“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right—”
“What are you doing, Miss Burel?” he said, placing his fork on his plate.
She shook her head, her eyes uneasy, taken aback by his gruff response. “What do you mean? I’m just talking—”
“Do you want me to go out and find a human? Really?”
She started chewing her lip. “I don’t understand what you’re—”
“Yes, you do. “ He leaned forward, his meal completely forgotten now. “Acting naive is almost as grating as believing you’ve been seduced.” His eyes narrowed on her gorgeous face and his voice lowered almost conspiratorially. “Tell me, Miss Burel. Can you continue to sit here, across from me and pretend there’s nothing going on? Nothing between us? Eat and drink and talk about our families and our history when all we want to do is answer the real questions on our minds?
She looked startled, and her cheeks flushed.
“What does she taste like?” he continued. “How would his arms feel around me? Would she like it slow and deep, or completely and totally out of control?”
“Oh my god,” she uttered hoarsely.
“I don’t think I can pretend, Miss Burel.” He stood up. “Never been any good at it.”
“Sit down and eat. Please.”
“No.”
“It’s getting cold.”
“I’m not hungry,” he growled.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment and whispered, “Neither am I.”
“Then what the fuck are we doing?” With a roar of lust-fueled ire, Jean-Baptiste swiped at the food on the table, sending it crashing to the ground. He heard Genevieve gasp, but all he wanted to do was get to her. He jumped onto the table, then leapt down on her side. His puma pacing inside his chest, he had her in his arms before she even had time to fully register what had happened.
“What are we doing?” she uttered, panic-stricken.
“Exactly what we both want.”
“I can’t…”
“You already are,” he returned, lifting her up, placing her on the table.
“I should go to bed,” she whimpered. “And we should forget this ever happened.”
“What you’re going to do, is keep your eyes open and brace yourself. After I take your mouth for a good long while, I'll be working my way down to all the bits and pieces you keep so tantalizingly and irritatingly covered."
Her eyes widened, but she whispered the only word that mattered to him in that moment. “Okay.”
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Burel. This won’t hurt a bit.” He ran his teeth over his lower lip, tugging at the silver hoops. “Unless you want it to.”
Chapter 5
Heat, tension and anticipation barreled though Genevieve as Jean-Baptiste tugged her to the very edge of the marble table, then splayed her legs with one of his powerful thighs. The table that had once held their dinner, she thought inanely— the dinner which was now somewhere on the floor. Maybe on the walls, too.
But did she care?
No, she did not.
He took up residence in the empty space between her legs, so big, so imposing, his hands plunging into her hair, and his gaze roaming over her with such predatory hunger she broke out in goose bumps. Clearly, this male was accustomed to taking what he wanted—no questions, no invitations—and Genevieve was stunned to realize just how sexy and irresistible she found that.
His nostrils flared as he breathed her in, and his fingers pressed into her scalp. He looked on the verge of attacking, and for one brief second, Genevieve swore she saw his puma push through his skin, saw his canines drop and his eyes flash gold.
But then his mouth covered hers, his body pressed against hers, and she forgot everything.
He feasted upon her like a starving male, his tongue plunging into her mouth, demanding a groan, a moan, a cry of his name, and she gave him all three. It was the most perfect, lusty, mind-blowing, sensual kiss she’d ever experienced, and she wanted more. So much more. Everything above and below her waist ran hot and suddenly frantic, and she curled her arms around his neck and clung to him as he took her mouth in kiss after kiss of perfect ocean waves; wet and pliant and drugging. She could feel the smooth metal of his lip piercings pressing into her skin, and it made her crazy with desire. She dropped her head back, forcing him to release her, just enough so she could run her tongue across the cool silver.
A sexual growl escaped Jean-Baptiste’s throat, and he tried to nip at her, lap at her tongue. But she wouldn’t allow it. She grinned wickedly, hungrily, and drove her fingers up into his dark hair, cupping his scalp. God, she felt out of her mind. Irrational. Uncaring about anything except this, him, her. Is this what lust was? The desperate need for another? Wanting him, needing him, as badly as you needed air or sunlight? Because truly, Genevieve had never wanted anything or anyone more in her life.
His eyes locked on her then, but her focus was entirely on those hoops. She’d thought about them so many times since they’d met. Now she was going to know.
Slowly, gently, she let her tongue probe inside the first ring. Then, just a hair inside the second. She heard him curse under his breath, felt his arms leave her hair and grip her hips. He yanked her closer, and she felt his cock pulse against the apex of her thighs. Her breathing turned ragged, and her mind went blank except for one thing, the one impulse she knew she couldn’t shake.
She curled her tongue around the silver rings and tugged.
It was as if she’d unleashed a wild animal. With that one simple movement, Jean-Baptiste’s face went from a sensual hunger to a mask of fierce, feline possessiveness. He glared at her. Snarled at her. Sweat broke on his brow, his eyes flashed burnt gold and he looked ready to attack.
Maybe she should’ve been scared. Or at least, cautious. But when she eased her tongue from the rings, she grinned.
“Lie back,” he growled at her. “Now.”
Her heart slamming against her ribs in a rhythm of total thrill and desire, she let him guide her; one arm under her shoulder blades, one pressing at her hip, until she was completely stretched out on the black marble dining table. The room was lit by soft electric lights, and the pale gold walls etched in black created an intimate, opulent, feel.
“Knees up, Miss Burel,” he commanded, his voice a rough snarl of desire.
Every inch of Genevieve was shaking. From fear, from the delicious unknown, from unbearable anticipation, from overwhelming need. Jean-Baptiste’s hands found the edges of her skirt and not so slowly, or so gently, pushed the fabric up all the way to her waist. Liquid heat pooled into Genevieve’s sex and trickled down her thigh. She knew he could see it, but she didn’t care. She felt no shame. Only a desire to move, to demonstrate how badly she wanted this—wanted him.
His eyes flashing gold, Jean-Baptiste found the waistband of her underwear and curled his fingers around it. Genevieve bit her lip and groaned. Do it, she urged him, arching her back, canting her hips. Do it now before I lose my mind. Or my will. But instead of pulling down the damp, pale blue silk, he grabbed hold of it with his teeth, and ripped them right off of her.
“Now this is what I was hungry for, Miss Burel.”
He eased her thighs even farther apart, then shouldered his way between them.
“So pretty,” he whispered. “So wet. I can see your clit pulsing, Miss Burel. It calls to me, begs me to take it in my mouth and suckle.”
The muscles inside Genevieve’s pussy clenched, and her nipples tightened beneath the soft fabric of her bra.