Hostage to Pleasure (30 page)

Clever fingers slid up and under her T-shirt, stroking skin that quivered at the first touch. “So why bother?”

She drew in a shuddering breath, put her hands on his wrists. “Slower.”

His fingers played over her ribs. “I told you the time for saying no was over.”

Despite the harsh words, she knew he’d never hurt her. She
knew
in a way that she’d never before known anything. As if the truth was carved deep inside her soul. “I’m not going to say no.” Against her skin, his fingertips were slightly rough, quintessentially male in a way she couldn’t define. She just knew that the feel of it was an erotic sensation she’d never have expected. “But sensuality is a drug I need to get used to in small doses.” She thought she might’ve surprised him when his fingers paused.

An instant later, they began moving again, stoking the fire within her with dark precision. “I’m patient.”

“I know.” He was also incredibly focused—he’d become a powerful and respected member of his pack despite being born with what many would’ve considered a handicap. But . . . “You hurt, Dorian.” A whisper that froze him. “I might be Psy, but I can
feel
your hurt at being unable to shift.” The knowing bewildered her, but that made it no less true.

Dorian felt as if she’d knocked him flat with that single quiet statement. He’d done such a damn good job of moving past his genetic flaw that he’d convinced everyone—even himself—that it didn’t matter. And on one level, it didn’t. He was proud of what he’d become, a changeling fully capable of defending his pack, his family. But . . .
“I couldn’t save her.”
A gut-wrenching confession.

Ashaya’s hands slid under the tee to clench on his. “From all I know, Santano Enrique was a monster in every way. Don’t allow the echo of his evil to taint your memories of your sister.”

“I swore to destroy the Psy Council.” Sascha’s empathic gift had saved him from becoming a beast ravaged by vengeance alone, but he was a predatory changeling male. He couldn’t forget. “They nurtured Enrique, protected him. I want their blood to flow in the streets.”

“Hate will destroy you,” she whispered. “It’ll destroy . . . us.”

He shuddered, burying his face in the curve of her neck. The electric curls of her hair cushioned him with a soft warmth that was so intrinsically female, he couldn’t hope to explain it. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he simply held her, allowed himself to hold her, to accept that she was his mate. And that she came from the very race he’d made the target of all his rage, all his pain . . . so that he wouldn’t have to face his own guilt.

A scientist’s practical hand rose to press against his cheek as Ashaya tilted her head in a sweet gesture of acceptance. “People always say it’s changelings who most crave touch, but that’s not the truth. A long time ago, long before Silence, Psy craved it more than any other.”

He let her words wash over him like affectionate rain. His mate, his
mate
, was trying to temper his grief, trying to tell him they weren’t so very different after all.

“We were becoming so mentally inclined, living so much on the psychic plane that it scared us. We sought out physical sensation to anchor us, to bring us back to reality.”

“Did it work?”

Her hand rubbed gently and he felt the cat in him shudder in surrender. “Yes,” she said. “It turned the course of our history so powerfully that even Silence couldn’t derail it. Not even the strongest among us retreat wholly from their physical bodies. Touch saved us.”

“Then save me, Shaya.” He laid his heart bare, invited her to savage it.

Dropping her hand, she turned in his arms. Then, rising up on tiptoe, she cupped his face in her palms and drew him down. Her kiss was innocent, vulnerable, a caress so gentle that it made him her slave between one breath and the next.

“Dorian,” she said and it was another caress. One hand fluttered to rest on his shoulder, the fingers of the other tracing a line across his cheekbone, along his jaw and down until she splayed her hand flat against his heartbeat.

Whether she understood or not, he knew he was being marked in a very feminine way. “More,” he demanded, greedy, starving, ready to take.

CHAPTER 36

She curled her fingers into his chest instead of complying. “You’re an incredibly handsome male,” she said. “Perfect bone structure, pure blond hair, eyes so blue they should be impossible. Your only ‘flaw’ is this tattoo.” She traced the three jagged lines on his right biceps. “It’s an echo of the markings on your alpha’s face.”

He gave a short nod.

“A symbol of absolute loyalty.” Her lips parted. “Knowing that just makes you even more dangerously beautiful.”

He felt a blush heat up his cheeks. His looks were simply another hurdle he’d had to overcome as far as he was concerned. “Took a long time for people to take me seriously.”

“Yes, but you see, Dorian,” Ashaya said, stroking her hands down his chest and back up, “you intimidate me.”

“You didn’t seem intimidated on the couch in the apartment.” He raised a hand, fisting it in her hair. It fascinated him, it was so wild, filled with what felt like a thousand colors from pure black to a golden brown. He wanted to know what it would feel like brushing over him. It also made him wonder about the colors in other, lower places. His fingers curled in anticipation.

“That was an aberration. I know you did what you did to help me.” She pressed a kiss to his chest and glanced up through her lashes. “Tonight, I find myself asking how I could possibly measure up to a man so beautiful.”

Dorian wondered if women were born with the ability to cut their men off at the knees. “Shaya, I look at you and I think sex.”

Her fingernails dug into his chest, making his cock jump.

“Then I think about all the ways in which I’d like to
have
sex with you. All of them involve licking my way across every inch of you.” Bending his head, he flicked out his tongue and tasted her just above the ragged pulse in her neck. “God, I love your skin.”

“My skin?” She glanced uncomprehendingly at her own arm when he rose from nibbling at her. “It’s brown.”

“It’s melted chocolate and coffee with cream, exotic as the fucking desert, and so damn erotic, I have wet dreams about you naked on my sheets, your skin smooth and hot from the sun’s rays.”

She swallowed, chest heaving. “You make me sound edible.” He purred. “You are.” He wanted to strip her bit by slow bit—the cat was desperate to know if her skin was the same luscious shade all over. “If it isn’t,” he whispered, taking her mouth in a ravaging kiss, “I’ll happily rub every inch of you with sweet, lickable oil and stroke you until the sun has its way with you.”

She seemed to be having trouble breathing. “Dorian, that made no sense.”

“Didn’t it?” He bit her lower lip and saw her pupils dilate as her hands moved down to grip at his waist. “I have this fantasy.”

“Oh.” She rose up on tiptoe, unconsciously following his mouth.

He rewarded her enthusiasm with another kiss. “Of sliding my hand from your nape, down the sweep of your back and over the sweet, sweet curves below.”

She blew out a shuddering breath when he cupped her bottom with one hand. “I said, slow.”

“We’re just talking.”

Her next look was an accusation. “You know perfectly well what you’re doing.”

He smiled, feeling the cat purr again. He did know what he was doing. Ashaya was a creature of the intellect. She was so damn smart it turned him on like nobody’s business. He knew instinctively that to truly reach her, to awaken her sensuality on the level he needed, he’d have to tempt her mind as well as her body.

With the smile continuing to flirt over his lips, he released her and moved his hands to his belt. Ashaya watched with un-hidden feminine intent as he undid the buckle and pulled the belt slowly through the hoops. When the metal buckle clunked to the floor, she gave a little jump, but her eyes didn’t move from the denim-covered erection he made no effort to hide.

“I want you so bad,” he said, “one touch and I’ll come.”

Her chest moved up and down in a ragged rhythm.

He flicked open the top button, went to the fly, pulled it down a little. “Damn,” he said, holding her eyes. “I forgot the boots.” Grabbing one of the two chairs in the room, he sat down, legs sprawled. As he bent to undo the laces of his combat boots, he flicked his eyes behind Ashaya. Even this deep into sex, his protectiveness wouldn’t allow her to be vulnerable. Only when he was sure the security panel was still flashing “Safe” did he pull off the first boot and drop it.

Ashaya remained in place as he did the same to the second. Neither did she move when he got rid of his socks and sat back up. She was rubbing her hands down the front of her soft khaki cargos, the dark blue of her T-shirt molding to the generous curves of her breasts. Damp, he thought, nostrils flaring at the scent, her skin was damp. That made him think of other, wetter, slicker parts of her.

Groaning, he sprawled back in the chair. “My cock hurts, sugar.”

“What do you want me to do?” A husky offer couched as a question.

He waved a finger at her T-shirt. “Off. Please.” He put every ounce of charm he had into his smile.

She didn’t smile in return, but her eyes filled with something hot . . . exquisitely possessive. Putting her hands on the bottom edge of the tee, she pulled it over her head in a single efficient move. He about swallowed his tongue when she did the same with the black sports bra she had on underneath.

“Shit.” He pulled down the damn zipper of his jeans, releasing the pounding length of his erection.

Her eyes went to him. She licked her lips. And he had to squeeze himself hard at the base to keep from coming right then and there. “You’re not shy.” His voice croaked, he was so damn hot for her.

She walked closer, pure, welcoming female. “You told me you look at me and think of sex. I assumed that meant you liked my body. Don’t you?” Hands on hips, head tilted in a way that was woman personified. She was so confident looking, he almost missed the hint of uncertainty in her eyes. Then she spoke, and he remembered that his mate was very good at hiding her fears, her hurts. “Dorian?”

“Shh, I’m looking.” He traced the lush weight of her breasts with his gaze, angled down the curve of her waist to hips that seemed made for a man’s hands. Lower. God, he wanted to bite down on her flesh, mark her in the most primitive of ways.

The cat spread inside him in a languorous wave of sexual need.
Now,
it said,
she’s ready.
Her arousal was a drug soaking into his very pores, threatening to make his earlier teasing come true—he might lose it simply by looking at her. In desperation, he squeezed himself tighter. “Baby, if I liked your body any more, I’d turn myself into a eunuch trying not to come.” She was even more sexily built than he’d imagined, a curvy goddess straight out of his hottest dreams.

She looked down at his erection, fascination in her gaze. “Why”—her eyes traced the length of him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip—“do I find the sight of you holding yourself so arousing?”

“The same reason I’d love to see you pleasuring yourself.” Oh, hell, he hadn’t just said that and put the image in his mind! “Fuck.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to think of baseball, trees, anything but the vision of Ashaya with her hand buried between her legs, head thrown back in sweet release.

It didn’t work.

His eyes snapped open just as Ashaya leaned closer and ran a single wondering finger down his aching cock. He came.

 
Ashaya had never considered pleasure before meeting Dorian. Even then, she’d considered it as something predictable in a general sense. When he touched her, she felt pleasure. That was the equation. Contact = pleasure. She’d never once thought that watching him lose control would birth a pleasure so deep and rich, it would eclipse everything that had come before.

His eyes opened after several long seconds. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

She was startled to see a hint of embarrassment in the vibrant blue. “Dorian,” she said, not bothering to hide the depth of
want
clawing at her, “that was the most erotic experience of my entire life.”

Sensual charm curved his lips, wicked and teasing. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll give you something to compare it to. You’re so damn pretty, Shaya.”

“A few minutes?” Feeling suddenly shy, she crossed her arms over her chest. The smile on his face widened, becoming touched with the feral wildness of the cat. It made thinking difficult. “I believed males needed a longer recovery time to mate.”

“Not this kitty cat.” Rising to his feet, he said, “Get ready to play.”

She found her body straining after him as he disappeared down the corridor she assumed led to the bathroom. When he returned, he was completely naked. She heard a sound of incredible yearning fill the air, and was shocked to find it had come from her. Dorian’s body went utterly motionless. A second later, he moved with such speed that she gasped to find him in front of her, pulling her arms apart.

“Let me see,” he said, exerting gentle pressure.

She didn’t fight him. “There’s a hunger,” she whispered, scared at the depth of that need, at what it demanded from her. “It’s almost painful.”

He didn’t tell her to stop analyzing their interaction, didn’t accuse her of not acting like a normal woman, both fears she’d harbored. Instead, he smiled and said, “Show me where.”

When he let go of her arms, she spread the palm of her right hand over her navel, partly touching skin, partly the material of her cargos.

“There?” Brushing aside her hand, he replaced it with his own. She looked down, mesmerized at the erotic contrast. His hand was thickly masculine in comparison to her own, the hairs on the backs of his arms shimmering with light, his fingers marked with faded scars. He was beautiful to her. But when he looked at her, she saw a startling truth—she was beautiful to him, too.