Page 85 of Storm Echo

Ivan protected his clothes. They were important. Except now. Now, he just wanted to be naked. Groaning as Soleil pasted herself against his bare chest and claimed his lips for a kiss, he palmed her buttocks with one hand and walked them toward the bed while they kissed.

A rational part of his mind knew that he was probably technically very bad at the skill, but Soleil didn’t seem to care. She devoured him, and he devoured her in turn, and all the while, her thighs gripped his hips, as if she’d climb him. Ride him.

Soleil ripped away her mouth, her lips wet in the aftermath. “God, yes. I want to ride you into oblivion.”

Another transfer through their bond.

Pulling her head back to his with a hand fisted in the softness of her hair, he kissed her hard and deep, using all the things he’d learned in the first round. When she bit lightly at his lip and pushed at his shoulders, he released her directly onto the bed. He knew what she wanted, could see it in his mind. Flashes of his body, of his skin, of his erect penis.

His hands shook as he tried to undo his belt. “Fuck.” Ivan rarely swore; it was about control, about maintaining discipline—but he didn’t have any today.

When Soleil got up on her hands and knees and crawled across the bed to kneel in front of him, her face at eye level with his abdomen, he forgot to breathe.“Lei.”Fisting his hand in her hair again, he let her take over, let her undo his belt, lower his zipper with care over the steely outline of his erection.

Black, his mind went black.

When he stumbled back from her, she made a rumbling sound in her throat that was very much a growl. But he couldn’t be close to her and not break. And he didn’t want this over. Kicking off his shoes and socks, he tore off what remained of his clothing.

His erection jutted out, wet at the tip.

Soleil was off the bed and on him before he saw her move.

Changeling.

Cat.

Taking him to the ground in a tumble he controlled so she wouldn’t hit the floor first, she rubbed her body against his, his erection captured between her thighs, sliding between her slick folds. And he realized she must’ve torn off her own panties.

His back arched, his eyes threatening to roll back in his head. Gripping her hips, he shifted her so that she was astride him. Then he said, “Take me.” Because he was hers, had been hers from the moment she walked out of the forest.

Primal eyes but tender fingers brushing over his lips, she didn’t draw it out. Neither one of them was in any mood for slow. Slow would hurt today. Moving into position, she pressed a kiss to his throat … and then she took him. With a wild possessiveness that left him with fine claw marks on his chest and a passionate tenderness that had her hair cocooning them in softness as she kissed him even as her body moved with erotic abandon.

His brain had no pathways to process this experience, so he just gave in and surrendered to her. To his cat who owned him, body and soul. And when his spine locked, his entire body turning to stone before it broke into a million splintered stars, she fell over the edge with him, her cry high and her head thrown back to reveal the line of her neck.

It bore the mark of his lips.

SOLEIL wasn’t sure she was still alive. She could hear someone’s pulse. Maybe it was hers. Or maybe it was that of the man on whom she lay, his inked skin her pillow and her hands spread out over him. They were all but pasted together with sweat, and his hand was fisted in her hair, his other one on her butt.

He liked doing both, she realized hazily. That was fine with her. She liked it. She’d have made it clear if she didn’t. And he didn’t seem to mind the light scratches she’d given him. She stroked her fingers over them now, smiling in satisfaction, the cat inside her smug. “I’ve marked you.”

A rumble under her was the only response.

She smiled again, kneading lightly at his chest with her claws while she just enjoyed the full-body contact with the man who was her mate. Of course he was; there was no question on that point. She’d also figured out why the bond hadn’t completed itself—because her Psy was trying to protect her.

Honestly, she’d be irritated with him if she didn’t adore him. Also right now, she was pleasure drunk. Her toes couldn’t even curl, they were so lazily sated.

She kissed his chest again.

He flexed his fingers in her hair, curled them back in.

As he lazily stroked her bottom, her eye fell on a shred of white not far away. “Damn,” she muttered. “That was my last pair of panties.”

“We’ll go shopping.” His voice was husky and languid in a way she’d never before heard from Ivan Mercant.

Curious about what he looked like in the aftermath of what had been an unashamedly carnal bout, she made herself rise up into a seated position, her bottom half against his abdomen. Then she took in her lover.

His perfect hair was deliciously mussed, the ice blue of his eyes foggy, and his lips delicately bruised. Kiss-bruised. Touching her fingers to her own lips, she smiled. “We’re a pair.” And that was before she took in the scratches on his neck. Oh, her cat was sneaky, all right. It had marked him where no one could miss it.

His eyes shifted from her face to her throat.

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