White Tiger

Stress. Something humans went on and on about. Shifters had stress too, but usually it manifested in fights to the death or something as terrible as a Shifter giving in to anguish and ending his own life. Kendrick had felt that anguish but he’d grabbed on to all his strength and fought to stay alive. His cubs needed him.

“This is how I deal with stress,” Kendrick said. He popped open the button of her jeans and pulled down the zipper. He was kind and didn’t tear the fabric this time—he merely yanked the jeans and underwear beneath down to her ankles.

“Kendrick . . .”

Kendrick waited for what she wanted to say, but Addison fell silent. She was beautiful standing there, fully bare except for the fabric bunched around her sneakers. He looked up to her round breasts, the dark ponytail flowing over her shoulders, her blue eyes filled with need. Her stomach was soft, hips wide, and curls as dark as those on her head waited between her legs.

Kendrick brushed his hand to the join of her thighs, finding her moist. He leaned forward and kissed her there, liking the way she gave a startled jump.

Kendrick stilled her with one hand. “You taste like . . .” He groped for what he wanted to say. “Desire.”

She tasted exactly like he wanted her to, exactly as he needed her to. Her scent, honey with a slight tang of salt, entered him and became a part of him.

“You taste ready for me,” Kendrick finished.

Addison pushed at him with feeble hands. “I’m not sure what I’m ready for.”

“Greedy,” Kendrick said. “Me for you, you for me.”

“You’re confident.” Addison gave a shaky laugh. “Though it’s me standing in a barn with my clothes off.”

“You are hungry for me, Addison. I can taste it.” Kendrick kissed her again, then slid his tongue straight into her heat.

“Oh, my . . .” Addison broke off in a cross between a gasp and a moan. “Shit, Kendrick, you can’t . . .”

She trailed off, not finishing what he couldn’t do. Kendrick drew her closer to him, his hands on her hips, and drank her in.

The tang of her rolled over his tongue, her wanting, her dismay at wanting it, every need she had. Kendrick knew all.

At the same time, he tasted only her, the bite of her sending his lusts soaring. His cock tightened, wanting him to take her now. On the dusty straw, on the hard floor, to drive into her until every ache was gone. That would take a long, long time.

Addison groaned, her fingers twining in his hair. Kendrick sped his tongue’s strokes, drinking her. He wouldn’t take her fully here, in the dirt—not now. Later, though . . . He compensated for his kindness in not simply ravishing her by pleasuring her with his rapid tongue, making her hips rock with joy.

“Oh . . .” Addison pushed forward, reaching with all of herself for the sensation of his mouth. “Oh . . . Holy f—”

Her word trailed off into a long cry of joy that became a wail. One hand left his hair to be pressed over her mouth, choking off the sound.

Kendrick kept on her as she twisted and writhed but never tried to dislodge him. She was breathing hard, perspiration shining on her skin.

“Kendrick. You have to stop.” Her voice was raw, hoarse.

No, he didn’t. Kendrick renewed his attack, his fingers pressing into her buttocks, kneading them as he lifted her against his mouth.

Addison gave up trying to stem her cries, which came out of her in loud Ohs. Her body arched to him, her hands pulled him closer, the heat of her flowing into his mouth. She wanted him inside her—his tongue was only the warm-up.

But not yet. Kendrick shook deep inside, holding back and hating it. She was human, fragile, in spite of her claims to the contrary. He’d die if he hurt her.