A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(54)

She gripped his face tighter, touching her forehead to his, unable to look him in the eye as she voiced her admission. “I need you. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this.” It was an admission the warrior she’d been for so long would never have made. Then again, the warrior had felt no desire. Safe behind those icy walls, she’d been nearly impervious to harm. With that icy shell lying in broken shards around her, she’d lost her defenses.

When she pulled back, the tenderness in his eyes made her heart clench.

“What if I lie beneath you, angel?”

She took a shuddering breath, moisture dampening her thighs at the thought of him stretched out like that.

“Here?”

“There’s no one here but us.”

“For now. What if the Mage come? Or more of those blue-painted barbarians?”

“I can shift quickly. My state of undress won’t affect me at all.”

Stars in heaven, she was really going to do this. She met his gaze, her body quaking with fear and need. “Don’t touch me. Please. I need you to not touch me.”

“I’ll keep my hands behind my head.” He lifted a brow. “But I have one request in return.”

“What’s that?”

“You give your sword into my keeping. I’d hate to have to regrow any of my more tender anatomy.”

She laughed, a quick amused burst of air through her nose. But a moment later, she was shaking, wondering how in the name of the ancient queens she was going to get through this.

Fox stroked Melisande’s satin cheek. “Tell me what you want me to do, angel. You call the shots. All of them.” Having sex in the Mage’s labyrinth was a risk. He knew it. Although, while his shifting skills weren’t optimum as yet, his Great Dane size was just about perfect for tearing off an attacker’s head. And he could move from sex to leaping in his fox in two seconds flat. He was sure of it. Especially if Melisande’s life was at risk.

Besides, this wasn’t likely to take long. Not with Melisande about to climb out of her skin and him about to burst from his own.

Leaning forward, she eyed him like a warrior going to battle. And that was just what she was, he thought darkly. How he wished he could take away the misery of her past. But he would do what he could. And if that meant letting her use him for sex . . . ? Everyone had to make sacrifices at some point.

“Lie down in the sand,” she directed. “Don’t take off your clothes. Just push your pants down to your thighs.

He swallowed, totally turned on by this despite himself. When had he ever allowed a female to take the reins completely? He’d always considered himself a good lover, a considerate one who gave as much as he took. And he was all too happy to let his partner have her way with his body to her heart’s content as long as she wasn’t into pain. Much. But to let a female order his every move?

Never.

But the thought of Melisande doing so nearly had him spilling into the sand.

He did as she commanded, lying down before her, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Pushing them down over his hips, he freed the part of his anatomy she needed, then met her gaze, watching her eyes flare with hunger, then tighten with dread.

This was worse than taking a virgin, and he’d generally steered well clear of them. It was worse still, because he couldn’t help. At least with a virgin, he could stroke her, gentle her, ease into her. With Melisande he could do nothing but wait for her to come to him on her own. Or not.

“It’s okay, pet. My penis is not going to hurt you. It’s just going to stand here waiting for you to do what you want with it, though I’d appreciate it if I could hold your knife now, luv.”

Wry humor lighting her eyes, she unsheathed her knife and handed it to him, hilt first.

Holding the blade firmly above his head with one hand, he cradled his head on his other arm. Finally, decisively, she sat beside him and began pulling off her boots. A moment later, feet bare, she struggled out of her leggings, revealing pale, slender, shapely legs that he longed to run his palms over. And his tongue. He was starting to shake from the effort to remain still when the most desirable female he’d come upon in as long as he could remember sat within reach, bare beneath her tunic, releasing a mating scent that had been driving him wild for hours.

He’d die if she didn’t touch him soon. And he didn’t dare say those words out loud.

Slowly, she straddled him, but she just knelt there. Shaking. Tears began to run slowly down her cheeks.

“Mel,” he said softly. “Angel, look at me.”

She did, her mouth so tight, so furious, her eyes so wounded.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to do this now. I’ll be willing and waiting for you anytime you’re ready.” And he feared that statement was all too true. If this kept up, he’d wind up with a permanent hard-on.

“I have to do it, now.”

He ached for her. And struggled against every natural instinct to grip her hips and drive himself deep into her wet, waiting heat. How in Hades was he going to remain perfectly still when she took him? How was he ever going to keep from thrusting up to meet her when, and if, she ever found the courage to ride him? Yet he must. He’d promised. And he would do nothing to make this any harder for her than it already was.

Closing her eyes, she finally began to lower herself . . . thank you goddess, and the feel of her wet heat stroking his head nearly sent him over the edge. With a swallowed sob, she gripped him, too tight, aiming him for her heat.