Alejandro's Sorceress(25)

Hard time. Oh, boy. Now her brain had melted into bad pun land.
Alejandro still wore his boots, shirt, and even his gun--in a complicated back holster --but the pants were definitely gone; oh, yes, they were.
She forced her gaze up past his impressive endowment to meet his eyes, and she licked her lips. His eyes darkened with something primal; a powerful emotion that touched the purely feminine part of her soul . When he crouched down next to her, looming over her like the predator he was, she made very certain to lean toward him, instead of away.
Never, ever let them see you're intimidated--it was the law with jungle cats, right?
“Is that what you want? Right here and now?” he challenged her. “Then strip down, because I've thought of nothing else but being inside you for every second of every minute since I met you.”
Her breath hitched, and her body tightened and loosened all at once; nerve endings zinging with the electricity that had crackled between them since they’d met, even before she'd been willing to acknowledge it.
“The whole day and a half since we met?” She bit her lip, hard, against the urge to reach out and stroke him. All of him.
“Some things you just know,” he said implacably, and her heart cried out yes, yes, yes!
But her stubborn mind was still sticking with no.
Stupid mind.
She concentrated hard and made his pants reappear on his body. Then she stood up, brushed off the grass, and shook her head. “How can I trust something that happened so fast? It’s impossible.”
She walked away, leaving him standing there alone, and it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
    







 
    Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance by Jennifer Ashley, Alyssa Day, Felicity Heaton, Erin Kellison, Laurie London, Erin Quinn, Bonnie Vanak and Caris Roane
    
 


 
CHAPTER 15
Alejandro watched the woman he’d fallen in love with walk away from him, and his world collapsed around him. She was right. It was impossible.
But it was true—a truth stronger than any he’d ever known. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was magic. He didn’t care how she labeled it.
He just knew she was his.
He went after her again, but this time he let her reach her house before he caught up to her.
“What do you want?” she asked despairingly.
“I want everything,” he growled.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg.
He started with the kiss. He backed her up against the wall, step by slow step, giving her every chance to tell him no. It would kill him if she did, but no was no.
She didn’t say it. He offered a silent prayer of thanks, because she didn’t say no.
He put his hands on either side of her head, caging her in, and she still didn’t say no. She was beautiful and defiant and strong, and she was his.
He just had to make her see it.
He stared down into her beautiful, mysterious, dangerous eyes.
“Trust this,” he growled, and then he took her mouth with every ounce of passion and heat inside him.
She gasped a little, and he tasted her breath, swallowing the sound. He pulled her closer to his body, which craved her like a parched man craves crystal clear water. A roaring wave of possessiveness demanded he hold her--keep her--never let her walk away from him again.
Her hands tensed on his arms and then, gloriously, wondrously, she put them around his neck and arched her soft curves into him in a clear signal of acceptance. Surrender.
Maybe even a matching hunger.
He drove his tongue into her mouth, claiming her. A kind of insanity raged through him. She'd dared to walk away from him, taking the sunlight with her.
He had to make sure that she never would again.
Madness seized him, and he lifted her up and sat her on the coffee table, not knowing what he was doing, only knowing in some primal, predatory side of his own nature that he wanted to be even closer. He pushed her knees apart and stepped between them, sliding his hands down the soft denim of her worn jeans from knee to hip, still kissing her. His erection was so hard it hurt, and he put his hands on her ass to pull her toward him; to put his cock, though still in his pants, exactly where he needed it to be.
The clothes between them were maddening, and he knew she'd be warm and wet underneath them, but he couldn't bear to release her long enough to remove them. Madness still gripped him in its clawed and fanged grip, and he was desperate to hold her, touch her, drive inside her until they both collapsed.
Part of him knew that it was wrong—too soon, not rational, it didn’t make any sense at all--he knew it, but he didn't care. All he knew was how much he needed her, and it was all he could do to keep from ripping her shirt down the front in order to expose the silken skin of her breasts to his gaze. She murmured or moaned, a tiny sound, and tightened her hold on him, and he was lost.