“Talk to me.” Nael rounded the island and came to stand before her, tall and commanding, his eyes earnest. “I can help you if you talk to me, if you trust me.”
“You keep saying that word like it’s even a possibility,” Miranda uttered, pushing back her tears. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. “In my seven years imprisoned in that cage, drugged, drained…there’s one thing I came to know as truth.”
“What’s that?”
“Men are never to be trusted.”
He took her by the shoulders and eased her toward him, forcing her head up. “I’m not a man, Miranda. I’m Pantera.”
IT rolled through her then. Not his open words, not his gentle voice, not even that dark, sincere and very sexy stare.
But IT.
She called it that because she didn’t know what IT was. This thing hovering beneath the surface of her skin. Or she did, but she refused to acknowledge its existence. Never had she felt anything close to what she was feeling. Her own body acting the traitor. Her mind whirring with dizziness. The IT wanted to not only believe this man…this Pantera, it wanted to crawl up beside him and rub itself against him. IT wanted to know—even for one moment—what it felt like to be truly cared for.
IT wanted to trust him.
“I need to go,” she announced, her voice panicked, yet exhausted. “I can’t…stay here.”
She brushed past him and headed for the door. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her hands were shaking, she was so dizzy, and those stupid, pointless tears were coming with or without her consent. It was such bullshit. She never cried. Hadn’t since she’d watched May die in front of her in that godforsaken lab.
She reached the door and grabbed the handle.
Wrenched it open.
Got three steps into the hall.
Then stopped.
As she stared at the elevator a few feet away, her breathing started to slow, her mind calmed and the dizziness evaporated.
Oh my god…
What was happening?
She felt him behind her.
“Why aren’t you stopping me?” she whispered.
“I don’t want you to go, Miranda,” he rasped. “But I won’t keep you prisoner.”
Once again, tears coated the back of her throat. She swallowed them and turned around. Nael loomed over her. This being unlike anything she’d ever known. Raw and real. Half man, half beast.
Her eyes lifted to his and what she saw there made her melt.
“Your sister?” he asked.
He cared. He genuinely cared.
She blinked, and the first tears she’d shed since May died fell to her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, looking as though he wanted to reach for her but didn’t dare. “What can I do?”
She would have to dare for them.
“Hold me. Touch me.” Her eyes implored him. “Please, Nael.”
His eyes glowed with the heat of his cat as he took her gently into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. “You won’t ever be caged again, Miranda,” he whispered against her lips. “Not while I walk the earth.”
Chapter Seven
She was his from the moment he touched her.
She was his cat’s from the second it tasted her.
There was no rhyme or reason to it. Just instinct. Nature. A male knowing his claim on the female his cat had been waiting for its entire life.
Somehow the front door got closed and locked. Somehow he’d found his way down the hall and into the bedroom with her in his arms. Somehow he wasn’t going completely insane from the desperate need he had for her.
She tasted like the bayou sunshine. A place he rarely missed. He’d always wanted to run from it, escape, never stay one moment longer than he had to. But as he kissed Miranda, deep and slow, all he wanted was to take her there and make love to her under the warm sunshine, beside the bayou near his family’s cottage.
Goddess, he was lost.
Her hands raked through his hair as he kissed her, deep, drugging kisses, then soft suckles to her bottom lip, followed by bites.
She groaned whenever he did that.
Those teasing, hungry bites.
And her pussy would cream.
He could scent it.
It was like dropping down into a field of the sweetest-smelling flowers.
Nostrils flaring, teeth bared, Nael eased back from her—hardest motherfucking thing he’d ever had to do—and took stock of his surroundings. They’d landed in his bedroom, near the bottom left corner of the bed, the last shreds of late-afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, bathing her in its light.
He had to see her.
All of her.
Now.
Before he tasted her cream.
As he slowly removed the clothing above her waist, dropping each piece to the floor, her breathing grew more labored and her cheeks went pink and lovely. She was biting her lip, and her eyes were moving from his down to his mouth, then back again.
“Miranda…fuck…”
She shook her head and smiled. “Don’t stop. Okay?”
“Never.” The word came out in a rush of feeling and hunger as his gaze moved over every inch of her face, then down her long neck to the scar at her collarbone, then lower still to her perfect breasts. Her skin glistened, warm caramel in the waning sunlight. And under his intense stare, her rose-colored nipples tightened into hard buds.
A growl escaped his throat and for one second he turned away. Just to keep himself from attacking. But she called him back.
“Nael,” she breathed. “You said you’d help me…”
Goddess… His gaze returned to hers. “I would do anything for you.”
She smiled. “Then show me.”
His cat snarled at him, scraping at his skin with sharp, impatient claws. And show me, it ordered. I want to see what is mine.
Ours, Nael reminded it with a flash of proprietary heat.
Slowly, he unbuttoned, unzipped and took her pants to her ankles, then slid them off and tossed them away.
And there she was…standing before him in nothing but a whisper of white lace covering her hips and sex.
And he lost his mind. In the best way possible.
With a soft growl, he dropped to his knees. To worship. To feed.
And to give her pleasure.
Miranda hitched in a breath as she watched him. As she waited.
Won’t be long now…
As tall as he was, his head landed just below her breasts.
Perfect.
Access to all.
He reached up and cupped both heavy mounds, and as he kneaded them, he leaned in and kissed her flat stomach. Her skin was warm and hummed against his mouth.
Never in his life had he been so desperate to taste, so hungry for nourishment.
Rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, he glanced up. Her face was flushed, her lips parted, and her hair hung loose as she watched him.
A moment passed between them. A question from him and a confirmation from her. It was all he needed to take what he wanted—and what his cat was screaming for.
He kissed his way down, over her hipbones and to the thin lace of her white thong. The scent of her threatened to release the beast inside of him. The cat had never been so demanding. It wanted its own tongue on her, thick and rough.
Back off, feline. She’s mine first.
She’s mine always, it returned with a snarl.
Nael grinned at the two of them. Couldn’t help himself. Never had they been so in sync in their desire. This was a true partnership in giving the woman they were both falling for everything she deserved, everything she needed.
Everything she was crying out for.
He leaned in and nuzzled her pussy through the fabric. Warm, wet heat welcomed him. Drugged him.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled.
“Because of you,” she whispered.
Her words were gasoline to his already ragin
g forest fire, and he sucked the fabric—and her—into his mouth.
Miranda gasped and fisted his hair.
Tight.
Nails grazing his skull.
Nael, again, lost his mind. He knew no grace, no gentleness in that moment. All he knew was that lace was in his way. With one swipe of his teeth, he ripped the material apart, releasing her pussy to his waiting mouth.
He had to get to her.
Had to get his mouth on her.
His tongue moved slowly through her, and as soon as he tasted her cream, he snarled like the animal he was. The animal he had never truly been. Until that moment. With one last squeeze to her nipples, he raked his hands down her belly until his thumbs came to rest on the shaved lips of her pussy.
“Look at you, Sweetlove,” he uttered, nostrils flaring. “All pink and swollen for me.” He ran the flat of his tongue over her. Then again.
She cried out and canted her hips as her legs started to shake.
“Goddess, your pussy just creamed right before my motherfucking greedy eyes.”
He grinned with deep satisfaction, then spread her lips wide and dove in. She was hot and pulsing, and he was a ravenous cat, licking her all over, thrusting his tongue deep inside of her, then pulling it out again, lapping at her clit until it swelled.
“Spread your legs wider for me, Miranda,” he commanded. “I need to see every inch of you. I want to watch the cream drip from your pussy.”
She whimpered.
He knew she could barely stand, but he would hold her up.
Always.
With one arm wrapping her hip to stabilize her, he eased two fingers inside of her just as his mouth covered her clit once again. This time, he flicked that hot bud with his tongue, back and forth, back and forth, gently, feather-light, as his fingers thrust deep and hard.
Her breathing was labored above him and her hands remained fisted in his hair.
She was close.
Goddess, he couldn’t wait for that earthquake, that rush of heat and cream…
He slipped a third finger inside and thrust as deeply as he could go, then held there and flicked her G-spot.
“Oh, fuck!” she cried out. “Fuck, yes!”
He growled. Mine. Ours.
Her hips were thrusting now, frantic, her hot, wet pussy slapping deliciously against his mouth as she came. And he drank her in, suckled her through wave after wave. Until she started to slow…
“Nael… Oh my god…Nael…”
He kissed her clit once more, gently, before glancing up. “Tell me, Sweetlove. Anything. Anything you want and it’s yours.”
“You,” she uttered, her gaze clinging to his. “Just you.”
The second he eased his fingers from her sex and stood, she was on him. Tearing off his clothes with that new super strength, maneuvering herself around him, then pushing him down on the bed.
She crawled into place on top of him.
He grinned up at her, his heart slamming against ribs with a need that stunned him. “You are Pantera.”
Her eyes flashed fire at him, and his cock turned from rock to steel.
“Don’t worry, I’m on the pill,” she began with a grin of her own. “And with my Pantera blood, there’s no risk…”
He nodded, lifting her up. No risks…except to his heart. The muscle he’d once believed cold and dead.
Anticipation raced through his blood as he eased her slowly down on his shaft. With each inch, he knew heaven. He knew what it meant to bond.
To mate.
With each inch, he knew what it meant to feel both intense satisfaction, and a strange wave of melancholy that his entire life couldn’t be spent buried inside of this female.
Her hands splayed on his chest and she rode him, rocking her hips frantically as he reached up to capture her breasts in his hands. Fuck, she was so beautiful, a delectable creature. She had no idea what power she possessed.
Over him.
And the cat—which was going wild inside of him. Pacing the flesh-and-bone cage it was confined to. Nael had never felt the beast so restless, so hungry.
Her skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat. His tongue ached to lap at it, revel in the salty sweet. She leaned down and kissed him, and instantly his hands left her breasts and wrapped around her. Gripping her tight, he thrust up into her.
She moaned and melted into him, her pussy pulsing against his cock.
Nael didn’t think, just acted. In one easy movement, and without missing a thrust, he flipped Miranda to her back, then locked eyes with her.
She appeared slightly stunned. Then after a moment, starting laughing.
That is, until he slipped his hand down between them and starting playing with her clit with his thumb.
“Oh god, Nael, yes,” she gasped, blinking.
Then the moans began again.
And the writhing.
Fuck him, he loved the writhing.
Her hands went around his waist and found his ass. As she thrust upward, her nails sank into his flesh.
“Dangerous woman,” he uttered, massaging her clit in easy circles.
“Dangerous female,” she corrected, her eyes locked on his.
And…holy shit…
His heart seized as he stared at her.
There it was…
“What?” she asked, her flushed features gripped suddenly by worry.
Nael’s face split into a grin. “You have a cat, Sweetlove.”
“What?”
“I saw her. For one moment in your eyes.”
“No,” she breathed, shaking her head. “It’s not possible.”
“She’s beautiful and fierce. Just like her female.”
Wonder crossed Miranda’s expression, and she smiled back at him. And in that moment, Nael understood the members of the Six who had gone rogue.
Whatever he was feeling right now, buried within his love, seeing her happy, if his brothers and sisters even felt a hint of that—well, then there was no question why they’d granted a quick and easy fuck off to the rules of the League.
He leaned down and kissed her. Slow, sweet and romantic…
Until she wrapped her legs around his waist and BIT HIM.
Then the cat took over with a snarl of uncontrolled hunger. He slid his hands under her tight ass and lifted her snug and tight against him. Burying his face in her neck, gently latching on to the tight cord of muscle there with his teeth, he took his sweet and sexy mate for a ride.
Pounding into her, over and over until she cried out, then thrusting deep, holding there, circling his hips. She was mewling like a little kitten and creaming all over his cock, and fuck—the sounds they made, the sounds of their sweaty bodies as they met each other, wet slaps to electrical currents.
Goddess, it was magic.
They fit each other perfectly. He was far from a made-for-each-other kind of male. He didn’t have that kind of thinking. He was mutual pleasure and gone. But this…him and Miranda…this was different. There could be no gone.
Only hours and days and months and years of mutual pleasure.
“This,” she cried out, her hands on his back, his ass, in his hair—who the hell knew! “I want this. You. Don’t stop…”
Stop? Didn’t she understand? Couldn’t she read his mind? There would be no stopping. Not if she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
He buried himself deep, then drew back and did it again. And again. And again. He saw her in the bayou, under the stand of Cypress by his cottage, shifting in and out of her cat as he approached, ready to attack, to take, to fuck, and to…
Love.
Before Nael could analyze and criticize his shocking thoughts, Miranda cried out and exploded beneath him, in a tornado of shakes and thrusts and scratches to his back.
And he followed after her—as he knew he always would.
Chapter Eight
Miranda had never been a sentimental sort of person. She rolled her eyes when women talked about the world coming
to a halt because of a kiss. Or a man ‘taking them to paradise’.
Now she understood.
She’d been to paradise.
Hell, she was still there, and all she wanted to do was continue to snuggle in Nael’s arms and savor the tiny quakes of pleasure that continued to tremble through her body. For the first time in a very, very long time, she was at peace.
But of course it couldn’t last.
Good things never did.
Just as she was about to drift off, a loud chime disturbed the silence. Startled by the sound, Miranda sat up, clutching the sheet to her naked body.
“What was that?”
Leaping out of bed, Nael hastily pulled on his clothes before heading across the room. “The password was broken on the flash drive.”
Miranda’s annoyance was replaced with a sharp sense of urgency. She scrambled out of bed with less grace than Nael and tugged on her clothes.
“Can you download the information?” she called after him, then hurried into the living room.
He was already at the desk, leaning forward to press a key on the computer. “Yep.”
The computer screen flickered, then an image was suddenly visible.
Miranda felt a flare of surprise. “Holy shit…it’s a map.”
Nael offered a distracted nod, reaching for the mouse to magnify the diagram. “A map of D.C.”
Miranda tried not to be disappointed. Okay, she’d hoped for…well, she wasn’t certain what she’d hoped for—maybe a treasure map, with Benson being the treasure to find and kill—but this wasn’t it. Still, it had to be important or it wouldn’t have been locked in a drawer, and then protected by a password.
She leaned forward, studying the map until she caught sight of the tiny red dot at the bottom of the image.
“Look.” She pointed toward the dot. “It’s marked.”
Nael used the mouse to once again magnify the image. His brow furrowed, before his breath hissed between clenched teeth.
“Damn. China House,” he muttered.
Miranda studied him in confusion. “China House? What does that mean?”
“It was a name that was listed on a message we intercepted from Christopher Benson,” he explained. “I think it might refer to the Chinese Embassy.”
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