Bond with Me

by Anne Marsh

  “Let’s do it again,” she offered, running her hands over his shoulders, and scraping gently at the sensitized skin with her nails. He growled. Good. He liked her touch. Coveted it.

  “Yes,” he rasped. “We’re doing all of it, baby. I can’t hold out.”

  He was warning her and she didn’t care. He wouldn’t hurt her. She slid her hands over his body, down his back and along the smooth curve of his ribs. Cupped the cheeks of his ass in her damp palms. God, he had a great ass.

  He lifted his head, watching her. His beast watched her. “Be sure, baby. Damn sure.”

  She was. “God, Brends.” She was impossibly wet. He was alien, exotic. Sexy as hell. He was holding himself in check and part of her wanted to make him lose control. “You’re gorgeous.”

  Her beast’s only answer was a low, guttural sound that sounded as if it had been torn from his throat. Brends was still in there, still with her. She was sure of it.

  She shimmied beneath him, awkwardly pulling the chemise up and over her head. When she had him in the cradle of her hips, she paused to savor the hot weight of him. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she opened herself. With a hoarse sound, he nudged the tip of that massive cock inside her. And hesitated.

  Maybe he was trying to kill her.

  “Now,” she demanded. “I want you, Brends. This is you, too.”

  Tilting her hips, she slid down the thick, hot length of him. Oh, God. Thick, sweet pleasure had her flesh melting around his, the covetous spasms of her pussy connecting them in the most basic of ways.

  She rocked against him once. Twice. Teasing.

  “Give it to me, Brends.” Staring up at him, she speared her hands through his hair. “I want this. I want you.”

  “No going back,” he said, and surged forward. He stroked deep and thick into her core, driving the pleasure through her body with each thrust. His immense body shuddered once, twice, suspended above hers.

  Her orgasm caught her unaware, rolling uncontrollably through her, jerking her body against his. “Oh, God, Brends—” She couldn’t take any more. There was simply too much pleasure. Too much heat. Emotions, pleasure, heat, awe spilling out of her in a tidal wave.

  She could feel him drinking in those emotions, his body still shuddering against hers as a hoarse sound of pleasure tore from his throat. Mine. Buried to the hilt, moving deep inside her, he was all hers. He belonged to no one but her.

  All her worries about Pell, the rogue, the fear of the unknown—she let it all go. She wrapped her arms around him and she let go, living in the moment and refusing to worry about the future. She’d savor what she had.

  The beast receded slowly, allowing the man to regain control. He hadn’t hurt her, Brends told himself. I didn’t hurt her.

  His first reaction was fierce loyalty and then fiercer pleasure. He didn’t have to hide from her. She’d accepted both sides of him and the wild, fierce taste of her soul reflected that acceptance.

  “Dushka,” he breathed. “My soul.”

  He could dominate her, show her exactly what she needed and how. He could give her pleasure until she screamed with it. He was still hard deep inside her, but more important he was still aware of her mind. He knew that she was aroused by the simple fact that he was larger, stronger. Harder. Deliberately, he gave her the weight of his large body pressing hers into the mattress. God, she loved the dominant side of him, the part that insisted she enjoy every single touch. Every wicked taste of pleasure. His blunt demand for sexual honesty. She couldn’t hide from him and she loved every wicked moment.

  His wicked girl.

  He was bred to dominate. Had spent millennia honing his fighting skills and becoming the warrior he had to be. Now, however, feeling her pleasure through their bond, drinking in her delight and feline satisfaction, he knew that it was all for her. His world telescoped until she was the sun and the stars, the necessary center of his universe.

  “You’re going to come again for me, baby. I’m not done with you,” he promised against the salt-slicked skin of her throat. “Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Page fifty-three, just like you fantasized.” He knew what she needed, what she wanted. Tonight, he was going to give his bond mate exactly what she craved. Sensual domination. Pleasure. As if she knew what he was thinking, her breath caught and her nipples tightened into greedy little nubs beneath the thin silk of her bra.

  Christ, he loved her lingerie.

  “Breasts first,” he said when she hesitated. She wanted to. She craved the small brush of skin against skin like a sensual cat. Her flesh pinkened and he inhaled sharply, drawing the sweet scent of her arousal deep into his lungs. She hesitated, but then she did as he’d demanded. Her own hands stroked along the satiny curves cupped in the wicked little demi-bra. The fragile silk was deceptively blush colored. Almost innocent, but not quite. Lacy cutouts framed her nipples in an erotic display. Her hands paused when they reached the tight little peaks of her nipples.

  “Oh, yeah, baby.” With one finger, he drew a sensual pattern against her bare skin. He opened his senses, tasting the heated, slow ache through their bond. Delicious. His fingers followed the path hers had taken. A harder, wickedly masculine echo of her own touch. Her fingers grazed her nipples again and she sighed.

  “Harder,” he ordered.

  “Like this.” His fingers plucked at her nipples and the bright burst of pleasure-pain shot straight to her core. Made her weep with greedy need for him. For the hard heat of him driving her over the edge.

  “Now you do it,” he said.

  No. She wanted him, not games.

  His fingers curved around her ass, fingertips dipping wickedly into the shadowy crease. “Do it,” he repeated.

  He was stronger. He was the one in control, and that thought only made her wetter. Oh, God. Pleasure. He’d promised her pleasure and there was no doubt at all in her mind that he was delivering. Tonight. Right now.

  He didn’t stop the small, wicked stroke of his fingers against her other opening. “I can take you however I want.” Those fingers pressed gently and a dark thrill sizzled along her nerve ends, drenching her pussy. “But I wanna know,” he murmured. “What do you want? What do you fantasize about when you’re alone at night, baby?”

  This, she thought. I fantasize about this. God. He was big and hard and there was nothing she could do to stop him or prevent the pleasure from happening.

  That finger pressed, teased. Her whole world telescoped, focused on that one small bundle of nerves and his wicked finger. So close. Orgasm trembled just out of reach.

  “Tell me,” he growled. “Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is tell me.”

  His large shoulders blocked the light, plunging her into a world of primitive sensation ruled by the liquid glide of the sheets against her body. The spicy scent of him and the naughty whisper of skin against skin. Her world was shattering in pleasure around her, but she couldn’t say the damn words. Still couldn’t bring herself to admit that she wanted more. Needed more. His fingers reaming her ass. Her pussy. Him. She needed him.

  “Or do you want me to do it?” She could feel his mind pushing against hers, sliding through her mental barriers and deep inside. Taking control. His slow, hard smile was all the warning he gave.

  He touched her ass first, stroking wickedly down and in. Teasing the edge of her pussy. Tracing a blunt pattern over the needy flesh. She wanted to move, to open her legs and demand he touch her, all of her, but he wouldn’t allow her to move. He was playing follow-the-leader, and the bright throb in her aching pussy told her all too clearly how much she was enjoying that thought.

  His dark chuckle made her wetter. God, he was dominant and that turned her on. “You like this,” he said. “Do you like this?”

  That hard fingertip stroked her pussy from bottom to top. “Me? Touching you, here?” He circled around her straining clit.

  God, she was going to burst, was going to come all over his fingertips. She had no
control. Was so damned greedy for his touch.

  She whimpered helplessly.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You like that, Mischka.” Satisfaction filled his voice. “Let’s see if you like this more. I’m going to sink my fingers into you,” he warned. “Right now. And make you ride them until you come. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Nothing you can do but enjoy the ride.”

  God, would she. Her breath caught in her throat, wrapped in the sensual web he was weaving.

  No finesse. Just raw heat and sex, the juicy sound of her sex as he stroked her. She’d invited a fallen angel to be her lover—and he could be nothing other than what he was.

  “Spread your legs wider.” Deliciously helpless beneath his control, her body did as he demanded, her legs parting.

  One more sensual stroke over her outer folds and then his fingers slid into her slick center. “Yeah,” he said. “You want this.”

  So close. She was so close. He didn’t stop, sliding his fingers deeper. “Just like this?”

  Her body was reacting on a visceral level, reveling in his domination, his sensual promise to take care of her. To take care of all her needs.

  “You want more, baby? You want me to spread you wide and tongue your clit like this?” His voice was a low, raspy promise.

  “Do it,” she gasped, and let go.

  He growled his approval.

  “Open up,” he demanded. “You’re getting exactly what you need tonight, my Mischka.”

  Sliding down, he pushed her legs apart with his shoulders, slipping between her thighs from behind so that his tongue snaked up and down her outer labia, dipping between her creamy lips to explore the sweetness. His index and middle fingers created a delicious friction, moving deep inside her heated flesh.

  She rode him helplessly, the pleasure tearing through her.

  “You’re not coming yet,” he growled. But God, she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hold back. The short, hard slap on her ass jolted her deliciously forward, riding her clit against his thumb. Oh, God, she was bad. The thought made her wetter. And he knew it.

  Fine. She’d be as bad as she could be. As wicked as he was. Sliding her fingers into her own wet sex and separating herself. “Kiss me,” she shocked herself. “Kiss me here.” His growl of pleasure was all the warning she got.

  Mischka opened for him like a sweet, wet flower until Brends was drunk with the taste of her. Not too much, he cautioned himself. But he sensed no alarm, no caution, when he finally moved up her body, sliding his cock deep inside her. Mischka gave herself without holding back.

  Before he could stop himself, he growled the words against the sweat-slicked skin of her throat as he came. “love you.”

  She stared up at him in shock, her soul in her eyes. No resistance. Just warmth and love and acceptance.

  His body exploded with pleasure and pain as the climax ripped through him, his balls tightening as he drove deep and she took him all the way inside her. He couldn’t possibly get any closer and the emotions burning through him spilled out. At first, he thought the painful ripple of skin across his back was a psychic echo of the emotions tearing his heart and soul apart. Then his shoulders flexed.

  “Brends.” Her eyes said something was definitely wrong with him. “Are you all right?”

  Another convulsion tore through him. God, something was wrong. He rolled onto his side. Reached out a hand to reassure her. To his surprise, his hand trembled.

  “Fuck.” He doubled over. Her hand stroked his jaw, but he was lost in the pain, as if some unseen being was skinning him alive. He’d been there, done that three millennia ago. Didn’t need or want a repeat.

  Shoving off the bed, he stumbled over to window and ripped aside the curtain, fumbling for the door. His hand slid down the wall as another, harder convulsion had the blood roaring in his ears.

  He heard her voice behind him again. He couldn’t protect her. Needed Nael to do it. He couldn’t leave her alone.

  Skin shredded off his back and the pain flared again.

  Something powerful was tearing slowly through his skin.

  Mischka’s voice came from somewhere behind him, but he was lost in the red haze. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Get out of here, Mischka.” This wasn’t his beast. This was something else.

  Clenching his jaw, he curled his fingers around the windowsill as if hanging on to the wood would anchor his slipping grasp on sanity.

  Stubborn as always, she kept on moving toward him. Her cool hand on his arm was a small slice of heaven, but he swung round, crowding her toward the door and safety. The next convulsion took him to his knees. Christ, he was helpless, and despite his determination to keep her safe, there was nothing he could do here but moan deep and low in his throat.

  That hand stroked along the edge of his back and then shot back. Wings tore through his skin. Emerging large. Powerful. Black.

  The wings unfurled. Deliberately, he moved muscles and tendons. The wings beat once. Twice.

  He opened his mouth and nothing came out.

  So he settled for stumbling into the bathroom and staring. Wings. He had his goddamned wings back.

  The shock of recognition and pleasure was yet another emotion he’d never expected to feel.

  “I’m whole again.” He stroked a hand along the soft feathers and there was that unfamiliar tremble again. He’d thought his wings were gone forever. But they were back. He could go home. Home.

  Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the cold, smooth surface of the mirror. That meant Mischka was his soul mate.

  She moved behind him, her hand touching his shoulder. Avoiding the wings. “Brends—”

  Yeah, what could she say?

  Then she said the one thing he hadn’t expected. “Your wings are beautiful.” He couldn’t mistake the fierce pleasure on her face. “You’re beautiful. I hadn’t—” She gestured with a hand, at a loss for words but never helpless. “I hadn’t realized what was missing.” A smile lit her face and it was the sunrise for his whole universe.

  He hadn’t known what he was missing, either.

  He stretched and his wingspan filled the small room, extending beyond both of them. As perfect as if his wings had never gone at all. Instinctively, he knew he was whole. Finally. His reflection stared back at him as he wrapped his arms around the woman he loved, burying his face in her neck, breathing in and out. With her, he was whole again.

  Brends was larger than before. Harder. His broad shoulders filling up empty space she hadn’t known existed. Desire rippled through her. Yeah, he was strong. And he could hold her down with one hand.

  But man, he smelled good. The air was thick with the rich, creamy scent of his skin and she didn’t know whether she wanted to sit back and stare at those wings or lick him from head to toe. Wings first, she decided. Dark and feathered, the wings jutted from his back as if they’d always been there.

  His hands wrapped around her wrists, holding her in place. “Don’t go,” he said. “Stay with me.”

  When she tugged, he let go. Instead of getting up, however, she slid a hand down his back, sinking her fingers into the thick feathers. “They’re so soft.”

  The feathers surged against her exploring fingers, bathing her with a sensual heat. This is part of him. Wrapping her other hand around his neck, she tugged his face toward hers.

  “Kiss me,” she demanded. He obliged, bending his head to cover her mouth with his. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, demanding and finding an entrance. His tongue stroked delicately over the damp flesh of her inner lip, sucking at her skin with slick, wet heat. God, he was wicked.

  Pulling away from her, he ignored her whimper of protest. She hadn’t had enough of him yet. “You’ll like this,” he promised. His lips slid over the skin of her throat and she watched that familiar hard face and the muscle-roped body. The wings were different, but they weren’t alien. They were part of him.

  “You want me to stop?” Dark eyes burned up at her. “Or you want me to tou
ch you more?” She curled her fingers in his wings. Tentatively, she stroked a finger over them. He groaned, a liquid sound of pleasure.

  He wasn’t a beast, but something—someone—otherworldly. A warrior made to protect. She found herself wanting to touch him, taste him. Learn this part of him as intimately as he’d learned her body. Her gaze jerked back to his and he froze, predator-still, as if he knew that one unexpected move from him would send her bolting from their bed and fuck the bond that held them together.

  The look of dark concentration on his face made her hesitate. Could she handle this?

  “I’m still the same, baby.” His eyes quartered her face and she didn’t know what he was looking for. “I haven’t changed.”

  Was she ready to do this? He had wings. Large, strong, luscious wings. Those wings were unexpectedly alien but also, equally unexpectedly, beautiful. He didn’t look like any picture of an angel she’d seen. So it didn’t really matter, did it? If she could handle his beast, she could handle this side of him as well. She was done running from what she wanted.

  She wanted Brends Duranov, and right now, he was hers.

  All hers.

  “You’re dark,” she said, and this time she reached out to touch, because she had to know what those wings felt like.

  He hesitated, his wings vibrating with tension. “This can’t be a game, baby. If you don’t want this”—if you don’t want ME hung in the air between them—“you tell me now, straight up.”

  She slid a hand along the hot, hard skin of his shoulder. That skin burned with heat beneath her exploring fingertips.

  “And you’ll leave me.” Her fingers slid slow and curious into those wings, finding a sensual revelation. She couldn’t get enough of touching him. Her sexual reaction to this side of him was a surprise. Avery, very good surprise.

  “Yeah.” He groaned. “Oh, damn, baby, that feels good.”