Drive Me Wild (14 page)

Tess took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to assume you’re here for some reason, like wanting to talk to me or something, but that’s a little difficult while you’re, um, furry, so how about you change back to normal, and we can go somewhere for a nice cup of coffee? Or saucer of milk.”

The jaguar Rafe butted his head against her breasts, which nearly sent her sprawling, and then took her coat sleeve delicately between his teeth. He tugged until she took a few steps forward, then turned and padded toward the back of the alley. He paused there to look back at her.

She rolled her eyes, gathered her courage, and began to follow him. “If this is about Timmy being stuck in the damned well again, I’m going to turn you into a throw rug,” she muttered. “Just see if I don’t.”

She heard a rumble that might have been laughter, but decided to ignore it as she followed Rafe deeper into the service alley. It was a darned good thing he knew where he was going, because Tess certainly didn’t, and by the time they reached the end of the alley, she was following blindly. Reaching down, she buried her hand in the thick fur at the back of his neck and let him guide her around a corner and into another light-deprived alley.

Occasionally they left the dark to dart across a street, but in general they walked through the backside of New York all the way from her grandfather’s brownstone to Rafe’s modern apartment building. She noticed that this time, they didn’t use the front door.

Rafe stopped at an unmarked entrance at the rear of the building and jumped up on his hind legs to bat an enormous paw against the service bell. Several seconds later, the door opened and a scruffy-looking young man wearing three days’ worth of stubble and a pair of dark blue coveralls opened the door and looked down at them. He didn’t say a word at the sight of a jaguar and a woman in heels and pearls standing at the door; he just stepped back and let them inside, holding out a key on a leather strap, which Rafe politely took between his teeth.

The jaguar stalked forward, easily navigating a narrow corridor to a dented set of elevator doors. He pressed the call button with his paw, and stepped inside the service elevator as soon as the doors dinged open. Tess followed, shaking her head.

“I guess you do this all the time. I wonder if the building has a no-pet policy?”

Rafe just sat on his haunches and watched her while the car climbed up to the twentieth floor. Three minutes later, they entered his apartment with the help of the key from the janitor. Tess actually took charge of that, snatching it from his mouth and fitting in the lock herself while she kept a weather eye on the other end of the corridor. She had every ounce of faith that Rafe could have handled it himself, but just then she wanted the security of a private, secure space and she wanted it as quickly as possible. She shoved open the door as soon as the lock turned and darted inside, slamming it behind them.

“Okay, two feet, De Santos, right now. Because I want some answers, and an enigmatic King of the Jungle stare is not going to cut it.”

She heard another rumble of that feline laughter; then the air seemed to shift and shimmer in front of her. One minute she was glaring down at a stubborn three-hundred-pound jaguar, and the next she found out that the line of sight that put her eye-to-eye with the enormous cat put her eye-to-something-else-entirely with the equally intimidating man.

A naked, intimidating man.

Tess blinked, tore her gaze from Rafe’s impressive erection, and found herself looking into a wicked smile as it spread slowly across his face.

“Oh, you’ll get answers,” he purred, and his voice sounded somehow even deeper and harsher than usual. “Right after I get what I want.”

Tess’s eyes widened, and she stepped backward, right into the edge of a very familiar console table. Jumping as if she’d been burned, she skittered out of Rafe’s path and began backing toward the living room. “Just what is it you want?”

Then she pictured herself kicking her own ass for asking such a stupid question. Given which part of the man’s body was currently pointed straight at her, you’d think she might have known the answer to her own question.

Duh.

Rafe’s grin turned hungry and feral and savage.

“Guess,” he purred.

Then he pounced.

Twelve

She darted away so fast, she wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. Apparently her instincts were quicker than the rest of her because she managed to slip just outside his reach and go tumbling over the back of the sofa and onto the plush, art-deco-inspired carpet. Thank God the man didn’t have a coffee table.

She landed on the carpet with an
oof!
—and quickly rolled to her side.

Before she could even get her legs under herself he was on her, leaping over the sofa and landing lightly beside her before he climbed on top of her and busied himself with peeling her out of her coat.

“Layers,” he growled half under his breath. “Why the hell do you always have to be wearing layers?”

Tess sputtered and let him drag her coat off her arms to toss it aside because it gave her better leverage when she swung a punch at him. “None of your business! Now get your bloody hands off me, you jerk! I said I wanted answers, not a private screening of
When Creatures of the Night Attack
!”

He caught the blow easily and grabbed both her wrists in one of his big hands, pinning them to the floor over her head. He ignored her struggles, slipping his free hand under the hem of her conservative knit dress to grab the waistband of her panties.

“It is all right,” he said, his tone casually cheerful. “We are currently running a special. Free attack before every conversation. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

His hand tightened, and he ripped the panties off her, tossing them behind him. Then he began to push her skirt up toward her waist.

Tess gave a strangled scream of frustration and tried to kick him, but he had already settled between her legs, so she wasn’t landing anything anywhere that would do her any good. He ignored the blows pelting the backs of his thighs and pushed her skirt the rest of the way up until it pooled at her waist and out of his way.

“If you lay a frickin’ hand on me, you asshole, I swear to you, I will—”

“Scream?”

He released her dress, shifted his body, and plunged two fingers to the hilt inside of her.

Tess screamed.

Her head flew back, and she found herself staring blankly up at the white plaster ceiling while her body arched and bucked under his hands. Those two fingers filled her full, reaching tender places that ached to be touched and making her flood his palm with thick cream. It stole her breath, leaving her aching for more. His fingers flexed and shifted, beginning to plunge in and out in a fast, relentless rhythm that made her desperate.

His touch drove her crazy, but what she really wanted was him, to be joined to him, his big, thick erection stretching her to the limits of endurance, then driving her hard over the edge. She forgot all about her irritation, her questions, and her identity, other than as the body currently pressed to the floor beneath Rafael De Santos.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, thrusting deeper, flicking his thumb over her straining clit. “Christ, you feel good. Hot and tight and wet around my fingers. You drip with cream for me. I want a taste.”

She cried out again, almost in protest, but she didn’t fight when he released her hands and slid down her body until his shoulders pressed her knees wide apart and she could feel his breath on her damp, swollen folds.

“Rafe!”

He answered her with a long slow lap of his tongue, from one end of her slit to the other. She screamed and bucked under his steadying hands. The warm, rough texture of his tongue drove her crazy, driving her up the slope of arousal and leaving her panting for more. Her fingers flew to his head, burying themselves in his hair and holding him to her while his tongue dipped into her and began lapping up her cream.

“Good,” he growled, voice sounding rougher and harsher with need. “Sweet.”

Lick. “Rich.”

Nibble. “Hot.”

Thrust. “Want more.”

Tess gave him more. She didn’t have a choice. Her body had taken over, no longer operating for herself, but for Rafe. She breathed, moved, existed solely for the pleasure he provided and for the moment when he would ease himself into her body.

“Please.” She tugged at his hair, trying to drag him out from between her legs and up over her aching body. “Please, Rafe. I need you so badly.”

He growled in answer and drove his tongue deep inside her. She screamed in pleasure, but it just made her redouble her efforts to pull him away. She wanted him inside her. Now. Before she died.

Desperate, she braced her hands on the floor and heaved herself backward with all her strength, leaving an unsuspecting Rafe staring at her ankles and growling ferociously. His head snapped up, and he glared at her, his golden eyes bright and savage with lust.

“No more playtime,” she panted, holding out a hand when he shifted to his knees and began to stalk toward her on all fours. She could see the echo of his jaguar self like a mirage shimmering behind him, and she shuddered but stood her ground. “If you want to lay a hand on me again, it better be after you’re inside me. Understand?”

“Be careful what you wish for,
gatita,
” Rafe growled, low and menacing. “Because you are about to get it.”

He leapt for her again, but this time she wasn’t backing away. She met him halfway, returning every desperate kiss, every frantic caress. She felt him tug at her dress, yanking the fabric from her waist to her shoulders so he could see her breasts. His eyes fixed on her nipples, and he gave a hungry growl, reaching for them.

She slapped his hands away. “No. Not until you give me what I want.”

“Fine,” he growled, seizing her hips and lifting them off the floor. He sat back on his heels and tugged her into place, maneuvering her like a doll until he had her where he wanted her—with her ass perched on his thighs and her knees settled against the small of his back, digging into the sensitive flesh. It hurt, but she couldn’t have cared less.

She braced her hands on the floor while he swung her legs up high, hooking her ankles on his shoulders so that when he leaned forward, he forced her knees back against her chest, bending her almost in two. He set one hand on the floor beside her head and reached between them with the other to grasp his shaft. Looming over her like a great, dark shadow, he bared his fangs and growled.

“You want me, sweet Tess? Then take me.”

He drove deep with one hard thrust and sent Tess over the edge before she even realized she was teetering.

He didn’t slow down for her climax, just leaned against her folded legs and began thrusting wildly against her, riding her through her crisis. She thought she might have begged him to stop—not that she wouldn’t have killed him if he’d tried—but he ignored her. His hips worked like a piston against her, slicing through her tight sheath to reach the heart of her, then gliding back and plowing into her again.

When she slumped weakly to the floor, too wrung out and breathless to do more than lie there and accept his thrusts, he just growled and kept up the steady, possessive rhythm. Her legs slipped off his shoulders, and he caught them in the crooks of his elbows, keeping them spread high and wide for him. His eyes burned like yellow flames above her, and she felt the unbearable friction against her internal walls beginning to force her back up toward another peak.

She began to struggle, anxious to get away, not from him, but from the pleasure-pain of his possession. No one in her life had ever made her feel like this. She hadn’t even known feeling like this was possible, and it terrified her. She could see, behind her tightly closed eyelids, the absolute perfection of their togetherness.

In that moment, she knew, with a certainty that went beyond tarot cards, beyond magic, to the fabric of destiny itself, that this man would be the air in her lungs until the day she died. He went beyond being her lover or her mate to being the one person in all the world who could make her whole for the rest of her life. The beauty and terror of the knowledge filled her, and she cried out, shaking her head in denial.

Rafe roared, shoulders hunching, arms shifting to force her legs even wider for him, as he thrust even more fiercely into her welcoming pussy. “Eyes open, Tess. Look at me. Look at me, damn you!”

Her eyes flew open and locked with his just as he gave one last, mighty thrust and began to pour his seed inside of her. She stared into those pools of molten gold while her body came apart in his arms, and she knew she would never be the same again. From now on, she would be his.

Whether either of them liked it or not.

*   *   *

Rafe came back to himself feeling simultaneously like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life, and like he’d just told a roomful of five-year-olds that there was no such thing as Santa Claus. How one man could feel so beat down and so bloody evil at the same time was beyond him, but that’s how he felt.

He shifted gingerly and found Tess still lying beneath him, and judging by the feel of the pile beneath his hands, they still lay on the living room carpet like victims of an 8.0 earthquake. He shifted again and heard her groan softly. Shame flooded through him, and he began to ease his weight off her.

She looked pale as cream and still as death as she lay there, eyes closed, beneath him. The only sign of life he could see was the rise and fall of her chest as she drew in shuddering gulps of air and the glistening tracks of moisture that slid down her cheeks and into her bright golden curls.

He felt his stomach clench.

“Oh,
gatita,
I’m so sorry,” he whispered, reaching for her but snatching his hands back before they touched her soft skin, afraid of hurting her even more. “Sweet Tess, I swear I never meant to hurt you. Come on,
querida.
Open your eyes and look at me. Let me know you will be all right. Tess?”

She shuddered and laid a hand over her eyes, shoulders shaking as she struggled to catch her breath.