Dark Possession(30)

There was nothing shy about MaryAnn. She had chosen to abstain from sex simply because she would not share her body with a man she didn't trust, didn't love, a man she wasn't going to spend the rest of her life with, but at that moment, she knew Manolito De La Cruz was her other half. She would share everything with him, was eager to do so.

His tongue swept across her breast, making her shiver with need, His voice whispered again, and the strangest thing happened. She found herself standing off to the side observing as she ran her hands beneath his shirt and pushed it up his chest, revealing the defined muscles flowing beneath his skin and the shredded rips in his belly where the jaguar had raked him. Her hand slid up over the terrible claw marks, her palm covering them, infusing them with warmth. She saw herself press kisses up his belly and chest to a point just above his heart.

Her tongue found the pulse she was looking for, that steady, strong beat. Her body clenched in anticipation, throbbing and weeping with need. Her hand slid over the spot, and she stared at her fingernail, the one she'd broken earlier. It lengthened into a sharp talon. To her shock, she opened his skin and pressed her mouth willingly to his chest. He groaned and threw back his head, ecstasy mixing with passion. His hand came up to hold her to him, urging her to take more. And she did. There appeared to be no revulsion, no hesitation. Her body writhed against his, a sensuous slide of curves, an invitation for much, much more.

And he took her up on it, his hands rough, intimate, possessive. He yanked at her clothes, wanting bare skin against his. When she rubbed her body along the thick, hard bulge straining his jeans, he shuddered and murmured his approval; he cupped her bottom and half lifted her to align their bodies so that he was pressed against her most intimate spot.

As if she knew exactly what to do, how much she could take of the hot, addicting exchange, she swept her tongue across the wound and lifted her head to look into his mesmerizing eyes. She looked different, her eyes dark and sultry, her lips curved and voluptuous, so sexy she couldn't believe it was her, so ready to do anything and everything Manolito would ask of her. She wanted to please him, pleasure him, and have him do the same for her.

He smiled down at her and her heart went crazy, reacting every bit as strongly as her body.

Palafertul. "Wife." He kissed the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth, hovered there, a breath away, looking into her eyes. Tell me your name that your koje, your husband, will be better able to address you.

MaryAnn gasped as the words sunk in. He couldn't have done worse if he'd thrown a bucket of ice water over her. MaryAnn blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. What in the world was she doing wrapped around a man who didn't even know her name, but professed to be her husband? And what in the world had gotten into her that she let someone mesmerize her to the point of doing things totally against everything she believed in? Manolito made her weak. He'd taken complete control of her, and she'd just gone along with it as if he could rule her life with sex.

Fury burst through her, a fury she'd felt only one other time before, when a man had burst into her home and threatened to kill her. He dragged her out of her bed, punching her viciously before she could defend herself, throwing her to the floor and kicking her. He had leaned down and stabbed her with a knife, and when the blade had gone into her flesh, something wild and ugly and out of control had lifted its head and raged. She'd felt her muscles bunch and knot, and strength had poured into her. At that moment Destiny had arrived, and she'd killed the man, saving MaryAnn's life and maybe her soul, Because whatever had been inside of her frightened her more than her attacker.

MaryAnn was a woman who absolutely abhorred violence and could never condone it, yet now she had an indescribable desire to slap that handsome face as hard as she could. Instead she leapt away, at the same time screaming in her mind. She put every bit of fear and loathing at herself and her own actions into her cry because no one could hear her, and no one would know the terror she lived with trying to contain that slumbering beast dwelling deep within her.

Get away from me. For one terrible moment she didn't know if she was yelling at Manolito-or at whatever lived inside of her.

Manolito staggered, fell back into the broad trunk of a tree and stood shocked and staring. No one had ever delivered him a psychic slap before, but that was what his lifemate had done to him. Not just any slap, but one hard enough to knock him off his feet. No one had dared treat him in such a manner, not in all the centuries of his existence.

Dark anger crawled through his belly. She had no right to deny him-or defy him. He had a right to the solace of her body whenever he wanted it. She was his. Her body was his. Blood pounded and surged through his veins. His cock was filled to bursting. He'd waited a thousand years-more even-faithful to this one woman and she was denying him.