“Good.” His mouth curved into something wicked. “Because I’m about to show you exactly how much.”
His kiss consumed her. It wasn’t gentle or careful. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that asked permission. It was a claiming kiss, raw and possessive. His tongue swept into her mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste of her. His hands roamed her body with confident familiarity, finding every spot that made her gasp, every curve that fit perfectly against his palms.
She gave back as good as she got. She arched into him, wrapped her legs around his waist, buried her fingers in his fur and pulled. He groaned against her mouth—that deep, vibrating sound that she felt in her very bones—and rolled his hips against hers in a way that made white spots dance behind her eyes.
“Need you,” she gasped against his lips. “Ben, please?—”
“I know.” His hands found the hem of her dress, dragging it up and over her head in one fluid motion. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
The cool air hit her heated skin, but she barely noticed. His mouth was on her throat now, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to the swell of her breasts, finding a taut peak and drawing it deep into the heat of his mouth. His claws—those deadly claws he was always so careful with—traced featherlight patterns on her sides, raising goosebumps in their wake.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “So goddamn beautiful.”
“You’re still dressed.” Her fingers fumbled with his shirt, too desperate to manage the buttons properly. “Off. Now.”
He laughed—low and dark and full of promise—and obliged her, sitting back just long enough to pull the shirt over his head. The dim light caught the planes of his chest, the silvery fur that covered his torso, the hard muscle shifting beneath.
Mine,she thought with fierce satisfaction.All mine.
His hands went to the desk, bracing on either side of her head as he leaned in, caging her. She watched him, her breath catching, as his nose twitched, his ears swiveling as he scented the air around her.
“You’re…” He swallowed hard. “God, Sara.”
“Ben?”
“You’re everywhere.” His eyes were wild, unfocused with need. “I can smell you on my desk, in my office. All over everything. Mine.”
He lowered his head, nipping at her lip. “You smell like me. And I want everyone to know.”
He pushed her panties down her legs. The scrap of lace joined her dress on the floor. Then he stood, looking down at her, a feast laid out on his desk, and the look in his eyes was pure, undiluted possession.
He knelt between her legs and pulled her close, rubbing the soft fur of his cheeks against her inner thighs until she was squirming impatiently.
“I could stay here all night,” he murmured, his voice vibrating through her. “Just breathing you in.”
“Less breathing, more licking,” she demanded, her voice desperate. He growled in response and lowered his head.
He didn’t tease her; he devoured her. His tongue, hot and wet and impossibly clever, explored her with a single-minded intensity that made her whole body bow off the desk. She clutched at the wood, trying to anchor herself, but it was useless. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming. He worked his finger into her, matching the movement of his tongue in a frantic, tantalizing rhythm.
She was close. So close. The tension coiled in her belly, tight and hot, ready to snap. And then he pulled away.
She made a sound of pure frustration, her hips rising in silent supplication.
“Ben…”
“Patience, sweetheart.” He stood up, his hands going to the fly of his jeans. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He freed himself with a groan of relief, his shaft glistening silver, and her inner walls clenched in anticipation.
He lowered himself over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “You’re mine, Sara Cartwright. And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”
And then he was inside her. One long, slow, possessive thrust that filled her completely, stretching her until she was full of him, owned by him.
“Ben—” She gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“That’s it,” he growled, his hips moving against hers in a slow, deep rhythm. “Take all of me.”
He didn’t hold back. Each powerful thrust was a declaration, a claiming. His hands dug into her hips, pulling her into each stroke while he watched her coming apart beneath him, his eyes burning.
