Page 82 of Prodigal Son

He wanted another day with her. “If I told you to stay, would you?”

Her lips parted on a gasp. “I’m not a dog who obeys.”

“Not obey. Honor.”

“Are you asking or ordering?”

So used to getting his way with compulsion, he naturally phrased the question as a command. “Would you deny me if I asked?”

Her body stretched and she moaned, her legs wrapping around him. “I think you could ask me just about anything right now and I’d give you what you want.”

His nostrils flared as he thought of all the things he wanted from her. His hand cupped her breast tightly, his aggressive need for her doubling in strength as he shoved his cock deep.

He kissed her roughly, driving his body into hers and showing her how much he appreciated her presence. When he broke the kiss, her cheeks tinged a shade darker and her pupils dilated, changing the warm caramel pools to crystal onyx.

She claimed not to trust anyone, yet the more time they spent together the more vulnerability and trust she displayed. He wondered if she was like this with all men, but found the thought of her with someone else immediately repugnant and pushed it away. Some male part of him demanded he be better than any male who came before. That need alone ensured he would protect her and never betray her.

She gripped a spindle on the headboard and his hand closed over hers. Her heartbeat played like a drum, only evident to his perceptive ears. Her breath came faster as his mouth closed over her pebbled nipple. She screamed out in pleasure as he sucked hard at her puckered flesh. The tight channel of her sex milked his seed, and he bucked wildly, driving them both to an unstoppable finish.

She stole his breath away, his release tingling from his scalp, down his spine, until he felt it in the tips of his toes. Never had he experienced anything so completely satisfying.

He collapsed at her side, thunderstruck that a mortal woman could have such a potent effect on him.

He should have been gentler with her. Her skin would be bruised and tender from the night before. Yet, even now, he couldn’t pull himself away.

He suckled gently at her breasts, letting his healing saliva nourish her sensitive skin. She held him protectively, delicately combing her nails through his hair. Kissing lower, he pressed his mouth to her swollen folds. He’d been rough and demanding, but he could at least take some of her pain away.

Placing gentle kisses upon her sex, she opened for him and he licked softly into her heat. Her moans lazed into raspy cries as he gradually drove her to a somewhat tamer release.

She trembled like an autumn leaf under his care, so fragile and temporary. He sighed and rested his head on her thigh, surrounded by her softness and comforted beyond measure. Sated.

Her surrender and final climax had wrung her out. Spasms and aftershocks trembled through overworked muscle leaving chills upon her skin. She held him as he rested, and he allowed it. Never before had he felt comfortable enough to lay so exposed in the presence of another.

As his thoughts returned, he acknowledged that he truly wasn’t ready to let her leave, and he didn’t trust his luck enough to believe she would stay. Even if she agreed, he sensed some greater authority would steal her away.

He needed to sneak out and feed, but before he fed, he would visit her car and buy them a little more time.

CHAPTER 25

Destiny stared down at the damp, tattered rags that were all that was left of her clothing. She’d heard of men ripping off women’s panties, but this was nuts. How had he torn her clothes into so many shreds? She barely recalled him tugging the fabric.

With a huff, she tossed the ruined rags into the corner and scrunched her nose at the black material folded on the dresser. He’d said he’d left something for her when he left at dawn to go check on the animals. Now, she wasn’t so sure she wanted his gift.

Unfolding the stiff cotton, she frowned. “I can’t wear this.”

She held the dress up to her chest and sighed. Her only other option was walking around naked. Dropping the sheet, she pulled the dress over her head, surprised by the roomy fit. Several pins, a bonnet, and an apron also sat on the dresser. She lifted the oppressive white cap that looked like a prop from The Handmaid’s Tale.

“No way I’m wearing this.”

Tossing the offensive accessory aside, she used the pitcher of clean water to freshen up. It wasn’t cutting it.

She peeked out the bedroom door, hoping not to run into anyone until she was somewhat clean and decent. When the coast was clear, she walked quickly down the hall and out the back door to the outhouse. Thankfully, no one saw her.

She was grateful to find the basket of primitive soaps and toiletries on the vanity had been replenished. Recalling how cold the shower water had been the day before, she felt no desire to bathe.

Frowning at the rustic shower, she sniffed her armpit and sighed. She needed a shower. Desperately. Every inch of her reeked of sex, which made her both embarrassed and proud.

Stripping off the dress, she carefully hung it from a peg on the wall, then doubled back to make sure the latch lock on the door was secure. Gathering soap and a washcloth, she glared at the pull chain, thinking of the fastest way to clean her body without catching hypothermia under the frigid water. Head to toe, and it was probably best to hold her breath.

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