Branded by Fire
Page 2"Then I guess I've have to make you."
"Try it." Smiling, she went for his throat and almost had him, when - using a move that was all sorts of illegal - he flipped her again so her front pressed into the leaf-laden ground, her wrists still locked in his iron grip and pinned above her head. "Cheater."
"So says the woman who tried to kick my balls into my throat," he pointed out, even as he licked the salt off the skin of her neck in a lazy and highly provocative move.
"I'm going to kill you." It was more hiss than sound.
He bit her.
In the soft, sensitive place between neck and shoulder.
She felt her entire body shiver from the inside out at the blatant show of dominance. "Stop it." It came out husky, nothing like the rejection she wanted it to be.
He took his mouth from her. "I've pinned you."
"That's wolf shit. I'm a cat."
"You're still trapped under me." He nuzzled at her throat. "And you smell all hot and wet and ready." His voice was dropping, going wolf on her.
And the heat between her thighs was turning into a pulsing drumbeat. Her stomach twisted in a vicious wave of need. God she was hungry, so sensually hungry. And Riley had taken her, his hold unbreakable. At that moment, the leopard didn't care that he wasn't a cat. It just cared that he was strong, sexy, and aroused.
She found herself raising her body against him without realizing it, her bottom rubbing, enticing, inviting. "You tell anyone, I'll carve out your heart."
"Talking's not what I'm interested in right now." Releasing her hands, he let her twist onto her back . . . only to push apart her thighs and settle his erection snugly against her. It was all she could do not to moan out loud.
He raised himself up on his arms, looking down with eyes gone wolf - the black pupils circled by a ring of amber that echoed through the rich brown of the irises to turn his gaze night-glow. "How rough?" His sexuality was a primal force crashing against her skin.
She bit him this time.
A full growl poured into her mouth as stick-in-the-mud Riley Kincaid gave in to his wolf and showed her exactly why he was SnowDancer's most senior lieutenant. Her tee was in shreds before she could blink, her bra gone the instant after that. His hand squeezed the rounded curves of her bared flesh, and when he tore his lips from hers to move down, she knew she was going to feel teeth.
What she didn't know was that Riley would suck on her nipple like it was his favorite treat before he sank those strong teeth into her delicate flesh. Her back arched up off the forest floor and she gripped the slick heat of his shoulders. Where had his own shirt gone? She didn't care. All she knew was that she had gorgeous male flesh under her hands and oh it felt good.
Ignoring his growl, she tugged up his head from her breast and bit at his lip again. For a wolf, Riley had a beautiful mouth. She'd been wanting to take a nip out of it for months. So she did. Then she slid her lips along his jaw and over the cords of his neck. Salt and man and wolf.
Wolf. Enemy.
Her cat snarled again.
But the snarl was buried in pure heat. He tasted good.
When he wound his hand in her waist-length hair and dragged her head back for another kiss, she didn't protest. It was as wild as the first, wet and deep and coated with the promise of raw sexual pleasure, no holds barred. "Now," she ordered as they broke apart, her body close to vibrating with ever-tightening need.
"No." He slid down her body and suddenly her dress pants and panties were gone. She felt the kiss of claws against the insides of her thighs and knew it had been on purpose. No pain, not even a real touch. Just a hint.
Just enough to remind her cat that he could take her.
More than enough to shove her arousal into the stratosphere.
"Goddamn wolf." A choked-out imprecation.
Spreading her thighs with strong, callused hands, he put his mouth on her. She screamed. Riley was apparently in no mood to go slow and easy. He licked at her in hard, firm strokes, sucked then nipped. The orgasm tore through her so ferociously that she knew her muscles would protest tomorrow.
A hand in her hair, wrenching back her head. "What's my name?"
She scratched trails down his back. He didn't even wince. "My name, kitty. Say my name."
"Mr. Mud Stick, Muddie for short," she said, even as she rubbed herself against the hard thrust of his denim-covered erection, the roughness of the fabric an exquisite sensation. She would've liked naked skin even more, but he wasn't budging.
"Say it, or no cock for you today."
Her mouth fell open. "Fuck you."
"You'll be doing that shortly." He kissed her again, a tangling of tongue and teeth and untamed male power. "Now" - he thrust against her, letting her feel the heavy, dark heat that she could have - "what's my fucking name?"
It was tempting to continue to snarl at him, but her skin was slick with sweat and he was big and wild and delicious over her. And she wanted him in her. Now. "Men and their egos," she muttered, just to piss him off a little. "Now do it, Riley. Or I'll find someone else."
He held her head where it was for another long second before lowering his face to hers, those amber eyes telling her exactly who was in charge inside him at that moment. "What did you say?" Quiet, quiet words.
She clawed his back again. This time, the wolf growled at her and the next few minutes passed in a fury of torn clothing and ravaging kisses, cries of pleasure intermingled with moans. And suddenly he was naked above her. Strong, hot, beautiful. She rose up against him, feeling her eyes go leopard as he put one hand on her thigh to hold her down and nudged at her with the aroused length of him.
She went to reach down, but he growled at her. Normally she'd have growled back, but he was making her feel so-damn-good. So she wrapped her other leg around him and thrust her hands into his hair, rocking her body upward. "I want you in me."
He began to push in. She sucked in a breath. The man was hard as rock and thick enough to make her muscles stretch to the edge of pain. She shuddered. "More."
He took her at her word, thrusting into her with a slow, intensely erotic focus that had her inner muscles starting to spasm in ecstasy even before he was fully inside. Then he was and she'd never felt so taken in her life. But he gave her only a few seconds to get used to him before his lips took hers once again, even as his body slammed in and out of her with a power her leopard gloried in. Wolf or not, this man was worth dancing with.
She moved with him, kissing him back, running her hands over his body and nipping at him just because. He kept her pinned to the earth as he took her, as if he knew just how damn much she needed a good, hard ride. When she orgasmed, it was with a sharp cry, a lush clenching around the thick heat of him, and a burst of starlight behind her eyes.
Chapter 2
Early the next morning, a willowy Psy female walked into a breakfast and dinner - no lunch - restaurant just south of San Diego, and sat down, placing her briefcase beside her. She was dressed in a dark gray suit, with a jacket that cinched at the waist, and tailored pants in the same material. Her shirt collar was crisp and white, her nails manicured so they were short and clean.
The waitress smiled, but didn't expect a response. All Psy - well, except the ones who had defected recently - were emotionless robots. She'd heard rumors that they weren't born that way, that they trained the emotion out of themselves. Damn fool thing if you asked her. What was life without love, without laughter? Yeah, there were a few tears along the way, but hey, that was life. To be lived.
But she said none of what was on her mind - Psy were emotionless, but they tipped exactly on the correct percentage. Which was better than some cheapskates who ran her off her feet then left a quarter behind. She'd serve a Psy ahead of them any day. "What'll it be?" she asked, holding up the old-fashioned order pad. That was how this place stayed in business - folks came for the "ambience," as the boss called it.
She laughed at him - the old flirt was her husband, she had to keep him on his toes - but he was right. People liked the checkered tablecloths over wooden tables, the real-people service as opposed to order pads built into tables, even the crackling old jukebox they cranked up at night. That's why they got a lot of human and changeling traffic.
The few Psy who came in were mostly strays on their way to a meeting in the city. This one looked the type. Pretty, too, with those bright green eyes against skin that was a nice, pale bronze. Psy really were striking a lot of the time - probably messed with their genes in the womb, the waitress thought. "Honey?" she prompted when the woman didn't respond.
The Psy female blinked, staring at her.
And the waitress could've sworn she saw desperation in those eyes.
Then the briefcase exploded.
Chapter 3
Riley woke to find his brother, Andrew, sitting at the foot of his bed, mug of coffee in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. "Nice trick, bro," he said. "Showering before you went to bed. Probably dunked yourself in a stream before you came home, too." ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">