Page 11 of His Brazen Mate

The last thing Megan wanted to do was admit how much she wanted him. She knew her resistance to him would be negligible, but she didn’t want to admit he was right or how much she wanted him. She wanted at least the pretense of his having simply taken what he wanted as opposed to her having given in to his commands. If she did so, even this once, it would mean he had won, and she would have no way of saying her response hadn’t been forced from her.

His fingers continued to stroke her, driving her need to frenzied levels, but she wanted so much more than just his fingers. She could feel his cock throbbing against her backside as he pressed into her. In an attempt to soothe her hot, dry lips, Megan’s tongue darted out to lick them. She had to remind herself to breathe. Her face was still pressed into the wall, unable to get away, to put distance between them; she moaned a helpless sound of pure need.

“What do you want, Megan?”

She bit her lower lip, trying to hold out but ultimately losing the battle. “I want you, Drake,” she gasped, fingers flexing against the door. “I want you.”

“What was that? I didn’t hear you?” Drake asked, his breath moving down her neck as his fingers continued to torment her.

She hesitated, so determined to hold herself aloof, but she was so close to coming on his fingers that she didn’t want him to stop. She needed that orgasm more than she’d ever needed anything.

“I want you, you bastard.”

“And who am I?” he growled.

Megan gasped as her orgasm exploded deep inside her, sending pleasure throughout her body and turning her brain to mush as she shook in his arms. It was as if admitting she wanted him had released the energy building inside her, and she shamed herself by gasping his name, begging for more.

Drake waited, but she heard the satisfied groans he made. She felt the way he pressed his cock into her ass as he pulled his fingers from her core. Megan closed her eyes as he pulled his hips back just enough so that she could feel him unzipping his trousers. She couldn’t bring herself to protest when he pulled her hips back just enough to place his hard tip against her opening.

The moment he thrust into her, her world narrowed to the primitive intensity between them. It was madness; this need to match his desperation with her own, to take whatever he offered and give back just as fiercely. Megan pushed back against him, seeking more, each movement igniting sparks that danced beneath her skin. The lines between wanting to maintain her own need to remain separate, her need to be one with him, and just pure, raw lust blurred until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the others began, only that she craved the collision of all three.

“You’re too beautiful for your own good,” he growled, his breath hot against her neck. His hands were unyielding on her hips, keeping her pinned to the wall.

His groans punctuated his thrusts, and Megan could feel the vibrations of those sounds echoing through her.

“Mine,” he rumbled again.

“Never,” she said, half-breathless, pushing hard against the door.

But her voice was lost under the sound of his movements and her heartbeat thundering through her ears. She was ready to snap back with more venom when she felt his hand slip between her legs and over her clit. The sensation was unexpected and intense, sending a jolt through her and lighting a wildfire in her blood. Every touch was amplified by his taking command of the situation or her. She was aroused in a way she’d never been before. Each stroke teased her closer to the edge.

Megan wanted to beg, but his hand made it impossible, so instead, she moaned and leaned into the door instead of trying to move away—her body language and erotic response told him everything he needed to know. She writhed against him, her face pressing into the cool, impersonal door, feeling its sleek, highly-polished texture against her cheek.

Drake seemed to understand her silent pleas and rumbled seductively to her. He pulled her hips back, strengthening his grip and angling his thrusting deeper. Megan nearly collapsed from the pleasure of it. She could hear his breathing, ragged and heavy in her ear; each exhale like a whisper of the storm raging within them both.

And then it happened. Drake gripped the top of her shoulder with his teeth and bit down. Megan’s knees threatened to buckle, but Drake held her tight. As the bite became more savage, it was as if a dam burst within her. Her entire body exploded with pleasure. Her pussy clamped down as her body tensed, quivering in his arms. She stifled her cry as he finally released his claiming bite—for she knew that’s what it was. And for a few blinding moments, there was nothing else in the world but Drake and the overwhelming sensations crashing over her.

Drake’s grip on her waist was iron, relentless as he pushed her harder against the door. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His movements grew more urgent, more desperate as if he were trying to prove something or perhaps lose himself completely.

“Megan,” he growled low in her ear—the strain from holding back evident in his voice.

She could feel him shaking as the tremors that had run through her body were now echoed by his. Then, with a final thrust, he groaned into her hair, his breath hot and ragged, his release pulsing deep inside her.

As he pulled away, there was a primal energy that arced between them, something that went beyond physical satisfaction.

“What the hell, Drake,” she snarled.

He nipped her ear lobe. “This isn’t over, my beautiful mate. You have been claimed,” he growled.

Megan growled back instinctively, a defense mechanism against the vulnerability that churned inside her. She had no desire to be drakaina. From what she’d heard, the transition process was horrific—sealed inside a cocoon—all alone—your body morphing until you were no longer the person you’d always been.

“In your dreams. I won’t be forced to endure what you dragons put your non-drakaina mates through.”

He stepped back, slipping from her body as he whirled her around to face him. There was a flash of something in his eyes—anger, desire, maybe both—as he looked at her. For a moment, she wondered about the thin line between hate and something dangerously close to passion.

“There is nothing to fear, my mate…”

“Says the guy who won’t be sealed up in some black tubular coffin. You might want to know I am slightly claustrophobic. I can’t even begin to imagine the hell that you’ll be putting me through—without my consent, I might add.”

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