Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS

by Christine Feehan

  But she couldn’t help the way her muscles locked down around him, gripping and kneading, the action shooting darts of fire through her body. She felt him push deeper and deeper. His hips pulled back and then he thrust forward, driving through her soft folds, the friction hot and wild, sending vibrations through her entire body, so even her breasts felt the fiery flames and her body pulsed, saturating him with welcoming fluid.

  His fingers bit hard into her hips, holding her still, his whisper a guttural sound, as he plunged into her again and again, wringing shocked cries from her with every stroke. She felt the edge of pain as he swelled, locking himself inside of her and beginning a hard, thrusting rhythm that went on and on, sending shafts of lightning streaking to every part of her body, but never easing the torturous ache.

  He pushed her beyond any boundary she’d ever had, driving the need higher and higher, until she was sobbing, pleading for release. She tried to move, tried to crawl out from under him, terrified of losing herself, terrified it would be too much to handle, but he suddenly snarled, the sound animalistic, and leaned forward, his long body stretching over hers, locking her down, one arm under her hips as his teeth sank deep into her shoulder.

  Unexpected pain washed through her, blending with dazzling white-hot streaks of pleasure as he rode her, his breath coming in harsh gasps, his strength enormous, as he drove into her over and over. She heard her own gasping cries, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, felt his balls, slapping against her body in a rough caress as he continued the furious pounding deep in her tight channel. A firestorm started, building hotter and more out of control, and she writhed against him, needing more, yet terrified he would give it to her.

  His arm locked tighter, dragging her hips up so her bottom slammed tightly against him and he buried himself so deep he lodged against her womb. She felt him swell, felt her muscles tightening, until she was afraid she would shatter into a million pieces.

  Manolito heard her harsh breath, the sobbing pleas, and knew she was there, riding the edge. That’s it, sivamet, come for me. Burn for me.

  Multiple orgasms tore through her body, sweeping through every part of her in a tidal wave, each stronger than the last. The sensations ripped through her in powerful spasms. Her body arched, her hips reaching back for more, his hoarse cries echoing hers.

  His release was brutal, the fire tearing up his spine and coiling in his belly, while her channel squeezed and gripped and milked jets of hot semen from his body. He felt the explosion in his toes, up his legs and gut, right through his chest to the top of his head. It should have sated him, but his body refused to be completely satisfied.

  He held her to him, her smaller body soft and open and vulnerable to him. His erection remained thick and aching, the pulsing pleasure continuing as the tight walls around him rippled with aftershocks, locking him to her. He couldn’t move, breathing hard, trying to still the wild pounding of his heart, trying to keep from allowing his incisors to lengthen. Surprisingly, his canines had done so, and he had buried his teeth in her shoulder, holding her still.

  The urge to take her blood, to bring her fully into his world, was on him, but he fought it back, afraid he might trap her with him in the meadow of ghosts and shadows. Still, he craved the taste of her, so he held her beneath him, on her knees, his body covering hers while he let the urge pass. He ran his tongue over his canines, savoring the wild taste of her, one hand stroking her breasts, enjoying the rush of hot liquid bathing his aching cock every time he flicked her sensitive nipples.

  “I could keep you here forever,” he whispered, running his tongue along her spinal column.

  MaryAnn bit her lip and tried to still the wild pounding of her heart. Never in her life had she imagined she could give her body so completely over to another person. When he touched her, when he was close to her, she had no inhibitions whatsoever. Fear maybe, but not of what he might do, only that she could lose herself in the absolute madness of physical pleasure.

  There was no going back. She couldn’t even blame Manolito. She had done as much seducing as he had, and it was purely physical. She closed her eyes and tried not to feel the pounding in her blood. This was addicting. He was addicting, and she would crave his touch for the rest of her life. No one would ever make her feel the things he could. And nothing would ever seem right with anyone else. But it wasn’t love.

  “How do you know, sivamet, how do you know what love is with me?”

  “You’re in my mind.”

  “You merged with me.” He kissed the smooth line of her back. “Easy, csitri, I am going to ease you down onto the mattress.” She was trembling so much he was afraid she would fall over once he allowed his body to leave hers.

  The moment he moved, her muscles clamped down on him, sending fresh sensations through both of them. He kept his arm tightly around her waist as he let his body slide reluctantly from hers. Very gently he let her collapse onto the bed before rolling over, taking her with him so that her body was pillowed by his.

  “I do not think I can move.” The truth was, he didn’t want to move.

  “I know I can’t,” MaryAnn whispered, unable to so much as lift her head. Her body still quivered with small aftershocks. It was impossible to get enough air, her lungs burning and her body on fire. She lay beside him, listening to their combined heartbeats. “What did you mean when you said I didn’t know what love is with you?”

  “How could I not love the woman who braves everything she fears to save me from the unknown? How could I not love you when you stand between me and the darkness? How could I not love you when you give me more pleasure than I ever dreamed possible?” He didn’t say she brought him peace. That the moment he was in her company everything inside of him simply settled, calmed, became right. “It is you who do not love me yet, but you will learn to.”

  He wrapped his arms around her shivering body and held her closer still, his chin nuzzling into her neck, warm breath against her ear. There was no censure in his voice, only a matter-of-fact statement.

  Her body throbbed and burned and craved his all over again, and that was just downright frightening. He had such confidence in himself, was so certain he could make her fall in love with him. Even if she didn’t, she knew it would be nearly impossible not to want to be with him, not when he could make her burn from the inside out.

  “Don’t you think that was just a little bit scary?”

  “You are safe with me.” He buried his face in the wealth of her hair. “I want to stay here with you and sleep the sleep of humans.” He had never once, in all of his existence, thought he would want that simple pleasure, but now he wanted nothing more than to curl his body around hers and fall asleep with her in his arms.

  “Why the sleep of humans?” she asked, snuggling against him. “That seems an odd thing for you to say.”

  “I want to dream of you. Drift off to sleep dreaming of you, and wake up to you by my side.”

  She rubbed up against him like a cat. “Well don’t fall asleep. You have to go to ground, Manolito. Even I know that.”

  He looked around the room. Light was already creeping in through the windows. It should have been burning his eyes, but instead he wanted to stretch and arch his body, bathe in the early morning glow. “Maybe I will stay here. We can cover the windows.”

  Her heart jumped. “It isn’t safe. No way. You have to leave.”

  He propped his head on his hand and stared down at her, his eyes once again totally black. “You do not want me to stay, do you?” he said with sudden insight. “You want me to leave you.”

  She swallowed the urge to deny his accusation. It would be a lie. “I can’t think straight around you.”

  “No?” The edgy aggression in his voice softened to a throaty purr of male satisfaction. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb sliding over her nipple so that she shivered beneath his touch.

  “No. Do you think I always act so—so submissive?” She nearly spat the word. “I don’t do bondage and submissi
on.”

  “Maybe I know more about what you like than you do,” he said. “I am in your mind and look for the things that please you.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if it was true. She had liked the things he had done. Like was a tame word for how she felt. She couldn’t blame him for her own actions. She had wanted him fast and hard, almost brutal in his possession of her. She had wanted—still wanted—to belong wholly to him. To do whatever it was he asked of her. And that scared her on a whole different level. It was a major personality shift and needed consideration.

  Manolito studied her face. She was puzzled by her behavior, and in turn, he asked himself why he had needed to be so dominant with her. He was a dominant man, so much so that he had no need to prove himself to anyone else, yet something in him had needed to mark her, to leave his scent, evidence of their mating. He brushed the hair from her shoulder and touched the small wound there. Carpathian males left pinpricks, maybe a strawberry, and he had left such a mark on her breast the first time he had ever taken her blood. The wound on her shoulder was something altogether different. Puzzled, he focused his gaze on it. It had been made with his canines.

  MaryAnn turned her head to look at the mark as well, a small frown on her face. Why in the world had she found it sexy when he had held her like that? “I think you must have put some sort of spell on me.”

  “I believe it was the other way around.”

  “Did you?” she asked suspiciously. “Because Destiny can do that sort of thing. Get inside minds and influence them.”

  “Merge with me again and I will see what kind of influence I have. This time, I think I will have you kneeling at my feet, taking my cock into your hot, very sexy mouth.” His hand stroked her throat, the pads of his fingers caressing. His body hardened all over again at the thought, pressing tightly against her, jerking at the erotic fantasy. “I might not live through it, but I am more than willing to sacrifice for the experiment.”

  She should have been alarmed, but the thought of exploring his body, of driving him over the edge, of him commanding her to give him that kind of pleasure and her robbing him of control, sent a coil of excitement spiraling through her body. His tongue was flicking at her shoulder, teeth nipping, and already her body responded with those light quakes that spread up her belly to her breasts.

  “Maybe I’m the one influencing you,” she said. “You’re always telling me I’m the one merging with you.”

  “Of course you influence me. I am reading your every fantasy and sharing mine with you.” His hands cupped her breasts and teased her nipples before sliding down the curve of her body to her buttocks. He began a slow, rhythmic massage. “When I come for you, tomorrow night, wear something feminine.”

  She gasped, outraged. “I always wear feminine clothing. I have the best taste in clothes. I can’t believe you insulted me like that.”

  Male amusement gleamed in his eyes. “I apologize, meu amor, if you took that the wrong way. You are always beautifully dressed. I am old-fashioned and would prefer a dress or skirt.” His hand slid up to her belly, fingers splayed wide. He rubbed in gentle circles, sliding lower, even as his voice turned husky. “Aside from showing off your beautiful body to its utmost advantage, I would be able to touch you like this so easily.”

  His fingers slid lower still, found warm, welcoming moisture waiting. “I want your body available to my touch. I look at you and want to slide my palm over your skin. There is nothing like it in this world.”

  His fingers slid over her cleft, making her gasp. Her thighs clenched. Her womb spasmed, and just like that she was his. Every thought of resistance was gone. His fingers stroked and teased and began an intimate exploration all over again. His rough whispers in her ear only heightened her senses and nerve endings and increased her need of him.

  Morning rays of sunshine crept in through the window, and light illuminated the stark arousal etched into his face. He rolled onto his back and simply lifted her so that she straddled him. She gasped as she looked down at his erection. It seemed impossible that she could take him inside of her, but her body burned and pulsed and wept for him. He positioned her thighs on either side of his hips, pushing the broad head of his cock into her. His smile was genuine, white teeth flashing at her, black eyes gleaming with something close to joy as she settled over him.

  He drove right through her tight folds until he was seated deep inside her where he belonged. He brought her hands to his shoulders so she could brace herself as he began to move, to fill her, this time slow and easy so she could feel every stroke when she was already so sensitized.

  She began to move to the rhythm herself as his hands guided her to ride him in a slow, sensual slide. He stretched her slowly, steel encased in velvet, moving through the tight, clenching muscles until the friction robbed her of breath—of sanity. It was different from the wild possession of before, but no less pleasurable. And there was something decadent in sitting on him while his gaze followed the sway of her breasts and his eyes focused on her with such hot lust and appreciation.

  MaryAnn was exhausted by the time Manolito left her, but the sun was high. She did recognize that it was dangerous for him to be out at such a time. Her own body was so worn, she couldn’t do more than return his kiss and wave a weak hand as he pulled the covers over her and left her alone. She barely registered his whispered command to sleep, already closing her eyes.

  9

  MaryAnn woke to the feel of tears on her face and the soft sound of feminine voices on the other side of her door. She groaned and turned over, her body sore in places she hadn’t known she had.

  “It was just sex,” she said aloud. “He doesn’t love you. Love matters, and he doesn’t love you.”

  He might not love her, but he owned her body. She would have done anything he asked, and she hadn’t known that was possible. There were whisker burns between her thighs and on her chin. She throbbed and pulsed with need the moment she thought of him. Her breasts ached and felt heavy. There wasn’t an inch of her body he hadn’t claimed or that she hadn’t given him freely.

  Her loss of control was terrifying. How could she crave his body to the point of letting him push her beyond every boundary, real or imagined, she thought she had? The only safe thing to do was leave, and it was far too late for that. She was practical, a woman who reasoned things out, and there was no reasoning this.

  She sat up and wiped more tears away. She hadn’t cried this much since she was a child. A shower only added to the sensations whispering over her skin. Memories of his fingers tracing every shadow and hollow, every curve and dimple. His mouth driving her mad with cravings. “This isn’t normal,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “It isn’t normal to want him like this and be afraid he’ll come to me and more afraid he won’t.”

  Could she leave? Was it possible to go back to her life in Seattle? Manolito was still trapped between worlds; could she leave him knowing he might never make it back if she didn’t help him?

  MaryAnn dressed with care, using clothes as armor, as she often did when she needed confidence and to feel in control. Manolito had told her to wear a dress, so she put on slacks and a silky top. She stood trembling, staring at herself, wanting to wear a dress because it would please him. Because he’d look at her with that look of dark hunger she’d never be able to resist. For a moment her hands went to the small shell buttons on her blouse, but she forced her hands down. She wouldn’t give in—not to herself and not to him. If she couldn’t leave him, she could at least stand up to him.

  Lifting her chin, she walked out into the common room. A young woman sat curled up on a window seat, her long hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. She looked up with a hesitant smile that was not at all real, her emerald eyes watching carefully.

  “You must be Jasmine. I’m MaryAnn Delaney. Did Juliette tell you I was coming?” She approached the girl slowly, her movements gentle and nonthreatening. This was why she had come in the first place, this
young woman with the too-old eyes and the sorrow already etched into her face.

  Jasmine smiled and held out her hand. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you at last. Juliette speaks so highly of you.”

  “You reek of Carpathian male,” another voice said, the tone filled with disdain.

  MaryAnn turned to face Solange. It could be no one else. She was beautiful in a wild, untamed way. She had cat’s eyes, amber, focused and wary. She prowled instead of walked, her quick restless movements graceful and agile. MaryAnn could see the anger in her, deep and held in tight. She had seen too many horrors to ever go back to innocence.

  Solange wore loose-fitting drawstring pants and a belt around her hips. Where MaryAnn relied on pepper spray, Solange wore knives and guns with familiar ease. She had weapons MaryAnn had never seen before, many small and sharp and very efficient-looking. Her hair was shaggy but suited the shape of her face. Where Jasmine was ethereally beautiful, thin and shapely, with gentle curves and flowing hair, Solange was earthy, with full curves, temper in her eyes and passion stamped on her mouth.

  “Do I? I took a shower.” MaryAnn smiled at the woman, wanting to soothe her, to help her relax.

  Solange halted in mid stride, her nose wrinkling. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I have a very acute sense of smell. I shouldn’t have said that. We’ve been roaming in jaguar form and it makes me ultrasensitive.”

  “No, it’s all right. You’re entitled to say what you think.” MaryAnn sent her a quick, appreciative smile. “Even if you are saying I smell.”

  “On, no,” Jasmine said, rising to her feet. “Solange didn’t mean that at all.” She sent her cousin a warning look and reached out to take MaryAnn’s hand. “Are you hungry? We were about to make dinner. We just got up a few minutes ago. I’m sorry if we woke you.”