On the Prowl

by Christine Warren

  Nicolas watched her in silence. His green eyes looked like slivers of jade, opaque and mysterious, but his expression remained relaxed and open while he listened to her words. When she finished, he nodded slowly.

  “You did make me angry, but I responded by being cruel, and that’s something I’m not proud of. I regret that I made you feel like less of a person, because that isn’t what I want. I don’t want a mindless slave, a Stepford wife, or a broodmare. Any one of those things would bore me to tears and have me pulling my hair out within a week. I want a mate, and I want you to be that mate. I think starting over is a wonderful idea. I just wish I’d suggested it first.”

  Saskia’s eyes widened and her heart sped up. She felt like she’d just woken up and realized it was Christmas morning. “Really?”

  Nicolas nodded. “Really.”

  “Wow,” she breathed. “That was a whole lot easier than I thought it would be.”

  Nicolas gave her a strange look and burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, it made the sofa shake. Saskia held on to the cushions and waited for it to run its course. It took several minutes.

  “What?” she finally demanded, once her mate had settled down into the occasional guffaw.

  “I just love that you thought this was easy.” He chuckled, flopping his head back on the sofa and turning to look at her. A wide grin softened his harsh features, making him look years younger and shockingly handsome.

  “Well, not all of it.” She rolled her eyes and harrumphed. “You know what I mean. I was just talking about this.” She waved a hand between them. “This last bit. I wasn’t sure you’d agree with my suggestion. I thought I’d have to spend a lot more time convincing you.”

  Still grinning, Nicolas reached out a hand and took one of hers. He played with her fingers while he watched her face. “Well, I hate to spoil your plans,” he teased, his gaze turning hot. “If you feel the need to convince me of something, I’d be more than happy to let you.”

  Saskia felt a low hum of arousal begin in her belly. She’d spent all day in her head, trying to come up with a solution to her problems with her mate, which was almost a relief, because it had kept her from frantically monitoring the state of her body. Tiguri, like their fully feline cousins the tigers, were induced ovulators, which meant that they only released fertile eggs after being stimulated by a male during intercourse. Unlike tigers, though, who entered heat on a regular cycle regardless of whether a male was present for mating, Tiguri females, like human females, were always receptive to mating. Consequently, while a tigress would go into heat, seek out a mate, and then ovulate, a Tiguri would mate first, then go into heat, and then ovulate. Which meant that Saskia hadn’t been lying earlier when she’d said that within the next couple of days she was going to become about as horny as a rabid mink.

  Thankfully, she didn’t think she’d entered heat quite yet, but it didn’t seem to matter. Nicolas did a fine job raising her temperature without any help from her hormones.

  He tugged her toward him, and she went willingly, shifting across the sofa cushions with shy enthusiasm. Nicolas guided her into his lap, encouraging her to straddle his thighs until he could nestle his groin against the apex of her legs. Saskia was so much shorter than her mate that even in this position, she didn’t have to look down at him. Instead, it brought their eyes level, and Nicolas stared into hers while his hands drifted teasingly over her back, hips, and bottom.

  “Go ahead, Sassy,” he encouraged, lips curving, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her top to drift in feather-light strokes over the sensitive skin at the small of her back. “Start convincing me.”

  At that moment, Saskia couldn’t have convinced herself to keep breathing. She just shook her head and leaned closer, shivering at the feel of his breath caressing her cheek.

  “Hm, then maybe I should convince you,” he rumbled, and when his mouth settled on hers Saskia melted.

  She was convinced.

  * * *

  Nicolas wasn’t Catholic, but he still wanted to light a candle and say a prayer of thanks that he held his mate once more in his arms. He had feared, really feared, that he had made irrevocable mistakes. All afternoon as he’d wandered the city on foot, he’d mentally kicked his own ass. If he’d been able to reach, he would have kicked it literally, too. He’d thought long and hard about ways to make things right with Saskia, and the only thing he’d come up with was that he needed to apologize. He needed to admit he’d been wrong in the way he’d behaved and say he was sorry.

  For a Tiguri ther, this amounted to cutting off his own testicle with a rusty spoon. Nothing could have been more difficult.

  Still, he had believed Saskia was worth it. He still believed it, now more than ever as he cradled her in his arms and savored the sweet, rich spice of her mouth. He would pay a higher price than his pride to keep this woman as his mate, but he couldn’t deny that a part of him roared in relief that she hadn’t demanded he pay a single sacrifice.

  Her apology had floored him. Of all the things he had expected when he returned to their apartment, of all the scenarios he had braced himself to face, a calm, sweet-faced Saskia offering an apology of her own and a face-saving compromise for their future hadn’t even featured on the list of possibilities. Nicolas had prepared himself for weeping, screaming, claws, fangs, stony silence, flying projectiles, and even the absence of Saskia and all her worldly possessions, but not for this miracle.

  And, Lord, but it felt like a miracle.

  She returned his kiss with sweet, eager passion, welcoming him inside her mouth and exploring his own in turn. Every caress he pressed on her she returned twofold, until the feel of her soft hands threatened to snap his control and end the moment far sooner than he intended. Struggling for control, he drew his lips from hers and pressed them to her temple.

  He meant for the moment to allow him to catch his breath, to regroup, refocus, and regain the patience he would need in order to love this woman the way he wanted to, but the skin at her hairline was so soft, so smooth, so richly scented with the sweet perfume of her hair, that he just had to reach out and taste. That led to him running a trail of kisses down to her ear, where he teased the delicate whorl with the tip of his tongue, then closed his teeth around the plump lobe and tugged. The slight pressure made her breath hitch in her throat, which made him want to explore a little farther.

  She shivered when his teeth scraped down the long, slim column of her neck, his tongue following to lave away the tiniest sting. He discovered that the hollow of her throat tasted like salted caramel and he paused there for several minutes, licking and sucking the fair skin while her breathing became faster and more ragged. When need finally spurred him onward, he tugged aside the neckline of her top with an impatient hand and growled in satisfaction at the sight of the mark he’d left there the day before. Her rapid Tiguri metabolism would have healed any other slight injury she might have sustained during their mating, including the soreness of a torn hymen, but the mating bite was special. It would remain visible for days, and even after it faded, other males would continue to sense its presence and know that this woman belonged to him.

  The thought filled him with savage satisfaction.

  A moan escaped her lips when he placed his teeth over the mark and squeezed gently. He wouldn’t pierce her skin again, but echoing the moment when he’d claimed her excited him desperately. He remembered how he had done it while he’d pressed inside her, and the memory of her tight sex clenching around him would have brought him to his knees if he’d been standing. As it was, it made his head spin and his fingers clench, flexing in the warm flesh of her hips.

  Saskia whimpered at his touch and shifted against him, rubbing her denim-covered core against his groin with hungry little rocking motions. He could feel the heat of her, smell the growing arousal rising off her skin, and suddenly he needed to taste it there as well.

  Swiftly he stripped away her shirt, yanking it up over her head and dropping it to the floor. He dea
lt with his own, as well, then reached around her for the clasp of her bra and froze. Her rapid breathing made her breasts rise and fall, making the pale mounds strain at the edges of their lacy prison. Nic had seen breasts before, plenty of them, and some had been decorated in truly artful scraps of fabric, but somehow he’d never seen anything quite like this. The bra his mate wore looked deceptively innocent, a concoction of pale pink satin overlaid with lace in a slightly darker shade of rose. The concealing cups offered him not so much as a flash of nipple or a shadow of areola; they simply cuddled the full globes like a pair of gentle hands, lifting them high against her chest as if offering them to him to savor and treasure. His mouth actually watered at the sight.

  Shaking his head at his own fanciful thoughts, Nicolas unfastened the garment and tugged it down her arms, peeling the cups away like wrapping paper off a much-anticipated gift. Immediately his hands took over the job of support, cupping each breast and lifting it in turn to his lips. He pressed a kiss on each peak, then settled one broad palm over the first while he opened his mouth over the second and drew the nipple deep into his mouth.

  Saskia hissed in pleasure, the sound turning into a moan that trembled and broke when his tongue pressed the nub against the roof of his mouth and he began to suckle strongly. The hands that had gripped his torso during his explorations rose, her arms twining about his head and cradling her to him. She leaned into his worship, and her knees tightened around his hips.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered, and dropped her cheek to his hair, as if she could no longer support the weight of her head.

  Nicolas hummed in pleasure and turned his attention to the other breast. Within minutes, he had turned each nipple into a deep pink splash of color against her pale, creamy skin. The sight made him smile, but his work was far from done.

  He slid one hand over her shoulder, fingers dancing over his mark, before skimming down between her breasts, detouring to draw a circle around each peak, and sliding over the quivering flesh of her abdomen. A quick twist of the wrist dealt with the fastening of her jeans, allowing him to spread them open and insinuate his hand into the hot delta of her thighs.

  She cried out, the sound sharp and breathless, echoing in the quiet room. Her hands clutched his shoulders and her head fell back even as she lifted herself slightly away from him to offer him better access. He thanked her by stroking deeper, parting her soft folds to find the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her crease. He pressed his thumb against the little nubbin, flicking gently even as he sent two fingers delving into her sweet liquid core.

  Her body clenched around him helplessly, her hips rocking to try to compel him deeper. He teased her with slow, shallow strokes that circled her opening, then barely slipped inside, keeping her constantly craving more. Her breath came in ragged pants now, and she whimpered like a hungry kitten. The sound drew his arousal even tighter until he could no longer bear the constriction of his clothing.

  When he pulled his hand from between her thighs she gave a muted roar of protest, then purred her approval as he swiftly divested them of their remaining clothes. With no barrier between them, she crawled eagerly back into his lap, gasping at the sensation of bare skin against bare skin. He returned his hand to her sex, reveling in the freedom of movement her nudity offered him, and he petted her for long moments, savoring the slick feel of her plump folds. Her hips pressed against him in demand, trying to capture his fingers inside her. When he gave in and filled her with two long digits, she chuffed happily and rode his hand with abandon.

  A creature of sensation, she lived for nothing but pleasure in those moments, and Nicolas watched her with rapt desire. She moved as gracefully as water, burned as hot as fire, and became as necessary to him as air. He ached to be a part of her, needed to be inside her, and when she lowered a hand between them to wrap her fingers around his shaft his control deserted him.

  With implacable movements, he brushed her hand away, gripped her buttock in a punishing hold, and lifted her over him. He took a second to position himself, but when he slammed her hips down over his, his gaze was locked on her beautiful blue eyes. They went blind as his and Saskia’s bodies merged, the beautiful mountain lake color losing focus as all her attention turned inward to the feel of his body invading hers, stretching, filling, claiming. Her breath escaped on a long, thready moan, the sound like broken music in his ears.

  He took a moment to savor the connection, the feel of her clamped warm and tight around his aching arousal. Nothing on earth could ever feel as perfect as this, he acknowledged, surging helplessly inside her. No place could ever feel more like home than the sweet, warm depths of her body. She was his home, his haven. His mate.

  The thought sliced through the ropes holding back his beast, unleashing the full force of his voracious hunger on his unsuspecting mate. In an instant, he went from holding still to better savor the moment of their joining to imprisoning her in a punishing grip while he pounded her depths with primitive fury. A part of him was appalled by his own actions and railed at him to be slow, be gentle, treat her like the treasure she was, but that softer voice was drowned out by the roar of his hunger. If she represented a treasure, then he would mark every inch of her to be sure no one else would ever mistake that she belonged to him.

  To slow down was impossible, to be gentle a battle he could never win. All he could do was push and push and push her along with him, to pour on sensation until it overwhelmed her and swept her along in the frantic rush to fulfillment.

  Saskia arched her back as she rode him or, rather, as he moved her over him with insistent clenching hands. Her head fell back between her shoulders, her throat a quivering arch as she choked on a never-ending litany of cries and incoherent pleas. She braced her hands on his chest, using him to anchor herself in the storm of passion. The sane corner of her mind knew he must be hurting her and roared in self-directed fury, but the expression on her face appeared nearly beatific, as if she gloried in every hard, ruthless thrust, every place where his fingers bit into her flesh hard enough to mark the pale surface of her skin with deep purple bruises. She uttered not a word of complaint, just flexed and gripped and shuddered and moaned while he pushed her harder and higher toward release.

  Nic could feel it coming. It built low in his spine and snaked around to his groin in an involuntary clenching of muscle and tingling of nerves. It drew his balls up tight to his body, hardened the erection he already felt had been carved of stone, and tore the breath from his lungs in raw, painful exhalations. Determined to make her come, to give her at least that much in apology for her brutal treatment at his hands, he shifted her hips, changing the angle of their connection so that the base of his shaft dragged hard across her clit with every forceful thrust.

  Her moans turned into helpless, high-pitched whines, and he gritted his teeth against the need to explode before her. He would take her over the edge if it was the last thing he ever did. Since he thought this experience might just kill him, that represented more than an empty promise.

  “Nicolas!”

  Her voice broke on his name and he knew he had her. Pinning her hips in place, he held her with desperate intent and gave three short, hard thrusts, each one a slow, pointed assault on the knotted bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. On the third thrust, she shattered like spun glass.

  He came giving thanks, emptying himself into his mate in endless, aching streams of pleasure, knowing he’d just done something irrevocable and hoping like hell that whatever it was, it made this woman his forever.

  Seven

  Their truce lasted not only through the remaining hours of the weekend but well into the next week. With their promises to each other kept constantly in mind, they began to establish a routine of time spent together and apart, of conversations that began stiltedly but quickly warmed into the easy, comfortable exchanges of a committed couple. Nicolas never went to his offices at the headquarters of Preda Industries, but he did spend time working in his office while Saskia stak
ed a claim to a nook off the kitchen that Nic referred to as the sunroom. The light made the space perfect for her work, and her customized work surface—a sort of cross between an easel and a drafting table—took up residence among the lush plants beneath the enormous skylight. Her current project kept her just busy enough to occupy herself in the few moments when Nic failed to express the desire to occupy her in an entirely different manner. It didn’t hurt, of course, that by Tuesday Saskia’s heat had struck with a vengeance and she could barely go three hours without waving her proverbial tail under his nose and begging him to touch her. Devoted mate that he was becoming, he never uttered a word of complaint.

  She would have said that Tuesday and Wednesday were spent mostly in bed, but the truth was that that particular piece of furniture entered into the picture only on occasion. Most of the time, she couldn’t wait for him to drag her to that room and instead teased, and taunted, and enticed until he took her right where they stood. Or sat, or knelt, or lay. They christened every room in the apartment, some more than once. He took her several times bent over the kitchen counters and on one memorable occasional standing pressed up against the front of the refrigerator. She remembered it because it had taken her ten minutes to polish her ass prints off of the stainless-steel doors.

  By Thursday morning, she knew if she wasn’t already pregnant, she would be soon. Maybe as soon as Nicolas walked back in the door from his errand. He’d left the apartment almost an hour ago to deliver some important paper to his office. While he’d worked mostly from home the last few days—and even then, only when she left him alone long enough to catch his breath for a few minutes—the move to New York meant that the company couldn’t let him go completely. While he delegated as much as he could, some things only the boss could handle.