Haunted by Your Touch

hand freed that part of him she craved. Needed. Closing her fingers around the satisfying length of him, she stroked him, elated to find him already hard. She gasped her own excitement against his lips, directing the hard tip of him between her thighs, grateful for the lack of clothing.

A pair of hard hands closed around her arms, stopping her.

Before she could draw breath, she was flung through the air. Flat on her back, she arched against the hands imprisoning her, desperate for the pleasure she had been so close to claiming.

She growled, her gaze snapping to his. To a fierce pair of eyes, brutal enough to chill anyone’s blood.

Only Lily wasn’t anyone. She wasn’t even herself. Not anymore.

Her blood ran scalding hot in her veins. Baring her teeth, she hissed her frustration, her desire. Desperate to tempt him, she managed to free one hand and wedge it between them. He kept her bound to the bed with his other hand, preventing her from moving an inch. As if she were some wild animal that might devour him given the chance.

Smiling, she wrapped warm fingers around him, her touch seductively gentle despite the fantastic surge of strength coursing through her. With a purr, she flexed her fingers around his increasing hardness.

“Stop,” he ground out.

She pumped him in a deep, languorous stroke. Once. Twice. “That’s not what you want.” She didn’t even recognize the sound of her voice, all thick and guttural in her mouth.

“Yes. It is.”

She slid her thumb over the tip of him again, smiling in dark satisfaction at the drop of moisture rising to kiss her. “It’s not what your body wants.”

He snared her wrist between them, stopping her. “Fortunately, I’m a lot smarter than my cock is.”

“Are you really?” She rotated her hips, locking her thighs around him tightly. He groaned at the sensation of her hot sex nudging against him. Her scent rose, heady and ripe. Every fiber of her being screamed in need. She had to have him. She would not relent until they were one. Until he was hers.

Chapter Six

Silver eyes gazed up at him, and something withered, dying inside of him at the sight. She was one of them now. But then he had known that would happen. Seeing her lovely brown eyes gone just drove home that she was no longer an innocent girl. No longer like the girls in his boyhood village. Girls he could not have had. The ones his family had beaten him for for even looking at.

She was something else entirely. Something even more exciting. In the throes of dark and primitive lusts, she was overwhelming to him. Something the beast in him could not resist. Every instinct demanded that he claim her, even as his conscience screamed against it—against having her, loving her body only to later destroy it. As he must.

He flexed his hands around her slender arms, his fingers tightening along smooth limbs that would tear and stretch and twist into something dangerous and terrible in a month’s time. The same kind of creatures that had brutalized his mother and aunt years ago, resulting in his and Ivo’s births. Creating them both—blights on the family.

Still, he craved her, and he could not keep himself from releasing her hand to continue its sensual assault on his body.

She resumed sliding slim fingers over his cock, the feverish touch of her skin deliciously hot. Dangerous and desirable. He arched into her clasp, closing his eyes tight and imagining it was her sheathing him.

He thrust several more times into her hand before opening his eyes and locking gazes with her. The silvery pewter of her eyes gleamed up at him, as wild and menacing as the animal clawing to be freed inside him. Lycan eyes. Beautiful in a way he’d never thought eyes like that could be. She rubbed the head of him against her moistness, teasing it at her opening, sucking the tip of him inside her. Exquisite torture.

Gritting his teeth, he held back, preventing her from going any further. Any deeper. Sweat beaded his brow at the agony of it. The bliss. She was no longer human. Nor was she a dovenatu like him… like Danae, his cousin’s mate. He had thought Danae loved him, had thought she’d wanted the things he had—had wanted him. Instead she’d chosen darkness. She’d chosen Ivo.

And he’d chosen this life. A life of solitude. His lip curled back over his teeth. Perhaps not the best choice if it drove him to crave the touch of a lycaness. Clearly he’d gone mad during these years of self-imposed exile.

Air hissed between Lily’s teeth and she released an inhuman growl, surging against his hands, struggling to fully merge their bodies.

Clearly he was not the only one moved to madness. In her right frame of mind—as her proper self—she would never have acted this way. He’d seen that when he’d dropped from the trees and landed at her feet. He’d seen the terror, the revulsion, the wide-eyed stare of a good woman. A woman whose careful, controlled life had unraveled. A woman who would never let someone like him touch her. A woman who would have chosen death over a lycan’s existence. Knowing her only a night, he knew this much about her. She would never choose to live in the darkness.

No matter what happened, he would lose her.

His most primitive self rose from within him in a hot surge of rage. But you can have her now. For this night. Take her, take her.

An answering growl emerged from deep in his chest.

Of all women, this was one he should not touch, yet his hands loosened their hold. The last of his will crumbled. His hands dropped to his sides.

She lifted her hips, impaling herself on him with a satisfied moan.

Buried deep, he groaned at the slick heat of her tightening around him. Not since Danae had he felt this. Perhaps not even then. So feral and yet so right. As if she’d been made for him alone, her fit so perfect. He felt the tightening of his face, the telltale pull of his bones, and knew he was losing himself… letting the beast come out.

She worked her hips, her nails scoring his chest, oblivious that he was more beast than man in this moment. He gripped the softness of her hips, one hand sliding around to squeeze her plump cheek. Clenching his teeth, he held his passion in check and shoved the beast back into darkness, but hers was on the rise. He watched her in her frenzy, wondering how much she would remember later.

He gripped her face with both hands and brought his head down for a kiss, his lips gentling over hers, tender, thorough, opposite from the beast in him that scraped to be free. Different from the beast in her that struggled into… being.

He took her… her old self dying, the new self emerging. He took her death inside himself, kissing her with his eyes wide open, watching as her pewter eyes drifted shut.

“Look at me,” he commanded against her lips. Her lids slid open over those steel eyes, clinging to his gaze. He claimed her lips again as she took her pleasure of him, gyrating and working toward her own release with single-minded intent.

At last she reached it, crying out into his mouth. She stilled. Unfinished, he surged inside her, earning a hot little whimper against his neck. Again and again, he moved. Close now himself, he hooked a thumb beneath each knee and spread her wider for his pleasure. Mewling sounds tore from her lips and she writhed beneath him, roused again.

They cried out together, the sounds sharp and desperate—as desperate as the painful wringing of his heart. Too long. He had been too long without a woman. That had to be it. There could be no other explanation. No reason why it seemed like he would never get enough of this. Enough of her.

Suddenly, in that moment, she became everything to him. The one he had been waiting for all these years of hiding, pretending the world did not exist. All his life he had been holding his breath, time propelling him toward this moment, toward her—where he could draw his first breath.