His hands gripped her hips, and he began f**king her with slow, forceful thrusts. Each time he slid back another spurt of heated fluid sensitized her inner flesh further. Each forceful thrust was taken with slick ease and with a desperate cry.
He moved one hand from her hip, sliding between her thighs, his fingers surrounding her clit, stroking and milking it as his thrusts increased.
She could feel the drag of the bar that pierced his cock, an added sensation that dragged a desperate breath from her lungs. His thighs braced hers, his balls slapped against sensitive flesh, and within seconds Grace felt her release racing through her.
She bucked beneath him at the hard explosions that began to shudder through her. Pleasure became an agony of ecstasy. Sensation became waves of desperate, clenching release that she was certain she would never survive. As one would recede, another would build. As the thickening of his c**k filled her ass and his spurts of release began to burn inside her, another took her, shook her, and had her fighting to scream.
She was writhing, jerking beneath him, held still by his body as he came over her, his lips covering the mark he had made on her shoulder earlier, his tongue stroking it as his sharp teeth held her in position. She was lost. Lost in the orgasms pouring over her, and the mental and physical submission racing through her. She belonged to Matthias, just as he belonged to her. And the knowledge wasn't scary. It was right. For the first time in her life, belonging to someone was just right. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The horrible craving for Matthias's touch had finally eased as the day gave way to night. He forced her into the shower again, chuckling as she leaned against his chest and tried to doze while he bathed her. It was a good thing he still had some strength in his legs, because hers was shot. She was limp, physically and mentally sated, and sleepier than she could ever remember being in her life. When he finally carried her to the bed and tucked her in close to his chest, a satisfied little sigh left her lips.
Her lips smoothed over the curved bar, secured at both ends by small silver balls that pierced his nipple. The metal was warm from the warmth of his flesh and reminded her of what he had said about his reasons for getting the piercings. To remind him of his freedom, his individuality. He was pierced and tattooed, scarred inside and out, and he was the most beautiful creation on the face of the earth, as far as she was concerned.
The thin scar that ran from his brow, across his eyelid, and halfway down his cheek was barely noticeable to her, though she ached often at the thought of the pain he must have felt when he was wounded.
He was a bad boy. There was no doubt about that. Wicked, carnal, intense, and arrogant. But when he held her, his arms were gentle, his hands tender as he soothed her closer to sleep.
"My dad would like you." She yawned as she snuggled closer to him. "My brothers would, too." She felt his hand still on her back where he had been stroking her spine.
"Do you think they would?" His voice might sound unconcerned, but Grace knew him now, and she knew that strained edge to his tone was one of hope.
"I know they would." She was confident of it.
"Why would they like me?" he asked her. "I don't look like any man's vision of a son-in-law, Grace." Stark, almost bleak, his regret washed over her, forcing her to blink tears from her eyes.
"You're strong, honest. You stare people in the eye when you speak to them, and I love you. Trust me, Dad won't be able to resist you. And of course, Mom is just going to be in heaven. She'll think you need fattened up. She'll bake you homemade pies and bread and spoil you every chance she gets with her best dishes."
"Why would she do that?" Confusion lingered in his tone. Grace moved her head back, staring up at him in the dark. "Because she'll love you, Matthias. That's what mothers do. My brothers will teach you how to play touch football, and their wives will ogle your ass when they aren't looking. My sisters-in-law are exceptionally intelligent. They know a fine male form when they see one."
Matthias stared down at her, frowning. She was talking as though his acceptance within her family was a done deal, without him having to make concessions or scrape for it. That couldn't be true. Nothing had ever come so easily to him. He had to fight for everything. It was accepted.
"Your father and your brothers will see me for what I am, Grace," he warned her, hating that fact.
"They'll want you to choose another man. Accept that now." He felt her surprise, then her amusement at the soft laugh that wrapped around him. "Oh, Matthias, you just don't understand families," she whispered into the darkness. "Daddy will take one look at you, and he'll take you out to his shed where he tried to fool us into believing he's building something. He'll give you a beer and interrogate you for hours as he puts you to work sanding this or that, or using a hammer. That's his form of acceptance. Trust me. He's going to love you."
"I don't know how to sand or hammer." For the first time in his life Matthias wondered if he was feeling an edge of fear.
"My brothers will follow along, of course," she informed him, as he felt a curl of trepidation. "They'll grin and smirk, as Daddy questions you, throw out a few questions of their own, then grab the football and rescue you."
"I don't know how to play football." He cleared his throat nervously.
"That's okay, they don't either," she assured him drowsily, confusing him further. "And while the neighborhood guys gather around in the back lot to teach you how not to play football, Mom will be cooking up a storm, and me and the sisters-in-law will be admiring your manly butt and broad shoulders. But don't wear leather to plan football in. You need jeans."
"I always wear leather." It was slicker, harder to grip. It didn't make as much sound when one moved, and he had grown accustomed to it.
"You wear jeans to meet Mom and Dad, so you can play ball with the boys." She yawned again, as though compliance with her little demands were a foregone conclusion. "And remember, Mom makes the best cherry pie in the world. And she still makes homemade vanilla ice cream. You'll love it." He was certain he would, but that wasn't the point.
"Grace, don't get your hopes up," he whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, as his eyes closed in despair.
She wasn't like him, she had a family, interaction, a life outside of him. He only had her.
"You'll see." She sighed, her body relaxing against him. "You'll see, my family is going to love you." Her father and brothers would likely warn him away from her with a weapon. When that didn't work, they would complain to the Bureau of Breed Affairs. When that didn't work, they would attempt to turn Grace against him.
He hadn't considered this, the reaction of her family. Hell, he hadn't considered her family at all, and that had been a mistake. He could hear her love for them in her voice. They were important to her. She would hate losing them. She would hate him, if she lost them because she was bound to him by the mating heat.
Matthias could feel sweat beading on his brow. What the hell would he do when that happened? Grace didn't know, she had no concept of how important she was to him. She was his life. She was every dream he had ever dreamed in the hell of the labs. And after his release, the thought of the woman who would eventually fill his life had been his every hope for the future. The first time he had seen her, he had known she would carry his soul through eternity. Life or death, it wouldn't matter, he belonged to Grace Anderson.
And she belonged to her family.