“Then I won’t stop.” His golden gaze was wild—fierce and feral and hungry—and his big hands tightened on her hips. “I won’t stop until you come for me, mon’dalla—until you come all over my shaft while you rub against me.”
“I want you to come too,” Whitney begged recklessly. “Want to feel you shooting while you’re pressed against my pussy. Please, Rafe—come for me!”
Her words seemed to press a switch inside him. With a low growl, he tightened his hold on her waist and flipped her over. Whitney gasped in surprise as she found herself on her back with the big Kindred between her thighs, the length of his shaft pressing even harder against her open pussy.
Oh God, he’s going to do it—he’s going to fuck me for real! she thought, with a mixture of fear and desire so strong it was dizzying.
But Rafe didn’t do it. Though the tip of his cock slipped down to rest just inside the entrance of her pussy once or twice, he never pressed inside her, but only thrust long and slow against her open folds until Whitney thought she was going to go crazy with need.
At last, she felt her pleasure peaking—the orgasm overcoming her like a relentless undertow sweeping her out to sea. Unable to help herself, she reached up and pulled Rafe closer to her.
“Rafe,” she gasped, locking eyes with him. “So good—you’re making me feel so damn good!”
Then she threaded her fingers in his wild black hair and pulled him down for a kiss as sweet as it was savage.
Rafe kissed her back, demanding entrance to her mouth and exploring her deeply, as though he was staking his claim to her. Whitney met him gladly and, as her orgasm overtook her and she felt herself clenching all over with unbearable pleasure, something hot and wet spurted against her belly and she knew that Rafe was coming with her—sharing in their mutual desire as she moaned into his mouth and gave herself up to the big Kindred completely.
Chapter Twenty-three
Rafe couldn’t believe what he had done. It was wrong, he told himself. So damn wrong. A violation of his vow as a Protector and the more personal vow he had made to himself never to seek the love of a female again. And yet, somehow, he couldn’t make himself want to leave Whitney’s side when their mutual pleasure was through.
“God…” She was panting, still spread out under him and his hard shaft still pressed against her wet, slippery folds. Even more slippery, Rafe realized, now that he had come on her belly.
“Are you well?” Reluctantly he pulled away and looked down at the mess he had made. Most of his seed had spilled on Whitney’s belly and it glinted faintly white and silver in the dim light against her chocolate-brown skin.
“Never better.” She looked up, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure and a small, satisfied smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “That was amazing. Even better than the orgasm you gave me in the matching pen. Are all Kindred such experts at making a girl feel good or is it just you?”
Rafe wasn’t certain how to answer. He had been planning to apologize for taking things too far but she looked so happy and contented, it was hard to feel ashamed or wrong about what they had done together.
“I…suppose it’s a Kindred trait to want to please the female we are with,” he answered at last. “I’m sorry I made such a mess,” he added, looking down at her stomach again.
Whitney stretched luxuriously. “Don’t worry about it—we can use the bottom corner of the blanket to clean up.”
“That will not be necessary,” Rafe growled. The sight of her luscious curves, laid bare before him as well as her pussy still so open and wet and his seed on her belly made his shaft stir again. And it wasn’t like it had gone down in the first place, since Kindred didn’t lose their erections even after orgasm.
She frowned. “Do you want me to get up and take a shower? I mean, it’s kind of the middle of the night but I guess I could.”
“No, I meant it will not be necessary because I will clean you up.” Rafe slid down until his face was between her thighs and looked up at her. “With your permission, of course, mon’dalla,” he added hoarsely.
Understanding spread over Whitney’s lovely face and her dark eyes sparkled in the dim light.
“Well of course—I mean, if you really want to. Some guys don’t like the taste of their own, uh, cum.”
“I like the taste of you,” Rafe told her and then began cleaning her belly with long, slow sweeps of his tongue, lapping away the seed he had left there and tasting the sweet, salty flavor of her skin underneath.
“Mmmm…Rafe…” Judging from the way Whitney was moving her hips and running her fingers through his hair, she was thoroughly enjoying the tongue bath. Her eager response made Rafe’s shaft throb even harder and he took his time cleaning her, lapping perhaps, a little closer to the top of her pussy mound than was absolutely necessary since almost all his seed had spilled on her belly.
Whitney seemed to like what he was doing though because after a long time of writhing restlessly, she tugged at his hair to make him look up.
“Rafe,” she said softly, thrusting her hips up a little. “I think maybe you missed a spot. Just a little lower down—you know?”
“Did I?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Where would that be, mon’dalla? Show me.”
Whitney didn’t need any further encouragement than that.
“Here,” she murmured and pushed his head gently but firmly between her thighs.
The way she moved him into position and let him know exactly what she wanted made Rafe’s shaft throb with desire. Gods, he loved a woman who took control sometimes—who showed him what she wanted with no ‘beating around the bush’ as the humans called it. But he decided to tease Whitney, just the same.
“Here?” he asked, looking up as he flicked his tongue over the top of her slit.
“Mmm…even lower.” Her small but surprisingly strong hands pushed his head further down and she spread her thighs wider for him.
“Here, then?” This time when his tongue darted out, he lapped her outer pussy lips—first the right, then the left—before withdrawing. He knew the teasing would drive her crazy and that was exactly what he wanted.
“Almost…” Whitney was nearly panting now. “Do you want me to show you exactly where I need you to lick me—to clean me?” she asked in a low, breathless voice that sent a quiver of desire through his balls.
“Gods, yes, mon’dalla.” His voice was a lustful growl in his own ears. “Show me where you need me—put me where you want me.”
“Here.” Daringly, she used the fingers of one hand to spread her pussy lips wide, revealing the slick inner petals of her sex and the throbbing button of her clit. “Right…here.” And she pushed his head down until his lips met her aching little bud in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.
Rafe bathed her Goddess pearl with his tongue, lapping up her sweet juices, feeling lost in the pleasure of tasting her, which all Kindred warriors loved. As he did, Whitney writhed under his mouth.
“There! Oh God, yes, there, Rafe! Right there!” she moaned and tugged even harder on his hair while she rocked her hips up to meet his seeking tongue, opening herself completely for him to lap up her delicious honey.
It didn’t take Rafe long to reach the edge again, even without any physical stimulation. It was enough that he was tasting her, that he was pleasuring her with his tongue.
Gods, he loved the taste of her—the sweet feminine scent of her pussy—the way her thighs pressed tight against the sides of his face as she drew him in, both begging and demanding more. The way she tugged his hair and called his name, the way her honey gushed for him again and again—he thought he could never get enough of tasting her—never get enough of serving her with his mouth and tongue.
Mon’dalla, he thought deliriously as she came again and again and he lapped away her honey. Oh Gods, how can I ever let you go now? And how can I keep myself from loving you?
Chapter Twenty-four
Whitney woke up feeling amazing the next morning. But then, she
supposed with a sleepy smile, having a string of orgasms during the night would do that for a girl. It was even better than a good night’s rest—which she certainly hadn’t had since Rafe hadn’t seemed to want to leave his place between her thighs.
Damn, could that man eat pussy! It was something Whitney enjoyed—but only if the man she was with knew what the hell he was doing. Which sadly, most men did not. They were either too tentative or too changeable—moving to try something else just when whatever they were doing was working. Why “don’t stop—right there!” was so hard to understand was beyond Whitney. But it seemed like when most men heard it, they took it as a sign to try a fancy new technique which derailed the pleasure train every time.
Now Rafe…there was a man who could take direction, she thought with a sleepy smile. He had even asked her to put him where she needed him—no man had ever done that before. They all seemed to want to prove they were experts on female anatomy when a real expert, like Rafe, knew that no one knew a woman’s body better than she did herself. There was no shame in asking for directions—it only enhanced the experience.
Speaking of Rafe, she felt him stirring beside her and turned to face him.
“Mmm, good morning,” she greeted him, smiling. “Did you sleep well? I know I certainly did.”
“Good morning.” He frowned and shook his head, as though to clear the cobwebs of sleep away. “I had…the strangest dream.”
“Really?” Whitney propped herself on her elbow, facing him. “And what was it about?”
“I dreamed the two of us…that we, er, practiced…” Suddenly his golden eyes widened. “Gods, it was no dream, was it?”
“Of course not.” Whitney grinned at him. “It was better than a dream—it was amazing.”
He frowned and looked away.
“I did things…things I should not have done to you.”
Here they went with his damn vow again, Whitney thought. But she had already prepared for a resurgence of guilt on his part.
“You did what you had to do in order for us to be comfortable with each other’s bodies so we can fool Mama Tusker when she comes to check on us,” she said firmly. “I mean, after last night, there should be no awkwardness left between us, right? We know each other inside and out so we can put on a more convincing show.”
Rafe looked doubtful at this explanation of their late-night activities but before he could voice any more doubt or guilt, they heard the low thud-thud-thud of Tusker footsteps on the metal ramp.
“Quick!” Whitney exclaimed, jumping out of bed. “Here comes Mama—we have to convince her to take us to the show. Hurry!”
Rafe nodded, all business at once, and the two of them ran to the front of the cage where they would be most visible. Whitney dropped to her knees and the big Kindred got into position behind her, his hands on her hips. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yancy and Yarrow were doing the same thing. Even Dood was coming forward, swishing his long, auburn hair as he waited confidently at the front bars of his cage.
Soon enough, Mama Tusker came stumping down the ramp with a tray filled with giant vegetable slices in one hand and peered into their cages one by one.
“Let’s see, my dears,” she rumbled in her crashing-boulders voice. “Who wants breakfast and who’s up for going to the Tweedle Beautiful Show with me today?”
She looked speculatively down the line of cages until she came to the one with the little blonde tweedle, with long, platinum hair and big eyes. Mama Tusker smiled and nodded to herself.
“Yes, you can come, my little Beauty. I’ll bring one of the unmatched males for you to mate with.”
She looked at the two mindless male tweedles for a moment as she pushed some huge orange sticks into their cages and shook her head. “Not you, I don’t think,” she murmured. “You were both of you too rough with poor Beauty the last time I let you breed her.”
Moving on, she looked at Yancy and Yarrow and shook her head sorrowfully.
“Well, not you this time either my dears, I’m afraid,” she said to them. “You’re good little breeders but with only one litter to boast of, how can I offer your babies at the show?” She sighed. “I hate to say it, but I might have to let the two of you go if you don’t have another litter soon. Maybe some other breeder might try pairing you with different partners and get better results.”
Hearing this, Whitney couldn’t help glancing into the next cage to see what the reaction of Yancy and Yarrow would be to this news. For a moment they looked frozen and she saw shock and fear cross Yancy’s pretty face. Then Yarrow redoubled his efforts and they continued “breeding” until Mama Tusker moved on to Whitney and Rafe’s cage.
“Well, well—so the tweedle weed finally got you in the mood, did it my dears?” she asked, smiling in at them as she pushed some of the long orange sticks—about the size of tree branches—through the bars of their cage. “I’m so glad—for you’re so exotic I was longing to take you to the show. And now that you’re in season, I can!”
She clapped her gigantic hands together loudly, making Whitney wince, though she tried not to show it. Instead, she concentrated on moaning loudly and backing to meet Rafe’s pretend thrusts, just as though the two of them were breeding as hard as they could.
Mama Tusker moved on to Dood’s cage and stared at him thoughtfully as she gave him his breakfast. Dood came right up to the bars and swished his hair at her, clearly reminding her what a prime specimen of tweedle-hood he was. Mama frowned…but then nodded.
“Yes, Silky—you’ll do. I’ll bring you for Beauty to breed with. And that’s all, I think,” she added, speaking to herself as she stepped back and looked at all of them. “Four is enough for any show and I don’t want to overload the cages. Let me just go get them.”
She stumped off up the ramp again and Whitney and Rafe disengaged.
“Whew—we made it,” she whispered to him.
He nodded. “Yes, but others were not so lucky.”
Both of them looked into Yarrow and Yancy’s cage, where Yancy was crying and Yarrow was trying to comfort her.
Poor things, Whitney thought with a surge of sympathy. After all this time together, to be torn apart and sold. It’s awful!
She wanted to say something to comfort Yancy—though she didn’t know quite what—but just then Mama Tusker came thumping down the ramp again, this time carrying two traveling cages in her hands.
“Now then,” she remarked, opening Dood’s door with her trunk and depositing the tweedle inside the cage in her left hand. “Boys in one cage and girls in another. I think that will work best.”
Next she scooped up the blonde-haired girl named Beauty and popped her into the right hand cage.
“I don’t like this—she’s going to separate us,” Rafe murmured in Whitney’s ear. “We could make a run for it when she opens the cage.”
“And go where?” Whitney objected. “It’s a two-story fall from these cages to the floor. Mama would have plenty of time to snatch us up while we tried to find a way down. And then she’d never take us to the show!”
He sighed unhappily. “I suppose you’re right but it still doesn’t sit well with me to let her put us into two different cages again.”
“It’s okay,” Whitney murmured reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. That Beauty doesn’t look like much of a fighter. You just mind your manners and promise not to beat up on Dood. Mama Tusker won’t like that.”
“I cannot promise that.” Rafe got a mulish expression on his face—he hadn’t liked the other male since Dood had attacked her in the matching pen.
“You have to promise,” Whitney said earnestly. “What if she gets angry that you hurt her prize tweedle and sells you away from me?” She looked into his golden eyes. “Please, Rafe—promise me you won’t hurt him!”
With a reluctant frown, he nodded at last.
“All right. I won’t lay a finger on him—as much as I might want to.”
And then Mama Tusker’s huge blue trunk was curling
around his waist and pulling him gently but firmly away from Whitney to place him in the left-hand cage.
Whitney watched anxiously as Rafe was placed right beside Dood. The other male gave him a wary glance and moved away, putting distance between them. But to her relief, Rafe didn’t even look at him. He stared stoically out of the bars at the front of his new cage, watching her as she was watching him.
In short order, the trunk coiled like a massive blue snake around Whitney’s waist as well and she was put into the cage with Beauty, who was sitting quietly in the corner, looking at her with big purple-blue eyes.
The traveling cage swayed as Mama Tusker stumped up the ramp and Whitney swayed with it until she landed with a thump on her ass.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed and rubbed her sore rump ruefully. “That hurt. You were smart, sitting down right away,” she added, hoping to start a conversation with Beauty.
But the little blonde tweedle simply looked at her silently and after a moment Whitney decided she must be one of the Mindless Ones, like the two males Mama Tusker had left behind.
“Well, I guess I’m not going to get much conversation on this trip unless I talk to myself,” she muttered and sighed.
It was going to be a long journey to the Tweedle Beautiful show and she couldn’t help wondering when she would get to see Rafe again. Would Mama Tusker keep them separated for the entire show? If so, how were they going to get a chance to escape together? And how would they ever get back to their ship if they got loose in the vast Tusker city, which they had flown over on the way here?
There were, of course, no answers for any of her questions. There was only boredom and anxiety as the cages were loaded into some kind of vehicle and Mama Tusker drove them to the show.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Well, May-Bell, it’s so good to see you here this year!” a rumbling Tusker voice exclaimed outside the cage. “I wasn’t sure if you would make it this time. I thought you said you wouldn’t come again unless you had something new to show.”
Pairing with the Protector: A Kindred Tales Novel (Brides of the Kindred) Page 15