Ask For It (5 page)

The deadly play of razor-sharp claws on perfect pink skin fed them new sensations. It was more, more emotionally and physically. The bond of strength, the power to kill held in check for her pleasure. Sahara displayed her utter faith in his control as she came apart for him again. Screaming, she came on his cock as he circled the nipple he wasn’t sucking with a claw pressed into soft areola.

Her response to the base handling triggered his. Emptying his soul into her body through his cock drove him to release her breast and bellow his claim. It was a declaration, the promise of his life standing between her and the world. Forever. His full, thundering roar blew dust off the spiraling stairs winding up the tower. Tor leaned over, shielding her as debris showered down on them.

Nose to nose, his eyes finally focused on the tilted windows to her soul. His body seated deep in hers, he could feel every pant she took as she watched him. Tor realized the openness, the trust they had shared with no restraint was fading from her face.

“No,” he whispered. “You will not leave me now.”

Claws retracted as he pulled back to sit on his heels, drawing her up with him. Unwilling to separate their bodies, he was ready to fight for her mind. She was his. His woman. She stripped away everything about him, right down to the basic male. He could not live with the possibility of her crawling back into her distant persona.

“I can’t stay here,” she whispered. “My soul is naked. I’m afraid.”

His eyes narrowed. “Of what? I will not let you go, little flower. I need this woman, not the distant ice princess,” he responded in a quiet growl.

Sahara drew in a shaky breath as she gazed up at his fierce eyes. “Will I be safe with you? I have to know. I wasn’t last time and I can’t live through it again. Not after this, not now.”

Tor’s muzzle drew up over incisors for a second. Anger at time lost would do them no good. “Do not mistake the history we share for what the future will be. I had no idea what you really are. You blinded me and I didn’t connect the fragments of information. It never occurred to me that your kind exists outside of legend, much less in my arms.”

Sahara’s eyes fell away from his gaze. He was holding her naked, impaled on his cock and she still found a way to hide from him. They were way past that point and she was going to get over the habit right now.

He cupped her neck, his thumb turning her face back to his. “No more hiding. We are a male and his mate. You know this. If I were not your mate, you would have conceived with Signet. But you couldn’t, could you? You have to go through heat before you can conceive,” Tor stated harshly.

“I realize this. What happens now?”

Tor clamped down on the roar of frustration her evasive answer drew from him and focused on the last half of her statement. Suspicion and surprise overtook the frustration.

“You don’t know the mating habits of your species?” he asked incredulously.

“What am I?” she questioned cautiously, avoiding his question.

“Are you testing me?” Tor wanted to know. He was not going to be patient forever with her practiced double talk.

“Yes and no.” Sahara tried to shrug. “It’s a subject I’ve been trained from birth to never discuss.”

“It’s okay, baby. This is your home planet. We have a great many legends about you, but I wasn’t aware they are based in truth until about an hour ago.” He was concerned as he thought about the danger his woman had lived with all her life. “That’s why you helped us escape the moon. You needed to escape too.”

“I’ve spent my life hiding, running, mostly alone. There are way too many things I don’t know about my kind. Like the loss of control that happened when you touched me. And now, why has it stopped? I don’t hear anyone outside the door.”

Tor ran the back of his knuckle across her cheek, removing a smudge of dirt. “What happened was,” he had to pause as he translated an old legend into relevant information in his head, “your kind’s response to her chosen mate. It will happen to some degree every time we get together.”

“You think people will attack us all the time?” Sahara gasped. “I thought it would pass.”

“Males within range of your scent will always feel the urge to fuck. They’d like to fuck you, but they will settle for someone else when I make it sufficiently clear that even touching you will result in death at my hands. At least that is how Leonor males react. I suspect our pheromone, that’s so toxic to you, was originally developed in defense so your females could not make idiots of us any time they wanted by forcing us to fight our own tribe members over a female of your species. Our two peoples evolved here at the same time, but it seems you guys left.”

He caressed her dust-streaked face and glanced down. Still joined intimately, it was an erotic view he refused to give in to. It was time to take care of his woman. She bore his marks, inside and out, and he’d been all beast putting them on her. The red streaks across her body were fading, but the old tower’s mark was pronounced. They were both mottled with dust and sweat.

“Sounds like the hunters lost interest.” Tor lifted her off his cock reluctantly. Swiftly standing while holding her to his chest, he looked for her dress. It had to be trampled into the dust surrounding them. “We need to get to the private wing fast.”

A large fist connected forcefully with the metal door. The resulting banging was incredibly loud in the closed space. Tor and Sahara cringed at the resulting boom.

“Tor! Are you really in there with Sahara?” Burke demanded from the other side of the door.

“Yeah. Are you okay?” Tor responded cautiously. “Do not pound again,” he commanded in an afterthought to his large, little brother.

“No,” Burke snapped. “I get back on planet to find drunk warriors staggering around wenching anything that moves. Eternal bells! Looking for you, I walk in on Karloff doing the chef in the kitchen! ‘Tis wrong for a warrior to see that! And for the love of Goddess, I find you locked in the siege tower with a woman who can’t stand you. Get out here and tell me what happened.”

“Oh no,” Sahara breathed as she turned her face into Tor’s chest.

Tor chuckled, his arms tightening around the sexy, mythical creature hiding her embarrassed face in his chest.

“You just arrived, that explains your immunity,” Tor answered his brother conversationally. “I suspect the effect will wear off the others in a few hours. Back away from the door if you want to avoid the drunk-fuck thing. Mist Lionesses are among us. Sahara is mine.”

There was a prolonged silence from the other side of the door. “Sahara?” Burke called softly.

“Yes?” Her answer was muffled in Tor’s chest.

“Is this so?” Burke wanted to know. “You are a Mist Lioness? This is what happens when you…” he trailed off hesitantly.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled then lifted her head to glare at the door. “But only with Tor. All the sharing just makes me mad. Everyone needs to get a grip on that. Mist Lions do not share. Anything.”

They heard a deep chuff from the other side of the door. Tor scowled as he realized his brother was laughing.

“Have a care, Burke. She’s not kidding. Be useful and clear the back halls from here to my apartments. I don’t want to fight my way there but I will,” he snarled darkly. “The soil of Leonor was once described as red with the blood of battle over the Mist Lioness. I don’t want to repeat history.”

“Sure. Give me twenty minutes,” he agreed. “I’m looking forward to the family chat. You two have some explaining to do.”

Chapter Five

Tor strode through the door of his private apartment, kicking it shut behind him. Two steps later he turned, retraced his path and flicked the lock, not putting Sahara down to do it. The lock wasn’t much of a deterrent to a warrior, but it would function as an audible warning if someone was stupid enough to kick his door open.

Tor was scowling and had been since he opened the door of the tower and picked Sahara up for the sprint to his rooms. On a Leonor male, scowling was an unusual display of emotion and warned anyone of violent intent should they not find a way out of his path.

Striding through his personal lair, he headed directly to the shower. Standing her beside the large enclosure, Tor didn’t bother saving her simple dress this time. She wouldn’t need clothing for a while anyway. Hooking a claw in the neckline, he cut it off her with a single swipe down.

“Hey. Watch it with the claws,” Sahara exclaimed in surprise.

“I’m good with the claws and you love it,” he informed her smugly as he sat on the side of his tub to pull off boots and unlace the front of his pants. Shrugging out of the vest, he forgot the complications of having a Mist Lioness for a lover—the rewards were just too good as she seemed transfixed watching him strip.

“Get in the shower before I forget I was going rinse us off before a soak in the tub,” he growled as little desert flower licked her lips. Her eyes were on the hard length of his cock, and if she asked, he’d not be able to say no to what was obviously on her mind.

Her eyes shot up to his. “I’d step in there if I thought I could move without falling over.”

Abruptly he realized she was leaning against the outside wall of the shower. Her legs trembled, bruises already showing up on her knees along with spots of blood where bits of dirt had dug into her soft skin.

Tor swore under his breath as he gently picked her up and stepped into the enclosure, automatically activating numerous jets of water. Turning slowly to rinse the grime off, he made sure her knees were splashed but never in a direct stream of water. Sahara closed her eyes and relaxed in his hold.

Her trust that he would take care of her shot pride through him. He was so damn proud of her courage as she strode into the future with him. The risk she took was huge. Probably bigger than either of them could grasp with the knowledge they had at present. Ignorance would provide a little peace, but not for long.

If the legends were even partly true, Mist Lions had barely escaped Leonor alive in the far distant past. He didn’t want to dwell on that now. His arms were full of his naked female who needed tending, and doing exactly that gave him pleasure like no other.

He was sorry about her scrapes and bruises but would not insult her by apologizing. He couldn’t regret anything they’d done. The marks were part of the fierce claiming he would remember for the rest of his life. He respected what they meant to both of them. Damn-well worshiped her for having them.

Tor sat her on the ledge in the shower and quickly washed her soft, golden hair. He wondered briefly about that. Mist Lions were said to be gray or white. Her hair should have reflected that.

Running the soap over his own body, making sure the layer of grime and sweat washed down the drain, he was done quickly. Lifting her again, he smiled at sleepy gray eyes. She’d been watching him bathe and was pretending she hadn’t. Her scent gave her away, even in the steam of the shower. Little desert flower liked to watch.

“See something you want to touch?” he asked as he stepped into the tub.

His private bath resembled a stone grotto. The tub appeared a natural spring with water running down the stone wall into a large pool. He sat on a ledge circling the reservoir several feet under the surface. Stretching long legs out before him, his torso angled back so only his shoulder blades rested on the wall behind him.

He positioned her to lie down his body, chest to chest, her head on his shoulder just above the waterline. He wanted her to relax, sleep if it helped her. There were healing minerals in the water, and the longer he could keep her in it, the more good it would do. It would soothe the lacerations on her knees and ease the soreness between her legs.

“I want to touch this,” she sighed, and reached behind him. Her hand followed the indentation of his spine to its base. Lightly she gripped the root of his tail and stroked down, petting him in one of the most intimate ways possible.

Tor closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Did tired little desert flower realize what she was doing? She’d been married to a mature Leonor warrior. She had to know what touching his tail meant, what it did to him, especially stroking its base. If she didn’t know before, the evidence of what it did for him was lengthening beneath her soft belly.

“What are you doing?” he asked as calmly as he could.

“Touching you,” she mumbled.

“Sahara, you’re tired and bruised. Do you really want to start this?” he questioned in a low purr.

“Then hold me with it. I love the feel of your tail around me. Makes me feel special,” she confessed softly. “You never touch anyone with it, only me.”

He chuckled as the end of his long tail circled her ankle under the water. “I always thought you considered it a shackle, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Mmm, better,” she approved. “I just pretended that so you’d keep doing it.”

Tor kissed the top of her head. “You should know—it really is a shackle.”

He felt her smile against his shoulder. “I knew.”