A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(62)

Pulling her against him, one arm around her waist, his other hand between her legs, he once more took her breast in his mouth as his finger worked her, in and out, his thumb circling her sweet nub until she was rocking against him, gasping.

He had to taste her. Pulling his hand from between her legs, he gripped her hips with both hands, then kissed her stomach. Slowly, he dipped lower, kissing one thigh, then the other, until finally he found the nectar he sought, licking between her legs, tasting her sweet essence.

“Fox,” she gasped, and clung to him, her cry of pleasure the sweetest of sounds. And he had no intention of stopping until he pushed her over the edge.

His fingers pressed into her soft flesh, caressing even as he held her close, her scent invading his senses until she was all that existed—this woman, this moment, and the need to make her scream with pleasure.

As her hips began to rock, he continued his gentle assault, stroking her with his tongue, suckling her, licking her until she was gasping, rocking, digging her small fingers into his shoulders with sweet desperation. And, finally, she was there, arching on a gasping, keening cry, shattering in her pleasure.

Her knees gave way, and he pulled her against him, her glorious hair cloaking them both. She reached for him, her hands on his shoulders, then in his hair, her sapphire eyes blazing as she stared at him with heat and joy.

“I want you, Fox. I need you inside of me.” Her temporary weakness evaporated, and she shifted, grabbing for his belt, unbuckling it as she grinned at him, seduction in those marvelous eyes. “There’s something you should know about me. Before . . . my captivity . . . I was a woman without inhibitions.”

“Thank you, goddess,” he muttered, as her sweet fingers unbuttoned the button on his pants and slid down his zipper.

She glanced up, her eyes serious. “Don’t cover me with your body, and I think we’ll be okay.” Then her attention returned to her task, and her cool little hand dipped beneath the waistband of his shorts to slide over his thick, throbbing erection. “If I’m not, we’ll both find out.” Hot eyes met his. “Let me pleasure you.”

His breath hitched as he stroked her cheek. “Is that what you want?”

Her hand slid down over his erection, a shock of pleasure that had him arching back, his eyes dropping closed. When he opened them again, it was to find her watching him with a cheeky smile. “Trust me, Feral. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want.”

Truly, he’d died and gone to heaven.

The next thing he knew, his pants and shorts were down around his thighs and her warm, sweet mouth was on him, kissing the entire throbbing, sensitive length of him. Never had he known anything so erotic. Her fingers closed around him, her thumb brushing the tiny drop of moisture that had escaped the tip. Then she guided him to her lips and closed her mouth around him.

Gripping her small head, diving his fingers into her glorious hair, he struggled not to rock his hips as she licked him, sucking him. And lost. Of their own volition, his hips rose, pushing his erection more deeply into her mouth and she took him, her free hand finding his stones, playing with them, wrenching a moan from his throat. The pleasure built and built until it was all he could do not to come.

“Enough, angel.”

Melisande released him, wiping her mouth, looking up at him with a sultry, shining joy. “I would bring you to release.”

“I don’t want to go there without you.”

Melisande slid her hands up under Fox’s T-shirt, reveling in the feel of warm skin over hard muscle beneath her palms. “Undress for me,” she breathed, her voice husky, delighting in the rush of pleasure she’d been denied for so long, a pleasure all the more intense because of the man she shared it with. A man who made her smile, who lit her up inside, burning away the shadows and the darkness, holding the worst of the memories firmly at bay.

He smiled at her now, a slow, carnal smile that thrilled and delighted her. Never had she been with a male who was more gentle, or more considerate. Or more beautiful.

As he whipped his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside, she watched the play of firelight over muscle and the way his golden locks caught the light of the flame. He was like an angel in his own right, a warrior angel if there was ever such a thing.

But her gaze caught on his shoulder where he’d been wounded. And had yet to fully heal. And there was another cut on his forearm. She frowned. “It worries me that you aren’t healing.”

“Me, too,” he admitted as he sat at her feet and began to pull off his boots. “I’m sure it’s just the mountain’s magic.”

She reached for her knife and made a slice across the pad of her middle finger. Pain seared, blood bloomed, but within seconds, the wound closed and she licked the blood away.

“What are you doing?”

“Testing your theory that it’s the mountain’s magic.” She held up her fully healed finger. “It’s not affecting me that way.”

Fox held out his hand to her. “Do the same to me.”

She met his gaze, hesitating for only a moment before she took his hand and cut a far-more-shallow slice, then watched with dismay as the blood welled up, and up, until it ran down his hand, dripping onto the ground.

Her gaze flew to his, and she frowned. “It makes no sense why the mountain would try to kill you this way when it has so clearly been trying to trap you alive.” She grabbed the hem of her discarded tunic and wrapped it around his bleeding finger. Moments later, she eased back the pressure to study the wound. “It’s starting to heal,” she murmured, then pressed the wound some more.