Lars rubbed noses with Tamara. His cock was so taut, butting from its furred sheath, it was almost uncomfortable. He licked her snout. She licked back and then wove her head between his back legs and licked his cock shamelessly. The heat was so intense, he almost came. His cat jerked away from her questing tongue and licked her vulva. Things spun out of control fast after that. Animal sex wasn’t complicated. No foreplay. No hands to smooth or fingers to explore.
She planted her feet firmly and twisted her tail out of the way. He mounted her, sank his teeth into the side of her neck, and drove his cock all the way inside. The heat of her closing around him made him crazy with lust. Semen pumped out almost immediately, and kept on pumping.
She tilted her head back, yowling and screeching as a climax ripped through her. He plumbed her deeper and she contracted her muscles around him. They stood joined for long moments. He licked the place he’d bitten her neck; she turned her head and licked his mouth.
“We must remain like this until my erection goes down, liebchen.”
“Why?”
“Cat cocks have barbs. I will hurt you if I withdraw when I am this hard.”
She arched beneath him. He shifted more of his weight to his hind legs and listened while his cat and Tamara’s crooned to one another. It was sweet and tender and totally unexpected. The tension in his cock finally lessened. He tugged gently to loosen its grip on her pussy.
Once they were free, she purred; the sound was deep and throaty and made him feel on top of the world. She nudged him with her snout, cried, “Run with me,” and took off through Garen’s gated half-acre garden.
Lars bolted after her, impressed by both her speed and her agility. She weighed less than him by a good fifty or sixty pounds, and she led him a merry chase in, out, and around bushes, flowers, and decorative shrubs. When she finally drew to a halt, panting, sides heaving, he dropped to his belly before her and rolled over in mock surrender. “You win, liebchen.”
“I don’t know about winning, but that was fun.”
“Ready to be human again?” When she nodded, he got to his feet, summoned magic and shifted. The air around her glistened with iridescent motes in the rain. Tamara stepped out of them, rosy and smiling, and right into his arms.
“It was fun,” he said. “It has been long since I played—at anything.”
“Sure and life can be pretty grim. It helps to lighten things up.” A shadow crossed her face. “Did I, er, was I all right?”
“You were perfect, love. I could not have asked for more. Did I hurt you?”
“A little, but I came so hard it was worth it.” She looked thoughtful. “Sex is different that way. Hotter, more intense. After you licked my pussy, I couldn’t have stopped if the world blew up around us.”
He snorted. “I had a hell of a time not laying you down on that bench in the gazebo. You are beautiful, perfect, impossible to resist.”
She shivered in his arms. “Brrr. I wasn’t cold until just now. Better watch those compliments, I’ll become unbearable.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the gazebo. He wanted to make love to her again, but she had to be sore. Maybe they could dry off and curl up and sleep for a few hours.
He set her down once they were inside the summerhouse and rummaged for towels, finding some beneath the bench seat. He started to dry her, but she yanked the towel away. “Silly. I can manage.”
“Maybe we could sleep for a bit.”
“Och, and then eat, and then make love again.” She shot him a coquettish grin. “I’ve got your number, big boy.”
Lars set his towel down and eyed her. “If you ran the universe, how would you arrange the next few hours?”
“Let’s see.” She snapped her fingers. “Sure and I’d vote for a nap, maybe some decent spirits, and as much more of that,” she made a grab for his half-hard cock, “as I could get.”
“Are you sore?”
She rubbed her thighs together experimentally. “Maybe a little, but not so much as to slow things down.” She winked broadly. “We Irish are a randy bunch. It’s the long winters and all those potatoes and Irish whiskey.”
He sorted his clothes and began pulling them on. So did she. When they’d worked their way down to shoes and socks, she said, “Is there any way I could be calling my folks? Sure and they’re likely worried half to death about me since you killed my cell phone.”
He snorted. “I suppose that would be one way to describe it. The terms we use in the field are dismantle or deactivate. I dismantled your phone, liebchen.”
“I like my description better. It’s more…colorful. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Every phone line in Garen’s house is scrambled, so you can call your parents. It might be best if you did not tell them exactly where—”
“Give me credit for a wee bit of brains.” She placed her hands on her hips. “It will be enough for them to know I’m alive and in good hands.”
The rain, which had been pattering on the gazebo’s roof, suddenly got much louder. Lars glanced out a window. “Damn! Hail. Would you like me to run for an umbrella?”
“It’s all right, Sir Galahad.” She grinned. “Sure and I won’t melt.”
Tamara climbed the stairs with Lars right behind her. They’d run into Garen and Miranda when they’d come back inside the house during the hail storm. Garen had insisted on cracking a bottle of champagne to celebrate their mating, and Miranda had immediately begun planning their wedding. It wouldn’t happen until June, so they had a few months, but Miranda assured her they’d need every minute of it to attend to all the details. About all they’d decided was to hold the ceremony at Lars’ home in Heidelberg.
They’d sat in the study for hours chatting until Tamara had actually dozed off. Lars had excused them then and they were finally on their way to their room. She tried to think how long it had been since she’d had a night’s sleep and couldn’t come up with an answer. Certainly not since she’d killed Jaret, and that had to have been going on a few days ago. Maybe more. She tried counting days, but her brain was too fuzzy.
Lars opened the door to their room; she crossed it on autopilot and fell onto the bed, where he took her clothes off. She tried to help, but he batted her hands away and crooned to her in German.
“What are you saying?” she asked sleepily.
“That I love you. That you are very beautiful and very precious.”
“It’s the first thing I want to do.”
“What is?” He addressed his own clothing, dropping it in a heap on a nearby chair.
“Learn German.”
“The Company has language tapes for almost every language.”
“Sure and you would. Makes sense.”
“What I speak is a dialect. Much of it has fallen out of usage, but if you tackle modern German, you will be able to understand most of my words. We can practice together, so long as you promise to help me with Irish.” He pulled the window curtains and joined her in the large, comfy bed. She rolled into his arms and was asleep in moments.
When she woke, the room was truly dark, so much so she knew night had not only fallen, but moved past midnight. The gentle sound of Lars’ breathing next to her was reassuring. She reached for him and was surprised when he said, “You are awake, liebchen.”
“Yes, but how come you are?”
“I do not need much sleep.” He rolled over and struck a match. The smell of sulphur was sharp for a moment, and then a candle flickered to life on his bedside table. She sat up in bed and turned so she could look at him. His ice-blond hair was tousled from the pillow. His face, while still sharp planes and angles, looked softer somehow, and his gray eyes reflected twin flames in their depths from the candlelight.