Jonas could feel the hunger rising now, the hormone spilling harder from the glands beneath his tongue and heating his senses with the need to share it.
"Tonight, I have to walk into another of those parties, and I have to see other men watching you, smell their lust and their intent, and know you aren't yet my mate."
"I'm not your mate, period," she argued breathlessly.
His lips peeled back in a furious snarl.
She was denying him, again.
His fingers slipped beneath the elastic leg of her panties and before she could protest, two slid through the slick, hot juices hidden between the soft folds of flesh there.
She was wet. Hot. She was his mate, whether she wanted to admit it or not. His mate. God help him, but he didn't know if he could let her go.
Pleasure. She had never known so much pleasure in a man's arms in her life.
Rachel fought not to arch against the touch of Jonas's fingers between her thighs, the callused pads rubbing, stroking.
"Oh, God." The words slipped from her lips as heat swirled through her body, built and wrapped around her senses. "Jonas, we have to stop."
He had to stop. She couldn't break away from him, even if he allowed it. All she could do was stand there, her nails raking against the wood of the door as her legs parted further for his touch.
"I want inside you." His voice was so deep, so rough now. "You're so sweet, Rachel, so hot. The thought of how tight and slick you'll fit around my c**k steals my breath."
Hearing it stole her breath.
Rachel's head fell back against his shoulder as sensual weakness assailed her. The dangerous, overwhelming sensation of vulnerability washed through her, making her feel feminine, more sexy than she had ever felt in her life.
Jonas did that to her. Whether he was touching her or not, he had the ability to make her feel too soft, too female.
"There, my Rachel," he crooned, a rough, rasping sound that sent shivers of arousal racing over her as his fingers circled her clit. "Just rest against me, baby. I'll take care of everything."
Everything was sliding his fingers lower, pressing two together, and with blunted force thrusting into the narrow, tight confines of her vagina.
"Oh God, Jonas." The words tore from her throat. "It's too good. It's too good."
She was so close. She could feel her orgasm raking at her womb, pounding at her clit. Flames were licking across her flesh, centering between her thighs and causing her abdomen to clench with violent pleasure.
"Think how much better it could be." His fingers bent just enough to caress, to stroke previously hidden nerve endings and tender tissue. "Think, Rachel. I could be f**king you, filling you with every inch of my hard c**k instead of my fingers."
She should have been insulted. She had never allowed Amber's father, Devon, to talk so explicitly to her. She had never enjoyed it--until she heard Jonas do it.
Fighting to breathe, she turned her head, her lips glancing the hard line of his jaw as he continued to thrust slow and easy inside her. His fingers caressed with knowing strokes, rubbing, easing through the clenched muscles of her pu**y as his other arm wrapped beneath her br**sts to keep her on her feet.
Her lips parted, pressing to his jaw, her tongue stroking over his sweat-dampened flesh to taste a hint of cinnamon and cloves. Her hands held on to his wrist, her fingertips rubbing against his flesh in concert with the strokes of his fingers inside her pu**y.
"You make me regret," he groaned as he lowered his head, allowing her lips to move as close as the corner of his lips.
"Don't regret, Jonas." Her voice was broken, breathless from pleasure. "You have nothing to regret."
He was a man. A man who had broken rules, one who had done things that perhaps were not even legal. But he had done what he had thought had to be done to save himself as well as his species.
He was a man whose touch was pure pleasure, pure heat. A man who held her with strength and yet a gentleness in the face of overwhelming, animalistic pleasure. And still, he was in control. She could feel him fighting for it. Feel the struggle for it. The intent.
Her body tensed, drawn tight as the pleasure built inside her. His fingers thrust deeper, stroked, firmed, f**ked her with increasing speed until she began to pant for air, for mercy.
Her nails bit into his arm, her lips parted against his cheek as a wail began to tear from her.
Rapture exploded inside her. Blood pounded, boiled, erupted. Sensation raged, flaming through nerve endings, racing across her flesh, striking her clit, then deep inside her pu**y at the same time, and throwing her into a cataclysm of such astounding pleasure that she completely lost her breath.