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Weak. Yep, her knees went weak; she might have actually lost her breath as her head jerked back to stare up at him.
She couldn’t break away, and she tried. She tried to force her fingers from the intimate position, but instead they curled against the heavy weight, testing, cupping as she fought to hold back a pleasure-filled moan.
“Does that feel like a game, Mica?” His head lowered, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “Feel how hard you make me? Do you know I can’t remember ever being this damned hard in my life.”
The feel of his breath against the sensitive shell of her ear, the lightest brush of his lips, and she swore her juices were ready to pour from her pussy.
“Don’t do this to me.” She hated the thought of begging, she really did. “Don’t hurt me like this, Navarro.”
She was going to pray he had a conscience, that the plea, whispered with a voice roughened by the hunger tearing through her, would force him to back off.
“I would never hurt you,” he promised as his lips nuzzled against her ear, the hand lying over her fingers urging her to caress the sensitive flesh as he sent electric thrills of pleasure chasing from the lobe of her ear across her body.
Her nipples hardened to the point that the rasp of her bra over them was an exquisite ache of pleasure. She was ready to clench her thighs, her muscles were tensing in preparation, when he suddenly pushed the heavy width of his thigh between her legs, as one hand cupped her bottom and pulled her closer, tighter against the muscular limb.
&n
bsp; “You’re not protesting anymore, Amaya.” Both hands gripped her rear; they clenched, then with a smooth, powerful motion began grinding her against his thigh, pushing her pussy against her jeans, her clit rasping against the material as the heavy muscles pressed firmly against the swollen folds.
Protest? She was actually supposed to protest this? Oh God, she knew she was supposed to protest it, but she wasn’t exactly certain why. She couldn’t seem to remember how he was supposed to hurt her.
Her head fell back as he pulled her closer, lifting her against him until her legs wrapped around his hips and she began to tremble in reaction.
Yeah, that was it.
Thick, so thick and hard, his cock pressed against her jeans, between her thighs. The engorged Wolf Breed cock, wide and powerful, a heated wedge of flesh that she had heard from some of the women in Haven stretched them with such delicious pain it bordered on agony. She could clearly see why. Feel why. She shivered at the prospect of taking him.
“I need you, Mica.” Dark, a rough rasp of hunger against her ear, his voice stroked over her senses. “Do you remember how good it was, Amaya, at the hotel? How it hurt to stop?”
Of course she remembered. She would never forget.
“It could be that way again.” He was moving. He was moving her, though she wasn’t certain where until she felt her rear meet the hard, smooth wood of the buffet that sat at the side of the room.
“The bedroom,” she whispered, forcing her eyes open to stare back at him, almost gasping at the sight of the Breed now standing between her spread thighs.
His face was tight, savage with lust; his black eyes gleamed like polished onyx and glowed with a hidden fire. Jaw clenched, his hands gripping her hips, his hair falling around his face, he looked like a sex god rising before her.
And she wanted him. She wanted him until her entire body felt on fire.
She swallowed tightly. “Is it the heat?” Mating heat. Was he her mate and their bodies just hadn’t quite caught up yet?
“Not heat.” His hands gripped the hem of her sweater.
Mica didn’t fight. She couldn’t fight.
God, he hadn’t even kissed her yet.
Lifting her arms, she let him draw the light cashmere from her body before he tossed it carelessly to the floor beside them. Next, he flicked open the front clasp of her bra, drew it from her and tossed it to the floor as well.
Licking her lips, Mica told herself she wasn’t disappointed.
“You’ll break my heart.” She could already feel the grief beginning to churn inside her. “When you leave me, when you find your mate—”
And those were the last words he allowed her.
CHAPTER 8
Mica had dreamed of Navarro over the years. She’d had fantasies, she’d made up daydreams, and she had imagined every way possible that he could touch her. If there was a touch she hadn’t felt, a response she hadn’t imagined, or a position that he hadn’t taken her in during those fantasies, dreams and daydreams, then Mica couldn’t find it in all the years she had been fantasizing.
