Honored Vow by Mary Calmes Page A

my jeans and underwear until I was naked in front of him. He had watched me, not touching his own clothes, gold-slitted eyes instead locked on my body, running over it, never leaving me.
    When he reached out a hand, I saw claws where there should have been fingers.
    I fell to my knees and went to work on his belt.
    “Nekhene,” he growled at me.
    I loosened the belt, unhooked the clasp of his suit pants, let them fall, and then eased his briefs down until his enormous cock bounced free. I admired the curve of it, the bronze color, the length and girth, the prominent vein that ran down the side and the wide, flared tip before I rose up and took him down the back of my throat.
    His cry of pleasure filled the room. A second later I felt the sharp claws in my hair, gliding over my scalp as he held me against him, making sure that his cock would remain buried in my hot, wet mouth.
    I sucked hard, licked, swirled my tongue around the length of him, pulled back to trace the underside, leaned forward to bathe his balls, using my hand to tug and pull gently but firmly, swallowing the dripping precome before I took him in again from swollen head to base. He pushed in and out of my mouth, holding me there, his hand fisted in my hair.
    When he pulled away, I tried to recapture him, but he used my hair like a leash as he lifted me to my feet and hurled me backward onto the bed. I hit it and rolled and he was on me, lifting my ass into the air. I heard him spit once and then again, and when his long, hard, rough tongue pushed into my opening, I cried out.
    Normally there was lube, normally there were his talented fingers, but there was nothing, and he did not want to hurt me with his claws. He spit again, and I writhed against him as I felt his thighs brush the backs of mine.
    “My reah,” he snarled as I felt the head of his cock at my entrance.
    But that wasn’t me. I was a nekhene cat and I was free; no one owned me.
    He felt me tense in rebellion and responded. “Mine!”
    I hissed out a moan as claws were driven into my hips, holding me still as he pushed inside me, slowly spreading me open, easing past the tight rings of muscle, pressing deeper and deeper.
    The nekhene in me stilled, quieted, waited through the welcome jolt of pain.
    My mate.
    The man was my mate, and I wanted to be claimed more than I wanted to breathe.
    He pressed into me, pushing, never stopping until he was fully seated inside, buried to the hilt. I was so full, so stretched, and the pain was white hot even as it began to change from burn to pulse to aching, throbbing need.
    “Logan,” I cried as my muscles clenched around him, spasming.
    He pulled back, sliding slowly, and then he thrust back into me, hard and deep.
    “Oh please,” I begged him, loving the feel of the man sheathed in me.
    The action was repeated over and over, his rhythm set in seconds, again and again, fucking me, the length of him sliding easily in and out of my slick, clenching channel.
    It was not tender, it was bruising, and I was held down, like a mating, the rutting that animals did, until he was coated in a sheen of sweat. What changed it to more was his hand, morphed from the clawed version back to human, on my face, turning my head, lifting my chin so he could take possession of my mouth as well as my body. Our lips melded together, and heat flared between us, his desire and mine exactly the same—to be one. He demanded surrender, and I gave it. When I felt his hand grip my cock, just that much pressure over sensitized flesh brought my orgasm roaring up out of me in a blinding rush. My muscles flexed around his hardness, tightening all at once, hugging his shaft and wringing his shuddering release from him seconds later.
    He collapsed on top of me, pinning me to the bed under him, both of us heaving and spent, panting for air.
    “Maybe you should take me with you from now on,” I finally said, smiling, turning my head to nuzzle aside his sweaty hair and kiss his