Maya Banks: Golden Eyes

“I need to sleep,” she said. “I’ve not slept a full night since I was taken by the hunters.” And for one night, she wanted to feel safe. Indulge in the soft comfort of a bed instead of a cold cage.

“You can have my bed,” he said as he eased from behind her.

She was too tired to argue, and she wanted that bed badly enough that she wouldn’t offer up any false protests about putting him out.

When she tried to get up herself, Duncan stopped her with a firm hand. Then he reached down and lifted her from the couch. She clung to his neck as he walked out of the living room and into a large bedroom.

He settled her down on his bed, and she sighed in sheer bliss when her head hit the pillow. She rolled to her side and pulled at the hem of the T-shirt. Not giving any thought to the fact he stood but a foot away, she lifted the T-shirt over her head and tossed it away.

The material irritated her skin. Having gone so long with no clothing, the slightest touch set her nerve endings afire. Her eyes were already closing when he tried to pull the covers over her body.

She put her hand down. “No. Don’t. I can’t bear it.”

“You’ll freeze,” he said.

“The material scrapes at my skin,” she murmured.

He was silent for a moment, and then she heard him walk away. A few seconds later, he returned, and she felt the soft brush of fur over her body.

She clutched at it, holding it close.

“It’s a bear skin,” he said a little uncomfortably.

“Papa,” she murmured as she snuggled deeper into the fur.

Duncan said something else, but she was sliding under.

Duncan paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, his mind ablaze with the day’s drama. A cheetah. She was a fucking cheetah. As mind blowing events went, this one topped the list.

Apart from the fact that he had a beautiful, naked cheetah-woman camped out in his bed, he also had to deal with the fact that poachers were turning out animals to hunt in his mountains.

And to think he’d lamented the fact that nothing exciting ever happened in Elk Ridge.

His first priority… Hell, what was his first priority? He had an injured cheep …woman. What was he supposed to do with her? And he had poachers to catch and make damn sure their days of importing exotic animals were over.

He spun around, took two steps toward the bedroom then stopped and walked back to the fireplace again. The bedroom was out. She was in his bed. Naked. There was only so much temptation a red-blooded man could take, and a voluptuous golden-eyed goddess laid out like a Christmas present might well be construed a temptation.

He flexed his fingers, curling them until the skin stretched and whitened across his knuckles.

A sound from the bedroom had him yanking his head around.

He strode out of the living room and rounded the corner into his room. He caught the door frame with his hand as he came to a halt.

His breath stuck in his throat, swelled and rebounded into his chest.

The fur he had covered Aliyah with was bunched around her feet. She lay on her hip, but her upper body was twisted so that her back was pressed to the bed. Her left arm was thrown wide to the side, and her right hand was curled into a fist at her shoulder.

She was…quite beautiful, even in her state of distress. Apart from the inflamed-looking wound on her leg, her skin was unmarred by a single blemish. Slender legs led up to rounded hips, a tiny waist, and two spectacularly formed breasts.

Jesus, they were perfect. She was perfect.

Gently rounded nipples, a soft peach color, so soft looking that he caught himself swallowing as he imagined tasting them.

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t go there. He was turning to leave when she moaned again. As he looked back over at her, he could see a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. Her head twisted side to side, and then her eyes blinked open.

They glittered gold, and the pupils elongated and shrank to a vertical sliver. Her muscles twitched and jumped, and he realized she was fighting against her instinct to shift.

Unsure of whether he should stay or whether he should get the hell out of the bedroom and lock the door had him standing there not knowing whether to shit or go blind.

Her distress decided things for him.

He hurried to the bed and knelt over her. “Aliyah,” he whispered urgently. “Aliyah, wake up, honey.” He reached down to touch her damp face. Tenderly, he pushed a tendril of golden hair behind her ear, and she nuzzled her cheek into his palm.

Her eyelids fluttered, and he breathed in relief when he saw her eyes were back to normal.

“Duncan?”

“I’m here,” he said. Then he looked down and realized his hand still rested against her cheek. He started to pull it away, but she caught his fingers in his hand.

“No, don’t go,” she said. “Please.”

To his utter astonishment, she reached over and wrapped her arms around his waist then proceeded to snuggle into his body as tightly as she could go. Oh hell.

He relaxed on the bed to alleviate the awkwardness of the position, which sent her seeking further into his arms.

“It’s been so long,” she whispered.

“Since what?” he asked as he smoothed her hair with his hand.

“Since I felt another’s touch on my skin.” She rubbed her cheek over his chest and then impatiently shoved at his shirt, raising it up so she could press her face to his bare skin.

She ran her hands up his ribcage and over his chest as if she couldn’t get enough. Her warm lips glanced over the hollow, and he groaned as his cock, which had jumped to attention the moment she touched him, swelled painfully in his jeans.

“Aliyah. Aliyah,” he said louder when she ignored him. “Honey, you have to stop.” He tried to pry her away, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He grasped her wrists and pulled just as her lips met the column of his neck. “God.” It came out more as a groan than an actual word.

“Touch me.”

“Aliyah …we can’t…don’t do that…ah damn it.”

Her lips whispered close to his ear, and she nibbled delicately at the lobe.

“Touch me,” she whispered again. “Please.” She captured her hands in his and raised them to her breasts.

He might have resisted even that, though the weight of the soft mounds resting against his palms made his fingers itch to rub over her nipples, but when she reached down and slid her hand between his legs to cup the discernible bulge there, he was lost.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you. We have to take it easy. Your wound isn’t healed.”

He groaned even as he said it. Surely this qualified him for sainthood. He had his arms full of a curvaceous hellcat intent of rubbing herself over every inch of his body and he was saying shit like let’s slow down.

He might as well cut off his dick and throw it out the window.

With a delicious sounding purr, she arched her body and slid along his chest until her breasts bumped him right in the mouth. Unable to resist such a sweet offering, he nipped at the swell then lapped at the nipple with his tongue.

She threaded her fingers into the hair at his nape and pulled him closer until he sucked the tender bud into his mouth.

“Yes,” she whimpered.

No longer able to fool himself into thinking they’d be taking anything slow, he wrapped his arms around her and lowered her to the bed. He was tugging at his jeans while she yanked at his shirt. And then he had an awful thought.

Oh Jesus, let him have something. He shot off the bed and hurried into the bathroom to yank open the drawer. Hallelujah. One half-empty box of condoms. He hoped like hell the damn things didn’t expire because it had been awhile since he’d used them.