Illicit (13 page)

She pulled at the cloth binding her to the bed. “Untie me right now.”

She detested the breathless notes in her voice.

He smirked. “Or what? You’re at my mercy now.” He gripped the outsides of her thighs and bent, slowly drew his tongue between the wet folds of her sex.

She slammed her eyes closed. Seeing him pleasure her was almost more of a turn-on than the sensations he created.

“Peter,” she gasped, meant his name to be chastising, but he chose that moment to slam three fingers into her core, pull them out, and pump back inside. Hard. Quick. Exactly what she needed. Her climax surged forward, retreated, and then came a little closer, almost near enough to grasp.

“That’s what you need, isn’t it. A hard fucking.” Another lick, another fast penetration.

Her pussy spasmed and she threw her head back on the cresting waves of approaching pleasure. Having sex with Peter again was wrong on so many levels, but damn it, she wanted a release. Hadn’t been able to achieve one on her own since her night with him. She’d tried, oh God had she tried, but nothing worked. Not the showerhead, not her hand, not the now-dead vibrator she’d thrown away.

“Untie me,” she said, hoped it sounded convincing.

Slow, rolling laughter vibrated against her clit that Peter had taken into his mouth and sucked. Her lips parted, closed, and then parted again, each time an inarticulate sound leaving her.

“If you want me to stop, you know what you need to say.”

God damn him.

With one more quick lick, he withdrew the fingers he’d buried inside her and stood. Already shirtless, she watched the muscles in his arms and stomach flex when he pulled at the buttons on his jeans. He kicked the denim to the floor and fisted his proud erection. His penis was thick and long, the slit in the center of the head already leaking with excitement. Veins bulged, made her want to lean forward and lick.

Drawing her lip between her teeth, her gaze never left the up, down stroke of his hand over steely flesh. He pressed a knee to the bed, climbed forward as if to mount her. She pressed her thighs together to block him, almost sighed at the immediate pressure.

“I don’t need your legs opened, not for what I have in mind,” he said and flipped her onto her stomach.

He’d been clever enough to criss-cross her hands above her head, the bindings loosening and her arms straightening in the new position. Hands on her hips, he lifted her onto her knees and stuck her ass into the air.

“You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” His finger traced the folds of her exposed sex. “Pink and wet.” He pressed a digit inside, drew it out. “And, Christ, you’re tight. You have no idea how good you smell. You might not know it, but you’ve been begging for a hard pounding all night, for me to come deep inside. You’re so fucking fertile I could probably get you pregnant just looking at you.”

She should be panicking. Instead, desire pricked her skin, sent currents of static heat through her body.
Yes
, her body screamed. She turned her head over her shoulder, lost herself at the hungry look in his gaze. His eyes were dark, full of possession and knowledge. He knew exactly how she needed to be fucked. He would stop the ache.

Her heart beat faster, anxiety gripping her. The problem was when he’d leave again. Already an addict, she couldn’t stomach the thought of another man’s weight on top of her, shoving into her. Peter had ruined her.

He draped his body over hers, the soft hair on his thighs and stomach tickling her skin and blanking her mind. Where they touched, a thin layer of sweat surfaced. He gathered her hair, moving the curls off her neck. Teeth scraped the newly exposed skin and had her back arching, her ass rubbing against his arousal.

He drew his mouth across her skin, traced the intricate design of wings she’d had for as long as she could remember. She didn’t know her birth parents. Didn’t know her purpose in life other than the one she’d found with Greg and the Pard. The heat and weight of his body gradually lessened with the trailing of his tongue down the center of her spine.

Her back bowed, a needy bending as if she were a cat in heat. And then, the slap came, counteracting the tender kiss to first one buttock and then the other. Hard, quick, startling, his palm landed on her ass. She gasped, would have pitched forward if Peter hadn’t grabbed her around the stomach and brought her back to deliver another two smacks.

“Those were for making me bleed.”

The quick bites of pain morphed into a stinging, unexpected pleasure. Moisture leaked from her slit. His satisfied grunt heated her cheeks. He gripped her ass, which she imagined was red, cupping the cheeks together and squeezing. He let go. Another slap reigned and another moan was forced from her throat.

“And, that,” he said, “was for the slamming the door in my face.”

He slid his hand up her spine. Cupping her shoulder, he brought her pussy flush with the hard ridge of his cock. He didn’t enter her, not yet. Hand pressed against the back of her neck, he pushed her head down, demanding submission.

The tip of his erection teased back and forth across her entrance, gathering lubrication. Hard, quickly, and without warning, he thrust into the depths of her. She screamed, tried to wiggle—toward the sensation or away from it, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter, not when he held her still and pumped without restraint. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Their skin slapped together, her already stinging cheeks smarting from the pressure of his body against hers. Every thrust sent her spiraling closer to the edge.

“Have you learned your lesson?” he grunted against her ear.

She shivered. “No.”

“Good.” Sitting back, changing the angle of penetration, he gripped her hips and pulled her body onto his shaft.

Stars danced, the pleasure numbing her toes, but still it wasn’t enough.

“More,” she cried out, tried to speed his pace by rocking against him.

He would have none of it. Holding her still, his teeth found the back of her neck, clamped down. She cried out, the surge of pain intoxicating. His growl rolled over her skin, drawing goose bumps. Pinpricks of pain gathered at her nape, where canines broke skin. She lifted her head and a warm trail of liquid rolled down the indent of her spine to heighten her arousal.

His tongue scraped her skin. “I can’t come inside you, not tonight, but fuck do I want to,” he whispered against her ear, made her tremble.

Reaching around her, Peter’s unerring fingers found a sensitive nipple and plucked. Her body’s response was immediate. She cried out, her sob of relief no longer trapped. The orgasm slammed into her, left her broken. When she would have collapsed to the bed, Peter held her safe, anchored her, and fucked her faster.

Over and over, he dominated her body, taking what he wanted and leaving her to reap the benefit of one rolling orgasm after another.

She heard his growl before his curse, felt his sudden panic. “Oh, fuck.”

Before he could pull out, the head of his penis swelled, locking inside of her, keeping him trapped within her depths. It was too late do anything other than ride out the sweet, sweet agony. Peter swiped at her bindings, the cotton shredding. The moment she was free, he pulled her torso up until her back pressed against his chest and her head rested on his shoulder. His mouth found her neck, bit down. He bucked into her body with in quick, short strokes.

The tempo matched the hot spurts of semen filling her.

Oh fuck was right.

The drive to his father’s hunting cabin was long and silent. Peter held the steering wheel tight, his jaw even tighter. Music drifted from the speakers, the melody loud despite its low volume. The noise punctuated the lack of conversation between Eva and him. He was well aware he should be saying something. He was also well aware hell would freeze over before he apologized.

Hot air poured from the vents, the heat nauseating him. Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck. His suddenly too-tight shirt suctioned to the sweat on his skin, suffocating him, adding to his discomfort. He tore his gaze from the icy, single-lane road weaving them deeper into the thick forest and glanced at Eva. Sitting as far away as possible, shoulder pressed against the passenger door, she stared out the window. Reflected in the glass, the lost expression in her wide-open eyes affected him in a way not much else had.

Tonight he’d fucked up. He opened his mouth only to close it seconds later. He didn’t know what to say now, hadn’t known two hours ago when he pulled from her swollen sex and watched his semen drip down her trembling thigh. Talking about it had seemed pointless. Saying nothing, he’d gotten out of bed and gone straight for the cold spray of the shower. He’d known spilling inside her was off-limits, had planned to pull out and coat her upturned ass. But she’d arched back and rolled her hips. Her moan, breathless, needy and just for him, echoed in his head, coaxed the pleasure from his body. The thought “Just one more thrust inside her” had spiraled. One thrust became two, then three, and then...

Sliding in and out of her tight sheath, the friction of their coupling tightened his balls and his skin. Her honey scent beckoned him, drove him harder and faster. He’d been ready to pull out, had gripped her hips to push her forward. And then, the procreating asshole of a leopard swept in and took all choice from him. Instead of pushing, he’d pulled and held. The moment he knotted, he was screwed.

Ironic considering he’d been the one doing the fucking.

The trees thickened, the road coming to a stop a few miles from their destination. From here, they’d have to hike. He put the truck in park, cut off the engine. With the radio now off utter silence descended. Several seconds passed. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, a first for him, he reached into the back seat and grabbed the backpack he’d prepared. Water, food, a flashlight, clothes, and an emergency blanket. He didn’t need those things, but Eva might.

He shoved the pack at her. “Take this,” he said, a bit more gruffly than he intended, and got out of the truck.

As he stepped out, blessed cold slapped him across the face and froze the lingering sweat on his skin. He breathed deep, the scents of the forest and the snow unclenching his stomach. He pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it onto the seat behind him and started on his jeans.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He turned, looked at her. She’d pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail and exposed her throat. He swallowed, fought his body’s reaction when she trailed her gaze down his chest, stilled on his hands unbuttoning his pants. His cock surged to life, and the fucking leopard, who’d been quietly gloating over his job well done, rose close to the surface. Peter bent, kept Eva in his sights, and untied his boots.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to shift. My vision and sense of smell are better in leopard form. And if we run into anything menacing on the way to the cabin, it’ll be easier to rip out its throat.”

“Delightful,” she said, and got out of the truck.

Stepping out of his boots, he gripped the open door. His hand flexed around metal. As much as he didn’t want to, they needed to talk. Now was as good a time as any. “About earlier,” he said, his heart speeding at the mere thought of what they’d done, of the implications behind it.

Threading the pack over her shoulder, she looked up and met his gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Probably better that way. “Fine.” He kicked off his pants, stood nude in the frigid air.

As if Eva didn’t want to, but couldn’t help herself, she looked him over from head to toe, stalling on the in-between parts. She licked her bottom lip, drew the flesh between her teeth. The surging scent of her arousal filled the air.

“Careful,” he warned, fisting the base of his erect cock to keep the damn thing from shooting off. Her eyes grew wide, filled with a hunger instinct demanded he take care of. “I think I’ve already proved once tonight that I’m not in control around you.”

“I think,” she said, swallowed and took a step away from him, “we should get to the cabin and find out if this is where Greg died.”

Murder should have dampened the lust coursing through him. Maybe because he was a predator, the notion of blood and guts did nothing to soften his dick. Maybe he was just fucked in the head.

Willing the leopard to surge forward, Peter embraced the shift. In the time it took to drop to the ground, cushioned paws indented into the snow and his tail thrashed behind him. Inhaling, scents filled his lungs. One overtook the rest. A low, rumbling sound of approval left his chest. Mate. He had one thought. Protect her above all others.

* * * * *

Eva never took her gaze off the agitated back-and-forth twitching of Peter’s long tail as he slinked forward in silence. His shoulder blades rose, and then fell, the spots on his coat rippling with every movement.

Damn it, she was jealous, among so many other conflicting emotions she refused to name or think about. After they got through this and found out who’d killed Greg, she’d deal with it. Her every step was loud and clumsy in the sleeping forest, the beam of her flashlight a poor source of lighting. She made it a mile, snow often deep enough for her to sink in to the knee, before exhaustion took hold. Her boot caught on an exposed limb, and she stumbled forward, almost falling.

Peter stopped, turning to spear her with an emerald gaze that said, “What's the holdup?”

“I need a minute,” she managed through panting gasps. The jerk wasn’t even breathing hard.

She pressed her back against the closest tree, closed her eyes to protect them from the cold. A shiver coursed through her, the sweat from her exertion freezing her. Despite the gnawing temperature, she took off her heavy outer coat and stuffed it into the pack. Peter circled close, large paws crossing the snow with ease.

Sitting, he settled on to his haunches and watched her with eyes that radiated intelligence. Pushing off the tree, her palm scraped across the bark. She went to him, this time a bit more careful where she stepped. His ears moved, flattening and then perking at her approach. Thick whiskers streamed from beside his black-tipped nose, and now that he wasn’t snarling or exposing his fangs, they looked sort of cute.

She stuck out her hand, inched closer. He nuzzled her palm and huffed, the twin hot streams of his breath warming her instantly. With her other hand, she stroked the velvet spot between his eyes, then the increasingly thicker fur around his ears.

Heat radiated off him, drew her closer. A loud rumbling left his chest, and it took her a moment to realize he was purring. The gripping anxiety she’d felt after he’d left her cold and alone in the bedroom lessened. She sank her fingers through his thick, coarse fur until she found the layer of heaven next to his heated skin. Pressing forward, she rested her forehead against his broad one, taking a comfort the man wouldn’t have offered.

“What you make me feel scares me,” she said, looking into his large, almond-shaped eyes. In this form, she felt like she could tell him anything. Probably best if she didn’t.

He blinked at her, nestled closer. Something unnamable passed between them. A vow not to hurt her, to protect her always, to care for her. She wondered how the leopard’s promises would affect the man whose heart had been broken long, long ago. Greg once explained that the two beings, man and leopard, while cohabitating together were separated, each having distinct thoughts and emotions.

In the blink of an eye, the unease wormed back inside. She didn’t want to contemplate Peter’s emotions. His agitated, stiff body language had said enough. He regretted spilling inside her, did not want the possibility of forever linking them together.

If she did turn up pregnant, would he stick around or would he leave? Instincts told her he’d stay. Her heart warned that he would regret his decision. Eventually he’d grow to resent her. Either way she was screwed.

She pushed away from the feline and rose to her feet, needing distance. Peter didn’t allow it. He walked close by her side, a warm blanket against her legs. Thirty minutes later, they made it to the south part of the forest. Peter shifted seamlessly, rising on two legs, fur receding as if it had never been.

Without a word, she dug into the backpack and pulled out a set of clothes he’d packed.

“Keep them, I’m not cold,” he grunted, scanned the clearing and trees, seeing things she couldn’t. Had he watched his mother die right here?

She thrust the bundle of fabric at him. “You’ll get frostbite in places you don’t want there to be frostbite; at least take the pants.”

A smile cracked the tight lines on his face and some of the tension between them dissipated. It was a step, a small one, but she’d take it.

“How sweet,” he said, pulling on jeans, not bothering with the shirt. “You care about my male parts.”

“I don’t want to look at your male parts.” She pointed toward the edge of the trees where the silhouette of the two-story cabin peeked through branches. “If I were going to kill someone, I’d do it over there, toward the back of the house.”

Peter nodded, walked barefoot through the snow as gracefully as he had while in cat form. Nose to the air, he inhaled deeply, his muscular chest expanding then deflating. He sniffed the trees, bent to draw a finger through the snow. She watched, apprehension mounting. Would he find something? It hadn’t been long since Greg died, but more snow had fallen, surely covering any tracks.

A few minutes later, he froze and looked up sharply. Lines bunched in his back, and even from across the clearing his sudden rage washed over her skin. She jogged forward, stopped at Peter’s side, and pressed a trembling hand to her lips.

Black, hardened tar dripped down the tree trunk, the liquid no longer moving. Frozen blood. Something else adhered to the bark. Her stomach revolted. Remnants of Greg’s head. Hair, skull, and…brain.

Peter growled, the resonance vibrating the air. Fists bunched and air streaming from his nose, he speared her with a red-hot glare. “I knew it.”

“Whose smell are you picking up?” she asked, backing away from the rage dancing in his eyes.

“Grady.”

Vomit rushed up the back of her throat and she put a hand over her mouth to staunch it.

Peter kept on talking. “His scent is all over this clearing. There is no reason for him to have been here. Greg never would have taken him here, unless you—”

She shook her head before he could say it. “It’s been more than a year since Grady and I...and never here. Maybe Grady found out the same information we did and came to investigate—”

He cut her off, stepped close enough for his skin to burn hers. “How dare you defend him? He killed Greg, the man you claimed to love.”

“I’m not defending him,” she shouted back. Her vision blurred. Furiously, she wiped at the moisture wetting her cheeks. She couldn’t stand the thought of Grady, a man she’d once trusted, doing something so cruel. What hurt worse was the judgment in Peter’s eyes.

He turned away to pace. Every so often he grumbled things like “I’ll rip out his heart,” and “He’s a dead man.” Back and forth, every pass increased his agitation. Claws shimmered in the darkness. Peter’s eyes changed, lengthening into feline slits.

“If he murdered Greg I’ll help you kill him,” she said, her voice rising in strength. “That is,
if
he did it. We need proof, more than a scent.”

He spun on her. “If?”

“Put your anger to the side and think about it. What if he didn’t, Peter? An innocent man will die because we jumped to the wrong conclusion. Grady knows about this place; maybe he fishes here on his days off or, like I said, maybe he followed clues not in the folder that led him here.”

Peter stepped forward, bridging the distance between them. He gripped her hair, pulled her head back and looked deep into her eyes.

“You still love him, don’t you?”

“No.”

“You lie,” he growled, closed his teeth around the front of her throat.

Her heart sped and she moved closer, thrust her head back in submission, the only thing she could think of to soothe him. “I swear to you Peter, I don’t love Grady, I never did. I care about him as a person, if he’s innocent. If he killed Greg, has threatened our Pard, then I promise you I’ll help you cut off his head.”

The fist trapping her curls loosened. He pulled back, slowly took a step away from her. Incensed rage darkened his eyes, and she knew he wasn’t fully in control of the leopard. Both man and beast stared at her. “You’re mine, Eva. He won’t touch you again.”

In this state of mind, she thought it best not to correct him.

“Tonight,” he said, “we’ll break into the police station and go through Grady’s files. If he was here for a legitimate reason, he’ll have noted it. If not, then we hunt.”