Beneath her hands his flesh was heated and solid. Beneath his lips sensation sizzled against her flesh.
“Take this off.” He pushed at her sweater as his tongue traveled into the valley between her breasts.
Her arms lifted to allow him to push the material over her head. No sooner had it dropped to the floor than his hands were at the waistband of her pants, flipping open the closure and lowering the zipper.
Mesmerized by the pleasure on his face, by the pleasure winging through her, she could do nothing but watch his expression as his hand slid past the material, beneath her panties and into the swollen, slick folds of her sex.
Her head fell back to the stone wall as her breath locked in her throat. Pleasure, ecstasy—it winged through her with such sensual promise that there was nothing left but to hold on to him as he stroked her. Caressed her.
“I need you naked,” he growled against the rise of one breast, which he licked sensually. “Can you toe the boots off?”
The boots? She shook her head in confusion. What boots? She didn’t care about the damned boots, not with his fingers slipping into the desperate, aching heat between her thighs.
His head lifted, fingers moving slowly, so slowly before stilling altogether. Anya’s hips pressed into the touch, arching against his palm as she gazed back at him in desperate need.
“Toe the boots off.” A grin tugged at his lips as the savage features of his face softened with sensual amusement. “Come on, baby. One foot at a time.”
She whimpered in need, her foot reaching out for his.
“Ah, baby. Your boots,” he groaned, his lips feathering over hers. “Toe your boots off.”
Oh yeah. Her boots.
She lowered one hand, knee bending, fingers finding the zipper at the side of her low boot before fumbling and pushing one free of her foot. She repeated with the other foot until her toes were curling with the pleasure of his renewed, gentle strokes into the folds he possessed.
With his other hand he pushed the pants over her hips, dragging her panties with them as he went to his knees before her.
“Del-Rey, the bed,” she gasped.
“Fuck the bed.” His voice rasped along her nerve endings as pleasure quaked through her body.
“I need to taste you now, Anya. My tongue in your sweet pussy.” His lips feathered over the curls between her thighs. “So sweet and soft. So damned good.”
Her thighs parted beneath the guiding force of his hands. Her fingers curled into the thick, coarse strands of his dark blond hair and she watched. Watched as his tongue licked through the saturated slit, ran around her clit and sucked the last of any chance of control from her sensation-ridden body.
Del-Rey licked, stroked, tasted. His tongue ravaged her flesh, left her shaking, shuddering as she fought to keep her knees locked, her body pressed against the wall.
“I’m going to fall,” she cried.
“I’ll hold you, baby.” Sexy, wicked, an inhumanly erotic growl breathed against her clit.
She nearly came. Pulses of extreme pleasure rippled through her body at the sight, the sound, the touch.
“So close,” he crooned in that sensual, graveled tone. “I can smell how close you are, Anya. Are you going to come for me, baby?”
She breathed in roughly, her breath hissing between her teeth as his tongue circled her clit again, before slipping it in and sucking it with deliberate, exquisite draws of his mouth.
There could be no pleasure greater than this. Her sensitive flesh rippled with the agonizing sensitivity. She could feel it, racing through her blood, traveling through her nerve endings and ricocheting through every cell of her body.
Just from the suckling of his mouth at her clit. His hands on her hips, holding her in place. The feel of his hair beneath her fingers. Electrical pulses of pleasure sizzled through her. She felt tight. She felt feminine and weak beneath his touch, beneath the need tearing through her.
“Mmm. So good,” he crooned, licking again rather than suckling her clit to orgasm as she needed.
Her flesh was so sensitive she could feel the perspiration beaded on it. The brush of his hair against her stomach as he drew her clit into his mouth once again. And this time, he meant business.
His tongue flicked over the tender bud, his mouth sucked it, until she went to her tiptoes in a cataclysm of pleasure so desperate, so deep that nothing emerged as her lips opened in a soundless scream.
She lost the strength in her legs, and he held her up. She lost the will to stand on her own. Her head tipped back, her hips moving until the exploding little bud was deeper in his mouth, his lips rubbing against the sensitive folds and the world dissolving around her.
“Mine.” Her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, her upper body collapsing over him as her nails raked along his back.
He caught her, lifting her into his arms with a growl of triumph, and bore her to the bed.
She bounced against the mattress, rolling and coming to her knees. As he moved to come over her, she was waiting for him. She pushed at his shoulders.
“My turn.”
She was weak from the pulses of ecstasy racing through her, and yet the need, the hunger that had nothing to do with the mating heat, flowed through her now.
“Mine,” she repeated, lost in emotion and possessiveness, lost in the sheer perfection of his body, his touch, and the rising natural progression of what she had known was coming since she was sixteen years old.
And he went down for her. Naked, though she couldn’t remember when he had undressed, splaying out on his back, those wicked black eyes watching her, the hint of blue stronger now, reflecting in the lights that gleamed from within the wall.
Moving over him her lips covered his, took the kiss she needed, sucking his tongue into her mouth to take the last of the spicy taste from the mating glands beneath it.
She flowed over him, lips moving from his, her tongue licking over his flesh, her teeth nipping at the heavy vein in his throat as his neck arched.
“Yours.” The animalistic sound empowered her, sent a fierce rush of adrenaline and sensation burning through her.
Because he was hers. Her mate. Her lover. Her Del-Rey.
Her lips coursed over his shoulder. Her tongue licked over his collarbone, her taste buds going wild at the heady flavor of him. Perspiration and male excitement. It was rich, spicy, earthy. And she was addicted.
She licked at the flat, hard male nipples and felt him arch to her, felt his hands grip the thick strands of her hair, heard his snarl of impatience and let a smile curl her lips as she lifted her eyes and licked her way down his stomach.
“Coya,” he groaned. “My coya.”
“Your coya.” It was a promise, a vow.
His teeth clenched, the sight of the savage, curved canines at the side of his mouth only intensifying the visual pleasure.
She licked, lowered herself, sprawled between his thighs and let a hungry moan pass her lips. His cock stretched from between his thighs to his lower abdomen, thick and powerful, engorged and iron-hard.
The heavy crown was flushed, beaded and damp with pre-cum, awaiting her tongue. She licked over it, and approved his taste with heavy sounds of delicious pleasure. She licked down the shaft, ignoring the hands in her hair, urging her to return to the sensitive crest. She licked down to the tight, throbbing sac below the shaft, where she played.
Running her tongue over the smooth, hairless flesh she dampened it, then parted her lips and sucked delicately at first one side, then the other. His groans, the low, graveled growls, filled the room.
“My alpha,” she whispered as she moved back up the wide shaft. “My mate.”
And she accepted. There was no escape, because in her heart, she had no desire to escape. In her heart, where she had hid the dreams, the memories, the wants and the pain of loss, he had always been hers.