Free Primal Instincts by Susan Sizemore Page B

like a demonwhile he gave her the arousal she craved. Arousal and satisfaction that rocked through her and back into him in building, blinding explosions.
    He lost track of everything. Not knowing when holding her down became holding her to him, never wanting to let her go. Not knowing when her struggles turned to insistent writhing beneath him.
    Her hips arched against his. Her legs clasped his waist. His cock moved toward welcoming wet heat.
    “What are you doing here?”
    Tobias took in a gasping breath. He opened his eyes to find that he was seated in a dark bedroom with a painful erection. Flare Reynard was sitting up in bed glaring at him.
    “I’m not sure,” he said.
    She was wearing an oversized Lakers T-shirt. The royal purple and gold colors suited a princess, but he had preferred her naked.
    It had been a dream?
    She sat up, leaning back on her elbows, which made her breasts arch up. Her nipples were puckered beneath the cloth. She ignored his hungry stare.
    She ignored his crotch but still gave him a searching look. “Would you mind taking off your shirt?” she asked.
    “Why would I do that?”
    He’d been naked in the dream—at least he had no memory of clothing. He’d been concentrating on
her
nakedness.
    “Because in my dream, you had black angel wings tattooed on your back.”
    He shook his head. “No tats.”
    So, she’d dreamed, but not exactly the same dream he’d had. Was that good or bad? Was the sex good or bad? He had no doubt there’d been sex. He could smell the sharp tang of her arousal, knew she was aware of his.
    She was also taking this remarkably well—so far. He waited for her to spring a trap, at least a tantrum, but offered honesty of his own.
    “In my dream you were naked on red satin sheets,” he told her. The bed was actually covered in pale blue bedclothes.
    “Isn’t that just typical sexual fantasy material?”
    “Tattoos?” he countered.
    “Tats are very sexy.”
    “Shameless wench.”
    She shrugged. He couldn’t help but notice the way her breasts moved beneath the cotton shirt. This didn’t help calm his hard-on any. He took slow, deep breaths and thought about unattractive things.
    “What are you doing in here?” she repeated.
    “Here” was a small guest bedroom in Ben Lancer’s house. He ran a hand across his short hair while he searched out how his steps had led him to Flare’s bed.
    She reached over to a bedside table and switched on a small lamp. They didn’t need this extra light, but maybe it made her feel more normal, less psychically vulnerable—less connected. Nothing could help or change his awareness of the unconscious, unwelcome connection.
    “I was in the kitchen,” he recalled. “A few of my people reported in. Then—I went looking for you.”
    She sat up straight and folded her hands on her stomach. “You planned to sit by my bedside to keep me safe all night?” Her tone was dangerously sweet.
    “No. I wanted to fuck you.”
    She threw back her head and laughed.
Goddess, what a lovely throat!
    “Don’t think about it, big boy,” she said.
    “Can’t help it,” he answered.
    “Primes.”
    “Any man in the world would be turned on by you.”
    She frowned but accepted this as her due and not as a compliment. She had no modesty.
    And why should she? Primes had none. Why expect it?
    “The thing is, I don’t remember coming in here,” he said, returning to the subject. “What I remember is—”
    “The dream,” she said, glaring at him.
    He wasn’t going to be intimidated or apologize.“You had it too. It was a shared fantasy. We’re telepaths. And we’re—”
    “Don’t say it!”

Chapter Fourteen
    “—bonding.”
    Francesca leapt out of the bed. She was tempted to leap on him but told herself the urge to scratch and bite was residual arousal from the dream. She wanted his blood—the dream her wanted his blood.
    The real her denied what tasting him would bring.
    Never. Never. Never. She’d never get that close