“Is there a rule book?” She snorted as he helped her sit up. “Or do I get to just stumble around on my own and mess up whenever?”
“Mess up whenever.” He grinned. “I’ll greatly enjoy showing you the error of your ways.”
Charm, seductive humor. She loved his smile. The sheer wicked devilry in it, the warmth she had always glimpsed now flaring into heat.
“We’re here,” he told her as the limo pulled into the front of the caverns.
“We’re going to clash soon,” she warned him. “Very soon.”
A frown tugged at his brow, though he nodded somberly.
“Yes, I know this, Coya. But know, even when we clash, you’re my coya. And I’ll ensure, even if it chances your wrath, that you’re always safe. Now come.” He gripped her hand as the limo door opened. “Let’s go find our room. I have a need for your touch and your taste. And I’ll wait no longer to ease that need.”
CHAPTER 17
He didn’t wait. Anya was rushed into the base, Del-Rey’s arm still wrapped around her, and pulled through the tunnels until they were locked into their room.
She found herself against the wall within seconds, his lips on hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth again. The hormonal release from the glands beneath his tongue seemed spicier, more addictive than ever before.
She sucked at the taste, licked against his tongue and heard his rumbled growl as she tore at the buttons of his shirt and pushed the material from his broad shoulders.
“I love your body,” she panted as his lips tore from hers and he shrugged the shirt free. “So hard and muscular.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and wanted to whimper at the heat beneath his flesh. “And so warm. Always so warm. I need your heat, Del-Rey.”
She needed him. How had she managed to stay away from him all those months? Denying herself the ultimate pleasure of just touching him, watching him move, or hearing his dark, rough voice.
“It’s yours.” His hands pushed beneath her sweater, lifting the material until he revealed the delicate lace of her bra.
He paused. Anya felt her breath hitch as his hands lifted to her br**sts, his fingers curving around the mounds as he palmed them with delicious greed. The look on his face as he touched her was pure male hunger. Part lust, and part more. Something deeper, something that touched the feminine part of her soul and made her weaker, made her ache for more. It made her welcome the excruciating arousal that tormented her body, because she could see his nostrils flare, see him breathing her in as his hands flexed on her aching br**sts.
“God, I love the scent of you wanting me,” he groaned, reflecting her thoughts as his lips lowered to the mounds rising above the lace cups.
Anya shivered as he licked over them. His tongue rasped her sensitive flesh, coming incredibly close to the hardened tips of her ni**les.
“Are you going to torture me?” She gasped.
“I’m going to torture both of us.” A flush mantled his cheekbones as he licked over the lace that covered her ni**les. “Because I need to taste you, Anya. I need to feel you against me, so sweet and warm. Lifting to me, needing me, Anya. Just need me.”
And she did need him. She didn’t have the option of blaming it on the mating heat. She had wanted him before he ever kissed her. She had wanted him after the hormone therapy had controlled the painful spasms of need. There hadn’t been a time since she was sixteen that she hadn’t wanted him.
Beneath her hands his flesh was heated and solid. Beneath his lips sensation sizzled against her flesh.
“Take this off.” He pushed at her sweater as his tongue traveled into the valley between her br**sts.
Her arms lifted to allow him to push the material over her head. No sooner had it dropped to the floor than his hands were at the waistband of her pants, flipping open the closure and lowering the zipper.
Mesmerized by the pleasure on his face, by the pleasure winging through her, she could do nothing but watch his expression as his hand slid past the material, beneath her panties and into the swollen, slick folds of her sex.
Her head fell back to the stone wall as her breath locked in her throat. Pleasure, ecstasy—it winged through her with such sensual promise that there was nothing left but to hold on to him as he stroked her. Caressed her.
“I need you naked,” he growled against the rise of one breast, which he licked sensually. “Can you toe the boots off?”
The boots? She shook her head in confusion. What boots? She didn’t care about the damned boots, not with his fingers slipping into the desperate, aching heat between her thighs.
His head lifted, fingers moving slowly, so slowly before stilling altogether. Anya’s hips pressed into the touch, arching against his palm as she gazed back at him in desperate need.
“Toe the boots off.” A grin tugged at his lips as the savage features of his face softened with sensual amusement. “Come on, baby. One foot at a time.”
She whimpered in need, her foot reaching out for his.