“Please, please, please.”
He moved down her body, kissing, nipping with his teeth, his hands going to her thighs to pull them apart. He could smell her beautiful, exotic scent of spice and honey calling to him and he wedged his shoulders between her thighs, draping her legs over him. He didn’t give her a moment to recover. To breathe. He bent his head and plunged his tongue deep. She screamed.
She was a furnace, burning hotter than anything he’d ever known. Her taste was addictive and he couldn’t pull the honey out of her fast enough with his tongue. He held her still while he devoured her ravenously, forgetting everything but the need to feed that terrible, wild addiction growing in him. He knew he would never get enough. She would sate him for a short time, and he would have to go back again and again.
He was good at sex. No, he was great at sex and he knew it. He might not be able to tie her to him any other way until her leopard emerged, but he could tie her this way. He drove her higher and then higher, his ruthless mouth demanding. She came hard, her voice hoarse from her sore throat.
He didn’t let her go back down but pushed her up again, suckling on her sensitive clit, stroking with his thumb, using his tongue to stab deep and draw out the spice and honey spilling out of her. It was wild. Primitive. Out of control. She came a second time, her hot channel spasming, her belly rippling. He felt it in her thighs.
Ignoring her gasping pleas, he moved over top of her and pushed the head of his cock into that fiery inferno and then stopped.
“Look at me, Cat.”
She kept her head turned away from his, her eyes shut tight. He waited. Patient while her body throbbed and burned around his. She licked her lips and he wanted to lick them too. Finally she gave him her wide, blue gaze.
“You look at me. Don’t turn your head. When I give you this, I want you to know who I am. You haven’t once called me by my name, and you’re fucking going to do it when I’m buried inside of you. Do you understand me? If you want this, say you understand and use my fucking name when you do.”
He was nearly more leopard than human in that moment. Not his body, but his mind. This was his woman. His mate. She needed to submit to him. To know she belonged. Even if she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact, her body needed to know.
Her eyes begged him. He shook his head, gritting his teeth. She squirmed. Writhed. Tried to force him to impale her. He refused to move, although it cost him. Jackhammers tripped in his head. His blood pounded with need. He felt savage. Half angry, half desperate.
“Fucking say my name and tell me you understand what I’m saying to you.”
“God. Okay. Eli. Just please do something.”
“You’re mine. You know that now, right? Mine. No one else ever gets inside your body. Or your mouth. That belongs to me. You belong to me.”
She pressed her lips together against another sob. He couldn’t take the scorching fire beckoning his cock. He surged in hard and deep, driving past the thin barrier of her innocence so she cried out at the shocking bite of pain, arching her hips upward and closing her eyes.
He stilled, watched her face, waited for her eyes to come back to him. Her lashes lifted and he saw himself reflected there. The lines carved deep, the stamp of near brutality, of ruthless savagery. He was leopard all right, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make it good for her. Perfect for her.
He began to move inside of her, pushing through her tight, scorching folds, that fiery inferno that he knew he would always crave. The entire time he watched her face. Watched the tension coiling in her. Watched the beauty of helpless need. He loved the way her breath was so ragged and the way her eyes glazed. Her lips parted, and beneath him her body rose to match the rhythm of his.
He took her with hard, pounding strokes, going as deep as possible, burying himself to the very root, bumping her cervix, wanting to go so deep he would lodge in her belly. He took her up again, loving the way her head tossed on the pillow and her hair spilled around her like living, breathing silk.
He was relentless, refusing to let her go over the edge again, taking her higher and higher until he saw alarm spread and she clutched at his shoulders, her nails biting deep.
“Ask for it, Kitten. Say my name and ask me for it.” She had to know it was Eli Perez, not some mythical Ridley Cromer or a bastard like Rafe Cordeau.
Eli was there with her, not either of them. And she was his. She would always be his, because already he could see he’d set up the craving, that terrible addiction he knew came with being a leopard.
For a moment she tried to hold out, but fear skittered down her spine. He could read it in her wild blue gaze. Staring into her eyes, he slipped his thumb into her and pressed against her clit. She gasped. He removed his thumb and tipped her hips to give him the perfect angle so that the friction was on that sweet little button.