“You’re not protesting anymore, Amaya.” Both hands gripped her rear; they clenched, then with a smooth, powerful motion began grinding her against his thigh, pushing her pu**y against her jeans, her clit rasping against the material as the heavy muscles pressed firmly against the swollen folds.
Protest? She was actually supposed to protest this? Oh God, she knew she was supposed to protest it, but she wasn’t exactly certain why. She couldn’t seem to remember how he was supposed to hurt her.
Her head fell back as he pulled her closer, lifting her against him until her legs wrapped around his hips and she began to tremble in reaction.
Yeah, that was it.
Thick, so thick and hard, his c**k pressed against her jeans, between her thighs. The engorged Wolf Breed cock, wide and powerful, a heated wedge of flesh that she had heard from some of the women in Haven stretched them with such delicious pain it bordered on agony. She could clearly see why. Feel why. She shivered at the prospect of taking him.
“I need you, Mica.” Dark, a rough rasp of hunger against her ear, his voice stroked over her senses. “Do you remember how good it was, Amaya, at the hotel? How it hurt to stop?”
Of course she remembered. She would never forget.
“It could be that way again.” He was moving. He was moving her, though she wasn’t certain where until she felt her rear meet the hard, smooth wood of the buffet that sat at the side of the room.
“The bedroom,” she whispered, forcing her eyes open to stare back at him, almost gasping at the sight of the Breed now standing between her spread thighs.
His face was tight, savage with lust; his black eyes gleamed like polished onyx and glowed with a hidden fire. Jaw clenched, his hands gripping her hips, his hair falling around his face, he looked like a sex god rising before her.
And she wanted him. She wanted him until her entire body felt on fire.
She swallowed tightly. “Is it the heat?” Mating heat. Was he her mate and their bodies just hadn’t quite caught up yet?
“Not heat.” His hands gripped the hem of her sweater.
Mica didn’t fight. She couldn’t fight.
God, he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
Lifting her arms, she let him draw the light cashmere from her body before he tossed it carelessly to the floor beside them. Next, he flicked open the front clasp of her bra, drew it from her and tossed it to the floor as well.
Licking her lips, Mica told herself she wasn’t disappointed.
“You’ll break my heart.” She could already feel the grief beginning to churn inside her. “When you leave me, when you find your mate—”
And those were the last words he allowed her.
CHAPTER 8
Mica had dreamed of Navarro over the years. She’d had fantasies, she’d made up daydreams, and she had imagined every way possible that he could touch her. If there was a touch she hadn’t felt, a response she hadn’t imagined, or a position that he hadn’t taken her in during those fantasies, dreams and daydreams, then Mica couldn’t find it in all the years she had been fantasizing.
But this, the way he was making her feel, equal parts erotic courage and sensual fear, she couldn’t have imagined she could ever feel anything like this.
She hadn’t felt this way the night she had lost her virginity, or at any time before or since.
As Navarro’s fingers threaded in her hair and pulled it back, a low moan dug into her chest and her lips parted as his tongue stroked against them.
The nettled sensation of his fingers tugging at her hair sent a wash of echoing pleasure through every nerve ending in her body. Then his tongue pressed past her lips, found her tongue, and stroked.
It was there again, that hint of honey. Just a taste of it, so subtle and light it almost wasn’t there. But added to it was a taste that reminded her of a midnight mist in the mountains. It was dark, seductive. It eased into her senses rather than tearing through them. His lips slanted over hers, his tongue stroking, licking, possessing her as Mica felt her hands moving up his chest, to his neck, burying themselves in his hair and holding him to her as though she were terrified he would stop.
She needed this. How could a woman need a kiss as though it were food or drink, if it wasn’t mating heat?
Her tongue licked at his again as his stroked over hers. Tightening her lips on it, she could feel his surprise as she suckled at it delicately for the few seconds he allowed her.
From there, the kiss became equally as playful as it was lustful and driven.
With each second that their lips stroked and played, Mica could feel her pu**y growing wetter, spilling to the sensitive folds and her swollen clit, moistening her panties.