MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) (35 page)

THIRTY-FIVE

With a shaking hand, MacRieve gripped his huge shaft, aiming it between her legs.

When he rubbed the crown up and down her sex, she was overwhelmed with the urge to claw his ass and draw him into her. Somehow she prevented herself.

Instead, she locked gazes with him, needing him to see that she’d never wanted anything more than this. She’d swear his eyes were telling her the same.

She felt pressure at her opening, the crown penetrating her, not to be denied.

“Tight, so tight,” he groaned.

Then the head was inside, pulsing, stretching her. But those twinges felt necessary, right.
No longer a virgin, Chloe.

“Good?” he bit out. The tendons in his neck and all the muscles of his torso were straining. He’d begun to sweat, his skin sheening in the firelight. How badly he must need to thrust.

“Good.” She felt like she’d waited her entire life for that hot fullness. That feeling of puzzle pieces clicking together. She gazed up at him in surprise. “Really good.”

“More?” he rasped, vulnerability in his gaze.

She nodded. Only to regret it immediately when a pinching sensation flared inside her.
More
was a little
much.
“It hurts.”

His brows drew tightly together. “It’ll pass, I promise.”

As he pressed deeper, she tried to focus on anything but the pain. She studied his expression. He looked anguished. So much was going on inside his head that she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Yet she also saw his eyes flickering blue.

How much time did she have until she was supposed to close her eyes and let that thing have her?

Will was already fighting not to come inside her impossibly tight cunny—and fighting the beast, who wanted its turn with their virgin mate.

No, not yet! Will wasn’t even all the way in. More hurriedly, he rocked his hips, pushing farther inside.

She gritted her teeth, but didn’t say anything.

Pressure. Everywhere. From his rising beast. From the scorching clutch of her sheath. From his consuming need
not
to hurt her.

Pressure increasing with every inch deeper. Sweat slicked his skin, running down his spine.

Finally he was as far as he could go. Gazing down at her with pride, he bit out, “You’ve taken me.” He reached forward to stroke her hair again. “Good girl.” He drew his hips back so he could sink back into that moist heaven. His head fell back as pleasure bombarded him. “Ah, you feel so fucking amazing!”

No response. He gazed down. “Chloe?”

Her cheeks were flushed, her lips thinned. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. But it’s not . . . enjoyable.”

Somehow he resisted the tight tug of her sex to pull almost all the way out. Keeping her on the tip, he put his palms under her back, scooping
her up to suck on her sensitive breasts. His lips clamped onto a nipple, his arms crisscrossing her back, holding her for the taking.

“Ohhh!” The sound of her delight was almost his undoing. “Better!” She fisted the sheets beside her hips.

Will kept himself from thrusting until she was wriggling on the end of his cock, wetting the head for more. “You want it deep inside you?”

“Deeper!”

Laying her back down, he raised himself above her on straightened arms. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto her quivering breasts as he surged his hips forward between her thighs. Her core clenched his every inch, wresting a strangled groan from his chest. “Ah! Deeper still?”

“God,
yes
!” The rapture in her cry . . .

As he rocked his shaft home again and again, she tried to meet his thrusts. “MacRieve, I’m close! More!”

“Give you what you need!” He was satisfying her, taking her like a normal man. Experiencing pleasure such as he’d never known. In this, he felt as much a virgin as she.

He was overwhelmed by how perfect she felt.
Waited my entire life to be inside her.

“Don’t stop, please!”

That
was the plea he’d craved! “Say it again.”

“
Please.
It’s so good!”

When he increased his rhythm for her, his beast roared inside him, nigh frenzied to possess her.

Will gazed down, seeking the anchor of her gaze.

The sight sent an icy chill through him. Her eyes glowed with her arousal.

“Succubus green,” he hissed.

Just like Ruelle’s. Because Chloe was greedy to feed off his body. When he saw her claws flaring, chills swept over his damp skin. His breaths began to whistle.

As if he suffocated under pale flesh.

Canna get enough air!
His chest heaved, his lungs burning for breath.

Ah, gods, he was losing his erection. No, no, he needed to perform, to provide. This was his mate, and she was hungry.

Yet just as he’d feared, he couldn’t stay hard—as if his body was refusing to surrender what hers demanded.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” She rocked on him. Of course she could feel his erection waning.

And just like before, he would let his beast rise up to do the dirty work for him. “Chloe, close your eyes.” His own claws began to lengthen.
To pierce her skin, to hold Mate steady for seed.
His fangs grew in his mouth.
To mark her flesh.

“Already?” She squeezed her eyes closed. Her body trembled against him. “Will it hurt me?”

“No’ on purpose.” His voice was growing distorted, his impulses no longer his own. The beast inhaled deeply of his mate’s scent, and his cock responded, swelling like a rod inside her.

“MacRieve, I’m scared.”

“Know that the beast . . . aches for you,” he choked out right before it took over.

Will watched in horror as it maneuvered Chloe to her hands and knees. It dug its claws into her hips, wrenching her back on his shaft, farther than Will had gone.

Impaled, she cried out as the beast seated itself deeply, positioning her to best receive its savage thrusts. With the beast at the fore, Will bucked into her again . . . and again . . . until he was riding his mate hard, growling over her with delight.

She was taking him, moaning. Was she getting wetter? Wishful thinking?

Soon he’d spend, soon it’d be over, this deed done.

The closer he got to coming, the more his fangs ached to mark her neck, to claim her forever—because his will was not his own. A thread of resentment grew, outdistancing the other feeling that was growing.

Obsession.

His semen had climbed, about to erupt uncontrollably. The beast tightened its hold on her to better deliver it to her womb, then leaned down to mark her neck.

Somehow, just before he ejaculated, Will exerted control for just long enough to prevent that claim—

A roar burst from his lungs as his seed jetted out of his cock, torrents so powerful that even the beast shuddered in awe.

Between heaving breaths, he bellowed to the ceiling as he filled her, over and over, plunging into his own hot spend.

Then came that last mind-scrambling draw. A succubus’s extra pull.
So many years distant; yet so familiar.
He quaked violently, powerless as the last of his semen was wrung from him.

With a groan, he collapsed atop her shivering body. She was panting, pinned on his length, squirming.

He’d been close to satisfying her. Yet in the end, she’d found no release.

Not like he had.
That last indescribable pull
 . . .

The beast receded reluctantly, Will driving it back. It was normal for a Lykae’s beast to praise its mate after sex, licking and kissing her with abandon under the light of the full moon.
I’m no’ normal, dark and twisted.
He felt sick.

He’d fed a succubus—was hardening inside her even now. No, not again.
Two times is too close to three.
One-third of his soul was enough for this night.

Without a word, he withdrew from her body, then rose. He dragged on his jeans, breathing deep to cage his beast completely. Her sweet succubus scent filled his senses until he was drowning in it.

Dragging me down
 . . .

He ran for the toilet to be sick.

THIRTY-SIX

T
hat didn’t just happen.

Chloe hadn’t known what to expect for her first time. But she’d never imagined she’d get railed from behind by a werewolf—or that her first lover would dash to the bathroom to vomit directly after.

She lay stunned on the bed, trying to process everything that had just occurred. All she knew for certain was that he was sickened by sex with her, and that she would never repeat this ever again.

At first, she’d thought she could enjoy having him inside her. She’d even been close to orgasm, until he’d started to . . . flag.

He’d known it, she’d known it. And then she’d seen him gritting his teeth, endeavoring to get through it, as if sex with her was a grueling last lap to be completed.

When that hadn’t worked, he’d tagged out with the beast, letting it finish something he was too disgusted to do himself.

Fear had assailed her. But when the beast had turned her over and taken her, it hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought it would be.

She’d even chanced a peek back at MacRieve’s wolven face. It hadn’t been nearly as terrifying as last time. And she’d realized why: the one time
she’d seen the shadow of the beast before, it had been wavering over MacRieve’s
mask of hatred.

Tonight, the beast had gazed at her with possession, with yearning—as if she’d just become its entire world. It
had
ached for her, just as MacRieve had said.

Chloe had responded, reveling in its ferocity, because she’d known that
she
had provoked that intensity. She’d relished the way its claws had gripped her hips, knowing that it was frantic for her.

As frantic as she’d soon grown.

Once she’d relaxed again, the pleasure had returned, just harder, more jarring. She’d been smiling into the pillow because the beast of her fears had been fucking her straight toward the most intense orgasm she’d ever imagined. Just when she’d been on the verge of release, she’d felt wave after wave of its semen shooting inside her. She hadn’t come, but that seed had been like a balm against her every ache—no pain anywhere, not her ankle or her bruised face. Her energy had been renewed. She’d truly
felt
immortal. Then it had ended. Then MacRieve had returned.

He’d just finished vomiting. She heard him filling a glass of water at the sink.

She’d always considered herself thick-skinned. Rub some dirt on it, right? But with this . . .

There was no upside.

Will lurched from the bathroom, trying not to notice as Chloe stared blankly at the wall, sheet clutched to her throat.

—
Allay, comfort.
—

How could he comfort her when he still felt like he was suffocating?

He descended the stairs, heading straight to the liquor cabinet. As he cracked open another bottle and took a generous slug, he comprehended the hopelessness of his situation. She would always be a succubus; he would always hate her kind.