Leisl Leighton - [Pack Bound 01] Page 6

  ‘Are you okay?’

  He glanced up at her, frowning. His fingers tightened on her wrist, firm, possessive, sending a hot spurt of worry tinged with desire chasing through her nerves. Astonishment flared in his eyes. Then, just as suddenly, it disappeared. His frown fell away and his eyes filled with a warm excitement that caressed her core. He sighed, took in a deep breath, nose brushing against her skin. ‘I’m more than okay. I got my wish.’

  He closed his eyes, releasing her from his mesmerising lightning-shot blue gaze. Not that he needed to use his gaze to hold her in place. His voice, his touch, his breath tickling along her skin like a warm summer breeze, did the work for him.

  ‘Skye … A perfect name. You smell fresh and clean, like a summer’s day leading into autumn; wide blue skies with a hint of thunder cloud on the horizon.’ His eyes opened. ‘So many hidden layers. That hint of secrets and mystery—it has tantalised me all afternoon.’

  He moved closer, his leg brushing against hers under the table. ‘To a wine maker, a scent connoisseur, you are a gift waiting to be unwrapped.’ His lips touched the inside of her wrist.

  If he’d placed those lips over her clitoris, the effect would have been the same. Waves of ecstasy rose through her as muscles unclenched and trembled and a sudden rush of damp wet her underwear. Desperate to cover her insane reaction to him, she attempted humour. ‘Are you trying to seduce me, Mr McVale?’

  There was that hunter’s smile again and his nostrils twitched as if scenting something wonderful, something exotic. ‘Is it working?’

  ‘God, yes.’ The words shuddered out even though she didn’t mean to say them. One-night stands weren’t her style, but she hadn’t felt this attracted to someone in ages. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever been this attracted to any man.

  He rose from his seat, rounding the table without letting go of her hand, and pulled her upright. Her body bumped against his. The contact wasn’t enough. She wanted to plaster herself against his hard length.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he whispered, lips brushing her ear.

  She didn’t ask where. She knew exactly what he had in mind; probably what he’d had in mind when he sat down with that extremely good bottle of wine and started the charm offensive. Not that she was complaining. Truth be told, she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind all afternoon despite efforts to the contrary. Her inner voice had tried to make her see sense, but there was no sense in a situation like this.

  She wanted this man. She was going to have him. Bron and Shelley had met their free-pass man.

  Jason was hers.

  Chapter 4

  He pulled her into his side, arm curved around her back, fingers playing over her hip and walked towards the hallway that led to the rooms.

  Skye’s head spun. The wine added to the medication? Or was it just the rush of heady attraction? She couldn’t be certain. Not that she could find an ounce of caring right now with his side hot against hers, his hand brushing a fiery path up and down her hip, his lips lingering against her ear, telling her exactly what he was going to do to her as soon as they got to his room.

  By all that was holy, did he ever have one hell of an imagination! His words alone made her tremble with need. She loved a good imagination. But if he didn’t stop, she was going to orgasm before they’d even got to his room.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by something that sounded like a low growl, but before she could wonder about it, he turned and pushed her up against a door.

  ‘Are we at your room yet?’ she gasped as his hands—the hands he’d just been telling her were going to do all sorts of wicked things—ran down her back, cupped her bottom and pulled her flush against his impressive erection.

  ‘No. I just couldn’t wait a moment longer to do this.’

  He leaned in, slowly, so slowly, and she arched up. But instead of capturing her lips with his, he smiled and she saw a glint of something wild in his eyes as his head descended past hers and his mouth covered the pulse at the base of her throat.

  Breath exploded from her lungs. His tongue skimmed out to touch the pulse point, sharp teeth scraping along the column of her neck.

  ‘Mmm,’ he muttered, breathing in deep. ‘Smell so good.’ His tongue ran a path up to her ear, circling the sensitised skin, making her tremble. ‘Taste even better.’

  If this was what it was like to be made weak at the knees, she wanted—‘More.’ She turned her head to try to find his lips with hers. But he ducked his head to the side and sucked on her other ear lobe. ‘Tease.’ The word shuddered out of her mouth as her stomach clenched, flipped inside-out then clenched tighter.

  ‘No. I just know if I kiss you and truly taste you, the secret you, I’ll be gone.’ He stepped back, his eyes alight with desire, and at their centre, the pupil was dark, something red and flickering reflected there. Fire crackling on a salt-encrusted log. She wanted to reach out and touch, to get burned by it. Weakness swept through her at the thought.

  His hands tightened on her arms, keeping her upright.

  ‘Where’s your room?’ she asked huskily.

  ‘At the end of the hall, just there.’

  She turned her head to look and he bent, tasting her throat once more. Her eyes fluttered and she could barely focus on the door he’d gestured to—one of the luxury suites the lodge boasted. She should have guessed that’s where a man like him would stay. It seemed too far away—at the end of the hall and up a flight of ten steps. Her legs gave way and she fell back against the door.

  Laughing, he caught her as if she weighed nothing. ‘Too much to drink?’

  Her tingling breasts were crushed against his chest. ‘It’s been a while. I feel like I’m about to explode.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Really?’ Apart from the glow in his eyes, he looked cool, calm, collected. But maybe she could do something about that.

  She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his neck, copying his action. He moaned, low in his throat as she dipped her tongue against his skin, tasting salt and something far more enticing than the full-bodied wine he’d served her. She licked a path up to his ear. His hands trembled as they skimmed down her back. Satisfied, Skye looked up into his beautiful eyes. ‘Do you share the room with your brother?’

  ‘No. He’s in another room with our nephew.’

  ‘Good.’

  He swung her up into his arms.

  ‘I can walk,’ she protested.

  ‘You’re limping. It will take too long if you walk.’

  ‘Someone smashed into me today.’

  His gaze met hers as he took the steps two at a time—those variegated blue eyes were so intense up close she felt the world had become a rich shade of golden-swept blue.

  ‘Can I take away your aches and pains?’

  ‘God, I hope so.’

  He lowered her to the bed; she hadn’t even noticed they’d entered his room. All she could see was him as he followed her down, those eyes, the desire in them, reaching out to stroke and stoke the matching flame in her.

  She reached up, touched his cheek, ran her hand down to brush her trembling fingertips over his full lips, pressing gently against the little dent that had caught her attention earlier. His jaw wasn’t cleanly shaven. She loved the sensation of roughness against her skin. It felt so good.

  He felt so good.

  His eyes fluttered closed and he moved his head against her palm, lips pressing, teeth nibbling, tongue flicking out to taste. He opened his eyes, gaze falling to her open lips. ‘Are you sure?’

  Don’t do this. You have no idea who he is.

  The voice was a whisper in her head, like an echo that had almost faded away. Easy to dismiss.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  But he didn’t move. Tension spanned between them, almost unbearable as he remained poised above her, gazes locked. Something flickered through his eyes she didn’t understand. For a fleeting moment, she thought he was going to roll away. Her arms clenched around him. With a
growl, he lowered his head, brushing his lips over hers.

  ‘No regrets.’

  Listen to me. Something’s not right. This is dangerous.

  Distracted from the spell voice’s weak protest by the solid muscle of his arms under her hands, she answered, ‘No regrets.’

  No! Don’t. He’s not what you th—

  His lips moulded to hers and all thoughts whirled away in the tornado of feelings that ripped through her body, tearing her slowly but surely apart. Panic reared up in her for a moment; something this intense couldn’t be good. What had the spell voice said? She tried to grab at the echo of words it had whispered, to push a wedge between sensory overload and thought. But it was no use. She couldn’t hear them, didn’t want to hear them while the insane desire to take and be taken screamed for attention.

  Jason shifted, his hands pushing under her shirt, tracing a blazing path along heated skin. Desire won.

  Shivering, Skye gave herself up to enjoying sensations too long denied. She was barely aware as he skimmed her shirt off her arms, undid her bra, pulled her leggings and panties away. She was aware of his hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, as they supped and nipped and traced wet fire along her skin, igniting every nerve. She was certain that at any moment she would implode, raging flames turning her to nothing but ash if he didn’t kiss her; didn’t push inside her.

  His lips clamped on her breast, tongue swirling around her nipple. Skye cried out, arching up as that mysterious line connecting breast and womb pulled tight. She ached and trembled and wanted even more.

  But he wasn’t done torturing her yet. His lips transferred to her neglected breast, giving it equal attention, while his fingers circled the damp nipple, an erotic glide. Just when she thought she could take no more, his finger moved, tracing the path of that hidden line from breast to groin. Muscles jumped and quivered in her stomach as his fingers brushed across the flat surface, dipping into her belly button before continuing their journey. His lips moved again, to her throat, then her ear, nipping, soothing the pain with his tongue, sucking her earlobe into his mouth, blowing cool air on the wet skin then sucking the flesh in again. The change between cold and heat made the tantalising tingle of longing become almost torturous.

  His fingers brushed the skin of her inner thighs, one then the other, before running down her leg. He stopped at the bruise, fingers tracing over the lump.

  ‘I’m sorry for this.’ His voice was a gentle breeze on her face.

  Skye opened her eyes and jerked in shock. His eyes were glowing, the pupils like dark red coals as he stared down at her. She bit back on the sudden surge of fear.

  It had to be a reflection of the lamplight.

  Almost as if he could feel her sudden surge out of the passionate haze, he lowered his lips to hers while his fingers parted her, thumb slicking over her cleft, two fingers pushing inside.

  Her lips parted on a gasp. His tongue gained entry, twining with hers, tasting, sucking. He angled deeper, lips meshing with hers. His heat enveloped her. His fingers moved in and out and his thumb stroked, finding and playing over the tight nub at her core. The building tremble in her muscles tightened unbearably then exploded. All panic, all reason, all thought flew away as the orgasm took her with tearing violence.

  Body shaking and shuddering, she slowly lowered back to the mattress, limbs and muscles loosening from the ecstatic agony of the most astonishing orgasm she’d ever experienced. Gentle fingers brushed back sweat-damp hair; lips moved over her brow, her eyelids.

  ‘You are amazingly responsive. More than I ever imagined.’

  Her eyelids fluttered open, almost reluctantly, but drawn by his voice to see his expression. Relief shuddered out on a sigh. The reflection that made his eyes look red was gone. Now his eyes were a blue glow, gazing into hers as if trying to find answers to her soul.

  ‘How could you have imagined me? We only just met.’

  ‘Oh, Skye. I’ve imagined and denied you for eternity.’

  The words didn’t make sense, but as his breath fluttered over her face, she found she didn’t care. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. His thumb brushed over her lips; involuntarily, they parted and she pressed her tongue against the pad of his thumb. He groaned, his erection flexing against the juncture of her thighs. He raised himself over her. She pushed up towards him, wanting nothing but that he enter her in one swift thrust.

  He pulled back.

  She quivered, waiting.

  ‘Look at me, Skye.’

  She didn’t know why, but for some reason she didn’t want to open her eyes and look into his. It was almost as if she was afraid of what she would see. What he would see.

  The connection.

  Instead she arched her hips towards him, rolling her head to the side at the sensation of his rigid erection pressing against her entrance.

  He moved back, raising himself up and away.

  Cold replaced the warmth. She longed for the warmth. ‘Please.’

  ‘Look at me, Skye.’

  She shook her head, whimpered, legs trembling with the strain of lifting towards him, trying to make it impossible for him not to do what she longed for; what she was certain he longed for. ‘Please.’ Her voice was a harsh whisper of breath, unrecognisable to her own ears. She’d made a rule never to plead with anyone for anything—she’d done enough pleading with Morrigan to last her a lifetime—but she was pleading now, almost crying as he held himself immovable above her.

  ‘Look at me.’

  His voice resonated in her ears, claiming mastery over her. Skye opened her eyes. Their gazes met.

  Jason thrust inside her.

  She cried out at the sheer shock of pleasure.

  He swallowed her cry with his mouth; his lips and teeth and tongue meshing with hers while his hands ran down her sides, to her legs, cupping under her knees, lifting her. He pushed in deeper, slowly, then pulled out even slower, until he was hovering at her entrance again, holding there until she thought she would scream with need.

  He drove into her.

  Skye bucked. He pulled out, the movement torturously slow. He paused, holding motionless at her entrance again. She whimpered against his lips, ‘Please!’

  He plunged inside her.

  She screamed into his mouth, the sensation so pleasurable it tore at the heart of her. He began to move out again. Skye wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him close, tilted up her pelvis to pull him deeper.

  He moaned into her mouth, holding still for a moment and then began to move, long glorious glides that made another scream build in her chest. He let go of her legs, ran his hands up her side and arms. Twining his fingers with hers, he moved their hands across the sheets until they were pressed above her head, holding them still; holding her prisoner.

  Why he bothered, she didn’t know. She was a slave. A slave to the feelings thrumming through her entire being; feelings he created. Feelings she had never experienced with anyone before.

  The thought had her eyes flickering open again only to be caught in his hot, red-blue gaze. She couldn’t break the gaze this time as he thrust into her, again and again, deeper and deeper, his expression intense, a play of emotion she couldn’t explain flickering across his face, moving in his eyes.

  Ownership?

  Why not? At this moment, with their bodies melding together, Skye did belong to him. Rather than frightening her, as the power of orgasm tightened inside her, the thought felt true; it felt right.

  Her body tensed, exploded. A cry tore the air; hers or his, she didn’t know. All she was certain of was, at the moment the orgasm took her, shaking her world apart, he joined her, staring into her eyes, owning her, just as she owned him.

  Jason’s need had become a thing more unstoppable than his wolf as the bond-scent emanated from Skye’s skin. He’d been attracted to her from the start, an attraction he was willing to deny, but one sniff of that scent after she’d drunk the Bond Wine and his will became as ashes before a raging inferno
of need and want. He barely even had the wherewithal to realise the Bond Wine should not have affected him like this. It wasn’t a sexual thing, for Christ’s sake. Paul had been bonded to Jason’s father by it. He’d had no reason to believe this would happen.

  The only time this ever happened—rare, but it had happened—was when the Pack Witch and Alpha were fated to be mates and then the Bond Wine would begin the mating process.

  She was his.

  His wolf howled in triumph at the knowledge.

  Skye was his mate.

  He bent to kiss her again, tongue tangling with hers, hands running across her shoulders and down to cup her breasts. She combusted in his arms, as if she knew already, as if she accepted. He could no more stop taking what she offered than he could stop an avalanche from rolling down a mountain.

  Like an addict, urged on by his wolf, he pleasured her until she screamed for release; a release she would get from no one but him. He gave it to her and then started over again, filled with the energy of their mating, pushing it back into her. And every time he did, she rose, body slick with the sweet sweat of her exertions, to match him.

  Trembling, voice hoarse, she screamed his name over and over into the night as he imprinted her with his scent in a way that meant every Were would know she was his. That scent would never fade—it would be with her until she died, as hers would be with him, wound into the very fibres of his being.

  She was his mate.

  Caught up in the first steps of the mating, as he found his release again in her tight, wet folds, he couldn’t summon an ounce of caring that all his plans had been laid to waste. This was meant to happen. The Fates had deemed it so.

  Lost in those sensations, revelling in them as he pushed into her again, fingers gripping hers as he bent to claim her mouth, he only took notice of the prickle of energy skating across his skin when it became an urgent rush; fire licking at his flesh.

  The shock of what it meant almost made him pull out of her.

  She was feeding power into him. An incredible amount of power, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.