Touch of Surrender Read online

  She swallowed, ran her tongue over her top lip, and quietly said, “I want…I want to bite you.”

  At the sound of those hoarse words, Kierland got even harder…thicker, and her eyes went wide as she felt the difference in him—felt his wolf rising within him, making the change in his body. He’d have never been able to fit inside her like that if she wasn’t so wet, the tight, silken friction too good to be real.

  “Can…I?” she asked, wetting her lips, her gaze fastened hungrily on the pumping of his jugular in the side of his throat. Although she didn’t “need” blood for feeding, it wasn’t uncommon for female shifters to hunger for it when their animal instincts had been aroused. It wasn’t the first time Kierland had been asked the question by a lover—but it was the first time he’d ever wanted to say yes.

  With his wolf punching against his insides, desperate for what was coming, Kierland turned his head and offered her what she wanted. There was a small whimpering sound of excitement, and then she licked the heavy vein with her tongue, scraping her small, delicate fangs against him in a way that was sexy as all get out. The prick of her sharp teeth against his flesh made him shudder, his control slipping as he rammed into her, giving her everything that he had.

  The Lycan hadn’t been concerned about controlling his beast…but now he wondered if maybe he should have been—because he wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into her, as well. Gritting his teeth, Kierland reached down with one hand, anchoring it under her bottom to hold her in place, then wrapped the other around one of the wooden slats in the headboard. She started pulling on the wound, taking his hot blood into her throat, and he went even further over the edge, slamming into her with a desperate, primal urgency. The wooden slat snapped in his hand, and he reached higher, grabbing the thick crossbeam at the top of the headboard, his fingers making deep hollows in the wood as he felt himself starting to come.

  The orgasm was so strong, it made him shout.

  So good, it damn near killed him.

  The devastating blast of pleasure rolled through him in thick, blistering waves, breaking out of Kierland’s body in such a violent rush that it made him growl and groan and shout again, and he buried his face in the fragrant tangle of her hair spread out over the bedding, muffling the harsh, guttural sounds. She shifted the angle of her head, still feeding…still pulling on his vein. He kept driving into her with hard, heavy lunges as his body unloaded, his fingers biting deep into her ass and the top of the headboard, his heart doing everything it could to batter its way out of his chest.

  “Again,” he growled, releasing the headboard so that he could push his arm under her shoulders, holding her beneath his body as he pumped into her harder…heavier, forcing his way into the narrow, cushiony, deliciously liquid depths of her body. “Damn it, I want to feel it again. I want to feel you come.”

  She gasped, pulling her fangs from his throat, her arms thrown tight around his neck, and then her husky cries were filling his ear, her body arching sharply beneath him as pleasure jolted through her like an explosion. Her tight little sex convulsed around him in a series of lush, drenching spasms that damn near made his eyes roll back in his head, milking his cock, draining him completely.

  When the last shocking pulses of pleasure had finally faded away, Kierland managed to pull in a deep, shuddering breath, feeling as if he’d just experienced something that he never would have even believed was possible, if it hadn’t happened to him. He wanted to kiss her. Hold her. Put his mouth between her legs and feel the heat of her clit against his tongue. Lap at those smooth, slippery pink folds. He wanted a thousand different things that he didn’t know how to put into words, damn it, his head spinning with confusion and a drugged-out feeling of aftermath that he’d never known before. But when he pulled out, moving carefully so that he didn’t hurt her, she turned her face away, one forearm drawn over her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut, and so he dropped onto his back beside her.

  It was…unsettling, how badly he wanted to hold her…kiss her…get inside her all over again, but Kierland breathed it down, forcing himself to be patient. To wait and see what she would do.

  FEELING WRECKED AND SORE AND unbelievably wonderful, Morgan took a deep breath, and finally opened her eyes. She rolled toward Kierland, and found him lying beside her, one arm under his head, his other hand at his throat, his long fingers rubbing against the small bite wound that she’d made.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, shocked at what she’d done. “I…I shouldn’t have asked for your blood.”

  “S’all right.” A lazy smile crossed his mouth as he turned his head toward her, his eyes crinkling sexily at the corners. Then he reached over, catching what must have been a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the hell out of it.”

  She caught a soft laugh under her breath, and wished she knew what to do…what to say.

  “I guess this means you’ll be able to find me now, too,” he said in a low, sex-roughened rumble.

  Biting her lip, she nodded and asked, “Does that bother you?”

  “Nah.” He turned his head so that he was staring at the ceiling, working his fingers against the bristled edge of his jaw. The seconds stretched out, filled only with the quiet sounds of their breathing, and then he said, “Did he ever feed from you?”

  Morgan knew, without even asking, that he was talking about Ashe. She wouldn’t have even bothered to answer, if he’d posed the question with his usual sarcasm—but his tone struck her as merely curious, without any judgmental criticism. “Not when we were…intimate.”

  “Why not?” He rolled toward her, the dark auburn hair falling over his brow making him look younger, the strain in his face somehow lighter than it’d been before.

  “You don’t know much about the Deschanel, do you?”

  “I guess not, since I thought they fed from their lovers,” he said in a low voice.

  “They can. But when not mated, it…can be dangerous if they feed during sex with someone who’s not of their race, so they usually don’t risk it. At least, not with someone they’re not in love with.”

  He didn’t say anything—just stared at her with those beautiful green eyes—and Morgan suddenly heard herself asking, “Has there ever been anyone special for you? Anyone you could have loved?”

  “What makes you think I haven’t?” he asked with a lift of his brows.

  Softly, she said, “I know you. You would have married any woman who held your heart.”

  “Think you know me that well, huh?” There was a teasing edge to his smirk, but she could see something brittle lurking beneath its surface, and could tell that he didn’t like knowing she could read him so easily.

  Pushing her folded hands beneath her cheek, she said, “Kellan told me that for a time you were…that he thought you might be interested in Molly.”

  Surprise showed in his eyes, but then he shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching with a wry grin. “Kellan should learn to keep his mouth shut.”

  With a quiet laugh, she guessed, “Is that your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?”

  A deep breath, and then he rolled to his back, one hand scratching lazily at his chest. “I’d thought, hoped, that I might be able to feel something for her,” he finally responded, the rhythm of the words halting, as if he was struggling to put his thoughts into words. “But I didn’t. We’re friends, and I couldn’t be happier for her and Ian. He needs her.”

  “And you don’t need anyone?”

  “Something like that.” He turned his head toward her again and grinned a little, but then the grin faded as he reached over, pushing her hair back from her face. “On the train…”

  “Yeah?” she asked, her body flushing with heat as she noticed that he was already getting hard again.

  “What did you mean when you told me not to leave you?”

  The heat of embarrassment burned beneath her skin, but Morgan forc
ed herself to give him an honest answer. “I didn’t want to get played.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she continued, “You know what I mean. You make me come, then pull away and cut me down. Make me feel like I’m an inch tall.”

  His mouth twisted, and he gave a rueful shake of his head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?”

  She opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off, saying, “I know I deserve it. Hell, I’ve been a real bastard, treating you like shit for a long time now, Morgan.” Quietly, he added, “Whatever my faults, I’m sorry that you think I could ever do something like that to you.”

  Shock made her brain feel hazy, and she lowered her gaze to his chin, not knowing what to say. “I…um, we’re less than an hour from Amsterdam by train. We should probably go soon.”

  “Probably.” He waited until she was looking him in the eye again before telling her, “But I want you again.”

  The smart thing to do would have been to smile, make some light comment and climb off the bed, cutting her losses while she still could. Before the damage could get any worse than it already was. But she couldn’t do it.

  Instead, Morgan moved closer to him, brushing the warm silk of his mouth with hers, and he groaned, pulling her against him in a hard, aggressive hold as he rolled to his side. It seemed like they kissed for hours, his hands running over her body, his mouth on hers, feeding her his breath, his growls, the predatory sounds filling her head while something that went beyond pleasure rushed through her.

  “I told you that I wouldn’t go easy on you,” he warned in a rough voice, his strong hands suddenly turning her body, pushing her to her front, one arm wrapped around her hips, the other across her chest, caging her beneath him. Then he drove in, shoving his rigid cock into the tight clench of her sex, and his next lunging thrust touched places inside her that jerked hoarse, breathless cries from her throat.

  Morgan chanted his name as he knelt in the middle of the bed and pulled her up, her back to his front. Bracing her on his taut thighs, he pumped into her harder…deeper, his hand coming around her front to rub more of those wet, erotic circles into her clit. She couldn’t control the needy sounds that poured from her trembling lips. Every time she tried to choke them back, he just pushed her harder, driving her wild with his raw, savage aggression, until she finally gave him more.

  “I’ll give it to you as hard and as rough as you need it,” he growled, his breath hot against her ear when she started to come, the sharp convulsions of pleasure dragging him right along with her. He shoved impossibly deep while she trembled and screamed, his open mouth warm and damp against the side of her throat. His arms were like steel bands around her body as he shuddered and tensed and cursed, filling her with violent, searing pulses of heat.

  They lay in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slick skin afterward, pretending to doze, though neither was fooled by the other. Morgan didn’t know what to say, the mind-blowing orgasms leaving her drowsy and dazed. Kierland seemed content with the silence, but at least he didn’t leave her in that strange, unknown place all alone. He wrapped his muscled arms around her, and pulled her into his chest, his hands stroking every part of her that he could reach, as if he took pleasure in the simple touch of his skin against hers. As if he were trying to memorize the shape of her body. Every hollow. Every curve.

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she had to accept that it had been an even worse idea than she’d feared. But she wouldn’t regret it. No, if this was all she could have from him, then she was going to find some way to shove her heart into a box and enjoy him while she could.

  She’d deal with the fallout later, when he walked away.

  But until then, Morgan was going to take as much of Kierland Scott as he was willing to give.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Amsterdam

  Monday night

  KIERLAND HAD THAT RAW FEELING again, and it wasn’t a sensation that he cared for. The time he’d spent with Morgan in that hotel room in Weesp had been about nothing more than sex. About slaking a physical hunger that had seethed within him for too damn long now. He should have been experiencing some measure of peace…of finality, but if anything, his craving for her was now stronger than before. Tighter. Deeper. Twisting him into tangled, frustrated knots.

  One taste…and all he could think about was having another. A dangerous temptation, and no doubt stupid as hell, but Kierland knew it would happen again. Even now, hours later, as they were heading into a smoky blues club in downtown Amsterdam, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Couldn’t stop touching her. Just little, innocent touches. His hand on the small of her back. His fingers brushing her arm. He could feel the rise of her nerves shivering through her as they moved through the well-dressed crowd, and though he didn’t understand her anxiety, Kierland sought to soothe her by staying close to her body, letting her know he was there if she needed him.

  They hadn’t talked about what had happened in that hotel room in Weesp, but every time Morgan turned to give him another surreptitious glance from the corner of her eye, Kierland knew she was thinking about it. Her lips were still swollen, her cheeks flushed warm with color, her body moving in that languid way of a woman who’s been thoroughly satisfied—though he could feel her tension increasing as they moved deeper into the crowd. Slipping his hand beneath the heavy fall of her hair, he rubbed his thumb along the back of her neck, trying to calm her.

  It was strange, this newfound sense of awareness surging through his system, as if he could sense her moods and emotions on a different level now that he’d been inside her—a part of her.

  Nothing more than sex…

  Yeah, right. He’d tried to convince himself of that little lie, but who was he trying to fool? He was searing with need, the taste of her in his mouth only making him burn hotter. Her skin, tears, sex. The mouthwatering flavors were driving Kierland mad, making him crave more, and he wanted to ask her if it’d been the best she’d ever had. Because it had for him—to the point that he should have been worried as hell. But he held back. He didn’t know what to make of the strange emotions coiling him up inside. All he knew was that he’d never experienced that shattering sense of connection with any of his other lovers, but then, he’d never had sex like he and Morgan had had that afternoon, either.

  Over the years, he’d had hard sex…raunchy sex…fun sex—but Kierland had never felt like he was going to die if he didn’t get inside a woman. Never felt like he’d just created a miracle when he’d made her come. But he’d felt like that with Morgan—and he still didn’t know what to think about it.

  He also didn’t know how to help her relax inside the packed club.

  Deciding it was time they finally addressed the subject, Kierland lowered his mouth close to her ear and asked, “You don’t like crowds much, do you?”

  She frowned, slanting him a look that was equal parts unease and irritation, as if she didn’t like how easily he could read her—though he’d have had to be blind not to have noticed the problem. Especially after her reaction in the crowded arcade of shops in Kladno, just before they’d been involved in the car crash.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it,” he said in a low voice, looking away from her, his gaze sliding over the crowd as he searched for Granger, “that’s fine. I’m not looking to start a fight. I just thought it might be good to get it out in the open.”

  “If it’s all the same,” she murmured, “I think we’ve gotten enough out in the open already today.”

  While his chest shook with a gruff bark of laughter, Kierland guided her toward the ornately carved mahogany bar that took up one entire side of the club. Settling onto an empty stool, Morgan sat with her back to the bar, so that she was facing the jam-packed room. Although he could sense a large presence of Deschanel within the crowd, many of the patrons were human, almost all of whom would have no idea that there were vampires and werewolves mingling among them.

  “And if we blow the lid on all our secrets,” she went on to say, kee
ping her gaze focused on the men and women who were standing around high cocktail tables as they chatted with their friends, “we might run out of things to fight about.”

  Staring down at her delicate profile, Kierland couldn’t help but shake his head, a slow grin kicking up the corner of his mouth. “Think about it, Morgan. If Granger agrees to come with us, we’re going to be stuck with the bastard for days out in the Wasteland. I seriously doubt that ‘not fighting’ is going to be a problem for us.”

  She released a soft laugh under her breath, her tension seeming to ease now that they were no longer in the thick of the crowd. “You make a good point, Kier.”

  The bartender came to ask what they wanted, and they both ordered a Heineken. When the chilled green bottles were set on the bar, Kierland took one and handed it to Morgan, before grabbing his own. “You sure he’s here?” he asked, watching her from the corner of his eye.

  She lowered her thick lashes, took a deep breath, and her mouth curled with a warm, satisfied smile. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure,” she replied, taking a drink of her beer before tilting her face up so that she was looking right at him. Kierland could see that her color was high, her soft gray eyes dancing with anticipation.

  “You seem pretty excited,” he grunted, his fingers tightening around the frosty bottle in his hand. He hated his inability to control the ugly burn of jealousy singeing through his veins, knowing it was only going to lead to trouble, same as it always had.

  With a slight roll of her shoulder, she shifted her focus back to the crowd. “Of course I’m excited. I haven’t seen Ashe in months, and he’s one of my best friends.”

  “As well as one of your past lovers,” Kierland added, his mouth twisting with bitter humor as he stared down at the icy vapor swirling around the mouth of his beer bottle.

  She snuffled another one of those soft laughs and shook her head, her dark hair sliding like silk over her cashmere-covered shoulders. “Is this ‘state the obvious’ night,” she drawled, “and nobody remembered to tell me?”