Pride (Shifters #3)(48)

“Faythe…” He pulled away from me, but I followed him, my fingers playing against the wrenchingly familiar planes and hollows of his chest beneath the faded cotton concert T-shirt he’d had for more than a decade.
I kissed him again, harder this time, demanding a reaction from him. Demanding an acknowledgment that we still had something together. That I still meant something to him. If I could make him remember what he’d be leaving behind, he might be willing to fight for it. For us. He just needed a reminder…
My hands slid beneath his shirt, and my fingers brushed the sparse, coarse hair on the rigid surface of his stomach. I inhaled deeply and his scent filled me.
My heart beat harder and my breath came faster. My hands skimmed higher on his chest, his flesh warm beneath my fingers. A long, low moan shuddered in his throat in spite of lips pressed together in denial of the sounds we both knew he wanted to make.
“Faythe, please…” But he didn’t step back and made no move to push me away.
I slid my hands over each rib, dragging his shirt higher inch by slow inch. On my toes again, I trailed my mouth over his chin. I loved the rough, thoroughly masculine feel of his beard stubble against my lips. My hands moved farther up, my fingers splayed, and my thumbs brushed the hard edges of his pecs. His breath came faster, his mouth open now.
“Arms up,” I whispered, my lips brushing his chin. Marc obediently raised his arms, and I slid the shirt over his head, then let it drop onto the floor behind him. My hands roamed his arms and chest, and my pulse roared in my ears, almost blocking out his heartbeat completely.
“Faythe, you don’t have to—”
“Shh.” My lips opened and my teeth found his chin, nibbling their way down the line of his jaw to his ear, where the delicious, musky Marc-scent deepened. I purred, capturing his earlobe between my lips. I was careful not to bite, but when I tugged gently, his hands finally found my hips, squeezing as his head fell back and a soft, throaty growl rumbled against my cheek.
My mouth dipped lower, nibbling the sweet, hot flesh of his neck, and his hands slipped beneath my shirt, kneading my waist in time with his own pulse. I murmured wordless pleasure against his throat and nuzzled closer, pushing us a step nearer to the bed. His hands slid beneath my jeans, cupping my hips eagerly, possessively. His skin was exquisitely warm against mine, his fingers wonderfully rough and willing.He smelled so good. So intimately familiar and safe, yet dangerous at the same time, and I couldn’t get enough of him. My lips found his again, and when my mouth opened, his parted in welcome. My hands trailed his torso once more until my fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans.
I pushed his button through its hole as his hands inched up the outside of my shirt and over my shoulders. His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head back to give him better access to my mouth. The kiss deepened and I shoved his jeans down, fighting not to wrap my legs around him where he stood. Marc hadn’t touched me intimately in two and a half months and we only had a matter of minutes before the inevitable interruption.
Patience did not come easily.
He must have felt the rush, too, because he let go of my hair to grab my shirt, only pulling from my mouth long enough to tug the black tee over my head. He turned us so the backs of my knees brushed the edge of the mattress, my fingers still playing along his back. His mouth claimed mine again as his hands worked at the waistband of my jeans. A second later, they hit the floor, my underwear pooled inside them.
His arms encircled me, hands fumbling with the latch of my bra as I shoved his boxers down, my hands trailing over the tight curves of his backside, the granite expanse of his thighs. He growled in frustration and his arms tensed against me. Threads popped and my bra slid down my arms, the hooks ripped free from the material.
Damn. That was a good bra too. But Marc was better. He was worth however many articles of clothing he wanted to ruin, and if he’d stay, I’d gladly let him shred my whole wardrobe.
I let the bra fall as he stepped out of his underwear, and when his eyes found mine again I circled him, splaying one hand across his chest, my fingers half covering the old, white scars a psychotic stray had carved into him fifteen years earlier. Though I knew he hated them, I loved those marks because that was the injury that had brought him into my life. A permanent reminder of the moment that had ripped away everything he’d ever known, and given us to each other.
And after all that time, all those moments stolen, those cravings indulged, he was leaving—to save me. We’d been apart before, most notably the five years I spent at college. But this was different. Until I could get him reinstated, he wouldn’t just be stomping around in the guesthouse out back, or waiting for me to come home from school. He’d be truly gone—out of reach and officially persona non grata.
But not until tomorrow. For now, Marc was everywhere. His chest hair tickled my palms, his heart beat against my fingers. His scent filled the air. His voice rumbled through me with each moan of pleasure, each groan of impatience. Soon, the free zone would have him. But until then, Marc was mine, and I was gonna give him one hell of a send-off. 
I smiled and shoved him backward. He let himself fall onto the bed, and a little thrill raced down my spine to settle low and throb steadily. I was on him in an instant, straddling his thighs as my hands sought every inch of his flesh.
His hands squeezed my hips, grinding me against him as he arched up from the bed over and over again. I gasped, and my knees clenched on either side of him, pinning us together as he throbbed against the most sensitive parts of my body.
I sat up straight and Marc’s eyes met mine. I nodded. He lifted me with both hands, guiding me forward. I closed my eyes, knowing he would watch my face the whole time.
He lowered me onto him slowly, inch by exquisite inch, until my thighs met his hips. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it slipped from my open mouth in a sigh of contentment. Satisfaction. An indisputable rightness I never, ever felt except when we were joined so thoroughly, so intimately that our pulses raced in twin rhythms, each breath pushing in and out in tandem.
I felt him exhale beneath me, and with the next heartbeat I rocked forward, my head thrown back, my lower lip pinched between my teeth in concentration. He moaned and arched into me as I came back down. We started out slowly, letting the rhythm loiter, the pleasure build gradually. But that didn’t last. It had been too long, and we had too little time.
He pulled me down for another kiss, and when I rose again, he grabbed my hips, rocking me faster, pulling in and out frantically as I clenched around him. My knees chafed against the cheap sheets, but I barely noticed because of the other, delicious friction building where Marc’s body met mine. His grip on my waist tightened and our motions grew faster, more frenzied.
Sweat formed on his chest, slick beneath my hands. My thighs tensed and relaxed ceaselessly, raising me higher with each withdrawal, slamming us together with each thrust. He went taut beneath me. Each time we touched he cried out. Every stroke made me gasp, intensifying the need building within me until one last, brutal grind made his body jerk, his grip bruising my hips. And with his last thrusts, I shuddered around him, gasping, unable to think beyond that one endless moment.
I opened my eyes to find Marc smiling at me for the first time in months, and relief coursed through me on the tail of my orgasm. I fell limp on top of him, my cheek on his shoulder. He gathered my hair, spreading it to trail onto the bed, where he stroked it over and over, breathing hard beneath me as our hearts raced in echo of the rhythm we’d created.
For five solid minutes, we lay together on the bed, as close as we could be without doing it all over again. In spite of my raging anger at the tribunal and my recent sedation, my eyes were drooping when Jace’s cautious shout splintered the peaceful silence.
“Hey, you guys? I hate to interrupt, but I think I just heard a door slam. Sounded like it came from the lodge.”
“Thanks!” I called across both rooms and two closed doors. I rose reluctantly and donned my underwear and pants while Marc watched me from the bed, making no move to get up. He had nowhere important to be, for the first time I could remember.
I already had my bra over both shoulders before I remembered the hooks were ruined. Scowling in mock anger, I tossed it at Marc and grinned, already heading for my own bedroom to grab another one. “Consider it a souvenir.”
“I believe handkerchiefs are customary. Or even a photograph.”
“Sorry, I don’t carry either.” And I knew he’d take the bra, even though I’d meant it as a joke, because it smelled like me. For cats, even more than for humans, memories are triggered by scent. Which was why I had every intention of taking one of his T-shirts, just as soon as he left his stuff unguarded.
Five minutes later my father and brother walked through the front door of the cabin as I was sitting down to a plate piled high with formerly frozen waffles—so what if it was twelve-thirty in the afternoon? Marc was on his second bowl of Count Chocula, but I’d wanted something hot and sweet to replace the energy we’d just burned.Jace waited for me in the living room, and when my father came in, my keeper rushed to explain that he was going to take me to the lodge just as soon as I’d had something to eat. Daddy waved off his excuses. “I need to talk to her anyway,” he mumbled. Then he got a whiff of my scent and his gloomy scowl bloomed into a reserved smile that said he knew exactly what we’d been doing.