The Psy-Changeling Collection (152 page)

“No. It’s okay,” she repeated when he just watched her.

“Is it?” A finger nudging aside cloth to stroke the dip of her breastbone.

“What do you want?” she asked, desperate to give it to him.

“Is this punishment, Tally?” Cat-green eyes clashing with her own. “Are you giving in to me because you want to hurt yourself? Am I another faceless fuck you plan to forget?”

“What?” Her hands fisted against the roughness of denim. “No!” She couldn’t believe she had ever worried about not feeling with Clay during sex. It was impossible to be anything but fully engaged—his leopard demanded it and so did her own fierce hunger. “I’m not giving in. I’m
choosing
this because you make me crazy with need, you arrogant cat. I want to mark you, make sure the world knows you belong to me.”

Those male lips seemed to soften. “Then tell me what you want.”

If her heart hadn’t already been his, he would’ve captured it then and there. He might be in a dangerous mood, but he was hers—maybe she didn’t have all of him but what she had, she would cherish with every breath in her. “I want to see you,” she whispered.

His eyes snapped up to meet her gaze. “I was thinking more along the lines of what would pleasure you. I don’t have much patience left.”

“You never had much patience,” she teased, though her stomach was tight with such frantic sensual craving, it hurt. “Seeing your body gives me pleasure.”

Eyes holding a surprised, strangely vulnerable look, he reached down, undid a few buttons on his dress shirt, then pulled it off and threw it to the side. All at once, his beautiful, naked chest was there for her to taste, kiss, enjoy. This very dominant male had just given her total skin privileges. Delighted, she flattened her hands on him, luxuriating in the tensile strength of pure muscle covered by hot, dark, beautiful skin. The crispness of the hair that curled under her palms was yet another seductive sensation.

She felt him place his hands on her hips but was too focused
on his beauty to pay attention. Never, before Clay, had the mere sight of a man been enough for her body to ready itself for penetration. But today she was melting from the inside out and oh, how she liked it. Trailing her fingers down his chest, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to strip off her clothing and rub her nipples against the rough heat of him. Something tightened between her thighs, a hungry, aching need that begged to be satisfied.

There was a vibration against her palms. She bit her lower lip, fought the wave of sheer pleasure … and the piercing realization that that vibration would serve to intensify the sensations she craved. “You’re purring again.”

His lips curved. “I can scent your arousal.”

It should’ve made her blush. But it only made her hotter. “I can see yours.” He was hard under the straining zipper of his jeans. And big. Very big. Her body clenched and unclenched, urging her to unzip him, let him fill her up. It would hurt so-damn-good.

“Drop your arms.”

Face hot with the erotic images dancing through her head, she raised it to discover he’d unbuttoned her shirt. “No.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned in. “Kiss me first.”

“Going to be a brat in bed, too?” His hands slipped under her open shirt to hold on to her waist as he took her mouth in hot, languorous kiss that made her feel so sexy she thought she might just be able to conquer the world.

“I get to give a few orders, too,” she murmured.

His hands slipped down, closed over her bottom. Squeezed. She was still gasping over that when one of those deliciously callused hands slid up over her back and around to her front. She held her breath.

CHAPTER 33

He didn’t just
touch her breast. He held with bold possessiveness. Squeezed there, too. And she decided to obey his order. Dropping her arms, she tugged off her shirt. It stuck at her elbows. Clay took full advantage, wrapping the material in his free hand and using it as a binding to keep her hands behind her back.

“I don’t like being restrained,” she complained.

He squeezed her breast again, then cut through the straps and the middle section of her bra with a single sharp claw, retracted a second later. “Can’t I even pet you in peace?”

Then her bra was gone and Clay was looking at her, his hand spread big and confident below her breasts. Her heart galloped. With each indrawn breath, it was as if she was pushing up her breasts for his enjoyment. They weren’t huge. Not even close. But right now, they seemed to have taken over her body.

“Apples,” Clay said, his eyes cat-bright.

She had no idea what he was talking about. “Apples?”

“I love apples.” He bent that dark head and closed his teeth around one nipple.

She couldn’t breathe.

Then he flicked his tongue over the flesh and the air rushed
out of her in a burst of hunger and need and pleasure. Releasing the nipple, he took her breast in a scorching hot kiss that reduced her to whimpers. Somewhere along the line, she got rid of the shirt and thrust her hands in his hair, wordlessly urging him to give her more.

God, she was being greedy. But he didn’t seem to mind. She promised her half-dazed mind that she’d make it up to him. Right now, she wanted to indulge herself, to let him indulge her.

He pressed a kiss to the heated valley between her breasts and nuzzled his way up her neck. “We should go up to bed.”

She kissed him, unable to resist the temptation of his sensual lips. “Later.”

“Later,” he agreed and pushed her backward.

When her back touched a soft surface, she realized he’d used his foot to drag the other cushion closer. She raised her arms and he came down on top of her, the cushions forming the perfect bed. His hand stroked her from neck down to waist as he claimed her mouth in another ravaging kiss. She had never felt more taken, more possessed. But for the first time, the possession held tenderness. And she knew that what was happening in this makeshift bed with Clay was something new, something indefinably precious.

Under her roaming palms, his muscles moved in a slow symphony that was as seductive as his kiss. Clay was all big shoulders, heavy muscle, and tremendous power. She dug her fingers into him and was fairly sure he barely noticed. “Clay,” she murmured against his mouth, “tell me what you like.”

“Harder,” he said, nibbling at her lower lip. “I’m not soft like you.”

She caressed him with firmer strokes and was gratified to hear his breath catch. But he didn’t give her long to enjoy that, dipping his head and suckling at her neck in a way that she knew was going to leave a mark. “So good.” She shuddered.

His response was to bring up one of his hands and stroke her breasts with heavy boldness. No flirtatious passes for Clay. He petted and teased with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted, what his woman wanted.

“Mine,” he said, pressing a kiss to the skin he’d sucked.

And she knew she’d been marked. “Ditto. I don’t share.”
She had always been unreasonably possessive of him. If he had so much as smiled at another girl, she’d sulked for days.

He raised his head. “Neither do I.” Their eyes met in a collision of pure fire.

This, she realized, was it. Either she kept protecting herself or she upheld her vow to love him without fear. Put that way, it wasn’t a choice at all. So she gathered up her courage and did something agonizingly, blindingly hard for a woman who had learned to distrust early and never quite forgotten the lesson. She ripped open her heart and took the final step across that glass bridge. “It was you.
Always
. Only ever you.” At that instant, she felt something wrench and re-form deep inside of her, almost as if her soul itself changed shape, then the odd feeling passed and she found herself face-to-face with the predator that lived inside Clay.

His intent expression hadn’t changed, but his eyes were those of the leopard who was as much a part of him as his human skin. “This, too?” He growled and she felt the roughness of it scrape over her skin in a caress that was at once frightening and mind-blowingly erotic.

Blood flowed to low, heated places. “I’m not afraid of you.” Never again would she fear him. “Sometimes, I’m afraid of what I feel for you”—and the cost the emotional connection would demand from him if this damn disease took her—“but I’m not afraid of you hurting me.”

He kissed her again, an unflinching male brand that left her gasping. “Took you long enough.”

She bit him for that remark, a sharp closing of teeth on one shoulder. It was over before she’d stopped to think about it. When he growled this time, she felt the rumble of it vibrate against her breasts. Then he bit
her
. The second his teeth closed over the peak of her breast, she felt her thighs attempt to clench. If he hadn’t been between them, she would’ve been squeezing them tight in an effort to quench the liquid fire threatening to burn her up.

Teasing her by rocking his erection against her, he bit her again. Mercy! When he did it to her other breast, she decided she’d have to provoke him more often. Pushing her hands into his hair, she tugged. “Too much.” Too much pleasure, too much exquisite sexual heat.

He said something against her breast and the sensation made her skin feel as if it was stretching ever tauter, as if her breasts were swelling to please this sexy changeling who seemed determined to enslave her. His hair was heavy silk under her hand, his jaw rough with stubble. She wanted to stroke every inch of him.

When he shifted his lower body, she locked her legs around him, holding his strength to her, luxuriating in the knowledge that while she might not control it, or him—nor would she want to—it was completely at her disposal.

Finally releasing her needy flesh, he kissed his way freckle by freckle down to the curved plane of her abdomen. When he looked up, the erotic beauty of him stole her breath. “You taste good. Pretty freckles.” He flicked out his tongue as if tasting one. “Mmm.”

“You’re making me crazy.” He was so honest in his blunt male appreciation of her body. “I thought you said you had no patience.”

“I don’t. You’re just hot for me.”

She grinned through the crimson veil of desire. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Smug, very male, very Clay. But only for her. Pursing her lips, she blew him a kiss. “Yeah.”

Her agreement had him prowling up her body to give her a slow, sensual kiss that made her moan into his mouth. The feel of his chest hair against the damp tips of her breasts simply added to the overload. She rubbed against him as she’d imagined, inciting him, pleasing them both. His hands slipped under her bottom. “Off.”

She was too busy kissing him to listen. He used his teeth on her lower lip. She used hers on his. It was a very sensual fight but he won—because she wanted to be skin to skin, too. All over. Unlocking her legs from his back, she lifted up her bottom and let him undo and peel off her jeans. He threw them aside and ran his finger along the lace edges of her panties.

“Pink?” A row of kisses along the waistband.

She swallowed at the image of those wicked male lips so close to the most private, most delicate part of her body. “I like pink.”

Spreading her legs, he licked along the inner-thigh edges.
Her hands gripped at the cushion as her body bucked with a twisting pleasure she’d never before felt. Then he licked the other side. And that pleasure roared through her like a fever. But through it all, she was aware of him, holding her, touching her, caressing her.

When the room stopped spinning, she lifted up her head then dropped it back down. “Oh, man.” She had known that being with Clay would be good, that it would eclipse the other times into nothingness, but this was beyond good, beyond anything. All she could think was—no wonder women liked sex. But of course, this was nothing so simple as sex. This was … “Oh, man.”

Clay chuckled. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Uh-huh.” Her brain was mush.

“In that case, I’ll talk.” He placed a kiss on her inner thighs, one for each side, then ran his claws very carefully along her hip. “Snap.” The right side of her panties fell away. “Snap.” So did the left.

That quickly, she was naked and he was between her thighs, so close his breath whispered over her intimate flesh. Her body was suddenly a tight fist, expectant, waiting. It scared her a little, how deeply he touched her, how easily he’d stripped her of her barriers, but she had made a promise and she would keep it. Talin McKade was no coward—she was strong enough to dance with a leopard. “Clay?” she said when he didn’t make a sound.

“I like pink, too,” he said, his expression wholly masculine.

“You’re making me blush.” It felt as if he was touching her with his eyes.

“Mmm.” An utterly sexual, utterly content sound.

She felt every sense in her bow in surrender. Sure the wetness between her thighs must be embarrassing by now, she clenched her body in a futile effort to control her need. Clay’s fingers spread her open again and she felt the impact of that touch to her toes. She dug them into the cushions, but Clay had other ideas. Lifting one leg at a time, he put both over his shoulders—after pressing nibbling kisses along the inner thighs.

“You,” she managed to say hoarsely, “are a very bad kitty
cat.” That made him laugh, his breath stroking her exposed folds. She moaned, anticipation racing along her skin, burning with hot, sweet hunger.

“Meow.” His tongue flicked over her parted flesh. “I love cream, too.”

Anticipation turned into the most extreme pleasure. Again, she dug her fingers into the fabric of the cushion, but it was no use. There was no way she could control this. Not when he was licking at her with those quick, catlike flicks that were driving her certifiably insane. “Harder,” she found herself whispering, shocked at her own daring.

“Not yet.” Another flick. Another moan. “I want to make you a little crazier first.”

“Bully.” It was a gasp.

“Brat.”

That clever, clever tongue was doing things to her she had never believed possible. She found herself pressing closer, begging him with her body, her thighs tight around him, her heels digging into his back. Then he bit her.