“I know, Branka,” he admitted, and nuzzled the top of her head with his chin again, enjoying the way her hair caught in the shadow on his jaw. Silken strands, weaving them together in intimacy. He liked the image although it was far too corny to ever admit to her.
“You insisted on healing me,” she pointed out.
His smile came instantly at that little sulky note in her voice. He felt joy sweeping through him. He had gone to ground with the weight of the world on his shoulders, still upset—and hurt—over Randall’s and Rolf’s reactions to the death of his grandfather. He had woken to Branislava and his shaken world had righted itself.
“I did, didn’t I?” He couldn’t help the lazy satisfaction creeping into his tone. He tracked a shooting star before he turned his head to brush kisses along her temple. “I’m sorry.”
She frowned. “For what?”
“I promised you I wouldn’t make arbitrary decisions that affected both of us, but without consulting you or even thinking about consulting you, I committed us to taking on those twelve very lost men—the mixed bloods. They’re traumatized and it won’t always be easy. I should have asked you what you wanted to do.”
Branislava rolled to her side, propping herself up on one elbow to look into his eyes. “Silly wolf. Of course you had to take those men into your pack. If you hadn’t, I would have been disappointed in you. That’s the man I love, the man I know and respect. Aside from that, your grandfather practically gave you an order. He wanted those men taken care of.” She leaned in, drawing his attention to her swaying breasts. “My mouth is talking and it’s just a little higher up than where you’re looking.”
“I know,” he murmured, “but you’re intentionally distracting me.”
He leaned over and helped himself, licking at her nipple and then tugging with his teeth until her breath came in ragged gasps. He drew her breast into the heat of his mouth, discovered she was even hotter, all that wonderful natural fire coming to the surface just for him.
Branislava ran trembling fingers through Zev’s hair in a long caress, enjoying the sensation of the soft strands against her skin while his mouth devoured her breast. “I love watching you,” she confided. “It’s a very erotic sight to see your hunger for my body.”
She could feel his hunger as well. His desire was always intense, almost tangible. The pull of his mouth was strong, the suction, the moist heat, his teeth scraping seductively and the small nips that sent electrical charges straight to her dampening center.
He lifted his head and his eyes stared straight into hers. Her breath caught in her throat at the absolute possession stamped in his face and the fierce desire in the depths of his eyes. In that moment, he was wolf all the way, a sexual creature of insatiable appetites. And he was hers.
She pushed herself up on her hands and knees, straddling his hips to trail kisses down his scarred chest. “I fed this morning. Enough for both of us,” she confided, her voice dropping to a low siren’s whisper.
His body tightened wickedly, every muscle contracting as she licked at his pulse, the stroke of her tongue creating an answering throb in his veins. The sensation was pure pleasure, moving through him, consuming him. There was no way to prepare for the erotic burst of pure decadence, of indulgence, as her teeth sank into him. The bite of pain simply added to the intensity of his desire. She was an addiction, his greatest asset, his greatest love. He fisted both hands tightly in her luxurious hair. The feel of all that fiery silk in his rough palms maddened him with need.
Still, there was a part of him that simply enjoyed that slow, leisurely awakening of desire in his mind, when his body was already hot and hard. He could already taste her in his mouth, the wonderful combination of cinnamon spice and honey that was in her blood, in the hot liquid seeping from the very core of her body—for him. Only for him.
He was alpha enough, wolf enough, to enjoy the fact that he was the only man who would ever have her, ever know her passionate fire, her devotion to pleasing him, the minute details she employed to give him absolute pleasure. Branislava always focused so completely on him when they made love, never herself. She gave and gave to him. He was in her mind, in her heart, in her very soul. She wanted him to be sated, completely satisfied and utterly spent with each joining.
He didn’t want to tell her that would never happen. The more she gave, the more he craved his beautiful addiction, the more his love felt all encompassing, overwhelming even. She licked across the small pinpricks on his chest, closing them, adding one more shudder of pleasure before she moved up and over him.
His hand slid up her silken inner thigh and he felt her muscles tighten in anticipation. Her heat was growing, that wonderful secret haven he always lost himself in. He slipped a finger inside her and felt her gasp, felt hot liquid surround him and tight muscles clamp down like a vise. Very slowly he withdrew his finger and brought it to his mouth.
“Nothing tastes as good as you,” he whispered, meaning it. He could spend a lifetime indulging his cravings with her body.
Her tongue slid across the pinpricks on his chest, as her body heated more. She pushed back, coming over the top of him, her breasts sliding over the muscles of his body, causing them to react, drawing every bit of blood to his groin until he was bursting with urgent need. He caught her arms, providing a soft carpet of thick grass to surround her. He wanted the hard earth beneath it to hold her in place while he took her, but he didn’t want her uncomfortable.
In one smooth motion, he rolled her under him and bent his head to the swell of her breast where her pulse beat so strongly, beckoning him, calling to him with a frantic urgency. Her spicy fragrance rose, his mate making her own demands, there in the secret cradle of new life they’d discovered. He thought of that small crater inside the mountain as their own private paradise.
He teased her nipple into a tight peak with a flat, broad stroke of his tongue, enjoying the way her body flushed, all that hot passion rising like a tide, a volcano, so close to the surface, so close to a fiery explosion. He indulged himself, his mind needing the slow, leisurely enjoyment of her body while his body continued to demand a wild instantaneous satisfaction.
He kissed his way up the slope of her breast to that throbbing beat and without preamble sank his teeth deep. She arched into him, her soft cry music to his ears. He loved every sound she made, every whimper, every plea, the way she chanted his name. His rough hands moved over her soft body, a claiming, an exploration. Every part of her was his. This amazing, beautiful woman gave herself to him, gave her body to him to play and worship there.