MINE TO POSSESS

He said something against her breast and the sensation made her skin feel as if it was stretching ever tauter, as if her breasts were swelling to please this sexy changeling who seemed determined to enslave her. His hair was heavy silk under her hand, his jaw rough with stubble. She wanted to stroke every inch of him.

When he shifted his lower body, she locked her legs around him, holding his strength to her, luxuriating in the knowledge that while she might not control it, or him—nor would she want to—it was completely at her disposal.

Finally releasing her needy flesh, he kissed his way freckle by freckle down to the curved plane of her abdomen. When he looked up, the erotic beauty of him stole her breath. “You taste good. Pretty freckles.” He flicked out his tongue as if tasting one. “Mmm.”

“You’re making me crazy.” He was so honest in his blunt male appreciation of her body. “I thought you said you had no patience.”

“I don’t. You’re just hot for me.”

She grinned through the crimson veil of desire. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Smug, very male, very Clay. But only for her. Pursing her lips, she blew him a kiss. “Yeah.”

Her agreement had him prowling up her body to give her a slow, sensual kiss that made her moan into his mouth. The feel of his chest hair against the damp tips of her breasts simply added to the overload. She rubbed against him as she’d imagined, inciting him, pleasing them both. His hands slipped under her bottom. “Off.”

She was too busy kissing him to listen. He used his teeth on her lower lip. She used hers on his. It was a very sensual fight but he won—because she wanted to be skin to skin, too. All over. Unlocking her legs from his back, she lifted up her bottom and let him undo and peel off her jeans. He threw them aside and ran his finger along the lace edges of her panties.

“Pink?” A row of kisses along the waistband.

She swallowed at the image of those wicked male lips so close to the most private, most delicate part of her body. “I like pink.”

Spreading her legs, he licked along the inner-thigh edges. Her hands gripped at the cushion as her body bucked with a twisting pleasure she’d never before felt. Then he licked the other side. And that pleasure roared through her like a fever. But through it all, she was aware of him, holding her, touching her, caressing her.

When the room stopped spinning, she lifted up her head then dropped it back down. “Oh, man.” She had known that being with Clay would be good, that it would eclipse the other times into nothingness, but this was beyond good, beyond anything. All she could think was—no wonder women liked sex. But of course, this was nothing so simple as sex. This was … “Oh, man.”

Clay chuckled. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Uh-huh.” Her brain was mush.

“In that case, I’ll talk.” He placed a kiss on her inner thighs, one for each side, then ran his claws very carefully along her hip. “Snap.” The right side of her panties fell away. “Snap.” So did the left.

That quickly, she was naked and he was between her thighs, so close his breath whispered over her intimate flesh. Her body was suddenly a tight fist, expectant, waiting. It scared her a little, how deeply he touched her, how easily he’d stripped her of her barriers, but she had made a promise and she would keep it. Talin McKade was no coward—she was strong enough to dance with a leopard. “Clay?” she said when he didn’t make a sound.

“I like pink, too,” he said, his expression wholly masculine.

“You’re making me blush.” It felt as if he was touching her with his eyes.

“Mmm.” An utterly sexual, utterly content sound.

She felt every sense in her bow in surrender. Sure the wetness between her thighs must be embarrassing by now, she clenched her body in a futile effort to control her need. Clay’s fingers spread her open again and she felt the impact of that touch to her toes. She dug them into the cushions, but Clay had other ideas. Lifting one leg at a time, he put both over his shoulders—after pressing nibbling kisses along the inner thighs.

“You,” she managed to say hoarsely, “are a very bad kitty cat.” That made him laugh, his breath stroking her exposed folds. She moaned, anticipation racing along her skin, burning with hot, sweet hunger.

“Meow.” His tongue flicked over her parted flesh. “I love cream, too.”

Anticipation turned into the most extreme pleasure. Again, she dug her fingers into the fabric of the cushion, but it was no use. There was no way she could control this. Not when he was licking at her with those quick, catlike flicks that were driving her certifiably insane. “Harder,” she found herself whispering, shocked at her own daring.

“Not yet.” Another flick. Another moan. “I want to make you a little crazier first.”

“Bully.” It was a gasp.

“Brat.”