Her words of approval made his gut clench, filled it with warmth that was strange and new. “What about your kind?”
Martine bristled immediately, her body language a clear sign he should back off. It was in the way she sat up straight and smoothed her hands over her shirt, in the way her lips tightened as if to say keep out. “What about them?”
Derrick threw up his hands before pushing his chair out. “Sorry. I forgot the no-questions rule. Forget I asked. How about we clean up? I’ll rinse the dishes, you load the dishwasher?”
Martine pushed her chair back, too, and rose, grabbing a plate, an awkward silence settling between them. “You bet.”
As she trailed off to the kitchen to the tune of Claire De Lune, he fought to look anywhere but at her rounded ass, grabbing more plates and glasses to keep his eyeballs in his head.
He followed her into the kitchen, dropping their glasses into the sink and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to intrude. I guess it’s just hard to know what’s out of bounds. I was just making conversation.”
She looked up at him then, her expression sheepish. “No. That’s on me. I’m going to tell you something honestly, and I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.”
Martine paused, letting her head drop, her thick, dark hair falling toward her face in silky strands. “I hate being paranormal. I hate the rules. I hate the hiding from humans. I hate the ridiculous restraints placed on us. I hate that someone placed a curse on you that will leave you dead just because your family helped people in need. It makes me angry—it enrages me, in fact, and I want no part of it. I’ve always struggled with it.”
Derrick wanted to ask what restraints, but he knew better. He might not be a great communicator, but he smelled her struggle, her helplessness, and it only made him want to ask her more questions. “It’s not so different than being human, you know. Humans have all sorts of rules, and grossly unfair ones at that.”
Martine scoffed. “Can they curse you to die if you don’t have sex with someone you’ve never met before? Can they cast ugly spells on you? Hold you…”
Hold her what? Spells? She grew more interesting by the second, but he kept his questions to himself. “In all fairness, humans have plenty of crazy rules, Martine. Someday, you should read what’s illegal in Idaho alone. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had rules just like my curse. Some are so ludicrous they’re laughable.”
Her eyes fell to the sink with a sweep of her lashes against her cheek “Do humans have to hide from us like they’re lepers? Hide their abilities so they won’t turn into someone’s science project?”
He could argue this all night, but he’d hit a raw spot, and he wasn’t into rubbing salt into her very clearly open wounds.
Instead, he squeezed her shoulder again and said, “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Martine. But just as an FYI, here in Cedar Glen, we specialize in just being who you are. For the most part, we’re loud and proud here, unless humans are driving through, and that’s mostly only in the summer months. I hope while you’re here, you’ll get out and experience some of it.”
When Martine nodded, her chin brushed his hand. It was just a quick collision of skin, but it was enough to make him let his fingers fall away.
Because he felt her vulnerability—her loneliness—and he didn’t want to.
Because for some crazy reason, that simple touch of skin on skin made him want to fill in all those gaps, make up for whatever she was lacking.
And that was damn crazy.
Chapter Six
Martine’s long, supple body slithered over his, sending a wave of heat across Derrick’s flesh. Naked, she crept upward along his body, sliding, rubbing leaving her silky imprint on him, leaving her scent of raspberries and cinnamon in his nose.
He knew he should be surprised she was in his bedroom, surprised she was anywhere near him after their dinner conversation. Yet, she felt familiar and unfamiliar all at once. As though she were a favorite pair of jeans he’d forgotten he had and was slipping back into for the first time in years. She felt new, but comfortable, taking all the surprise out of it.
As her soft hands roamed along his pecs, his brain knew he should speak up to keep her from doing something she’d possibly regret. But his limbs? They were erring on the side of “Shut up, Derrick. Extremely attractive woman in your bed. Go with it, brother.”
Still, the stand-up guy in him wanted to give her the chance to opt out of whatever this was when she drew her long fingers along the crease where his hip met his thigh. But his body wouldn’t listen to his brain—didn’t want to listen to his brain.
And neither did his cock, burning hot and painfully erect. Everyone but caution and common sense wanted to come out and play tonight.
As Martine’s legs straddled his chest, the gentle swell of her hip by the light of the quarter moon caught his eye. It was soft and plump, creamy and smooth, and he wanted to dig his fingers into her supple flesh, touch her silky skin everywhere.
And then the half of his brain still capable of exercising caution mocked him. Oh, Derrick. You don’t even know her. Shame on you. She’s kindly offered to save you from death, and you’re not even considering engaging her in a conversation about her reasons for showing up in your bedroom completely naked? Maybe ask her what bought this on when earlier tonight she would have sooner had sex with a wart-covered Cyclops than even be in the same room with you?
That’s harsh and totally untrue. She never once said I was unattractive.
But he quit arguing with his brain when Martine pressed her body to his, sinking into him. Thigh to thigh, chest to chest. And it was damn good. Damn good. Too good.
Derrick…
Look here, Brain. Shut. Up.
There was a mingle of moans, an echo of sighs before Derrick finally stirred beneath her, the lower half of his body arching upward as she settled on his abdomen, leaning over him, letting her long, black hair caress his chest.
He groaned when her tongue snaked out, stroking the line of his lips with a heated swipe. She lingered on the surface, lightly licking, tasting, exploring, until he forgot all the warning signs that this was a bad idea and captured her mouth in a deep kiss.
When their tongues touched for the first time, he moaned, his chest vibrating with deep satisfaction, her breasts, full and round, pushing against him in response. Martine’s mouth on his was soft, plump, and he wanted to devour it.
She sank deeper into him, pressing every available inch of her skin against his, making his cock tighten even more painfully, ache with need.
Derrick’s hands instantly went to her hair, his fingers thrusting into it, pulling her closer.He was learning about this woman who didn’t want any personal involvement through this amazing kiss, learning what she liked, learning what made her nipples tighten and her toes dig into the bed.
And then he took her mouth deeper, fully, inhaling the flavor of her taste, stroking the texture of her tongue until her fists pressed into either side of his head.
She returned the kiss by pressing her lips to his with a whimper, matching his tongue’s forceful strokes.
He slipped deeper still into the cavern of her mouth, tasting, exploring, needing this with a burn in his gut and a tight pull of his shaft.
With suddenness and a light moan, Martine pulled away, lifting herself slightly and gazing down at him, her green eyes on fire, her breasts brushing his lips before she settled in.
She stared at him, scanned his face while he searched her eyes, looking for the smallest hint she wanted him to stop. Her chest heaved as she sat up fully, driving her tight nipples upward, the pretty pink buds making his mouth water.
Still, he waited, forcing his body to remain in check, keeping his impatience in check.
But Martine took his hands and placed them on her breasts, as though she were giving him the final permission he needed to touch her, and then she closed her eyes, her tongue slipping out of her mouth to wet her
lips.
His cock jerked in response to the picture she made, making him husk out a low moan at the silk of her skin, the heat of it.
She gripped his wrists tight, hissing as he gently pinched her nipples, turning them into tight, hard points. Lowering them to his mouth, she gasped when he pushed them together and lashed each bud before drawing them between his teeth and nipping them.
Her hips rolled as she pressed her breasts deeper into his mouth, a sigh escaping her lips. He sipped at the rigid buds until she fell against him, reaching to clutch handfuls of his hair, whispering words he couldn’t make out.
His first instinct was to roll her to her back and drive into her until she screamed—it was always his first instinct. Yet, he wanted more. He wanted to discover what made Martine tick, what wrought those breathy sighs from her, what made her writhe in passion.
The overwhelming need to slip between her thighs became an urgent, aching must. He was on fire, his cock hard and pulsing, but he needed to taste her first, to slip his tongue between her folds.
Now.
He rolled her to her back, kissing her breasts once more before leaving them, smiling against her belly when she groaned a protest, Derrick trailed kisses along her ribs, down over the swell of her abdomen before parting her thighs.
His chest tightened at the sight of her, unexpectedly shaved smooth, and he moaned his approval, leaning forward, inhaling her scent, running his tongue along her creamy inner thigh.
Her impatience grew, judging from the bucking of her hips and the insistent hand she placed on his head, making him linger longer at the crease where her thigh met her hip. As Martine’s chest rose and fell, the peaks of her nipples lifting into his line of vision, he spread her swollen flesh, letting the wetness seep into the pads of his fingers.
Martine cried out at his touch, her body shivering against him. Rising up on her heels, she strained toward his fingers.
When his tongue slipped inside her for the first time, Derrick’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. His cock pulsed, white-hot and needy as he took a long swipe, flattening his tongue against the swell of flesh, savoring her essence.
Martine’s pussy was nirvana, salty/sweet perfection, and as his lips explored her, she rocked against them, her breath coming in short pants. Circling her clit, Derrick suckled it, stroked it, teased it before slipping a finger inside her.
The easy rhythm he’d begun increased, matching his finger’s strokes to that of his tongue, savoring the tight pull as she contracted around the digit.
And still, he grew greedier, hot spears of agonizing need tearing at him, driving him to taste as much of her wet flesh as he could. The sounds of her heavy panting hitched, released, caught, let go again until her hands gripped his hair, clutching it in her fists.
Martine lifted her hips, her heels digging into the mattress as she cried out, hoarse and raspy, the air thick with the tangible smell of her release as he drove his finger into her and licked her clit.
When she sank back into the bed, Derrick stroked her thighs, soothing her, learning the feel of her skin beneath his palm, listening for her breathing to slow before he inched his way back upward, dropping kisses on her belly, along her ribs, making his way to her mouth.
Her delicious mouth parted when Derrick nibbled her silky lower lip. Her hands kneaded his shoulders, wound over his back, moving down along his spine, cupping his ass.
She wrapped her long legs around him, whispering words that again he couldn’t quite make out, they were so muted and indistinct. She coaxed him to his back, laying her palms flat on his chest. She pinched his nipples, drawing her hands over his skin until she was between his legs.
It took everything he had in him to remain still, to let her explore the way he had. Soft lips grazed his belly, tiny flicks of her tongue wound their way to his cock.
He was dizzy with expectation as she neared his shaft, his mouth dry, his senses on overload. But he forced himself to open his eyes, to watch her take him in her mouth. His chest tightened when she licked her lips, anticipating the slick, hot glide of tongue over flesh. His heart sped up, racing in time with the electricity sparking through his veins in hot jolts.
Martine let her hair graze his cock, draping it over the rigid flesh as she lingered, her hot breath caressing him.
The long, slow swipe of her tongue along his length made his hips bolt upward and his hands found her hair, gripping the long strands, threading his fingers through it as he pulled her to him.
She took her time, circling the head of his shaft, licking it swiftly, lightly, her hands cupping the heavy sac of his balls as she teased him with her tongue. With a motion of catlike grace, Martine enveloped him and he bucked in response, clutching her head tighter, her slow descent making the muscles in his thighs tense and bulge.
Gripping each thigh, she kneaded them as she allowed Derrick to glide freely between her lips. The visual of her body curled between his thighs, her long, dark hair tousled, the sweet slide of her lips against his cock, were almost as hot as her mouth on him.
His teeth clenched in an effort to take this slow, but the hot cavern of her mouth was too much, not enough, overwhelming, as she tightened her lips around him and pulled upward on his cock then slid back down.
Over and over until every nerve in his body was on fire, until he was so close to coming, he had to pull from her mouth and drag her upward, rolling her to her back.
He needed to drive into her, to sink into her wet, silky depths.
Needed.
Martine arched in response, wrapping her long thighs around his waist, placing one palm at his chest and looping her other arm around his neck.
He didn’t hesitate when she lifted her hips, encouraging him to plunge deeply within her—but the moment he did was a moment he’d never forget.
As he drove upward, their gazes met, Martine’s as surprised as he was certain his was. This felt too good—too right—too much. She wasn’t just wet and tight, she was everything—all consuming, and her gasp mingling with his own made them both pause.
He pulsed inside her, torn by this unfamiliar rush of emotion, caught off guard by the intensity until she writhed beneath him, enticing him, making him take control and thrust inside her again.
His cock was like steel, deeply wedged in her tight depths when he began to plunge, drawing his hips back and letting go with no mercy. Martine’s pussy clenched around him like a slick glove. She matched his thrusts, raising her leg higher, clawing at his back.
The sting of her nails and her harsh moans against his ear served to heighten his need. He hooked an arm at the bend in her leg, lifting it higher, driving toward the white flashes of light behind his eyelids.
Martine frantically thrust her hips against him, making his blood pound in his ears. Derrick hissed a breath when her hands found the muscled flesh of his ass, digging her nails into it as he swelled within her. She whimpered low, her nipples tightening, scraping his chest, her neck arching, signaling her release.
And as the roar of climax surfaced, gripping him, milking his cock, Derrick tensed above her, sinking into her tight wetness one last time before he came, the orgasm hard, relentless in its grip.
Martine rode the wave with him, their hips crashing together, a fine sheen of sweat covering their flesh as Derrick found her lips, sealing them in a kiss before collapsing against her and pulling her close.
He drifted off to sleep, the sweet smell of their lovemaking in his nose, and the profound discovery of how at ease he was with her in his bed weighing heavy in his chest.
* * *
The clatter of pots and the aroma of coffee woke him. The sounds of someone in his kitchen made him lift himself to his elbows before the memory of last night hit him.
Martine’s hot skin on his, his tongue buried inside her. Some of the most amazing lovemaking he’d ever encountered, and he’d encountered plenty. His cock clearly remembered it, too, lifting beneath the sheets in salute.
The
n reality settled in. Shit. Now came the awkward weirdness always associated with the morning after.
But hold on, he hadn’t been the one to make the first move. She’d appeared in his bedroom. So what the hell did that mean?
Martine poked her head around his bedroom door, an eyebrow raised, her hair falling about her shoulders and down over her breasts in shiny waves of black silk. “I made breakfast. Figured it was the least I could do after last night.”
Instantly, he was in defense mode. The least she could do? Was this a passive aggressive poke at how quickly they’d made love?
She’d made the first move. He couldn’t be blamed for succumbing to her incredibly amazing body. “The least you could do?” he asked dumbly.
She shrugged her shoulders, covered once more in the shirt he’d loaned her, and gave him a half smile. “I guess what I meant was, you did most of the cooking last night. The least I can do is take on the task of preparing a meal or two. I mean, you are letting me stay here hassle free. I’m a little rusty, but I managed to make eggs Benedict, if you’re interested.”
He eyed her from the bed. No recriminations? No angry words? No “You only used me for my body” melodrama?
And eggs Benedict, too? What woman made anything but a voodoo doll she could stick pins in for a man who had every intention of their interaction being nothing more than a one-night stand?
Okay, they obviously needed to clear the air. If she wasn’t going to touch it, he would because he needed to clear the air. “About last night—”
Martine flapped a hand at him, effectively cutting him off, and gave him a lopsided smile. “You mean all my carrying on about my hating being paranormal? I’m sorry. It was really morose and gloomy, huh? It was insulting to you because you don’t seem to mind—even with a curse hanging over your head, and I regret sharing that. Promise, from now on, I’ll be warm sunshine and cream-filled cakes. So let’s forget it, and let me make it up to you with breakfast. I won’t speak another word about how I feel on that particular subject. Now, hurry up and get dressed before it gets cold.”
What's New, Pussycat? (Wolf Mates Book 2) Page 5