Hunter's Season (Elder Races #4.7)(31)

In, in, in, he was all the way in. She cried out, gripping him tightly with her inner muscles, while she raised her legs and wrapped them around his torso.

His hoarse, panting breath was like a bellows in her ear, and his long hair covered her face. He shook all over. She hugged him with her whole body and soul, fiercely, stroking the back of his head with one hand while she rubbed his back.

“Tell me you’re all right,” she whispered, growing anxious as he held so still.

Tell me you won’t regret this.

He looked down at her and smiled, his face filled with tenderness and sharp passion. He said, “I’ve never been better. You feel like a wet silk fist. Gods—Xanthe—”

She tightened on him harder as he slid out, and he shuddered hard and drove back in. He pulled out again, excruciatingly slow. Unable to wait, she mewled and thrust her hips up, impaling herself on him. His big body jerked as he gasped. He put a hand between them again; she felt him probing for her clitoris as he f**ked her. Something came out of her mouth, an uncontrolled string of words. She had no idea what she said. She was on fire everywhere, everywhere. It blazed from the point of his entry, the unbearably gorgeous pressure of his fingers on exactly the right place.

“Oh shit,” he said.

He twisted in her arms. Inside, she felt him begin to pulse as he lost control. Then that desire, that sweetest pain she felt for no one but him, peaked like a starburst. She cried out as her own climax rippled through her. He ground against her, shuddering.

Silence, their passion released. She cradled him as he rested his forehead on her shoulder. The table was uncomfortably hard on her spine, and she would not have moved for the world. With her fingers, she circled the slight knob of bone at the base of his nape and traced what she could reach of the long line of scar across his back, soaking up every sensual piece of evidence she could get of him.

I’ll not ever forget this moment, she thought. Not ever, not even if I live for a very, very long time.

Eventually the discomfort of his position forced him to move. He pushed himself up on one hand, wincing as his back muscles seized up in protest and his softened penis slid out of her.

“Well, this is inelegant,” he said through gritted teeth.

The gorgeous dazed look left her face, and she laughed, her gaze sympathetic. “It’s that damn wound on your back, isn’t it?”

He nodded. Limber and graceful, she slid out from underneath him and rolled off the table. When she was upright, she slipped under his arm and took his weight, helping him to straighten. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Then he kissed her.

She murmured, and he drew her close, relishing the feel of her naked body against his. At last, with obvious reluctance, she pulled away. “Let me get the vial of oil,” she said. “You need a back massage to loosen those muscles, especially after the stretching exercises from earlier and—you know.” Unexpectedly, her face turned dark red.

“I won’t say no,” he said. He stroked her cheek, inexpressibly delighted at the blush. Delighted with everything about her. “Xanthe, I love you.”

She grew very still, her eyes, full of that great, shining heart of glass, fixed on him. When she made as if to say something, he touched her lips with two fingers and shook his head with a smile. Just because he felt the need to tell her how he felt didn’t mean that she should feel the need to reciprocate.

He went into the other room and eased down onto the bed to lay on his aching back with a muffled groan. A few moments later, she joined him.

He loved watching her walk across the room nude. Her br**sts were reddened by his attention, and the black silken triangle between her legs glistened with moisture. Her body was sleek and powerful, like a panther’s, and despite the shyness she had shown to him in various other ways, she had no body shyness at all and she moved with complete, athletic confidence that he found incredibly sexy. His c**k stirred as he watched her; he was so hungry for her, he was already beginning to stiffen again.

She had gathered up their clothes and she set them on the floor by the bed. Then she took a small vial of oil and poured some into the palm of her hand. Her gaze flew involuntarily to his groin, and he clenched his teeth on another laugh as she flushed pink all over.

“Oh gods, please do,” he growled.

She scolded, “I’m supposed to rub your back!”

He loved it when she scolded him. He grasped her knee, gently. “My back is perfectly fine while I’m lying down. It can wait. It’s everything else that feels urgent right now.”

She looked at him, stricken laughter in her gaze, and he could see that she was tempted.

“After we work on your muscles a bit.”

He gave her a lazy, one-sided, calculating smile. “Very well, but I won’t roll over until you give me a kiss.”

He watched her gaze grow heavy lidded, and his c**k stiffened further. “All right.”

She bent over him, her mouth softened, and he raised his head to meet her, kissing her lavishly, feeling hunger for her roar to a fever pitch all over again. When she would have pulled away, he grabbed her and yanked her back down, so that she overbalanced and fell on him.

Instinctively she caught herself on his chest, bracing on the hand that had held the palm full of oil. The warm liquid splashed across his torso as her slippery hand slid off his skin, and she sprawled on top of him.

He growled deeper, an arm wrapped around her neck as he plunged hectically between her lips. While he f**ked her mouth with his tongue, he rubbed his chest with a hand until it was slick with oil, then he palmed her breast, that high, firm luscious mound of flesh. She moaned, the shaken sound vibrating in his mouth.