“You already did,” I sob before I can bite my lips. I don’t even know this male. We spent one night together in a prison cell, forced to mate under duress. He marked me. End of story. I don’t know why I’m acting like he’s a lover who abandoned me. Like I gave him my heart to begin with. I wouldn’t be so naive.
And yet not a day’s gone by since then I haven’t ached for him. Wondered what my life would be like if he were by my side, as a true mate should be. In the years since, I’ve thought about finding a real mate-one I chose voluntarily. But I couldn’t even bring myself to go on a single date. No male compared to this magnificent one, this king of beasts.
“Denali.” He cups my cheek with his warm, rough hand and my lioness leans into his touch. “Please,” he whispers, and brushes his lips over mine. My back arches automatically and I push into the kiss. He tastes like spice, surrender. Like home.
He drops his head into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. His body reacts to my scent, erection punching out and pressing between my legs, a low growl sounding from his throat.
I’m pinned under a large, randy male but there’s not an ounce of fight in me. Instead-fates help me-I rock my damp sex over the bulge in his jeans. He stamps his lips over mine, claiming my mouth as he draws up my t-shirt and cups my breast. I writhe under him, desperate for more contact. The air grows heavy with a cinnamon scent. One sniff of Nash and my lioness is in heat.
But this is crazy. We’re not lovers. We’re not even friends. We are two shifters who were forced together under horrifying circumstances. We can’t just pick up where we left off, because that’s not a place I ever want to return to.
“No.” I break off the kiss, gasping.
“Can’t stop,” he murmurs urgently, still moving his lips over mine. He nips at the corner of my mouth. “You taste so good.”
Damn, he tastes good, too. And having him devour my mouth like a starving man does something powerful to my libido. It’s like my sexuality has been in a coma since we’ve been apart and now, under his touch, it revs back to life. He has an arm under me, cushioning me even as he holds me fast. I’m a tall, strong woman, but under Nash I feel small. Delicate.
Beautiful.
His hand moves down from my breast over my flat midriff, sliding straight into my shorts.
I suck in a breath, desire igniting in my core.
His eyes flare with amber light. “Mine,” he growls.
“No.” I don’t mean no I don’t want him in my shorts. But no, my pussy isn’t his. He may have marked me, but that mark doesn’t count.
I don’t belong to him.
The only shifter I belong to is Nolan.
I fight for sanity, even as he palms my mons and strokes along my juicy opening. “This is-”
He stops my protest with another savage kiss, his mouth dominating, claiming. Shivers run up my spine. I dig my heels into the ground and push into his hand working between my legs.
He presses a finger into me, rubs the heel of his hand against my clit.
My orgasm blows up like a summer storm-beautiful, wild. Devastating.
I close my throat to keep from moaning his name as he makes my body dance. Just like the last time we were together, our connection is magnetic. I want to refuse, but my body, my lioness, has other ideas.
I cling to him, panting. This, like our entire relationship, is fucked up. And yet it feels so right.
“Beautiful lioness.”
I sag in his embrace, mind swirling with worry even as my body soars with the stars.
We only shared one night, in a cell with guards watching the cameras outside, but it changed the course of our lives. I knew that as much as he did. As much as I told myself to forget Nash, to forget that night, I couldn’t stop. I longed for him like no other. My body remembered his touch. I couldn’t forget his strength, his tortured soul, his gentleness. Our incredible chemistry. We only had one night in a prison, but we created something real.
The truth is scary. I ran from it as much as I did to escape Data-X, and the lion who marked me as mate.
Nash’s eyes still glow yellow, and he watches me with a predatory stare. One that promises retribution. For leaving him. For running. For denying his claim. His lion won’t let me go-not without a fight.
He eases his fingers from me and brings the digits to his mouth, tasting them. All the while, watching me.
I don’t even know where to begin with this male, so I go for the inane. “You keep your hair so short.” His hair, so short and bristly, is softer than it looks. I run my palm over it and a rush of emotion steals my breath. I don’t want to stop touching him.
“Force of habit,” he mutters.
“You should grow it out. I want to see what it looks like long. Shaggy lion.”
The corners of his mouth ease. The rest of him is tense. I should be the one who’s tense, but I’m not. At least my body isn’t. I just had an incredible orgasm.
Now that my focus has returned, I scan his face, noting new hollows under his cheekbones, a half-healed cut near his temple beside a fading bruise. Why hasn’t he regenerated?
I shift beneath his heavy frame and the animal in him recedes, the gentleman I remember returning. He pulls away from me, like he just realized the position we’re in.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters and scrambles to his feet, helping me to stand. “I didn’t mean to… ah…”
“Assert your claim?” I finish wryly, brushing the dust off my ass. “Oh, I imagine you did.”
I don’t expect the misery that swims over his expression. It washes over me, his emotions bleeding over mine and I have to fight to push the darkness back.