Page 30 of Bad Blood Panther

“I hate you! God, I fucking hate all of you. I hate them because they’re fucking shifters, and I never wanted to be a shifter. I hate you because you’re a panther, and panthers stole my goddamn life. I had friends. I had family, and a job, and I loved them all, and you all took that away from me.”

He stood up and moved toward her, watching her back away, hating himself for being glad she was scared.

“I wish I didn’t blame you,” he said. “But I do. And you’re standing there, so beautiful and sexy and smelling like fucking heaven, and I keep getting all these feelings, and then I just want to fucking…”

He had her backed against the wall, rage shimmering through him. He could feel his cat riding the edge of that wave. He was about to go over it, about to go crazy.

About to hurt Jenny.

Time stretched out.

Then his lips crashed into hers, angry and punishing. Hating her for everything she’d done, for everything she hadn’t done, for all the yesterdays they’d lost and the tomorrows they might never have.

He held her arms with bruising force, thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

She pressed against him, finally as wild and angry as he was. She tore her mouth away from his and bit her way down his neck, hard. The sharp pinpricks felt right, as if they lanced some huge festering sore that had been trapped inside him.

Jenny tugged at his shirt, buttons flying, and he yanked her toward him, grabbing hers at the neck and ripping it down the back. He tore the strap of her bra apart along with it, and tossed everything aside.

She’d shredded his shirt and was raking her fingernails up and down his chest, hot sexy growls coming from her throat. Her eyes sparked green amidst the blue, angry and hungry.

They tore at the rest of each other’s clothes. Xander’s hand found her breast and he ducked to clamp his teeth around the nipple, just hard enough to make her moan and thrust toward him.

He sucked and licked, wanting her to want him, wanting to dominate and claim and demand and devour.

She was no submissive, though, no matter how shy she might seem. She clawed at his back, breaking the skin. Her hand, hot and demanding, shoved his jeans down and found his shaft, pulling long and slow while her other hand gripped into his shoulder.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted her hot, deep core, wanted to hear her scream, howl, beg.

He knelt down, tearing away the rest of her pants and shoving her legs apart so she was open to him. She growled, and he pinned her hips to the wall with one arm.

He plunged his fingers into her sexy wet opening, and she moaned again. “You like that?” he said. He slid his thumb over her clit, then pumped his fingers into her again.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “I—”

He stopped, still holding her against the wall. He leaned forward until his lips were brushing her clit. He licked it slowly, and then said, “Tell me you like it, or I’ll stop.”

“I—like it.” He licked her clit again. “More,” she growled.

He slid his fingers into her again, slower, and she moaned. He kept licking her, her scent and heat and sexy cries urging him on. Her legs began to shake, and he could feel her climax building. More, just a little more, and she would be gone.

He kept at her relentlessly, wanting to feel her explode, needing her raw emotion, her surrender—needing to know he had the power to send her screaming over the edge.

She clenched around his hand, throwing her head back with a feral growl. He could feel the release—not just the sexual energy, but her own molten core of fury and pain she’d kept buried inside.

She gasped and moaned, her claws manifesting, digging into his shoulders with pinpricks of fire.

The pain somehow merged with his anger, fed his desire.

He wanted more. He needed more, needed to drive himself into her until something inside him broke, until he could lose himself in her and just forget.

He stood and pulled her to him, capturing her lips again. She nipped at his bottom lip, drawing blood, then licking it away. His dick swelled and tightened.

Fiery, feisty mate. He lost himself in the moment, her scent soothing him and setting him on fire. She was wet and hot and panting, her fingers flexing against his arms.

He could feel the blood dripping from where her claws punctured him, and he wanted it. He wanted her—the pain and the glory.

He turned her to face the wall, pressing up against her, fisting her hair and biting her exposed neck. She half-moaned, half growled. She was like a live wire, arching her back, rubbing her ass against his erection until he wanted to fucking die.