Slave to Sensation (28 page)

She couldn't break away, couldn't stop herself from grabbing onto his waist and digging her fingers into his flesh. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and she responded instinctively, tangling hers with his. His body was pure heat and sensation under her hands, the body of a male who'd never say no to touch.

“Skin privileges,” she said when he let her breathe.

“We're way beyond skin privileges, darling.” His smile was wicked as he sat back up to kneel between her spread thighs. Aware what he wanted, what he needed, she raised her hands to the button on his jeans and undid it. He hissed out a breath, his eyes appearing to glow even more brightly. When she tugged down the zipper, he growled in the back of his throat. “Careful.”

“Always.” The zipper was down. She could see the head of his erection pushing against the white fabric of his briefs. “You have to let me up.”

He thought about it for a while, his fingers playing with her wet nipple through the soft cotton fabric. “I don't want to.”

Her stomach clenched each time he plucked at the bud he'd sensitized to the extreme. “How can I . . . take you in my mouth if you don't?” In the glimmering darkness, the question was an erotic invitation she hadn't known she had the capacity to make.

He moved and it was so fast she barely caught it. Watching him stand beside the bed stripping off the rest of his clothing was a pleasure all on its own. There was no need for light, not when his skin seemed to shimmer with a fine layer of savage energy to her Psy senses. She was stunned by the dangerous beauty of him. When she sat up, his head whipped to pin her to the spot. “I don't want you to move.” Alpha to the core, his order was arrogantly assured.

“But I want to move.” To let him have his way at this point would equal disaster later.

He pounced with that stunning speed and she found herself flat on her back with his length pressed along her front. He'd clasped her wrists together and had them pinned above her head before she could gasp in a breath. “Now you're all mine.” The comment held a hunting cat's pleasure at cornering his prey.

But this prey had claws. Reaching out with her mind, she wrapped mental hands around the erection that was nudging at her entrance. His body arched as a shout was torn from him. “What are you doing, kitten?”

“Playing,” she said, using his word. The
feel
of him was everywhere, inside and outside. She wanted to taste him so badly, she ached. “Let me.”

He leaned down and lapped at her nipple through the T-shirt, the gesture so feline that she was shocked into a moan. “I'm not feeling playful.”

“Don't you want me to . . .” She used her mental hands to squeeze him tight, to show him what he could have.

He bit the side of her neck hard enough to mark but not hurt. “Stop that.”

“Why?” At that moment it didn't occur to Sascha that she shouldn't have been able to connect to him so easily, that he was changeling and she was Psy and no Psy had ever been able to enter a changeling mind without effort. All she knew was that she was burning up for him.

He braced himself on his hands above her, setting her free to grasp the hard length of his erection. He thrust into her hold, head thrown back, the tendons on his neck standing out in sharp relief. Not quite knowing how she knew what to do, she pushed up until she could slide her legs between the vee created by his kneeling thighs.

As he watched to see what she'd do next, she slithered her body down the bed until the hard evidence of his hunger was right above her. Holding onto his hips, she raised her head off the bed and took him inside her mouth.

His growl made every nerve in her body flicker with warning. But she didn't stop. She had skin privileges and she was going to take every advantage. He tasted better than her dreams, as rich and delectable as the most exquisite chocolate, as exotic as the panther he was.

Her neck was getting tired but she didn't want to let go. Pulling at his hips, she moved down but he refused to follow, sliding slowly out of her mouth and driving her to the edge of insanity.

Lucas, please.
It was a wild plea from her mind to his.

“On the condition that you let me do the same.” His voice was rough, hot, demanding. “No backing away.”

You can do anything you like!
she agreed without thought, so drunk on the overload of sensory pleasure that she was his slave.

He purred and did as she'd asked, moving his hips just enough to tease, to tempt. Craving him so badly that she could no longer function on any level but the physical, she sucked hard, squeezing her hands over the taut muscles of his buttocks. He groaned as she used her tongue to stroke the underside of his erection. She knew what he liked, had learned from the dreams that weren't dreams. Given free rein over his body, she used every skill she had to drive her wild lover to distraction.

“Harder, kitten.” It was a hoarse whisper.

She complied, digging her nails into his flesh. The tiny pleasure-pain made his muscles lock around her. Moaning deep in her throat, she poured everything she had into the loving, licking, sucking,
giving
.

He came for her in shuddering waves, a wordless growl emanating from his throat.

 

 

Maybe ten minutes later, Sascha realized she was still wearing the T-shirt. She tried to extricate herself from Lucas, who had her completely pinned to the bed, but he refused to move. He'd buried his face against her and now he licked out at her pulse, lazily tasting the salt on her.

She bit the side of his neck. “Lucas.”

A low purr vibrated against her breasts, shocking sensation down her aroused body. Every nerve ending quivered in need so deep it hurt.

“I want to take off this T-shirt.” It felt too hot, too confining. Even her panties were too much—she wanted to feel every inch of sweat-slick skin, every stroke of wild sensuality.

He rolled off her. His slitted eyes glowed a soft green in the darkness. They didn't leave her for an instant and the second she was naked, he pounced. Once again she found herself at his mercy. This time she was lying on her stomach, his hard length buried in the crease of her buttocks. “But you . . .”

He ran his fingernails up her side, making her entire body shiver. “I'm not human, Sascha. It takes more than a single round to leave me unable to perform.” He nibbled at the shell of her ear.

“Oh.”

“Now it's my turn.” Those strong teeth scraped her shoulder and one of his hands slipped under her body to touch the damp curls between her thighs.

She made a soft noise that was so full of need she startled herself. Lucas seemed to like it. Dipping lower, he rubbed at her, threatening to drive her to insanity.

Lucas.
It was an intimate whisper.

“Raise your bottom for me,” he said into her ear, lifting his body off hers.

Blushing, but unwilling to miss out on anything he wanted to show her, she bent her knees and pushed up. He moved the hand petting her curls to flatten over her stomach while his free hand stroked her bottom. She'd never felt more exposed, more vulnerable.

The hand on her bottom slipped down to the insides of her thighs and he pushed gently until she'd widened her stance. A throaty rumble sounded from behind her. Every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation.

“Your scent is like a drug to my senses.” His voice was so rough she could barely understand him.

With another murmur that was more sound than words, he put one hand on her hip while the other continued to lie against her stomach and then he tasted her. A scream tore at her throat at the first slow lick. She could feel herself trembling and it was only the start.

Unhurried and careful, he lapped at her like a cat with a bowl of cream, intent on tasting every drop. Her entire body turned into liquid flame. She could barely breathe through the sensations, her face burning with heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

He moved the hand on her hip down to the inside of her thigh again. She let him widen her stance even more, let him use his fingers to spread her for a deeper taste, let him savor her until she saw stars. She just . . . let him. He took full advantage and she learned what it was like to be loved by an alpha panther who thought she belonged to him.

There was nothing tentative about his intimate kiss. Every touch screamed possession. The fingers on her thigh were hot and strong, holding her where he wanted her as his mouth ravaged her with a kind of rough tenderness she had no defense against.

She was almost insane with need when he nipped at her bottom with his teeth. “I'm sorry, kitten. I'm moving too fast but I want to be inside you.”

Fast? He thought this was fast? What was Lucas's definition of slow?
I need you.
She was speaking to him on the most private of levels, not even thinking about what she was doing so easily.

She sensed him rise behind her, nerves taut with expectation. A soft scream escaped when he started to push into her. It felt like he was invading more than her body—he was going deep into her mind. And she wanted him deeper.

He surged forward in response to her silent urging. A sharp note of unexpected pain infiltrated her pleasure. “Wh-what? Lucas?”

“Shh. Never again.” His lips kissed the line of her spine, distracting her with sensation. “You feel so good, darling, so hot and tight. Once isn't going to be enough.”

The erotic whispers sent shivers racing across her skin. At the same time, the hand on her stomach pushed upward and she rose to press her back against his chest as he lay buried deep inside her. She felt the pulse of his heartbeat within her and it was exquisite, a carnal kiss unlike any other.

Reacting to instincts so old they had no name, she rotated her hips in a slow circle. His arm tightened against her stomach, enclosing her in pure muscle. The heat of his chest almost burned—it felt as if his body temperature was much higher than hers. One masculine hand rose to close over her breast, his fingers plucking at the nipple. Crying out, she moved again.

The hand on her breast slipped to clasp her hip. “Stop that.”

She repeated the motion.

And felt the panther in Lucas take over. He pulled out almost all the way and then surged deep. Her body started to shake. Unable to remain still, she pushed back toward him.

His teeth closed over the curve of her neck, holding her in place as he drove them both to the edge. The hold wasn't painful, just so proprietary that she felt utterly possessed. It was a reminder that her lover wasn't human, wasn't Psy, wasn't controllable.

She adored him exactly as he was.

His hand slipped to the curls between her legs, finding the throbbing nub that she ached to have caressed. He knew perfectly how to rub, how to tease. Her scream came from deep inside her soul. In her passion, she reached back and scraped her nails down his biceps.

With a growl, he let go of her neck and began to move so hard and fast she could no longer meet him. Instead, she melted, accepting his hunger, his need, his
claim
, even as her body shattered into a thousand pieces, brilliant sparks of primitive color flashing before her eyes.

To her shock, Lucas pulled out of her. Before she could complain, he'd turned her in his arms and pulled her to sit with her legs around his hips. He was so deep inside her barely a breath later that she couldn't think.

“Open your eyes.” A demand against her mouth.

She obeyed without thought. And met the glowing green of eyes gone utterly panther. “Why?”

“Fireworks,” he whispered and took her lips in a kiss so hungry she felt consumed.

This time, his movements were deep and fast and unstoppable. She rode the storm, let him push her over again and again, let her wildness out to play. It was the most intimate, most dangerous, most wonderful dance of her life. When his muscular body shuddered in her arms and he let out a rough shout, she felt every feminine instinct she had moan in pleasure.

“Mine.” That absolute statement was the last word he said in a long, long while.

 

 

They'd just finished breakfast when Lucas informed Sascha he was going to speak to Hawke, the SnowDancer alpha whom she'd never met, at least not while conscious. Vaughn and Mercy, who were also sitting at the table with them, looked up.

“You're on guard here,” he told them. “I'm taking Clay and Dorian.”

Sascha took a sip of tea and thought about what she was going to do. Returning home wasn't an option. Ever. After the night she'd spent in Lucas's arms, she could no longer keep up the pretence of being a normal Psy. Her shields were holding on the psychic plane but maintaining her mask in the real world had become impossible.

Then there was the fact that Lucas had marked her.

The second she'd walked into the kitchen, Tamsyn's eyes had gone to the bite mark on her neck. She'd thought the healer would be angry given what she'd told Sascha the day before. Instead, the other woman had grinned and said, “I bet you're starving.”

So far no one had mentioned the screams. Or the long scratch marks on Lucas's arms. She'd nearly died when she'd come down to find him sitting at the table wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt. It was one thing to come apart in his embrace, quite another to have others bear witness to her utter surrender. At least he was putting on his black leather-synth jacket for the meeting with Hawke.

“Stay here,” he ordered, though she'd made no move to leave. “You're not strong enough to hack the Net again even if we agree to your idiotic plan. Stay out of it. Rest.”

He was right. Ghosting Henry had drained her more than she'd guessed. It would take at least one more day for her to recover enough to implement the plan. “I can only last another few days.” The pressure inside her was intensifying minute by minute. “We have to act before then or they're going to find out about me and attempt containment.”