Free Father Mine by J. R. Ward Page B

great cat. Arching back into the pillow, she put her face to the side, giving him her throat so that he—
    As Zsadist struck hard and deep, she orgasmed again, and while he drew on her vein the sex pounded on. He was even better than she’d remembered, his muscles and bones churning on top of her, his skin so smooth, his bonding scent blanketing her in that special dark spice.
    When he finished feeding and orgasmed for . . . God only knew how many times he’d come . . . his body stilled and he lapped at her throat to close the bite wound. The lingering, luscious strokes of his tongue made her want him again, and as if he read her mind, he rolled over onto his back and took her with him, keeping them joined.
    â€œDo me,” he demanded, his wild yellow eyes locking on her full breasts.
    She cupped herself where his stare was fixated and pinched her own nipples as she rode him nice and slow. His moans and the way his hands tightened on her knees made her feel more beautiful than any words he could have spoken.
    â€œGod . . . I’ve missed you,” he said.
    â€œMe too.” Dropping her hands to his shoulders, she leaned into him and swung her hips more freely.
    â€œOh, fuck, Bella—take my vein—”
    The invitation was accepted before he finished issuing it and she was no more gentle than he had been. His taste was spectacular, and more intense than it had been. Ever since the birth, when she’d fed it had been . . . courteous. But this was raw, a champagne cocktail of power and sex, not just nutrition.
    â€œI love you,” he sighed as she took from him.
    They made love four more times.
    Once more on the bed.
    Twice on the floor halfway to the bathroom.
    Once again in the shower.
    Afterward they wrapped themselves in thick white towels and climbed back into bed.
    Zsadist tucked her into his side and kissed her forehead. “Is the whole issue as to whether I’m still attracted to you settled?”
    She laughed, trailing her hand over the pads of his pecs and down onto his six-pack. She swore she could feel his muscles strengthening under her palm, his body drawing on what he’d gotten from his feeding. The fact that she was making him strong made her proud . . . but more than that, it made her feel connected to him.
    The Scribe Virgin had been a smart one when she’d created a race that needed to feed from itself.
    â€œWell? Has it?” Z rolled over on top of her, his scarred face breaking into an I-am-the-man smile. “Or do I need to prove it again?”
    She ran her hands up his heavy arms. “No, I think we’re—Z!”
    â€œWhat?” he drawled as he nestled his way in between her legs again. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m still hungry.” He put his mouth to hers as gentle as a breath. “Mmmm . . .”
    His lips went down to her neck and he gave his bite mark a little nuzzle, as if he were saying thank-you.
    â€œMmm . . . mine,” he growled.
    So slow, so soft . . . his mouth went down farther, to her breast. He paused at the nipple.
    â€œAre they sensitive?” he asked, rubbing the tip of his nose over her crest, then licking her.
    â€œYes . . .” She shivered as he blew a stream of air over where his tongue had been.
    â€œThey look it. All red and pouty and pretty.” He was ever so careful with her breasts, caressing them with his hands and kissing them lightly.
    When he moved down to her stomach she started to get hot and restless again, and he smiled up at her. “Have you missed my kisses, darling mate? The ones I like to give you between your thighs?”
    â€œYes,” she choked out while anticipation shivered through her. Given the erotic little grin on his face and the evil cast to his yellow stare, he was once again a male with plans and a wide-open schedule.
    He rose up on his knees. “Open your legs for me. I like to watch you—Oh . . . shit . . . yeah.