Oh God, this was what she needed.
He was what she needed.
And she needed more.
Her nails bit into the fabric of his shirt. Clenching it, pulling at it, she fought to get closer to him. The feel of his flesh stroking against hers, the heat of his skin warming her.
She’d been so cold. Brutally cold. She’d burned on the inside, frozen on the outside as she fought every instinct demanding that she find him.
“You’ve destroyed me,” she whispered as his lips slid from hers to take firm nips and stroking tastes of her jaw. The caresses had nerve endings screaming out in pleasure, the sexual tension ratcheting higher inside her as she still tried to fight the needs clawing at the flesh between her thighs.
Her pussy was so swollen, so sensitive that the heat of his cock could be felt even through the barrier of their clothing.
“The hell I have,” he growled, nipping at the upper curve of her breast as he tore the edges of the skimpy top apart. Buttons flew across the floor, and a snarl dragged from the depths of his chest voiced his satisfaction as her breasts were revealed beneath the skimpy lace of her bra.
The bra didn’t last long. She was certain the front closure would never work again as he jerked it apart as well, filling one hand with the swollen curve of her breast.
Sensation tore past misgivings and distrust to ensure that there was no chance she could deny him. Instead, the demands tearing at her senses had her crying out at the fear of rejection instead.
The rough pad of his thumb brushed over her nipple, the pleasure spearing straight to her womb before lashing at her clit.
“Please.” The moan was a shocking plea.
Gypsy Rum McQuade didn’t beg a man for anything.
But she evidently had no problem begging this Breed for his touch.
Overwhelming, overpowering,
The hunger was riding her harder, faster, and his touch wasn’t keeping up. He was going too slow, pushing her too high, too fast, flooding her body with such pleasure that it bordered pain.
When his lips covered one hard, peaked nipple, drawing it into the heat of his mouth as he began to suckle firmly, Gypsy swore that a charge of pure, undiluted pleasure exploded in her womb.
Her pussy wept in need, her clit throbbing with it as she fought to get closer to the heat and hardness pressing against it. Yet no matter how she fought to get closer, she couldn’t get close enough.
“Stop torturing me,” she cried out, her fists clenching on his shoulder as she ground her head against the door.
“You’ve tortured me.” The rough growl of his voice sent a shiver racing up her spine; unfortunately, it was a shiver of pleasure.
She bucked against him, her breath catching as he nipped at her nipple, an erotic little pain that had her gasping with the exquisite sensation. Gasping even as she tried to grit her teeth against the wild urge to give in to him, to submit to whatever he wanted.
She didn’t beg, and she didn’t submit. No matter how much she might want to, or how desperately she had begged moments before.
Her fingers slid into his hair, clenched, pulled hard.
Her nipple popped from his mouth with a slight sucking sound, his gaze moving to hers, narrowing.
There was a warning that she had no intention of heeding. A demand that she had no intention of obeying.
“Do not—”
“Let me go.” She had to force the demand into her voice rather than begging as she had moments ago.
“Gypsy—”
“I’m no toy,” she informed him, pushing at his chest. “You can’t throw me away one moment, then demand that I submit to you in the next. I won’t have it, Rule.”
Maniacal arousal throbbed through every vein, burned every nerve ending in her body. Talons of need clenched at her lower stomach, tightening in her womb as the sensitivity of her clit became painful.
She needed.
She needed so much more than he was giving her . . .
His hand moved, too quickly to avoid him. It buried itself in her hair as he pulled her head back. His lips slammed over hers again. His tongue speared past her lips, peppermint and chocolate a taste that teased her senses, becoming more addictive as her tongue licked over his, her lips attempting to catch it, to catch more of the addictive taste.
She was only distantly aware of his hand releasing the band of her jeans. Then the feel of the zipper loosening at the side of her boots. His lips moved to her ear, nipping, taking stinging sips of her lips as he undressed her, controlling her with effortless ease.
“Freaky fucking mating drug,” she moaned as his lips moved to her shoulder while he maneuvered her to drop the bra and remnants of her shirt to the floor.
His teeth raked against her shoulder, sending a rush of fiery sensation shooting through her senses.
The need to feel his teeth there, nipping harder, biting . . .
Whimpering at the pleasure, the needs rushing through her like a conflagration of flames, Gypsy could only follow his direction as he moved her legs, forcing them to the floor as he dragged her jeans over her hips.
As he lowered his head, his lips found the tight point of her nipple again, sucking it in, surrounding it with such heat, such pleasure that she could only cry out and surrender to the hunger building inside her. The pleasure from his hands stroking over her thighs, pushing the material from her until she could kick it from her legs.
She was naked, burning for him.
The stroke of his fingers along her inner thighs had her legs parting for him, her breath stilling in her chest, heart racing.
“Oh God, Rule, please,” she tried to scream, but could only beg.
Parting the swollen folds, his thumb raked her clit as his finger pushed demandingly into the clenched, hungry depths of her pussy. It rasped over inner flesh so sensitive she felt her legs weaken, knees shaking at the ecstatic rush of sensation raging through her.
Slick, saturated, her juices wept like heated honey along his finger, easing the penetration as the desperate, milking clench of her muscles attempted to hold it inside her.
“Don’t stop.” The demand rose unbidden from her lips as she felt the smooth, slow withdrawal, the caress of his finger inside her, driving her higher. “Don’t stop, Rule.”
“Never again,” he growled, his tone harsher, closer to the animal it was said lived within him. “Never again, Gypsy.”
Before she could do more than cry out, he had her in his arms, lifting her and moving to the next room and the bed awaiting them. Laying her against the comforter, he turned, sat on the bed and hurriedly removed the boots laced on his feet.
Gypsy’s fingers clenched the blanket beneath her, her lashes lifting, staring at the broad expanse of his naked back as he rose again. Turning, staring down at her, holding her gaze, he shed the black mission pants as his gaze seemed to shift, darken, then turn brighter.
What would she do if he jumped from her again? How could she bear the pain? “I won’t let you go. Not this time, Gypsy.” The words were a hard rasp as he came over her, spreading her thighs with his hard, well-muscled legs and bending to her until his lips could touch hers again.
Whatever raged inside him, whatever emotions tore at him, she glimpsed in the fiery blue of his eyes, the hard, intent expression on his face. She wanted explanations. She wanted to know what she had done, why he had pulled from her so quickly before, but the needs tearing at her stilled those questions for now.
Lifting her hands, she slid them up the perspiration-slick planes of his hard abdomen, the broad expanse of his chest until she was curling her fingers over the tight, flexing muscles of his shoulders.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she whispered, more because she was weakening and she could feel it.
Amid the ravaging hunger for this Breed, the addictive need for his kiss and the anger that swirled inside her was something more. Something she didn’t want to look at too closely. Something she couldn’t afford to look at too closely.