Chest heaving, she pushed at my shoulders for a moment. When I did nothing more, simply held her without moving, she settled and tilted her head back to look at me. Her expressive blue eyes lifted, her gaze full of both confusion and desire.
“I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?” A little V formed in her smooth brow. She tried to look past me, but I blocked her view. I blocked everything so she had to focus solely on me. Completely on us.
She would ignore our marks, our connection no longer.
“I made you a promise, Cassie, a sacred vow, and I always keep my word.” I found her hands with mine and lifted them up over her head as her breasts heaved with her every frantic breath.
She licked her lips and my cock jumped in anticipation of feeling the eager exploration of her mouth. “What promise? I don’t even know you.”
I lowered my head until my lips hovered above hers, the heat between us like a bolt of lightning. With one hand I secured her wrists, held them pressed to the rough wood above her head; she could not escape. “I told you I would find you. I kissed these lips.” I brushed mine over hers, just once, the barest hint of pressure. “I touched your wet pussy and made you cry out in pleasure.” Shifting my hips, I pressed forward until her breath caught in her throat and I knew she could feel the impatient press of my cock. “I fucked your wet heat until you came, swallowed your cries of pleasure. I promised to find you, to claim you, to make you mine.”
Her head moved back and forth in denial. “No. This can’t be real.” She twisted her arms, trying to break free, her strength redoubled with her rising panic. “It was just a dream!”
“It was more than a dream. More than one night. I’m yours, Cassie. I’m here, and I won’t leave without you by my side.” I kissed her then, because I had to. Because I wanted her to know she was mine. But mostly because I wanted her to remember my taste, my touch, the heat of my body covering her, filling her. Completing her.
Cassie
* * *
He was kissing me. Unlike the other times, this wasn’t a dream. I felt his lips on mine, the firm press of them, the insistence. Heat spread through me in a wave as I felt every long, hard inch of him. It was familiar. All of it. His voice. His mouth, his taste, his scent, the feel of him. Vividly did I recall the sensation of being tied to that bed, my arms above me, even as he held them now. I was his, at his mercy and I could barely focus beyond the press of his cock against my belly.
I couldn’t help the whimper that escaped when his tongue plundered. Oh my. This was decadent and daring. This was what had been missing with Charles. He’d never touched me outside of our bedroom, never pinned me in place, and never outside. Anyone could come up on us. Mr. Anderson could holler for me at any time. I didn’t care about any of that. All of my fears, concerns or worries were whisked away by the swipe of his tongue, the firm caress of his palms.
My hands wrapped around his, holding him to me of their own volition, and I felt the heat of him against my knuckles. My birthmark was on fire, streaks of warmth shooting up my arm. I sank into the kiss, my body relaxing and relenting. It was his turn to growl, the sound reverberating from his chest at my capitulation. I couldn’t do anything else, for I wanted to drown in sensation. I wanted him. I needed him. I needed his cock in me. I didn’t want it to be a dream, but reality.
I didn’t realize that he held both my wrists with just one hand until I felt the hem of my dress sliding up my leg. The soft brush of fingers coasted over my stockings, over my knee until they found the ribboned edge. There, the callused tips slid back and forth, igniting a fiery path.
“Yes,” I whispered before I could stop myself and he tensed at that one word.
“Cassie,” he murmured, planting little kisses along my jaw and up to my ear. “I remember this. Do you?” he murmured, his breath fanning my ear. I could only angle my head as his tongue licked along the shell of my ear, then nipped at the tender lobe.
The gasp that escaped was unbidden. “Yes.” I cried again, this time in answer. I could deny it no longer. I could deny him or even myself no longer. I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t have to. I just… knew.
“Your skin is so smooth, so soft.” His fingers continued to tantalize my thigh. “Do you remember my fingers here… and here… and here?”
He migrated higher and higher up my leg. The cool air brushed over my exposed skin until he came in contact with my drawers.
“I do not remember these,” he grumbled. He was like a boy denied a candy stick at the mercantile.
With my head pressed against the aged wood of the coop, I nodded slightly. My breath came in little pants, my only thoughts of his fingers and how close he was to where he’d touched me in my dreams.
With deft fingers, he tugged on the string of my drawers. Seconds later they slid in a soft glide down my legs to fall onto the ground. He didn’t tease, didn’t tempt, only moved with gentle haste to touch me at my woman’s core. His fingers slid inside me, gently. Slowly. He filled me and the sensation made my knees weak.
It was just like the dream, but better. I cried out, the sound mixing with the night birds. His mouth covered mine, taking my pleasure into him. He wasn’t stifling it. I felt as if he was keeping it for himself. Not that I wanted anyone else to hear, to know I was kissing the new boarder behind the chicken coop.
No, not just kissing, for his hand was there.
Chapter 5
Cassie
* * *
“So wet, Cassie. Is all this for me?” he whispered.
I didn’t know if the wetness coating my thighs was for him, but it certainly was because of him. I’d never behaved like this before. Never let a man other than Charles touch me beyond a simple handshake. Certainly, I’d never let a man take the liberties I was allowing Mr. Maddox. Of course, I’d never, ever felt like I did when he was touching me.
No. This was insane! I was thinking about him as if he’d actually kissed me, put his hands on me before, but he hadn’t. I’d never even laid eyes on him before dinner. It had been a dream—just the same dream for four nights—but they were so real, so similar. So wonderful.
And now, I discovered that being touched by the real Mr. Maddox was so much better.
“I’m not the first man to touch you, am I, Cassie?” His breath fanned my neck, had me angling my head for him.
“No. My husband, Charles.” When I felt Mr. Maddox stiffen, I continued. “He died three years ago.”
“He didn’t make you feel like this though, did he?”
I shook my head, licked my lips. “No,” I replied.
“I’m the only one who can make you burn, Cassie. We’re marked mates. Your husband may have taken you first, but your body knows the truth. No one else will touch you now, no one but me.”
“No one,” I repeated when he removed his fingers then thrust them back inside me.
“This pussy belongs to me,” he growled. “You belong to me. Every little cry, every soft curve of your body, every drop of welcome creaming my fingers belongs to me. Say it, Cassie.”
“I… don’t understand this.”
He grunted in disapproval as he curled his fingers over some magical place inside me. “There is nothing to understand, mate. I found you. You’re mine.”
“Yours? But you don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
He withdrew his fingers again, then pushed them deeper as if to emphasize the point. His movements were just a bit rougher than he’d been before and I wiggled against his hand, shifted up onto my toes, overwhelmed by his dominion over my body. I couldn’t think with his fingers conquering me, his mouth covering mine.
He crushed my lips beneath his, his tongue invading as if he had the right to every secret, every fantasy as his fingers pumped in and out of my pussy in a rhythm that stole my breath. I could hear the wet sounds of my desire and I should have been mortified, but it felt too good. I wanted more. I needed—more. Something.
Tearing my lips
from his, I fought to regain some sense of sanity with his fingers still filling me and my arms stretched above my head, as if I were some pagan offering and he the god. “I don’t understand this. Why… why?”
“My name is Maddox. Say it.” His fingers withdrew to slip over my folds, circled that eager bundle of nerves, no longer plundering my deepest core. I wanted him to do more and I whimpered. I wanted the fire and sweet release I’d experienced in my dreams.
“Maddox.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” The protest left my lips before I could consider my answer.
“I refuse to mate you up against a house for chickens. But that doesn’t mean I can’t find out how sweet you taste.”
Before I could question, he released my hands and dropped to his knees before me. One hand held up my dress, exposing me to his gaze.
“Such a pretty pussy.” He brushed the knuckles of his free hand over the soft curls, then put his hand on my inner thigh, forcing my legs farther apart.
“Maddox,” I hissed. “What… what are you doing?” I glanced left and right, for once a little worried.
His grin made me forget all my concerns. “Your husband never put his mouth on you, then, did he?”
I shook my head. “Why would he—”
A quick flick of his tongue over my swollen flesh had me biting my lip, the question all but forgotten.
“A man puts his mouth here, mate, because it brings you pleasure. And because I want to have your taste on my tongue the rest of the night.”
Deft fingers palmed my thighs, but it was his thumbs that parted my woman’s flesh. Leaning forward, he breathed in my scent, then practically dove in, licking me like I was the finest treat.
My hands moved from the wall to his dark hair, tangling in the long, thick strands.
“Oh God,” I whispered, my eyes falling closed.
This was so wicked, so carnal. I had Maddox, albeit a complete stranger, kneeling before me and licking my… oh God.
“Shh, keep all those sounds quiet and just for me.”
I whimpered as his tongue flicked the bundle of nerves that I would sometimes rub to fulfillment. But every time I lay in bed, touching myself, it had not been like this.
Fingers slipped back inside me, mimicking what his cock did to me in the dream the night before. “You’re going to come for me, Cassie. Now.”
Once, twice, he flicked his tongue, curled his fingers. My head arched back and my hips thrust toward his face. “Yes!” I gasped as my release struck me. It was like the tornado I’d heard about that had struck the nearest town last summer. Wild, tumultuous winds that no one could survive. I was lost, caught on the feelings that Maddox wrung from my body in such a decadent way.
I could feel my inner walls rippling around his fingers. His fingers continued to pump in and out of me, but his pace had slowed, his licking subsiding to tender kisses on my intimate flesh.
My skin was damp with sweat, my body soft and pliant. I could collapse to the ground in a puddle if not for Maddox’s hands on my hips. Slowly, I opened my eyes and grinned. Grinned down at the face that was so new to me and yet so familiar. When he saw my smile, he grinned, too. I should have been embarrassed by the evidence of my arousal glistening on his lips and chin, but if I felt so good because of him, I wasn’t going to worry.
Letting go of his hair, I sighed, tried to calm my racing heart.
“Maddox—”
“Cassie!”
It wasn’t Maddox’s voice that called my name. It was Mr. Anderson and I froze in place like a frightened rabbit, too scared to move or make a sound.
Maddox’s fingers stilled but did not move from between my thighs.
“Cassie!” Mr. Anderson called again. I could picture him standing on the back stoop looking for me, squinting out across the prairie, trying to catch a glimpse of me, straining to hear my reply. I wasn’t on the prairie. I was pressed against the chicken coop, my dress hiked up to my waist, my drawers on the ground as a man knelt before me.
“I’ll be right there!” I yelled, a bit too loudly, but I did not want to chance my employer becoming curious or coming out of the house to look for me. “I must do the dishes,” I added, for Maddox.
His fingers slipped from me, leaving me empty and I moaned. His hair was so dark, like midnight, was long and thick. I itched to run my fingers through it once again, to revel in how soft it was. Now was not the time, for Mr. Anderson might call again if I did not hurry, would perhaps even come looking for me. The idea of having him discover Maddox on his knees before me, my slick essence coating his fingers and face, had the cooling effect of a bucket of water from the creek at spring thaw tossed over my head.
Instead of helping me into my drawers, he forced me to lift one foot, then the other, for them to come free. Holding the white undergarment before him, he said, “I’ll keep these.”
“But—”
“You won’t forget me as you finish your work.” With all the gentlemanly manners I’d imagined from a noble lord, he lifted my hand to his lips and placed a soft, lingering kiss on my palm, his caress right on top of the birthmark. Heat swirled through me at the odd gesture and I nearly swooned, dizziness swamping me.
I would have stumbled, but he stood to his full, towering height. “I’ll see you later, Cassie. I will come to you tonight, in your dreams, and you will see my face this time as I fuck you. Tomorrow, you will be in my arms again, I promise you.”
He stood and stepped back, let me go back to the house for my evening chores. I did not mind the tasks, for once, for I was well satisfied and had a handsome man—a well-skilled lover—to think about.
And that night, alone in bed, he did find me in my dreams. I awoke once again with my nightgown bunched up about my waist, but this time my hand was between my thighs and two fingers were inside me. I’d never, never, done something like that before, but I was so wet, so empty that I stroked myself to another orgasm, my hips shifting on the bed. I wanted more than my own touch, for it hadn’t been Maddox’s fingers deep inside me in the dream, but his… cock.
In the dream he’d said he would come to me today, take me in his arms and make me his forever. He’d stroked me with his cock and I’d let him, wanted everything he had to give me. And now, awake and aware of all that had been said, I had no doubt whatsoever he would follow through on his promise to hunt me down and fuck me until I begged for release.
I promised to find you, to claim you, to make you mine. He’d even said he’d mate me. That was the one word he spoke that confused me. Mate. Not wife, not lover, but mate.
I was a woman, not a wolf.
Once I woke, sleep would not return and I feared I might never rest again. When dawn threatened, I climbed from the bed and dressed quickly, deciding against my favorite blue day dress because it would remind me of yesterday, of him.
I only owned two dresses, and slipped into my faded green-and-yellow work frock before tiptoeing down the back stairwell, careful on the fourth step not to step on the spot that creaked. Going out the back door, I closed it quietly behind me, then I breathed.
My work shoes were next to the back door and I slipped my feet into the familiar leather. The sky was still dark, but the birds were chirping and I knew dawn was close. The cool air felt good on my heated skin, my damp thighs, although it did nothing to cool my eagerness for Maddox. I didn’t understand it, this… this frantic need to be with him, to touch him, to know he was near.
I should hate myself for my weakness. While I was a widow, I should have some decorum, some level of virtuousness despite what I’d shared with Charles. Far from innocent, I had somehow transformed to a wanton, letting a stranger do what he wished with me—Maddox had certainly been the dominant one—to find my pleasure. It was inexplicable. Truly. But I didn’t care. For once in my life, I was just feeling, just living, not wondering what others would think or focused on doing what was best in order to survive. For once I was exhilarated, for Maddox wan
ted me.
Not one of the women I knew in town spoke of dreaming about sharing a bed with a man before they married. I’d never heard one hint of the idea. While the married women did not often speak about what occurred in their marriage beds, they did talk. Yet, not one had mentioned sharing such wicked dreams. No one ever talked about dreaming about a man and having him appear, as if by magic. And most of all, no one had ever talked about their man being so skilled with his hands, his mouth and his cock. They’d mentioned lying still and bearing it, not getting so wet that I could hear my own desire, pick up the scent of it in the air as Maddox used his fingers and tongue to bring me to climax.
No one had ever mentioned doing that behind their chicken coop. I put my fingers to my lips to stifle a heady giggle.
To complicate and confuse me further, Maddox had said he’d dreamed of me, too. I could understand having someone appear in a dream, for I’d had dreams of Mrs. Anderson after her death and she had not come back to life. That wasn’t uncommon, dreaming of the people one sees each day. But Maddox had dreamed the same dream, had described it in some detail and it had matched mine.
While I wanted him in my bed, I knew that was the line I could not cross, for Mr. Anderson and the others would easily know of our illicit interactions. I could not be here when Maddox woke. I could not stare into his blue eyes over the breakfast table and pretend to be unaffected or deny what had occurred behind the chicken coop. Surely what we’d done would be painted on my face for all to see. I needed to get away, clear my head before I was forced to confront him again.
Stepping off the back porch, I walked through the damp grass. Glancing back at the house, I wondered if he still slept, if he wore his clothes to bed or if he was as naked as in the dream that still lingered in my mind? Long, lean muscles, smooth skin with a smattering of soft hair. I knew how he felt, how he smelled, how he tasted, for I’d put my lips on his body before he’d flipped me onto my back, nudged my thighs wide and worked his thick manhood into me.
The Alien's Mate Page 4