran a finger over her bare shoulder, right down her arm to her elbow, tracing the path his tongue longed to follow. His finger drifted back up and followed the edge of snow white terry cloth. He picked up the trail Adam left him.

  “This way you get a slow softening, gently liquefy, rather than send things up in flames.” He might have imagined that soft responsive whimper, but he noticed Adam cocked his head and then encouraged Ean to press his advantage.

  Okay. One lick. Stay focused.

  Ean wanted to hug Adam.

  “Is it really called that?” Marie asked.

  “Hmmm?” He was deciding just where…

  “Bain de marie. Is it really called that?”

  “Yes, after the inventor,” Adam said, handing Marie a dish of butter.

  Ean chose.

  She had the plate in one hand, pushed her hair back with the other and there, that flash of bare neck, right where it met the soft curve of her shoulder… His tongue dove and licked a sweet line of heaven right up to her earlobe. She swayed, a wave of desire washing through her and into Ean. He steadied her with both hands, steadied himself, and Adam moved in to keep them all on course.

  “Butter your hands, Marie. Here, just grab it up and squeeze it.” Watching her hands curl around the stick of butter, watching creamy white butter soften and ooze between her slender fingers had Ean’s brain softening and oozing.

  Adam took the plate and handed the bowl to Marie. “Butter the inside, coat it thoroughly.”

  Ean nuzzled her neck and imagined her coating various parts of him in something sticky, warm and fragrant. His knee moved between her thighs from behind and he pulled her tight against him while his tongue licked the edge of her ear.

  Adam had to catch the bowl when it slipped from her fingers.

  She pressed back onto Ean’s leg, that hot little pocket of hers smoldering against his thigh. That delicious bottom nestled against him with a wriggle and a rub. He couldn’t quell the need to bite, a quick nip to her ear.

  She turned her head with a whimper, looked at him. He could feel the cat surface, see the hunter staring out from those big eyes of hers. She was looking at his nipple, focused, drawn to it. Like his nipple was a necessity. Her lips shaped themselves to take it in, to suck it, lick it. Bite it!

  Shit! Her sharp teeth startled him and he had to bite his tongue to keep from yelping.

  She was tapped into them, in tune with her nature. They had roused the sleeping tiger. His nipple throbbed. So did his cock. It grew two inches when her teeth sank in. She turned her head, frantic now, seeking the other nipple. He wanted to drag her down to the floor and nip and growl and lick.

  Adam, at least, kept a cool head. They had a delicate balance to maintain. They had to soften Marie’s self-control enough to let the tiger peek out, without allowing it to blaze uncontrolled and consume her. He moved in and distracted her.

  “Here sweetheart, let’s get you out of this hot towel.”

  Marie looked up at Adam, confused, like she was waking up from a daydream. Her buttered fingers curled into fists.

  Adam tugged the towel free, and those gorgeous breasts were there. Ean dropped to his knees. Marie turned to face him. His mouth was open. His tongue was probably hanging out. They had to be the most lickable breasts in all of creation. He lifted them reverently. He savored the weight of them in his palms and licked his lips, anticipating.

  “No,” Adam told him.

  “No?”

  Ean wanted to weep. He looked at Adam, pleading.

  Focus. Adam had spread the towel over the kitchen table.

  Marie’s hands were in Ean’s hair, her fingers locked tight in his curls, greasing them and he didn’t care. Her nipples were hard erect nubs, drawn so tight it had to hurt.

  “Lick my nipples, Ean,” Marie pleaded. Her voice deepened, husky with passion. “Bite them.”

  He groaned. His thumbs stroked back and forth over them.

  “Please, Ean.” He kissed her bellybutton instead, gave in to the temptation to lick it, then got to his feet and swung her up in his arms.

  “Let’s get you comfortable first.” He carried her to the table. Shyness forgotten, she lay back on the towel, knees bent. Ean felt dizzy and it wasn’t from the wine.

  Adam leaned over above her head, taking her hands and bringing them to her breasts. “Here, love, coat your breasts, just like the bowl.”

  She frowned, shaking her head as if she could clear the mists so easily. She pressed her knees together.

  Adam cupped her hands and turned her palms to rest against her nipples. “Trust me. Doesn’t that feel nice?”

  His fingers tightened, bringing her little hands around her pale mounds, sliding her palms slick and warm over her nipples. She was catching on, giving in. Her head dropped back on the towel, her legs parted, ready for a lover, while she squeezed and stroked ripe breasts. She squirmed and wriggled. So did Ean’s cock. She rolled pink nipples between her fingers. Ean’s tongue throbbed.

  His attention wandered lower, drawn to her pussy, creamy white with a pink blush, a little cleft down the center oozed sweet nectar. LET ME LICK HER! His mind screamed.

  When she is screaming to be licked, then you can lick her. For now, we butter and we dip.

  Well okay then.

  He left the buttering to Adam. Ean turned his attention to dipping. He got a bowl of chilled fruit from the fridge, pausing there, letting cool air flow out and fan over his chest. The bowl was cold in his hands. He wanted to rub his cheek against it, feel the cold ease the fever in his blood. He resisted the urge and passed the bowl to Adam.

  Chocolate bubbled viscous and sweet in its cauldron. Ean breathed in the vapor—rich, dark, mysterious. He counted on it to bring all those things bubbling to the surface in Marie. He dipped a finger in to test the temperature. Stingy hot, but not scalding.

  When Ean turned back, it was to see Marie’s fingers sliding over the plump lips of her pussy, pulling, pinching with Adam coaxing next to her ear and bringing her nipples to a delicious rosy peak by rubbing the tips with a chilled strawberry. “Perfect, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Perfection,” Ean agreed.

  Marie stared up at Adam, apprehensive, suddenly aware of the path their thoughts were traveling.

  “You can’t,” she whispered. Her pupils flared wider.

  “Trust me.” Adam looked at her, a look that didn’t waver, a look that promised, a look that tempted. “You will love this more than we will.”

  Ean saw the soft tremor of her stomach, her skin so pale and satin smooth. He star
ted to hum, the song popping into his head before he thought it out, wanting to lighten the mood.

  She frowned and then her face lit. “Purple Rain.”

  “Chocolate rain,” Ean corrected.

  “Nooo,” she protested with a laugh even as she let her head drop back again, giving him full view and access to those lovely breasts. She didn’t lose eye contact or protest further as Ean lifted the spoon high above her body and let the first droplets hiss down. Hot, velvet rain sprinkled over her quivering breasts. Her stomach tightened, she twisted and then relaxed, looking a little startled at how quickly the heat vanished. The second time her eyes got more of a smoldering come-and-lick-me look.

  Ean watched the gold sparks in her eyes flare, expand, merge. The dark pupils narrowed and lengthened. Ean lost the words, lost the function of his tongue.

  Adam put his hand on Marie’s stomach, just above her navel. He massaged in a small circular motion with his palm. “Stay with me, love. Look at me.”

  Marie’s eyes shifted back and the breath Ean had been struggling to take whooshed into his lungs.

  Adam bowed over her and his tongue dove to catch a rivulet of chocolate on his tongue. Then he moved up, smearing the chocolate over Marie’s lips, pressing his mouth to hers. She moaned.

  Ean dipped a strawberry in chocolate and traced a circle around each nipple, letting the cold fruit and hot chocolate set up a maddening contrast. Adam straightened, edged closer to Ean, dipped the spoon and drizzled sinful heat into her bellybutton, providing them with a dipping pool.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Adam picked up an orange slice and rubbed it, cold and dripping juice, right over her clit. She gasped and jerked, her legs clamping shut around his arm. Her eyes had a wild look, like she didn’t know if she was trying to keep him out or keep him right there.

  How far could they push her? How close to the edge could they play?

  “Open for me,” Adam whispered.

  She did.

  Adam dipped his orange in the bowl where the chocolate was still hot and silky smooth, his hand moved back between her legs while his eyes held her fast in his will. She sucked a breath and whimpered when the drips hit her clit.