Mica stared back at him in shock. A Breed was judged by his loyalty to his mate first. With no mate, he was then judged by his loyalty to his pack, and/or his pack leader, as the two were considered interwoven.
To know he had ignored that basic rule, one that seemed almost genetically coded into the Breeds, for a single kiss, was almost more than she could believe. It was considered worse than a crime in the Breed world, a taboo he had committed for a woman that was not a mate.
He hadn’t raced to his pack leader’s side to ensure his safety as well as the safety of the leader’s mate, the one person whose death would destroy his pack leader and thereby possibly weaken the pack as a whole. And he had done this for a woman he wasn’t mated to.
Lips parted, her breathing shallow, Mica stared up at him as he dragged his thumb back from her lips and lowered his head.
It was coming. She could feel it beginning to burn the air around her. She knew what his kiss felt like.
What it tasted like. Just that little hint of honey.
His lips brushed against her. A heated rasp of sensation, a precursor to an exquisite pleasure that she knew would capture all her senses.
She felt snagged, bound, unable to fight the pleasure as his lips brushed against hers.
It was insane. She could feel the cautious, wary part of her mind screaming in denial. She should be fighting. She should be pushing away from him. It wasn’t as though it could go anywhere, despite his excuses to the contrary where a lack of mating heat was concerned.
She wasn’t his mate.
But she could be his lover.
She could experience what she knew for a fact no other female at Haven had experienced. She could be the woman to share his bed. If only for tonight.
His tongue brushed against her lips, probing, easing against the narrow part as he sipped at them, easing her slowly into the exquisite sensations building between them. That subtle hint of honey teased at her senses as he slipped past, his tongue licking against hers.
Mating heat was often described as a taste of cinnamon, or spice. Sometimes it had been referred to as the taste of a summer storm. She’d never heard it described as anything more, even among the Feline Breeds.
This wasn’t cinnamon, spice, or a warm rain. It was all male, dark and filled with pleasure. It didn’t taste any different than any other kiss she’d ever had, except for that tease of sweetness.
And it was drawing her in.
Her hands flattened against his chest, above the silk of his shirt, before pushing slowly upward, easing around his neck before pushing into the heavy strands of silken hair and holding on tight.
She needed.
She’d ached for him in the past weeks until she’d felt as though she would go insane from the need.
Fantasies kept her distracted. Sleeplessness plagued her.
For this.
A low, throttled moan escaped her throat, where she’d hoped to keep it trapped.
As she arched closer, his arm eased around her unbruised side as his lips and tongue tasted and teased her with unbridled hunger.
The reserve he kept wrapped around himself was easing, breaking away as the fingers of his other hand moved to the front tie of the robe she wore and loosened it easily.
The edges of the thick, soft cloth fell apart, allowing a wash of cool air to ease across her overheated flesh.
A whimpering cry of pleasure filled the air around them as his hand flatted against her belly and with exquisite gentleness began to caress up her torso, until it curved beneath the swollen mound of her breast.
The kiss intensified, growing in heat and in pleasure as the pad of his thumb stroked over the tight, hard bud of her nipple.
Mica jerked her head back, desperate to breathe now, to think, just for a moment.
But he had no intentions of allowing her to find her common sense once again.
Navarro took the opportunity to lower his head to her breast, to swipe his tongue over the painfully sensitive bud.