Prime Series Collection: (Broken Prime, Prime Desire, Mated Prime), Page 2

  She didn’t move. Couldn’t. No matter how crazy this was, she was suddenly dying for him to kiss her. And when his lips touched hers, she leaned into the gentle caress, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  His lips were soft, but the pressure was deliciously demanding. And God, she hadn’t imagined how he smelled when he carried her here. Like the woods surrounding his cabin, wild and more than a little dangerous.

  The scent filled her lungs, and suddenly she wasn’t close enough. She wrapped her arms tighter, running her fingers through his hair, gripping it to try to pull him closer.

  With a low growl, he drew her onto his lap. She spread her thighs, placing her knees on the couch, to accommodate his legs. At the soft urging of his tongue, she opened her mouth.

  Her whole body was on fire, and when he deepened the kiss, she felt his hard erection between her legs.

  Nicolas broke off the kiss. “Ah, hell, Evie. We shouldn’t do this.”

  “Why not?” The obvious reason hit her. “We’re both adults, Nicolas. If you’re worried you’re taking advantage of me—”

  “That’s not it.” His grip tightened on her hips, and he avoided her gaze, eyes locked on her shoulder. “There are things about me you don’t know.”

  “Dangerous things?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

  His eyes jerked to meet hers, and there was no humor in his expression. “Yes.”

  A flitter of worry touched her, but she ignored it. What secrets could this obviously caring, strong man have that should concern her? “We all have our secrets, Nicolas.”

  “Not like mine.”

  Was he just trying to get out of this? Maybe he didn’t like her, and his erection was just the normal, young male reaction to anything with boobs. She started to get up. “If you don’t want to—”

  His grip tightened, almost painfully. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’re making this into a big deal.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Sex doesn’t have to be a big deal.” Really? Did she have to explain that to a hottie in his twenties?

  “Is that what we’re talking about here? Just sex?”

  “What else would we be talking about?” She shrugged. “We’re not talking life-changing here, Nicolas. Just a little fun we’ll probably forget by next year.” A lie, but a necessary one, if only to save a shred of her own pride. As if she could forget him so easily.

  A flash of hurt crossed his expression. Before she could say anything, determination replaced it. “I definitely want to have sex with you.”

  The man was nothing if not direct. Some of the tension left her, and she relaxed back on his lap, trying not to be totally distracted by the fact that he was still rock hard under her aching sex. “Then shut up about your secrets and fuck me.”

  The last word was barely out of her mouth and he was on top of her. The speed at which he picked her up, carried her across the room, and planted her on his bed would have made her head spin if she’d had the time to process it. Or the brainpower. But her mind was fully focused on his lips against hers, his tongue forcefully taking her mouth. The long, hard cock he rubbed just where she needed him most.

  “Nicolas!” she gasped when he finally broke the kiss.

  But he wasn’t listening. His face set in a look so intense it made her want to look away, he stepped back and pulled off his shirt and pants.

  Commando.

  Before she could fully consider what kind of man would brave the cold weather surrounding them without a stitch of cloth beneath his pants, he was undressing her. He didn’t take his time—he pulled, tugged, and grabbed at her clothes until she was free of all but her panties and bra. Her tiny panties, and very thin bra.

  Okay, maybe he wasn’t the only crazy one.

  Finally, he paused, her shirt still hanging from his hand. “You’re beautiful, city girl,” he murmured, eyes raking over her body like she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  She blushed and waved away the compliment. “Not looking too bad yourself, country boy.”

  A sexy grin, then he was positioning his body over hers. Slowly, he undid the front clasp of her bra and slid it open. He took her breasts in his hands and massaged them gently.

  “So fucking beautiful,” he said, never looking away from her breasts. Then he bent to take one of her nipples in his mouth. He rolled her tender flesh with his tongue and lips, making the hard tips even harder, and sending a shock of need straight between her legs.

  “Nicolas,” she said, his name escaping her lips in a whimper.

  Ignoring her plea, he moved to her other nipple, pinching the first between his rough thumb and index finger as he gently worked the second with his mouth. The contrast made unbearable pressure build in her sex. She squirmed.

  “Please!” She arched her back, trying to alleviate some of the pressure herself, but he easily moved out of the way and continued to torture her breasts.

  The ache in her sex was almost painful. How could he bring her this close to orgasm without touching her clit?

  Finally, he pulled back, but massaged and softly pinched her breasts and nipples, watching her face while he tortured her. “Your breasts are so sensitive. I wonder if I could make you come just by sucking on your nipples.”

  The thought made her moan, long and low, and just the idea of it, the idea of this man being able to play her body so easily, almost pushed her over the edge.

  “I think I could,” he mused, as if unaffected by what he was doing to her. But his voice caught, betraying him. And the hunger in his gaze was unmistakable. “I wonder if you’d forget this so easily, then? By next year, you said?”

  So her words had hurt him—she hadn’t imagined the flash of emotion in his eyes. Right now she couldn’t find words to explain. To apologize. To try to make it right.

  And he didn’t seem to expect her to. Instead, he leaned down again and worked her breasts, even more roughly than before, pulling his mouth away only long enough to whisper dirty things that made her whimper with need.

  “Such nice little nipples. So hard and sensitive. Going to be swollen for days after I get done with them.”

  The slight edge of malice to his voice pushed her over the edge, and with his teeth closing gently over one of her peaks, she came hard. He held her down, never stopping his assault on her breasts, but never touching her pussy, either, until the aftershocks faded. Then he pulled back from her chest and cradled her with his large body, most of his weight supported by his arms. He kissed her face and neck, soft little butterfly kisses, as she came back down to earth.

  “That was amazing,” she managed, not opening her eyes—she was suddenly more than a little embarrassed.

  Had he really just made her come without getting anywhere near her sex? Impossible. But she definitely hadn’t imagined that body-shaking orgasm.

  He kissed her eyelids, a soft press to each one, then pulled away—not far, because she could still feel him. “Look at me, city girl.”

  “I’m too embarrassed,” she said, stubbornly keeping her eyes closed.

  His soft chuckle didn’t help, but there was no cruelty in his tone. “Embarrassed? That was wonderful.”

  Carefully, she opened one eye to peer suspiciously at him. “It was weird.”

  A smirk. “Ah, honey, if you think that was weird, I’ve got some really fun stuff to show you.”

  She batted at his chest and he laughed.

  “That wasn’t weird. That was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. And I sure as hell wouldn’t mind seeing it again.” He pushed back to tower over her on his knees, then he took his cock in his hand and began to stroke himself. “But not right now. Right now, I want that fuck you promised.”

  Words escaped her, replaced by need. Watching him stare at her while he worked his cock made her even wetter than before, and she couldn’t do anything but gape at him. He couldn’t be that much older than her, and something in his demeanor, in his words, had made her thin
k he might be a little inexperienced. But the man filling her vision—fisting his cock confidently, a slight smirk on his lips—was anything but inexperienced. She’d bet her scholarship on the fact that if anyone was green here, it was her. College hook-ups hadn’t prepared her for this man.

  He reached for her.

  “Condom!” she said, brain finally kicking in.

  A slight frown. “Do you have one?”

  Holy crap. What kind of guy looked like him and didn’t carry around condoms? The thought gave her pause. “You don’t?”

  He grimaced. “This cabin isn’t the lady magnet you seem to think it is.”

  “In my jacket pocket.” He arched a brow at her and she shrugged. “A girl has to keep hope alive.”

  A soft chuckle, then he was gone. Before she could blink, he was back, standing at the end of the bed, her emergency condom in one hand, and his hard dick in the other. “Only one?”

  She licked her lips and crawled toward him. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

  Before he could reply, she was licking the tip of his cock, tasting his salty, clean flavor. Then she took him in her hand and stroked him.

  “Ah, Evie.” His voice was strained.

  She liked that. Shooting him a small grin, she gave him her best sexy look, then took him into her mouth. As much of him as she could fit, anyway.

  The man was huge, bigger than any she’d even been with. Thick and long and perfectly formed. She struggled to take more of him into her mouth as she pleasured him. Working him with her tongue, she moved up and down on his shaft until he bumped the back of her throat.

  “Ah, hell,” he breathed. He rested his hand on her head, not guiding her, just holding her, running his fingers over her hair.

  She moved faster, feeling the tension in his body.

  “Stop, Evie.” His voice was guttural, he was close.

  Tasting his pre-ejaculate, she moved faster, stroking him with her tongue every time she pulled away. His grip tightened in her hair, and he tugged her back. Pain stung her from her scalp as he yanked her off his cock.

  She glared up at him, feeling like he’d denied her something.

  His expression was feral, different. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly, but something was off. “I said stop,” he said, voice so low and strained she could barely make out the words.

  A shiver of need rolled through her at the command in his tone. Her sex pulsed, as if she hadn’t just come.

  A small smirk touched his lips. “I think you like being ordered around in bed.”

  “Keep ordering me around and you’ll find out.” It was supposed to be a threat, but for some reason, it sounded like a promise. Shit.

  “I plan to.” Then he was kissing her, pushing her back on the bed. His hand slipped between them to rub her clit through her panties, and in moments, she was panting for breath between kisses.

  “You’re so wet, city girl. Can’t wait to fuck your tight little pussy.” He slid his finger beneath her panties and straight into her aching sex.

  She moaned at his words, at the way his thick finger penetrated her without the slightest hesitation. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and took it. And damn it all if she didn’t like being taken.

  A rip of the condom wrapper. She moved in to kiss him again, but he pulled back, taking her soaking panties with him. Then he picked her up and flipped her onto her stomach.

  She cried out, frustrated at her lack of control, yet so turned on by him taking the lead—and his show of strength—that she was ready to crawl out of her skin. Hands holding her hips firmly, he pulled her ass up into the air. Gently, he smoothed his hand over the small of her back until she arched for him.

  Sliding his smooth tip around her slick entrance, he made sure she was ready for him, then with one swift motion, he sunk his full length into her heat.

  “Nicolas!” His name was wrenched from her lips in a mix of pleasure and pain, of sudden fullness and intense desire. A growl behind her, then he started moving, fucking her hard.

  “So wet and tight. Fuck, Evie.”

  God, he was right. She was so wet, so ready for him, that it took only a few strokes before the small bit of discomfort from his rough taking faded away, and intense pleasure overwhelmed her senses.

  Harder and faster with every stroke, he fucked her with abandon. She gripped the flannel sheets, trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep some semblance of control. He denied her even that, setting the pace and holding her in place with his iron grip on her hips. The man who’d been patient enough to bring her to orgasm by playing with her breasts alone was gone; it was like an animal had replaced him.

  Female satisfaction rolled through her as she moaned at each thrust. She’d done this to him. Brought him to this fervor.

  With each stroke, he hit something deep inside of her, something sensitive that made her gasp and moan and try to squirm—away or closer, she wasn’t sure. The orgasm hit her suddenly, and she cried out from the force of it. Her whole body shuddered, her sex clenching around him as he continued to fuck her.

  A shout of triumph behind her, and then she felt his cock jerking inside of her heat as he found his own release.

  Sudden pain arched from the muscle between her neck and shoulders, and she yelled, trying to pull away. But her muscles didn’t work, and she couldn’t seem to move. The orgasm didn’t stop. It kept rolling over her, even more intensely than before, and Nicolas, holding her in place, continued to thrust into her, even as she felt him against her neck. Stars flashed across her vision.

  For a moment, the world disappeared. There was only him, behind her, inside her, holding her close. Keeping her safe. Making her complete in way she’d never known existed. A moment of total bliss.

  Reality hit. Something was wrong. Her neck was on fire. She struggled in his arms, finally able to move, to turn.

  The pressure against her neck disappeared, but what she saw pushed her from strange, surreal pleasure, to panic.

  Blood.

  Wet and dark, it stained the sheets by her shoulder. Not much—not that she could see in the low lighting, but even the small mark sent her into a panic.

  “What—” She jerked against the weight on her back, and Nicolas pushed off of her. She spun to face him, gripping the now aching spot between her neck and her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, gruffly, pulling on his jeans.

  “You bit me!”

  “I didn’t mean to—I don’t know why—”

  “You don’t know why you bit me?” Holy crap. He’d bitten her, hard enough to draw blood. There was a surprisingly small amount of pain, considering how hard a man probably had to bite to draw blood, but still. The lack of pain was probably just a benefit of the adrenaline pumping into her system.

  Fear mixed with anger in her stomach, and she clung to the anger. Fear wasn’t an option right now. She couldn’t exactly go running into the snowstorm, screaming about the man who’d saved her life, given her amazing orgasms, then bit her like some kind of cannibal.

  “It was instinct. I’m sorry. If I’d known the connection would be that strong, I never would have—but I can’t take it back.” His voice was thick, garbled, and she looked at him. If he had a chunk of her shoulder in his mouth or something she was going to go apeshit.

  But it wasn’t her flesh in his teeth that made him sound so odd—his teeth were wrong. Big and long and holy shit.

  Her chest constricted and her blood pumped so loudly in her ears she could barely hear her panicked breaths over the sound. She scrambled up from the bed. “What the fuck?”

  His hand rose to his face, covering his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he said, blocking her view of his fangs.

  His fangs.

  Sorry? He was sorry?

  Realization hit, and black spots crossed her vision. Dread curled in her stomach, and a deep sadness made her swallow down a sob before she could speak.

  “I’m still out there, in the snow,�
� she said, voice barely audible, even to her own ears.

  “What?” He’d moved his hand away from his mouth—his teeth were normal again.

  Still leaning against that tree, she was dying. This was one of those feverish dreams that struck when a person was beyond shock. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

  She choked on the lump in her throat, and tears pricked her eyelids. “I’m going to die.”

  Nicolas closed the gap between them and pulled her into his warm embrace. She didn’t fight him—what did it matter if this was a dream?

  “You’re not going to die. You’re fine, city girl, I’ve got you.”

  “This has to be a dream. Your mouth—”

  “Shh…” He held her, rubbing small, calming circles on her back.

  She inhaled deeply. His scent, so earthy and clean, calmed her, even though it was just an illusion. If she was going to die, there were worse ways than in this imaginary man’s arms.

  “It’s not a dream, I promise you. I can pinch you, if you want.”

  Unconvinced, and not placated by his teasing, she pushed away from his chest and looked up at him. “If it’s not a dream, then what the fuck is going on with your teeth?”

  His brows furrowed. “I’m not supposed to tell you. You’re human.”

  “And you’re not?” The whole conversation was so surreal. The knowledge that it was all probably in her head made it easier for some reason.

  “No.”

  “Then what are you?”

  He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “I’m a weretiger.”

  The laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it, and the sound was only half hysterical.

  A frown creased his mouth and he stepped back. “You find that amusing.”

  “I’m just impressed with my dying brain’s imagination.”

  “You’re not dying.” Anger coated his tone. Imagine that; she’d touched a nerve in her imaginary man.

  “Then why am I having crazy weretiger sex dreams?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I totally believe you. I believe in vampires and magic and little green men, too.”