She tried to ignore the large, warm hand covering her breast, but she was far from immune to him, no matter how badly she wanted to be. An attraction existed between them more explosive than anything she’d known for as far back as she could remember.
He stroked her back with one hand, his fingers warm and surprisingly gentle as if he enjoyed the feel of her skin. With his other hand, he kneaded her breast, his touch firm and hot.
She glanced over her shoulder at him and found him watching her with a rapt intensity that sent fire racing through her blood. His hand moved down her spine and back up again, then back down and lower, sliding over her panties and down her thigh, avoiding her moist center. Over and over, he touched her with gentle strokes as if he were a blind man memorizing every inch of her body. His fingers curled around her shoulders, stroked the back of her neck, then slowly slid back down her spine while his other hand played with her breast, gripping, rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb, tugging gently.
Though he touched her, he never once pressed his palm against her, shooting that unnatural pleasure into her. No, the pleasure he gave her was all too real.
High on her shoulder blade, she felt the brush of whiskers and the soft press of his mouth. A shiver went through her as she realized he was tracing the Daemon’s claw marks. He was kissing her healed wounds, creating a sweet ache inside her that was not of the flesh but the spirit.
Inexplicably, tears sprang to her eyes. She found herself beginning to relax beneath his caresses, her body moving sensuously with each stroke of his hand.
Dammit, she didn’t want to be moved by his gentleness. She didn’t want to enjoy his domination.
“Jag…”
“Getting impatient, Sugar?” His finger slid between her legs, a single soft stroke that touched her sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan she couldn’t bite back. His fingers slid beneath the back elastic of her panties and down, cupping one cheek.
She tensed for the onslaught of pleasure she was sure he’d attack her with, but he did nothing but rub her bare flesh. Even so, the pleasure came, hot and real. He released her breast and with both hands, pushed her panties down her hips to her thighs. Both hands caressed her buttocks, kneading her, parting her. With a single finger, he traced the line between, from the base of her spine down over her anus, sliding to where she was hot and wet and open, then back up, trailing the moisture.
“Do you want me to take you, Red?”
“No. Never.” Her words were breathless, her body at once delighting in the feel of his hands, and tense.
His finger stroked the swollen, weeping opening of her vagina. “Wrong answer, Sugar.”
“Go to hell.”
But he continued to play with her, sliding his finger around the edges until her body ached with a white-hot need, and she had to clamp her jaw shut to keep from moaning.
“Your body tells a different story,” he said huskily. And then he was behind her, and she prepared for him to mount her with a combination of dread and rich, hot anticipation.
She felt his thick, hard cock between her legs, but instead of pushing inside her, he ran it along the same path his finger had taken moments before, touching her but not penetrating. Then he shoved the length of it between her legs and rubbed it against her hot, swollen, aching flesh.
She struggled to keep from pressing against him to increase the delicious pressure.
“You want me.” Jag’s voice sounded as tight and strained as her body felt.
“No.”
“Liar. Beg me to fuck you, Red, and take us both out of our misery.”
“No. I’ll never beg you. Never want you.”
“A challenge, eh?” His voice turned hard and rough. But his touch remained gentle as his hands framed her bare hips. His palms pressed against her, and, suddenly, heat rushed into her hips, into her rear and thighs and deep within the hot center of her, making her swell with a need that turned almost painful.
“Jag,” she gasped. His cock remained pressed between her legs, but not inside her, and she tried to rock against it, but the thick length moved with her. “Oh, God.”
“Beg, Red.”
“No.” But the word had become nothing but habit, now, and pride. Her body begged. She needed him inside her. Deep, deep inside.
The pleasure kept rushing into her, turning her nearly mindless from the need for release from the building, swirling tempest. Her hips rocked violently, out of control, needing. Wanting.
“Jag.”
“Say the words, Red.”
“No.” But the knowledge she would eventually lose this battle was all that kept her sane. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold out, and the thought of her defeat brought nothing but a fierce, carnal joy.
His hands left her hips to cup her breasts, at first simply playing with them, tugging at her nipples, but then he pressed warmth into her there, too. The pleasure made her cry out, the fire of need flaming higher.
Again, he shifted his hands. As she gasped from the onslaught, he slid one hand between her thighs and pressed hard against her swollen center. Her breath caught and held, her body tensing for the rush of cataclysmic pleasure she knew would come.
But nothing happened. He simply cupped her, his hand unmoving.
“What do you want, Red?” he asked softly, his voice as full and aching as her body felt.
“You…to go to hell.” She could hardly breathe through the exquisite anticipation.
He chuckled low. “You want me to stand up and walk away?”
“Yes.” Oh, God, no. “Could you? Could you get up and walk away right now?”
“Get up, maybe. Walk? Not on your life. I’m not a liar, Red. I’m in pain. Your sweet little ass, your soft-as-silk skin. I can smell your need as rich as the sweetest cream. I want you, Olivia. And I know you want me, too. But I’m not taking you until you beg me.”
“I’m not going to beg you.”
“Yeah. You will.” With that, he drove the pleasure straight up into her core. She screamed, and he pulled away, the orgasm shooting up, then crumbling, leaving her rocking with desperate need.
“Jag.”
“Want me to do that again?”
“No!” She wouldn’t survive any more of this.
“What do you want me to do, then?”
“Fuck me, dammit. Fuck me!”
“I thought so.” He grabbed her hips and drove himself deep inside her, and she came, the release exploding with contraction after glorious contraction. Over and over, he thrust inside her, then out, then in again while he held her hips. Through his palms, he pressed that warm, lush pleasure into her, the unnatural heat melding with the natural pleasure his body gave her until she was gasping, coming and coming and coming while he released. Then again. And again.
Never had she known anything like it, and when he finally pulled out of her, she collapsed onto her side on the ground, utterly spent.
She pressed her arm to her forehead and looked up at Jag kneeling beside her, framed by the moonlit canopy of trees. His expression lay hidden in shadow, but she heard his own erratic breathing and sensed a disquiet in him that rivaled her own. What in the hell had just happened? He’d demanded her capitulation, yet seduced her with hot, gentle touches as he stubbornly waited for her acquiescence. Then he’d given her more pleasure than any man ever had.
The minutes stretched silently between them as their breathing slowly recovered.
Jag broke the fragile connection, rising and turning away with a scowl. “Get up and get dressed, Olivia.” His voice was clipped, humorless, the gentleness gone as if it had never been. “We have a Daemon to catch.” The voice of a warrior.
She stared at him, uncertain whether he’d given her a gift, in an unspoken promise to keep her secret. Or just latched a choke chain around her throat. She struggled to her feet, her body still throbbing, still slow from the effects of the Daemon venom.
Emotions battered her as she pulled on her ripped clothing. T
he ever-present fear that Jag only played with her, that the moment he had the chance, he’d out her. And the strange elation that came from a powerful sexual experience with a man determined to bring her pleasure. Incredible pleasure. A man she couldn’t trust on any level and didn’t even like most of the time, though, heaven help her, she liked his hands. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t.
Dressed, she sat on the ground and pulled on her socks and boots, then rose and faced him.
He watched her from the shadows with an intensity she could feel but couldn’t read. An intensity that, even now, had her pulse elevating and quickening. Not with fear, though certainly she should be feeling that, too. But with desire.
All her life, she’d fought for control, yet that was the very thing he’d stolen from her. She wondered now if she’d ever get it back or if her life were doomed to be forever cast into chaos.
Fate had closed in on her at long last.
Chapter Nine
On four legs, Kougar ran up the steep hillside, deep in the woods, until certain he was completely alone. He could have no audience for what he meant to do.
In the thickest part of the forest, he shifted back into a man and prepared himself for an encounter he’d long been dreading. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and looked inward, deep inside to the very core of the ice that had long ago stolen his ability to feel anything intensely. In that cold, cold center, he searched for, and found, the brittle filaments of a connection long severed. Focusing on those bright, icy tendrils, he sent out the call, a silent demand for an audience.
Queen Ariana! While no true telepathy took place in his man form, this call wasn’t a communication as much as a demand. Heed me!
But he felt no change in the breeze, saw no shimmer and sparkle of refracted crystals in the air.
Ariana! Over and over, he made the demand, pounding at that invisible door until his mind felt beaten with exhaustion. But just as it became clear his attempt to contact the Ilinas would be in vain, a strong, telltale scent of pine teased his nose, telling him his call had been answered.
But when he turned, he found not the queen standing before him but two of her minions. His mind flickered annoyance, but his emotions remained unengaged, as always. The pair of petite warriors stood side by side, two of the queen’s elite private guard, each dressed in the usual uniform—a brown tunic and flesh-colored breeches, soft leather boots, and a knife strapped at her waist.
“Melisande. Brielle. I sought Ariana, but you’ll do.”
“What do you want, Kougar?” Melisande asked, her thick blond braid draped across one slender shoulder. Though her features had a delicate cast, her bright blue eyes were hard as flint.
Kougar lifted a cold eyebrow. “You forbid me entrance to the Crystal Realm?”
“You are not welcome. Queen Ariana grants you no audience. You’re lucky she lets you live at all, Feral, knowing what you know.”
A fact of which he was all too aware. He’d often pondered why she hadn’t made an attempt on his life.
His gaze focused on Melisande. “Are you aware the Mage have freed three wraith Daemons from the blade?”
The woman’s only reaction was a tiny jerk backward, but the move told him enough. She hadn’t known.
“The traps won’t work without Ilina blood and magic. I’ve tried. I need your help. Join with me to catch them.”
Melisande’s face hardened. “The Daemons are not our concern. We’re no longer of your world.”
“That’s a lie, and we both know it.” Kougar took a step forward, but the pair held their ground. “If Satanan’s freed, it’s only a matter of time before he discovers your secret. You’re fooling yourselves to believe otherwise.”
“Involving ourselves in your battle could compromise our safety. I’ll not allow it, Feral.” Melisande’s eyes flashed with threat. “The safety of my race is a responsibility I take very, very seriously.”
“Thousands, perhaps millions will die if Satanan rises again.”
“That’s not my concern.”
“Your queen would have cared once.”
“Many things that once were are no more.”
Kougar’s hand flexed with the need to grab her, to steal her blood and force her compliance, but the act would be useless. The moment he reached for her, she would simply turn to mist.
As if reading his mind, or his wish, the pair lost form, turning transparent, floating before him like spirits. “Go, Kougar. And don’t come back. The next time, your summons will not be answered.” As one they disappeared.
Kougar went feral, clawing the air where the women had stood moments before in a move that reeked of emotion.
Seeking the help of the Ilinas had been a waste of time. The Daemons were going to remain on the rampage, the traps useless.
They were going to have to find another way.
From beneath the trees, Jag watched Olivia finish dressing, the moonlight glinting in her hair. When she was done, he pulled on the power of his animal and shifted into his jaguar, the exquisite pleasure of the magic that raced through him a pale shadow of the rich enjoyment he’d experienced inside Olivia’s hot little body.
The pleasure that had continued to pulse through his man’s body dissipated with the shift but continued to resonate through his mind. Touching her, entering her, feeling her release break over him again and again had been an extraordinary experience, as different from his usual sexual encounters as fine whiskey to flat beer. Being inside her had felt…right. That was the only word he could think of. As if all this time he’d been looking for the lock that fit his key, and he’d finally found her.
Never had he been this hot for a woman. Never had his release been so complete. He loved the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips and against his lips, almost as much as he loved the way she fought him. She’d refused to give them what they’d both wanted right up until she couldn’t fight it a second more. Then he’d buried himself inside her and released again and again and again. Never had it been like that for him, his body so fucking wound up he couldn’t stop coming.
And all he could think of was doing it all again. Which was precisely the reason he’d pulled out and ordered her to get a move on.
As he watched her dress, her soft hair swinging against her cheek, drawing his gaze to her mouth, he felt a weakness inside his man’s mind, a wish to take her into his arms. To kiss her.
But, although he loved sex, there was something about kissing he’d never embraced. Something too…intimate…about it. Mouth to mouth, eye to eye. Kissing took a level of closeness, of tenderness, he gave no woman.
So it disturbed him that he wanted to give it to Olivia.
He pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away as he watched her pull on the leather jacket with the Daemon-claw-size holes in the back and arm.
Just what had that thing done to her? Daemon venom. Who knew that Daemons had venom in their claws? It had been so long since any had terrorized the Earth, they had nothing to go on but legend and superstition, which left them in total guessing territory when it came to what Daemons could really do.
As soon as he got back to the Hummer and his phone, he’d have to find some cell service and let the others know what they’d learned.
Ready? he asked her. When she nodded, he took off through the woods at a human-friendly pace. She quickly caught up to him, then walked at a quick clip at his side.
He swung his cat’s gaze toward her. Have you recovered from that Daemon attack?
“Mostly.”
Describe it to me. What did he do to you?
“I think he partially paralyzed me. I could move my arm, but it felt heavy. Numb. I still feel slow, like I weigh three times what I did, but I can move.”
No other side effects?
“Not that I’m aware of. I’m feeling better and better, so I think it’s working its way out of my system. I can still fight, Jag. If we see him again, I can absolutely fight.”
Strong. The word we
nt through his head over and over when he thought of her. And he hadn’t once stopped thinking about her, not since he first saw her.
Shit, she’d killed her own father yet didn’t seem to be bothered about it at all. Granted, it had happened half a millennium ago, but still. You didn’t get over crap like that. It became part of who you were, digging claws into you day and night for the rest of your fucking life.
Maybe the guy had been a bastard. Maybe he’d tried to hurt her. Or execute her as was once the fate of all draden-kissed.
It was none of his business, but the questions preyed on his mind until he finally asked.
Did you mean to kill your father?
“Of course not. I loved him more than anything. He was all I had.”
How do you live with guilt like that? Did you finally just get over it?
She remained silent for so long, he began to think she wouldn’t answer.
“You never get over it. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him, that I don’t regret the lapse in control that killed him. But I eventually learned to forgive myself, to look forward instead of back.”
He thought of her words on the drive out here, how she’d accused him of hating himself as she once had hated herself. He got it, now, what she must have gone through.
But it still had nothing to do with him.
They’d gone only a short distance when that god-awful scent of Daemon slammed into his nostrils again, yanking him back to the present. Got his scent.
“I feel something, too. A tingling of energy. It’s just a shadow of what I felt when the Daemon showed up, but maybe he left a trail for me to follow.”
Good. Let’s get this sucker, Red.
The twin trails followed one another exactly, telling him they were on the right track, even as the paths waxed and waned. The night was quiet, the moon playing hide-and-seek with the clouds above, but his vision remained perfect either way. There were no humans around that he had to be careful of, and if the draden attacked again, it wouldn’t matter.
Feral warrior 4- Rapture Untamed Page 10