Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (19 page)

The orgasm was so strong, it made him shout.

So good, it damn near killed him.

The devastating blast of pleasure rolled through him
in thick, blistering waves, breaking out of Kierland’s body in such a violent
rush that it made him growl and groan and shout again, and he buried his face
in the fragrant tangle of her hair spread out over the bedding, muffling the
harsh, guttural sounds. She shifted the angle of her head, still feeding…still
pulling on his vein. He kept driving into her with hard, heavy lunges as his
body unloaded, his fingers biting deep into her ass and the top of the
headboard, his heart doing everything it could to batter its way out of his
chest.

“Again,” he growled, releasing the headboard so that
he could push his arm under her shoulders, holding her beneath his body as he
pumped into her harder…heavier, forcing his way into the narrow, cushiony,
deliciously liquid depths of her body. “Damn it, I want to feel it again. I
want to feel you come.”

She gasped, pulling her fangs from his throat, her
arms thrown tight around his neck, and then her husky cries were filling his
ear, her body arching sharply beneath him as pleasure jolted through her like
an explosion. Her tight little sex convulsed around him in a series of lush,
drenching spasms that damn near made his eyes roll back in his head, milking
his cock, draining him completely.

When the last shocking pulses of pleasure had finally
faded away, Kierland managed to pull in a deep, shuddering breath, feeling as
if he’d just experienced something that he never would have even believed was
possible, if it hadn’t happened to him. He wanted to kiss her. Hold her. Put
his mouth between her legs and feel the heat of her clit against his tongue.
Lap at those smooth, slippery pink folds. He wanted a thousand different things
that he didn’t know how to put into words, damn it, his head spinning with
confusion and a drugged-out feeling of aftermath that he’d never known before.
But when he pulled out, moving carefully so that he didn’t hurt her, she turned
her face away, one forearm drawn over her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut, and so
he dropped onto his back beside her.

It was…unsettling, how badly he wanted to hold
her…kiss her…get inside her all over again, but Kierland breathed it down,
forcing himself to be patient. To wait and see what she would do.

FEELING WRECKED AND SORE AND unbelievably wonderful,
Morgan took a deep breath, and finally opened her eyes. She rolled toward
Kierland, and found him lying beside her, one arm under his head, his other
hand at his throat, his long fingers rubbing against the small bite wound that
she’d made.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shocked at what she’d
done. “I…I shouldn’t have asked for your blood.”

“S’all right.” A lazy smile crossed his mouth as he
turned his head toward her, his eyes crinkling sexily at the corners. Then he
reached over, catching what must have been a smear of blood at the corner of
her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the
hell out of it.”

She caught a soft laugh under her breath, and wished
she knew what to do…what to say.

“I guess this means you’ll be able to find me now,
too,” he said in a low, sex-roughened rumble.

Biting her lip, she nodded and asked, “Does that
bother you?”

“Nah.” He turned his head so that he was staring at
the ceiling, working his fingers against the bristled edge of his jaw. The
seconds stretched out, filled only with the quiet sounds of their breathing,
and then he said, “Did he ever feed from you?”

Morgan knew, without even asking, that he was talking
about Ashe. She wouldn’t have even bothered to answer, if he’d posed the
question with his usual sarcasm—but his tone struck her as merely curious,
without any judgmental criticism. “Not when we were…intimate.”

“Why not?” He rolled toward her, the dark auburn hair
falling over his brow making him look younger, the strain in his face somehow
lighter than it’d been before.

“You don’t know much about the Deschanel, do you?”

“I guess not, since I thought they fed from their
lovers,” he said in a low voice.

“They can. But when not mated, it…can be dangerous if
they feed during sex with someone who’s not of their race, so they usually
don’t risk it. At least, not with someone they’re not in love with.”

He didn’t say anything—just stared at her with those
beautiful green eyes—and Morgan suddenly heard herself asking, “Has there ever
been anyone special for you? Anyone you could have loved?”

“What makes you think I haven’t?” he asked with a lift
of his brows.

Softly, she said, “I know you. You would have married
any woman who held your heart.”

“Think you know me that well, huh?” There was a
teasing edge to his smirk, but she could see something brittle lurking beneath
its surface, and could tell that he didn’t like knowing she could read him so
easily.

Pushing her folded hands beneath her cheek, she said,
“Kellan told me that for a time you were…that he thought you might be
interested in Molly.”

Surprise showed in his eyes, but then he shook his
head, the corner of his mouth twitching with a wry grin. “Kellan should learn
to keep his mouth shut.”

With a quiet laugh, she guessed, “Is that your way of
saying you don’t want to talk about it?”

A deep breath, and then he rolled to his back, one
hand scratching lazily at his chest. “I’d thought, hoped, that I might be able
to feel something for her,” he finally responded, the rhythm of the words
halting, as if he was struggling to put his thoughts into words. “But I didn’t.
We’re friends, and I couldn’t be happier for her and Ian. He needs her.”

“And you don’t need anyone?”

“Something like that.” He turned his head toward her
again and grinned a little, but then the grin faded as he reached over, pushing
her hair back from her face. “On the train…”

“Yeah?” she asked, her body flushing with heat as she
noticed that he was already getting hard again.

“What did you mean when you told me not to leave you?”

The heat of embarrassment burned beneath her skin, but
Morgan forced herself to give him an honest answer. “I didn’t want to get
played.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she continued, “You know what I mean.
You make me come, then pull away and cut me down. Make me feel like I’m an inch
tall.”

His mouth twisted, and he gave a rueful shake of his
head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?”

She opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off,
saying, “I know I deserve it. Hell, I’ve been a real bastard, treating you like
shit for a long time now, Morgan.” Quietly, he added, “Whatever my faults, I’m
sorry that you think I could ever do something like that to you.”

Shock made her brain feel hazy, and she lowered her
gaze to his chin, not knowing what to say. “I…um, we’re less than an hour from
Amsterdam by train. We should probably go soon.”

“Probably.” He waited until she was looking him in the
eye again before telling her, “But I want you again.”

The smart thing to do would have been to smile, make
some light comment and climb off the bed, cutting her losses while she still
could. Before the damage could get any worse than it already was. But she
couldn’t do it.

Instead, Morgan moved closer to him, brushing the warm
silk of his mouth with hers, and he groaned, pulling her against him in a hard,
aggressive hold as he rolled to his side. It seemed like they kissed for hours,
his hands running over her body, his mouth on hers, feeding her his breath, his
growls, the predatory sounds filling her head while something that went beyond
pleasure rushed through her.

“I told you that I wouldn’t go easy on you,” he warned
in a rough voice, his strong hands suddenly turning her body, pushing her to
her front, one arm wrapped around her hips, the other across her chest, caging
her beneath him. Then he drove in, shoving his rigid cock into the tight clench
of her sex, and his next lunging thrust touched places inside her that jerked
hoarse, breathless cries from her throat.

Morgan chanted his name as he knelt in the middle of
the bed and pulled her up, her back to his front. Bracing her on his taut thighs,
he pumped into her harder…deeper, his hand coming around her front to rub more
of those wet, erotic circles into her clit. She couldn’t control the needy
sounds that poured from her trembling lips. Every time she tried to choke them
back, he just pushed her harder, driving her wild with his raw, savage
aggression, until she finally gave him more.

“I’ll give it to you as hard and as rough as you need
it,” he growled, his breath hot against her ear when she started to come, the
sharp convulsions of pleasure dragging him right along with her. He shoved
impossibly deep while she trembled and screamed, his open mouth warm and damp
against the side of her throat. His arms were like steel bands around her body
as he shuddered and tensed and cursed, filling her with violent, searing pulses
of heat.

They lay in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slick skin
afterward, pretending to doze, though neither was fooled by the other. Morgan
didn’t know what to say, the mind-blowing orgasms leaving her drowsy and dazed.
Kierland seemed content with the silence, but at least he didn’t leave her in
that strange, unknown place all alone. He wrapped his muscled arms around her,
and pulled her into his chest, his hands stroking every part of her that he
could reach, as if he took pleasure in the simple touch of his skin against
hers. As if he were trying to memorize the shape of her body. Every hollow.
Every curve.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she had to accept that it
had been an even worse idea than she’d feared. But she wouldn’t regret it. No,
if this was all she could have from him, then she was going to find some way to
shove her heart into a box and enjoy him while she could.

She’d deal with the fallout later, when he walked
away.

But until then, Morgan was going to take as much of
Kierland Scott as he was willing to give.

Amsterdam

Monday night

KIERLAND HAD THAT RAW FEELING again, and it wasn’t a
sensation that he cared for. The time he’d spent with Morgan in that hotel room
in Weesp had been about nothing more than sex. About slaking a physical hunger
that had seethed within him for too damn long now. He should have been
experiencing some measure of peace…of finality, but if anything, his craving
for her was now stronger than before. Tighter. Deeper. Twisting him into
tangled, frustrated knots.

One taste…and all he could think about was having
another. A dangerous temptation, and no doubt stupid as hell, but Kierland knew
it would happen again. Even now, hours later, as they were heading into a smoky
blues club in downtown Amsterdam, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Couldn’t
stop touching her. Just little, innocent touches. His hand on the small of her
back. His fingers brushing her arm. He could feel the rise of her nerves
shivering through her as they moved through the well-dressed crowd, and though
he didn’t understand her anxiety, Kierland sought to soothe her by staying
close to her body, letting her know he was there if she needed him.

They hadn’t talked about what had happened in that
hotel room in Weesp, but every time Morgan turned to give him another
surreptitious glance from the corner of her eye, Kierland knew she was thinking
about it. Her lips were still swollen, her cheeks flushed warm with color, her
body moving in that languid way of a woman who’s been thoroughly
satisfied—though he could feel her tension increasing as they moved deeper into
the crowd. Slipping his hand beneath the heavy fall of her hair, he rubbed his
thumb along the back of her neck, trying to calm her.

It was strange, this newfound sense of awareness
surging through his system, as if he could sense her moods and emotions on a
different level now that he’d been inside her—a part of her.

Nothing more than sex…

Yeah, right. He’d tried to convince himself of that
little lie, but who was he trying to fool? He was searing with need, the taste
of her in his mouth only making him burn hotter. Her skin, tears, sex. The
mouthwatering flavors were driving Kierland mad, making him crave more, and he
wanted to ask her if it’d been the best she’d ever had. Because it had for
him—to the point that he should have been worried as hell. But he held back. He
didn’t know what to make of the strange emotions coiling him up inside. All he
knew was that he’d never experienced that shattering sense of connection with
any of his other lovers, but then, he’d never had sex like he and Morgan had
had that afternoon, either.

Over the years, he’d had hard sex…raunchy sex…fun
sex—but Kierland had never felt like he was going to die if he didn’t get
inside a woman. Never felt like he’d just created a miracle when he’d made her
come. But he’d felt like that with Morgan—and he still didn’t know what to
think about it.

He also didn’t know how to help her relax inside the
packed club.

Deciding it was time they finally addressed the
subject, Kierland lowered his mouth close to her ear and asked, “You don’t like
crowds much, do you?”