Free Illicit by Madeline Pryce

anticipating the thrusts, egging him on, God damn her. Ten minutes in her dark passage had him unloading in her ass and crying out like a bitch.
    Pulling out of her ravished passage, watching the cum leak down her trembling thigh as she collapsed against the counter in front of her, had made him feel like an asshole. Despite his internal promise to stay detached and in charge, he’d gathered her in his arms. The apology he murmured against her sweat-slicked throat was sincere. She’d trusted him and he’d lost control. If she cared, she was too far gone to voice it. The shower was hot, the spray a thousand needles on his sensitive skin.
    He soaped her skin to ease her soreness, hoped it would wash away his guilt. He kissed each mark he’d left on her body in silent apology. From that point forward, as if they hadn’t been bad already, things went to hell. Damn her. He blamed her silent tears, the breathless way she gasped his name when his hand unerringly found her swollen sex. Ridden hard and thoroughly abused she spread her legs, silently asking for more.
    She grazed her nails up his water-slicked back, coaxing a line of goose bumps in her wake. Lifting on the tips of her toes, her hard-tipped breasts pressed against his chest. Between them, his cock jerked. The tables turned. From his shoulder to his neck, she trailed a path of pure fire with her mouth. No one touched the Alpha’s neck. No one, except Eva. Her first kiss was tentative, as if she knew the rules and decided to break them anyway. The second was harder and sped his heart. She nipped his throat, the sweet bite more erotic then if she’d palmed his erection.
    He should have pushed her away. He should have spun her around, pressed her face to the slick wall and shown her what it meant to be his submissive all over again. Instead, he threaded his hand through her sopping wet hair and clutched her closer. As if encouraged, her tongue traced his jugular before her teeth closed down.
    His words, “I can’t get enough of you,” had been innocent enough, excusable, but he hadn’t stopped there.
    “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
    “I need you.”
    “Please.”
    Peter Marx had resorted to begging.
    One last time, up against the slick wall with the steam billowing around them, he entered her. The entire scene had been romantic and tender. Two things he didn’t want or need. He didn’t know how long they stayed joined, but he hadn’t wanted it to end. After he pumped what was surely the very last drop of semen in his body into her, he carried her to the bed. She rolled onto her stomach, murmured something that wasn’t human language before dropping off into no man’s land.
    Hard to believe only two hours had passed since the last time he had her. Peter stroked a hand down the shimmering feathers on her back, palmed her ass. He beat back the guilt of abusing her body, tried to think of something other than sex.
    Sated, the leopard slumbered.
    The man still hungered.
    There was only one thing for him to do: leave. He had to get away from her, from the intoxicating scent of their mixed pheromones. His fingers moved to the outside of her thigh, traced the marks where his claws drew blood. The wounds were neat scars, already healed thanks to whatever inhuman genes allowed him to take the leash off his restraint. The bite mark on her neck was almost gone too, as were the other bruises his harsh brand of fucking left behind.
    Peter pressed a soft kiss between the blades of her shoulders, rose out of bed and rooted around in the two-drawer stand. He found paper, a cheap pen. He scribbled something on the pad, folded the paper and then threw it on the pillow next to her head. If he was going to get out of there, he needed to do it now before he woke her up and screwed her again.
    He dressed quickly, walked out of the room without looking at Eva one last time. The door shut softly behind him.
    The leopard woke instantaneously, knew Peter