Leopard's Rage

by Christine Feehan

  He bit down again on her nipple but this time his teeth remained, and he tugged, stretching, his fingers on the rope, tugging at the same time, dragging those knots up tighter between her cheeks so they rubbed deliciously and dangerously. Sparks erupted. Flames burst through her. She lifted her lashes and forced herself to look in the mirrors that surrounded her.

  Moans escaped. She looked so sexy. So completely erotic. So not Flambé. The artwork was beautiful, framing her breasts with the colors of the ropes. She could see marks from his mouth and teeth and that just added to the eroticism of the image. He towered over her with his wide shoulders and muscular body, looking completely merciless while she looked . . . a willing captive. Desperately adoring. More than willing to do anything for him, and she was. She would.

  She’d never come close to wanting a man the way she wanted him. She hadn’t known her body could crave the things she wanted from him. She hadn’t known this kind of need existed on any level.

  Sevastyan curled his palm gently around her throat and tipped her chin up using his thumb. She felt the tug of the ropes, but almost softly, against her skin—like his voice. “Which pose, plamya?”

  She was going to die if he didn’t relieve the terrible coiling need burning through her body. “You,” she whispered. “It was just the way you are.”

  “The pose.” His voice never changed. His expression never changed. He wasn’t going to relent.

  In desperation she told him. “You did one where you braided her hair and arms down her back and tied both legs onto a pole, stretched out in the splits.” Her breath was ragged. She could barely think. Her head fell forward onto his shoulder and rested there. “You bent her head forward toward her legs and tied her in that position and then hoisted her into the air and anchored her there.”

  “And then what?”

  She was floating. She couldn’t think anymore, remembering that night. She’d never seen anything like it. That had been the night she knew she was in terrible trouble. She’d wanted him all the other nights, but that night she had been burning up for him. She’d actually gone to Cain’s office, determined to ask him to train her. To let her be his, so she could have what those women had, but thankfully Cain wasn’t there. He’d gone home.

  “You did what?”

  His voice changed for a moment and a shiver went down her spine. There was a note of rage hidden in that calm and that was worse than anything she could imagine. She’d confessed to him aloud that she’d gone to Cain? What was wrong with her? She couldn’t think clearly. She couldn’t move her arms or legs. She was too exhausted, but her body burned and burned. For him. For Sevastyan. Worse than she ever thought possible.

  “Tell me what happened next, Flambé,” he insisted, as if her confession had never taken place.

  “You took her and left.”

  “I fucked her. Say it. I fucked her. Hard.”

  “Yes. From behind her. You didn’t even touch her. You held on to the pole and you fucked her hard from behind. It was very impersonal.”

  “Exactly, Flambé. It was very impersonal. There is absolutely nothing impersonal about any of the things I’m going to do to you. Ever. Each of them is going to be very deliberate. And very personal.”

  6

  SEVASTYAN carried Flambé to the bed and gently laid her right in the middle of it. She was shaking. Exhausted. It was her first time being tied and, although he’d constructed a simple harness and knotted thong, leaving the ropes on for a very short time, to a beginner it must have felt like forever. She had done amazing, far better than he could have hoped for.

  Between their craving of Shibari and the insanity of the shockingly raw chemistry between them, his woman needed care desperately. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight into his body for comfort. Her hips moved restlessly against him and he couldn’t help but push back into her. Wanting her. He’d never wanted a woman more, but he needed to make certain she felt safe.

  “I’m right here, malen’koye plamya. You’re fine. Just breathe. Put your arms around me and look at me. Open your eyes.”

  She shook her head, but her arms slid obediently around his neck. It took time before her lashes lifted and he found himself staring into green eyes. He leaned down and brushed kisses over her temple. There was recognition there. Pure hunger. None of it leopard. All woman. He was extraordinarily pleased that they had this time between them, man and woman, not their animals driving them.

  “Sevastyan.” She whispered his name. A soft little plea.

  “I’m right here, baby. We’re not finished yet. I just want to make certain you’re with me all the way on this.”

  He slid one hand from her throat to her breast, cupping the soft offering, his thumb and finger rolling her nipple firmly. She seemed to respond to firmer pressure rather than gentle. The moment he touched her she arched into him, offering herself to him. He tugged a little harder, watching her expression closely for any signs of discomfort.

  Flambé was an open book, not one to hide behind a mask. Pleasure and need were easy to see. His heart stuttered when something else crept into her gaze as it moved over his face. Something he’d never had. Never seen. She looked at him with an expression far too close to reverence. Bordering on real adoration.

  Real. He didn’t get real. He didn’t even deserve it. He was going to turn her life upside down. He knew he would. He would protect her. See to her happiness as best he could. Respect her. But . . . He shifted his body to blanket hers, kissing his way over her face. He could fall in love with her and that would be a disaster for both of them. He couldn’t chance really loving her. And he’d fall fast and hard if the way the unfamiliar emotions crowding in were anything to go by.

  He had been born with more traits of his animal than many of the shifters. He could be quick-tempered and when it happened, it was bad. Very bad. He had worked hard to ensure he covered it up, held his rage in, but it was there, smoldering below the surface all the time. He was extremely alpha, very dominant, so much so that he had always feared it would be impossible to find a woman who might be willing to accept him. He was also very sexually dominant and at times that burning rage, the dominant trait and his sexual needs came together in a ferocious combination that might frighten any woman. And then there was his love and need of Shibari, his rope art. He would never give that up.

  Already he felt possessive of Flambé. Wanting to hold her too close. Afraid of losing her. If he let himself love her, what kind of monster would he turn into? He kissed his way to the creamy swell of her breasts. He loved her skin. He wasn’t just oral, the way most shifters were; he was extremely tactile too. He’d been denied the pleasure of indulging in anything so simple as touching a woman’s skin or hair for more than a few seconds because Shturm despised every human he came close to and wanted to kill them all. He didn’t dare spend more than a few moments with a woman, especially after he fucked them. That was when he was the most vulnerable and his leopard could surface fast and push his way out if Sevastyan wasn’t alert.

  No one had skin or hair like Flambé. At least if they did, Sevastyan had never been around them. He took his time, exploring every inch of her, claiming her body for his own. He had to open his drawstring pants with one hand and push them off his hips as he suckled her breasts, using teeth and tongue, totally indulging himself while she writhed under him, her hips trying to move but held down by the weight of his body. She didn’t mind him rough. If anything she seemed to want it—want him the way he needed to be.

  He loved to hear her little broken cries. The soft sounds of need. His name that came out like a plea. He’d not had that either—not ever—and it was addicting. He took his time moving down her body, kissing his way down her rib cage. He discovered she was very sensitive under her breasts and around her sweet little belly button. She had a strong core, but was very much a woman with a woman’s body, and he liked her figure. He w
anted her to keep that little bit of a pooch he was certain she detested. It was barely discernable, but soft enough that he spent time nipping with his teeth and taking the sting away with his tongue.

  He caught her thighs in his hands and pulled them slowly apart. Wide. Very wide. Her gaze jumped to his face. His shoulders were wider than she realized, and he was going to spend some time indulging himself even more. His smile was deliberately wicked as he stripped off his pants with one hand and then settled between her legs, stretching them even farther. There it was again. Sevastyan. His name. That breathy little moan.

  He blew warm air over and into her. She smelled delicious. “I told you, baby, you’re going to have to be comfortable doing the splits. I like you in this position. You’ll find yourself in it often.”

  He ran his tongue up the inside of her right thigh, over her lips, and circled her inflamed clit. He had teased her clit into a fiery need with his knots, and that hunger hadn’t eased. The moment his tongue touched her she cried out and her body jerked, her sex clenched and that warm mixture of spices spilled out of her. He lapped it up, careful to keep from giving her any release.

  He repeated the tongue action up her left thigh to her clit and this time flicked it hard after circling it. His name came out loud. Demanding. He smiled as the spice spilled into his mouth and her hips became nearly as frantic as her voice. He held her down easily with one arm laid across her, giving him the use of both hands.

  He lifted his head to look at her. Red hair spilled wildly over his black sheets. Her breasts jutted upward, swaying with every movement. She still had rope marks on her skin and he loved that she had the kind of skin that would hold those marks for a long time. Her nipples were hard little peaks, tight, showing him she liked everything he was doing to her.

  Sevastyan pushed, first one leg up and over his shoulder, and then the other, opening her even farther to him. She was beautiful, looking wild and vulnerable. Lust had darkened the amber in her eyes to a decided gold and turned the green to an emerald. He loved that look of desperate hunger on her. It added to the raw fire burning through his veins and coiling deep in his gut. He wanted to hold her on the edge for a very long time so he could see her just like this. Her body covered with his marks. His ropes. His fingerprints. His teeth. The strawberries he’d left behind to mark his trails.

  He bent his head to her once more and this time he simply devoured her. Ate her the way he hungered for her. Like she was his last meal and he wouldn’t leave one single drop behind. He used his tongue like a weapon, stabbing, stroking, petting, sometimes a counterpoint to his fingers and thumb as he flicked and thumped her clit, brushed and circled and then suddenly suckled like a madman. Flambé answered with a drawn-out wail, a moan, and thrust her hips into his mouth, desperate to bring herself off.

  Sevastyan immediately eased back with butterfly flutters of his tongue while his fingers and thumb slid between her cheeks to find the skid marks of his knots, brushing back and forth gently, spreading her spicy, cinnamon-clove and Egyptian jasmine honey all over so he could lick that off as well.

  “Sevastyan, please.” Her voice came out a breathy little sob. A plea.

  He lifted his head and rubbed his face leisurely on her thighs before looking up at her. “Please what, Flambé?”

  “I need you to . . .” She broke off.

  “To?” he prompted and bent his head and sank his teeth into the tender area of her inner thigh, high, up close to her dripping slit. She jerked, more of that precious liquid spilling. He lapped it up and then flicked her inflamed clit. He could keep it up all night. His cock ached painfully, but he was used to ignoring his needs.

  “I need your cock,” she finally managed.

  He lifted his head again. “Where? Your mouth? I wouldn’t mind seeing your lips stretched around my cock. I have to admit, since first seeing you, it’s been a fantasy of mine. Or here?” Deliberately, he pushed his thumb into her forbidden little hole, clear up to his knuckle. She was already slick from the juices that he’d spread and then licked from her. “Or your sweet little pussy? Exactly where do you want my cock, baby? Because I’m more than willing to give you whatever you want.”

  He withdrew his thumb and then began lapping at her clit and pussy again, not waiting for her answer. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, her breasts swaying invitingly with every desperate intake of air. He played his fingers over the sensitive bundle of nerve endings, waiting for her to find her voice, all the while making it difficult.

  “My pussy,” she managed.

  “Sweet little pussy,” he corrected, and bit her other thigh. She jerked and cried out, liquid heat glistening for him. She was totally made for a man like him.

  He knelt up, drawing her legs around his hips, forcing her body to stay wide open to his. With one hand he circled the base of his cock. He felt heavier and thicker than he’d ever felt in his life. She’d done that to him and he wasn’t even in her.

  “Look at me, Flambé. Keep your eyes open and look at me.” It was a command, nothing less, and he meant it.

  Her golden-emerald gaze clung to his. He didn’t wait, couldn’t wait one moment longer. Without warning her, he slammed home, driving through her snug folds, that tight, scorching-hot tunnel that robbed him of breath. Flames raced through his body, down his spine, roared in his groin and burned like a firestorm in his cock and balls. Nothing that had come before her had prepared him for what she felt like. Nothing. No one.

  He needed to move harder. Deeper. To feel that raging storm over and over. He wanted the flames to consume them both. He wrapped his arm around the small of her back, holding her hips off the mattress as he surged into her, driving so hard he nearly pushed her toward the headboard. He could feel every single fold and muscle in her silken sheath clamped around his cock, gripping him with a fury, holding him as if a million fiery tongues licked and teased, as if a voracious mouth sucked at him and fingers pumped to milk him dry. The sensations were unbelievable. He never wanted to stop.

  Sevastyan pistoned into her over and over, watching the expressions chase across her face, watching passion and lust war with adoration and trepidation. Tension coiled in her. He felt her heart beating out of control right through her tight tunnel straight to his cock so that the pounding rhythm of his cock hammering into her seemed to match the wild fury of her heart.

  He pressed his finger into the seam between her cheeks, sweeping back and forth at that same pulsing pace. Rubbing, pressing into her, brushing those marks that might have caused her discomfort, as if he would erase them and give her so much pleasure she wouldn’t remember anything else. All the while, he thrust into her, deep and hard, working her body. His cock was thick and each time he thrust into her, the friction was unbelievable perfection.

  Her orgasm hit them both unexpectedly, sweeping through her without warning, nearly taking years of discipline from him as her body clamped down, biting like a vise on his shaft, exquisitely painful, burning, scorching, somewhere between heaven and hell. He kept surging into her, powering through tight folds as they contracted and released over him ferociously.

  Flambé’s scream was soundless as she orgasmed but then as the first wave began to ease, she moaned, the pitch so perfect and beautiful, it only spurred him on. His body seemed to swell impossibly, a reaction to the place he never wanted to leave. Pure pleasure. Scorching-hot paradise. He tightened his hold on her and drove into her over and over, knowing he would never be able to stop his own release when her body took over again.

  He indulged himself, all the while watching her expression, ensuring she was enjoying the ferocious sex. The flames burned over his skin and roared through his body, bursting through his veins. He could feel an unfamiliar boiling in his balls, as if a thick magma had found its way in and now was so overheated it had to find a way out. The eruption was going to be imminent, violent and nothing short of spectacular.

 
; This time he saw fear building in her eyes. Her head thrashed on the pillow as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in her body. Her gaze clung to his and she dug her nails into his arms to anchor herself as if she feared she might fly away. He didn’t slow down. It didn’t matter that his lungs burned for air. Nothing mattered but that scorching heat that threatened to consume them both. He needed this every bit as much or more than she did.

  Sevastyan slammed into her exquisite, perfect sheath one more time, and then her muscles bit down like a vise, clamped so hard he couldn’t breathe or think. Thunder roared in his ears. Silken, fiery tongues, millions of them, all scorching hot, licked and worked at his cock, determined to milk him or suck him dry. He could feel that tight tunnel like a burning fist pumping and squeezing his shaft until rope after rope of hot seed coated the walls of her perfect, beautiful, exquisite little pussy over and over.

  He allowed himself to collapse over the top of her, but purposefully dropped a little to one side so he didn’t crush her with his weight. He kept her legs wrapped around him, his jerking cock in her while they both fought for air. He felt every aftershock of her body ripple right through his spent cock. It was the first time in his life that his cock had ever been fully sated. Ever. He closed his eyes and savored the moment. The feeling.

  She had done that. Flambé. He didn’t try to think beyond the moment. Not right then. He let himself feel her under him. Her body was all feminine. Her scent filled his lungs. He had never thought to have a woman lie in his bed but she felt as if she belonged there. He had prepared his room with the hope—with the idea—that one day he might find his own woman. His cousins had been successful. He hadn’t really believed it possible, but when he bought the property from his cousin’s wife and renovated it, he had made the specific changes to the bedroom to give himself the hope or the reminder that there was no hope. He was never certain which it was.