Firecats Bundle (Books 0.5 & 1): (Firecats Series) Page 6

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “Today I was.”

  Let him come to his own conclusions as to why. Though it seemed he already had.

  “For me?” he whispered, looking pleased. “You made this mess because you thought I might show up at the shop. Didn’t you?”

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her face was flaming with a blush and her throat felt like it was made of cotton. Instead, she busied herself picking up.

  “Mmm. I like this one.” Malcom’s rumbling brought her gaze around. She found him eyeing a bra and panty set she’d left on her bed. He touched the red lacy cup tenderly, like he’d learned to with the flowers. “And these.”

  She watched in mortification as he hooked the skimpy panties by the crotch with one finger and lifted them for her to see. He eyed them, licking his lips like he was hungry, and then looked past them to find her.

  “Did you try these on this morning?”

  Francesca nodded, chewing her lip to keep from nervous-babbling.

  “These were on your body?”

  Another nod, because she couldn’t do anything else.

  “Rubbing against your sweet—”

  She rushed forward, pressing her fingers against his lips to shut him up. He couldn’t finish that sentence without her spontaneously combusting.

  They both froze at the contact, and somehow, she realized this was even more dangerous than what Malcom was going to say. But it was too late. She was already inches from his face, already feeling his soft lips, already halfway to orgasm and he hadn’t even touched her.

  Holding her gaze, he opened his mouth and gently bit down on the pad of her finger. It was the only point of contact, but his teeth on her skin lit her up inside. Bringing a roaring fire to life where nothing had been for so long.

  He tightened his bite, and she let off a moan because it felt so good.

  Oh, damn. What had she gotten herself into?

  He could destroy her. Her heart. With his smoldering looks and blunt desire. She could fall for him. Hard. She could fall in love.

  But he wouldn’t want that with her. He wouldn’t stay. No one did.

  Then she’d be back to where she started. Staring out a shop window, wishing she wasn’t alone anymore. Wishing she had someone to care for, laugh with, cry with.

  Something flickered in his gaze. Uncertainty? Fear? But he blinked it away, dropping his hold on her finger.

  Francesca drew in a shaky breath and went to step away, but he looped his hand around her wrist and pulled her in close. He wrapped his big arms around her, the panties forgotten, and she stiffened, not sure what to do, but liking where this was going.

  “Can I hold you?”

  She nodded, relaxing against his chest. He felt good. Solid. And she felt safe. He was soothing her fears away.

  “Where did you go just now? In your mind, where did you go?”

  She shook her head. How could she explain that she felt such a strong connection with him and she was terrified that one way or another, he’d leave? Like Julie, like Kyle. Like her family.

  “You didn’t like me biting you?”

  She couldn’t answer. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing in tighter.

  “Say the word, Francesca,” he whispered, “and I’ll never do it again. I’m not the man I was before. Not brutal like that. I never… never want to scare you.”

  His words rumbled his chest where her cheek lay and his heavy hand came up to cradle the back of her head.

  “Your teeth don’t scare me. Neither does your past.”

  “Then what does?”

  It took a long time for her to be able to say the words. And when she did, they were merely more than a breath. “My heart.”

  Slowly, Malcom pulled back, tipping her face up with his thumb under her chin. His eyes searched hers, and Francesca knew he was seeing too much.

  “Your heart?”

  “It tends to feel hard and fast,” she said lightly, trying to make the moment less emotional. Less heavy. Like this happened all the time and it was no big thing.

  He’s going to run. He’s going to think you’re crazy. He’s attracted to you, sure, but his heart isn’t in it like yours. Not this fast.

  “Your heart is amazing. As beautiful as you are.”

  Her mouth opened for something to say, but nothing came out. His thumb slid from her chin down the line of her jaw until his hand curved around the side of her neck.

  “I’ll keep it safe, Francesca,” he vowed. “If you gave it to me, I would hold it so carefully. I’d protect it with everything I have. It would be my most precious treasure.”

  “I-It would?”

  He gave a slow nod, his fierce gaze speaking promises she’d always wanted, but never thought would happen. “No one’s ever trusted me like that. If you did, I’d be yours forever. I’d be good for you.”

  My god, was she dreaming? Was Malcom real? Or did she fall and hit her head, causing it and her heart to dream up this perfect scenario where a handsome man she was attracted to said such beautiful things she felt her chest would burst with emotion overload.

  Or worse. What if he didn’t mean any of it. What if he was just saying these things because she’d done him a solid by dragging him out of the storm, and he felt he owed her.

  Oh, shit.

  Her good feelings wilted like a dying flower on fast-forward.

  “I can show you,” he said, as if he could read her doubts. “I’ll prove myself to you.” He lifted his chin proudly, and she got the feeling he’d said those words many times before. Not to a woman, but to the cruel leader of his mafia.

  His shoulders seemed to grow wider before her eyes. His presence dominated her space, but he never felt like a threat. He eased her forward, by the neck until their lips were millimeters away from touching. His descent on her was so achingly slow. Measured. Like he wanted to make it last a lifetime, and savor every ticking second.

  She licked her lips, wishing his would touch hers already. But he only let off a low, sexy growl that rumbled against her chest.

  Malcom closed the distance, but it wasn’t the kiss she’d expected. Wasn’t a kiss at all really. It was a caress. He brushed his lips over hers, side to side, slowly, and she thought she felt him tremble.

  Or maybe it was her.

  “Mine,” he whispered against her so softly it could have been an errant heartbeat.

  Or maybe she imagined it.

  Either way, it made her breath catch in her throat as Malcom finally pecked tenderly at her lips. Slow. Barely moving. And so intimate, she felt hot tears coat the backs of her eyelids. Somehow, her hands found his neck, winding around to keep him close. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape, but it didn’t urge him on. He continued his soft exploration of her lips, making her toes tingle.

  He kissed at her lower lip. Once, twice. Pulling more of it in with each peck until he sucked it softly.

  A helpless moan escaped her as she opened her mouth to him, panting and breathless. He angled his head and pressed his tongue inside, slow, careful. Tender.

  Holy crap, he was killing her. Death by the sweetest kiss she’d ever endured in her life.

  His tongue swept hers and he tasted like candy cane and heat. It danced along her cheeks and tickled the roof of her mouth as his lips worked hers a touch more frantically. She met each careful press with her own, needing to taste him as much as he needed her.

  But his control was steel. The only indication of his need was his heavy breathing and the way his fingers tightened on her jaw, digging in deliciously.

  Her Malcom was holding back, trying to make this beautiful. And damn it, it was. No matter what happened from here on out, she’d never forget this kiss. It would be branded in her memory for eternity.

  Breaking their connection, he pulled back, lungs puffing like a freight train, and she lifted her gaze to see his eyes were closed.

  “Malcom?” Something was wrong.

  He swallowed hard, pressing
his forehead to hers momentarily before finally meeting her concerned gaze. “Your mouth is beautiful. Your taste is beautiful. Everything about you is so fucking beautiful. I want more of you, Francesca. Can I have it? Can I show you how good I could be for you?”

  The edge to his voice told her he wasn’t used to asking. Or maybe… not used to wanting.

  “Yes,” she breathed. A nervous thrill raced along her skin as Malcom seemed to grow even bigger.

  This was crazy. This was huge. Was it right? It sure as hell felt right.

  He ran his hand down the column of her neck until he reached the buttons of her shirt. Her swallow followed his touch down, and he started maneuvering them open one by one until her front was exposed.

  “Your freckles,” he croaked. “I’d hoped they made it down this far.”

  Francesca felt her skin go hot with a blush as she watched the way he stared at her body. So intent. Like he didn’t want to blink for fear of missing something.

  “I’ll show you how gentle I can be. Like with the flowers today. I just imagined you, and it was easy. How softly I’d touch you. Like this.”

  His fingers grazed her skin so carefully chill bumps raised to meet them, asking for more. Harder, just a little.

  “Maybe I don’t need gentle,” she whispered, and he jerked his gaze up to hers. She could see fiery need there, clear as day. His eyes flickered with it, seeming for a split second, almost inhuman.

  “Maybe you need a little of both. And I’ll be the one to give you both. But right now, baby… we need gentle.”

  Inside, her tummy quaked with anticipation as he slid her shirt over her shoulders and down her arms. It landed on the floor with the softest puff, and the sound seemed to emphasize the tenderness of the moment. If this was how Malcom did casual sex, his idea of making love must be earth shattering.

  He tugged at his own buttons, slowly revealing the white muscle shirt beneath. Francesca helped him with the few remaining ones and watched as he yanked the undershirt over his head. His muscles rippled as he tossed it aside. Tattoos spread across his chest, weaving a pattern of random images pieced together to form a story. One spelled out SKINNER in large scrolling letters. Someday she’d ask him what they all meant.

  And there were scars too. A line here, a pock mark there. Pieces that looked like they’d been crudely stitched together.

  He’d had a hard life. No wonder he wanted something soft right now.

  Reaching forward, he hooked his finger around the center of her bra and pulled her closer. She came easily, her hands landing softly on his chest. But when they did, he let out a pained hiss and she jerked back.

  “What? What is it?” she asked, baffled.

  Malcom frowned, shaking his head, seeming baffled himself. “Your touch is like a brand. So hot. Burning deep. Just my past coming back to haunt me.” His face became determined. “I won’t let it get in the way.”

  Francesca opened her mouth to get some answers, but before she could say a word, Malcom pressed into her with his whole hard body, pushing her backward toward the bed while his mouth dropped the softest butterfly kisses up and down her neck and his fingers worked her jeans open. He deftly, slid them over her backside and down to her thighs, never taking his lips from her skin. And then he nudged her down on the bed and broke away.

  His hot gaze raked her from head to toe, pausing for several breaths on her lace-topped panties. She’d only wore them because they matched her bra.

  Malcom dragged a finger from her belly button, down, down, until she was vibrating with anticipation of his touch between her legs. He stopped at the juncture of her thighs. One finger. Just one. Rubbed at her sex against her panties, and she struggled not to squeeze her thighs together in response.

  “Francesca, baby…” Malcom’s voice went sexy-dark. Like black silk in a candlelit room. “Your panties are fucking soaked.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  Still, he just continued his single finger torture.

  “But this is a problem.”

  A problem? What problem? Wasn’t her being wet a good thing for what they wanted to do?

  Malcom tucked that finger under the edge of her panties and slid it along her soaked folds, drawing a desperate gasp from her. “See, I’m going to want to lick alllll this juice right from your sweet little pussy, and once I taste it… well, there’s a rule.”

  Her chest puffed, desperately searching for oxygen.

  “What rule?”

  “I lick it, it’s mine.”

  Well… shit. In the moment, that didn’t sound like a bad rule to live by at all.

  Her eyes dropped to the rigid bulge in his jeans. “Does that rule apply to both of us?” Because she most definitely wanted to lick that hardness in his pants.

  “Oh, Bright Spot… I’m already yours. You just don’t know it yet.” He bent and yanked her pants the rest of the way down her legs until they were free. And then with jerky movements, he undid his belt and popped the button on his jeans. “Gonna show you tonight. Gonna show you… what’s inside me.”

  He eased his massive erection out, tugged her panties aside, and had his mouth on her center in the next breath.

  And she was lost. She could only hope Malcom would find her, and bring her back. Otherwise, what a glorious way to go.

  Chapter Nine

  Malcom kneeled at the edge of Francesca’s bed, and her legs fell open for him. He draped them over his shoulders for better access. Her scent was all he knew. He was half crazy from it. His erection ached like nothing he’d ever felt before.

  But he was in control, because this was his Francesca. His mate. And he would treat her the way she deserved. He wouldn’t lose his shit and fuck her like a monster. If he was going to own her, it would be by heart.

  He was going to taste her though. And feel all her softness. And relish this temporary heaven like it was all he’d ever have.

  Yessss, his beast agreed with a wanting groan.

  He pulled the crotch of her panties aside to find her smooth opening glistening from her arousal. She had the most perfect plump pussy with a tiny triangle of short red hair around the top. Like a bow for her throbbing pearl of a clit. And freckles. Her sexy-as-fuck freckles made it all the way down.

  Perfect.

  Spreading her, he gave a long, leisurely lick up her center, swirling his tongue around her clit.

  With an ear-splitting gasp, her hips jerked, pushing her pussy into his beard and getting her scent all over him. Yes. Fuck yes. Malcom braced his forearm over her waist to keep her still as he kissed the tender crease of her thigh.

  “Beard,” she breathed. “The beard is magical.”

  “I know,” he said darkly, before sucking on her folds, sucking his way up to that tender spot again.

  Her hands flew to his hair, fingers tunneling in and grazing his scalp. Shit, he wanted her to claw him all up. Wanted to mark her with his beast’s mark so that she would be his forever.

  Slow, steady. Don’t snap. Love her body.

  The mantra calmed Malcom even as he burned inside with desire.

  He lapped at his female until she vibrated with how close she was to release, and then he rose up to stand between her legs, kicking off his boots and jeans while she watched, eyes hooded, chest puffing for breath. He pulled the cups of her bra down until her tits were exposed, and fuck him, they were as perfect as the rest of her. Round and more than a handful with pale pink tips and all those freckles. Trussed up by her bra…

  Yes, he’d play with her like this. Just a little before he took it further.

  He gripped her flimsy panties and slashed one side with his claw—

  His claw?

  Malcom paused. He hadn’t been able to use his claws since the battle. He stared down at Francesca in wonder. Was it really like his beast said? He was healing? When she’d touched his chest earlier, it felt like fire. Fire he wanted to feel again. She was always burning him in the best way.

  Burn it al
l away, my female. All the regrets, the pain. Take it all away.

  “Malcom?”

  Her gaze flickered with uncertainty. And he’d have none of that right now.

  Gripping his cock in one hand and pushing her thigh open with the other, he slowly rubbed his hardness through her slick folds, bumping the nub at the top with his swollen head.

  Francesca moaned loud enough to wake the dead.

  “That’s good, baby,” he said. “Let me hear you.”

  Again, he teased her opening, soaking his cock in her juices but never finding home like they both so desperately wanted.

  “Malcom… I’m so close… mmmmm.”

  He jerked back, reaching forward to free her of her bra, and taking one taut nipple between his lips, kissing it sweetly before licking and tenderly biting. He wanted her out of her mind with sensation. Wanted her so far gone all she survived on was him. Feeling him, breathing him, needing him. The way he needed her.

  Her fingernails gently scraped his bearded jaw sending an uncontrollable shiver down his spine to land in his balls.

  “Francesca,” he breathed against her chest.

  It was time. Time to give her everything. Things he’d never given another. Something he never even knew he had. His heart. The whole twisted and mangled thing. And the little bud of love it contained.

  Lifting up, he positioned himself at her entrance. This time wouldn’t be a tease. It would be the real thing, and it was so damn important that she see his eyes as he entered her. They had something to tell her.

  He met her gaze as he slowly pushed in. Her mouth came open at the tight invasion and her nails dug into his forearm to keep him there. She was tight. Too tight. He didn’t want to hurt her.

  He huffed out a breath, desperately trying not to slam home and feel all of her sheathing him.

  “So good,” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering closed. “Feel so good.”

  But he needed them to see him.

  He cradled her cheek, bringing her gaze back to him, and pinned her with his eyes. “Don’t look away,” he rasped.

  She nodded and he inched farther in, her body taking him little by little until he was buried from base to tip.