Coyote's Mate (31 page)

“But you suffered because of me,” he sighed. “And now it doesn’t even matter if there is blame to be laid. You’re in my arms. My mate. My coya. We’ll struggle through this, Anya. Together.”

His lips feathered over hers, parted them, slanted and took hers in a kiss that took her ability to debate, argue, agree or disagree. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, teased him, tempted him.

Her hips lifted, her sex rubbed against the hard ridge of his cock, her clit gloried in the heat racing between their bodies now.

Her hands moved, dragging down his arms, pushing beneath them to pull his shirt from his jeans and burrow beneath the cloth to the hard, heated flesh beyond.

Oh God, she loved the feel of him. She wanted to wrap him around her like a blanket and hold on to his warmth forever. It seared into her palms as his kiss seeped into her soul and left her quivering with the sensations building inside her.

How she had ached over the months, and refused to admit it. How she had worried, fought with herself, and fought the need that flowed between them, even before she had known about the mating heat. He was a part of her. And he had been a part of her since the moment his black eyes had met hers when she had been no more than sixteen.

Before they touched. Before that first kiss. Before the anger and the fear and the realization of the world she was entering when she entered Del-Rey’s arms.

“I need to fuck you,” he growled as his lips lifted from hers and traveled to her jaw, her neck. “I need to be inside you, Anya. So deep, so tight that there is no you, no me. Just this.”

His fingers flipped over the closure of her pants, pulled the zipper loose. “I sat in that fucking dark room smelling your need for me and thought I’d burn out of control before I managed to touch you. Imagining how wet you were. You’ve always been wet for me, Anya. Always. Before the heat, before you were even old enough for me to touch, you’ve been wet for me.”

A ragged cry left her lips as his finger brushed the saturated curls between her thighs.

“So wet your pussy clings to the silk of your panties.” He nipped her jaw, then licked the little wound. “Your juices cling to my tongue the same way. Loving my touch. You love my touch, Anya.”

“I love your touch,” she gasped, her hips lifting into his palm as he covered it, cupped it. “Oh God, Del-Rey, I’ve always loved your touch.”

“I love your touch,” he growled. “I ache for it, dream of it. I wake drenched in sweat yet freezing from the need of your warmth.”

Two fingers curled, parted the swollen folds between her thighs and pressed, slowly, almost teasingly, into the aching depths of her body.

It was so good. So brutally good Anya jerked against him, his name a gasp on her lips as she felt her internal muscles clenching around his fingers. The heated warmth of her juices flowed around his fingers, slickening them, easing his way as he thrust them slowly inside her.

“I ached for this,” he whispered at her ear, then slid his teeth down her neck. “The feel of you, the taste of you. Your sweet pussy opening for my cock, gripping me and pulling me in as your arms and your kiss hold me closer to you. I would have died for just one more night in your arms, my coya.”

“Don’t die,” she moaned. “Just touch me, Del-Rey. Don’t stop touching me.”

Self-control wasn’t important here, in his arms. There was no need to fight for lucidity. He could think for both of them here, because Anya knew she didn’t have a hope of saving a single thought in her head.

She arched her neck as he dragged the loose neckline of her sweater to the side, found the mark he had left on her neck and then, amazingly, he lapped at it. His tongue licked with slow, sensual strokes over the wound that had become so incredibly sensitive to the lightest stroke that she felt her vagina flutter, then convulse around his fingers.

This shouldn’t be possible. It shouldn’t be so sensual, so erotic that she wanted nothing more than to be stripped bare before him and feel him stroking over every inch of her flesh.

“I don’t know how to handle this.” She arched, shuddered in his arms. “I don’t know how to think, Del-Rey.”

“Don’t think, sweetheart,” he groaned against the mark he had left on her, before kissing it gently. “Just feel. Feel me. This is all you need to do. I’ll take care of everything else.”

She had to trust him, because she couldn’t control this. She didn’t want to fight it, not anymore.

She didn’t want the hormone treatments blocking so much as a single sensation or a second of the need. She wanted it all. He had accepted it all, suffered for it, given her the freedom and the time she had needed to realize what she wanted, what she ached for. She could do nothing but let her senses fly and give herself into the keeping of the man she had chosen years before as her own.

She arched into the thrust of his fingers, her cries shattering the space around her as she fought not to beg for him to take her now, at this second.

They couldn’t be far from Base. He would have to stop. It couldn’t last much longer.

“God, you make me lose my head.” He breathed out roughly, his head lifted despite her protests, his gaze narrowed on the window. “Come, sweet.” His hand slid slowly from her saturated flesh.

“Not yet,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop yet.”

“Just for a bit.” His lips lowered to hers, brushed against them, and he was kissing her again, slowly, deeply. His tongue pushed against hers, encouraging her to suckle at it as he fixed her pants, her sweater.

He pulled her hands from his flesh, holding them above her head with one of his as the other smoothed down her side, gripped her hip.

When he lifted his head, she forced her eyes to open, to stare back at him.

“When you need me, come to me, Anya. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing. Suffer in silence again, and I’ll make certain you understand clearly that it will not be permitted.”

Her lips parted in surprise at the dominant, dominating tone of his voice.

“Getting awful bossy, aren’t you, Coyote man?” She had to curl her fingers against the seat to keep from dragging him to her once again.

“I’m weak where you’re concerned, Mate,” he told her gently, but the tone didn’t disguise the pure power beneath it. “But don’t tempt me in matters of your safety or where your well-being is concerned. Be stubborn, I can deal with that. Take charge in the areas that are your own, that I can handle. Argue with me when you need to, yell at me if you must. But don’t endanger yourself or allow something I can fix to harm you. That I won’t tolerate.”

“Is there a rule book?” She snorted as he helped her sit up. “Or do I get to just stumble around on my own and mess up whenever?”

“Mess up whenever.” He grinned. “I’ll greatly enjoy showing you the error of your ways.”

Charm, seductive humor. She loved his smile. The sheer wicked devilry in it, the warmth she had always glimpsed now flaring into heat.

“We’re here,” he told her as the limo pulled into the front of the caverns.

“We’re going to clash soon,” she warned him. “Very soon.”

A frown tugged at his brow, though he nodded somberly.

“Yes, I know this, Coya. But know, even when we clash, you’re my coya. And I’ll ensure, even if it chances your wrath, that you’re always safe. Now come.” He gripped her hand as the limo door opened. “Let’s go find our room. I have a need for your touch and your taste. And I’ll wait no longer to ease that need.”

CHAPTER 17

He didn’t wait. Anya was rushed into the base, Del-Rey’s arm still wrapped around her, and pulled through the tunnels until they were locked into their room.

She found herself against the wall within seconds, his lips on hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth again. The hormonal release from the glands beneath his tongue seemed spicier, more addictive than ever before.

She sucked at the taste, licked against his tongue and heard his rumbled growl as she tore at the buttons of his shirt and pushed the material from his broad shoulders.

“I love your body,” she panted as his lips tore from hers and he shrugged the shirt free. “So hard and muscular.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and wanted to whimper at the heat beneath his flesh. “And so warm. Always so warm. I need your heat, Del-Rey.”

She needed
him
. How had she managed to stay away from him all those months? Denying herself the ultimate pleasure of just touching him, watching him move, or hearing his dark, rough voice.

“It’s yours.” His hands pushed beneath her sweater, lifting the material until he revealed the delicate lace of her bra.

He paused. Anya felt her breath hitch as his hands lifted to her breasts, his fingers curving around the mounds as he palmed them with delicious greed. The look on his face as he touched her was pure male hunger. Part lust, and part more. Something deeper, something that touched the feminine part of her soul and made her weaker, made her ache for more. It made her welcome the excruciating arousal that tormented her body, because she could see his nostrils flare, see him breathing her in as his hands flexed on her aching breasts.

“God, I love the scent of you wanting me,” he groaned, reflecting her thoughts as his lips lowered to the mounds rising above the lace cups.

Anya shivered as he licked over them. His tongue rasped her sensitive flesh, coming incredibly close to the hardened tips of her nipples.

“Are you going to torture me?” She gasped.

“I’m going to torture both of us.” A flush mantled his cheekbones as he licked over the lace that covered her nipples. “Because I need to taste you, Anya. I need to feel you against me, so sweet and warm. Lifting to me, needing me, Anya. Just need me.”

And she did need him. She didn’t have the option of blaming it on the mating heat. She had wanted him before he ever kissed her. She had wanted him after the hormone therapy had controlled the painful spasms of need. There hadn’t been a time since she was sixteen that she hadn’t wanted him.

Beneath her hands his flesh was heated and solid. Beneath his lips sensation sizzled against her flesh.

“Take this off.” He pushed at her sweater as his tongue traveled into the valley between her breasts.

Her arms lifted to allow him to push the material over her head. No sooner had it dropped to the floor than his hands were at the waistband of her pants, flipping open the closure and lowering the zipper.

Mesmerized by the pleasure on his face, by the pleasure winging through her, she could do nothing but watch his expression as his hand slid past the material, beneath her panties and into the swollen, slick folds of her sex.

Her head fell back to the stone wall as her breath locked in her throat. Pleasure, ecstasy—it winged through her with such sensual promise that there was nothing left but to hold on to him as he stroked her. Caressed her.

“I need you naked,” he growled against the rise of one breast, which he licked sensually. “Can you toe the boots off?”

The boots? She shook her head in confusion. What boots? She didn’t care about the damned boots, not with his fingers slipping into the desperate, aching heat between her thighs.

His head lifted, fingers moving slowly, so slowly before stilling altogether. Anya’s hips pressed into the touch, arching against his palm as she gazed back at him in desperate need.

“Toe the boots off.” A grin tugged at his lips as the savage features of his face softened with sensual amusement. “Come on, baby. One foot at a time.”

She whimpered in need, her foot reaching out for his.

“Ah, baby. Your boots,” he groaned, his lips feathering over hers. “Toe your boots off.”

Oh yeah. Her boots.

She lowered one hand, knee bending, fingers finding the zipper at the side of her low boot before fumbling and pushing one free of her foot. She repeated with the other foot until her toes were curling with the pleasure of his renewed, gentle strokes into the folds he possessed.

With his other hand he pushed the pants over her hips, dragging her panties with them as he went to his knees before her.

“Del-Rey, the bed,” she gasped.

“Fuck the bed.” His voice rasped along her nerve endings as pleasure quaked through her body.

“I need to taste you now, Anya. My tongue in your sweet pussy.” His lips feathered over the curls between her thighs. “So sweet and soft. So damned good.”

Her thighs parted beneath the guiding force of his hands. Her fingers curled into the thick, coarse strands of his dark blond hair and she watched. Watched as his tongue licked through the saturated slit, ran around her clit and sucked the last of any chance of control from her sensation-ridden body.

Del-Rey licked, stroked, tasted. His tongue ravaged her flesh, left her shaking, shuddering as she fought to keep her knees locked, her body pressed against the wall.

“I’m going to fall,” she cried.

“I’ll hold you, baby.” Sexy, wicked, an inhumanly erotic growl breathed against her clit.

She nearly came. Pulses of extreme pleasure rippled through her body at the sight, the sound, the touch.

“So close,” he crooned in that sensual, graveled tone. “I can smell how close you are, Anya. Are you going to come for me, baby?”

She breathed in roughly, her breath hissing between her teeth as his tongue circled her clit again, before slipping it in and sucking it with deliberate, exquisite draws of his mouth.

There could be no pleasure greater than this. Her sensitive flesh rippled with the agonizing sensitivity. She could feel it, racing through her blood, traveling through her nerve endings and ricocheting through every cell of her body.

Just from the suckling of his mouth at her clit. His hands on her hips, holding her in place. The feel of his hair beneath her fingers. Electrical pulses of pleasure sizzled through her. She felt tight. She felt feminine and weak beneath his touch, beneath the need tearing through her.

“Mmm. So good,” he crooned, licking again rather than suckling her clit to orgasm as she needed.

Her flesh was so sensitive she could feel the perspiration beaded on it. The brush of his hair against her stomach as he drew her clit into his mouth once again. And this time, he meant business.