Kiss of a Dark Moon (19 page)

S
he should stop him, this…
herself
.

But when Kit looked into his eyes and saw the fire in his feverish gaze, the desperate need flickering in the glowing centers, she knew what he felt. Because she felt it, too. Not just her own desire. But
his
. On top of what she felt, she could feel his emotions, his hunger—as true as her own, as though physically linked, as though his turning her had in fact bound them.

Bound? Right.

She was not bound to this guy. She was not bound to anyone. And yet…

His arms, taut bands of steel, trembled with restraint. She marveled that he—more animal than man—could restrain himself at all. The greatest shock of all was that
she
did not want him to.

She drank in the sight of him: the shadows pooling in the sharp angles and hollows of his face, the play of his sculpted muscles, the dark wave of hair falling over his brow. Her gaze fell lower, eyeing his manhood springing from between his legs, daunting in its size. The hard length pulsed before her very eyes, summoning her touch.

Her stomach clenched in response. The place between her thighs throbbed in memory of him, and her breathing grew labored. Eager for him to be inside her, to continue the incredible torment that his mouth had begun on her aching body, her eyes shot back up to his.

“Oh, yes,” he muttered, as if he had the ability to read her thoughts. And perhaps he did. “Touch me.”

His rough voice, combined with the desperate intensity of his gaze, would have her do anything he asked.

Rising to her knees, she reached up and touched the center of his chest with one finger. Pressing her lips tightly in determination to take this slow, she trailed that finger down, over the hard stomach, the washboard abs, her nail slightly scraping the firm skin. His breathing grew harsh.

Her finger dropped lower, arriving at his jutting manhood. She was close enough to take him in her mouth. Smiling wickedly, she touched the head of him, growing more aroused when a tiny bead of moisture rose to lick her fingertip.

He groaned and buried a hand in her hair.

Emboldened, she closed her hand around his throbbing length and gently squeezed, aroused at the soft texture of him—silk on steel in her palm. Her tongue darted out to taste him. Slowly, she licked him. Again and again, until she couldn't resist closing her lips around him.

“Stop.” He pulled her up. His jaw clenched, the muscles knotting, demonstrating his hard-fought control. “I can't wait.”

Her smile deepened, thrilled to see her power over him, to know how badly he wanted her, that he was holding himself back.

Ready for his control to snap, she arched her spine and rubbed her bare breasts against his chest.

Twin lights flared at the center of his dark eyes. His hands clamped down on her hips and he guided her back to the bed. She spread her thighs, sucking in a breath as he positioned himself over her.

His breath caught in a hiss as he pushed himself in, one inch at a time. Her muscles stretched, burning in pleasure-pain at the fullness of him inside her.

His gaze, dark and fathomless as a moonless night, mesmerized her, lodging deep in her soul as, with one final push, he was fully inside her.

Whimpering his name, she dug her fingers into his tense forearms, urging him on, desperate for more of the wild, twisting heat swimming through her.

Moaning, she angled her hips to take him in even deeper.

A choked cry escaped him. Muttering her name in a garbled voice, his breath fanning hotly against her throat, he slowly began to move.

With the throbbing burn of him deeply inside her, Kit shook her head from side to side on the bed, desperate for him to move harder, to slide in and out as fast and furious as the animal need surging through her.

“Kit,” he gasped, warning, “We need to go slow. It may be too much, too…”

“No,” she growled in a voice she did not recognize as her own.

Letting go of his arms, she skated her palms down his back, skimming the smooth skin until she clutched his firm buttocks with both hands, forcing him to thrust himself deeply inside her. Hard. Savage as the burning in her blood demanded.

Their cries mingled, filling the air. Shock waves rippled over her, convincing her that she would never again be anything except a part of him.

His body pressed heavily upon her, comforting and thrilling in its weight. She had to move, to take. Writhing beneath him, she rotated her hips, tightening her inner muscles and clenching him, her body begging for more, for an end to the incredible fire that he had stoked within her.

Groaning, he moved, withdrawing himself nearly out of her before thrusting back inside in a deep slam of flesh.

Ripples of white-hot pleasure washed over her as he repeated the action, pumping in and out of her. The feel of his hardness hammering into her, the strong fingers digging into her hips, anchoring her for his assault, drove her over the edge.

Her head rose off the bed, a scream building from deep in her throat, hovering on her lips. His frenzied stroking carried her higher, created an explosion of desire that finally wrung a wild, air-shattering shout from her lips.

He pumped several more times, the violent sounds of their bodies coming together thrilling her in the deepest, primal way. With a deep growl, he plunged into her, stilling as he poured into her.

A tightness gripped her chest as she studied his face. In the fierce grip of desire, the sharp lines and angles blurred, reminding her at once that he was no mortal. Rather, a dangerous animal. That what they had just done was not making love, but the coupling of two beasts. Wild and unrestrained. So wrong. Wrong in too many ways.

Mortifying heat washed over her. Because in that moment she knew he was right: she was like him.

The heavy fall of his dark hair obscured his eyes, yet she longed to see them, to see if the eerie bright light still glowed at the centers. A solid reminder of why she could not feel close to him. Why she could not let the best sex of her life affect her. He'd lied to her. He'd turned her even when he knew she would hate it. And now he intended to make her his captive. How could she ever trust him?

Suddenly he looked up, tossing the hair back from his forehead, and she found herself pinned beneath his searing, cursed gaze. Flickering light filled his pupils. Did her eyes look the same?

Sick at heart, she dipped her gaze. Squeezing out from beneath him, she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, resisting a sudden sense of desolation.

“Kit.”

She turned at the hushed sound of her name.

Sprawled naked, bold and unashamed beside her, he reached for her arm, and she saw that some of the light had ebbed from his eyes. But not all.

She pulled back before he could touch her, an awkward flush creeping up her neck. Absurd, considering what had transpired between them.

“Don't,” he commanded. “Don't do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

“Don't punish yourself for this. For us.”

She laughed, the sound cruel and bitter, poison to her heart, but she could not stop herself. She needed to stop this. Forget it. Forget all that had happened. Forget him. A
liar
. “There is no
us.
”

Careful to keep her eyes on his face and not the appealing length of his body, she stood and snatched her T-shirt off the floor and pulled it over her head. “This is just a manifestation of…” Her brow tightened, struggling for the words final and cruel enough to build a wall between them. “Of my being like you. An animal of instinct. It didn't mean anything.”

“That's bullshit. We did this before I ever turned you.”

Standing, she glared down at him. “Don't pretend this was something beautiful and romantic. Even before you turned me into a lycan, I've never been a Hallmark kind of girl. The truth is you lied to me from the start. And now you think you can keep me captive?”

He was on his feet in a flash, his face blurring into all that she hated again, all that she feared.

He grabbed her arm and hauled her close. “Cheapen it all you like, but there's something between us. Something real. Even before you turned, it was there.”

She shook her head violently, resisting the childish urge to fling her hands over her ears. She ripped her arm free and stumbled away. Chest heaving, she held his stare, relieved to see his face resume itself.

“Kit—”

Lifting a hand, she shook a finger in warning. “Don't touch me again.”

Turning, she fled into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it shook the air, and covered the sound of his voice.

Trembling, she yanked off her shirt and stepped into the shower. Twisting the faucet, she let ice-cold water rain down on her, crying out when it hit her feverish skin. She welcomed the sting, embraced the pain of it, let it cool the burn of emotions flooding her. After a few moments, her teeth began to clatter, but she felt herself again. She only wished the memory of what she had done could be wiped out as easily.

She remained beneath the pounding water for several minutes more, washing her hair and scrubbing her body until her skin glowed red, chafed. Only the sensation of him on her flesh lingered; his hands, his mouth. Damn. Shutting off the water, she stepped from the shower, pulled a fluffy towel from the towel bar, and rubbed her goose-puckered skin dry.

No sound carried from the room beyond, but she knew he was still there. Felt him there, on the other side.

She stared at her reflection for several moments. Her eyes appeared normal. But would they always? Had they remained their usual green when she was going at it like an animal with Rafe?

Dropping her head, she sucked in a deep breath, dreading facing him. Seeing him made her see herself as she was now: a half-breed lycan.

Wearing the shirt again, she opened the door and stepped carefully from the bathroom. The lights were off. Rafe's large shape reclined on the bed, beneath the covers. She grimaced. Just like a man. Asleep and dead to the world following sex.

With the stealth of a cat, she crept past the bed, moving toward the chair containing her clothes. Her hand fell on the shirt when his voice spoke. “You don't think it's going to be that easy.”

Stopping, she turned to stare at his dark shape.

“You'll have to do better than that to get rid of me. You need me now. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

“You think I'm that hard up? Arrogant—”

“It has nothing to do with sex. Who's going to train you?”

Train her? Was he kidding? She wasn't going to stay like this long enough to require any training. There had to be a way out of this mess. Her brother had saved Claire. And Darius believed he could find a way to reverse his curse. Surely there was a way to reverse what Rafe had done to her.

His sigh filled the air, the sound weary. “Get into bed, Kit. It's late. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Biting her lip, she looked at the door.

As if he could read her thoughts, he added, “You can try to escape tomorrow. For now, get some rest. You're going to need it.”

Grabbing the throw off the back of the chair, she pulled it over her as she settled into the soft leather, swinging her legs over the arm.

He lifted his head from the pillow. His eyes gleamed at her from across the room. “That can't be comfortable.”

“I'm not sharing a bed with you.”
No way do I trust myself enough to do that.

His head fell back down on the pillow without a word. Her heart sank a little. What had she expected? That he would at least protest?

She squirmed in the chair, attempting to get comfortable. Fortunately, her body was too exhausted to really care where she slept. With her cheek resting against the too-firm back of the chair, she dozed off.

She didn't know how much time passed before two hard arms slid beneath her and lifted her from the chair.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice sleep-heavy as he settled her in the center of the big bed, lacking the forcefulness she would have liked.

“Putting you to bed. Go to sleep.” His voice sounded beside her ear, fluttering strands of her hair against her cheek.

Like this? With him? Impossible. She gasped as he curled his big body next to hers, pulling her to him as if he had every right, as if she belonged at his side. As if he were a man she could trust.

“Sleep,” she echoed, her every nerve stretched tight, achingly alive. Sleep. Elusive as smoke circling overhead. As the new moon outside their window. Invisible, but there just the same. Dark moon, she mused. It was there even when you couldn't see it. Like Rafe.

His affliction wasn't nearly as visible or apparent as a full-breed lycan, but he was afflicted nonetheless. She hadn't seen it at first, but now she did. Now she knew. The beast was there. Inside Rafe.
A dark moon
.