by Jaci Burton
"You make me hard, Katya. Your body, your scent, the little sounds you make. You think I can't feel your reactions? Can you feel mine?" He moved against her again, but she didn't respond.
He closed his eyes and inhaled the musk of her arousal, rocking his hard-on back and forth against her buttocks. He set a rhythm, and soon enough she was inching back toward him.
Toward his cock, as if she searched for it, needed it.
And it was damn well ready for her, too.
But not yet. In order to torment her, he'd have to suffer the same torture.
Waiting.
He was going to die of acute arousal before this was over.
"Your skin melts under my hands," he murmured, sliding his fingers inside the waistband of her pants again, moving just far enough to touch soft, heated skin. When he moved one hand to the front near her zipper, she backed against his cock again as if she was trying to escape his probing fingers.
But there was no place she could hide from him. He had her in front, and he had her in back.
Soon, he reminded himself. Be patient.
But his patience was quickly wearing thin.
And judging from the harsh rasps of her breath, hers was, too.
"Do you want me?" he asked.
It took her a moment to reply. "No."
She wasn't a very good liar. "Maybe I haven't been thorough enough in my efforts."
He moved in front of her and searched her face. Desire etched frown lines on her forehead, the darkening honey color of her eyes glowed with a primal lust he recognized all too well, and the way she swiped her tongue across her parched lips was a silent signal of wanting.
"Thirsty?"
She nodded.
He led her into the kitchen and opened a bottle, pouring a glass of brandy. She held out her hand to take it from him. But he pulled back. "You need something, I'll give it to you. Drink."
She sighed, her frustration evident, but opened her mouth dutifully while he held the glass to her lips.
Watching her sip the golden liquid made his balls tighten. The way she licked the rim of her glass, then her own lips, made him want to see the same kind of reaction when he came in her mouth. He wanted her to take his cum the way she took the brandy. Eagerly, thoroughly, swallowing every drop and then licking her lips for any leftover flavor.
Resisting the urge to stroke his cock, he took a couple long swallows of the fiery liquid, enjoying the slow burn of his belly as the brandy warmed its way down.
Then he leaned in, tasting the sweet liquor on Katya's lips, once again thrusting his tongue inside her mouth to swirl their flavors together. Tongue to tongue, lips to lips, he fit his mouth over hers as if to show her how well they meshed.
Soon, he'd show her much more than his mouth.
Taking a step back, he admired the swell of her breasts, the thrusting nipples that begged for his touch, his mouth. Waiting to touch and taste her was agony. His balls were twisted in a vise of tight need that threatened to send him to his knees.
Instead, he pressed his lips against her neck, lingering at the pulse point there and counting each rapidly thrumming beat.
Her racing blood told him exactly what he needed to know.
Lesson three. Move in for the kill.
He reached for her breasts, cupping them once again, feeling their weight as they settled into his palms. Then he swirled his thumbs around the areolas, circling them over and over until her nipples pebbled to sharp points.
He looked up and met her gaze, willing her to tell him she wanted him to touch them, lick them.
But she remained mute. He'd really love to know how she'd react if there wasn't a challenge between them.
His thumbs flicked the buds. She gasped and her musky scent grew stronger. When he bent down and covered one crest with his lips, teasing the swollen nub with his tongue, she couldn't hide her moan. He did the same with the other, then alternated back and forth, each time feeling the nipples tighten, her breasts grow warmer. Katya could barely hold her whimpers now.
She was weakening.
And he was already destroyed.
When he looked up at her again, the fierce arousal on her face set him on fire. He reined in the beast just as the thick hairs began to pop out on his arms.
It wasn't yet time to become the wolf.
"Are your panties wet?"
She didn't answer.
"I guess I'll find out for myself, then."
Before she could utter an objection, he moved to her jeans and popped the button open, sliding the zipper down and reaching for the waistband, pushing the denim over her hips. Her skin burned, singeing his fingers as he moved lower.
"Wait!" she said.
He stopped.
But she didn't say anything.
"What is it?" Although he already knew the answer. She was quickly losing control, and she wanted him to stop.
"Katya, is there something you want to say?"
In a matter of minutes, this would be over.
Thank God. Because if he didn't get her to give in soon, he'd be the one begging. Or he'd turn and simply take her in the primal mating of the wolf. But that's not the way he wanted to do this tonight. Tonight, he'd take her as a human.
If he could keep the beast within him locked up long enough to see it through.
Chapter Seven
Katya was unable to speak.
What was she going to say? Stop? If she stopped him, he'd win. If she didn't stop him, he'd win. Why had she agreed to this stupid challenge, anyway? As it was she could barely hang onto whatever shred of rational thought remained. If he undressed her completely, if he saw the moist evidence of what he was doing to her, if he took her up one more torturous step, she'd burst and beg him to fuck her.
Then where would she be? Under his control, under his rule.
Never! She hadn't worked this hard for so long, alone, to give it up to the first upstart foreigner who decided he could do it better.
"Katya," The way he said her name made her shiver. It poured off his lips like sweet, dark brandy, smooth and sensual and warming her from the inside out.
She looked up at him.
Heavens, he was beautiful, his eyes dark with desire, his hair falling over his face in a way that made her want to reach out and sweep it back. His cock was like steel as it brushed against her aching sex.
"Katya. Tell me what you want."
"Nothing. You may continue," she finally said, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. She'd endure it, with no response. She wasn't going to give in. She'd steel herself not to feel, not to react, no matter what he did to her. Then later, she'd massage away the blistering ache of arousal by fucking herself with her own hand, masking her screams into her pillow.
Returning to his task, Conner pulled the thin strings at her hips, dragged her panties down over her legs and cast them aside.
But instead of standing, he remained kneeling in front of her, his mouth in perfect alignment to her throbbing sex.
"You're wet," he whispered, reaching out and swiping his finger against the swollen folds of her slit.
She jerked and trembled, so close to orgasm that the barest touch of his fingers inflamed her nearly over the edge.
But if she came, he'd have her.
She fought it, trying to think horrible thoughts. Her parents' death, what happened with Peter, and now being mated to Conner. She forced her mind into pain, into loss, into need.
But need won out, reminding her that she had been alone too long, that the lupine within her craved a mate, a companion, a father for the children she was desperate to bear.
Her body was so primed, so ready, that she had to bite down on her lip to keep from blurting out the words Conner wanted to hear.
She was jerked back to reality by the feel of something hot and wet against her clit. She opened her eyes and saw Conner's head buried between her legs, his tongue snaking out and tasting her wet cunt.
He barely touched her w
ith the lightest of strokes, yet devastated her with sensation.
She'd dreamed of a man licking between her legs, tasting the copious juices that poured forth from her aroused sex. Conner gave her all that she'd dreamed of and more. She wanted to die, to scream, to come. She wanted to beg Conner not to stop until he drove her over the edge.
In an effort to get away from the sensations that pummeled her, she backed against the counter, the sharp edge of the tile digging into her back. Raising up on her tiptoes, she tried anything she could to skirt the devil's tongue swiping back and forth against her throbbing clit.
But she couldn't escape. From the man or the sensations.
Mercifully, he pulled away and stood. Her body and her mind warred. She was glad for the respite, but her body screamed at Conner to damn well finish what he'd started.
Maybe he'd given up, convinced she'd never come. That wasn't so bad. She still balanced precariously on the edge of orgasm, but she'd take care of that problem herself.
Her sigh of relief was mixed with trembling arousal that wouldn't abate. She fought the urges. If she just held on a few more minutes, she'd get the release she so desperately needed. She just had to get dressed and rush upstairs to caress herself to a blistering orgasm.
But before she could offer a smug smile of triumph, Conner lifted her into his arms.
"What are you doing?!"
He didn't answer, just walked across the kitchen and laid her on the oak table, pushing her shoulders back so she was flat on the surface.
When she moved to sit up, his strong hand kept her pinned.
"You mean we're not done?"
Conner arched a brow. "Not by a long shot, baby. I've been eyeing this table since I walked into the room."
He pulled up a chair, spread her legs, and situated himself between them, his mouth lowering toward her sex again.
Oh, God. This wasn't good at all. Now he sat comfortably at the table between her legs, looking like a man about to enjoy a feast.
Only he was feasting on her cunt.
Conner went to work on her, earnestly sucking and nibbling at her clit, then traveled down to lap up the juices pouring onto the tabletop. He licked the length of her, sliding his tongue inside her pussy to fuck her with its soft tip, then moved again to her clit.
Surely not every male in the world was as talented with his mouth as Conner Devlin. He had such an unfair advantage. A gloriously handsome man faced with a woman who loved sex, loved touching herself, enjoyed daily orgasms, and whose body was desperately ready to mate.
She felt the tremors and knew damn well Conner had, too. He quickened his movements, alternating thrusting his tongue inside her pussy and swirling it over her painfully erect clit.
He was driving her toward an orgasm she didn't have a chance in hell of holding back. How could she have ever hoped to win this battle?
She was about to give up all her power, all her control, everything she had built since her parents died. For what?
For a climax?
But she knew she'd already lost. For that matter, she'd lost the first time she'd laid eyes on Conner and the wolf within her had identified a need to mate with him. She may not like it, but if there was one thing she recognized, it was when to admit defeat.
*
Conner knew the moment Katya had given up control. Hell, he gave her credit for lasting this long. Not that he was the best lover in the world, but he tuned into her body's signals right from the start and she'd been primed and ready to shoot off like a rocket before he'd ever touched her pussy.
Her fingers let go of their death grip on the edge of the table and she spread her legs wider, easing the tension in her body.
She'd given him control.
The last thing on his mind at this moment was control, of her, the castle or the pack.
Right now he wanted Katya's cum in his mouth, wanted her writhing against his face as she rode out her orgasm, and wanted to know that he'd been the one to take her there.
"Give it to me," he whispered against her thigh, then flattened his tongue and pressed hard against her clit.
She bucked off the table, grinding her pussy against his tongue and screamed in rapid Romanian.
Fluid poured from her cunt as she rocked against his mouth. He took in her juices, lapping up the tangy flavor while she trembled and bucked beneath him. Her movements drove him crazy and he laid one hand in his lap to rub his aching shaft.
When she relaxed, his cock was more than ready for its part.
He stood and placed his hands on her thighs, leaning over to touch his lips to hers. Whatever reticence she'd started with had long since fled. She wound her fingers in his hair and tugged his face closer for a longer, more intimate kiss. When she licked his lips and chin, tasting her own cum, he shuddered, desperate to sheathe his pulsing shaft in her.
"You ready for this?"
She met his gaze, hers sober and much more restrained than it had been a few moments ago. But she nodded and said, "Yes. I yield. Now fuck me."
His nostrils flared with animal passion, the words he most wanted to hear having been uttered by his mate.
He yanked his shirt off, unbuttoned his jeans and jerked the zipper down, freeing his straining cock from its confines.
Katya's eyes widened and she licked her lips as she stared at his shaft. He stroked it for her slowly, letting the pre-cum ooze from the tip. But rather than swiping it away, he moved closer, rubbing it against the entrance to her sex.
In this position he could see her pussy so clearly, the lips swollen and glistening with her cream. He leaned over her, hovered only inches from her lips and said, "This is mine. Only mine."
With one thrust, he buried himself inside her.
She was so tight, so hot, and he pulsed within her, ready to spill his seed. But he wanted more than just a few seconds of feeling her sweet pussy clamped down around his shaft.
Hell, he wanted an eternity of it.
With a low growl he pulled back and thrust again, this time a little harder, watching as her pussy lips held tight to his shaft when he withdrew, then sucked him back inside to squeeze his pulsing cock.
Resisting the urge to fuck her savagely, he continued to stroke with a gentle rhythm. After all, it was only last night that he'd taken her for the first time.
But she responded to his thrusts by lifting her hips and wrapping her legs around him, forcing his cock deeper.
"Don't treat me like I'll break," she said, anger sparking in her eyes. "Give it to me like you want to...like I want you to."
"You'll be sore."
"I don't care. Fuck me!"
Far be it for him to turn down his woman's request. He reared back and drove hard, then withdrew and powered in again. His balls slapped against her ass as he pushed deeper, faster, taking her with him while he spiraled completely out of control.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he fought the shattering climax that hovered so close. He gritted his teeth, buried his shaft in deeper, listening to the satisfying sounds of the table creaking as it scooted across the floor from the power of his thrusts. His balls banged against her ass, the soft sucking sounds of his cock plunging between her creamy pussy lips driving him to an earth-trembling conclusion. Conner devoured Katya's soft moans that intensified with each stroke of his cock, leaning over to take her mouth in a kiss that spoke of claiming, of possession.
He powered hard and the table moved a few more inches. Katya tore her mouth away from his and screamed, her body shaking as she flooded his balls with her cream. He went with her, howling his pleasure, his animal sounds mixing with hers as she twisted and trembled beneath him.
Conner slid his hands under her buttocks and drove deep, riding out the last tremors of his orgasm with an intensity that made it difficult to remain standing. She'd drained him. Every drop. He was exhausted, exhilarated and, surprisingly, ready to go at it again.
It took a few minutes for him to realize that Katya was squirming lightly. He push
ed up on his arms and looked down at her.
"You okay?"
She nodded, but he knew she had to be uncomfortable. Quickly lifting up, he pulled her to a standing position.
Damn, he'd been rough on her. She was still practically a virgin and she'd made him forget that. Then again, she had begged him to be rough.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked, bending down to reach for her discarded clothing.
Because I'm a stud. He forced himself not to laugh at himself. "Why do you think I'm smiling?"
She arched a brow, holding her clothes against her body like a shield. "Because you won."
Admittedly, she was partially correct in her assumption. But only partially. He reached for her hand, refusing to yield when she tried to snatch it back. "Come with me."
"You got what you came here for, Conner. We're finished now."
"No, we're not. We're just getting started."
Despite her exasperated sigh, she followed him up the winding staircase to their bedroom.
Katya stood in the doorway, her clothes still draped against her nude body. "Since you insist on occupying this room, I'll be sleeping in another."
She really had no idea what it meant to mate with him. Did she think he'd walk away from her now that they were bonded? Not fucking likely. "I'm not leaving this room and you won't be either. Being mated means we share the same space, the same bed. Even your people will agree with that."
Not giving her time to respond, he brushed past her into the tiled bath, noting that at least the plumbing didn't seem in disrepair. A huge sunken tub cornered the room, a double window above it.
The shower was separate from the tub and big enough for two people. There was a vanity and dressing area, and a huge closet that held no clothes and very few linens.
Conner turned on the water in the tub, adjusting it to a steamy temperature. Then he turned to Katya. "Put your hair up and give me your clothes."
"I can bathe myself," she said, that stubborn chin of hers lifting defiantly.
"Yes, you can. Now indulge me and let me pamper you a bit."
Pamper? No one had ever pampered her before. Why couldn't Conner act like most of the men she knew? They wanted something, they took it. They made no apologies and certainly never lingered with their women afterward. She'd heard enough stories from Elena and the other women here to know how it was supposed to work.
What was wrong with this strange American? He hated her but he acted as if he was happy to be mated to her.
