He loved that about her too. Her soft little admission. “I know.” She didn’t think to deny her state to him. She simply admitted it without even blinking. And then her soft trembling. “You can’t do it like this.” It. She couldn’t say fuck and she wouldn’t say making love. And that was just it. He didn’t want to fuck her. He wanted to make love to her.
He kissed her. He loved her mouth and he loved kissing her. He poured love down her throat. His love. His rough, not so easy to live with, but all-encompassing love. He’d never given himself to a woman before and he never imagined he actually would. He had some stupid, lunatic idea that she would love him and he would cherish her. Care for her, but there would be some part of himself he would hold back. There was no holding back and he didn’t even know when it happened. He didn’t care. He kissed her with love. His love.
He knew she tasted it because he did. She drank it down her throat, let it settle in around her heart. He doubted she knew what it meant, or what it was going to change between them, but that didn’t matter either. He kissed her over and over, long, telling kisses that left him stripped bare, utterly naked and vulnerable to her. Showing her what she meant to him. Without words. He’d never been good talking, but he could use his mouth and his hands and his body to show her what she was to him.
She was everything. Her mouth moved under his. Accepting. Catching fire. Letting him take her in a kind of surrender. He persisted. He didn’t just want surrender. He wanted her. Catarina Benoit. The woman hiding inside a frightened girl. His little runaway. She’d been ripped from her childhood and exposed to a monster. And then when she’d taken a chance, opening herself up to him, Eli had betrayed her.
Baby, I’m taking you back. I want your heart and this time, I’ll safeguard it for you, I promise.
He poured his promise down her throat and into her body as well, along with his love. He stopped being so gentle with his kisses the moment she responded, the moment she began actively participating in kissing him back. She’d never really kissed him back. Not like this, not moving her body deeper beneath his, her hands sliding around his neck, fingers finding his hair. Her tongue slid along his, danced and dueled, made her own demands.
She lit up for him like a flame. He’d lit the match and she caught fire. Heat swept through his body, turning him rock hard. It wasn’t just his cock she affected, it was his entire body. He could feel his need for her in every cell, each individual muscle. His heart pounded and thunder roared in his ears. He could feel the hot blood pumping through his veins, roaring like his leopard did when it was demanding his mate.
This was all the man, not the feral cat. This was all Eli, needing Catarina. Loving her. He took his time, kissing her, making an art of it, feeding on the taste of her, committing the shape and feel of her to memory. Her lips were soft, warm, nearly indescribable for him. He was a tactile man and he loved running his tongue over her lips and tugging on her full lower lip. Little nips. Little bites. God she was gorgeous.
He loved the soft little sounds that came from her throat. She would never be a silent lover. She made noise. Lots of it. Breathy little moans. Soft little pleas. A kind of purr that nearly drove him out of his mind, and when she came, she screamed, or chanted his name. She wasn’t embarrassed about sex. She was more embarrassed that she didn’t know a lot about it.
He couldn’t tell her what a turn-on it was for him to know that no other man had ever been inside her. Maybe that was macho of him, and very unfair, but it didn’t matter, he loved that no one else had been in her mouth or her body. That he’d been her first kiss, her first everything. She belonged to him alone. No one else had even a tiny part of her. Not her heart. Not her soul. Just his.
“I’ve never had anything that I wanted just for mine,” he admitted softly against her throat. His hand swept down to her left breast. He loved that she more than filled his large palm. She had curves and he was a man to appreciate curves, especially hers.
His fingers found her nipple and he tugged, catching her breath in his mouth. Catching her breathy little moan. Her nipples were sensitive. He liked that. He liked that she could take rough, but fell apart with gentle. He kissed his way to her right breast, flicking her nipple with his tongue before covering the dark, perfect treat with his mouth and suckling hard.
Her body arched, pressing her breast deeper into his mouth, and when he rolled and tugged on her left nipple, he was so in tune with her, he felt the electricity himself, a straight line from breast to her hot, wet, channel. Her legs moved restlessly and she bucked her hips.