Bound Guardian Angel (54 page)

How long could she take this? Already,
another orgasm was unfurling itself in her belly like a flower,
stretching out its petals, growing, turning toward Trace’s silent
urging.

She
was the flower. It was
her
petals uncurling from a tight bud. And he was the sun warming her,
nourishing her, giving her life.

“More.” Her whispered demand surprised her,
because she hadn’t intended to speak.

Trace hooked his fingers under the elastic
waist of her panties and slid them down her legs, never removing
his mouth from the heart of her. As the fabric skimmed past his
chin, he burrowed deeper and laved her with his tongue. He licked
her again, more insistently, drinking her in like he was sipping
nectar from a honeysuckle blossom. His hands gripped her hips,
pulled her against his face, lifted her legs over his shoulders one
at a time. Her feet were no longer on the floor, and his mouth—God!
His mouth! Teeth nipped her engorged flesh, his tongue dipped
inside her, and he closed his lips around her clit—yes, she
remembered her old friend Clitoris. How long it had been since
they’d shared a moment like this?

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” She really
was begging now, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the
second orgasm rushing from the depths of her body, reaching for
Trace’s mouth and strangling her midsection.

For so long, she had lived without this.
Lived without pleasure. And now, as her second orgasm crested and
shattered her into a thousand pieces, she knew she never wanted to
go back to that life of deadened reality again.

Her legs jerked against Trace’s shoulders,
clamping around his head as her fingers curled against his scalp.
Her stomach quivered and convulsed. And she became aware that she
was crying his name over and over with each pulse of rapture that
broke through her body.

He remained as he was, his mouth pressed
against her quivering core, riding her out. His warm, solid hands
cradled her bottom as if she were a bowl, and he were drinking from
her.

His eyelids lifted, and his eyes locked to
hers, sending another shiver through her thighs as she clamped her
palms around his head.

He took another long, luxurious draw with
his tongue then withdrew his mouth from her core. His lips
glistened with her release.

“I like how you taste,” he said, slowly
rising, lifting her legs from his shoulders and easily guiding them
around his waist. He smiled and glanced down at them as if he’d
never known the feel of a female’s legs around him before.

“What’s happening?” Even as she said it, her
hands slid down between them and freed his leather belt.

Through half-closed eyes, he stared at her
mouth. “I’m claiming my mate.” The words fluttered from his lips as
his hands joined hers, unfastening, unsnapping, unzipping. “And
nothing will stop me until I do. Not even you.”

It was as if she were watching from afar,
like she was having an out of body experience. His pants dropped,
he shoved down his briefs, and his erection was suddenly in her
hands. The erection she’d seen barely two hours ago straining
skyward as he writhed on Micah’s table. And she was guiding him,
positioning him, and then sinking down on his impressive, hard
length.

His entire body jolted and shuddered as the
connection was made. Strength and power poured out of him, and a
chaotic surge of energy rocketed into her as he began pumping his
hips.

He was like a virgin, out of control, at the
whim of his body. He gasped with each haphazard thrust, his
bewildered gaze crashing into hers as if he didn’t understand what
was happening but refused to stop.

He was strong. So incredibly powerful as he
plowed her into the wall, thrusting hard and fast, pinning her hips
with his hands. And yet his eyes pleaded with her, almost begging
her for mercy.

“Oh God . . .” The skin on
his face tightened. His eyes watered. His jaw clenched so tightly
she thought it might break.

But she didn’t have time to think about what
was happening to him. Out of nowhere, a third orgasm rose inside
her, fast, furious, unleashed as if the first two were nothing but
child’s play meant to pave the way for the real deal.

Her back knocked in rapid beats against the
wall, her pleasure mounting. She tried to hold on to his shoulders,
but perspiration slicked his skin, making it impossible to find
traction. She dug her fingernails into his flesh like they were
claws. She clamped her legs around his waist. Anything to find
purchase before the deluge swept her away.

Trace was relentless. A fervent,
sweat-covered mass of taut muscle driven by desire and biological
need. A need that, until now, had only been fulfilled as a
trade-off with pain.

Cordray had seen inside his mind. She knew
that he’d never fucked like this. That he’d never taken a female
without first being flogged into submission, humiliated, or bound
to some apparatus. Or all of the above.

But now Trace was unbound, free, driven by
his own demands, not someone else’s.

As her third orgasm built to a fever pitch,
a strong breeze blew her hair over her face. Then the picture
hanging on the wall beside her popped off its fastening and
plummeted to the floor.

Trace was breaking free, and his power was
unleashing as he did.

But she couldn’t stop. Whatever energy was
breaking loose from Trace’s body to redecorate her hallway would
just have to wait, because she was close. So close.

“Don’t stop!” She clung to his potent,
virile body.

An onslaught of guttural growls rumbled from
deep within his throat, one after the other, growing louder,
beating in time with his thrusts.

A decorative porcelain bowl cracked and
broke in half on the table at the end of the hall, and somewhere
nearby, glass shattered.

She was only half aware of the destruction
raining down around her as the wind increased in strength until it
was whipping her hair around their joined bodies. Orgasm number
three was about to go postal. And it sounded like he would join
her.

From the well of her soul, a long, keening
wail rose through her throat. Her vision blurred, her back curved
into him, and her arms locked around his shoulders as the force of
her orgasm threw her off the wall against his body.

Trace’s legs buckled, and a thunderous roar
tore from this throat as his thighs spasmed, rocked, and let go,
dropping him to his knees. He took Cordray with him, locking her in
his embrace. The muscles of his arms contracted and released in
time with each pulse of his cock inside her. In a tumble, they
rolled to the floor, Trace on top. His hips flexed as he continued
pumping into her.

He was a hurricane making landfall against
her body. Warmth spilled against her inner flesh, and she actually
smiled as she fought back happy tears. She could feel it. She could
feel every inch of him, every stroke, every spurt, every quiver of
his stomach against hers, and every contraction of his biceps as he
continued to rock himself against her.

Eventually, the euphoria subsided, and he
gradually pushed himself up on his arms, breathless, glistening
with sweat, gloriously virile and the damn sexiest thing Cordray
had ever laid eyes on.

His tongue peeked out and slowly wet his
lips. His full, luscious lips. His gaze searched her face, and she
tried not to breathe, not to move. She feared that if she did, she
would scare him away. He had that startled, what-did-we-just-do
look on his face.

He blinked, frowned, then stared at her in
wonder. “It’s you.” The words breathed out of him on a low, dazed
whisper.

Cordray exhaled. “It’s me.”

It had actually happened.

The one thing she never thought would.

And it was Trace. It had always been
Trace.

This time, when the tears stung her eyes,
she allowed them to fall.

Because her true mate had finally found
her.

Chapter 31

Trace had spent his entire adult life searching for
his mate. The one who would align his body and soul in perfect
harmony, soothe what pained him, and fill the emptiness that only a
mate could fill. And now he had found her.

He brushed his thumb over the apple of
Cordray’s cheek, smearing a tear over her skin.

“It’s you?” he said again. The pitch in his
voice sounded puzzled even to his own ears, lilting like a
question. “It’s really you.”

From the moment he met Cordray, he knew she
was different. She’d had a way of getting under his skin that no
person, male or female, had ever been able to manage. She could do
things to him no one else could, such as unlock the barriers around
his thoughts. Not even Micah had been able to do that. Now he knew
why. Because only a true mate could have such power.

She still lay beneath him, naked except for
the collection of Gothic rings around her fingers, her lip ring,
the ruby stud in her nose, and the magnificent array of colorful
tattoos all over her body. She was a rainbow of color and metal
even in the darkness.

He saw her in a new light now. She was no
longer the wicked witch who could infiltrate his thoughts and mine
out whatever she wanted. No longer did she set fear in his
veins.

That had been the real problem before. She
had scared him. She had been the first to peel back his protective
shield and expose his vulnerability. And he had reacted the only
way he knew how when he perceived a threat. He’d lashed out. He’d
pushed and shoved, terrified of the way she stripped him so easily,
when all along, she was his mate.

That was why she was able to do things to
him no one else could, because she had been made expressly for him.
Everything about her—her lustrous black hair with its dual-toned
turquoise and aqua stripe, her sparkling blue eyes, the
aristocratic slope of her nose, the subtle orange blossom scent
that wafted from her body, even the silver lip ring and the miles
of ink that decorated her skin—all of it was for him.

“It’s been you all along.” Could he really
have had this weeks ago? Could he have really known this incredible
sense of belonging and joy if only he hadn’t been so locked inside
his own self-imposed hell?

Holding his breath, he gazed in wonder as he
gently, slowly, so very carefully ran the tips of his fingers
through her hair. It felt like satin, smooth and silky soft. He
trailed his fingers lower, to her shoulder, and outlined a tattooed
tendril of dark ivy that curved and twisted across her collarbones,
connecting her shoulders. Her skin was velvety soft, unbelievably
smooth.

Her legs were still wrapped around his hips,
locked at the ankles, but now they relaxed. Her feet slowly slide
down the backs of his legs, her ankles finally unlocking mid-calf.
She placed her feet on the floor, and he nestled more deeply into
the cradle of her body, too comfortable to pull away as he
continued discovering her.

“All this time . . .” He
inhaled then closed his eyes for a moment in an effort to make
sense of the past few weeks. Then he blinked his eyes open and
continued his visual exploration of the last female he would ever
love. “You were in front of me all this time.” He spoke softly, his
deep voice filled with awe.

Cordray didn’t speak. Didn’t even blink. Her
eyes held his, and he saw the same fascination in her expression
that he was feeling.

His thumb played over her lip ring. He
brushed it with the pad of his thumb, marveling at how he could
have had this all along had he not been so blindly stubborn.

“You’re beautiful.”

Her full, dark-pink lips curved into a
smile. “So are you.”

As her palms took an exploratory journey of
their own over the expanse of his chest, across his shoulders, and
up the sides of his neck before gently cradling his face, he got
the sense that she was trying to determine if he was really there.
Whether what they’d done had really happened or she’d only dreamed
it.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

He had never kissed a female. Never. His
mistresses had never allowed it.

But tonight, he and Cordray had kissed. They
had touched each other. He had felt her warmth. He’d experienced
pleasure without first requiring pain. He had heard her moans,
smelled the earthiness of her lust, feasted on her with his eyes,
and tasted her musky flavor.

He wanted to kiss her again. To drink the
flavor of her lips. Her full, rosy lips, which parted even now as
if in anticipation.

As he slowly lowered himself, her fingers
pulled at his cheeks.

He’d never seen Cordray like this. Pliant,
almost docile. She had shed her prickly shield and replaced it with
an inviting warmth he wanted to lose himself in for a lifetime.

He held his breath and paused less than an
inch from her face.

Her eyelids flickered open. Her long, dark
lashes softly framed her incredible, bright-blue eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

He gave a slow, subtle shake of his head.
“Nothing. I just . . . I can’t stop looking at
you.”

“Then don’t close your eyes and kiss me, you
big idiot.” The outer corners of her eyes lifted as the apples of
her cheeks plumped.

She thought that was funny, did she?

“We’re going to have to do something about
that mouth of yours.” He was still inside her. Still hard. He
rolled his hips forward and back.

Her smile evaporated as she closed her eyes
and drew in a heady breath. As she exhaled, her eyelids peeled back
open. This time her smile was one of lusty approval. One that
expressed how much she liked what he was doing and didn’t want him
to stop.

“I can think of a few things you can do with
my mouth.” Her arms slithered down and around his shoulders.

He smirked, rolling his hips again. “Well, I
think I
have
told you to suck my dick a time or two.” He
rotated his hips again and smirked at the way her eyelids
fluttered.