Savage pleasure tightened his expression, pulled his lips back and had growls leaving his throat. It was the most exciting, erotic sight she had known in her life.
“Ah, cher ,” his voice whispered over her. “Sweet bébé .”
She sucked him deep, tasting the subtle essence of pr**cum and wild, desperate lust. She tasted and teased, tempted and tormented until she felt the control she had always sensed inside him break.
Between one second and the next she was pushed to her back, his jeans and briefs discarded, and he was moving purposely between her thighs. The length of his erection was iron-hard, throbbing, the prominent veins ridging the flesh, the engorged head darkened and pulsing in lust.
“Saban, please—” She bit her lip, holding back her words. She wanted to ask him to go easy, to take her slowly at first, but she could see the hunger raging in him, brewing into a storm of lust that darkened his emerald eyes.
“Do you think I would hurt you?” His jaw clenched, his chest heaved as he fought for breath, and the thick head of his c**k tucked against the folds of her pu**y. His voice lowered to a primal growl. “Do you think I don’t know, Natalie? That I didn’t feel more than your sweet, slick heat?”
His hips bunched, tightened, pressed forward as his lips lowered, and he lifted her hands to his shoulders. “Hold on to me cher . I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
Small, stretching thrusts did just that. Eased inside her, parting the snug tissue gently, working his c**k into her with fiery, delicious strokes that were both pleasure and pain. Ecstasy whipped through her system, fiery trails of lashing pleasure tore across sensitive nerve endings, and as Natalie stared up at Saban, she saw something she had never seen in her marriage to Mike: shared pleasure. The need to please her as well as to be pleasured. Saban wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t intent on pushing boundaries as much as he was intent on sharing the burning need, which was more erotic than any boundary she’d ever had pushed.
“What are you doing to me?” It was more than pleasure. With her gaze locked with his, the patience in each thrust, the taut hunger on his face, sweat gleaming and running in slow rivulets down the side of his neck, he was the picture of a sex god at work. But his eyes. Emotions glowed in his eyes, emotions she didn’t want to face, didn’t want to battle, within him or within herself.
“I’m loving you, cher . Whether you want the love or not.” He leaned forward, nipped her lips. “Just loving you, bébé .”
One last thrust, slow and measured, buried him inside her as his lips took hers in a kiss that fired her soul. Her body she could have understood. The heated hormone spilling from his tongue hit her system
like a fireball and began speeding through her bloodstream. But her soul? It should have been protected, closed away from any and all male influence.
But she felt her chest tightening, her heart racing from more than excitement, and the almost hidden acknowledgment that this was more than she had ever dreamed loving could be. The growl in his chest deepened as his thrusts began to increase. His c**k stroked once-hidden nerve endings, buried to the depths of her, and stroked there before beginning again. Natalie became a creature of sensuality, of pleasure. Thought, caution, and fear receded beneath the agonizing pleasure burning through her body.
Her hands gripped and caressed sweat-dampened muscles. She writhed beneath him, thrusting back, needing the fierce, hard thrusts now that she had grown used to the width and length of the erection buried inside her. She twisted beneath him, gasping, crying his name as she felt the heat burn hotter, the pleasure flame higher. Each stroke of his flesh, no matter which part of her body it touched, drove her higher. She was flying. Oh God, she had never flown.
“Saban!” She screamed his name, fear suddenly coalescing inside her, the sensations building, burning, rising to a crescendo that threatened to terrify her.
“I have you, Natalie.” His lips moved over her jaw, her cheek. “Give to me, baby. Give to me. I’ll hold you here. I swear it.”
Husky, rough. His lips skimmed over her neck, her shoulder, those wicked canines scraped against the tender flesh between neck and shoulder, and his thrusts became stronger, hard, driving into her, f**king her with such complete abandon that the waves of ecstasy building inside her began to crash over her. Her orgasm exploded, ruptured, imploded. It tore through her with a force that she was certain destroyed her mind as she felt those canines rake her flesh again, then a hungry growl left Saban’s throat. She couldn’t have anticipated it. She should have. His teeth pierced her shoulder, his mouth clamping over the wound, his tongue stroking, laving, as his body jerked in its own release. She felt the head of his c**k swell, throb, then she felt it. The extension swelling from beneath the head of his cock, moving inside her, stroking her, locking his c**k in place as his se**n began to spurt inside her.
The second orgasm that shook her stole her breath and her sight. Her nails locked into his shoulders, her muscles trembled, shook, and she swore she saw the flames racing over both their bodies as her wail filled the air.
She had never known, never believed so much pleasure could exist. That she could orgasm, from her vagina and her clit at once, that the orgasm could race through her body and explode through every cell, every molecule of flesh. Or that in that orgasm she could feel herself, a part of herself she never knew existed, finally awakening.
SIX
T here were times in a woman’s life when she didn’t have a choice but to admit that she was in over her head, and Natalie admitted the next morning that this was one of those times. She didn’t like it, didn’t like having to reprioritize her life, or acknowledge that she had no choice but to deal with a relationship that she had been certain was highly ill-advised.
Saban, despite his easygoing manner, was no pu**ycat, and she knew it. She sensed it clear to the core of her being and had no idea how to handle waiting for the other shoe to drop where he was concerned. And she didn’t like the fact that the mating heat had forced this, rather than human nature alone. Of course, how she could expect a Breed to be ruled by human nature, she couldn’t imagine. He had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt in the bed the night before, throughout the night, and into the morning that he was much more than a man or an animal.
He had been tireless, but then, so had she. The hunger that had driven them had kept them going at each other well after midnight before throwing them into an exhausted slumber, only to bring them awake hours later, hungrier, more desperate than ever before.
She wanted to blame it only on the hormonal reaction. Unfortunately, she clearly remembered awakening, that abnormal heat finally sated, only to have her curiosity and her needs aroused once again without that stupid hormone coming into play.
She had wanted to stroke him. Stroke him, kiss him, hear those primal growls that rumbled in his chest, and feel the strength of him when he finally had enough and tumbled her beneath him. Now, as morning began to edge into afternoon, she found herself trying to find sense in something she knew she didn’t have a hope in hell of making sense of.
What the hell had she managed to get herself involved in? But even more to the point, why wasn’t she angry over it? She should be furious. She should be screaming at Lyons, threatening Wyatt and the Bureau of Breed Affairs with all manner of legal actions for not informing her of the hazards of consorting with Breeds. Instead, she was standing in her kitchen as she watched a shirtless Saban frown down at the grill he was currently attempting to figure out.
It had worked perfectly last night. This morning, it seemed to be intent on driving one Jaguar Breed insane. That, or he was trying to buy time the same way she was, by focusing on something other than the situation at hand.
She had finally given up on that herself an hour ago.
She glanced at the steaks lying on the counter, the potatoes ready to go into the microwave, and pushed her fingers through her hair before forcing herself to turn away from the sight of it. All that luscious, bronzed flesh displayed was too much for any woman’s senses to deal with for extended periods of time. She was on edge, uncertain, and trying to deal with something totally out of her realm of understanding. The ringing of the doorbell had her jumping, swinging around, and staring through the house as the back door opened, and Saban strode in, jerking his shirt over his shoulders as he glanced at her. His eyes were cold, hard, causing something inside her to chill as she followed him through the house. He hadn’t pulled a weapon, so she assumed he knew who was at the door. She moved quickly behind him, pulling at the hem of the long shirt she wore, drying her palms on the sides of the denim shorts.
Saban paused at the door and stared back at her as the bell rang again.