“I only had to look at you and you knew I needed to touch you,” he whispered darkly. “I came in to say goodnight, Elizabeth, that was all. I looked at you and I saw the need to touch. Nothing more, baby. A few kisses, a little petting. Because that’s all you need right now. All you can handle, I think.”
She drew in a hard breath, bitterness filling her.
Elizabeth smiled mockingly. “I don’t need your pity, Dash.”
She couldn’t handle that from him. She had fought the need to feel sorry for herself and to sink into the pits of her own self-sorrow for too many years. She wouldn’t let him drag her into it now. She didn’t want his sympathy. She turned and headed for the door, only to have him grip her arm, pulling her against his hard body as he stared down at her with dark eyes.
“Was that pity you held in your hand the other morning, Elizabeth?” he asked her softly as she flushed in embarrassment. “If I’m not mistaken, it was my cock. Full and hard and ready to f**k the hell out of you. That’s not pity, baby. And neither is this.”
His lips didn’t ask for anything. His tongue didn’t seek permission. He covered her lips, plunged his tongue into her mouth and took without asking. It couldn’t be called a kiss. It was a devouring, a feast of the senses, and Elizabeth was helpless against it. He bent her over his arm, arching her h*ps against his as he lifted her to her toes, pressing his thick, jeans-covered erection into the vee of her thighs as he gave her a taste of the hunger to come with his kiss.
She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to breathe. Her hands gripped his shoulders as small mewling sounds of hunger rose in her chest. Elizabeth could feel her body catching fire, her ni**les, her clit, her vagina throbbing, aching for his touch, for the sensual devouring he was practicing on her lips.
His tongue plunged in and out of her mouth, mimicking a much more sexual act as his hands moved over her back, her hips. They were never still. Stroking her, caressing her body until one moved purposely up her side, cupping the swollen mound of her breast.
Elizabeth jerked at the sensation of his fingers suddenly gripping her nipple, milking it, rasping over it. Electric darts of almost agonizing pleasure ripped through her stomach and shot to her womb with a punch of sensation.
She cried out into his kiss, her hands clawing his shoulders, adrift now in a pleasure that threatened to consume her. In her sexual lifetime she had never known anything like it. Had never tasted such a dark kiss, one that warned her he had no intention of making allowances for sensual inexperience. He was hungry. Needy. And she was the meal he craved.
She had never felt her cunt clench, spasm, with such desperate need. All thoughts of danger receded. The situation, so fraught with desperation until Dash arrived, was swept from her mind. There was only Dash. Only his arms holding her, his fingers tugging at her nipple, his tongue sweeping through her mouth like a sexual marauder intent on conquest.
Elizabeth moaned into the kiss, her tongue twining with his, helpless against the sweeping sensations working through her body. She was only barely aware of him bending, lifting her into his arms and moving her to the bed. He didn’t release her mouth. And every now and then she swore he growled against her lips. The sound was hot, blistering with hunger, and sent juices flooding her pu**y. She was going up in flames. She swore she was going to cl**ax from his kiss alone. As he laid her back on the bed, he released her slowly, his lips sipping from hers hesitantly as he finally broke the connection. Elizabeth lifted her eyelids drowsily, staring up at him, her breath catching as she saw him quickly unbutton his shirt then strip it from his broad shoulders. His hands were strong and wide, lightly calloused and so warm. Elizabeth realized she was almost shaking now with the need to have him caress her, to peel the robe and gown from her body. She wanted him to touch her, stroke her with those demanding hands.
And he did. Staring down at her, his hands went to the belt of her robe. His lips covered hers again, his tongue pushing into her mouth as she moaned in hunger. He made her hungry. Hungry for every kiss, every touch.
Elizabeth arched beneath him as she felt the robe part, felt his fingers at the tiny buttons that ran down the front of her gown.
“Good God,” he groaned as he spread the edges of her gown apart, staring down at the full, hard thrust of her br**sts and their tight ni**les.
Elizabeth flushed heatedly as he stared down at her. She watched his face, seeing the heavy sensuality that shaped his lips, made his eyes appear drowsy, his expression filled with lust and emotion.
“Dash.” She whispered his name beseechingly, her ni**les aching for the moist warmth of his mouth.
“If I touch one of those hard little ni**les I’ll never hold onto my control,” he sighed, watching her br**sts as they rose and fell roughly. “Do you understand that, Elizabeth? I won’t stop.”
She licked her dry lips, staring into the piercing depths of his eyes when his gaze returned to her.
“Then don’t stop.”
Dash felt flames sear his loins at her words. Quickly he turned, sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove his boots. If he didn’t undress before he touched her, then he’d have no more control than what it took to loosen his pants and pull his c**k free before pushing it inside her. Lust raged through him now, nearly out of control as he fought to get the boots off his feet. Behind him, Elizabeth shifted, coming to her knees behind him, her fingers smoothing over his back before halting on his right shoulder.
“How cute.” Elizabeth traced the little mark on the back of his shoulder. “Cassie has a mark just like that.”
Dash stilled. She was tracing the genetic marker that shadowed his skin just below the curve of his shoulder. A particular identifying mark impossible to miss if anyone knew what it was. A paw print. It was a standing joke among the scientists who had coded it. Like a small strawberry birthmark impossible to be rid of.
“It’s the same shape, too,” her voice was a bit amused. “Don’t let Cassie see it. She already claims Dane isn’t her daddy and that she’s certain her daddy has a mark just like hers.”
The blood began to rush to his head, knowledge flooding his brain like a sudden icy drenching. Cassie had such a mark? There was only one way a child could carry a mark like his. Only one way that genetic marker could have been placed. If Dane was a Wolf Breed. But that couldn’t be possible. Could it? A Breed in such a prominent position as the renowned surgeon had been? No. No Breed would ever allow his child to be harmed, let alone attempt to sell her. What the hell was going on?
He turned to face her.
“Are you sure?” He fought to clear his mind. “Absolutely certain?”
She was staring at him, her smile slowly faltering as she saw his expression.
“Of course.” She frowned in confusion. “I raised her, didn’t I?”
Elizabeth didn’t have the mark. Dash knew she didn’t. Her shoulders were a soft creamy shade of perfection, without flaw.