Wild Cat (26 page)

“Honey?”

She whispered the soft inquiry against his shaft. He felt the vibration right through his body. Her fingers stroked caresses there and then lower, to his suddenly aching balls. Taking her time. Paying attention. The insides of his thighs, her mouth following her hands. He shuddered. Still tense. So vulnerable he feared he would shatter into a million pieces and he would never be the same.

“What is it? Tell me.” That was whispered against the base of his shaft. Her tongue curled. Lapped around the base of his cock, finding every crease and sending waves of heat riding up his shaft. Blood pooled low. Wicked. Sinful. His personal miracle.

“I can't ever let that vile shit touch you, baby. Not ever. I don't want you angry with me because I am who and what I am. I have to protect you. Keep you like this. Keep you safe and protect that innocence in you. I
have
to.” God. His voice was so raw his throat burned.

“All right.” She licked up his shaft, curled her tongue
around him and then pressed a kiss to the crown. Her tongue tasted the pearly drops waiting there.

“All right?” he repeated, whispering because he couldn't find his voice. Not believing his little spitfire would give that to him without a fight.

“I won't be angry, Elijah,” she promised, pressing kisses up his shaft. “Just relax and let me show you how I feel about you. I want you to hear me when I'm talking, saying what needs to be said.” She pressed another kiss on the flared crown and then her mouth engulfed him. Took him. Swallowed him.

His entire body came to life. Every cell. He'd been semihard and he instantly swelled. Thickened. Lengthened. She was talking all right, and he was hearing her. He'd just come and he'd come hard and suddenly he was on fire. Burning. Her mouth worked him, tongue stroking and dancing, curling around him, rubbing the underside of the crown in that sweet spot.

He opened his mouth to caution her, but nothing came out. She took him up fast and he could already feel his balls drawing up, hard as twin rocks, boiling with need. She devoured him, suckling hard, rubbing with her tongue, her hands moving over his thighs, cupping his sac, pressing between his buttocks. He found himself thrusting into her mouth, and he didn't honestly know who had the control. He didn't feel in control. He felt insane with lust. With love. With everything a man could feel for a woman and more. His fists tightened in her hair, holding her head to him. That didn't scare her or deter her.

He hit the back of her throat and felt her choke, and then she breathed deep and took him deeper. Swallowing. Massaging him with the muscles of her throat. Giving him that. Giving him something so beautiful he could barely comprehend. He was dazed, shocked, pumping into her mouth, guiding her with her own hair.

Her mouth was hot and tight and she didn't stop. She made
little desperate noises, as if she couldn't get enough of him. As if she was so hungry for him, she was frantic. Every sound she made vibrated through his cock, adding to the fire scorching him. Her fingers dug deep into his buttocks, urging his hips to move into her. Her mouth tightened as he moved in and out. Then he was there. He felt it moving through him, shattering him. Hot jets of his essence pouring into her, down her throat, and the suction softened, gentled, became tender and sweet.

Elijah lay there, one hand covering his eyes, breathing deep, unable to process what she'd just given him. What she was still giving him. His eyes burned like a son of a bitch. His throat felt raw. For the first time he knew what real love felt like. Intense. Scary. Painful. So fucking painful. He was Elijah Lospostos. Just about every member of his family had been nothing but brutal and vile. There was no sweet. There was no clean, and there was no woman loving and adoring.

“I don't deserve you, Siena,” he choked out.

She licked up his shaft, over the sensitive crown, and then pressed kisses over him, kissing her way up to his belly where she laid her head. Her hair slid over him like a cover of silk.

“You deserve me, Elijah. You're arrogant and bossy and I'm going to have to kick you once in a while, but your sweet takes my breath away.”

He sifted his fingers through her hair. “Baby, I really have to go. Take a hot bath or you're going to be sore. I don't want you sore for very selfish reasons. As soon as I take care of whatever it is Drake needs me for, I'll fix us dinner.”

She turned her head, chin digging into his belly, her eyes on his face. “I like that you cook.”

“I'm a good cook.” He enjoyed cooking. It reminded him of his grandmother, the one person in his life who had been really good to him.

“I'm not. But I want to learn. Will you teach me?”

“I don't mind being the cook.”

“I'd like to learn at least how to make a few dishes. You're mine, honey,” she said softly, pressing a kiss on his belly. “You take care of me however you need to, but know that I'm going to take care of you my way—the way I need to. You have to give me that. That includes in the kitchen and in our bed.”

“Siena. Woman, you're killing me.” Because it was true. The absolute truth.

She lifted her head again, chin back against his abs, her green eyes moving over his face. “Can you do that, Elijah? Let me have this. Let me have all of you.” She stretched her body over his, sat up, straddling him. She leaned into him, kissing the hollow of his throat as her hands swept over his chest. She trailed kisses down the middle of his chest to his belly button.

“That means talking to me when you're angry or upset. Giving me that guidance so I can give you whatever you need.” Her gaze jumped back to his face. “Can you give that to me?”

His heart nearly stopped in his chest. She sat astride him, her sex pressed to his. Her body was straight, breasts jutting toward him, full and enticing. His. Her narrow rib cage and small tucked-in waist emphasized the curve of her hips. All his. Her expression was soft. Tender even. Soft like her skin and her lush curves.

“I can do that,
mi vida
,” he agreed. He could barely choke the words out around the lump in his throat.

She
was
killing him and she didn't even know it. She was peeling away the man he'd been and letting out the one he wanted to be—for her. He knew she was wrapped so tight around his heart there was no escaping. He'd do anything to keep her. He didn't dare show that to the rest of the world. He was going to have to walk a very thin line to keep her safe.

She pressed another kiss to his belly, slid her hand up his chest and shifted off of him. “I'll go take a hot bath and then join you in the kitchen for my first cooking lesson.”

“Wear that long skirt of yours for me. The one that has all the ruffles falling to the floor.” He loved that skirt on her.
She embodied feminine. From the first time he'd ever met Siena, she had loved girlie things. She wasn't a jeans kind of girl. She owned them and wore them, but she definitely preferred skirts.

She smiled at him. Soft. Her expression taking his breath, her eyes teasing. “You can wonder whether or not I'm wearing panties under it while you're cooking for me.”

He caught her wrist as she slid off the bed, stopping her, looking up at her from where he lay. She was naked. All bare skin and lush curves. Beautiful. “Who do you belong to, Siena?”

Her green eyes drifted over his face. Over his body. Touching him without actually skimming her fingers over his skin. He felt that look. It seared him. Claimed him. Along with the soft there was possession. Tenderness. Things that knotted his belly more. That sent fear curling through him—the ugly snake that said any enemy could slay him, using her.

“I ask you a question, baby, I expect an answer,” he said quietly, but with an edge to his voice. She had to know. She had to
always
know.

“I belong to you, Elijah.”

“You get that we're leopards. Shifters.”

She frowned, uncertain where he was going.

“Yes. I don't know much about that part of who I am, but yes, I know we're both shifters.”

“What you need to get,
mi amorcito
, is that leopards don't like other males around their woman. Around their mate. My male is bonded to your female. He's going to need her regularly, and he isn't going to want any other male close to her. I don't want any other male close to you. Don't touch any of the men.”

He saw her shut down. Her green eyes glittered and she took a step back. He didn't relinquish his hold on her wrist. His fingers tightened, shackling her to him as he sat up. “Don't get all pissy on me, Siena. I'm telling you a fact we both have to live with. I've got a male that rides me hard
and I'm part of that. I feel that. You're mine. You belong to me. I need you safe, and I need other men to back the hell off. That means you don't encourage them . . .”

“
Encourage
them?” She spat the words out. “Let go of me. I'm going to take my bath, and I suggest you go soak your head in a bucket of water. I don't flirt with other men. I certainly don't
touch
them and I don't care for the implication you're making.”

“Who the fuck were you calling earlier, then, because I'm pretty damn certain that was another man. Another leopard.” He spat the words at her, knowing each time she got close, shattered him,
owned
him, he used his temper to pull himself back together. And there was always something he could get angry about. His leopard leapt for the surface. Savage. Fierce. Demanding to bring her back to his bed and force her to acknowledge that he
owned
her. Because, by God, she wasn't owning him without it going both ways.

She turned her head to look at the bits and pieces of her phone lying on the floor beside the opposite wall. “You broke my phone. You threw it.”

“Who were you calling?” He knew damn well who she had called and he knew she knew he knew. Still. He wanted her to acknowledge that it had been another man she'd turned to. Another leopard.

“Let go of me before I smack you over the head.”

“Who. Were. You. Calling?” He bit out each word, his temper rising.

Siena didn't seem intimidated. She reached down with her free hand, picked up a pillow and hit him in the head with it. Yeah. He lost control of her. She knew she'd reduced him to a marshmallow. Self-preservation was an ugly need rising like a tidal wave. A leopard's fury mingled with his own, both determined to dominate. To control. He needed control. It was the only way he survived. She had stripped him bare, and now she was defying him.

He yanked her down onto the bed so that she sprawled
across his lap, facedown on the mattress. Before she could move or speak, his hand came down hard on her ass. He smacked her five times in rapid succession. Hard. Making it count. Letting her know he wasn't going to be led around by his cock. Snarling. Growling even.

She began to struggle and he held her down, his hand on her red ass, smoothing over the handprints there, realizing his fury was about fear. Helplessness. She hadn't only stripped him bare and exposed that only soft spot, the place he could be killed; now he was terrified of someone hurting her. He needed complete control over all things in his life, especially Siena, and he feared there was no controlling Siena.

“You
hit
me. You bastard. I can't believe you hit me.”

She stopped struggling and lay across him, shaking, her body soft and pliant, no sound emerging. He thought she was crying but he couldn't tell. Then a small sound, muffled by the mattress slipped out. Quiet. He was certain soft little sobs shook her body, but her face was turned away from him.

Remorse hit him hard. It wasn't about Siena at all; it was about him. His fears. His needs. His desire for complete control. No. It was even worse than that. He didn't want her to know just how far she'd gotten in. He continued to rub her bottom, trying to soothe away the hurt he'd caused.

“Baby,” he began. There was nowhere to go with it. He wanted to kill Paolo for hitting her. This hadn't been an erotic spanking leading to other things. It wasn't about bringing her pleasure in any form. This had been a punishment. For what? What had she done but show him love? She'd done that. Given him a precious gift, and he'd thrown it back in her face because he was terrified. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He moved her body off of him. She didn't turn over. She didn't look at him, but kept her face averted, the long hair effectively hiding her from him. Hiding her expression. Hiding her tears. His stomach knotted more. Brutal. He was disgusted with himself.

“You aren't fucking leaving me over this, Siena. You're not leaving me. You're going to get past this fuckup too.” His voice was harsh. Strangled. Savage, just like the savage beast raging inside him. He made it a dark decree. “You aren't leaving me. You try running and I'll hunt you down, bring you back and tie you to my bed until you see reason. Don't think for one minute I won't find you.”

He didn't care if he sounded like the stalker man from hell. She gave him nothing. Siena was always an open book, but she just lay there, body shaking, spread across his bed like a fucking gift, a miracle, and he'd broken her because he was scared shitless of loving her so much it hurt. It fucking hurt.

He'd forgotten fear. He'd forgotten the taste of it in his mouth. The way it crawled up his throat and lived there. He hadn't felt fear since he was six years old and his grandfather shot one man, beat a second man to death in front of him and then when he cried had turned those fists on him.

Before he could utter another word, the muffled sounds grew in strength. She jammed her fist into her mouth, but they kept coming. Her body was really shaking now. Strangely, the noises she made, even muffled as they were, didn't sound like tears. At. All. He scowled and reached down to slide the veil of hair away from her face.