2
She was being stalked.
A shiver of awareness went up her spine. Ciri froze in place just outside the door of a small boutique, one predator sensing another. The fading sunlight made it more difficult to see, but her acute feline eyesight pierced the gloom. The last thing she wanted was to be caught unawares in foreign territory. In Tokyo she’d have the advantage over her hunter. San Francisco wasn’t her city, and that meant she was in much graver danger.
Kuso!
Every curse word in all three of the languages she knew ran through her mind. Not that it would help her out of this situation. She inhaled slowly, trying to sort through the crowd of human smells, food, car exhaust, and the strange moist scent of eucalyptus that infused the city’s air. She wanted his scent, wanted to know her stalker’s essence. The Panther inside her clawed for the freedom to hunt, to kill, but she caged it as she must in the presence of humans. To reveal one’s nature to the general population was to bring a death sentence down on one’s head.
Bitterness shot through her. If she hadn’t disliked this city before, she certainly did now. Her mate was supposed to be here with her, but instead she was alone, as she always seemed to be now that she was on the wrong continent. She’d thought mating meant she’d never feel alone again, but something had called Tomas away from this outing they were supposed to take together, which meant she was playing fetch for him as if she were his assistant rather than his wife. Then again, something always called him away.
And now it might get her killed.
Her heart leapt when she saw a flash of dark hair surfacing from the crowded street. That was him. She knew it—she felt it in her bones.
A Panther. Large and male. Her senses screamed at her to run, and she spun on her heel to dart into the throng of people shopping in Union Square.
She sincerely doubted that she’d outrun him, but the oppressive feel of his rage closed around her. He was getting closer.
Turning a corner, she broke into a swift trot, squeezing between people to try to get some distance from her pursuer. Her narrow skirt hampered her movements as she swept down the sidewalk, her hands shaking at her sides, a cold sweat beginning to bead her face. She’d have no fear of a human, but this was a shifter who wanted to hurt her. The tinge of his madness coated her tongue with its rancid flavor.
There was no one to help her, no one to ask for aid. Calling anyone on her cell phone would only slow her down . . . and anyone who answered would be far too late. Instead, she pushed herself harder, trying not to pour on so much speed that the people around her noticed she was moving far too quickly for a human woman. Reining in the need to run was the hardest instinct she’d ever had to fight.
Glancing back, she saw that same flash of dark hair and tanned skin before he disappeared into the crowd again. He was closer than he had been before, and bigger than she’d thought. Her stomach clenched, adrenaline flooding her veins. Faster. Oh, God. How much faster could she go without giving herself away?
Her breath rasped in her tortured throat, her lungs burning as she panted for air. Some distant part of her brain recognized that this was more from panic than exertion, but he was gaining on her. She would be caught in the horrible maelstrom of hate that poured from him. Her belly turned and it was all she could do not to gag, to bend over and vomit. Only the knowledge that it would slow her down stopped her from giving in to the overwhelming urge.
Whipping around another corner on an unfamiliar street in this godawful city, she slammed into a large Panther male. She hissed, struggling madly against his iron-hard grip.
“Ciri, what’s wrong?” The big hands on her shoulders shook her almost gently. “Ciri?”
She fought against her own feral nature, barely kept her claws sheathed. A snarl ripped from her as she looked her captor in the face.
A wave of shock hit her as she realized it was the Pride’s non-shifter. She recoiled automatically and he let her go, lifting his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Are you all right?”
His smell was different. Clean and sane. The stink of madness dissipated, leaving her standing there shaking and sweating. She sucked in a calm breath, trying to regain some modicum of her self-control. “I’m fine.”
She might throw up on his hiking boots, but she was unharmed and that was all he really needed to know. It was odd to see him up close. She forced herself to focus on this man rather than the one who’d chased her. Anything to hold the horror at bay for a few minutes.
She stared up at the sandy-haired man. A non-shifter. A cursed cat. Until Antonio Cruz came to power, no self-respecting Pride would admit they’d fostered such a freak of nature. She cringed inwardly at the cruel thought, but the superstition was deeply ingrained in the shifter culture.
“Benedicto.” His name finally came to her, and she winced after she’d blurted it out.
His smile was wry. “Just Ben.”
She noted that he didn’t offer his hand to shake. Guilt twisted through her that she was so uncomfortable around a young man whose timely appearance might have saved her life. A lifetime of training made her scuttle backward when he stepped toward her. She couldn’t help it.
The glint in his bright blue eyes was more amused than offended and he moved to give her a wide berth. Stepping to the cement curb, he opened the door to a large Jeep. “Can I offer you a ride home?”
A flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks at his courtesy. It contrasted starkly with her own rudeness. Thrusting her arm toward him, she offered him a hand that trembled. “Thank you for your help.”
Surprise reflected in his gaze and he stared down at her hand for a moment as if he were uncertain what to do with it. Then he reached out, squeezed her fingers for a split second, and withdrew. He cleared his throat and motioned for her to get in the vehicle. “Shall we?”
“Yes, please.” Anything to get away from here. Hiking up her pencil skirt as best she could, she managed a graceless hop up into the passenger seat. Pulling on her seatbelt, she settled against the leather upholstery and laid her purse neatly on her lap. She fumbled for something to say to this non-shifter, something that had nothing to do with her stalker or the scent of terror that saturated her clothing in sweat. “This is Ricardo and Diego’s Jeep, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Ric said I could borrow it.” Ben wheeled the Jeep away from the curb and wended his way into traffic. “The twins are in meetings all night.”
Like most cats, Panthers were nocturnal, their days beginning just before dusk. Ciri had been up early to get to the shop before it closed. The last of the sunshine disappeared, and streetlights began to wink on. The farther they went from Union Square, the more her shoulders relaxed. The feeling of being watched faded and she sighed in relief. “Meetings. I’m sure they’ll love that.”
Ben chuckled. “The twins don’t like much that cages them, but their work is important.”
“Of course.” Ciri drew in a shaky breath and let it ease out. Her heart stopped pounding, and she finally got the shaking in her limbs under control. Exhaustion slammed into her as the adrenaline rush crashed. She sagged against the seat, wanting nothing more than to be back in Japan, in her own bed, and curled up in sleep. But that wasn’t to be. She was stuck here in this strange country and this strange Pride, with a mate who became more a stranger every day. She stuffed away the sad thought, trying to accept her fate. It was an ongoing struggle, but it was for the best. Even her parents agreed when she called to talk to them every week. Acceptance, harmony, peace—that was paramount.
“May I ask why you were running?” The question was quiet and undemanding, which seemed to be characteristic of the man himself. Then again, a non-shifter would have learned young to keep his head down and try to blend in.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction. “Someone was following me.”
Instead of brushing her off, he nodded. “I didn’t sense anyone, but you seemed scared. I imagine my appearance changed their mind about your viability as a target.”
“I suppose so.” A sigh escaped her. He hadn’t sensed anything. She had no idea how sharp a non-shifter’s senses would be. As good as a full shifter’s or not? Would anyone else believe her if no one could back up what she said? She hadn’t managed to make friends with many Panthers here. There was no way the leaders would trust her word. Worry gnawed at her, and she just wanted to escape all of it and be somewhere safe. Somewhere thousands of miles from here.
“Did you see what they looked like?”
She shook her head. “He was tall with dark hair. Other than that, I just sensed him. He was . . . angry.”
“Then I’m glad I happened along.” Ben favored her with a kind smile. “Once we’re home, Isabel will give you some of her famous pastries. Some food will settle you. It always helps me.” One hand left the steering wheel to pat his lean belly, and Ciri had to wonder if food had always been plentiful for the non-shifter.
Guilt slithered through her once more. She was railing against being taken from her home, when this man may not have had enough to eat. At least she had always had an opulent Pride roof over her head and enough food to sustain an army within easy reach. She swallowed and focused on something besides herself. “What were you doing there?”
Ben pointed to a leather case in the backseat. “Taking pictures. That’s what I do.”
“You’re a photographer?” That piqued her interest, drew her attention from her own troubles. As a graphic designer, Ciri was always intrigued by what other artists did with their work.
“Photojournalist, specifically.” He gave her a glance that said he knew she was avoiding the topic of her stalker. “The shots I took are for a local newspaper. I’m heading out of town in a few weeks for a story in Bali.”
“Who’s that for?”
His broad shoulders shrugged, and she had to remind herself that he was a half-decade younger than her. He had turned twenty a month before—and Ciri only knew that much because she’d wandered into the kitchen when Isabel was making a cake for the occasion—but he seemed . . . older. The young man had ancient eyes. “A travel magazine. They want a big glossy spread.”
“You also take pictures for Andrea’s clothing line, don’t you?” Ciri had spent an entertaining evening with the fashion designer when she’d come to Tokyo for a fashion show. That Andrea was the Pride leader’s sister and was mated to Tomas’s cousin played into the political closeness of the two Prides. When he was younger, Antonio Cruz had served as Second in South America the way Tomas served as Second in North America now. Ciri didn’t pretend to understand the political intricacies and undertones that went along with leadership and heirs and Seconds. She was learning because she had to, but it wasn’t natural for her like it was for her mate. It made her head spin, and seemed much too dangerous a game to play.
“Yeah, I shoot for Andrea occasionally. I take the jobs that pay.” Ben made a sharp left turn and pulled up to the mansion’s front gate. “Here we are.”
Seeing the Pride’s stronghold sent an enormous surge of relief coursing through her. She wanted to sink into that sense of safety, but could she really count on it here? She clenched her trembling fingers, took a breath, and fought the panic that had never abated since she’d come to San Francisco. Since she’d lost her husband’s attention—his love—leaving her alone.
She glanced at Ben. “Thank you for helping me and thank you for the ride.”
“Not a problem.” He reached out the car window and typed in a code on the keypad, then set his palm against a scanner. Several video cameras swiveled around to zero in on the vehicle. After a moment, the gate swung wide to admit them. “I hope you’re going to tell Antonio about what happened today. He’ll need to know for security reasons.”
“Okay, thank you. Good-bye.” She didn’t wait to finish the pleasantries with Ben, though she knew she was being rude again. Fumbling for the door handle, she shot out of the Jeep the second it rocked to a halt.
As wide as the distance seemed to be between her mate and her, she still wanted the protection of Tomas’s arms around her right now. She wanted to feel not so isolated, she wanted . . . what they’d had before politics had interfered in their marriage.
She ran for the door of the sprawling mansion. The Pride’s ever-competent butler, Eva, swung the door open just as Ciri reached it. “Thank you.”
She tossed the comment over her shoulder at the other woman as she hurried by, making a beeline straight for Tomas’s office. He was there; she could smell him. Every part of her soul ached for her mate. She needed him now. After a brief knock, she pushed the door open before he could respond.
He half-rose from his seat when he saw her, his brows arching. “Ciri. What a surprise. I thought you’d be out shopping longer than this.”
The room looked like him. The rich furnishings were all leather and dark wood, with wild accents. One entire wall was blood red, and a pair of crossed katanas were mounted on it. Gifts from her Pride. A spear sat above them, from his visit to Africa. It emphasized how different they were—power and violence versus peace and serenity.
A small smile curled one corner of his mouth, and he looked happy to see her, which was so unusual these days, it was almost enough to make her burst into tears. She shoved away the storm of emotions that threatened to batter her into the ground. Peace and tranquility, she reminded herself. Her mouth opened, but no words came forth. When it came to her mate, she didn’t know how to say what she needed to say. Not without creating strife between them, and she couldn’t stand the conflict.
Hell, she didn’t even know what to say to him anymore.
Ciri just stood there staring at him, and Tomas had no idea how to react to her sudden appearance. Normally, she avoided his office and anything that reminded her of his status in the Prides. The thought both worried and annoyed him, as it always did, but he dismissed it.
“Have a seat. I’ll get us some coffee.” He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek as he passed on his way to a large wooden sideboard his mother had sent from Brazil.
Ciri’s essence overlaid the more masculine scents in the room, and it was all he could do not to drag her into the nearest dark corner and have his way with her. But there was work to do, and never enough time to do it. “Did you stop off at the calligrapher’s to pick up everything we ordered for the dinner and ball?”
It was supposed to take place the night before the summit began, and would ease people into peaceful negotiations and good will. Tomas was in charge of planning it, as well as other parts of the summit. He’d also volunteered to be a neutral party and try to get the European Pride involved. A phone call with Spain was on his schedule for later this evening.
“No. I was about to go into the shop when I sensed I was being followed.” Ciri shivered in the warm room, her arms wrapping around herself.
Tomas froze with his hand poised over the coffee carafe, a jolt of shock punching through him. His hackles rose, and the Panther within him snarled. “A human threatened you?”
Her eyes were wide when they met his, upset obvious in their dark depths. “A Panther hunted me.”
“A Panther? Someone from this Pride?” His talons scored his palms when he fisted his fingers. If one of Antonio’s people had gone after Ciri, Tomas would shred the offender to ribbons. “Who? I want his name.”
She made a negative sound in her throat. “It wasn’t anyone I’ve met before. He wasn’t from this Pride.”
Tomas blinked, shaking his head to push away the feral instincts and let the logical man rule the moment. A Panther in North American territory that wasn’t in the Pride? The number of Panthers on the planet was incredibly limited, which was an ongoing problem for their race. For a cub to be conceived, both parents had to be in Panther form and claimed in a mate bond. Not all Panthers had mates, and their breeding rate was low. Extinction was an ugly possibility that always loomed over their people. The likelihood that an unknown Panther existed outside the purview of the Prides was little or none. “Are you sure it was a Panther?”
It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He tried to backpedal, but her hiss cut him off.
“I know what I sensed, Tomas. He was a Panther—one I’ve never met before. He was large, with dark hair and tanned skin. And he hunted me.” Her words were stiff. There was something in her gaze that was almost reproachful. It was a look he’d become far too used to in the last few months.
“All right. He was a Panther.” He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. The last thing he wanted was to make accusations. “Are you certain he wasn’t someone you’d met before?”
“You think I’m lying about all of this?” Her chin lifted, her expression daring him to admit it.
“I never said anything of the kind. Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m asking how certain you are about what you sensed, but I don’t think you’re lying.” And he didn’t. No matter what else might be wrong with their marriage, he knew Ciri wouldn’t deliberately deceive him.
“But you think no one else will believe me.” Her lips flattened into a line.
He sighed. “You’ve had some difficulty adjusting here, and people know that. It’s not unfeasible for them to think this is an offshoot of that.”
“You think they’ll say this is some kind of excuse to get out of North America because I can’t adjust?”
“I can’t control what other people think, Ciri. But, yes, it is possible that Antonio and Solana will think that.” If they did, it could be a serious problem for Tomas. He’d have to consider how best to deal with this before he approached them. It was no secret to anyone that Ciri’s dislike of this Pride and her newly elevated rank among Panthers had been a sore spot since the moment they’d left Japan.
“I know what I sensed.” Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and she hissed low in her throat, which was unusual for her. She usually avoided confrontation of any kind—and he thought it was unhealthy to let bad feelings fester. Something else they disagreed on. At the moment, the Panther was as evident as the woman, and cats were fearless. “I’m an adult, Tomas. I don’t feel the need to make up imaginary friends or imaginary foes. If I wanted to leave here, I could buy a plane ticket to Tokyo right now.”
Matching anger flashed inside him. He struggled to control it. His father was always in command of himself, and expected the same of Tomas, but it wasn’t in his nature to back down from a challenge. Ciri had the ability to push all his buttons in seconds. The mere mention that she could leave, that she might get on a plane and abandon him iced his anger down to chilly dread. No. He couldn’t lose her. Not ever. He tried to muddle through the mess they were in as best he could, tried to show her by example that they could handle living here for a while.
The least she could do was make an attempt to fit in and get along with the people here. “You could try—”
“I have tried, Tomas.” She rose from her seat, her hands planting on her hips. Her fangs bared. “I accept that this is where we live, but I don’t like it here. I don’t have to like it here.”
He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. How the hell had they gotten onto this topic anyway? Everything seemed to devolve into this same argument—when he could even get her to talk about it. “No one said you did, but you should try to make the best of it. It’s not forever.”
“Yes, because then you’ll drag me down to Brazil for the rest of my life.” She tossed her dark sheet of hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. “Another foreign Pride that I didn’t care for.”
He threw his hands in the air. “We were only there for a few days, and the Pride was still in mourning for my grandfather. You didn’t see everyone at their best. At least give it a chance.”
She just stared at him, a mutinous jut to her chin. “It’s not like I have a choice, do I? I haven’t had a choice in any of this.”
“Neither have I!”
“No, but we’re with your old friends now, and your cousin is here. You get to talk endless politics, which you love, and then we get to go to your Pride forever.” Her eyes went wide, her lips pursing. “That sounds terrible for you.”
He tried to keep from her just how confused and jumbled up he felt most of the time, because he didn’t want to add to her misery, but how could she not see they were equals in this? This wasn’t exactly how he’d seen his life going either. He dragged in a breath and tried for some restraint. “You’re being unreasonable.”
A disgusted sound erupted from her, and she spun toward the door. “Then let’s stop the conversation if it’s so trying for you. I hate fighting with you anyway. Good-bye.”
That spurred him into action. He grabbed her arm. “Ciri, wait. Don’t do this.”
“I haven’t done anything. You’re the one acting as though I’m a fool or a child because I don’t care for this Pride, because I miss my own people, because someone here hunted me. I think it’s perfectly reasonable to be upset about all of those things.” A sheen of tears in her eyes belied the scorn in her voice. “Clearly, my mate doesn’t want to hear what concerns me. How silly and childish of me to think so. Excuse me.”
“Wait, please. I don’t want us to fight right now either.” He reeled her in, and set his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “I do want to hear what concerns you, and I do believe you were followed. I never said you were childish, and I never called you a liar. I’ll ask Antonio to look into this.”
“Thank you.” The words were brittle, and her gaze told him she doubted that he’d do as he said. That stung, but he was fair enough to admit this fight hadn’t made it sound like he had much faith in her, even though that hadn’t been his intention. What a mess they’d made of things, and they only seemed to make it worse whenever they spoke.
He kissed her forehead because he couldn’t resist the temptation to have his hands on her as often as he could. “Of course.”
It was the way of Brazil, to touch, to kiss. Other Prides didn’t share that local quirk, so he’d learned to curb it, but in his own land and among his own family, he felt free to reach out. With Ciri, he reveled in it when they were alone. He could never get enough of touching her, and it fed a need that ran far deeper than his culture. She was his mate, and he would crave her all the days of his life. It was that simple, and that complex, especially with the strain in their relationship.
She leaned closer to him when his lips brushed her forehead. She was almost in his arms, almost close enough to truly kiss him. He stopped himself, but he wanted her. Dios, how he wanted.
Ciri was suddenly desperate for the closeness, the contact. Anything to drive away the fear that had gripped her. Anything to hold it at bay, just for a little while.
Anything to avoid her entire life.
She wasn’t doing very well at acceptance or harmony today. Shoving her fingers into his hair, she pulled him down for a kiss. She felt him startle, could taste the surprise on his lips.
He groaned, his breath emerging as a ragged gasp. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Don’t I seem certain?” Cupping his cock through his pants, she pressed herself against him. “I don’t want to think about what happened today. Help me forget.”
A dark flush raced over his cheeks. When was the last time she’d initiated sex between them? Weeks, maybe longer. She’d followed his lead, allowing her feral side to dictate her actions. Now, she needed this connection so much it shredded her normal reserve. The last thing she could stand right now was to be alone, her mind trapped in an endless loop of the terror she’d felt. Her heart contracted at the thought, and as hard as she’d been trying to push it away, it wouldn’t be ignored. Somehow, she had to burn off this feeling. This was as good a way as any. Better than crying over things she couldn’t change—she’d tried that in the last six months and it didn’t help at all.
Her mate shuddered and groaned at her touch, and a rush of power filled her. Yes. This was what she needed. No longer helpless—right now, she was in control. Passion swamped her, and dampness gushed between her thighs. Yes, this was how it should be. Not just avoidance or anger, but desire.
Stroking her hand up and down the length of his shaft, she felt him grow thicker, harder. A little moisture seeped through his slacks and she grinned. His hips thrust forward, harsh sounds of lust spilling from his lips.
“Ciri, look at me.”
Meeting his gaze, she was caught, drawn in by the need on his face. He was just as handsome as he had been the day she’d met him. His dark hair was brushed back in thick waves from his forehead and tapered to a neat point at the back of his neck. She used to love to thrust her fingers into those locks and muss them up, just to encourage him toward a little peaceful relaxation. When they were in private, he didn’t need to be a Pride heir or an expert in politics and business or anything other than her mate.
He hadn’t listened. They never seemed to get through to each other, and it made her heart ache.
“Ciri . . . please.” The desperation on his face, the way his chest heaved for breath, the gold that swirled in his dark irises, the deadly points to his fangs, all told her exactly how much he craved her. That he was willing to beg only fed the power coursing through her veins. That he didn’t try to take control from her told her he understood how much she needed this.
Good. For once, they were on the same page.
She reached for his belt, jerking the leather free from the buckle. In moments, she had it and his fly open. Her fingers slid into his slacks, and his hot flesh was in her hand. Pulling his cock from his pants, she stroked him with one hand and reached in with the other to cup the soft sacs at the base of his shaft. She rolled them between her fingers. He choked, his intense gaze locking on her, and she could feel the effort it took to restrain himself. His passionate Latin nature was never more in evidence than when he was aroused.
A bead of moisture pearled at the tip of his cock and she bent forward to lick it away.
“Madras, Ciri!”
She chuckled, released her grip on him, and stepped back until her ass hit the edge of his desk. Pulling her blouse over her head, she tossed it aside. Her hands were busy unfastening her skirt while he stared at her, so much lust in his eyes as he watched her strip that she felt scorched by the heat. Her nipples peaked tight, and she wanted his hands on them, his mouth. “Take your clothes off, Tomas. I want you.”
Chin jerking down in a nod, he obeyed her. He wrenched his tie over his head, his fingers flying as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. His pants hit the floor and he stepped out of them as he strode toward her.
He swept an arm over the desk with a quick gesture, and most of the papers flew off. Then he scooped her off her feet and onto the hard wood surface. She fell back on her hands, arching herself to let him know exactly what she wanted. He didn’t disappoint, dipping down to suck her nipple into his warm mouth. He laved the tight tip before switching to offer the same treatment to her other breast.
A hiss erupted from her throat, her back bowing to press herself deeper into his mouth. His lips shaped around her nipple and he suckled hard. Tingles exploded over her skin, and she barely contained a whimper. Her head fell back, her pussy clenching on nothing as the sensation rocketed through her. He bit her gently and she cried out.
It was so good, but not what she wanted.
Reaching between them, she circled her fingers around the base of his cock. The silky skin stretched taut over the steely shaft. It pulsed in her hand, and she pumped him between her fingers. He shuddered, hissing in animalistic yearning.
Leaning forward, she gave one of his flat brown nipples a delicate lick. His big body jerked in reaction, his fingers came up to grip her knees, pushing them apart until he could slip in to touch her as intimately as she was touching him.
“You’re so wet.” He gritted the words out between clenched fangs.
“Yes.” Drawing him forward by the cock, she spread her thighs wider. “I want you inside me.”
“Dios, yesss,” he hissed.
She rubbed the head of his dick over her slick lips, pressed it hard against her clit, and arched into the contact. His hands hit the desk on either side of her hips, his claws scraping the polished wood. She loved teasing him, loved having this big, strong male as hers to command. This was the only time she knew she had his undivided attention.
Guiding his cock to her opening, she eased the head into her pussy. He purred, shoving forward to work his length deeper into her channel. The stretch was divine. And she wanted more. She wanted the rest of the world to disappear until there was only her, only him, and only this.
She wrapped her legs tight around his muscular flanks, forcing him closer, deeper into her pussy. The thrust and recoil of his hips was fast, rough. Perfect. It drove her to the very edge of sanity, made her gasp for breath. Sweat made their flesh cling wherever they touched, and the scent of sex in the air was intoxicating. He ground himself against her clit, and she almost exploded. Her nails turned to claws on his back, and she knew she hurt him, but he only fucked her harder, gave her exactly what she craved.
He groaned. “I want to come.”
So did she. “Not yet. Not yet!”
Choking, he snarled and held back his orgasm while she did the same. Her sex spasmed each time he entered her, tension twisting tighter until she thought she’d die before she gave in. Her body jolted when his pelvis slapped against her, when his cock filled her. The soft hair on his chest rubbed over her nipples, stimulating the sensitive points. All of it made her want to scream.
Her control broke.
“Now, Tomas! Make me come.” She raked her claws down his flesh and bit his shoulder.
“Thank God,” he rasped.
His hands grasped her ass and lifted her off the desk. He powered his cock into her over and over. Panther screams ripped from both of them as they reached orgasm together. She shoved her fingers into his hair and forced his mouth to hers. The kiss was a wild thing—they bit at each other, tongues twining, groaning into each other’s mouths. Her pussy pulsed around his cock, squeezing him in waves that left her shaking and almost feral. His hot come filled her, and the Panther within her purred in satisfaction.
He groaned and set her back on the desk, his hands gliding up and down her back. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she breathed. Relaxing, she rested her head on his strong shoulder and closed her eyes.
The phone blared loudly, a rude awakening from the euphoria that fuzzed her thoughts. They jolted at the sound, and he slid out of her. Their groans echoed in the office, but the phone hadn’t stopped ringing. She felt Tomas’s hesitation, knew he warred with his ever-present duties as Second.
She snorted. As if there was any real contest. She was simply grasping at straws to comfort herself. “Just answer it. You know you want to.”
“It can wait.” But he flinched toward it when it rang again.
“You’re just going to be thinking about it until you call your father back.” In other words, his mind would be on something besides her. As usual.
At least he didn’t bother to deny it. “Are you sure?”
“I need a shower. I’m going to our room.” Resignation shimmered through her, and her shoulders drooped. She was suddenly exhausted once more. Heaving a sigh, she picked up her clothes, shook out as many of the creases as she could, and put them back on. Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of the cold sweat in the fabric. Her fear was a stink she’d have to get rid of as soon as possible.
“No, stay with me for a little while.” He pulled on his own clothes, moving with a speed no human could match. The phone rang a third time, then a fourth. He grabbed her arm and reeled her in to sit on his lap, and then snagged the phone.
She settled her head against his shoulder, too wiped out to argue with him.
“Pai?” The Portuguese word for father rolled off his tongue, and as usual, he became an entirely different person in the blink of an eye. Gone was the warm lover and in his place was a zealous taskmaster. The younger version of his controlling sire. “Yes, of course I read through the documentation you sent me.” He rifled through the paperwork on his desk and then leaned to the side to retrieve some of the scattered sheets on the floor. “I was just in the middle of an e-mail to you when I . . . when there was an interruption. No, I’m back on track now.”
And even though she was in his lap, curled against the heat of his body, she was dismissed just that quickly for the more important aspects of his life. It was depressing, disheartening, and made her regret her impulsive need to find comfort in his arms. But he was her mate—wasn’t she supposed to put him above all others?
Too bad he didn’t feel the same.
A waft of hot sex mixed with the cold sweat hit her nose and her stomach heaved. The combination wasn’t a welcome one. As much as she enjoyed sex with Tomas no matter how they weren’t getting along, she didn’t like the isolation she dealt with or the reminder that sex was all that earned her attention from her mate. She sighed, too spent for anger or tears. She forced her emotions to freeze into numbness—if she couldn’t manage acceptance, then she could achieve nothingness. It was a habit she was unhappy to realize she’d developed.
Closing her eyes, she let the exhaustion take her. She simply couldn’t deal with any more, so she retreated into sleep.