Chapter 4 #4
Jena would probably be the only woman on the planet who would find such information an absolute turn-on. It didn’t hurt that he was leaning his big, heavy body against her, rubbing himself against her like a cat might rub its owner.
Then very abruptly he was away from her, flipping her front to back and stripping down the tattered remnants of her blouse.
His hands raked over both of her hips, snapping the fragile garters easily and doing the same to her panties.
He was able to spread her feet apart then, able to pull her hips out from the wall and into the cradle of his pelvis.
Heated denim rubbed coarsely against her, as if he wanted to fuck her in spite of the impediment.
Jena braced her palms against the wall, but a warning hand on her back prevented her from pushing away.
Not that she was of a mind to. She was too overwhelmed by sensation, her head spinning as an unbelievable craving overcame her.
He leaned his head forward, sniffing at the wound he had dressed, deep, intimidating growls punching out of him.
He stripped away the bandage and this time gave in to the desire to lick her wounds.
He couldn’t fuck her with the smell of another male seeping into her in even the smallest way.
It made him angry that she had been hurt.
It made him angrier that another male had dared to mark her first. He would remember that scent, though.
As he washed it away with his tongue, it sank deep into his memory so he would know it the instant he came across it once more.
Then he would rip the fucker to shreds.
Oh, the dismemberment couldn’t kill him … but it would hurt. A lot. Death was an agonizing experience … even more so when you couldn’t actually die.
But all of that was pushed aside as a deeper need overcame the Morphate male.
The need to take her. His way. And immediately.
He was beyond the point of recognizing the dangers of that prospect.
The animal inside of him had chosen its mate and nothing was going to gainsay him.
Besides, looking at her, all unkempt and naked, all curves and femininity and nothing there reminding him she was the buttoned up brilliance that had made him what he was, he just wanted to ease the pounding need inside himself.
Kin ripped open his jeans, freeing his enormous cock, letting it fall against her curvy little ass, barely registering how massive it seemed to be in comparison to her petite backside.
One hand reached for her hair, stripping it out of that neat ponytail and giving himself a mess of gold to grip on to.
He fisted his hand into it and fit the crown of his penis to the entrance of her body.
Driven purely by mating need, an overwhelming mating need, he began to thrust himself into her.
Jena cried out almost immediately. It didn’t register on him that it wasn’t a good sort of sound.
He continued to try to force himself in, the clawing urge to come inside of her blinding him to everything else.
There was no describing or controlling the imperative that overcame him.
Even he was shocked and overwhelmed by it.
He had felt Morphate need before, but nothing like this.
And the tightness of her closing around him seemed to make it more and more intense by the second.
In the back of his brain the man that he was whispered fiercely of the things he understood about women and their needs, but for some reason he could not make any of it come into play.
This was a fuck. The Morphate wanted a fuck. It demanded it single-mindedly.
Jena was in pain. She couldn’t see the size of the erection being pushed inside of her, but she didn’t need to in order to understand that it was insanely out of proportion to her own body.
It was a hell of a time for her to recall that there was a reason why Morphate males had required a specialized line of condoms in order to fit their exaggerated parts.
It was a hell of a time for her to realize that he wasn’t even using one of those condoms.
She didn’t realize that the Morphate inside of her had never, ever forgotten a condom.
Instead, Kin couldn’t distract himself from the idea of spilling himself inside her. He couldn’t make himself fit inside her entirely, hard as he tried, so he had to be satisfied with a little over halfway and began to thrust in rapid succession into her.
Jen stretched to suit him, albeit painfully.
But after a while that discomfort became something distant and unimportant, even though it never actually went away.
The surge of all that masculinity up against the back of her body, the repetitive jolting she took against the wall, somehow overcame his lack of attention to her body in other ways.
The primal starkness of it made her breasts and chest go heavy and hot; she creamed over him and it eased him along.
He hit her harder then, a fierce snarl of need and coming climax barking out of him.
And suddenly he jerked her back by her shoulders, throwing her head against his collarbone, and ferociously bit down into her in the very spot he had marked on her earlier with his tongue.
The agony was shocking and she screamed, but even as the fire of it burned through her she felt him starting to come in hard, savage bursts.
The wildness of it touched on something that years of evolution couldn’t breed out of her, though she had never known it was there.
She exploded into the rawest and most shocking orgasm of her life.
She would have thought there could be no pleasure in any of this, but there it was, spiraling through her and all around her.
And every single sound he made, every growl big or small, sent a sense of wicked satisfaction down into the deepest core of her body.
She took him and let him take her, in every way her limited humanity allowed her to do.
Kin could hardly decide which felt more glorious, the raging release inside of her or the heated delight of her blood sliding down his throat.
Blood to him did not taste like blood had tasted when he had been human.
Though there was that tang of salt and iron, there was a sweet, savory dimension to it that his human senses had been incapable of appreciating.
And that was just the general bouquet of it.
The special nuances that were Jenesis and Jenesis alone, nuances that no other woman would ever be able to duplicate, were unbelievable.
It went through him like a potent liqueur, spreading warmth and languor in his chest, belly, and limbs.
His mouth came away from her ravaged shoulder, his forehead falling forward against the wall as he tried to catch his breath.
His cock was still hard, still inside her, wrung out from his orgasm but clearly he was already contemplating using her for another.
He felt the wetness of his come oozing all around himself as it sought ways to overflow her tightly occupied body.
She was slick with sweat from head to toe, only her skirt bunched up around her hips providing evidence that she had been fully clothed just minutes ago.
He was supporting a great deal of her weight, he realized.
He turned his head a bit so he could see her face.
Long, pretty blond lashes were resting against her cheeks, her eyes closed as she drew hard for breath.
Her hands were against the wall, curled into fists.
The sight of her, just the aspects of her face, the paleness of her skin, and the smell of her in a postcoital state made him want to do it again.
And again. The desperation of the thought took him aback, even as he felt wet warmth against his chest and realized he had unthinkingly left the wound on her shoulder open and bleeding.
Bleeding quite freely down her back and chest at that.
Her blood was seeping into the matte white paint of the wall where her breast touched it.
She went suddenly lax against him, and every protective instinct in his being raged violently to the surface.
No! No, I won’t hurt you! Caring for you is my everything. It will be my everything!
He could no more control the thought than he could the impulses that came next to cradle her back against his body, pulling himself free of her while he brought her shoulder up to his lips and the intense brush of his tongue over her weeping wounds.
There was something inside of him that would not only clean the area free of immediate bacteria, but would seal it and protect it from further infection.
It was a secondary system, really, meant to support the powerful healing capabilities of a Morphate mate.
Had she been Morphate, the wound would already be well into the healing process.
But she was not Morphate.
The understanding rang through him like a shrill note. Because she was not Morphate, he would need to protect her even more carefully. She would need all the protection and attention he could muster. Nothing must happen to her.
Nothing could happen to his mate.
“Jenesis?” He breathed it softly against her cheek.
“I’m fine,” she said so quietly he would have thought he’d imagined it had he not seen her lips move. But those lips were lacking their usual soft coral color, telling him she had lost a little too much blood for her system to handle. He had not taken much …
… for a Morphate mating.
“But you’re no Morphate woman,” he said under his breath as he scooped her up off her feet and carried her in to her bedroom.
“I’m woman enough,” she pointed out with a mysterious little smile rippling over her pale lips.