Pick of the Litter

by Wendy Stone

  If she didn't ... he couldn't bear the thought of losing her, of never seeing her again.

  "Lukah?"

  Her sleepy voice woke him from his thoughts and he walked to the bed, forgetful of his state of undress. “I'm right here, Marissa."

  Her eyes moved over him and he could see the shy admiration in her gaze. “What time is it?"

  "Late, sweet one. I ... I couldn't sleep and went for a walk."

  "L-like that?” she asked. “You aren't like a closet nudist or something, are you?"

  He couldn't help the bark of laughter that burst from his mouth. “Closet nudist. Very funny, Rissa. But no, I was just getting ready to get into bed."

  She scooted over, holding up the sheet.

  He accepted her invitation, sliding in and pulling her close to him, her head on his shoulder. He felt a sense of peace, holding her like that. “Go back to sleep, little one."

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  Chapter Six

  Lukah felt her small hand slide over his stomach as she rolled against him in her sleep. Her breasts pressed into his side as her head found its place nestled into his neck. Marissa's hair tickled his chin and the smoothness of her leg slid up his thighs, resting against the throbbing hardness of his cock.

  He'd been in a perpetual state of hardness since he'd gotten into bed with her the night before, his body reacting to her softness, his cock a hard ridge that had defied every thought he'd had, trying to get it to go down.

  Without thought, his hips moved, rubbing against the softness of her inner thigh, feeling the wetness of his pre-cum stain her satiny skin. “God,” he moaned, a husky purring sound. He wanted nothing more than to flip her to her stomach and take her in the way of his people, to mate with her and feel the bond that would make them one, changing her to one of his kind if it was meant to be.

  It was a secret ceremony, one he'd heard of being done only twice in all his long life. His people did not die like humans did. They aged slowly. Though not immortals, as some of the other things that go bump in the night were, his clan and others like them lived hundreds of years. Lukah was still relatively young, which accounted for much of his rebellion at the ways of the clan. He had been little more than one hundred and twenty when he'd fought against his father and left the island. Now he was almost two hundred years old, and though he regretted the way he'd had to leave, he didn't regret leaving.

  How could he? Now that Marissa had entered his life, he had hope that he'd found his mate. But only the ceremony would prove it.

  Her small hand slid over his cock, startling him out of his musings. “Marissa?” he breathed, not wanting her to move her hand, but also not wishing to startle her.

  "Hmm?” she hummed sleepily, her back arching to press her breasts even harder into his side.

  "Good morning,” he whispered, lifting her face to his so that he could find her lips. He tried to keep the kiss friendly and non-threatening and was managing quite well until she moaned softly, parting her lips to allow him in.

  His tongue slipped between, rubbing against hers in an erotic duel meant to entice as well as arouse. She moaned again, the hand that still rested against his cock flexing in reaction, wrapping her fingers around his hard shaft.

  A fog of need clouded his brain, his thoughts on one thing, making her his. He pushed her back, following her so that he lay between her thighs, his mouth still mesmerizing her with its slow assault. He could feel her hands on his back, twining in the length of his long hair, holding him against her.

  With a moan of almost painful need, he slid his hand down the line of her shoulder and lower, finding the rounded curve of her breast. Her nipple was rock hard torment against the palm of his hand, her back arching to press it further into him.

  He had to taste it, to taste her. Tearing his mouth from hers, he buried his lips against the skin of her throat, breathing in the arousing female scent that rose from her in waves of need. His body twitched as his teeth grew, the fangs sharp, nipping at her skin. He didn't break the surface, for only if she agreed to be his in the ways of his people, could he mark her as his. Instead, he gently scraped them against her neck, feeling her shiver under him at the sensation.

  The hollow of her throat felt his tongue as he tasted of her flesh. She was warm and salty; the tang of fear and the dark sweetness of desire made him feel almost drunk on her. Nibbling on her collarbone, he heard her inhale sharply, her hands rubbing against his back, stroking him.

  It drove him to madness, her hands upon his back, stroking along his spine. Her nails scratched along the lean muscles, traced over his shoulder blades and then up his neck and in to his hair. He rubbed his head against her hands like a huge tabby cat, purring deep in his throat at the sublime feelings she was giving him.

  His eyes closed, his lips found the upper curve of her breast, his tongue sweetly laving her flesh. She was still wearing his shirt. He dragged it up, so anxious to taste the plump ripeness of her nipple that he had no patience with the restrictive material. When she lifted her hips, helping him release the shirt, he thought he'd go wild.

  Instead, he forced himself to be gentle, to lift her breast with a tender caress, to hold it still for his possession. She cried out in pleasure when he found the taut bud in the center, his thumb stroking over it once before he captured it with his mouth. It was a ripe treat, succulent and tastier than anything his cousin could whip up. He suckled upon it, using his tongue and teeth to drag cry after whimpering cry from her.

  Lifting his head finally, he looked into her face. “I want you,” he growled, the heavy, hard shaft of his erection nudging against her thigh. “I don't want to scare you or hurt you."

  "I-I want you,” she whispered almost soundlessly. “But I am scared.” A single tear trailed down her face, sinking into her hair line.

  Lukah touched that tiny trail with his lips, tasting the saltiness of her tear. “Every tear you shed in pain, sorrow or fear is like a lance to my heart,” he whispered softly. “I want to see you smile, I want to see joy in your eyes, I want to hear you laugh and be free of what those men did to you.” He dropped his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he fought for control of his desires.

  "Are you real?” she whispered. Her hand touched his cheek, stroked back into his hair, petting him. “Am I just dreaming you? Will I wake up and you'll be nothing more than some trauma-induced fantasy?” She pulled him closer, her lips eagerly seeking his.

  He let her kiss him, hold him, stroke her hands over her body. Touching him seemed to please her, for she took her time, pushing him to his back, exploring his long, muscled form. Then she did something that sent his heart thundering in his chest, an excitement that was almost more than he could handle shooting through him.

  She put her cheek next to his, rubbing his face with hers and then ... she purred.

  "Marissa?” he asked, waiting you do that until she raised her head, her passion-heavy eyes meeting his. “Why did you do that?"

  "Do what?” she asked him, confusion in her expression.

  "You purred. Why did you do that?” His hands came up, gripping her arms gently, holding her so she couldn't turn away from him.

  "It ... It was how I felt,” Marissa answered with a shrug. “I didn't mean to upset you. I-I won't do it again if you didn't like it."

  "Not like it?” He took her small hand, pressing it flat against his chest and sliding it down his body, wrapping her fingers around that part of him that was everything that was male. “Does this feel like I didn't like it? God, Rissa, you almost made me come with that sexy little purr."

  Her eyes sparkled, a hint of mischief mixed with passion bringing them to life. “Just by purring?” she asked, laughing. “You'd better watch how much power you give me over you, Lukah, I might be tempted to take advantage of it."

  Lukah let go of her hand, smiling when she didn't move it off of his erection. He dropped both hands to the bed, sliding them up until they were above his head. “Please."<
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  * * * *

  Marissa stared down at the long, leanly muscled body that was laying there, hers for the taking. He was beautiful, every line cleanly formed, every inch of him perfectly masculine, as if the angels in heaven had taken one of God's creatures and changed him to their own heavenly flawlessness. Even his feet were handsomely made, long and slender with high arches and hairless toes.

  The most impossible to believe part was that he wanted her too.

  "Touch me, Rissa,” he said, his voice rumbly deep. “I love feeling your hands on me."

  She stared into his amber eyes, seeing the truth in them. A small smile played upon her lips as she reached up, pushing a strand of hair off his forehead. Her hand continued into his hair, stroking it back, seeing his eyes close in pleasure.

  "You'll tell me if I do something you don't like?” she asked softly.

  "Impossible,” he said, shrugging. “As long as it's your hands, there is nothing you can do that I wouldn't like."

  "You won't move?” she asked, her fingers moving over his cheek and tracing his ear.

  "Not unless you want me to,” he said, rubbing his cheek against her arm.

  "Close your eyes,” she ordered on a whim, nervous about him watching her and seeing in her eyes the fear and longing that she knew warred there. “Keep them closed?"

  "Until you say I can open them,” he agreed, a shiver of anticipation quivering up his spine.

  With his eyes closed, spread out before her like a feast for her senses, Marissa felt a sense of her own sexuality coming back. She felt safe with him; wanted, needed—necessary. It was a wonderful feeling and it gave her courage to take the next step.

  She leaned over him, her lips touching his forehead, traveling softly over his brows and then down the slim slope of his nose. Rubbing her cheek against his, she tangled her hands in his hair, inhaling his scent. “You smell good,” she whispered. “Like spice and leather, and something wild."

  "You smell like sin,” he said, “all soft and sensual."

  Her hands slid over his throat, her thumbs pressing into the thick muscles. She saw him smile, leaning his head back as if offering himself to her.

  "You can't hurt me, Rissa. Not unless you leave me."

  "That's good to know,” she whispered, nuzzling her nose against his throat, her tongue coming out to trace against his skin. He moaned softly, making her feel wicked and powerful. Using her teeth, she nibbled on his neck, moving even further down until she could span the width of his chest, amazed by the power he kept under such rigid control.

  He was all muscle, chiseled and hard, his skin stretched tightly. Her hands teased every muscle, tracing the delineated contours with fascination. He had scars, three large slashing scars that went from his shoulder over his chest, ending at his stomach. If it had gone any further, it could have tore open his stomach, spilling his guts.

  "What happened?” she asked, tracing the scars with hands that shook.

  "A fight when I was younger,” he said, shrugging as if it weren't that big of a deal.

  "These are bad. They look like claw marks.” She let her fingers fall on each of the thin scars, following the curving lines down to his stomach.

  "Ahh, yes. They are claw marks. How could I forget the lovely Rosita?” He sighed and she narrowed her eyes, forgetting his were closed. “She broke my heart."

  "I'll break your head,” Marissa threatened, flicking his nose and making him laugh.

  "It really was nothing, Rissa,” he said when he sobered, “a difference of opinion that could be settled in no other way."

  "You could have been killed,” she said, upset. She looked up into his face, seeing his eyes fluttering as if he wanted to open them but wouldn't.

  "No, I wouldn't have been. My destiny is to be your hero. Don't you know that, Rissa?"

  "You're already my hero,” she said with a smirk. Sitting up, she slipped his shirt off of her body, leaving her clad in the tiny black thong she'd worn under her dress the night before. Before he could remark at the absence of her hands on his body, she moved over, lying on top of him, her breasts flattened against the rock solid muscle of his chest.

  "God,” he groaned. “Are you trying to kill your hero?"

  If she hadn't been watching his face, she wouldn't have seen the almost harsh look that came and went across his features quickly. She wouldn't have noted the way his body tensed or have seen his hands flex into white knuckled fists before opening once more. But she saw it all and felt a sense of freedom she'd never felt with anyone before.

  "Do you want me that badly?” she whispered against his lips.

  "May I show you?"

  Before her yes was out of her mouth, he'd flipped her to her back, his mouth capturing hers with lustful intent, his tongue thrusting deep. His hands were filled with her breasts, holding them, squeezing the hard tips between his fingers, twisting them. He lay on top of her, her legs spread, cradling the proof of his need for her barred only by the thin strip of lace that was her thong.

  He held her that way, caught in the tempest of lust and need, sending her heart racing and causing desire that seemed to boil to pool between her thighs. She felt fear also, but it was like a tiny voice in a storm; there, but easily ignored. Marissa wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him drag her along on this chaotic ride of passion.

  She felt him, hard and hot, pressing against her, his hips rocking gently, almost unconsciously. She could do nothing but respond, only to be left gasping when he levered himself away from her. “Do you understand?” he growled, his chest heaving, his hands fisted tightly to keep from grabbing her again.

  She rose above him. “Don't stop,” she whispered, searching his gaze. “Make me whole again, please."

  His hand opened, cradling her face in his palms, pulling her down to him. “I'll stop if you get scared,” he promised.

  "I won't. Make love to me,” she breathed, moving the last few inches to find his lips.

  She moved over him, straddling his loins. Her lips rubbed against his, her tongue playing along his. Just kissing him left her breathless and wanting. Feeling him between her thighs, his cock hard. Pressing against him had her shivering with need. Her hands stroked down his body, rubbing over him. He felt so good against her, she couldn't help but move above him, wanting more.

  He tore his mouth from hers, slowly rolling her to her back. “I want to love you,” he groaned, staring down at her slender body, admiration shining in his amber eyes. “You are so incredibly lovely, Marissa. So delicate and fragile. You should be treated like a queen.” His head dipped, his lips sliding down her throat, his tongue tasting her skin.

  Marissa whimpered as he moved lower, his mouth open, sliding over the curve of her breast to take its rosy tip into his mouth. Heat bathed her breast, a pulling sensation sent waves of pleasure through her as he suckled, her hands coming up to hold his head to her, wanting more.

  Lukah moved to the other breast, laving the tip with his tongue. She cried out as his fingers played with the other hard nipple, twisting it gently; then harder as she moved under him, her hips arching with her need.

  "Easy, little one,” he whispered, a dark smile upon his handsome face. “May I?"

  She felt him pulling on the waistband of her only garment and nodded shyly, lifting her hips from the mattress to allow him access. She heard his groan, then felt his lips against her hip, sliding down as he pulled the black lace and silk from her, down her legs, carefully untangling the thong from her feet. A blush rose to her face as he knelt at the foot of the bed, staring down at her.

  His fingers reached out, carefully feathering through the silken curls at the apex of her thighs. “A natural redhead,” he joked, making her smile even as she reached for him. He moved away from her touch, shaking his head. “No, not yet."

  "W-what did you have in mind?” Marissa asked.

  Lukah lifted her ankle in his hand, holding her leg up so that he could run his fingers over her skin. She could
feel the heat of his gaze on her flesh even as his lips caressed her arch, his tongue running over her foot and up her ankle. He shifted so that he knelt between her legs, holding one leg out, running the flat of his hands up the inside of her thighs.

  "Let me?” he asked, feeling her resist.

  Marissa couldn't tell him no. She sighed, letting her legs fall apart, feeling his lips on her knee and then the inside of her thigh, his tongue laving gently at the skin. She felt Lukah's fingers slide over the wet flesh of her sex, opening her gently. Touching her, healing the pain that the memory of the attack brought to her with his tenderness.

  She felt the heat of his breath, holding her own until the tip of his tongue dipped between her thick swollen lower lips, tasting her. “Ahh,” she whimpered, not sure if she wanted to move away from that invading muscle or squirm closer.

  Instead, she held still, waiting for him to continue. Lukah didn't disappoint, swiping his tongue through her wetness, finding her clit and teasing it with tiny flicks. She lifted her head, seeing his dark one between her thighs, his hair lying over her skin, dark against her pale flesh. His golden eyes stared up at her, intensely erotic in his obvious enjoyment of what he was doing to her. She moaned louder, her head falling back on the pillow when he caught her clit between his lips, suckling and nibbling at the tender knot of flesh.

  Marissa writhed under his talented mouth, and then caught her breath as he gently but firmly slid one finger inside of her. She felt her body stretching, felt the invasion of another of his fingers as he thrust them inside of her. Her eyes closed and she clawed at the sheet, the heated tension building inside until she thought she would explode. “Please,” she begged. “Ah God, please, don't stop."

  Her words seemed to inflame him, his movements becoming less controlled, more desperate. He thrust harder, his tongue a blur of motion on her sensitive clit. Her hips moved, thrusting against his mouth, wildly pressing and rubbing against his face.