A. Arthur - Passion's Prey

Caprise licked her lips. “Not quite.”

“You don’t want to do this right now, Caprise. Just go back to your room and go to bed,” X told her solemnly.

His eyes were already shifting, the dark brown going to intense green in a matter of seconds. And that wasn’t the only change. A heady scent filled the air around them, circling them both and holding tight until Caprise felt like she was breathing the exact same air he was. She was smelling what he was; they were sharing something so acute and so intimate when they were both fully dressed and standing upright. It was an intense feeling, so much so that she swayed a bit and damn if her big brooding hero didn’t reach out and wrap a muscled arm securely around her waist.

“I know what I’m doing. And I’m not going to bed without you.”

“You don’t want this right now,” X said when they were closed in her room.

His mind was dark, fathomless, and void of anything real. Or at least that’s how he felt. It was that strange feeling that overcame him sometimes, the one that left him uncontrollable. His palms itched, fingers clenching and unclenching. Even the cat inside him was looming like it was ready to pounce at any moment. He could do anything right now, absolutely anything. Fuck, drink, run, or even kill. Nothing seemed to matter.

And then there was her scent. It had changed somehow, was stronger than the floral aroma that had originally drawn him to her. Heavier, more intense, this new scent clogged his lungs until he felt like he wanted to choke—to cough it up and finally be rid of it. Even his normally excellent vision seemed a little blurry around the edges.

Caprise stood at the end of her bed. She wore shorts that were too fucking short and a shirt that hugged her breasts too goddamn tight. His dick took the hint and perked the hell up instantly. X growled.

“I want you right now,” she said, her voice settling over him just like a full glass of Hennessy.

Hell, his mouth even watered the way it did just after the Hennessy slid down his throat. He licked his lips. She licked hers in response, keeping her eyes on his as she did.

He yanked at his shirt until it ripped and fell from his body. “This isn’t going to be pretty,” he told her as his hands went to his belt.

Her eyes grew darker and she pulled her shirt over her head. “I didn’t ask for pretty.”

“I mean it, Caprise. I don’t do soft whispers, cuddling, and all that shit.” His zipper down, he was about to push at his jeans but he remembered his boots.

Bending over, he untied them with record speed, probably broke the damn laces but didn’t care one way or the other. When he stood again he kicked them off, pushed his pants and boxers off, and looked back to Caprise to see if she was still interested.

She was naked. Like fucking Christmas morning the best damn gift sitting under a perfectly decorated tree, naked as the day she was born.

“I want you,” she repeated. “Just as you are.”

X didn’t believe in forcing females, had never done that a day in his life, no matter how out of control he felt. At the same time, no other female had said the words she’d just spoken to him. They rendered him still for about ten seconds. Then the darkness pressing firmly against his skull pushed him forward.

He grabbed her at the waist, his fingers pressing tightly into soft skin. She gasped, her hands moving to his biceps to hold on. She needed to hold on because he wasn’t going to be able to stop once he started. He knew this without a doubt and sighed, dropping his head so that his gaze fell solidly on the tattoo at her side.

The tattoo of her dead son’s name. She’d borne another man’s child and that child had died. She’d lost her parents and her son and she was still standing, ready and willing to take him with this darkness engulfing him inside her. The knowledge almost broke him. Almost.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound like his own.

The next thing X felt was her hands at his cheeks, pulling upward until his gaze met hers.

“You won’t hurt me,” she told him in a strong and clear voice. “I trust you, Xavier.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. She had no idea who or what he was, what he’d been through, how he came to be this beast that barely held on. He opened his mouth, determined to tell her, to warn her. But when he did she came up on tiptoe and covered his lips with hers, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth, rendering him totally speechless.

The kiss was like liquid fire moving through him. He gripped her tighter—if that were even possible without breaking her in two—his mouth sucking at hers hungrily. His teeth scraped along her bottom lip, clamped down and tugged until his tongue wanted to taste her once more. Her arms had gone around his neck and she pulled him closer, hugged him tighter.

Admittedly, kissing wasn’t X’s favorite pastime. The act never appeared during his sexual escapades because he didn’t allow it. Now, despite his past misgivings, X was drowning in this kiss. With his eyes wide open he watched her and she watched him. But he was falling, felt the weightlessness as their tongues touched and dueled. Inside, his cat growled and paced, wanting him to take more, take faster. He lifted her off the floor, dropping her onto the bed and breaking their kiss. She landed on her elbows, shook back her hair, and glared at him. Her cat’s eyes glowing, her teeth bared and sharp. “I’m okay,” she told him.

He hadn’t asked; in fact, the question was so far back in the recesses of his dark, addled mind, he wondered how she knew. With a shake of his head, a futile attempt to gain some clarity, X lowered himself until his face hovered just above her tattoo.

“I saw this that first night you were in Rome’s house. I wanted to lick you all over the second I knew you had been inked.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond, but flattened his tongue over the tattoo and licked. Her hand went to the back of his head as he licked again and again, some small part of him wishing it had been his child. The thought led him to her stomach, where his tongue delved into her navel. Beneath him she spread her legs and it was like a beckoning. His hands slid down her thighs until he clasped her just behind the knees and pushed upward. The action opened her wide for his perusal and peruse he did, gladly.

With feral hunger gnawing at him, he looked down at the plump folds of her vagina, already glistening with her arousal. Her center opening creamed, and X’s cat growled. Lowering his head he caught the juices on the tip of his tongue, savored them for a moment, then licked her until he would swear she’d be bone-dry. But when he pulled back, she still glistened with wetness, her womanhood as beautiful as everything else about her. Waiting wasn’t an option … no, this time it had to be. X pushed back against the urgings, rising above her to cup her breasts. His dick hurt, the skin pulled so tightly over the bulbous head he feared a really bad result. But he didn’t care, as his palms worked over her breasts, his eyes closed, and that weightless feeling comforted him. It lulled him against the darkness like a huge pillow. He swore the scent had intensified like a pillowcase rubbing softly against his skin.

“Xavier.” She called his name and X heard her clearly. Not like before when it could have been a whisper on the wind.

This time it was loud, or at least loud to his ears. “Say it again,” he urged her.

“Xavier” was her quick reply.

He still stood over her, hands on her breasts, eyes closed.

“Again.”

“Xavier.”

His hands moved quickly from her breasts to her wrists. Opening his eyes, he watched her closely as he pulled her arms up over her head. “Don’t move,” he told her.