Keeping one hand on her thigh, he spread her with the fingers of the other . . . and blew a soft, hot breath over her. She cried out, her body clenching to release another rush of exquisite need. His tongue was there to meet it as he licked at her with long, lazy movements. He was determined to learn every little sensitive spot, every scent, every feminine cry.
Mercy closed her eyes, the better to savor the most incredible pleasure she'd ever felt. She was never ever going to accuse Riley of being uncreative again. The man had plenty of imagination. Plenty. His tongue was doing things to her that she knew were illegal somewhere, and - "Riley!" Her body shook under the force of a wickedly powerful orgasm as he closed his mouth over her clit, sucking hard.
He petted her thigh, calming her down . . . then stroked those same fingers over the excruciatingly sensitive flesh of her opening. She tried to squeeze her thighs closed, but his strong, muscular body kept them open while his mouth ravaged her. Those teasing fingers rubbed a little harder, and then one began to slide inside.
She opened her eyes, but saw only a wash of color as her brain tried to process the amount of sensation going through her body. It failed. Color exploded in every direction, and the muscles in her body went taut, her claws slicing out to pierce the tree trunk as she gave in to the wildness and rode the pleasure.
When she surfaced, it was to the feel of a hot, hard, and lusciously naked male body behind her own, one strong hand cupping her between the thighs. Petting her. Easing her down. He might've been a wolf, but Riley knew how to deal with a cat.
Smiling, sated, she rolled her bottom against him. His growl was everything she could've hoped for. Cool, calm Riley Kincaid had lost control. His hand withdrew from between her legs to clamp over her hips, holding her in place . . . no, he was urging her to bend a little, to change her stance.
She cooperated, and a split second after she'd settled her hands on the trunk again, he slid into her. "Riley!" It was a short, startled scream.
He froze and his voice, when it came, was more wolf than man. "Hurt?"
She shook her head at once. "I - " Her throat was raw, her voice husky. "I'm so sensitive. And you're so damn thick."
He chuckled, and the wolf's arrogance was very much in evidence. "You like it." He rocked against her.
Moaning, she found that her body was tightening again, readying itself for another wild ride. "Do that again."
He did. And again. She was just getting into the rhythm of it when he withdrew almost completely and thrust back in slow, oh-so-slow. Sensitized nerve endings went crazy and she found herself making hungry sounds in the bottom of her throat. He growled in response and picked up the pace. Hard and thick, he was a perfect fit. He seemed to touch every single pleasure point as he went in, then again as he came out. Stomach tensing with the need to come, to take him with her, she cried out.
And the world exploded.
Mercy surfaced to the awareness that she was lying on something soft. Touching it, she realized it was what remained of her and Riley's T-shirts. He'd made her a nest. Aw. Turning, she propped herself on one elbow and looked down at the male lying beside her. He had his eyes closed, and for the first time, she noticed that he had the same rich chocolate brown lashes as his brother, Andrew. Long and lush and curling slightly at the ends. Pretty lashes.
Delighted by the discovery, she leaned over and rubbed her nose gently against his. His lips curved but his eyes remained closed. One hand ran in a slow glide up and down over her back. "How was your nap, kitty?"
She nipped him on the chin. "Don't push your luck, Kincaid."
His lashes lifted, to reveal warm brown eyes full of languor. "You're purring."
"Yeah, so?" She dared him to make something of it.
Of course, since it was Riley, he did. "So I made you purr." A smug smile.
She frowned. "This is now officially a two-night stand."
"It's not night." He kept stroking her back.
His big, deliciously callused hand felt so good on her that she almost sighed. "You know what I mean."
"Why?" The lazy lover was rapidly being replaced by the Riley she knew and . . . lived to irritate.
"Okay," she said, "maybe you're not the spawn of Satan as I originally thought - "
"Thanks."
"But" - she glared at him for the interruption - "you'd be hell to be in a relationship with. HELL. In capital letters." Part of her own mind vehemently disagreed - sleeping with him last night, it had been something special, an experience that wrapped around her heart and made her want to take the wildest of chances. But that Riley might never again make an appearance, not if the lieutenant decided to contain him using his formidable self-control.
"I do have an ego, Mercy."
Hearing the warning in his voice, she ran her fingers through his hair. Beautiful and thick, it slid over her hands like water. "Riley, you still try to order Brenna around, and she's mated, for chrissakes."
"She's my baby sister. I'll try to order her around when she's eighty and a great-grandmother."
"See!"