Dean Kinigos rubbed his cock through Kaylie's wet folds, teasing them both. Her whispered plea was music to his ears, and with a grunt of lust, he hitched her up against the cold tile of the shower wall; her legs wrapped around his waist. As the water rained hot and heavy over them, he slid into her welcoming warmth.
Like a fucking light socket, he thought irrationally as he tunneled through her tight sheath. He was finally inside Kaylie Gentry, his mate. He let out a growl and began to pound in earnest, stretching her to accommodate his girth, his hips pistoning between her lush thighs.
He wanted to come; God did he ever. But somehow he knew not enough time had passed for her to finish too, so he kept on, almost by rote, sliding in and out of Kaylie's pussy. Each plunge deep and sure. He knew just how to make a woman scream in pleasure--how to shift his weight and angle his cock to rub over the sensitive flesh. He'd done it for years. You might say he was a professional.
Suddenly Kaylie's body stiffened and she let out a sharp cry as she came, her inner muscles fluttering deliciously around his throbbing shaft. He trembled violently as his own orgasm rushed up from his toes, but he held it back. "On your knees," he hissed out.
Kaylie hopped off him in an almost robotic movement, dropping to her knees in front him. Dean ripped off the condom and tossed it carelessly onto the shower floor. One hand held the base of his cock, while the other stroked over the hard flesh that pulsed with impending release. Kaylie knelt on the unforgiving tile in front of him, her eyes mere slits of exhausted acquiescence, her mouth open to receive his seed.
Though part of him screamed in denial at the shear wrongness of the situation, the other part was too far gone with lust to stop it.
His hand tightened, sliding faster over his cock, and then, with a harsh groan of self-hate and pleasure, he came, spurting his release over Kaylie's uplifted face.
Shaking, he nearly dropped to his knees, in fact felt himself start to fall, when the sound of applause reached his ears. Jerking straight up he swiveled to his right, and gaped in shock. There, not ten feet from him, sat over a hundred humans, shifters, and God knew what else. Hundreds of pairs of lustful eyes had feasted upon his mate's naked body, had witnessed an act of such intimacy, that for a moment he couldn't really comprehend what had happened. How it had happened.
Horrified, he swung his eyes back to look down on Kaylie, still on her knees. His come covered her face, her body drooped with . . . satisfaction or resignation?
The exploding roar of fury woke him from the nightmare, the sound full of rage and devastation, inhuman in its horrific pain. Sweat coated his leanly muscled body, now tangled in the cotton bedding torn by his claws.
Dean leaped from the bed, his heart thundering, breathing ragged. Cursing and gripping his head with both hands, his extended claws digging into his scalp, he glared at the bed, as if the inanimate object was the source of his nightmare. But he knew it wasn't. Now that Kaylie had moved back home, back to Woodcliff, the memories he'd tried to suppress were appearing more often in his dreams. And the woman he wanted with every breath in his body had become a star player.
Granted, most times his dreams of Kaylie were so pleasant he didn't want to wake, and when he did he cursed the day. But as the weeks had passed, his desire and frustration had grown. The need to touch her bare skin, even just her hand, was taking over. They shared an intense attraction that went beyond the normal. Which only meant one thing. Kaylie was a potential mate. And if the way both man and beast inside him ached just to hear her voice, or to catch a glimpse of her walking along the street, her tawny hair pulled back in a jaunty ponytail like a lure, she was the mate.
And the bitch of it was: Dean couldn't claim her. Not because she was unattainable, but because Dean didn't deserve Kaylie, true happiness, or a future. His baggage, his regrets, and his past deeds had seen to that.
Anger and frustration gnawed at him as he jerked on a pair of sweats, T-shirt and sneakers. He needed to run. His emotions were too wild, his beast too close to the surface to control. He had to get out and run until he dropped from exhaustion. Experience had taught him that if he didn't curb the fury boiling his blood, he'd do something he'd regret. And he had enough of those to last a thousand lifetimes.