Relief and longing rushed through him, and he fit his mouth to hers.
Her lips immediately responded—soft, warm, and sweetly wet. A kiss, just a simple kiss, unlike anything he’d had sincebefore: the slide of their mouths together, the playful slotting and tugging of lips and teeth. Brigan groaned, unable to resist deepening the contact, feeling the small, teasing slip of her tongue over his, the tight fist of her hand in his hair as she sent the other down between their bodies and over the steeling length of him. She gasped, sucking his breath from his mouth, and at the sight of her golden desire rolling in waves from her skin, instinct took over.
Shoes off,he commanded silently, and, surprisingly compliant, she kicked her shoes to the side. He wondered at it, whether the loosening of her mind with desire let him in somehow, made her malleable to his murmured commands. Brigan’s hands slid up under her sweater, hands finding velvet skin and small curves and the wildly sensitive peaks of herbreasts that he stroked and pinched and teased until she kissed him with an intent and hunger that made him savage.
He pulled the sweater off and dropped it at her feet, flicked her bra free and bent to suck at her breasts as his hands dug into her leggings and underwear, coaxing them down and off. Brigan almost felt guilty for feeding, for siphoning the honeyed radiance from her skin, as if tonight wasn’t about that, but how was he meant to resist? He was accustomed to seeing desire as a pale glow—shimmering cream, the occasional soft yellow—but Catalina’s pleasure was unlike anything he’d ever seen, emanating from her in pulsing, golden waves.
For so long, it had seemed only a cruel joke that he was cursed to feed off the joy and pleasure of humans when he couldn’t find joy and pleasure himself, but this—this was bliss. And Brigan didn’t have to worry about draining her, leaving her weak or unconscious. Her vitality was more than he could possibly consume, and even when he’d sated his hunger, he was far from satisfied, kissing his way down her body. Kneeling before her, Brigan pressed his mouth to the petal-soft skin of her stomach.
Wet,he commanded inaudibly as he always did with lovers, but then added,soaking wet, unable to resist more of everything with Catalina. Her back arched, a low moan escaping her throat as her body obeyed. He felt need like a hammer pounding beneath his skin and all along his length, but allowed himself the indulgence of a taste, coaxing one leg over his shoulder, leaning in for a kiss, a lick, and then—giving in—another and another until he was feasting on her in earnest, lost in the feel of her on his tongue, the sensation of plummeting into infatuation.
Catalina moved against him, both hands in his hair, her head thrown back, throat exposed. Looking up the lengthof her naked body, he imagined being a different kind of monster, one who would sink his teeth into that neck, or her thigh, or—better yet—this delicate and fevered skin beneath his lips. He could feel her pulse on his tongue, could sense the pitch of her need rising, golden light rippling from her, and for the first time in his existence, he understood the instinct to draw blood, to drink it. Brigan felt barely in control. Just as her sounds grew tight and frantic, he stood and, with a rare desperation, fumbled for his belt, his button, his zipper, freeing himself.
Lifting her, he stepped forward, and in one thrust he was inside, the feel of her stunning his senses so thoroughly that for a moment all he could do was lean against her, pinning her to the wall. Without leverage, she writhed against him, begging with her body and her sounds and, finally, her voice, so close. “Brigan, please.”
The sound of his name, whispered into his ear while he was inside her and her scent and taste still clung to his senses, caused him to thrust forward on instinct, and he pushed deeper still before retreating, eliciting a sharp, euphoric cry from her throat. Again and again, he moved, hard, fast, as if chasing his sanity, thinking that relief from this new and terrifying desperation must be only just ahead, needing the release to come back to himself, to his reason, for he was momentarily convinced that even when he inevitably climaxed, it wouldn’t sate him.
Catalina’s breaths grew tight and fast. She begged for more of him, and when he gave it, she came, and then came again, and again. He knew with every passing second that the chances of someone happening upon them increased, grew almost certain, but Brigan couldn’t let himself find his own release because it was already too perfect, too unbelievable,and once he finished, then what would become of him? How would he find satisfaction with anything less than this?
Madness,he thought to himself.This is what madness feels like, to want to exist in a moment that isn’t reality.And what a relief it was to know that he couldn’t fall in love with her, was incapable of it, because if this was a fraction of love, he would never be able to let her out of his sight.
She cupped his face, bringing his mouth to hers, and kissed him, deep and defenseless, whispering, “You’re going to ruin me for anyone else.”
He closed his eyes, his silent heart echoing the same fear.
And when she pressed her lips to the shell of his ear and whispered, “Come for me, Brigan,” he did.
Brigan set Cat down on shaking, weak legs. Pleasure still reverberated through her body; the rumbling moan he’d given when he’d climaxed still echoed in her mind. With his hands lingering on her hips, he waited until she got her bearings before stepping back. She felt the way he watched her steadily, his dark eyes guarded.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “You’re not tired?”
Cat nodded and then shook her head, unable to find words but unsure which question to answer. She felt euphoric, dazed, wholly worshipped.
“You can lie down on the bed if you need to rest,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of confusion.
She shook her head again. “I’m not tired.” In truth, she couldn’t imagine sleep right now. What he’d just done to her ... she wasn’t sure she had the words to describe it. She had never been with a man this strong, had never been with a lover this attuned to her pleasure. It had been hard, and wild, and frantic.
But it had also been joyful and intimate, like opening a door to a secret world.
Tohissecret world.
Infatuated, Cat looked up at his face, but his gaze avoided hers as he zipped up his pants. She felt the full extent of her nudity but didn’t bother to hide.
“Areyouall right?” she asked, and he nodded, but she had the sense that he was lying. “Brigan, look at me.”
Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers, but slowly, dragging his focus from her hips up over her stomach, her breasts, her throat, her mouth.
“I’m not going to see you again, am I?” she asked, her stomach falling in realization.
Hesitating, he shook his head.
“Why?”
His eyes shuttered, the playful light extinguishing. “Because, little lamb, it doesn’t work that way.”
Brigan bent, collecting her clothes for her and wordlessly helping her back into them. Her underwear and bra, which he fastened for her. He held her leggings as she stepped into them one foot after the other and eased them up her legs and over her hips. He angled her sweater over her head and guided each arm inside before sliding it down her body, looking as miserable as she felt. Finally, he tugged her cap over her head and tidied her hair over her shoulders.
“Am I presentable?” she asked, forcing levity into her voice and smiling up at him. The idea of not seeing him again made her unbearably sad.
