No Rest for the Wicked Read Online Free Page B

drove him wild, urging him on. Yet even as she took his aggression with obvious pleasure, the wall was crumbling behind them.
    Suddenly, she hopped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Ah, God, that’s it, Katja.” He clenched her generous, round ass in his palms, groaning at the feel. Here, too, she was in no way slight, and he loved it.
    He squeezed her lush curves, kneaded her, and she panted in his ear, “Yes, yes, you’re so strong.”
    Strong? He shuddered. That pleased her? “I’ve never felt anything so damned good as your body—”
    His words died in his throat when she dropped lower, clutching his shoulders and hanging from her straightened arms to grind against him. She kept her silvery eyes on him, one tiny fang digging into her bottom lip as he stared down in disbelief. She was wild, making his cock twitch and pulse, nearing orgasm.
    Hold on, he commanded himself. She needs to come.
    She pulled herself up to kiss and nibble at his ear, putting her silken neck right before his mouth. Bite her. He licked her neck, wanting to take her there so badly. No. He couldn’t do that to her.
    Why not? She likely thought him a monster already—
    She slapped her palm hard behind her, pushing off the wall so he went tripping back over books. Pages flew as they tumbled to the ground with her on top.
    She was frantic, shed of inhibitions, grinding against his shaft while tonguing his mouth. Her ass moved so sensuously beneath his palms as she worked her body against his—never in his most fevered fantasies had he imagined this.
    He no longer cared if he spilled his seed into his pants. He was going to come harder than he ever had. Shameful, degrading. He didn’t care.
    He rolled her onto her back, pinning her arms above her head, giving in to the most primal urge to rock his hips. He ached to thrust against her. He needed to master her, and from the way she reacted, with her eyelids fluttering closed as she moaned, she needed it as well.
    “I didn’t believe it was true,” he groaned.
    Her head thrashed, the blond silk of her hair filling him with her scent.
    “Katja.” He thrust harder and she writhed wildly beneath him. “You’re mine.”
    “Yes, yes… you’re making me… come.” She arched her back, crying out. He wrapped his arms tightly around her torso, trapping her against his body as he bucked furiously against her.
    He groaned toward the ceiling, neck tensed, as his seed began to pump from him. With each shot, he gave a brutal yell. She was still coming, her claws sunk into his back.
    He gave one last violent shudder, then collapsed on her, stunned to silence by the pleasure. His breaths, so new and astounding to him, were ragged.
    But when he realized what he’d just done to her, he flushed, humiliated, pushing up from her and averting his eyes.
    Bride or not, she was a stranger to him, but he’d shamed himself like a green lad in front of her. Much worse, he’d used all the strength in his body to hold her down and shove against her. How could he not have hurt her? How could he not have bruised her perfect skin? He dreaded meeting her eyes. To see that betrayed look…
    Yet then, she tugged him back down and turned her head slightly, seeming to nuzzle the side of his neck. She began rubbing her face against his, almost like a cat. Though she had the strangest manner of showing it, he knew she was indeed giving him affection.
    Affection. Another ecstasy for him. He hadn’t been touched in so long.
    He rested on his elbows as she gazed up at him with her eyes soft, flickering between silver and dark hazel, her expression satisfied. Holding her face with both of his shaking hands, he brushed kisses over her eyelids, her nose. She was the loveliest creature he had ever imagined—and the most passionate—and she was his.
    His voice hoarse, he said, “I have not told you my name. I am Sebastian Wroth.”
    Still seeming entranced, she murmured, “Bastian,” making him want to squeeze