Hours. He could keep this up for hours?
Could she?
She tossed beneath him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and tasting the spicy heat of the hormone that spilled from it.
She could feel his body tensing, growing steel hard as he held himself above her. Her hands moved from his hair to his shirt. She wanted to unbutton it, but couldn’t. Her fingers fumbled; they slipped. She gripped the secured edges, one in each hand and jerked, feeling the buttons pop, tear.
The growl that tore from his throat was primal, feral. It was pure animal hunger and sent racing tingles of electric energy spreading through her body. She could feel them, like little sizzling fingers beneath her flesh as his calloused fingertips rasped around her clit.
“You make me crazy.” He tore his lips from hers, his teeth nipping at her jaw, her neck. “I’m going to come in my fucking jeans.”
She smoothed the shirt back from his broad chest, relished the warm mat of chest hair beneath her fingertips. That was so sexy. Most Breeds had no body hair, she’d heard.
But Del-Rey had a light mat lying over his chest, arrowing down the center of his body to just below his navel. And it was sexy. And warm. And she wanted her tongue in it. She wanted her lips on it. She wanted to lick his flesh, taste him all over.
Her head lifted, her tongue swiping over a hard, flat male nipple as his lips moved to her shoulder again. He froze.
She let her lips, her tongue, play around the bit of flesh. She tugged it with her teeth and pushed her hands beneath his shirt, flattening them on his back, relishing the heat of him.
He surrounded her now. She liked being surrounded. She liked having him all over her until she was melting beneath him.
“I say we castrate the alph—Oh fuck!” Ashley’s shocked voice was a splash of ice water she didn’t need.
“Get the fuck out!” Del-Rey’s voice was feral. “Damn you, Ashley!”
He was poised above Anya, head turned, snarling. His black eyes gleamed with that hint of blue and his hard expression was savage, hungry.
It took a moment for her to realize exactly what she had done. What she was doing. She was pawing him, so desperate for him she had dared him. The same as begging him.
She pushed against his chest. “Stop!”
His head jerked back to her. “I have my fingers all but up your pussy and you’re saying stop?”
Incredulity filled his tone. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Have you lost yours?” she cried. “Let me up, Del-Rey. Now.”
She had to get her bearings. She had to figure this out. This wasn’t heat, but it shouldn’t be arousal either. It shouldn’t be natural. She had just caught another woman in his arms and she was all but pleading with him to take her. Whining because he hadn’t loved her, because he hadn’t touched her, pleased her.
“Now!” she cried out again, pushing against his shoulders as his fingers slid slowly from beneath her jeans.
His expression hardened; his eyes were midnight and navy blue fire. Then he lifted his fingers, still glistening from her juices, and curled his lips around them.
“The next time I get my hands in your pants, Mate, you’re fucked,” he growled. “Be very, very careful the next time you dare me. This one was free.”
With that, he jumped back, landing on the balls of his feet as she lay back on the bed, panting, chilled, weak from the sensations still racing through her.
“The next time I catch Sofia in your arms, I’ll make you wish you were dead,” she shot back, sitting up and jerking her sweater over her head. “You made this situation, now you can live with it.”
His smile was slow, dangerous. “Remember that, Coya, the next time I get between your thighs.
Because next time I’ll show you exactly what you’ve missed out on.”
“What you gave Sofia?” She was shaking again, furious. She saw that scene again—Del-Rey gripping the other woman’s arms, her hands on his chest, her head lifted to him as though for a kiss. It made her want to kill.
He shook his head first, then his finger. “Jealous, Coya? She might have had a taste, but I intend to give you the full banquet. A few hours would never be enough.” He glanced over her body, a flush mantling his cheekbones. “I think I’ll be fucking you all damned night long when I get my cock inside that snug little pussy again. Think about that. Because I will be.”
CHAPTER 9
Del-Rey stood at the bar and watched his mate. She wasn’t wearing the black silk he’d bought her and sent to her the month before, though he’d heard she’d definitely claimed it and thanked the Breed that delivered it nicely.
No, his fiery-haired mate was dressed in sapphire blue silk that made every cell in his body ache to feel her rubbing against him again. The bodice cupped and held her breasts like a lover, hugged her trim waist and hips before flowing around her legs.
There was some kind of burgundy trim at the bodice and the straps that went over her slender shoulders. A burgundy wrap had been given to the doorman earlier along with a tiny matching purse.
His coya was exquisite. She moved like a flame, danced over his lusts like a tempting promise held just out of reach.
He glanced over to Brim, with whom Ashley was flirting outrageously. When had his female Breeds learned how to flirt? He would have shaken his head, but it would have indicated his confusion. Never show weakness, he reminded himself as he collected his whiskey and a glass of wine for his mate.
Striding back to her, he hid his smile. She watched him, no matter where he moved. His mate was jealous. Enraged with it. It indicated more than a surface lust, and he craved her emotions as much as he craved her body.
“For me?” She reached out and took his whiskey. “Thank you.”
He watched, cock throbbing, his senses suddenly heightening further as she sipped the smooth whiskey without a grimace. Hell, he should have known better. She had drunk vodka with the same relish at several of their meetings and laughed at him the first time he’d shown his surprise.
As she sipped, she let her gaze slip along the room. A dance floor was set off to the side, and a band was easing into a slow, seductive tune as waiters worked to clear the tables of dinner dishes.
Del-Rey handed the glass of wine to a nearby waiter and turned back to Anya, his fingers covering hers, surprising her, surprising himself. He pulled the glass she held to his lips, tipped it and finished it for her. His lips covered the spot hers had, and he swore he could taste her on the glass.
The sweet taste of her pussy was still in his senses, tempting his tongue. The need to lay her back and lick her slowly and thoroughly was nearly overwhelming. Anger or not, he’d show her, prove to her the pleasure he could give her. He had but one goal. To wipe the memory of that first time out of her mind and replace it with the ecstasy he knew would grip both of them.
Her brow lifted as he finished her drink; her blue eyes sparkled with the challenge. Then she licked her lower lip slowly. “Very practiced,” she murmured. “Who taught you that?”
The clear little jibe pricked, but he shook it off easily enough.
“I had to be taught?” he asked her, moving closer as he took the glass and set it on the table beside her.
“I would imagine,” she drawled, “if you’ve learned moves like that, then someone must have taught them to you.”
Damn her. He should have known she’d pick the worst possible place to tempt him.
His jaw clenched at the memory of that afternoon’s pleasure, and need burned inside him like wildfire.
“That didn’t count,” he assured her, lowering his head to her ear, letting his cheek rub against hers. “Just because I lost control then doesn’t mean I will now.”