by Eileen Wilks
She swore she was going to eat him up from head to toe and every point in between when he got his hands on her. Once he was naked, she would paint his body with her tongue and taste every inch of his flesh.
Then . . .
Her mouth watered.
Then, she would move between his thighs and lick every inch of his cock. She wanted to do everything to him that she had ever dreamed of doing to a lover. She wanted to take his cock into her mouth and suckle it hungrily. She wanted to taste the essence of him and feel his body tense with the need for release. She wanted him so desperately it was a true, physical hunger.
She would swirl her tongue over the head and feel it throb as she sucked it into her mouth.
Her thighs clenched, the feel of her juices once again dampening her panties and causing her to bite her lip. She really didn’t want to have to change panties again. She swore she saturated them as she sat in that meeting thinking about him.
It had been all she could do to keep her mind on what was being said and keeping the notes her uncle asked her to keep. Her perceptions of Rule Breaker’s answers and whether or not she thought he was lying at important points of the conversation. In her opinion, he was lying in most of them.
When she had first arrived at the meeting, she had been disappointed that Malachi wasn’t there, but, if he had been—she clenched her thighs again as her clit throbbed with the need to be touched.
Perhaps she should go change panties again.
Frowning slightly as she heard the elevator bell ping its descent, she was ready to turn and head back to her room. She was swinging around on one foot, her intent clear.
Changing her panties, because thinking about giving tall, blond and Breedy a blow job had her seriously wet.
The elevator doors slid soundlessly open.
She saw him from the corner of her eye. She could almost swear she felt him.
Poised to run, almost in the turn, nearly pushing off, and instead, she swung back around, straightened and stepped into the elevator as though she had never, not even for a second, considered not doing so.
Turning, her back pressing against the side of the cubicle, she stared across the short distance into eyes that gleamed almost black, the color was so blue. In those eyes, she read his challenge. Was her head start over? Because he had clearly found her, and there was no doubt he was ready to reward her taking the elevator rather than running.
Reaching back, her fingers curled over the side rail, holding tight, holding back.
She heard someone curse, a low, furious sound. But it wasn’t Malachi. His lips weren’t moving. He was staring back at her, becoming as locked within the air of sensuality swirling around them as she was.
Her glaze flicked to his lips once more.
She wanted to kiss him. Just one kiss. Just a taste of that sensually full lower lip, a flick of her tongue against his.
Would she be satisfied with it?
Never. But it would ease the ache in her lips. Maybe.
The elevator felt as though it were moving in slow motion. She felt as though she were moving in slow motion.
She tried to keep her fingers locked around the side bar, tried to hold herself back.
There was no holding back from him.
Isabelle swore she could feel him urging her to him. His gaze was intense, a swirl of navy blue, an erotic storm brewing around them.
They weren’t there alone, but they could have been. They may as well have been. As far as Isabelle was concerned, Rule Breaker and Stygian Black didn’t even exist.
Her tongue slipped out, licking over her lips as the sudden vision of her going to her knees in front of him flashed across her mind.
Her gaze flicked to the front of the black mission-style pants he wore. They were formfitting, though not tight. Still, the bulge beneath them was unmistakable.
She swallowed tight. And it was large.
Her eyes came back to his. She forced them up, because she may wish she were there with him alone, but she knew she wasn’t.
Someone cleared his throat as she inhaled slowly, fighting for control. The taller, darker Breed blew out a rough breath. Neither Malachi nor Isabelle glanced toward him.
Her eyes moved to his hands. He was gripping the rail behind him, across from her. His knuckles white from the force of his grip.
The elevator came to a stop, the doors slid opened and a couple started in, stared at the Breeds and backed out. The doors slid closed again.
“Back up,” Malachi said. It was a rough, rasping sound as Stygian obviously pushed the right button. The elevator started up.
Malachi reached out then, pushed a button himself and Isabelle heard Rule growl his name. A real, male feline sound of irritation. The commander wasn’t happy.
Isabelle and Malachi both ignored him. The elevator stopped again.
“Do you really want to stay?” Malachi asked the two men without looking at them as the doors slid open again and no one moved.
No one except Isabelle.
Releasing the rail, she stepped across the distance separating them. She felt as though she were being drawn to him, pulled to him by some unseen force. His gaze held hers, his lashes lowering to half mast.
She was only distantly aware of the other two exiting the elevator. All that mattered to her was that they were gone. She didn’t have to hold herself back. She didn’t have to force herself not to touch him, taste him, kiss him.
She wanted that kiss. The kiss she had dreamed of. A kiss she had been certain she would never feel.
Moving to him, her hands braced against his chest, she went on tiptoe, but without his help, if he hadn’t lowered his head, it wouldn’t have happened.
Her hands slid to his shoulders, one against his neck as she felt the warmth of his breath against her lips.
“I caught you,” he whispered.
Her lips parted as his touched, moved with his words.
“Or I caught you.”
Suddenly, it didn’t matter who caught whom, or if there was a head start, time to think or even a need for thought. His lips covered hers as his arms slid around her, pulling her closer, lifting her to him.
The taste of ambrosia filled her senses. It had to be ambrosia. The elixir of the gods. It had to be something not quite natural, because the taste of his kiss went to her head like a drug. Like a pleasure she couldn’t deny herself because she had waited far too long for it.
For Malachi.
His fingers cupped the back of her neck, tilting her head back as his lips slanted over hers, parted them, and pure heat swept through her senses. His tongue slipped past her lip, swept over hers and tempted her, teased her to catch it.
She nipped it.
He growled.
Strong fingers slid into her hair, gripped and held her head in place as he turned her, lifted her with his other arm and braced her against the side of the elevator.
His tongue swept past her lips again and stroked against hers.
And she nipped again.
Exhilaration surged through her. Adrenaline surged through her veins as his fingers moved from her hair, cupped her jaw and his kiss became firmer, more dominating, demanding.
He wasn’t asking permission. There was nothing exploratory about the claiming, nothing introductory. He was taking her with his kiss, with his tongue, and she knew what he wanted.
What she was aching for.
Her lips closed around his tongue, sucked with delicate greed as it pumped between her lips and the most unique taste, subtle and hot, filled her senses.
She couldn’t define it. She couldn’t describe it.
She wanted more.
A growl filled the air, a moan whispering around it as the kiss suddenly became hotter, hungrier. The arousal that had been brewing inside her became a firestorm, racing through her, tightening inside her.
This was hers. He was hers.
She’d known it the moment her eyes met his in the bar the night before, and she k
new it now with his lips covering hers, his tongue pumping in her mouth and his hands pulling at her dress.
“Hell! Malachi. Honey. You have a room. Use it!”
Isabelle blinked as he pulled back from her. Flushing, she gazed around his shoulder to the elevator entrance.
Ashley stood, leaning against the elevator frame, holding the doors back. Fingers tucked into the snug pockets of her jeans, her blond hair falling over one shoulder, her eyes wide as she stared back at them.
Then her gaze slipped down and her brows arched. “Nice sandals there, Belle, but I think they should be on the floor, not wrapped around Malachi’s hips while you’re in the elevator.”
Around his hips?
Yep, they were around his hips.
He lowered her slowly. As her feet touched the floor, his arm went around her back and he all but picked her up and carried her from the cubicle.
“Nighty night,” Ashley called out as Malachi slid the electronic key quickly through the lock on his room, then pulled her inside.
His room was across from hers.
It was only a distant thought and it sure as hell didn’t matter. Because he was holding her again, pulling her to him, his lips moving over hers and spilling the taste of pure desire to her senses.
“I warned you.” Isabelle had only a second to understand the words that rasped from his lips before he was pulling the dress from her. “You’re mine now, Isabelle. Mine.”
As he jerked it up her legs, she might have heard a seam split and she really didn’t give a damn because she was all but naked in his arms and he was picking her up and bearing her across the room to the bed.
“You made promises,” she whispered as he laid her back then straightened before her.
“I made promises,” he agreed. “And I promise you, mate, I intend to follow through on every damned one of them. All day. All night. Possibly all fucking week.”
Chapter Five
So many nights I howled into the darkness, incomplete and searching.
Malachi stared down at the woman he knew he’d awaited all his life. The hours he’d spent pulling up every scrap of information he could find on her only confirmed the fact that nature had indeed given him a mate that suited him perfectly.
A small smile shaped her pouty lips, the sensual curve beguiling and filled with promise.
“Are you going to undress, Coyote Man?” she whispered, the husky need in her voice causing the steel-hard length of his cock to throb almost painfully.
Lowering his hands to the belt of his jeans, he would have unbuckled it, but Isabelle chose that moment to move. She lifted herself to her knees, her smaller hands covering his then pushing them aside.
Watching her loosen his belt, her graceful fingers releasing the latch then moving to the metal tabs of his mission pants, nearly broke his control.
His fingers curled as he fought to hold back, to keep from touching her. If he touched her, there was no way in hell he could hold back. He’d take her. He’d have her and there would be no stopping it.
That wasn’t what he wanted for her this first time.
Her first time.
His entire body clenched as she released his pants. Gripping the hem of his black shirt, he stripped it off, tossing it aside as Isabelle pushed the waist of his pants down and released the engorged length of his dick.
Male Coyotes weren’t like felines, who were sexually endowed more along the lines of their human counterparts. Wolves and Coyotes were another story. The width was unusually thick, and when they orgasmed with their mates, two to three inches at the middle point of the shaft would thicken even more, locking them inside their mates.
“Oh. My. God,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down the length, sending pulses of pure electric pleasure shooting straight to his balls.
“It’s okay. I promise,” he muttered roughly, pulling back only long enough to quickly unlace and pull off his boots and pants. Naked, the glands beneath his tongue swollen and aching as the mating hormone filled his mouth, Malachi found himself so desperate for her he could barely stand to breathe.
“I’ll never take it.” She sounded dazed as the scent of her trepidation filled the air with a subtle edge of innocence. But she came back to him, her fingers reaching for him once again, drawn to his hunger as he was to hers.
“All you have to do is want me,” he promised. “That’s all, Isabelle.”
He wasn’t going to explain it, he couldn’t.
He knew what would happen.
His alpha, Del-Rey, had explained it to the pack just after his mating with the coya, Anya.
“Malachi.” She swallowed tightly again, glancing up at him as her silken fingers trailed down it once again. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.” And that confused her. He could see her confusion, he could feel it.
He wanted nothing more than to ease it. Later. He would ease the confusion and her fears later. Right now, the feel of her touch was too incredible to pull away from.
He reached for her. He cupped the back of her head as her fingers curled around the shaft of his cock. Not all the way, of course, her hand was too small, but enough to hold her steady as her tongue licked experimentally around the crown of his dick.
God, he wanted to fuck her mouth. He wanted to watch those pretty pouty lips enclose the head of his cock as he thrust shallowly in and out.
He exerted just the slightest amount of pressure.
“Take it, baby,” he groaned. “Open your lips for me. I want to feel my dick in your mouth.”
The hunger for it was about to make him mad. The need to feel her sucking the sensitive crest of his cock had his entire body tightening to the breaking point.
Her lips parted. Rubbing them over the engorged tip of his hardened flesh had his pulse rocketing, his heart rate slamming. His fingers buried in her hair, tightened and held her still. Her gaze lifted to his.
There was no fear there. There was excitement, an edge of confusion. There were emotions that filled his senses and he was also filled with the knowledge that he had waited for this his entire life. For this woman.
For her touch.
Then her lips enclosed the tip of his cock, and slowly, so very slowly slid down until the entire head was enclosed in suckling, wet heat.
A growl tore from his lips. He tried to hold it back. He wanted to hold it back. There were times that the presence of the animal was something he preferred to hide. When making love to pure, sweet innocence, hiding it was imperative.
But rather than feeling or scenting her fear, he smelled her excitement. Pure, sweet, sensual excitement that flared so hot, so brilliant he swore it was sinking into his pores.
The hormones spilled from his tongue as he swallowed, his gaze narrowed on her, his hands holding her head as he moved against her. Watching. Watching her lips stretch around his cock, tightening on him, stroking with her tongue, lashing against it and stimulating nerve endings that sent his senses racing.
She was pushing him to a brink he’d never known before. Each pull of her lips, each flutter of her tongue against the underside of his dick, had the glands in his tongue swelling further, tighter.
The hormone was flooding his system, intoxicating him. And he wanted her just as intoxicated. Just as bound to him as he was to her.
He pulled back, ignoring her attempts to hold him, to tighten her lips on the overly sensitive head of his cock.
Cupping her face in his hands, Malachi bent to her, his lips covering hers, his tongue pressing between them, pushing against hers, demanding, desperate.
Her lips tightened on his tongue, the hormone spilling into her, pumping from the glands as he took control of the kiss once again.
Licking, stroking, pleasure and hunger merged to spin them both into a furiously heated, blazing pleasure that gripped their senses and tore aside any trepidation, any confusion she may have felt. Any hesitancy he may have had.
As the imperative need to fill her
with the mating heat eased, the need to satisfy the heat with pleasure filled every fiber of his being.
Laying her back, Malachi let his lips roam down her neck to the full curves of her breasts as she arched to him. His thumbs raked over the tips, watched them tighten and swell harder as a soft moan of pleasure left her kiss-swollen lips.
His mate.
She was lifting to him, arching against him, needing and hungry for his touch.
And he wanted nothing more than to give it to her.
Isabelle had known. She should have known. Where there was smoke, there was fire, her father had always said. The tabloids were filled with the stories of a mating addiction. A heat that human women couldn’t resist. One that bound the Breed male to her. One that created an endless, sensual feast for the couple.
That knowledge was a distant thought, a realization she couldn’t hold on to as Isabelle felt Malachi’s lips surround the tight, puckered tip of her breast.
She stared down at him, dazed, the pleasure she had felt before, with no more than the briefest caress, rising, becoming deeper, becoming something more binding.
The feel of his hot, sucking mouth tugging at her nipple was almost a pleasure-pain. Heat bloomed in the tender tip, radiated outward and rushed to her pussy, where her clit throbbed with violent demand.
His tongue rubbed against the sensitive point, then with quick, hard little licks flicked over it, lashing at it as a surge of pleasure and excitement sent fingers of electric sensation through her, clenching her womb and spilling her juices between her thighs.
She was so wet. So hot. She could feel the slick proof of her need for him as it slickened her thighs and swelled the folds of her pussy in anticipation.
Moving from one breast to the other, his lips played in exacting detail at the tight little bud. He sucked and licked, flicked at it with his tongue, and with whatever addictive quality she had tasted in his kiss, he sensitized her nipples further.
She had felt the swollen glands beneath his tongue as she suckled at it for those few brief seconds. She had tasted his kiss, redolent of a fire in winter with the spice of a summer rainstorm thrown in it.