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With a sharp crack, he fully extended his wings, creating an artificial night, closing me off to everything but him. He released my mouth and trailed nips up my jaw. The Iceman was long gone. All I felt was heat, simmering in my blood, melting through flesh to bone. His teeth grazed my earlobe. Desire coiled low and deep, tightening as his mouth worked on me.
“Let go,” said the dragon. No sign of Kol.
Though my instinct was to resist the marking, my body had other plans, responding to every sweep of his tongue, every brush of his chest. His thigh pressed between my legs, spreading them, heat rushing to the place he rubbed. I moaned in the back of my throat, embarrassed by my unwilling submission, though not enough to make him stop. God, I wouldn’t dare, it felt so good.
His hand gripped the collar of my shirt and wrenched it off my shoulder. The two top buttons popped. I didn’t care. I’d never felt so consumed, so obliterated by sensation, my blood burning, rushing like lava through my body. Mikal had been a gentle lover. There was nothing gentle about Kol. And while my brain reminded me that this was to mark me for protection only, not for any kind of affection Kol might have, I was overwhelmed by his mouth heating my skin, by his powerful frame pressing me into the red-tufted rug. I bent my knees, caging him between my legs.
His mouth opened on the curve between neck and shoulder, biting down hard. I cried out, yet still my fingers wove into his black hair, pulling him closer, my body aching for more. His hand cupped my breast, squeezing till I arched up, yielding to his will. He licked the spot at my neck he’d bitten. My hips rocked up of their own accord, pressing against the thick length of him.
Control? I had none. I was riding on pure sensation. I’d lost my freaking mind.
His lips made their way back to my mouth. His tongue lined my bottom lip before sweeping in again. I kissed him back with the same intensity, sliding my tongue over his. He rocked in between my legs, the seam of my jeans a marvelous friction with what he pressed there.
“Kol,” I breathed in desperation.
His fingers kneaded my breast. I rolled my pelvis up as he rubbed harder against me.
“Let go, Moira.”
Frantic, I tried to hold on to some sanity, not wanting to give in to him, not wanting to let go, but it was impossible. He swallowed my scream when my nerves fractured. I never screamed with Mikal. Of course, I didn’t always come with Mikal, either. And this wasn’t even sex. This was…make-out marking.
Breathing hard and beyond embarrassed at my shocking reaction to his body on top of mine, I closed my eyes, willing myself somewhere else as a hot pulse still throbbed between my legs. I forced my fingers loose, still clutched in his hair and the front of his shirt, panting like some wanton. His lips hovered above my own, unmoving, lingering. I refused to meet his gaze. After a moment, his wings folded against his back with a whoosh as he lifted off my body. Heavy steps as he walked across the study and opened the door.
Sitting up, I gazed down at my top, gaping with the loss of two buttons. Within a minute, Kol walked back into the room carrying my coat and scarf. He sauntered over and pulled me to my feet.
Handing me my scarf, a smirk fixed on his face, he said, “You might want to use this to uh…” He motioned to my gaping blouse.
Fuming, I wrapped and tied the scarf, covering my exposed cleavage because he had torn my shirt. But what could I say after the way I reacted to his mouth and hands all over my body. Mortified didn’t begin to describe how I felt as I yanked my coat from him and jerked it on, stomping for the door.
He caught me by the arm and whirled me around, leaning his head toward my neck.
“Stop it, Kol! Marking time is over.”
While trying to pry him off with no success, he gripped my other arm, keeping me still. Damn it, I needed more body boxing lessons. Holding me captive by the arms, he nuzzled into my make-out-messy hair.
“Stop it,” I gritted out.
“I’m just checking,” he crooned. I wanted to die.
His nose grazed my neck in a fleeting soft touch. I shivered. He straightened, a wicked-as-sin grin plastered on his face. “Good. I’m well and deep under that skin of yours.”
“Satisfied?”
He arched one dark brow as if to ask, Are you? I wanted to punch him in the face. For about the hundredth time.
“Not quite, Kittycat. But it’ll do. For now.”
I shrugged out of his hold. “Don’t even think there’ll be a repeat session, because there won’t be.”
I couldn’t help the bitterness that had dripped from my voice. He hadn’t violated me. He’d done worse. He’d made me lose complete control. He’d made me feel a shocking wave of pleasure unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my entire life, when I didn’t want it nor had I asked for it. I didn’t want to feel anything in that way. I didn’t want a man in my life at all. Complicating things, steering me in a direction of his choosing.
What was I even talking about? It was nothing. Just a scent-marking. For protection. And if I was looking for a lover, which I wasn’t, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the infuriating slab of cold marble standing before me.
“See you Friday, Kittycat.”
I stormed off, feeling slightly childish but unable to calm the anger brewing in my blood, the sound of masculine laughter behind me.
I needed to punch something. Hard.
