Pick of the Litter

by Wendy Stone

  "Tease,” he growled in her ear, his tongue licking her tiny lobe.

  He held her against him, his hand inside her dress, resting against her flat stomach. Slowly, almost as if he were afraid to startle her, his hand slid up the front of the dress, over her ribs to the curve of her breast. Marissa held her breath, wanting so badly to feel him, to have his hand caressing her skin, his fingers on her swollen and aching nipple.

  Reality was better than any dream or expectation. He held the mound of flesh in his palm and her knees grew weak. Marissa reached behind her, her hands grasping his hips to keep herself standing. Her head fell back against his shoulder and she closed her eyes, almost embarrassed at the moan that came from her lips.

  "That's it, sweet Rissa. Give yourself to me. I won't hurt you. I only want to love you,” he growled, nuzzling her throat from behind.

  Marissa felt his other hand against the straps that held the dress up. He found the tiny hooks that secured them, undoing them deftly. The front of the dress fell away, the skirt slipping down her hips to slide to the floor. It puddled at her feet, leaving her naked but for the small thong and black nylons.

  "Ah,” he groaned, his head bent next to hers. She knew he was looking at her and felt a flush start at her breasts, moving over her collarbone and then up her throat to her cheeks.

  "Is that a good ‘ah'?” she tried to joke, though her voice quivered with nerves.

  He whispered something in his own tongue, translating it quickly to her. “I have never seen such beauty as what you display now."

  Marissa turned in his arms, lifting up on tiptoe to reach his mouth. She kissed him this time, catching his lower lip between her teeth and biting gently. Then her tongue was in his mouth and his hands were on her back, sliding down over her bottom, squeezing the firm flesh before dragging her harder against him.

  The kiss went on and on, sending surges of heat through her blood that had her wet and needy. She wanted to climb his long, hard body, to impale herself upon his shaft, to feel him take her with every bit of desire she could sense he held in check. Pulling her mouth from his with a gasp, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, yanking them back so the jacket fell from his shoulders. Then her hands were on his tie, fighting with the stubborn knot until he took pity on her and pulled it off.

  He dropped it around her neck, the two ends tickling over her skin and sending a shiver of heat through her. Her hands went to the buttons on his shirt, her fingers trembling so that she could barely slide each small disk through its hole. Yanking the tails out of his pants, she finished unbuttoning it and then pushed it off his shoulders, leaving him naked from the waist up except for the necklace at his throat.

  The heat of his skin seemed to envelop her, her softness molding to his hard-muscled form. It felt so good to be held by him, to feel him against her skin. She growled low in her throat, her head tipping back to arch into him even more. Marissa was being driven by need, by desire, by the heat of his body. She surprised him and herself by pulling away, taking his hand and tugging him after her.

  Stopping in front of the long, low sofa of dove gray micro-suede, she pushed him down on it, kicking off her shoes to straddle his hips. His hands went to her hips, pulling her into him. She could feel him, his cock pressing against the tiny bit of fabric that was all that covered her.

  "Who's seducing who here, Rissa?” Lukah growled, rubbing her against his shaft almost helplessly.

  "Does it matter?” Marissa bent her head, desperate to taste him again. “I want you,” she whispered against his mouth.

  * * * *

  She was like fire in his arms, her hair the color of the flames, like a bright halo around a face that should have been on an angel. Marissa moved over him with sweetly graceful moves, rubbing against him and firing his need for her to a throbbing pain.

  Lukah felt her nipples, like twin thimbles dragging against his chest. “Who's seducing who here, Rissa?” he growled, his hands on her hips, pulling her even closer.

  "Does it matter?” she asked him, gently rubbing her nose against his. “I want you.” Her lips settled upon his, her tongue pressing against his lips, demanding access. She kissed him wildly, her tongue tangling with his.

  He could taste the wine she'd sampled and the dark flavor of her desire. He could feel the fluttering beat of her heart against his chest. The essence of the panther, the part of him that belonged only to the beast, rose in his chest, wanting to take her as his mate. It fought with his human half and he could feel his teeth changing, his fangs growing sharper.

  Pulling his head back, he broke the kiss, desperately trying to control the inner beast. The women of his clan would laugh at him, goad him, push him to rage to force the change if he'd tried to control it. Then he would leap, pounce upon them, hold them down with his teeth at their throat, forcing the female to accept him.

  She would growl and struggle, fighting against his possession even as her tail would move aside, opening her for his cock. There was little gentleness, little tenderness. Sex was a necessity. It propagated the species. The fight for supremacy between the male and female forced only the strongest to mate; for in the clan, the weakest were left to either die or fend for themselves.

  "What's wrong?"

  His breathing was heavy, his chest rising rapidly as he fought to control the beast inside. “I want you, perhaps too much, Rissa. Give me a moment."

  Even to his ears, his voice sounded funny, gruffer, and deeper. He took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes on her face.

  "Better?"

  "Let me think,” he chuckled. “I have a beautiful redhead sitting half naked on my lap wanting to make love with me. I don't think it could get much better."

  Marissa giggled, as he'd meant her to do.

  "Shall we try this again?” he asked softly, twining his fingers in her hair. He brought her mouth down to his, kissing her and sending up a silent prayer that he would be able to do this the right way. He couldn't stand the thought of scaring her, or of her freaking out if she saw what he really was.

  His hand slid up from her hip, roaming over her soft curves. The delicate beauty of her waist, the fragile ladder of her ribs, the glorious roundness of her breast with its pale tip. He felt her flinch and lifted his head, staring into her soft heather colored eyes. “I didn't hurt you, did I?"

  "No,” she moaned, taking his hand and bringing it back to her breast. “Don't stop.” She ducked her head down and covered his mouth again, but he'd heard the tone of her voice. There was a hint of panic, of desperation as if she were pushing herself to get it done.

  He tried to gentle his kiss but she gave a frustrated little cry, her tongue surging between his lips. Her hands grasped at him, holding tight and she moved against his lap harshly. The salty taste of her tears seeped into his mouth and he pulled back once more. “Marissa..."

  "No! I have to do this. I have to!” She angrily wiped her eyes, rolling off his lap and huddling into a ball on the sofa next to him.

  He reached for the angora throw draped over the back, pulling it over and wrapping it over her shoulders. “It's all right, Marissa,” he crooned softly, trying to soothe her.

  "No, it isn't,” she said, shaking her head. “They ... I really want this, I want you, Lukah. But those ... those bastards ruined me.” Her shoulders jerked and a sob escaped her lips. She turned her eyes up, those huge purple irises drenched with her tears. “I-I wanted this to be ... to be perfect and..."

  Lukah touched her cheek. “It is perfect, Marissa. I'm with you."

  He watched as she stared at him, as if unbelieving, before a smile touched her lips. Watching it was like watching the sun come out after a sudden shower, bringing back the light and the warmth.

  "You're doing it again,” she said softly.

  "Doing what?” He reached out and pushed her hair back, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “I'm not doing anything."

  "Yes you are. You're being perfect again."

  Lukah laughed, stan
ding and going to where she'd dropped his shirt. Picking it up, he brought it to her and helped her slide her arms through the sleeves. “I have this wonderful idea. Shall we do what we came here for originally? Let's have our picnic in front of the fire and share this bottle of wine."

  She nodded and he took her hand, drawing her to her feet. He buttoned up the front of the shirt, trying to ignore how utterly sensual she looked, her hair wild around her head, her lips reddened and slightly swollen from his. His shirt hung on her, the tails reaching her mid-thigh. She rolled up the sleeves and then took his hand when he held it out.

  They settled in front of the fire, the basket of food in front of them. Marissa helped him unpack it, setting the small boxes in front of them. “He made a feast,” she said, impressed by the wide variety of foods. There was a cold potato salad with vinaigrette dressing and fresh herbs, while another box held a variety of chocolate truffles, hand made and decorated with stenciled designs. Chicken, sliced into strips, was marinated in lemon and parsley then baked. Served cold on a bed of lettuce, it was decorated with grapes and nuts.

  There was more, much more. “Your cousin made all of this? It's overwhelming."

  Lukah lifted a bit of the chicken, pressing it against her lips. “Wait until you taste it. There's a reason that Abstract is so busy."

  "Oh my,” she sighed, chewing with her eyes closed. “It's wonderful."

  Lukah opened another box, this one full of sweet, plump berries. She took it from him, reaching in and pulling out a beautiful black berry, holding it to his lips. He opened his mouth, taking her finger between his teeth as she put the berry on his tongue. Sucking on the tip, he kept his eyes on hers before letting her go, chewing and swallowing the berry.

  "I think you taste better than the fruit,” he said huskily.

  They fed each other, teasing and tempting, Lukah stealing kisses as often as he could. He kept them short, never traveling over the edge of innocence, keeping his desire reined in on a short leash. But he could do nothing about the way the front of his pants tented or the way he trembled under her lightest touch. He couldn't hide the almost silent moan that slipped past his lips as her hand fell on his thigh when she fed him a stuffed mushroom or hide the need in his eyes.

  He couldn't stop staring at her.

  When they finished eating, Lukah licking the last delectable bit of chocolate from Marissa's fingers, she leaned backwards, lying on her side, her head pillowed on her arm. Her eyes were heavy, relaxed and without the fear he'd seen in them earlier. He put the last of the boxes back in the basket, moving it and the empty wine glasses out of the way before returning to drop down behind her.

  Marissa had turned over, staring into the flames as they flickered in the fireplace. He slowly let his arm drape across the slimness of her waist, his head resting against his hand as he looked down at her.

  "Lucinda is getting married,” he began, watching as she turned her face up to him.

  "One of those arranged marriages you were telling me about?” she asked quietly.

  "Yes, but one that should do her a good deal of good. Marshall is a good provider, a strong member of the clan. They will bring a new strength to my people. But that isn't why I brought this up."

  "No?” she asked, turning onto her back so that he loomed over her.

  "No,” he answered, stroking the fingers of his free hand over her cheek. “I want you to go to the ceremony with me."

  "You want to take me to Lucinda's wedding? Wouldn't that be cruel?"

  "Lucinda and I never ... It would have been an unforgivable sin for us to mate, Rissa, besides the fact that she never affected me in that way. I remember her as a girl on the island we grew up on. She used to wear her hair in long braids and she followed my friends and me around everywhere. I thought of her as another sister.” He shrugged, dropping his head to steal another kiss, his hand stroking through the silken tresses of her hair.

  "I thought you were Greek."

  "I am. My people own a small island just off the coastline near the city of Piraeus. I was born and raised there. I left...” Lukah paused, closing his eyes as memories flooded him, some that he wished he could just forget. “I left there and came here, some of my family following. I give them a place to live until they get used to the ways here and can find their own lives."

  "But this wedding, your family will be there?"

  "Are you worried that I plan to fully immerse you in the Alexandros family, Rissa?” he teased with a smile.

  "Are you worried that I couldn't hold my own with them, Lukah?” she shot back.

  "So does this mean you will go?"

  Marissa opened her mouth to answer and was surprised by a huge yawn. She quickly covered her mouth, her cheeks flushing. “I'm sorry, it's the wine. It always makes me sleepy."

  "Marissa,” he growled, “will you go?"

  "Yes."

  "Good,” he said simply, the smile of relief on his face expressing how worried he was about her answer. “Now, I can take you home now or we can stay here tonight. Which would you prefer?"

  "Where would I sleep?"

  Lukah cocked his head as if considering her question. “I would like to think you'd stay up there,” he said, nodding toward the huge loft, “with me. But if you wish, I'm sure Kali wouldn't mind you staying in her room. She would also be happy to loan you clothing for tomorrow."

  "She would, would she? Maybe we shouldn't chance it."

  Disappointment bloomed in him. He made to rise, only to be stopped by her hand on his arm.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I thought you wished to go home?” he asked, confused.

  "No, I just don't think we should chance borrowing Kali's room.” She shrieked when he reached down and swung her up in his arms, twirling her in a circle.

  "You make me happy,” he said, letting her legs slide down his body so that she stood in his arms. “Now, no bad thoughts. Let me get the lights and then I'll tuck you into bed."

  He was as good as his word, leading her up the stairs to the loft and letting her look around. It was a huge room, sectioned off by translucent glass bricks. A small setting room was arranged at the top of the stairs. A huge over-stuffed chair and couch were arranged so that it looked homey and cozy, a wonderful place to sit with a cup of coffee and a good book.

  Past that was the bedroom, a bed that rivaled the one at his house in the center of the room, a skylight above it. The walls here weren't finished like the ones downstairs. Instead, the original logs could be seen, giving it a rustic charm that went well with the carpeting and the furnishings.

  "Bathroom's in there,” he whispered in her ear, planting a soft kiss on her neck below.

  He wasn't ready for how she looked when she came out. Gone were the nylons, leaving her legs bare under the length of his shirt. She'd managed to brush back her hair, but it still fell wildly around her shoulders, the gray of his shirt making it seem all the more fiery. Her eyes were soft, uncertain as they gazed at him.

  But all he did was hold up the covers on the side of the bed he was standing beside. “Get in. I'm going to turn out the lights and then get ready for bed myself."

  He tucked her in, his hand lingering against the softness of her skin, bending and pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I'll be right back."

  Lukah was shaking when he reached the bathroom, the glow from the fire in the great room down below giving him enough light to see. He walked in, closing the door quietly behind him. “Control,” he whispered. “Get control of yourself."

  Turning on the faucet, he splashed some water on his face, then got ready for bed. It had been no longer than five minutes from the time he'd gone into the bathroom until he came out, but he could hear her soft breathing coming from the bed. She was asleep.

  For a moment, he contemplated climbing into bed and holding her, but he knew he was too edgy. Panthers were nocturnal hunters and the night was calling to him, leaving him restless and unable to be still. He stood for a se
cond next to Marissa, staring down into her sleeping face.

  Then he turned from the room, heading down the stairs and out the French doors onto the moon splashed deck. The air was cool and fresh, without the pollutants that tainted the city air. Throwing his head back, he could scent deer in the valley and a pack of wolves that stalked them. Without conscious thought, he stripped off his pants and shorts, kicking off his socks and took the first step off the deck. Before he hit the ground, he was no longer a man, but a huge black panther running free, his humanity forgotten in the ecstasy of being his true self.

  He loped through the trees, every scent clear, every detail of the forest obvious to his excellent night vision. In his joy at the freedom of his form, he startled the deer, wrecking the wolves’ chance to take one down, and then laughed at them from a branch in a tree.

  He arched and rolled in a small patch of grass before rising and loping back toward the cabin. How he wished that Marissa were out here to feel this sense of absolute power and liberty. How he would love to show her this side of his life, to feel her run next to him, to hunt with him and play amidst the trees. Even the joy of flexing his nails and sharpening them against the tree trunks was a pleasure he wanted desperately to share with her.

  Would she accept him? He stopped at the foot of the stairs to the deck, his cat eyes staring up at the moon. He knew he'd been gone about an hour and that he should check on her, but he felt almost pain at the thought of losing what he gained in this form. With a shake of his big, black head, he took the first step up the stairs, walking upright before he reached the top. His teeth were the last to regain their human form, the fangs shortening, becoming less pointed. Picking up his clothes, he went into the cabin and up the stairs, the coals from the dying fire guiding his way.

  He dropped his clothes into a chair in the bedroom, seeing her still asleep, her face softened by her dreams. Would she accept him? The thought went through his mind again. If she did, if she would be willing to give herself to him fully, she could become as he, then and only then could they share this other part of his life.