by Kyle, Celia
He gently brushed his hand over the wound, noting the skin was slightly warmer around the holes when compared to the rest of her body. Yet, there was no redness or sign it was infected or irritated. In fact, all he really saw were two small injuries that were slowly healing.
“I know you’re beginning to remember coming to the house. You can’t think of where these came from?” He kept his voice low, knowing his sweet mate was probably nearing the end of her rope.
Bethy shook her head. “No. I went to bed and woke up covered in mud, scratches, bruises, and that.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Mud?” He took another look at her back, seeing evidence of the scratches she mentioned. “When did you get out of bed this morning?”
“Eight. You showed up around eight-thirty.”
Wyatt glanced at the alarm clock’s glowing red numbers. “We’re at just after nine. These scratches should have healed by now. Definitely some of these bruises. And this bite is still very pink.”
Bethy swallowed; throat working and the desperate half of him wanted to lick a line along her neck. “I know. I don’t know why it’s not.” Another tremble, but this one was accompanied by a wave of anxiety.
The lion forced him to move, demanded they gather her close and comfort her. Then again, Wyatt didn’t even try to resist his instincts. He immediately gently pressed his front to her exposed back and wrapped his arms around her waist. He worried she’d rebuff him, shove him away, but instead she sighed and gave him her weight.
“We’ll figure it out together, sweetheart. You mentioned you’re not together like other shifters. It might be a matter of your cat or your power getting you into trouble.” She shook her head, and he nuzzled her neck, drawing her scent into his lungs. “Yes. But no matter what it is, nothing is going to happen to you. Do you understand? You’re mine, and I’m going to take care of you even if it means tying you to my bed.”
Wyatt winced. Damn, talking about tying up a woman who’d spent years being abused by Alistair was the most insensitive thing to say. Ever. “Bethy, I’m sorr—”
She spun in his arms, turning to face him, and he met her golden gaze. Hints of darkness lingered in the golden orbs. He wondered if that was the third part of her, the power she referred to as something separate from the woman and cat.
“Don’t be sorry. You…” She shook her head and turned her focus to his chest. “You haven’t treated me like I’m broken.”
Wyatt shrugged. “You’re not.”
“But even after you found out I could hurt you, you didn’t treat me differently.”
He raised his eyebrows. “But you haven’t hurt me. Everyone is so afraid of you, Bethy. Everyone is so worried about you hurting them. Maybe the part of you that’s angry is taking care of them before they could hurt you.” He cupped her cheek and forced her to tilt her head back. “And maybe that part of you that lashes out at everyone else doesn’t touch me because it knows I’d die to protect you.”
Wyatt waited, hoping she sensed the sincerity in his words. Because he meant them. Every. Single. One.
Minutes ticked past, and she didn’t say anything, didn’t move, breathe or blink, and he wondered if he should apologize. He wasn’t sure why he’d be apologizing, but Alex had told him that when it came to mates: apologize first, figure out why later.
“Bethy—” He didn’t get the words out. Not when she pressed to her tiptoes and brushed her plump lips over his. Not when she lapped at his mouth, and he opened for her. Not when she slipped her tongue into his mouth and drew him into heaven.
* * *
Millie sank into him, letting him take her weight as they kissed. She was so damned tired, bone hurt, and needed to lean on someone—on him—for a while. The women in the pride had been wonderful to her, but Wyatt was… hers.
His tongue tangled with hers, dancing to a seductive beat while they kissed. His warmth filled her, sinking into her body, soothing the remaining aches and pains.
Her cat wanted him, her power desired him, and her body couldn’t live without him. She’d tried so damned hard to push him away, but she realized now there was no way they wouldn’t be together. They fit. Period.
Wyatt wrapped his arms around her waist, and she let him draw her closer until their bodies were aligned. His hard muscles pressed against her curved body, and she wondered for a moment if she was enough for him. Then she realized his thick cock wasn’t hard for anyone else. It was all her. She had him desperate and needy. She had him growling and purring at the same time.
He stroked her back, hands sliding along her spine and then settling on the curve of her ass. His fingers flexed and gently cupped her roundness, kneading her with infinite care.
He pulled his lips from hers and rested his forehead against her. “Damn, Bethy, sweetheart. Make me hurt.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, stroking the smooth skin, and he purred. “Make me want.” She jerked forward and nipped his lower lip, smiling with the small shudder that shot through him. “But we need to stop.” His grip shifted from pulling her close to nudging her away. “You’re hurt and I’ll be damned if I’m some horny asshole—”
Millie rubbed her nose against his while tightening her hold. “No, don’t.” She tilted her head and leaned forward, nuzzling his neck. “You’re— This is the first time— I can’t promise I’m ready for a lot, I’ve never just touched or enjoyed or lov— It’s always been—”
Millie huffed. God, she was fucking things up two hundred million ways from Sunday. And she sure as hell hadn’t been about to say “love.” She didn’t know him well enough. At all. The cat could act on instinct and her power was just bizarre. But her human half knew sharing a couple of kisses and spending a couple of hours together wasn’t enough to jump from “nice to meet you” to “I love you more than chocolate cake.”
“Whatever you want, Bethy.” His voice was hoarse as she licked his neck, savoring the salty flavors of his skin. She wanted to follow every line with her tongue. “I’ll give you anything.”
She knew he meant the words, sensed the truth and conviction behind them, but that didn’t mean jumping into action came easily. She nibbled his flesh while she figured out her next move. She teased and tempted him while satisfying the cat’s need to taste and discover their mate.
The hands on the top of her ass traveled lower, cupping her full globes and squeezing them. He pressed them together, and the move transferred to her pussy, teasing her lower lips. Her heat clenched and she instinctively rocked against Wyatt’s hips, drawing a deep moan from him.
“Sweetheart, we need to stop or lay down because my legs won’t hold me much longer.” The sexual promise in his voice had her easing away from him. It had her sliding her hands along his arms and finally catching his wrist before he could move away.
Her clothes were still more off than on, but she didn’t care. He knew what she looked like dressed, and he wasn’t turned off by her curves. She flicked a glance at the bulge in his jeans. No, he wasn’t turned off at all.
“Come lay with me, Wyatt.” She tugged as she stepped back, closer to the bed. “I don’t think I can—”
“I’ll thank God for whatever you will give me, sweetheart.”
She nodded, accepting his statement at face value, and let herself sit on the edge of the mattress. Which put her at eye level with a certain part of him. Fear hit her in a quick spike, but her cat shoved the feeling down. It hadn’t trusted any other male—ever—but it wanted and needed Wyatt. It wasn’t about to let the human part of her ruin things.
Taking a deep breath, she released him and wiggled backward onto the bed. She made sure her top stayed draped across her breasts as she shifted and slid until she sat in the middle. Wyatt still lingered near the edge.
“Bethy…” Doubt lingered in his voice, and she held her hand out for him.
“Come lay with me. Kiss me. Touch me. I’ll do the same to you and we’ll go from there.” A heated blush filled her face. “Just don’t expect everyth
ing.”
An emotion she didn’t want to examine filled his gaze. “Anything is everything to me.”
“Then come here.” It was as if he was waiting on the added reassurance. Because suddenly he was there, and stretched out beside her. He was still dressed in his shirt and jeans, but the fabric molded to his muscled body, outlining every chiseled part of him.
Now that she had him where she wanted him, what the hell should she do?
Her shirt brushed her bare breast, reminding her once again of its presence. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the material and lifted it from her body, sliding it over her head in a rush and then tossing it away.
She squirmed, worried at his reaction. The bruises still stained her pale skin, but then she caught the pure heat in his eyes.
“Damn.” He reached for her, hand pausing when his palm was inches from her right breast. “Bethy?”
She reached out and cupped the back of his hand and guided him toward her body. “Touch me, Wyatt. I’ll tell you if something’s wrong, but I need you to touch me. I need my mate.”
It was like a switch flipped because then he was there, easing her to lie against the mattress, his large body spread out beside her as he propped himself on an elbow. As if waiting for her to bolt, he slowly brought his hand to her breast, obviously still worried she’d panic.
“Wyatt, love me like you’d love any other woman,” her panther snarled at the idea that another had touched him. “I promise to tell you if I’m scared. I said that already.”
“But—”
“I’m gonna bite your ass if you don’t stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”
Wyatt grinned. “Promise.”
She really was ready to bite him, but then he gave her what she desired. He cupped her breast, hand holding the fullness while his thumb flicked her nipple. “Oh, God.”
He released a low, cocky chuckle, and she promised she’d growl at him about it later. Like, after he was done scraping his nail over the hardened nub. Yeah, she’d say something when it stopped feeling so good.
Then, when he captured the tiny bit of flesh between thumb and forefinger and gently squeezed, she realized it’d never stop feeling good. Especially when he locked his gaze with hers and slowly lowered his head, mouth open. He caught her nipple with his lips and plucked the nubbin before tapping it with his tongue.
The touch went straight to her pussy, yanking a moan from her chest and she arched into his caress.
“Yes,” she hissed, unable to do much else.
He did it again, adding a hint of suction as he teased her, toyed with her breast and increased her arousal. Her pussy was hot and aching, growing slicker by the breath.
“Wyatt,” she whined, unsure of what she wanted. Her body craved more. More of his hands. More of his mouth. Just more.
He released her nipple with a soft pop and blew warm air on the bit of flesh. “Shh… I’ve got you.” He lifted her breast to his mouth and circled her nipple with his tongue. “Is this what you want?”
She whimpered and nodded.
“How about more? Just a little?”
Millie’s pussy clenched, her body liking the idea of “more” a whole lot. She nodded again.
Instead of immediately giving her what she desired, he transferred his attentions to her other breast, treating it to the same, delicious attentions. A tap, a nibble, a hint of suction. She arched and writhed against him, ignoring the lingering aches from her deep bruises. There was no amount of pain that could banish the pleasure she derived from his touch.
Wyatt teased and tormented, her body responding to every caress, her cunt tightening and silently demanding to be filled and stretched by him. But… she wasn’t there yet. Not quite.
“Wyatt,” she moaned when he sucked hard. “Please.”
The hand cupping her breast drifted over her abdomen, gently gliding over her bruised skin in a barely-there touch. He kept moving, stroking her, until his fingers met the button on her shorts. He released her nipple long enough to voice his question.
“Bethy?” He tweaked the button.
“Yes.” Please.
That was all the assurance he needed. The button snapped with a quick tug and the sound of her zipper lowering warred with their soft panting. Cool air bathed the curve of her belly, and she remembered panties had been another “clothing optional” thing as well. The fact the garment was missing was driven home by Wyatt’s deep moan.
“God, sweetheart. What you do to me.”
She didn’t have a chance to respond, not when those warm, callused fingers stroked her sensitive skin and played with the curls guarding her mound.
Wyatt leaned down and lapped at her nipple, his digits still toying with those curls. “I’m going to taste you here, sweetheart. First, I’m going to slide my fingers over your clit and then I’m going to slip two into your pussy.”
She whimpered and shifted, body unable to remain still with his sexual promise.
One digit teased the top of her slit, tormenting her with the gentle caress. He was so close to where she needed him. Tilting her hips, she tried to force him where she desired and merely got a deep chuckle from him in response.
“You didn’t answer me, sweetheart.” He suckled her breast.
“You didn’t ask a,” Wyatt slipped his finger between her lower lips and brushed her clit. “Oh, God, there.”
Another laugh, but she didn’t care. Not when he rubbed the little bundle of “fuck yeah, more” nerves.
“Here?” He did it again, circling instead of sliding over her clit.
“Yeah.”
He tapped. “Right here.”
“Yes,” she hissed and rolled her hips. Nothing had ever felt so good. Ever.
Wyatt retreated back to the top of her slit. “Not here.”
She snarled at him; the panther’s fangs dropping and filling her mouth.
He licked her nipple and grinned. “Obviously not.”
“Wyatt, please.”
“Shh…” He lifted his head from her breasts and stretched to brush his lips across hers. “I’ll give you what you want.”
Millie whimpered into his kiss, deepening it when he would have pulled away. She needed his mouth, that extra connection between them as he toyed with her pussy. She tangled her tongue with his, mimicking what would eventually happen. She wasn’t sure if that was today, now, but she had no doubt she’d give herself to him.
Wyatt went back to pleasuring her pussy, fingertip slipping over her clit and touching the perfect bundle of nerves that gave her so much bliss. He circled the nubbin, ’round and ’round and ’round, and she rocked with each movement.
Millie panted and moaned against his lips, pulling away enough to beg for more. “Yes, please.”
He slid his touch south, slipping through her abundant cream, and she spread her legs wider. Her shorts constricted her movements, but the restriction added to her growing ecstasy. He had to fight to give her what she wanted.
Oh, yes.
He tugged and shoved at her shorts, but didn’t pause to remove them. Instead, he made room for himself as his large hand moved to cup her mound. The finger that’d been toying with her heat slipped inside her, stroking her inner walls while the heel of his hand pressed against her clit.
Millie raised her hands and clutched his shoulders, fingers tightening and squeezing him. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound as he growled in return.
He pumped his finger in and out of her sheath, caressing long dormant nerves, bringing them back to life. His tempo was slow, torturous, and maddening, but she wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Because it was so very, very delicious.
“Like that, Bethy?”
“Uh-huh.” She rocked against his hand, and her hip rubbed his hardness, pulling a moan from him this time.
Millie slipped a leg between his and hooked the back of his knee, drawing him closer until the heat of his cloth-covered cock burned her. Yes, that was what she w
anted. She could take pleasure from him while giving a little of her own.
Now they writhed in earnest, bodies moving in a tempo only they could hear. When he pressed deep, she moaned, when his fingers disappeared she whined, but when two speared her, she screamed and sank her claws into his flesh.
“Yes!”
“Fuck, Bethy.” He panted along with her, their hips moving on their own.
His digits fucked her, and she imagined it was his cock, his long, hot length spreading her cunt and pushing deep into her body. He’d hover above her, work himself in and out of her soaked sheath, and she’d love every moment. She melded their lips together as they half-fucked. Clothes separated them, but that was all that kept them from completing the act. And her fear. But fear had no place in the pleasure she experienced.
Wyatt pressed deeper, ground harder against her clit, and she hissed against his lips. “Like that?”
“Don’t stop.” She rolled her hips, ensuring she rubbed his throbbing dick. She knew he needed, knew he deserved her touch, and she’d give him everything.
After she came.
“Feel good? Do you like my fingers in your pussy?” The words were growled, dark and wicked.
Who the hell knew she liked dirty talk?
“Yes. Love it.” She pulled him closer until he lay half atop her body, his heavy weight pressing her into the mattress. “More.”
Now she could truly grind against his cock and his hand, pretend to fuck him as he sent her pleasure rising higher.
Wyatt’s pressure and pace increased, plunging deeper, pushing harder, moving faster. And she loved it. Each movement had her shuddering, body reacting to his touch.
Bruises? What bruises?
All she had now was a cloud of boiling pleasure that seemed to grow and heat with every passing moment. His shirt scratched against her nipples, his tongue tangled with hers while his hand did wicked, delicious things to her pussy.
Now she was nothing more than a bubble of desire and need, the joy of release gathering close. Their bodies moved as one, each shift of muscle translating to snippets of bliss and impending ecstasy. She wanted it, needed it, and desperately ached to come on his hand.