Wild Cat (16 page)

She was very responsive to him. A gift. Her soft, breathy moans set his pulse pounding, the blood roaring in his ears. His hand moved down her belly where she cradled his child while it grew. The child they'd made together. She didn't know it, but that child had been conceived in love. He had known the moment he had first laid eyes on her, sitting across from him at her grandfather's table, her eyes downcast, her hair everywhere, her soft voice doing things to him that shouldn't have been done, not when she was so young, that she was his other half, the woman who would make him a better man. The woman who could live with the man he was, the man his harsh life had shaped him to be.

“I knew,” he whispered. “I should have given you that. I knew you were mine.” He made the confession, his lips against that soft, perfect place where his child nestled.

Her fingers caught in his hair, sifted, then fisted. He felt the bite in his scalp and it transmitted straight through his body to his cock. Hunger grew. The burn became scorching. Searing him with urgent need. He pressed kisses over her belly, wanting them to go deep, deep enough for his child to feel loved. To know he or she was wanted by him.

He kissed his way down her injured leg, tongue moving over the raw ridges as gently as possible, and then back up the inside of her thigh. He lifted her leg and put it over his shoulder so his head was cradled on her good thigh.

She gasped and tightened her hold in his hair. “Elijah.” His name came out raw. Sexy. Breathless. A moan.

He loved that. He loved the way she smelled, so welcoming,
honeysuckle and citrus. She tasted that way. He knew she did because he woke up every night remembering her taste. It was forever in his brain, just as addicting as her body was.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he whispered into her damp entrance. “I want this to feel good, not hurt you.”

He used his tongue first, a long, slow swipe to collect that honey and bring it into his mouth, savoring that first taste. “So good, Siena. You taste so damned good. You were made for me.” He would forever wake up craving the taste of her in his mouth, on his tongue, and he'd never get enough of the unique flavor that was Siena.

He used his hands to open her, so he could feed on her. Sate his hunger. Drive her wild. He wanted her wild. He wanted her to need him, to feel the same urgent hunger consuming her until she couldn't take one more breath without him inside of her. He needed that from her. He wanted to give her that. He wanted to watch her face as he pushed her over the edge and sent her soaring.

He gave that to her twice, but really, he was giving it to himself, such pleasure, watching her eyes glaze, watching her breath grow more ragged, the bliss on her face. Such beauty, because he loved her so much, so deeply, and there was no other way he could show it to her like he could here, in his bed, taking his time with her the way he should have when he took her innocence.

The second time her body rippled and pulsed, he moved up her, holding her thighs apart, keeping her injured leg riding up over his hip as he pushed into her hot, tight sheath.

“So tight,” he murmured. “Strangling me. Wet silk, baby, scorching. So good. So fucking good.” He could barely inch his way through her tight folds, her muscles reluctantly stretching to accommodate his thick shaft. He took his time out of necessity, when everything in him wanted to slam deep, bury himself to his balls. If she hadn't been so slick from the two orgasms he'd given her, he doubted if he could have gotten her sheath to accept him.

When he was buried to the very hilt, feeling her cervix, knowing he couldn't get any deeper inside her, he waited, breathing deeply, feeling her body surround him, the slow yield to his invasion. Gripping him. A wet, silken fist wrapped so tightly around him, she stole his breath. Fire raced from his cock, up his spine and down his thighs, spreading like a storm of white-hot flames.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, praying she was. Gritting his teeth, holding himself still when every cell in his body urged him to move. Fast. Hard. Deep.

Her hands slid around his shoulders, fingernails biting deep. “Better than okay. I need you to move. Now, Elijah. Please.”

His eyes closed for just a moment, his heart turning over at that last little breathless plea. “You tell me if you're uncomfortable, Siena,” he ordered.

“Just move,” she pleaded again.

He withdrew and thrust deep, driving through her tight muscles, feeling the burn engulf him. Watching her face. Her eyes. Looking for signs of discomfort. He plunged deep again and again, rocking her body with every stroke. The breath left her in a rush. Her eyes glazed. Her lips parted. She was beautiful. Instinctual. Her hips moving to meet his.

The heat built. Tension coiled. He heard it in her ragged gasp. Saw it in her dazed expression. Her nails dug in, a bite of pain that added to building fire. His hand shifted to support the thigh of her injured leg, making certain not to jar that long, jagged wound while he picked up the pace. He kept her on her side, so that there was no pressure on her back, only the driving cock between her legs.

“Harder, Elijah,” she said. “I need you to . . .” She broke off as he deliberately switched angles, using her legs to tilt her hips toward him so he could press down into her.

Her ragged gasp was music to him, adding to the pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. He stayed ahead of it, not wanting to end this. He could live there, connected to her, feeling her body squeezing until the friction seared him. He drove
harder, giving her what she needed, watching her face as her orgasm raced over her. She gasped. Her eyes went wide with shock. She looked so beautiful he nearly closed his own eyes to lock that image in his brain for all time.

He kept moving, taking her back up fast, so fast her body didn't have time to rest before the next one hit, this time much stronger, this time taking him with her. He buried his face in her neck and let it take him, the burn. The fire. The pleasure spinning through him with such force he thought it might take the top of his head off. He buried his face in her neck and stayed still. Planted in her. Living in her. Feeling that burn pounding through her, spreading like a wildfire.

“Baby,” he whispered, when he could breathe again. “Nothing like you in my life. Not. Ever.”

She didn't answer, but her hands were buried in his hair, wrapping the unruly waves around her fingers. Letting the strands slide through and then fisting them all over again. He felt her fighting for breath, felt her body rippling around his, drenching him in honeysuckle and citrus. He lifted his head, fighting for air, careful of her injuries, holding her close to him, his gaze moving over her face to assure himself he hadn't hurt her.

“Siena?” he said softly. Insistently.

Her gaze jumped to his, eyes shimmering with tears. “You weren't fucking me.” She sounded shocked. She looked shocked.

“No,
mi vida
, I was not,” he admitted, because she looked so vulnerable, so confused, he needed to reassure her. It was as necessary to him as breathing.

She pressed her lips together. “I don't understand you, Elijah.”

“I know,
mi amorcito
,” he said. He kissed her chin and then couldn't resist nibbling. “But you will. Give yourself time and you'll understand me perfectly.” He eased his body out of hers. “Can you sleep now? I'll get a washcloth and
clean you up, but I need to know you can go back to sleep and not have nightmares.”

She smiled at him, lifted a hand to the mass of hair spilling around her and then touched his mouth, tracing his lips. He liked that. He liked that she liked his mouth, and she did. That was clear.

“I think you chased my nightmares away, Elijah.”

He flashed a satisfied grin at her, kissed her finger and exited the bed to get a warm washcloth.

Siena watched Elijah walk away from her, completely comfortable with his nudity. She was already pulling the edges of her shirt together and buttoning them. He came back, his eyes glittering at her in the dark as he sank down onto the bed beside her and carefully washed her thighs, pressing the warm cloth between her legs.

“I didn't hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. I think I'm definitely healing. The laceration on my leg is the worst, although I'm mostly self-conscious of the one on my face.”

“Which is silly,” he said, his attention on what he was doing.

She knew that. It was vain, but still. She bit her lip. “Um. Elijah, I'm starving. I didn't eat, remember?”

His gaze jumped back to her face. “You wouldn't let me get you food when Jake and Emma were here.”

“I didn't want to eat in front of them,” she admitted.

He sighed and shook his head. “Were you hungry when they left?”

His tone demanded honesty. She didn't want to try to lie, figuring he would know instantly she wasn't telling the truth, so she shrugged. He scowled.

“You were hungry and you didn't say anything. That's not acceptable, baby. You tell me when you need something.” His eyes had gone diamond hard, pure mercury, glittering with menace. “I'm not bragging, but I know my way around a kitchen.”

There it was. The Elijah she expected. Bossy. Intimidating. Only this time she wasn't afraid in the least. He was gently cleaning her thighs as well as other, more secret places, his touch tender even when his voice was scary hard. She hid a small smile, thinking it best she keep that knowledge to herself.

“I'll keep that in mind for the future,” she said. “And I'll admit I'm really, really hungry, so if you have anywhere near the skills in the kitchen you have in the bedroom, now would be the time to whip them out and show off.”

His glittering gaze drifted over her face slowly, taking in every detail as if ensuring himself she was perfectly fine. He touched her lips, his fingers pressing over them with the same gentleness he used cleaning her, but he dragged his fingers across her lips, tracing them, and then down, the gesture turning her heart over.

“You deserve the world, Siena,” he said softly. “And I'm going to give it to you.”

Everything in her went still. His eyes had gone all silver. Dark silver. Glittering silver, and so intense his gaze pierced her, went right through her, aiming straight at her heart and finding its target. She wanted to believe him. She did believe him. How could she not when he was looking at her with such raw, stark emotion naked on his face for her to see?

She knew no one else had ever seen that look. No one had ever seen him exposed the way he was giving himself to her. That look turned her inside out. He was a strong man, a dangerous one, and closed off from the world. His extremely handsome face was normally expressionless. He didn't give anything away, certainly not his emotions, but there it was, laid out for her.

“Elijah.” She whispered his name because she could barely speak.

Everything in her life was gone. She was scared and confused, but there was Elijah holding out his hand to her.
Bringing her safely to his side. Wrapping her in his strength and protection. Offering the world to her.
His
world.

Siena's heart accelerated. She didn't know what his world entailed. She didn't want her child to grow up in her grandfather's world. What and who was Elijah Lospostos? The man sitting on the bed with her, so tender and sweet? Or the man who sat at her grandfather's table, commanding the room in spite of his age. Others had deferred to him. Even her grandfather had treated him with respect. Now he was working with Drake Donovan on Drake's security team. What did that mean?

“Baby, you should never play poker,” Elijah cautioned.

She twisted her fingers together. “You're a good man, Elijah. What were you doing with my grandfather?”

She watched his face shut down. All that emotion swept away in an instant, and he was once again handsome, hard, scary and dangerous, giving absolutely nothing away.

“I'm not a good man, Siena. You tie yourself to me, you'll never have that. You'll never be free of the reputation and the rumors. The whispers. Cops will harass you. People will stare or look away fast. You're with me, that's what you can expect. I'll shield you always from the worst of it, but you have to know it will be there.”

“That doesn't tell me anything.”

“It tells you what to expect, and the rest of it, I swear, I'll lay out to you, just give me a little time.”

“A little time for what?” she persisted.

“I'm asking for this,
mi amor
. A little time. Can you give me that?”

She studied his face. He was so beautiful, and maybe he was just as lost as she was, but he was a good man. She felt it. She knew it. She took a deep breath and nodded. She could do that, but they would have the conversation.

Elijah bent his head and kissed her. Gently. Turning her heart over. He moved then, up off the bed, back to the master
bath to deal with the washcloth. Her gaze followed him, the fluid, easy way he moved. He was leopard. A shifter. She didn't—yet—know much about them, but she did know they shared the traits of the large cats that were so much a part of them. Leopards were jealous, temperamental creatures, with snarling bad tempers and the ability to strike hard and fast. All leopards were lethal, even those that were raised from baby to adult by humans.

He took her breath away just by moving. He turned her body into a place of sweet, exquisite ecstasy. She had no doubt he would protect her the instant she was threatened. She liked the way he always moved in close to her.

“You coming?” Elijah stood in the doorway, dragging on a pair of jeans. Barefoot. Hair unruly and a little wild. Silver eyes gleaming at her. Jeans riding low, barely buttoned.

She slid out of bed and went right to him, taking the hand he held out. She had no idea what she was doing with Elijah Lospostos, the man who claimed he wasn't a good man, who told her straight-out, but she liked the way he pulled her in close to him, tight against his side, under his shoulder, his arm clamped around her, but down low, avoiding the four lacerations on her back. That meant something to her. That he would take care even in the way he held her.