her.
“I’m a Hunter, darling.” She dug her claws into his shoulders, her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist in a silent offering. “There’s nothing you can give me that I can’t take.”
A rough groan was wrenched from Ice’s throat at her husky challenge. “Then hold on, kitty.”
Holding her bold gaze, he breached her entrance with the head of his cock, hesitating to savor the feel of her moist flesh wrapped around his crown.
His breath hissed between his teeth. Nothing had ever felt so good.
Beneath him Cammy squirmed, the musk of her puma scenting the air. “No more playing,” she muttered. “I need you inside me.”
“You’re mine,” he murmured. “My mate.” He pressed an inch of his broad erection inside her. “My partner.” Another inch slid into her slick heat. “My love.”
“Forever,” she added, sinking her teeth into the spot where his neck met his shoulder.
The pleasure-pain jolted through him, and with one fierce thrust he had his cock buried deep inside her. They groaned together in raw pleasure. This was what he wanted. Why he’d chosen his warrior female.
It was two Pantera mating on their most primitive level, the pounding of their hearts and the press of their cats just beneath their skin.
Tilting his head down, he covered her lips in a searing kiss, the pleasure shockingly intense.
“How have I survived without you?” he muttered as he began to move. She gave a groan of appreciation, her hips lifting off the mattress in silent invitation. “You complete me.”
“Ice,” she breathed. “My mate.”
Pressing his face into the curve of her neck, he pistoned in and out of her heat, keeping a ruthless pace. A part of him wanted to make this last, but his cat refused to be denied. On some level he’d been searching for this female his entire life. Now it was time to claim her.
Releasing his claws, he allowed them to score through the skin along her lower back. The shallow wounds would heal, leaving behind four silvery scars that were a pagan mark of ownership.
Heady bliss swirled through him, intensified by the feel of her pussy clenched tight around his cock. He would never have enough of her. Never. Ever.
Hearing the fractured sound of her breath, he intensified the force of his thrusts, the bed banging against the wall as they moved together in a savage rhythm.
Still, it wasn’t until he felt her orgasm squeezing his cock that he sought his own release. Giving one last surge, he buried himself until his balls were flush against her ass and allowed his climax to shatter him into a million pieces of sated joy.
Nothing had prepared him for the erotic ferocity of making love to his mate. It felt as if the world had just tilted on its axis, leaving them in a new, wonderful place.
Raising his head, he studied his female’s stunned expression. Clearly he wasn’t the only one reeling from the intensity of their mating.
It was Cammy, however, who at last broke the thick silence.
“So tell me about this house you intend to build for me and my cubs.”
Reaux
By
Laura Wright
CHAPTER 1
“Are you comfortable?”
Karen stared straight ahead as she sat on the edge of the couch in the Healer’s office. Was she comfortable? What a strange, impossible idea. She hadn’t known comfort for a very long time. Maybe since the night before she was taken. Maybe when she was tucked in around her family dinner table twelve years ago, having…what was it again? Spaghetti? No. Her mom didn’t make good red sauce. Tacos? No.
A soft smile touched her lips. Chicken and dumplings. Her mother made the absolute best.
A rush of pain echoed through her. She missed that wonderful woman…even more now that she had passed. Never to see her grandchildren. Caleb. Or Ward. Or…
“Let’s talk about your offspring,” the female Healer said, trying once again to pull Karen back into her universe.
“Children,” Karen corrected woodenly.
“Of course.”
“I have three.”
“Yes, I know.”
Caleb, Ward…and the one she’d known for seconds only…before he was ripped from her arms, before they’d injected her with drugs to force her to sleep. And forget. As if that was even a possibility. No amount of drugs could steal the memory of birth, or the squalling face of an infant. She’d named him Tate. After her grandfather. Who knew what he called himself now. If he was called anything. If he was even alive.
Her chest tightened to the point of pain, but she didn’t flinch. It was a pain that was familiar now. One she’d learned to