by Vivi Andrews
She was all writhing sensation and instinct. He was large, bigger than anyone she’d ever been with both in girth and length, but she was so wet his eye-popping size only felt like a delicious pressure, a sweet additional friction as every inch of him dragged against her inner walls.
He withdrew all the way and Patch hissed a complaint, but he only reached past her to grab a pillow and shove it beneath her hips, adjusting the angle of her body before thrusting back inside and—
“Holy shit, there.”
Her claws snapped out and sank fully into his forearms as he held her hips at the perfect angle, plunging in again and again so his cock rubbed against that spot and her eyes crossed. She heard a low vibration and realized distantly it was him. Purring. He could make whatever fucking sounds he wanted as long as he didn’t stop doing what he was doing.
She whimpered instructions—or what might have been instructions if her powers of speech hadn’t been thoroughly compromised—and held on as the cyclone inside her coiled tighter and tighter, narrowing down until her entire being spiraled around that one point, around him.
Then he released her hips and he was bending over her, still hilted deep inside, his silver eyes suddenly close when she managed to open hers. His fingers threaded into her hair and he kissed her as his hips pistoned against hers. Harder. Faster. The position pounding him against her clit. And it was too much.
She screamed, her pussy desperately milking his cock. He drove deep with a series of frantic thrusts and roared through his own climax.
He collapsed over her and she struggled to breathe, even as she reveled in the solid, delicious weight of him.
Fuck.
A girl could get addicted to this.
Chapter Sixteen
There was blood on the bed.
Roman slid free of Patch’s body and rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she was draped across his chest. He turned his head and there it was on the sheets right in front of his face. Blood.
Normally that would elicit a reaction, but since he could smell that it was his blood and still feel the gouges Patch had clawed into his forearms seeping slowly, the most he could manage was a smug smile. She’d shredded the sheets too. His little firecracker.
He hooked a finger through a slash in the sheets and lifted them to her eyes. “Damn, kitten. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
She swatted the tattered sheet away, a blush rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t been blushing before.
Goddamn, she’d been something else. Hot didn’t begin to cover it. She was passionate and demanding and responsive.
Worth every scratch and then some. Holy shit was she ever worth it.
She made a soft huffing sound as she twisted to get more comfortable against him. She was rarely still, he realized, even when his own bones felt liquefied from pleasure, she was shifting and stretching against him. He had a feeling it wasn’t just the restless itch of her heat either. Always in motion, his Patch.
Not that she was his. Though the idea of her with another man—
He tipped her chin up to seal his lips over hers until her restless body quieted with the kiss. They rolled together, lips still locked, until she was sprawled on her back and he leaned over her, enjoying the a long, slow, exploration of a kiss—so unlike the carnal rush that had come before. When he finally lifted his head, she released a soft, dreamy sigh before slowly opening her eyes.
“What was that for?”
Her hair had come loose and he tucked it back behind her ear. “Just marking my place.”
Her eyes shadowed and her gaze shifted away from his. “Is it your place?”
It fucking better be. Roman bit back the animalistic response, forcing himself to take a breath. “I hated seeing you standing next to Dominec and Kye. They were high on you. I wanted to rip Dominec’s arm off when he touched you.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “A little possessive, are we?”
“Yes.”
Her tone had been light. His wasn’t.
A frown pulled between her brows. “Roman, I don’t belong to you. That isn’t what this is.”
“Yes it is. For now. For this week. For however long you’re mine, you’re mine and only mine. Understand?”
Her lush lips pursed. “How very caveman of you.”
He didn’t miss the fact that she didn’t agree. “If your heat rises and I’m not around, you come to me. You call me. Send me a fucking text message, but you do not turn to another man. Because right now you are mine and I am not good at sharing.”
“Roman,” she said softly, “I can’t be yours.”
“No? Then what is this?” He stroked a hand down her bare flank. She shuddered, the heat already beginning to flush her skin again.
“Sex. No strings. Just a fling, right? You can’t get possessive on me.”
“Do you want to be with another man?”
Her brown eyes with their flecks of gold narrowed. “That isn’t the point.”
“No?” His hand slipped between her thighs. “Who do you belong to?”
“No one.” Her eyelids fluttered shut as he found her core. Her hips lifted to his touch and she began to work herself mindlessly against his fingers.
“You sure about that?”
Her eyes were still closed, an expression of intent concentration tightening her forehead as she rode his hand.
He lowered his lips to her ear. “Say you’re mine.”
“Mmm.” She bit her lip.
Probably not hearing a word he said. He’d have to get her attention. He removed his fingers—replacing them with his tongue. She cried out, coming half off the bed. When he lifted his head, the eyes that met his were frantic. “Say it. You’re mine.”
Something fierce and unyielding sparked in her eyes. “Make me.”
He lowered his head, intent on wringing the words from her, one way or another.
Patch sat cross-legged on the ruins of the bed, watching Roman sleep. Dawn would find them soon and she couldn’t be here when it did. At first light they’d be heading up into the mountains and she needed to go home and scour the scent of him out of her pores. She just couldn’t seem to work up the urge to leave.
She had told him she was his. Eventually. No sense resisting it, really. He was imprinted on her skin now. She’d always be his. Even if he could never be hers.
She would be annoyed with the double standard. Annoyed at the possession that only went one way. Later. When her entire body wasn’t humming with satisfaction and every movement didn’t trigger a twinge of soreness which triggered a wash of memory.
The claw marks on his arms had long since stopped bleeding and the scratches were already beginning to heal, though he’d wear them as a reminder for a day or two. Just like she’d bear the bruises—the imprint of his fingers on her hips. She didn’t regret a single bruise.
After he’d gone down on her until she was begging and promising him anything he wanted—more than just admitting she was his, at that point she would have sold him her soul—he’d taken her again, languorous and slow. Then again in the shower and again with her bent over the footboard of the massive bed, her hips raised up to him like an offering as he drove into her from behind.
Patch flushed with the memory, thigh muscles tightening at the thought—though the heat didn’t react. Strangely, her body was filled with the heavy ease that signaled the heat’s passing. She’d heard of cats feeding the heat and having it last only a night or two, but she’d never bought into the idea that the urges could be literally fucked into submission. Her heat had always been a week of sheer, needy torture in the past. And now, the one time she actually wanted it to last longer, because it meant more nights with Roman, it was satisfied after only one night.
One hedonistic, sexual marathon of a night.
Roman had fallen asleep after their last bout, splayed on his back with his arms flung out to either side to claim the vast expanse of the bed, but Patch hadn’t been able to relax, even w
ithout the hormones twisting her into a tangle of restless want.
They shouldn’t have done this. It was only going to make what came later that much more painful. Knowing the way his eyes burned when he was holding her steady for his thrusts, how would she be able to meet his gaze when he was Lila’s husband? The idea of her best friend’s wedding night made her stomach churn.
She should go. Just sneak out. She didn’t owe him anything else. Not for a fling.
But she didn’t move. Other than to lean over him to touch the deceptively soft thickness of his shorn hair.
He groaned and rolled to his side, reaching for her in his sleep. She let him catch her. One arm curled around her waist and reeled her in, drawing her down until her back nestled to his front. His morning erection pressed against her ass—clear evidence that he wasn’t human. Only a shifter would still want sex after the night they’d had.
He nuzzled the back of her head, his lips finding their way to the curve of her neck. One of his large hands smoothed down her stomach to rest just above her curls, his fingertips teasing just on the edge of where she wanted them, but it wasn’t until his teeth gently tested her shoulder that she realized he was awake.
“Morning.”
He hummed against her skin. “Good morning.”
“I have to go.”
His fingers stretched, brushing against her clit. “You do.”
“Dominec—”
He growled, hands tightening.
“—Xander and Kye will be suspicious if we’re both late. And reek of one another.”
“Probably,” he agreed, though he made no move to release her, his fingers resuming their tease between her legs, even working lower until he could slip a digit inside her.
“Roman,” she sighed. “Knock it off.”
“What? This?” His fingers thrust deeper and she gasped, shuddering when he rotated his thumb over her clit in time with the thrust. “God, I love that sound,” he growled. He withdrew his fingers, hooked her top leg over his and filled her from behind with a smooth thrust. “You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against her ear, the low, growled admiration almost as stimulating as the rocking pulses of his hips as he went deeper.
She’d anticipated dominance—fantasized about it even—but she hadn’t expected this. The playfulness. The way he talked in bed, that constant guttural praise that made her feel like the most exquisite creature ever put on the planet. The way his control wasn’t just firm hands and demands, but also the way he would change the pace to keep her right on the edge until he was ready to let her come.
Those details, the things she couldn’t have predicted, were her undoing.
She came hard to the sound of his voice in her ear, his hands gently cupping her breasts, the thickness of his cock filling her from behind. And then again when he roared his completion and spilled into her.
But the pleasure couldn’t last with the dawn coming for them.
This time when she tried to withdraw from his arms, he let her go, though his touch trailed down her limbs as long as possible before he let his hands fall to the ruined sheets.
Her clothes were a lost cause and wearing anything of his would be too suspicious should she come across anyone else in her pre-dawn walk of shame. She’d have to shift.
She padded to the door. She shouldn’t look back. She knew she shouldn’t. But the temptation was too great.
He sprawled on the bed, his head propped on one fist, watching her. A gorgeous man packed with sinew, strength and determination, unashamed of his nudity. His expression was inscrutable, eyes dark and possessive.
“If you look at me like that in front of the pride, everyone will know.”
“I know how to play my part, Patch.”
He did. She knew that. She just wasn’t sure she remembered how to play hers. Lila’s best friend. Harmless, invisible Patch. Just one of the guys.
Why did that identity, which had always sat so easily on her, suddenly feel wrong?
“You’d better hurry,” Roman said with a slow twist of his mouth. “I hear the Alpha’s heir is a real ass. He’ll be pissed if you’re late to lead the tracking party.”
She glared at him, reached for the cat inside her and ran.
Chapter Seventeen
If she’d really thought Roman would give away their secret with one smoldering look, she could have saved her worry.
He was standing in front of the infirmary with Kye and Grace when she jogged up, her hair still wet from the shower. The sky was just beginning to lighten, the sun still hiding behind the hills. He barely glanced up when she approached, his attention riveted on whatever Grace was reporting from their invalid’s bedside. Patch hung back, unsure what she was and wasn’t supposed to hear, as she wasn’t technically part of the pride’s security team, until Roman waved her over—still without moving his eyes in her direction.
“Grace was just telling us that Sokolov regained consciousness—though not coherency—briefly again last night and mumbled something about burying this all-important backpack beneath a rock that looked like a bear’s tooth. Does that sound familiar to you at all?”
“It could be twenty different places. Half the rocks in the valley where I think he was look like that, but if we can find his scent trail, we should be able to narrow it down.”
“Do we know what’s in the bag?” Dominec asked, coming out of the shadows to join them. “Are we sure he isn’t sending us to dig up a bomb?”
“You’re just the eternal optimist, aren’t you?” Grace asked, with acid lacing her voice. “Adrian doesn’t want to hurt us. They kept him drugged for weeks, maybe even months, before he was able to escape. He wants them to pay and he can’t do that without our help.”
“Falling for your patient, Florence Nightingale?” Dominec snapped.
“Are we fighting?” Xander said, with obvious enthusiasm for the idea as he joined the group. “I’m on Grace’s side.”
“You don’t even know what this is about,” Grace snapped, clearly less than thrilled at the idea of having Xander on her side, though the bulk of her ire was aimed squarely at Dominec.
“Knock it off,” Roman said, without heat, and the bickering instantly ceased. “If there are explosives, we’ll smell them.”
“He says there’s a hard drive in the bag. Something that could lead us back to their base. I had to promise him if he’s well enough, he can come with us when we go after these bastards, but he’s barely able to string two sentences together before he goes back into la-la land,” Grace said.
“Let’s see if we can find this backpack before we worry about how to use what’s inside.” Roman finally turned his gaze to Patch, his expression as business-as-usual as it had been when he was addressing the others. “Patch? You ready to take us up there?”
“My Subaru only holds five.”
“Grace is staying here.”
“Then let’s go.”
Her heat was definitely over.
There was no way she’d have been able to be in an enclosed space with four virile shifter males for nearly an hour without turning into a raging lust-monster if she hadn’t thoroughly kicked her hormones into submission.
Roman sat in the passenger seat, with Kye, Xander and Dominec crammed into the backseat, their broad shoulders mashed against one another even though they made a valiant effort to ignore each other.
She drove them up the winding roads to the trailhead nearest where she’d scented Adrian the first time. She was a little surprised none of the dominant males had insisted on driving, but Roman had set the tone early that she was in charge today. It was an odd feeling, having these four undeniably alpha males all looking to her—very unlike her normal guiding duties. She was used to being in charge on the trail, but she was also used to the hierarchy of the pride, where an outlier cougar would never be deferred to by the Alpha’s heir or his lieutenant.
They piled out at the trailhead, shouldered the packs they’d thrown in the trunk, and started
up the ascent—without any of the usual oohs and aahs that accompanied her other treks. They weren’t here to enjoy nature. They were on a mission.
Patch set a rapid pace and the four big men easily kept up with her—Roman on her heels, with Xander behind him, Kye next and Dominec bringing up the rear. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to bring Roman back out here. Just the two of them.
She wouldn’t be able to take him on her favorite routes—the ones only a cat could make. A mountain lion could get away with being spotted in these mountains, but a full-grown male lion would be too conspicuous. Still, even if they were limited to places they could reach on two feet, no one knew these mountains like she did.
Would he love the freedom of this range like she did? Would he—
Patch cut the thought off.
Lila’s husband. That’s who he was. Not Patch’s lover. Not a man she had any right exploring these hills with.
She called a halt at a fork in the trail, pointing up to a ledge just visible above them. “That’s where we were when I scented him for the first time. Based on the direction of the wind that day, he must have been down in that valley somewhere.” She pointed beneath them to the left, farther down the lower trail.
“Xander. Kye. Dominec. Fan out and search the valley for any traces of his scent—or any sign of disturbed earth around the base of a bear-tooth-shaped rock. Patch and I will continue up to where she was before, to see if we can find anything up there.”
The three men loped down the trail. Patch waited until they were beyond hearing range, then waited a few minutes longer before turning to Roman with a frown. “We won’t find anything up there and you know it. Tell me you aren’t hiding me up here in case there really are explosives in the bag.”
He matched her frown. “You think I would put my men in danger while I stayed up here safe with you?”
“I don’t know. Would you? I didn’t think you’d get off on being all possessive and protective either, but here you are.”
His hackles rose. “I need someone to go with you to the exact site where you smelled him before to see if you remember anything new. Maybe you were mistaken on the wind direction or maybe we can catch a hint of something now. And I don’t want another randy shifter male with you while you’re doing that because, as we’ve established, I am a possessive ass. But no, I am not sending my men into a minefield while I hide you up on a mountain. Though I’m flattered you think so highly of me.” There was ice in the words.