I spin her around in my arms and my lips slam down on hers.
The kiss is hard. Desperate. I’ve been kissing her in my head for days and now and I finally have her mouth and it is better than anything I imagined. Her lips are soft. Her tongue slips against mine and she tastes like rain and wild arousal. I grip the back of her neck and hold her to me and I kiss her like I will never kiss anything else.
She melts against me for one long moment. Then she bites my lower lip. Hard. I taste my own blood and it is the most erotic thing that has ever happened to me.
She shoves me away, pushes hard against my wet chest. She is panting. “This is meant to be hard for you,” my feisty female gasps.
I grin. “Then make it hard, my Be’Ih.”
She kicks me.
Not a wild kick, a real one. She pivots on her back foot and drives her heel into my thigh with everything she has. I grunt and catch her leg. Use it to drag her off balance and to the mossy ground.
She lands on her back and the wind knocks out of her. She gasps.
I cover her.
Ines isn’t done. She swings her fist at my throat. I duck. Her knuckles connect with my jaw and I hear the small crack of her hand. She hisses in pain but doesn’t stop. She scratches my chest. Her blunt human nails rake red lines down the ridges of my stomach. Blood wells up. The sting is exquisite.
She bites my shoulder. Hard enough to break skin.
Good.
I’m going to wear these marks proudly. My brothers will see them. They’ll know my Bride fought for me.
I pin both her wrists above her head with one of my hands. She’s so small. Her arms disappear into my one grip.
She screams with frustration.
“Mine,” I snarl down at her.
I smell the flood of her arousal hit the air between us. She is drenched for me and the rain is running down her face and her chest is heaving and her pink nipples are tight and pointed at me and I have never wanted anything as much as I want her right now.
She struggles again. Bucks her hips, trying to get out from under me.
“Mine,” I growl again.
“Prove it.”
I let go of one of her wrists and shove two fingers inside her.
She gasps. Her back arches off the moss. She’s so wet. Her body is soft and tight around my fingers and I have never felt anything like this. I curve my fingers up, searching for what I’ve studied in the mating classes, the spot that Xylan males are taught to find in their mates.
I find it.
She cries out. Her whole body jerks. “Oh my gods, Texon?—”
I pump my fingers in and out, watching her face, watching the way her mouth drops open and her eyes flutter closed. I could do this forever.
I pull my fingers out.
Her eyes open in protest.
I bring my fingers to my mouth and lick them clean.
She is staring at me with her mouth hanging open. The rain is running into it. She looks stunned. But then her eyes regain that wild look again, that restless energy, the prey-instinct still running in her blood. She thrashes, trying to slip out from under me.
I grab her thighs and drag her back.
