Лори Девоти - Unbound

“No.” The terseness of his voice pushed Kara back against the sofa cushion. Her eyes widened.

He spun back toward the window and slapped his hand against the glass. He stood there, the muscles of his back flaring out with his breaths. A few seconds later, he turned back.

“Witches don’t work together. They’re like cats, territorial and possessive. You do not want to meet Lusse.”

“But…” He made witches sound evil. Kelly wasn’t territorial or possessive, and if Kara’s vision was accurate, Kelly was actually working with a witch to find other witches. He had to be mistaken. “I don’t think—” He strode across the room until he towered over her. “You will not search out Lusse.”

Kara stared up at him, something inside of her snapping in response. She jumped to her feet. “You make witches sound evil. Kelly is not evil. I’m not evil. Maybe you’re wrong about Lusse, too.”

The vein at the base of his throat began to pulse, and he fisted and unfisted one hand. Inhaling deeply, he stepped closer, wove his fingers deep into her hair.

Using her hair to hold her, he tilted her face up to his. “No, temptation. I am not wrong about Lusse. Just like I pray I am not wrong about you.” Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss so fiery, heat surged through her, burning away every inhibition her sane side tried to push forward.

Kara’s scent engulfed him. Anger, fear — his usual downfalls, swirled around them. He fought to maintain the beast that roared to be set free. His tongue shoved past her parted lips. His hands gripped her head, his fingers tense with the struggle to stay under control; passion rolled through him, attacking his resolve.

Control. He had to maintain control. Couldn’t risk a repeat of what had happened before, with Venge’s mother.

With an effort so strenuous his body shook in objection, he slowed his kiss and concentrated on the woman trapped by his hands, returning his embrace. Something shifted inside him, moving further from the beast and closer to the man.

Soft hair wove around his fingers. He ran his thumbs over the angle of her cheekbones; her skin was smooth, cool to his touch. And her scent, he inhaled deeply taking in not only her emotions, which had morphed from anger to excitement, but also the spice that was Kara. A rumble formed deep in his throat.

He should pull away. He knew it, but her scent was addictive. It made him react in ways he’d never reacted before. Made him fear — for her. The thought of her finding Lusse had sent him into a rage, but one laced with panic. His hellhound blood running cold at the image of what Lusse would do to his little witch.

Fear. It was an emotion Risk drew from others, not one he emitted himself. It was a weakness, he knew that. And he could afford no weakness, not now. He should separate himself from the source — leave Kara behind and search for her sister alone. Nothing good could come of this liaison. If he leaned on his hellhound nature, he’d endanger her; if he let himself slip to his human side, she’d endanger him.

His traitorous lungs expanded again, taking in another wave of Kara. His hands softened, his fingers stroking her scalp. Addictive. She was addictive, and he wasn’t strong enough to walk away.

Accepting his weakness and the threat to himself, he pushed all thoughts of the consequences of what he was doing from his mind, and instead concentrated on the undeniable pleasure of her lips moving against his. He let his human side take over.

As he relaxed, her tongue darting shyly then more boldly into his mouth. Her hands, once passive at her side, now traveling up the length of his body, tugging at his shirt. Her fingers found his bare stomach, glided over the muscles there.

He growled, freed one of his hands from her hair to shove her cotton shirt up until his palm touched the skimpy lace of the undergarment covering her breasts.

A puff of breath escaped her lips, blowing cool across his neck. He groaned and ran his thumb under the tight band of her bra, pushing the material up until her full breast fell into his hand. He palmed her flesh, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger. Twisting and pulling until it hardened in response.

“The shirt,” she murmured, one hand leaving his side to pull at the T-shirt lodged under her arms.

He quickly skimmed his hands up her body, catching her shirt and bra and pulling them over her head. She stood before him, her breasts full and tempting, her nipples hard, her areolas rose-tinted and puckered. He longed to cover them with his lips, suck, taste and tease until she begged him to plunge deep inside her.

His erection pressed against his jeans. The urge to fulfill the thought was almost irresistible. Not yet. Too much to see, to taste, to devour.

As if sharing his battle, she reached for him, grabbed the top of his jeans in both hands, her fingers slipping the first metal button through its hole. Her nail jabbing the tender skin behind it in the process.

He ran a finger along her face, slipped her hair behind her ear, then whispered, “Wait.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes clouded with passion and confusion. “Wait?” she repeated.

A slow smile tilting his lips, he nodded and lowered his mouth to her breast. Slowly, tantalizingly, he swirled his tongue around one tight bud. Then pulling it into his mouth, he nipped and suckled until she arched against him, her hair falling down her back, her hand pushing her other breast toward him.

His nostrils flared. He pushed both breasts upward, held them in the V of his hands. He swung his head back and forth, his lips teasing first one then the other, dropping his nose for a second into the cleavage formed by the mounded flesh.

Blood pounded hot in his veins. The pungent perfume of the wetness pooling between her legs called to him; making him want to nuzzle her there, to taste her.

The scent almost sent him over the edge.

Her fingers clutched at his side, her fingernails digging into his skin. Then without warning, she shoved her hand down the front of his jeans and held his pulsing erection. Her fingers wrapped around him, squeezing. The tightness making him wonder how small she would be. How her body would feel contracting around him as he slid in and out, over and over, until she screamed for release.

Heat built to a roar inside Risk. With one hand he flipped the remaining buttons on his fly, releasing his rock-hard cock.

Kara inhaled sharply as Risk’s erection sprang forward and rubbed against her bare stomach. Her hand still wrapped around him, she loosened her grip so she could stroke him, the skin gliding back and forth over his hard shaft, Risk’s breaths coming out in short, ragged huffs.

“You drive me mad.” He ran his hands down her sides, pushing her pants off her hips, leaving her standing in nothing but her lace panties.

“Not fair,” she murmured, reaching up to unbutton his shirt.

“True.” He grasped his shirt in both hands and tore it open, buttons shooting across the room, pinging onto the wood floors. With his chest bare, he grabbed the tops of his jeans and pulled them down his long muscular legs, then stepped out, leaving them puddled on the floor.

“More fair?” he asked, his body glistening in the flickering firelight.

“Much.” She ran her palms down his chest and over his flat stomach. She had never stood so boldly in front of a man before — clothed or naked. How could someone as intimidating as Risk also make her feel so free, so confident?

Naked. He had seen her naked before. “Risk?”

His hands covered her butt, kneading her, his penis rubbing against her, teasing her.

“Yes, little witch.” He lowered his mouth back to her breast, making her forget the question that had formed in her mind. Then his finger slid between her folds, finding her nub and stroking as she had stroked him. She wiggled against him. A sweet pressure building inside her, coiling.