But Mason didn’t land on his face.
He landed on his feet and Flint could only watch as he looked back at him, grinned and flipped him off as he crossed the line ahead of him.
Son of a fucking bitch.
Yasmin looked from Mason to him, her eyes enormous as she blinked.
Looked like he wasn’t the only one shocked by this turn of events. He growled as he crossed the line ahead of Deacon, shutting out Mason as he celebrated his victory and preened himself like a damned peacock, parading around the clearing and eating up the congratulations that several people tossed his way.
Flint went to his brothers, breathing hard as his side burned, and tossed the coin to Rath, who caught it and issued him a concerned look.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled and held his ribs.
He turned away from his brothers and found Yasmin looking at him, her dark chocolate eyes flooded with worry.
“I’m fine,” he bit out again, not in the mood for her to coddle him or say something that she would mean well but would only stoke his temper.
She stoked his temper anyway by rushing to help Deacon as he crossed the line, fussing over him.
“You need these wounds dressed.” She looked up at the male, concern written across every pretty line of her face, rousing a dark and seething beast inside Flint.
“He’s a big male. He can take care of himself.” Flint reached for her arm, intending to pull her away.
She pinned him with a glare and backed off a step, making it crystal clear she wasn’t going to let him push her around. Tough luck. She was going to do as he wanted, or he was going to lose his shit and give these males more injuries to worry about.
And then he was going to drag her away from them.
Her eyes darkened with a challenge, a dare to go through with that need to dominate her and assert himself.
“Yasmin.” He reached for her again.
She placed both hands behind her back. “No, Flint. We’ve been through this. I’m helping these men, and nothing you can do will stop me.”
He growled at that, the thought of her touching the males setting fire to his blood, and advanced on her. She stood her ground and tipped her chin up, her eyes flashing fire, the gold flecks in them glowing brightly as she held his gaze.
“You need to go with Ivy.” He softened his tone but it still didn’t work.
She shook her head. “Ivy is coming with me. She agreed to help me with the men if any came back wounded.”
He pointed to his busted nose and purred, “So start with me then. Come to my cabin and heal me.”
She folded her arms across her chest, causing the violet sweater that hugged her figure to form enticing cleavage that had his imagination racing forwards to what might happen if she agreed to come with him. Gods, he wanted her naked in his arms. He needed a better taste of her.
“You’re a big man. You can take care of yourself,” she snapped and gave him her cheek as her focus returned to Deacon, who had remained beside her, picking apart the tangled blood-caked strands of his long dark hair.
Flint huffed and considered continuing their argument, but Deacon was watching him closely now.
Waiting for him to fuck up and get himself disqualified?
Wasn’t going to happen.
As much as he hated leaving Yasmin alone with the males, he strode away from her, consoling himself with the fact that Ivy would be with her. It only took a glance back at his brothers to see that Ivy and Yasmin wouldn’t be alone with the males. They would be there too, overseeing everything.
Keeping Yasmin safe from them for him.
Each step away from her grated though, had his cougar side growing restless and his temper flaring. His feet dragged as the distance between them grew, an ache to turn around and go back to her growing swiftly inside him. He glanced back in the direction of the clearing and frowned when he saw she was gone.
He growled and forced himself to keep moving. Nothing he said would change her mind.
It would only infuriate her. It would only make her more intent on helping the other males. He raked his hands over his hair as he reached his cabin. He had to stop trying to dominate her, had to stop trying to control her, but it was difficult to contain that urge when he was around her and when he knew she was going to lay her delicate little hands on another male’s naked flesh.
It drove him mad, wild with a need to pull her away from them, to make her stop because it was killing him. She was his and the only male she should be touching was him.
He shoved the door of his cabin open and kicked his boots off as he crossed the threshold.
The fire in the burner was out, but it was warm enough inside his home without it today. He busied himself with grabbing a beer and downing it, and then stripping off his long-sleeved t-shirt so he could get cleaned up.
It didn’t stop him from thinking about Yasmin.
He went into the bathroom that was barely big enough to accommodate a toilet, sink and tub, and stared into the mirror at his reflection.
At the rows of stitches across his chest and the fresh blood that had bloomed beneath the dressings on his left side.
Yasmin was going to kill him for reopening those wounds.
He fingered the clear edges of one of the dressings and debated removing it, lost track of time as he waged war with himself over it. He wasn’t sure whether he would make it worse if he took it off or whether it would benefit from a fresh dressing.
None of the blood had leaked out, which had to be a good sign. Or maybe it wasn’t.
He pressed a bruise that had formed above his left hip, close to the waist of his black trekking trousers.
That was new.
He huffed, filled the sink with water and splashed it on his face. It stung like a bitch. He was careful as he cleaned his nose, dabbing water around the cut that darted across it. Another scar to add to his collection. He looked at himself in the mirror. It wouldn’t be as dramatic and alluring as the one that cut across his lips, but it was a step up from the one that intersected his eyebrow.
He grimaced as he touched the groove on the bridge of his nose.
“Don’t prod it!” Yasmin’s voice filled the room and he looked over his left shoulder at her where she stood in the doorway of his cabin. “Honestly… if you get any more scars you’ll look like a mangey dog rather than a cougar.”
He growled at that. “Women like scars.”
She scowled at him.
“Not this woman. I prefer to prevent scars.” Her eyes dropped to his side as she approached him and she stopped dead. “What did you do?”
“So it’s automatically my fault?” He never had liked being blamed for things.
His brothers had a bad habit of blaming him first and asking questions later. It had started out serious at first, because they had honestly believed that every fight he ended up in was one he had started, but as soon as they had realised it antagonised him, they had taken to doing it to irritate him, and had started blaming him for everything from dismal weather through to fights they had been involved in.
“What happened?” She softened her tone, which was appreciated and went a hell of a long way towards easing his temper.
Although, the fact that she was stood in his cabin, had come to check on him and maybe fuss over him again, was largely responsible for his change in mood.
“Mason took an easy shot at me,” he muttered and poked at the dressings on his left side.
Yasmin swatted his hand away. “I said no prodding!”
He rolled his bare shoulders in a shrug, which had her eyes leaping to his chest and lingering.
Lingering.
He kept still, wanting to see how long she would keep staring at him with that heat building in her eyes before she realised what she was doing.
She would probably blame him for making her stare.
He didn’t care. Some things were worth getting falsely accused over. She could blame him all she wanted as long as she kept those dazzli
ng eyes on his bare body.
When she did eventually lower her eyes from his chest, it was to settle them on his side again. She reached towards him and didn’t hesitate to touch him, stroking her fingers over the dressings with the barest caress.
One that seemed to steal all his pain away.
In fact, he didn’t feel any pain at all as she stood close to him. Not in his side. Not on his nose. It was as if she had taken it all away the moment she had come near him, as if she had cast some magical spell on his body with only her presence. Was that her power to heal shining through or something else?
“We should place a new dressing on this.” Her eyes darted to his, and this time it was more than their colour that made them dark. Her pupils were wide, deep entrancing pools of black that spoke of the rising desire he could sense in her as he went looking for it, wanting confirmation that she felt something for him.
That he wasn’t the only one being affected by this moment.
He nodded and lowered his gaze to her mouth, to those enticing shell-pink lips that beckoned him, pulling him deeper under her spell. He had kissed her twice now, and both times she had responded beautifully.
The second time hadn’t been long enough to satisfy him though. She had broken away from him and made her excuses before he had gotten his fill of her. This time, he wouldn’t let her run from him.
He couldn’t.
The need she stoked in him was building, growing stronger every day, and the thought of her touching other males gave it a firmer hold over him, filled him with a need to stamp his mark on her and claim her so no other male could have her.
So no other male could have what he wanted, needed, craved above all else.
Gods, she had feared losing him, but he swore his fear of losing her ran deeper, a river that coursed through his soul, turbulent and infinite, a torrent that would never stop flowing.
Not until she was his.
Not even then.
He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to master this fear.
“Yasmin,” he husked, unsure what he had wanted to say, unable to get the words to line up on his tongue as she lifted those dark eyes to his again and entranced him.
Her breathing quickened as he stared into them, that desire he felt in her mounting in time with his, until he was straining against the need to kiss her, to unleash everything he felt inside in one blazing kiss that he knew would never be enough.
But gods, he needed it out of him, needed to purge it because his chest felt so full with the agonising desire to touch her again, to hold her and kiss her, to show her everything he felt. That desire filled him to the brim, battered him as it kept trying to flow into him, felt as if it might tear him apart if he didn’t open the flood gates and let it all rush out of him, allowing more to sweep back in.
Something crossed her dark eyes, something that mesmerised him because it echoed what he felt inside.
And then she kissed him.
She moved so swiftly to grasp his nape and drag him down to her that it took him by surprise, had him bumping against her and knocking her into the bathroom wall as her lips found his and seared him.
Branded his heart with her name.
He groaned and the second he had caught up, he grabbed her by her waist and pulled her flush against him. Her moan was music to his ears as her body plastered against his and her lips frantically danced over his, stoking the fire inside him until it blazed so hot he couldn’t breathe.
“Flint,” she murmured, husky and low, voice filled with the need flowing through him, and he groaned at the sound of his name on her lips and the way her hands found his shoulders.
Her touch was feather-light, teasing and torturous, but gods, he loved it.
He loved it as she stroked her palms over his shoulders.
As she smoothed them down his chest, her touch turning even more careful as she met the lines of stitches.
As she found the ridges of his abdomen and loosed a little moan and shivered.
The scent of her desire grew stronger, filling his lungs with the citrus smell of her.
Fuck, he needed her.
He couldn’t stop at kissing this time. He needed her too much, had to get his hands on her in whatever way she would allow. That need consumed him, stole control and had him lowering his hands to her hips. He pushed them under her violet jumper and she tensed when he tried to lift it up.
“Don’t,” she whispered and grasped his wrists, stopping him.
“Why not?” He intended to pull back so he could look at her, but the thought of kissing her was too enticing, had him peppering her jaw and neck with them, tasting every inch of her.
“Someone might come in.”
It was a reasonable enough excuse, so he let it slide. Getting disqualified would certainly be a kick to the balls, one he couldn’t take. He had to stay in the running, so her clothes would stay on.
But that wouldn’t stop him from taking things further.
She needed him. He could feel it. It drummed in his blood, beat in his heart, compelling him to ease her, to give her what she required from him.
His rigid cock pressed painfully against his fly as he found her mouth again, kissed her so hard that she moaned and melted in his arms, her resistance burning away under his onslaught. He shuddered as she placed her hands on his hips, frowned and brought them closer to her, pressing against her belly so she could feel what she did to him. He wasn’t sure he had ever been this hard. It hurt like fuck, had him straining to get some relief because he felt as if he might die if the pressure didn’t lessen soon.
Yasmin didn’t help matters by cupping him.
He groaned and rocked against her hand, shuddered all over again as lightning flashed through him, striking hard to leave him trembling. She kissed him harder, moaning as she rubbed him through his trousers, torturing him and pleasuring him in equal quantities.
Damn.
He didn’t want her to stop, but he wasn’t sure he could bear her continuing either. It wasn’t enough, even when it was too much.
He seized control of the kiss, plundering her mouth with his tongue and groaning as she met him, tangling hers with his to send his need soaring higher.
Flint ground his cock against her palm, unable to stop himself as she pressed harder against him.
“Fuck, Yasmin,” he breathed. “Don’t torment me if this isn’t going anywhere.”
He feared she would stop as those words registered.
She took her hand away and disappointment flooded him, a bucket of icy water that washed through him to cool his desire.
That desire shot right back into overdrive as she took hold of his hand and brought it to her, forcing him to cup her instead.
“I don’t want to fight this anymore,” she husked against his mouth, her breath hot on his lips. “It feels as if I might die if I do.”
Damn, he was right there with her.
He lowered both hands to her jeans and worked quickly to open the fly. She kissed him and nipped at his lower lip, shattering his focus, making it hard to think let alone do something. He had been doing something. Another deep groan rumbled through him as she caught his hands and reminded him. He pushed at her jeans, a shiver wracking him as he felt the lace of her shorts.
She stopped him when he reached her thighs, pulled his right hand back up and pressed it against her mound.
Gods, she was wet, warm, soaking her panties.
He shuddered and growled as he touched her, aware on some primal level that he had made her this way and taking deep satisfaction from it. She moaned and pressed back against the wooden wall of his bathroom, her breathing quickening as her eyes turned hooded, fixed on him. Her lips parted as he explored her through her black shorts, her desire mounting and calling to him, demanding he sate it.
He wanted to kiss her when she looked like that, so wanton and beautiful, so desperately in need of him, his for the taking.
His alone.
But he wanted to st
are at her more, to absorb the way she looked in this moment as she surrendered to him, as he touched her for the first time and gave her the pleasure she needed.
He pushed her panties down to meet her jeans and skimmed his hand up the inside of her thigh. There was barely a gap between them with her jeans still around her knees, but it was enough for him to feel the heat of her and the way she trembled.
That trembling worsened as he reached the apex of her thighs and brushed fingers over her dark curls.
“Flint,” she murmured, an ache in her voice that he swore he would satisfy.
Her delicate hands gripped the wall and she arched towards him, one canine teasing her lower lip as she sang her siren song, luring him.
He raked his gaze over her, down her full breasts that strained against her violet jumper, to the place where he was touching. Her desire coated his fingers, glistened on them, and fuck, he wanted to taste her but he didn’t want to waste a moment, not even the seconds it would take to get her boots and jeans off.
She needed him, and he was a slave to her, driven to give her what she wanted without a moment’s delay.
She gasped as he pressed his fingers between her folds to find her sweet nub, her hands flying above her head to grasp the wall as she bowed her hips towards him, a silent plea for more. He answered it by stroking her from core to nub, a groan tearing from his lips as he felt how wet she was and his cock kicked against its cage, hungry to get to her. He wanted to be inside her, as lost in her as she was in this moment.
He couldn’t risk it though.
She was right and anyone could walk in on them. He had to keep at least part of his brain functioning so he could detect whether anyone was in danger of crashing their party, although she did make it hard when she rocked against him, so beautifully wicked and wanton.
She moaned and rode his fingers as he stroked her, flicking them over her sensitive flesh. Her hips jacked higher, her groans growing louder. Loud enough that someone might hear.
He pressed against her and kissed her, swallowing her moans as he touched her, alternating between light and hard strokes, gauging what she preferred.
She shivered whenever he was light with her, gave her the barest teasing flicks of his fingers. Her tongue duelled with his as she lowered her hands and wrapped her arms around his neck, clung to him as the storm built inside her. He moaned and pressed his hips to hers, driving her back against the wall with them, pinning her there as he dipped his hand lower, wedging it between her thighs so he could reach her sweetest spot.
Courted by her Cougar (Cougar Creek Mates Shifter Romance Series Book 3) Page 13