Chapter 4 #3
And, yes … blood.
His eyes closed as it invaded him, called to him, begged for a deep, instinctual reaction from him. Kincaid took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he looked down at her.
“If I were human,” he said, “I would be more considerate of how you are feeling right now. I would consider your injured state. I would take a great deal of care with you.”
“But you’re not human,” she said breathlessly. “So what does a Morphate do in this situation?”
“He protects you. Fiercely. Savagely, if need be.” He pulled on her ponytail, drawing her closer, breathing a strangely relieved breath when she rested against his body.
“And he reacts to his needs. Selfishly, it seems. Because I haven’t been able to rid my mind and senses of you since the first day I met you.
You irritate everything inside of me. I shouldn’t even care that you’re hurt by the man you once colluded with to hurt me. ”
She didn’t argue the point. She was tired of defending herself.
He could see that, even as he knew the wording was unfair and perhaps designed to piss her off.
He needed her to get pissed off … he needed something to get in his way.
Anything. Because as it stood, he was plowing a path that was incredibly dangerous. Especially for her.
“A Morphate male smells the blood on you and lets it call to him. Lets himself seek it out,” he continued as he bent his head until his lips were touching the outer shell of her ear and the strands of her hair were filtering through his fingers.
“Send me away, Jenesis, before ! drink you to exhaustion. But not before I fuck you to within an inch of your life.”
He watched her oh so carefully, wanting her to look horrified and offended, wanting her to throw herself away from him and accuse him of being the bastard that he was.
Why wouldn’t she? How could she possibly understand the Morphate drive that was motivating him?
Surely she would envision the damage he could do to her fragile human self if he were to be given his head.
But she did none of that. Instead, she leaned into him just a little farther, touched her nose to the back of his jaw, and took in a deep breath. Took in the smell of him.
That was all he needed.
Kincaid grabbed her by both arms and propelled them both out of the too-small bathroom that he could barely move in.
He burst into the living room with a mere pair of strides and found the nearest wall to slam her up against. He was too rough; he could tell by the breath that kicked out of her.
But he ignored the sound as he buried his face deep against her neck and simply smelled of her.
Her and the blood inside of her that he wanted so damn badly.
But that was just the beginning of it all.
Not the be all and end all of it. There were so many delicious things about her that he had wanted since he’d first laid eyes on her, always in antithesis to what his brain tried to lecture.
“Is this another experiment for you?” he wanted to know on a deep, dangerous growl. “Another curiosity you must satisfy no matter how perilous it might be for you?”
Jen was breathing hard, a world of excitement shuddering through her from blood to bones. She had never felt anything like this primal mixture of fear and excitement.
“Is there a measure of curiosity involved? I’d be a liar if I said no. There is always curiosity between new lovers. Isn’t satisfying those curiosities so much of what motivates us all?”
“I am not motivated by curiosity,” he reminded her, yanking her up tight against his mouth as he opened it on the fragile skin of her shoulder. “I want to eat you. In every way possible.” He let his tongue splash across her in a long swipe, first in one direction and then the next.
An X to mark the spot.
“Oh, my God, you just made me wet,” she gasped as she dropped her head back against the wall.
He had, indeed. Suddenly the aroma of her excitement was drifting into his senses.
And just as suddenly he wanted to drink her in a completely different way.
The stimulus of the thought had his claws and fangs lengthening into readiness.
The whole of his mouth ached with the craving.
Before he knew it, his hands were dragging at her skirt, pulling it up around her hips, exposing her as he moved back just enough to see her.
“Oh, Christ on a goddamn cross,” he swore heavily.
She wore garters. Straight and professional, neat and beautiful on the outside, but hiding something blessedly naughty underneath it all.
Pristine white garters to match the sweet white panties she wore.
A goddamn virgin sacrifice the way a man would want to have one. “Bad, bad girl, Dr. DeBruehl.”
“T-they’re practical f-for a tall woman. Pantyhose never fit right.”
“Bullshit. Own it, Jen. You like the way it feels. Every so often in the middle of all that science in your day you stop and remember you’re wearing these sexy little things. You remind yourself that you’re a woman underneath it all.”
“A practical woman,” she allowed with a mischievous smile.
That gorgeous little smile of trouble made him suddenly weak in the knees.
He let them bend and collapse, kneeling at her feet, his knees braced on the outsides of her ankles as his hands coasted down her hips and onto her thighs.
How had he missed the fact that she had the most amazing legs?
Pretty pale skin was everywhere, as well as the smell of her, which had intensified with the relocation of his nose.
He leaned forward, burying his face directly against the silky white fabric covering her mound.
He exhaled hard through the fabric, sending his hot breath against her.
He felt the quiver of response that shuddered through her thighs.
Her hands came to his head, her nails blindly plowing through the short edges of his hair.
The sensation sent nerve impulses down through his body, making his cock ache as it shuddered through the thickness of his erection.
Jenesis felt his fingers hook through the wet crotch of her panties and he pulled them down her legs as far as the garters would allow him to.
His fingers were shockingly burying themselves in her pubic hair and the folds of her labia the very next instant.
He pulled her forward onto the open mouth and tongue he had waiting for her.
She cried out as her long-dormant sex drive was called to attention by the swipe of his tongue over her clit.
There was no seeking. No hunting. He knew exactly where to find it and wasted no time making use of it.
And all the while she knew he was thrusting that tongue against her through long, beautiful fangs.
It hardly took anything at all for her to launch into a fast, fierce little orgasm.
She came into his mouth with a startled cry, the sensation ripping through her almost painfully dazzling.
Tears sprang up into her eyes and she quickly tried to blink them away.
He wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t there to be understanding.
Nor would he care that she hadn’t been touched since her boyfriend had walked out on her in the wake of her fall from grace seven years ago.
He was there for one thing only. And that was fine with her.
Oh so fine with her.
She couldn’t know what the creaminess of her response on his tongue was doing to him. He couldn’t have even explained it. The Morphate inside of him wasn’t interested in anything but reflexive need.
He surged up to his full height, towering over her as she drew rapidly for breath.
His fingers were still toying with her sex, making her squirm up onto the tips of her toes as she became overstimulated in the wake of that unexpected orgasm.
He was breathing in deep, growling gusts against her face, forcing her to smell herself all over him even as he stared down into her eyes.
He said nothing, making the point on his mind by suddenly thrusting two large fingers deep inside of her, his lips remaining at a distance from hers.
He would show her no affection, she thought even as she struggled up onto the tips of her toes in reaction to the stimulation.
He felt no affection for her. She was pretty sure he didn’t even like her.
He was responding to a mating instinct, pure and simple.
Regardless of what his mind might think of her, his biological imperatives were telling him she was an ideal mate.
It was sort of a compliment, she supposed. It told her that she was somehow superior in genetic material. Physically, intellectually …
Jena gasped as he thrust inside her again, wriggling his fingers in such a strange, thrilling undulation that she felt her whole body go weak and wet once again. That made his lips quirk up on one side. Perhaps a smile, perhaps an expression of superiority.
His free hand came up to streak across her body suddenly, half-extended claws ripping through the silk of her blouse, shredding it until he could pull it down her arms enough to expose the front of her torso and effectively pinning her arms to her sides as he twisted the torn fabric together and held on to it.
At that same instant she felt what those half-grown claws felt like inside of her body, scraping against her cervix in a way that made her whole body jolt with the amazing ratcheting sensation of another orgasm building rapidly up inside of her.
She was gasping in uncontrollable bursts of breath as he lowered his lips to her ear.
“With a Morphate female, we can smell her ripeness. She is aware of when she is prime for the making of a child. And the exchange of blood between mates during sex readies her reproductive cycle.”