Dark Predator

surrender.

Marguarita never so much as pulled away from him in her mind. His hands grew rough as they shaped her body, claiming her, wanting her to know and accept him as he was. He would give her everything he was, pour himself into her, give everything he was to her—it was all he had.

She was incredibly responsive to him, her body writhing and bucking as he stroked caresses over her belly and thighs. He inhaled, wanting to forever remember this moment, wanting to savor every new separate experience and emotion. He’d never had such a sensual, tactile experience. Pure sensation. Pure pleasure. Lust was deep and driving, in his blood, pounding with need, clawing and raking, yet at the same time, spreading like fire through his body—and through her body. The dual sensations were overwhelming and irresistible.

He completely indulged himself, exploring every inch of her soft, curvy body. Every streak of fire that went through her, went through him. He felt drunk on the building hunger, this time for her body, for that scorching hot sheath that begged and wept for him. He was just as addicted to the rush of electricity streaking through his body and filling his heavy erection as he was to the taste of her blood.

He had no idea of passing time, only of her body, of her taste and texture. Of knowing her gift was real. Never once did she protest, even when he took her too high and she was gasping and pleading with him for release. She stayed connected, wanting his pleasure, giving herself to him without reservation, keeping her word.

And he found her pleasure was just as important to him, if not more, than his own. Each gasp, every plea in his mind, the score of her nails raking down his back, her fist in his hair—all of it added to his pleasure. He loved seeing her needy for him, seeing her eyes dazed, her mouth open, the soft cries in his mind. The mindless chant of his name. He was rough, yes, but he made certain that she felt nothing but pleasure. He wanted her to want to be with him in every way he could conceive, and hurting her or ignoring her needs felt repugnant and wrong to him.

He indulged himself for the first time in his life, taking this time for himself—for her. The two of them were one now, soul to soul, and as long as he was in her mind, he felt. He saw in color. His world was rich and emotional. There was no ice in his veins, no shadows in his heart. Her bright light illuminated him inside and he felt as if he could soar to the heavens or run in freedom across the land. She made him free.

When he knew she was more than ready for him, slick and hot and gasping, he knelt between her legs and lifted her hips, pushing into that tight hot space created just for him, joining their bodies in the same way their minds were joined. He was careful, feeling her response. He was thick and long and she was tight. He could feel the burning and stretching with his invasion just as she could feel the sizzling pleasure racing through his body as her sheath grasped him in scorching pleasure.

He had to fight a battle to control himself. He needed to plunge into her, bury himself deep, and had he not been in her mind, feeling what she felt, he had no doubts that he would have selfishly done so, but the burning was bordering on pain for her. He forced his body to go slow, whispering to her in his native language, soft words of encouragement. He found himself calling her sivamet—my love, or more literally, of my heart.

He hadn’t known until that moment of pure revelation that she was of his heart. She had given him so much, this small slip of a human woman with more courage than good sense and she had somehow slipped inside of him and wound herself tightly around his heart. He was more careful than ever, slipping into her inch by slow inch until he felt that thin barrier.

“Take a breath, kislany ku?enak minan.” Deliberately he leaned closer to her, pressing on the spot that brought her the most pleasure and translating what had become an endearment, “My little lunatic, you have given yourself to me, and I accept you into my keeping.”

He took her then, making her fully his, burying himself inside that tight cauldron of heat, claiming his home, his sanctuary. The ice was gone from body and mind to be replaced with Marguarita. He had found home and he never wanted to leave.

He took his time, careful to allow her to catch up to him, at first setting a slow, excruciating rhythm, and then, as her body became more receptive to his invasion, as pleasure sizzled through her, he picked up the pace and drove into her as he needed to do, hard and fast, his hands biting into her hips, his body plunging home again and again, burning light into him.

He threw back his head in a kind of ecstasy, fire burning him through the inside out, driving him higher and higher. All the while, he was aware of her, every caress, her fingers in his hair, her soft little gasps, her hips bucking under his, that exquisite tight sheath, grasping and milking, just as needy for him as he was for her.

He could hear her soft gasp in his mind and knew the exact moment the building tension in her body hit that shocking point where she was stretched on a rack of intense pleasure that touched pain. He pushed her over the edge, her body taking his with it, her muscles massaging, milking and grasping so tight he burned for her.

He lay a long time over her—in her, mind to mind, connected, forever wanting to live there—knowing the moment he withdrew, he would be that kod, varolind han ku piwta—dark, dangerous predator, filled with shadows and tainted with evil. The brilliant colors would fade and his vivid, intense emotions would fade. He hoped to hell his care of her wouldn’t do the same. They were tied now, for good or bad. He couldn’t undo what he’d done and she could not survive without him—or he without her.

11

There was no going back. Marguarita had known that when she’d offered herself to him and she didn’t want to take back her offer. He’d taken her to paradise, but still, she could have used a brief respite from his overwhelming, intense personality. Zacarias seemed to love the scent of her bath. He’d insisted on pouring her fragrant oil into the water, and now he sat on the edge of the sink, watching her with that unnerving, focused stare of his. He knew he was making her uncomfortable, but he made no apologies, nor did he stop staring so possessively at her.

Are you going to stare at me forever? She touched her hair self-consciously. It was piled on top of her head to keep it out of the oily water, and she knew she looked a mess. The room was lit with candles, so the light was soft and flickering, but still, she didn’t look her best.

He suddenly smiled, robbing her of all breath. “You will have to get used to me staring. Watching you take a bath brings me pleasure.” He folded his arms across his chest, never taking his gaze from her. “And you look sexy with your hair messy. It is my favorite, when it’s down and all over the place, but this look is a close second. I like when you have all those curls falling around your face and down your back when you’re trying to look very severe, putting it up. It is wild, like you. Very sensual and pleasing.”

She felt color creeping up her neck into her face. You’re easy to please.

His eyebrow shot up. “I assure you, I am anything but easy to please. And you are covering yourself again. Please take your hands away from your breasts. I enjoy looking at you. Your body is beautiful and I am certain it will be an everlasting source of pleasure.”

She hadn’t realized she was covering her body for the second time. He had already asked her to stop once. She felt her color deepen. Really, she was trying to do what he wished, but his stare was so possessive and intense, she felt a little as if she were under a microscope. Reluctantly she put her hands under the water, grateful for the steam rising. It didn’t exactly provide protection, but at least there was the illusion of it.

Marks of his possession covered her body, and between her legs, she was definitely sore, but the water was soothing, and he had been incredibly gentle, carrying her into the bathroom and filling the tub for her before placing her in the hot water. Her heart was pounding so hard she had to fight not to press her hand over her chest. The enormity of what she’d done hit her hard after she’d floated down from subspace.

She had thought long and hard about what she was going to do to save Zacarias De La Cruz. He was so far on the other side, already with one foot out of the world she knew. If she didn’t do something drastic, she would lose him. Wherever one went after death, she didn’t want him alone for one more moment. She’d made up her mind to seduce him into staying with her—but now it was clearly a case of beware of what you wish for.

“You have every right to fear your new life, Marguarita.”