MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) (20 page)

She ran her fingers through his hair, watching every lick.

“Lusty little mate.” He was discovering so much about her, what pushed her buttons. He’d learned that she liked his dirty talk. He’d learned that she had so much fight in her, but not when needful—and not against him. For Will, she surrendered her fire so sweetly. “You like my tongue on you, lass?”

“Yes!”

“In you?” He parted her with his thumbs and fucked her with his stiffened tongue; she melted, giving a strangled scream.

“You want more?”

“I
need
more! I
want
it. . . .” When she moaned, undulating wildly to his tongue, his cock pulsed so hard it ripped the top button of his jeans open. His zipper was no match for his length. So he shoved his pants down to his knees.

But even when his hand found his throbbing cock and began to
masturbate, the beast didn’t rise. Will was dripping with pre-cum, harder than he’d ever been, yet the beast was
thrumming
with delight inside him.

Will fully comprehended that he was in control. And more, he was
good
at this. She was going crazy. Her head thrashed above the edge of his shirt, her tawny locks bright against the clover.

All he had to do was feast on her as he and the beast needed to, and she would come against his mouth.

He’d been discovering much about her sexually—but also
about him.
Will could satisfy her, could even tease her. Which meant she was at his mercy.

Suddenly, he felt very powerful.

He grinned against her wet flesh. And very, very wicked.

Shivers danced all over Chloe’s naked skin. She’d never felt such lust, knew she was seconds from orgasming for a man she’d only known a day.

He’d released his erection from his jeans, was stroking it. When she saw that thick length, she grew wetter in a rush, and he licked greedily, snarling against her. God, his penis was amazing, pulsing and rigid—larger than anything she’d seen on RedTube.
And it’s all mine.

He
was hers. All she had to do was say yes to him.

She’d sensed he was on the precipice of that wild beast nature inside him, and it excited her. When she gazed down at his feral, predatory look, her heart beat erratically.

“No more talk of leaving,” he rasped. “You need this, do you no’? You’re burning inside; you ken you need me tae tend your fire.” He ran his tongue along her folds with a long, slow, sensuous stroke.

“I-I can’t think. Just keep doing it.”

“Doing
what
?” He tongued at her opening.

She arched sharply. “L-licking me!”

“What if I want tae do this?” He gave a light suck on her clit.

“Oh my God, oh my God—”

“You want more?”

“Yes! Ah, yes. . . .”

“Then in turn, you’ll give me a week tae convince you that you’re mine.” His brogue was so thick. “Each day I’ll do this tae you.”

“What?” She couldn’t think, felt drugged. Each day, really? “I don’t . . . you’re bargaining with me?”

“Aye. And, baby, right now I hold
all
the cards.” Another brief, sweet suck.

Desperate to come, she gripped his head and rocked her hips to get his mouth back on her. He growled, heaving his breaths against her dripping flesh, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Surrender tae me, Chloe. We both know you want tae.”

What could one week hurt? “O-okay. Seven days. And you have to do this on every one of them.”

He gave a half-laugh, half-groan against her. “Consider it done.” A last light suck before he pulled his mouth back. “Vow tae stay with me.”

She stamped her feet with frustration. “Fine! I vow it.”

When he lowered his head once more, she felt him grinning against her, a wolfish smile. Then came his sinful tongue again—and she knew she’d made the better bargain.

Yet just when she was about to tip over the edge, he grated,
“Leamsa.”

“Wh-what does that mean?”

“It means
mine.
Tell me who you belong tae.”

Fearing he’d tease her again, she hastily said, “You!”

“Then tell me.” He suckled her clit again, flicking his tongue at the same time. . . .

So close. She burned, she ached. Gone shameless with lust, she arched her back, cupping her breasts. As her orgasm swept her up, she cried,
“I belong to you!”

The rapture was scorching.

Wickeder than dreams.

Addictive.

When it finally subsided, she had to push his head away, shivering as he growled,
“I taste it, baby. I fuckin’ taste you.”

She lay dazed, dimly aware that she was naked in the woods with a Scottish sex god—one who still needed to come.

He rose up on his knees, jeans shoved down his flexing thighs. His big hand squeezed his engorged length as he masturbated. She’d never imagined that a guy’s erection could be so delectable-looking—thick, hot, pulsating. Again came that overwhelming urge to take it in her mouth.

She gazed up from his bobbing fist to his rippling torso muscles and bulging biceps. The straining tendons in his neck protruded. His expression was agonized with the need to come—but it was still MacRieve.

“You didn’t hurt me. You stayed with me.”

He stroked faster, faster. “Wanted tae see you come for me.” He licked his lips, groaning . . . from her taste? “I’m soon tae join you. How do you want it, love?”

She didn’t understand. “Um, whichever way you prefer?”

He leaned forward, placing his hand over her neck—not squeezing, just making a cage of fingers over her throat. A cage that said,
Lie back and stay.
“I want my seed marking your soft flesh,” he bit out between gritted teeth. “I want my seed on you, my
scent
on you. I want no one tae mistake who you belong tae.”

At his words, she helplessly arched up to be marked by him. In his eyes, she saw
yearning
, a brows-drawn vulnerability. Whatever he needed, she was ready to give.

Her surrender? For this brief window in time, he had it. She saw his fangs growing longer, but he only looked wilder.
Savagely seductive.

He growled, “Feel me. Take it upon your flesh.”

She squirmed in anticipation.

He gave a bellow of pleasure when the first jet erupted from the crown, spurting across one breast and aching nipple. He aimed another lash to take her other breast.

She gasped, stunned by how hot his semen was. How heavily those creamy ribbons landed upon her. How she did feel
marked.

Bucking violently at his fist, he threw his head back to roar,
“Chloe!”
On and on it continued while he yelled to the sky, his hips jerking above her. . . .

When he was finally spent, he surveyed her. She sensed a fierce masculine satisfaction in him as he said, “You look like you’ve gone tae war in the clover. As my lass should look.”

She plucked green from her hair, shrugging with a smile.

Before he collapsed next to her and pulled her to his chest, she thought she’d seen his eyes misted wet.

NINETEEN

F
ood.”

With MacRieve’s one word, their interlude earlier this afternoon had been sidetracked.

Before that, he’d leisurely—and proudly?—wiped her off with his shirt so she could get dressed. Then he’d lain back with a crooked arm behind his head, his demeanor all king-of-the-castle and domineering as he’d watched her body moving.

Even she might’ve been embarrassed to be buck naked and scrambling for clothes, but his look of utter contentment had made her want to prolong the process.

He’d all but grunted
“Leamsa”
again, and it’d sunk in that she
was
his—for at least a week.

Yet then he’d suddenly sprung up like an animal on the verge of attack. “I smell a bounty. At the den. Sizzling food, sizzling
meat.
” He’d reached for her with that wolfish grin, dragging her close. “And, gods, for the first time in memory, I’ve got an appetite that canna be denied,” he’d said with a playful slap on her ass, a slap that made her breath catch for some reason.

By the time they’d reached the den, the drizzle had ended, the sun beginning to shine. Sure enough, the other members of the clan were
preparing a feast, Lykae-style. In an impressive outdoor kitchen, folks were barbecuing ribs and bone-in filets the size of soccer balls.

“It’s a celebration to welcome you to the clan,” MacRieve had told her.

So she’d showered and changed into a clean blouse, a skirt, and heels, dressing up a little, making an effort to show her appreciation. Skirts and heels, for the record, sucked.

Once she and MacRieve had returned to the group, she’d gotten the impression that the festivity was also the Lykae’s way of thumbing their noses at the creatures besieging the compound. Things had still been howling, hissing, and stomping outside the wall. . . .

Chloe’s offers to help with preparation had all been declined. The clan members only wanted her to relax, enjoy, and eat. Over the course of the meal, she’d at least managed the first two.

As soon as they’d finished, MacRieve dragged her into his lap, in front of everyone at the long banquet table. No one blinked an eye.

She’d noticed that all mated couples were constantly in contact, touching each other, feeding each other. According to the
Book of Lore
, Lykae needed—really needed—to touch.

For the last hour, MacRieve had only removed his arm from her shoulders for long enough to cut his steak.

“I could barely coax you to eat anything,” MacRieve told her, adding in a murmur, “An arse like yours does no’ maintain itself, Chloe.”

He seemed obsessed with her ass. Actually, with all parts of her. Under the cherry tree, he’d kissed across her nose, across her freckles, telling her,
“I’ll count every one. . . .”

“I think I’ve filled up on barley and hops,” she answered. When she’d admitted earlier that she’d never drunk alcohol, MacRieve had been aghast.

“No’ even a taste?” he’d said. “That’s criminal, lass.” While almost all of the adults drank whiskey, MacRieve had provided beer for himself and her.

She’d looked at the label. “Voodoo Beer?”

“In honor of Loa and Boa for chasing away death.”

“That was a big snake, wasn’t it?”

“It was a seriously large snake. . . .”

Despite her lack of appetite, the dinner had been truly enjoyable. Everyone in the clan had proved welcoming and funny. There was no way Chloe would sit back and accept that these warmhearted people were all evil and needed to be destroyed by any
Order.

“I canna get you to eat more?” MacRieve asked, concern in his expression.

“I’m good.” To change the subject, she said, “So how many times did I breach Lykae etiquette?” She’d learned that couples were expected to share one big trencher. She’d been looking for her own plate, earning a grin from MacRieve.

“Only a couple of times. What’s most important is that you’ve got the finer points of matehood down.” At her ear, he said, “You pleasured me thoroughly. Then all through dinner, you looked at me with adoration.”

She tapped her chin. “Funny, I was going to say the exact same thing about you.”

He gave a laugh. She suddenly sensed all eyes on them. Sitting in his lap didn’t earn a raised brow, but MacRieve laughing did?

He leaned in again to say at her ear, “I like your fire, lass. I like that you surrender it for me to tend to when you’re needful. And
only
then. You were heaven-sent for me.” He nipped her earlobe, and she sucked in a breath. “All that beautiful fight becomes mine.”

Some of the males rose from the table then, making noise about a rugby rematch. MacRieve tensed, but didn’t join them.

When a couple of the men said things in Gaelic, their tones taunting, she asked, “Are they trash-talking you?”

“Oh, aye. According to them, I’m the veriest pussy. Already mate-whipped.”

“You need to go lower the boom on them.
Now.
”

He laughed again. “Fierce wee creature. You’ll have me in brawls for eternity.”