“Once you’re gone, I’ll get over it.” The confidence in her eyes was overshadowed by her arousal.
Matthias continued to touch her, his hands moving over her arms, sliding the robe past her shoulders, touching her bare skin, his fingertips lingering to relish the feel of warm silk.
“It won’t go away, it will be there. It will become worse some nights, easier others, because we’ve never kissed. Because my lips haven’t touched your flesh. But you’ll never be free of it.”
He watched the suspicion grow in her eyes.
“You’re trying to frighten me,” she chided, her lips trembling now.
“No, I’m trying to be honest,” he said. “You laughed about the tabloid stories, the Breed community sneers at them, but there’s truth to some of them, Grace. There’s a bond, a hormonal, biological bond once a Breed comes in contact with his mate. It doesn’t go away. It doesn’t lessen…”
“No.” She shook her head desperately. “That’s not possible.”
“There are small glands at the side of my tongue. They fill with a very powerful hormone once the mating begins. It takes no more than a lick on your flesh to make you burn. A kiss will turn you inside out with the need to be fucked. Eventually, the fires burn so hot and so desperate, that nothing matters but easing the hunger twisting inside you. How long it lasts depends on each couple. But it never completely goes away. In each case, though, there is love. There is emotion to make the bonds created endurable. It only occurs between a couple that would have loved, despite the heat.”
He watched her pale. Her small hands flattened on his sweat-dampened chest. He was already burning for her. The glands in his tongue had become fully engorged the night before, and already the hormone was spilling into his system.
“Let me go, Matthias.”
“Listen to me, Grace. You were loving me, I know you were, before last night.”
“Last night changes everything,” she cried out, her expression fraught with fear. “Let me go.”
He released her, feeling the damning sorrow that weighed at his soul, as she put the length of the room between them.
She stared at the palms of her hands before wiping them on her gown, staring back at him in disbelief. Her gaze flickered from his face to his thighs, then back again.
“How long have you known about this reaction? That it could happen between us?” she asked.
“Since the beginning,” he answered her honestly. “The night of the mugging, when I touched you, when I wiped the tears from beneath your eyes, I could feel something inside me shifting, changing. Within a week, I could feel the itch in my tongue, the arousal that wouldn’t abate. I knew then.”
He had known even before then that she would hold his heart. Months he had spent watching her, investigating her, learning things about her that softened him toward her. She was a good woman. Loyal. Honest. She worked hard, she had friends, and she often went out of her way to do good things for them. Taking them soup when they were ill, visiting them in the hospital. Late nights on the phone, when one of them lost a lover.
“God, you infected me with something.” She was staring back at him in horror.
Hell, he should have just kissed her and let nature take care of it.
“Not fully.” He finally shrugged. “But I will, before this week is out.” His muscles tightened in determination. “You are my mate, Grace. I won’t let you just walk away from me. No other woman will ever be as important to my soul. No other woman will ever bring me the pleasure you do, with just your smile. And you know you will never forget how I make you feel. You know it.”
She was shaking her head desperately. “You can’t do this to me! I won’t let you.”
“I can’t control it,” he said. “Tell your body it can’t happen. Tell your heart you don’t care. By God, Grace, fix it and then tell me how you’ve done it, and I’ll let you go. Until then, I can’t walk away, because it would rip my soul from my body to do so.”
“You don’t love me,” she cried.
“I cherish you,” he growled. “But even more than that, for once in my misbegotten life, I have a chance at real freedom, and you’re it. The chance to be more than the animal I was created to be. With my mate, I can be a husband, a father…”
Grace flinched at the sound of his voice when he said the words husband and father. He softened, a sense of wonder flashing in his eyes. He stared at her as though she meant something, as though she were important, as though she held his soul.
That look overrode her horror at what he was telling her. It diluted her anger. And nothing should have been able to dilute her anger.
“You knew all along. That’s why you made me fall in love with you,” she accused him, trying to hang on to the fury. “You deliberately made me care for you.”
He pulled his shirt back on, though he didn’t button it.
“Only because I cared as well,” he stated, his voice rough. “All my life I’ve had to hold back. I’ve had to force myself to care for no one, because I knew they would suffer for my emotions. Once I escaped the labs, that restraint was so much a part of me that even forming friendships has been difficult. Until you.” He shook his head, his dark gold eyes locked on her. “You gave me a chance to know what I’ve been missing all my life, Grace. You still the fury inside me, and you made me hope there was more to my life than the constant battle for freedom. You made me love you. Why shouldn’t I respond in kind?”
She had hoped he would love her. She had teased him, she had tempted him, she had done everything to draw him into a touch, a kiss. She had laughed with him, and knowing he was a Breed, tried to show him a softer, gentler side of life. She had set out to bind him to her, believing this scarred, shadowed wolf she was coming to love needed her.
And maybe he did, in more ways than she knew. But he was a killer, wasn’t he? He had taken Albrecht’s life without remorse, hadn’t he? Or had he?
The blood-red teardrops on his shoulder told another story. Teardrops, a sign of pain and regret. They told a story she knew he would never admit to. Teardrops denoted sorrow, blood-red teardrops, grief. She wondered if he even realized the grief that lurked in his gaze, and in his soul?
God, he was killing her. He stared at her with such longing, with such hunger, that it broke her heart.
“I would give my life to touch you and not have you pull away from me now,” he whispered, moving slowly toward her. “If I swear not to kiss you, would you let me touch you?”
Wild, unquenched hunger rose inside her.
“Matthias, that’s not fair to you.” She shook her head desperately as she backed against the door of the refrigerator.
“Not fair to me?” His lips quirked mockingly. “It’s far more than I deserve. I need it, Grace. Just this once, let me touch you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
She wasn’t a virgin. Grace liked to consider herself a well-rounded, experienced woman, but even for her, the way Matthias touched her made her feel almost innocent. She felt unable to deny him, unable to reassert her common sense and run like hell.
It was one thing to know the ways of the world, and in some cases, the ways of men. But with Matthias she was finding out that everything she had learned over the years was just wrong.
Matthias didn’t act like other men. He didn’t react as other men, and he sure as hell didn’t go after what he wanted as other men did. If he had argued, gone dominant, arrogant, and stubborn, she could have walked away, she told herself.
But he stared at her with such hunger. A hunger he didn’t attempt to hide or push away. She wasn’t a threat to his independence. The way he watched her, she was imperative to his survival.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, as he stopped before her, causing her to ache as she stared up at the wonderment of his expression. “I look at you, and sometimes, I’m afraid of touching you. Of giving you the power to destroy me. Most people have a little healthy fear of Breeds, but you stand before me, knowing in your
soul, I’d never harm you.”
The backs of his fingers smoothed over her cheek, sending curious tingles racing through her body.
“I’d die before I ever harmed you, before I’d ever see you harmed. Do you know that, Grace?”
She could feel it, see it in his expression and in his eyes. This wasn’t stalker material, nor was it an edge of desperation. This was a man, a strong, powerful man, stating his intent, nothing more. It wasn’t tinted with fanaticism or with a threat. It was a clear statement.
“Matthias, you need someone—”
“No.” His fingers covered her lips, stopping the words. “I need whatever you’ll give me, right here and right now. Nothing more. Just my hands on you, Grace. Let me touch you.”
His thumb smoothed over her lips as she leaned her head against the refrigerator and stared back at him, torn, uncertain.
“I touched silk three months after our rescue from the labs,” he whispered, as his fingertips moved over her jaw. “I swore there was nothing softer in all the world, until I touched your hand.”
His hand smoothed down her arm, lifted her wrist and brought her palm to his stubbled jaw. “Your hands were warm and so soft. As soft as innocence itself.”
His eyes closed, and he held her hand against him as he worked his cheek over it. She let her fingers touch his cheeks, smooth over them, and his expression shifted to one of bliss.
“I’m not innocent,” she told him, but she meant the reminder for herself. Because he made her feel innocent. He made her feel nervous, excited, uncertain, but without the fears of virginity. He made her feel so much a woman that it was frightening.
“But you are innocent.” He laid his cheek against hers, his lips at her ear, as he pushed her robe over her shoulders. “Innocent of deceit and corruption. When I smell your scent, I smell summer. I feel warmth. All the things I wondered if I would ever know.”
Grace shivered with excitement at the guttural sound of his voice, the latent growl that bordered it. He was breathing hard and deep, his chest rasping over her gown-covered nipples and sending shafts of pleasure to tighten around them.
“Matthias, what are you doing to me?” Her head fell to the side, as his chin stroked over her neck.
“Just touching sunshine,” he said softly. “Heat and magic. Warm me, Grace. Just for a minute.”
At this rate, she was going to forget all that pertinent information he had just given her on what sex with him would be. Hormonal aphrodisiacs, mating heat, and biological bindings be damned. Her clit was screaming a silent demand for touch, and her sex was clenching in need.
And he hadn’t even kissed her. His rough cheek and jaw were doing no more than smoothing over her neck, her shoulders, as his hands slowly did away with her gown.
Her gown.
Grace gasped as the material pooled at her feet, leaving her naked but for the high-cut cotton and lace thong she wore.
“Shh. Easy, Grace,” he whispered. “I’m just touching you. That’s all. No kisses. No demands. Ah God, just a little touch.”
His hands cupped her breasts.
“Matthias. It’s more…” she sucked in a hard breath as his thumbs raked over her nipples. “More than little touches.”
“It warms me, Grace.” He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, his black hair falling to the side, covering the swollen mounds of her breasts. It was cool and heavy, another sensual stroke against her flesh.
Suddenly, nothing mattered but warming Matthias. She knew the hell he had lived through, had triumphed against. She knew the pain and blood his life had been filled with.
So he had killed the bastard who had caused it, her dazed mind pondered. Would she have done any less? Her life had been filled with laughter and love, with acceptance. Things Matthias still fought for. Things she had dreamed of giving him.
MATTHIAS fought to control the shaking of his body, the need to lick and taste her flesh as he stroked her. He could smell the sweet heat of her pussy, drawing him, making his mouth water for the rich syrup he knew flowed from her.
His hands were filled with her swollen breasts, her pebble-hard nipples poking against his thumbs. But he had promised. He had promised not to let the aphrodisiac filling his mouth touch her.
It was killing him. The glands were pumping the hormonal fluid into his mouth, filling his system, burning him alive with the need to fuck her. His cock was so hard, throbbing so viciously he had to fight to hold back his growls.
He let his cheek touch her, his forehead, praying the sweat gathering on his skin didn’t have the aphrodisiac effect. He moved along her neck, her shoulders, bending to her to allow his cheek to caress her upper chest, then the hard mound of a breast.
His hand slid to her waist as he panted, his lips a breath from her hard nipple, her little whimpers of pleasures causing him to clench his teeth to hold back.
“Matthias, you’re killing us both like this.” She trembled in his arms. “Don’t do this.”
“Are you asking me to stop, Grace?” Please, God, no! He couldn’t bear it. He had to touch her, if he didn’t touch her, he was going to die.
“Matthias,” the soft protest dragged an unwilling growl from his lips.
“I dream of holding you.” He rushed his cheek over her nipple and moved lower.
He went slowly to his knees, his hands and face alone touching her, stroking skin so soft he knew it couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream. God had been merciful. Somehow he had died, and God had given him an angel to love. It had to be. Because she was so warm and soft, all the things he had dreamed of with none of the scent of death surrounding her.
When he reached the elastic and lace band of her panties, he felt a hard spurt of pre-cum erupt from his cock. He jerked at the pleasure of the small ejaculation, his fingers tightening on the band, as he forced himself to go slowly.
“I can smell you,” he sighed against her hip. “Like hot cream and sweet syrup. Have I mentioned, I have a weakness for cream and syrup?”
Her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers kneading them beneath the shirt he wore, as wicked little cries left her throat.
He pulled at the band of her panties, sliding them slowly from her hips, then along her rounded thighs. The little swell of her belly drew him. He wanted to lick it, longed to taste it, but contented himself with pressing his cheek against it instead.
“Matthias, I don’t think I can stand this,” she gasped.
“Sweet Heaven, just a few more minutes, Grace.” His eyes had opened, and he was treated to the prettiest sight of his life.
Sweet honey gold curls beaded with her female cream. Luscious little drops of it clung to the soft curls that shielded her pussy, glistening with arousal and heat.
“Oh God, Grace.” His hand was shaking, as he touched a single droplet with one finger, easing it from the curl before rubbing it against his lips.
His eyes closed, his nostrils flared, and the growl that tore from his chest was animalistic, hungry, almost violent.
He licked the taste of her from his lip, drowning in the need for more and relishing even that smallest hint of passion.
“I’ve dreamed of going down on you.” He clenched his teeth desperately, as he fought for control. Maintaining it was iffy. “Licking your flesh, seeing these pretty curls wet with your need for me. Breeds don’t have body hair, you know?”
“I know.” Her voice was thin, her breath panting as he parted her legs further.
“I’ve never taken a woman like this,” he told her softly. “With just my hands, just this touch.” His hand slid up her thighs, his fingers parting the curl-shrouded folds with a reverent touch.
God help him. She was hot. So liquid hot his dick was burning for it. Another hard ejaculation of pre-cum jerked the engorged flesh, warning him, that for him, the mating heat was progressing too quickly. That wasn’t just pre-cum. It was a slick hormone-filled lubrication that eased the tender flesh of the vagina, preparing it for his penetration.
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Wolf Breeds were thickly endowed. Most women, even female Wolf Breeds struggled to accept the girth. But during mating heat, a Wolf Breed’s hormonal responses prepared the female. The preseminal fluid aided that, but only during the mating heat. It helped relax the tender muscles, built the arousal, ensured that the sexual act progressed without undue pain, and prepared the feminine sheath for what would come later.
Mother nature was a bitch. Breed mating was wickedly sexual and sometimes, for the females, it could be terrifying.
“Matthias, you’re making me weak,” Grace moaned, dragging him back from the sight of his index finger piercing the swollen lips and gathering her moisture to it.
He had to taste her again. He couldn’t put his lips to her, but maybe, like this.
He looked up at her, brought the sweet juice to his lower lip and smeared it there. When his finger had eased back, he licked.
He moaned at that rich taste. She cried out, her nails piercing his shoulder, as her hips jerked forward, almost slamming her pussy into his lips.
“Stop. Grace. Easy, sweetheart.”
“Damn you!” She cried out. “This is killing me.”
It was the expression on his face that was killing her. Absorbed, intent, so filled with pleasure it humbled her. His face was flushed, his eyes glittering with rich, golden browns, almost a fire inside the dark orbs.
He was staring at her pussy as though it contained all the secrets of his pleasure. His fingers slid through the slick folds again, parting them, easing inside her.
Easing inside her, when she needed more. Her hips jerked, her pussy convulsing around the single finger as it rubbed against the sensitive tissue.
“Matthias, please. Please. I need more.” She was shaking, sweating. God, she had never before perspired like this in the height of sex, let alone foreplay.
Her muscles were tightening, pleasure was streaming through her bloodstream, her clit was on fire, engorged and needy.
“Easy baby. I have you.” Two fingers slid inside her as his thumb slid against her clit, circled it, rasped along the bundle of nerves and sent her exploding into a cascade of pleasure.
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