Coyote's Mate (32 page)

His tongue flicked over the tender bud, his mouth sucked it, until she went to her tiptoes in a cataclysm of pleasure so desperate, so deep that nothing emerged as her lips opened in a soundless scream.

She lost the strength in her legs, and he held her up. She lost the will to stand on her own. Her head tipped back, her hips moving until the exploding little bud was deeper in his mouth, his lips rubbing against the sensitive folds and the world dissolving around her.

“Mine.” Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, her upper body collapsing over him as her nails raked along his back.

He caught her, lifting her into his arms with a growl of triumph, and bore her to the bed.

She bounced against the mattress, rolling and coming to her knees. As he moved to come over her, she was waiting for him. She pushed at his shoulders.

“My turn.”

She was weak from the pulses of ecstasy racing through her, and yet the need, the hunger that had nothing to do with the mating heat, flowed through her now.

“Mine,” she repeated, lost in emotion and possessiveness, lost in the sheer perfection of his body, his touch, and the rising natural progression of what she had known was coming since she was sixteen years old.

And he went down for her. Naked, though she couldn’t remember when he had undressed, splaying out on his back, those wicked black eyes watching her, the hint of blue stronger now, reflecting in the lights that gleamed from within the wall.

Moving over him her lips covered his, took the kiss she needed, sucking his tongue into her mouth to take the last of the spicy taste from the mating glands beneath it.

She flowed over him, lips moving from his, her tongue licking over his flesh, her teeth nipping at the heavy vein in his throat as his neck arched.

“Yours.” The animalistic sound empowered her, sent a fierce rush of adrenaline and sensation burning through her.

Because he was hers. Her mate. Her lover. Her Del-Rey.

Her lips coursed over his shoulder. Her tongue licked over his collarbone, her taste buds going wild at the heady flavor of him. Perspiration and male excitement. It was rich, spicy, earthy. And she was addicted.

She licked at the flat, hard male nipples and felt him arch to her, felt his hands grip the thick strands of her hair, heard his snarl of impatience and let a smile curl her lips as she lifted her eyes and licked her way down his stomach.

“Coya,” he groaned. “My coya.”

“Your coya.” It was a promise, a vow.

His teeth clenched, the sight of the savage, curved canines at the side of his mouth only intensifying the visual pleasure.

She licked, lowered herself, sprawled between his thighs and let a hungry moan pass her lips. His cock stretched from between his thighs to his lower abdomen, thick and powerful, engorged and iron-hard.

The heavy crown was flushed, beaded and damp with pre-cum, awaiting her tongue. She licked over it, and approved his taste with heavy sounds of delicious pleasure. She licked down the shaft, ignoring the hands in her hair, urging her to return to the sensitive crest. She licked down to the tight, throbbing sac below the shaft, where she played.

Running her tongue over the smooth, hairless flesh she dampened it, then parted her lips and sucked delicately at first one side, then the other. His groans, the low, graveled growls, filled the room.

“My alpha,” she whispered as she moved back up the wide shaft. “My mate.”

And she accepted. There was no escape, because in her heart, she had no desire to escape. In her heart, where she had hid the dreams, the memories, the wants and the pain of loss, he had always been hers.

“Yours,” he snarled. “Now fuck me. Lose your control, Anya, because God help us if I lose mine.”

She smiled, licked over his cock head, then drew it into her mouth.

Yes, that was what she wanted. No control. Not his, not hers. Just them, together, flying out of control and loving every minute of it.

“Anya, don’t tempt this,” he ordered, commanded. He was so good with that commanding tone that she shivered at the promise of the retribution his gaze held.

She sucked him into her mouth, flattened her tongue and rubbed, sucked, milked the sensitive crest with her mouth. She lifted her lips slowly, let him watch as her tongue swirled over the head and she watched his eyes. She watched the wildness fill them, felt it fill her.

She had been born for this. Born to touch this man, to steal his control, to lose hers. Born to be his mate.

“No, Anya.” His hands pulled harder at her hair. When that didn’t work, they pressed under her arms, lifting her until she let her teeth bear down on the tight flesh.

He paused, stared down at her, his expression agonized.

“It will be like the first time,” he snarled. “Do you hear me? Like the animal I am.”

No, like the man he was, the glorious male creature that filled her fantasies and sent a rush of need through her, no matter the circumstances.

She let her lips grip him tighter, not in pain, but in warning, until his hands moved from her and gripped the sheets beneath him instead. His eyes glowed with acceptance, and with concern. His expression was savage, honed, flushed with lust.

She sucked him deeper, though the width of his cock made it impossible to accept much more than the brutally flared crest into her mouth.

He was delicious. A small spurt of pre-cum filled her mouth, and she relished it. Minutes later another. Del-Rey’s neck was arched, the veins standing out clearly on it, just as they did on his cock.

Another spurt, and she had only seconds to enjoy that taste before he moved. There was no chance to react before he was dragging her up his body, beginning to turn.

Her thighs clamped on his, her hips lowered, the slick, wet folds of her sex rubbing against the hardened shaft as he suddenly stilled.

The warning growl that filled the air had her smiling as she pressed her palms flat against his chest, slid her hips up until the tip of his cock was poised at the entrance to the desperate, hungry depths of her body.

“I take you,” she whispered. “For my mate.”

She pressed down, a whimper of ecstasy leaving her throat as the head pressed inside her, stretched her, opened her.

“My coya!” It was a snarl, a demand. His hands gripped her hips, his thighs bunched, and Anya screamed with the pleasure as he thrust inside her. Heavy, hard undulations of his hips had him buried inside her in three hard strokes, and he didn’t stop.

This was supposed to be her ride, she thought hazily. And she was riding, tossing, writhing above him as he lost the control she had felt chaining him before and gave her all of himself. Not just every hard inch of his cock, but his control, his sense of self, and the power of his hunger.

The heavy lunges burrowing into her stroked nerve endings so violently sensitive that she knew she wouldn’t last long. She could feel the pleasure tightening, building. She rocked against him as he stroked into her, shafting her forcefully, groaning her name, his hands holding her in place as she tipped her head back and screamed his name and rapture imploded inside her, then exploded in a brilliant, outward force that had her tightening further on him, her nails digging into his hard chest, her pleasure a creature tearing from her body.

No sooner did it ease than Del-Rey stiffened beneath her and it began again. She felt him this time though, the fierce swelling in the center of his cock, pressing the convulsive tightness of her muscles apart, revealing yet more nerve endings, more pleasure receptors, and sending them into ecstasy with the fierce pulsing throb of the knot that now anchored him inside her.

With each spurt of cum that filled her, the thick swelling rippled and pulsed against her, sending her shaking and shuddering into yet more pleasure. It was never ending. An orgasm that eased only to explode inside her again, leaving her shaking, shuddering, and collapsed upon his chest long before it finished.

Del-Rey blinked up at the ceiling long, long minutes later, still fighting to breathe as the last pulse of release tore from his body and filled the depths of the too snug, too hot silken flesh gripping his cock. Her pussy was sheer rapture. It was pleasure that went so beyond pleasure that there was no way to put a name to it. And just as he had the first time he had taken her, he had lost control within her.

There was blood on her shoulder where he had bit her again. He lowered his head and licked at the wound he knew would never fully heal. Not simply because he couldn’t keep from biting her when he took her, but because the hormones always filled that little spot, kept it sensitive, kept it ready for the pleasure he would bring her from his lips and tongue against it.

As he held her tight against his chest, his arms wrapped snuggly around her, he felt the fierce, secondary swelling of his cock pulse again, shuddering through him as she trembled in response and a low, broken moan came from her lips.

What the hell had she done to him? Surely something he had never known before. Never, even that first time that he had taken her, had he known this depth of satiation, this satisfaction that seemed to echo through every cell of his body.

Hell, a man, or a Breed, should never know this soul-deep sense of belonging. Because it was something he would always remember in battle, something he would always know waited to be snatched from his hands by fate or the cruelties of man. Losing this could destroy him. He would be no more than a broken shell of a man, and surviving that wouldn’t be possible.

He would follow her into death, Del-Rey thought. He’d be of no use to his people if he lost her, because nothing mattered as much to him as this one woman.

Love. He scoffed at the word. This wasn’t love. Love was his joy of a good steak, a hot bath. It was breathing in the mountain air and watching the mists in the valley. What he felt for this woman in his arms, this wasn’t love. It was something he didn’t have a name for, or a way to express. She was his freedom. She was becoming an extension to his soul.

“I have to move sometime this year,” she mumbled against his chest, sweat-dampened and still breathing hard.

“In a minute,” he promised, still locked inside her, feeling the fierce grip and rippling response in the muscles surrounding his cock.

“’Kay,” she muttered drowsily. “But lying on your ass all day isn’t going to get anything done.”

There was the lightest thread of amusement in her voice, a teasing vein that he remembered often filled her eyes with impish delight. She had always teased him, flirted, made it damned near impossible to resist her.

“I could lie on your ass for a while,” he chuckled as he felt the knot anchoring him inside her finally begin easing.

He grimaced at the sensation, another lingering pleasure that he didn’t want to lose. He wanted to stay like this forever, buried inside his woman, his mate, knowing she was forever safe.

A long, low moan left her lips as the swelling finally eased, releasing them from the pleasure that seemed never ending.

Del-Rey lifted her from him, his body tightening as his semi-hard cock eased from her snug grip and she collapsed to the bed beside him.

Letting her go wasn’t an option though. He turned and pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close as he kissed the top of her head.

“Will the heat ease for you soon?” he asked her then, knowing that for Wolf and Feline mates after the initial four- to six-week cycle of the heat, it would then ease and come back for only seven to ten days per month. It was when the females were most fertile and the chances of conception greater.

She lifted her shoulder in a light shrug. “I dunno,” she mumbled. “I was different. Kinda.”

“How were you different?” he asked her as he eased back enough to stare into her drowsy expression.

Her brows creased thoughtfully. “Several years ago, the Coyote, Kiowa Bear, mated with the then U.S. president’s daughter. They learned then why the Wolves and Coyotes take so long to conceive. There’s an additional hormone the males carry that continues to attempt to block conception, even as the other hormones work to create it. Then with Aiden’s mate, Charity, they’ve only just been able to figure out why she conceived, based on the experiments the Council scientists did on her at the labs where she was held for a number of years. The hormone works to ready the ovaries and change the egg being prepared to drop, to ensure its compatibility with the Wolf or Coyote sperm. It gets complicated sometimes, the way the hormones work.

That’s why each hormonal therapy has to be different. Dr. Armani begins with a base, a therapy that’s compatible across the board, then she has to add to it depending on the individual female and her heat.”

“So each mating is different?” he asked as she settled more comfortably against him.

“Very much so.” Anya nodded. “She has a lot of trouble keeping mine within an acceptable limit.

For the first few months, the hormones she was giving me pretty much wiped out all emotion but kept me on the verge of panic. I couldn’t function. The same hormone didn’t affect the Wolf mates at all.”

His frown deepened. “When Dr. Armani came to the caves that first time, she said I was the first Coyote to mate. Kiowa Bear is Coyote as well, yet he was mating well before that.”

“Kiowa is what they call a hybrid. His mother was one of the women the Council kidnapped and tried to use for artificial insemination. It didn’t work on her. Before she left those labs, one of her Coyote guards mated her, then released her. Kiowa was conceived and born naturally, and as I understand it, that creates a shift in the DNA that doesn’t come about otherwise. But there are other anomalies with him as well. His genetics are actually closer to the Wolf than the Coyote.”

“Has Dr. Armani learned the differences in our mating yet?” he asked her.

Anya snorted at that as she pulled from him and rose from the bed. “Not hardly. Just as with repairing your wounded bodies, Coyote genetics and Wolf genetics are just separate enough to make it dangerous.” She glared down at him then. “We need our own medical personnel.”