Primal Hunger: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1

by Sydney Somers

Tristan didn’t move and she waited, half expecting him to ask her if she was sure.

  He didn’t. In two short strides he stood in front of her, his hands sliding into her hair, his mouth opening over hers. And the moment he slipped his tongue into her mouth, sweeping slow and deep, she came dangerously close to climaxing.

  From a kiss.

  She gripped his shirt, clinging to him as her knees trembled and all the hot places inside her jumped a hundred degrees.

  His hands slid down her back, then easily beneath the borrowed shorts. “No panties.”

  “After my shower…” she trailed off, the feel of his palms on her bare ass negating any need for explanations.

  “Your next one won’t be alone.”

  His grated response set fire to her belly, and then he urged her backward, toward his bedroom. Keeping track of their progress became impossible when the more he kissed her, the more she wanted to feel his mouth everywhere.

  Moments later, the back of her legs bumped the edge of the bed, and she looped her arms around him to keep from falling back.

  Tristan laughed. “I’ve got you.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” She didn’t wait for him to come back to her mouth, going up on her toes to steal another kiss instead.

  The arm that snapped around her back, dragging her hard against his chest, made her grin. If she could get to him half as bad as he got to her…

  As if sensing her thoughts, he shook his head. One quick glance at his face and she knew whatever patience he had left, whatever had been stopping him from peeling her clothes off, had run out.

  He caught the bottom of her T-shirt and tugged it over her head. When the material bunched around her wrists, he closed his fingers around them, holding them above her head.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, running his thumb down her throat, between her breasts…

  Her eyes drifted shut.

  He abruptly released her wrists. “Who did that to you?”

  She frowned at the harsh demand, then remembering the jagged pink scar on her left side, turned away from him. Habit had her searching for the top she’d allowed him to strip off without thinking. A first for her. It had taken weeks for her to show the scar to the few men she’d let into her bed in the past.

  “Tell me who did that to you.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, hiding the scar as best she could. “Easy, Billy the Kid. There’s no one to meet at sunset for a showdown. I was in a car accident when I was twelve.”

  His expression softened. “Were you badly hurt?”

  “I was in the hospital for a few weeks.” Damn it, where had her shirt gone?

  He moved closer and she angled her right side away from him.

  “You don’t need to hide yourself from me.”

  “I’m not.” She might have stood half a shot at sounding convincing if she’d met his eyes when she said it.

  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  Spotting her shirt, she bent down to scoop it up. “Uh-huh.” Not only had she heard that before, she’d caught the sneaky, appalled glances of more than one man when he noticed the scar. And then there were the flawless women she regularly spotted Tristan with, the kind who probably didn’t even have a smudge in their nail polish let alone a permanent scar five inches long.

  Kennedy wanted to think it was a good sign that after the night she’d had, she could still be self-conscious enough to feel like she wouldn’t measure up to them. At least that was normal. Stupid, but normal.

  “Wait.” Tristan reached for her, catching hold of her wrists and trapping them behind her back with only one of his hands.

  She really didn’t want to be turned on by how strong he was, how easily he cut off a retreat, and at the same time managing to eliminate any space between them. Their bodies touched from chest to knees, his T-shirt rasping over her bare skin with every ragged breath he drew, his hard thigh between hers and pushing against her sex.

  “It doesn’t matter.” As if to prove his point, he ran his gaze down her body, and when his attention focused entirely on her breasts, her heart pounded at the heat that flashed in his eyes.

  He didn’t give her a chance to voice another objection. Cupping her breast, he dragged his thumb back and forth across her nipple, the friction from her bra magnifying the heady sensation. He trapped the puckered tip, tugging gently.

  The answering echo of pleasure in her core demanded attention, and she rubbed against his thigh, biting her lip to silence her moan.

  “Don’t.” His mouth covered hers in a long, hungry slide. “I want to hear it, want to hear how much you like it.”

  “Oh, I like it.” Too much. Way too much.

  Releasing his grip on her arms long enough to pull his shirt off, he wasted no time in returning to her mouth. He anchored one arm around her back, keeping her close. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, the smooth wall of muscle warming her straight through.

  She tensed when his fingers grazed her scar, and as though he realized the source of her tension, he let his hand drop to her waist and thrust his tongue between her lips, coaxing her up on her toes for another bone-melting kiss.

  And then another, and another.

  His arousal brushed her abdomen and they both groaned. The rough denim triggered a wave of heat that tunneled straight through her middle. Needing to feel him, she drew her palm down his chest and past the button on his jeans.

  She heard his breath hitch, knew he waited.

  “Do it,” he growled.

  Kennedy closed her hand over his arousal, sliding upwards just as he rocked his hips, grinding against her palm.

  Without warning, he spun her around, jerking her back against his chest. The rough gesture should have worried her. Instead she reveled in it, reveled in the seeming power she had over him, making him come a little more undone with every passing second.

  Tristan sank to the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap. His cock fit hard against her ass. There wasn’t much time to think about how she wanted to arch her hips and sink back on him without any clothes getting in the way. He pushed her bra strap down, replacing the thin material with his mouth.

  Bringing one arm up, she locked it around his neck, indulging in the scuff of his stubble along her shoulder. And then her bra fell away from her heavy breasts, the sudden tease of air hardening the tips even further. She watched him lazily pluck at her nipple, squirming until not even squeezing her legs together eased the ache between her thighs.

  “You want to come, don’t you?” He rested his palm against her sex, circling, drawing the hem of her shorts higher and higher.

  “Yes.” God, yes. The first threads of release churned in her belly, snaking lower…lower. “Tristan,” she begged.

  A soft laugh against her ear. He slipped a finger under the edge of her shorts, and she cried out when the pad of his fingers teased her opening. Slick and soft, he worked higher, parting her folds.

  Kennedy lifted her hips, silently guiding him.

  She didn’t need to. His fingers expertly stroked her cleft, and when she bounced just a little in his lap, seeking the release that whispered across her nerve endings, he clamped an arm across her waist.

  Unable to wait, she arched up to meet his hand, his slippery strokes circling her clit. Pleasure streamed through her, drawing her muscles tighter. She didn’t hold back, moaning deep in her throat as she came, rocking to the slowing rhythm of his fingers.

  Boneless, she relaxed against him.

  “Wow,” she murmured.

  Tristan didn’t respond, didn’t even move.

  She tipped her head back, surprised by the strain edging his mouth and around his closed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need a minute.” For the second time tonight his voice bordered on feral.

  “You wanted this, wanted me. Don’t put the brakes on now.”

  “I don’t want to scare you.”

  Scare her? “Look at me,” she pleaded
, and when he didn’t, she laced her fingers through his, guiding them along her sex. “Don’t stop, Tristan.”

  His eyes snapped open, the startling blue depths brighter, wilder.

  “Your eyes,” she whispered releasing his hand. But instead of moving away from him, the fear imprinted on his face stopped her. She turned around in his lap, her movements slow and tentative. “How?”

  Not contacts, she realized, gently tipping his face up as though it were just a trick of the light. Her pulse kicked into next gear. Definitely not contacts, almost not even human.

  “What are you?”

  “Yours.” He gripped her waist, his hands sliding higher to splay across her bare back. “Just yours.”

  —

  Tristan thought his heart would hammer straight through his chest. He stared at Kennedy, caught between waiting for her to decide what to do, and burying himself deep inside her. He needed his jeans off, needed to feel her slide along his hard length so bad he couldn’t sit still.

  Studying him intently, she inched closer. He couldn’t help it, he shifted on the bed, brushing against her and fighting the urge not to jerk his pants around his ankles and sink further between her thighs.

  Kennedy tensed, and he knew she deserved some answers, but it was increasingly impossible to concentrate on anything but how good she felt in his arms. If he started to explain anything—and he highly doubted he could—they would have to stop, and he was damn sure he couldn’t do that.

  She was his mate and he couldn’t let her go without making her his. It was as simple and as incredibly complicated as that.

  He dared to run his fingers along the waistband of her shorts, dipping his fingers inside. She didn’t object, so he kept going, sliding them down over her ass until he could reach the damp crease from behind.

  Wet, so hot and wet, it was a wonder he only slipped a finger inside her. She gripped his neck, but she didn’t stop him. Pumping softly, he pushed two fingers into her snug opening, groaning when her slick inner walls clenched around him.

  Her whimper of pleasure spurred him on.

  Bolder, he thrust harder, filling her more completely. When she sank her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, he knew he’d overcome a huge hurdle. The cat roared in satisfaction, and Tristan knew there would be no stopping, no slowing down. Not until he claimed her in every way.

  He rolled, ripping off her shorts and pinning her beneath him. He spared a moment to indulge in the feel of her body arching up to meet his, then he slid down, dragging his tongue across her skin. Every few inches he paused, sucking her between his lips.

  Kennedy moaned, and he grinned, pleased she responded to his touch. Moving back up, he nuzzled her neck, tasting the curve of her shoulder, nipping at her. He wanted inside her so damn bad his insides shook. He needed another minute to get under control before he even touched his zipper. Having watched the pink tips of her breasts get hard, her lips part with her shuddering breaths, her thighs slide open, he knew he was close to exploding.

  “Tristan.” Unafraid, she used her hold on his hair to coax him back to her mouth.

  This time he couldn’t keep the kiss slow or soft. He thrust his tongue between her lips, taking a long, deep taste. She rocked her hips, grazing his cock, and he pushed her harder into the mattress.

  Catching a hold of her hands, he trapped them against the bed and bent to close his lips over her nipple. She tugged at his hold, but he didn’t ease up, focused instead on sucking her into his mouth.

  Her back arched, her breath hissing out as her fingers dug into his. He sucked harder, finally releasing her wrists as he traced the curve of her breast on his way to her other nipple.

  A flick of his tongue, a graze of his teeth and Kennedy moaned, her hands trailing down his back, then around his hips to the front of his pants. Her palm brushed the length of his cock, and he groaned against her breast.

  As much as he wanted to drag this out for her, he couldn’t wait a moment longer. He stood and stripped off his jeans, freeing himself. Her hot gaze slid down his body, fixing on his cock. She sat up, drawing his attention to her breasts and then the damp center of her he wanted most to lose himself in.

  She closed her hand around him, and his jaw snapped shut. His eyes slid closed and he sucked in a harsh breath. Counted to five. None of it helped. None of it could slow down the clawing need to claim her.

  Tristan leaned over her, grinning when she inched further up the mattress away from him, as if she sensed the predator in him craved the pursuit. He snagged her ankle, dragging her toward him. Her legs parted further, letting him see everything from her pale inner thighs to the soft curls and glistening sex.

  He easily covered her body with his, and the sensation of skin against hot skin triggered a wave of lust that grabbed him hard in the gut. Kennedy ran her fingers along his jaw, her expression hungry, and at the same time almost anxious.

  His eyes, he realized.

  “You’re—” he stopped himself from saying mine at the last second, “—safe with me. Always.”

  She nodded, lifting her hips and nestling herself snuggly against him.

  His eyes damn near rolled back in his head. He slanted his mouth across hers, wanting to take his time, wanting to reassure her that she hadn’t made a mistake giving in, but couldn’t stop himself from taking her mouth the same way he ached to take the rest of her—hard, fast and deep.

  He gripped her hips and thrust inside her. Their raw moans of pleasure rode the air, and when he could force his eyes open, he found her staring up at him. Her eyes glittered with the same relentless need that had him in a choke hold.

  “Wait,” she murmured wrapping her legs around him.

  He forced himself to relax his grip, a near impossibility when the walls of her sex tightened around his cock.

  “Just…” She lifted her bottom, deepened the angle, let him slide a little deeper.

  Sweet Avalon.

  And then he reared back and plunged in…deeper. A fierce growl ripped from his chest, and then he pumped his hips, fucking her harder. Tension licked along his limbs, drawing him tighter…tighter.

  Kennedy cried out beneath him, her sex clenching. He grit his teeth, riding the waves of her release until she softened beneath him. Still, she protested when he slid from her, then eagerly rolled to her belly when she realized he wanted her from behind.

  A moment was all he allowed himself to stare at her, to memorize the image of her up on her knees, her hair trailing down her back, her gorgeous bottom turned up, her sex wet and ready. So few women realized how incredibly sexy they looked this way, and his mate made every other female in existence pale in comparison.

  He grabbed her hips, fitting himself against her opening.

  “Tristan,” she pleaded.

  He buried his cock deep inside her. She moaned loud and deep, her fingers clutching at the blankets as he rocked back and filled her again, and again and again. Release stormed through his body, and pumping his hips, he bent down, sealing his lips over the curve of her neck and her shoulder.

  And as his fierce orgasm rattled him to his very soul, he bit her.

  —

  Kennedy cringed at the icy ache in her hand and shoved it under her pillow. It didn’t help. She took her time waking up, wondering what she’d banged her hand on. After prying open her gritty eyes, she lifted her hand up for inspection.

  One heart-pounding glance at the spider-web tattoo and everything came crashing back. Work, her useless car, the cat, Tristan.

  This was Tristan’s room. His bed.

  She looked under the blanket, confirming she was spectacularly naked. Naked and alone. Clearly something hadn’t gone right even though she remembered every second of the sex. Hot, amazingly incredible sex. Even thinking about it reawakened every cell in her body. Her nipples hardened, and for a few seconds, she wanted nothing more than to find Tristan and do something about her very aroused state.

  Thankfully she glanced at the mark on her
hand and the sensation was short lived. She needed to know what the hell was going on, starting with how he’d managed to make her forget her need for answers earlier.

  If she possessed half his skill at avoidance, never mind how easily he’d distracted her from the truth—with sex no less—she could turn in her bartending apron for a healthy political career.

  Kennedy sat up, ignoring the aches in muscles she hadn’t used in quite sometime. She tracked down her clothes, stepping into her shorts before dragging the borrowed T-shirt over her head.

  A sting on her shoulder made her wince. Gently, she probed at her shoulder, felt a scratch of some kind. She glanced at the bathroom, then remembering what had happened in there the last time she was alone, decided she’d take a look at the minor scrape later.

  At the door she hesitated, thinking about the oversized feline that was hopefully locked up somewhere. Given Tristan’s determination to avoid answering her questions, she wasn’t about to sit around and wait for him. Though she couldn’t lay all the blame at his door. As much as she wanted to be angry that he’d managed to call most of the shots, she knew she’d let him.

  She couldn’t remember ever letting the need for sex consume her like that, but it sure as hell wouldn’t get in the way now. She hoped. Worried that calling out would bring super kitty her way, she quietly wandered the halls. The moment she stepped foot in the empty kitchen, her stomach growled. Food, she decided, would have to wait a little longer.

  Kennedy turned to leave, stopped by a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Crossing the checkered tile floor, she opened the French doors, blinking at the bright sunlight that warmed her face.

  Beyond the large patio, Tristan stood with his back to her. Wearing just his jeans, he stood barefoot in the dewy grass, his eyes closed, face turned up to the sun. He didn’t turn at the sound of the door closing behind her, or even when she padded across the chilled stone patio and stepped up beside him.

  The sheer blissful smile on his face surprised her.

  “Tristan?”

  He grinned and nodded at the sky without opening his eyes.

  She squinted at the puffy clouds. “What is it?”