attacking pit bull the minute the front door closed behind them.
She landed on the entry carpet with a hard thump, and he heard the hiss when the impact managed to knock most of the air out of her lungs. Whatever she had left, he stole from her in a kiss so hot and wet and mind blowing he almost came just from the feel of her mouth under his. His lips moved against hers, firm and avid, while his tongue plunged deep to tangle with hers. She tasted of coffee and woman and the sweet, wild flavor of Missy, and he wanted to devour her. He swore she tasted even better than she had the night before. Richer. More intense. Maybe he was imagining it, but in the interest of accuracy, he figured he’d better make sure by conducting a few more tests. Taste tests.
Naked taste tests.
Growling in anticipation, he closed his hands over the knot holding her shirt closed and ripped it apart. Never mind he’d just reduced his own shirt to dust rags, because the treasure that lay under it was a hell of a lot more important to him. His hands clenched into fists as he spread the sides of the shirt and bared her breasts to his hungry gaze. Her nipples beaded even before he touched them, stabbing into the air like little pebbles and making his mouth water. He popped one between his lips quickly, before he started drooling in his enthusiasm.
She murmured and shifted beneath him, creating a distracting friction against the demanding inhabitant of his jeans. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and he reached down to open her pants. Somehow the black material disintegrated under his hands. He hadn’t intended to be that rough, but apparently his instincts couldn’t care less about his intentions.
Missy didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way her breathing sped up and her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders and then down his back, until she could grab handfuls of fabric and pull his shirttails from his waistband. He levered some of his weight off of her, bracing his palms against the oriental carpet that covered the hardwood floor. He gave her nipple a last, fond lick and began to nuzzle his way across her chest to her other breast.
Christine Warren
Fur Factor
56
He was right—her taste had gotten richer, sweeter, hotter since the night before, but he knew he’d have to taste another few select spots before he could confirm that theory. Her neglected nipple was only next on a very long list.
Halfway across her chest, when his nose hit that heated patch of flesh between her breasts where her scent had pooled, Graham froze. In that moment he knew for certain that her scent had gotten stronger, and he knew why.
Missy was fertile.
He held himself over her, poised and still and trembling with the effort of restraint, and fought to keep his beast far enough under wraps not to hurt her or rush her or send her screaming from his house in terror. His nostrils flared, and he inhaled deeply, unable to control the need to drink in her fragrance, even though every drop made it more difficult to restrain his impulses. He stood on a precipice, and he knew that if he didn’t pull away from her now, this minute, and get as far out of range of her scent as possible, he would make her pregnant, and when that happened, their mate-bond would go from theoretical to irrevocable. After that, it wouldn’t matter what she wanted, because Graham would never be able to let her go.
Missy whimpered beneath him. Her hands tore at his shirt, but the sturdy material held fast, and she slid her hands between their bodies to attack his buttons.
One after the other, she slid them from their moorings until she could push the shirt off his shoulders and out of her way. Then she bowed her body upward and ran her warm, pink tongue over one of his flat nipples, and he knew he’d passed the irrevocable stage of their bond a long, long time ago. She was his, and now he would make sure that never changed.
With a fierce snarl, he reared back onto his knees, pulling
She landed on the entry carpet with a hard thump, and he heard the hiss when the impact managed to knock most of the air out of her lungs. Whatever she had left, he stole from her in a kiss so hot and wet and mind blowing he almost came just from the feel of her mouth under his. His lips moved against hers, firm and avid, while his tongue plunged deep to tangle with hers. She tasted of coffee and woman and the sweet, wild flavor of Missy, and he wanted to devour her. He swore she tasted even better than she had the night before. Richer. More intense. Maybe he was imagining it, but in the interest of accuracy, he figured he’d better make sure by conducting a few more tests. Taste tests.
Naked taste tests.
Growling in anticipation, he closed his hands over the knot holding her shirt closed and ripped it apart. Never mind he’d just reduced his own shirt to dust rags, because the treasure that lay under it was a hell of a lot more important to him. His hands clenched into fists as he spread the sides of the shirt and bared her breasts to his hungry gaze. Her nipples beaded even before he touched them, stabbing into the air like little pebbles and making his mouth water. He popped one between his lips quickly, before he started drooling in his enthusiasm.
She murmured and shifted beneath him, creating a distracting friction against the demanding inhabitant of his jeans. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and he reached down to open her pants. Somehow the black material disintegrated under his hands. He hadn’t intended to be that rough, but apparently his instincts couldn’t care less about his intentions.
Missy didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way her breathing sped up and her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders and then down his back, until she could grab handfuls of fabric and pull his shirttails from his waistband. He levered some of his weight off of her, bracing his palms against the oriental carpet that covered the hardwood floor. He gave her nipple a last, fond lick and began to nuzzle his way across her chest to her other breast.
Christine Warren
Fur Factor
56
He was right—her taste had gotten richer, sweeter, hotter since the night before, but he knew he’d have to taste another few select spots before he could confirm that theory. Her neglected nipple was only next on a very long list.
Halfway across her chest, when his nose hit that heated patch of flesh between her breasts where her scent had pooled, Graham froze. In that moment he knew for certain that her scent had gotten stronger, and he knew why.
Missy was fertile.
He held himself over her, poised and still and trembling with the effort of restraint, and fought to keep his beast far enough under wraps not to hurt her or rush her or send her screaming from his house in terror. His nostrils flared, and he inhaled deeply, unable to control the need to drink in her fragrance, even though every drop made it more difficult to restrain his impulses. He stood on a precipice, and he knew that if he didn’t pull away from her now, this minute, and get as far out of range of her scent as possible, he would make her pregnant, and when that happened, their mate-bond would go from theoretical to irrevocable. After that, it wouldn’t matter what she wanted, because Graham would never be able to let her go.
Missy whimpered beneath him. Her hands tore at his shirt, but the sturdy material held fast, and she slid her hands between their bodies to attack his buttons.
One after the other, she slid them from their moorings until she could push the shirt off his shoulders and out of her way. Then she bowed her body upward and ran her warm, pink tongue over one of his flat nipples, and he knew he’d passed the irrevocable stage of their bond a long, long time ago. She was his, and now he would make sure that never changed.
With a fierce snarl, he reared back onto his knees, pulling
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