“So soft,” he murmured, nuzzling her shaved pu**y with his nose, then drawing his tongue through her hot, wet lips. Christ, she tasted so sweet. Honey and cream.
“Garrick,” she cried again, her hands reaching for his shoulders to steady herself.
“I got you, sweet thing. I won’t let you fall.”
He grasped her hips, held her firmly, then dipped his tongue inside her again, groaning when a hot wash of moisture met him. He could feel her cl*t humming under the thin layer of skin just above him, and he wanted to feel it in his mouth. Wanted to suckle it hard at first, then soft, then light as a feather until she came apart in his hands.
But first, he wanted inside of her.
His hands tightening on her hips, he titled her toward him slightly, then slowly thrust his tongue up into her pu**y.
She gasped, cried out. “Oh, god! Oh, Garrick!”
Her walls fluttered and creamed around his eager tongue, spurring him on. He thrust inside her, going as deep as his mouth would allow. His c*ck screamed to get out from behind his zipper and into her tight, hot body, but he ignored it. He wanted her cl**ax this way. He wanted to feel her shudder against his mouth as he drank her down.
He f**ked her as she pumped her h*ps against him, and it was only when she stopped, froze, her entire body going rigid, that he slowed. His gaze drifted upward, and he saw her stomach muscles clench, her ribs showing with every quick breath, her ni**les so dark and hard he nearly came at the sight. But it was her face, her beautiful face, so flushed, so ready to fly, that made him pull out and lick her all the way to that pulsing clit.
“Oh, yes!” she cried out. “Yes! Garrick, don’t stop!”
With feather-light flicks, he teased the bud until it swelled, until it went dark pink. She was so worked up, moaning, crying out, begging, her legs unsteady, that he had to hold her firmly. Then, like lightning flashing, fireworks booming, she fell apart, crying out, creaming against his chin, trembling in his hands.
And Garrick lost what was left of his mind.
That was the only explanation for what he did next.
Or tried to do.
It happened so quickly he almost didn’t believe it. One moment he was the Suit enjoying the female who he’d dreamt and fantasized about for five long years, the next he was lost to his cat. The puma inside of him snarled fiercely and claws formed on his right hand. Before he could stop himself, his hand was poised just above her abdomen, those claws ready to strike.
Molly’s head dropped. Her eyes were glassy and heavy-lidded as she stared at him. “Oh my god!” she rasped. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” he lied.
Christ, he knew exactly what he was doing. Or wanted to do. He wanted to mark her.
Mark. Her.
Shaking the insanity out of his head, he backed away, stood up. This wasn’t happening. He hadn’t done that. He glanced down at his right hand. Fuck! The claws were still there. How was this happening? Why? He’d been with females before, and nothing like this had ever occurred.
Until Molly.
Oh, shit…of course Molly.
She was the goddam mating kind! And he was most definitely not. What an a**hole he was. He didn’t even know what mating looked like. He’d grown up with parents who were never together, who were completely, utterly and unapologetically devoted to their jobs. It was all he knew. And no matter how much he wanted Molly, she deserved a male who could be that for her. A mate. Give her a home, family, something real and lasting.
His puma snarled fiercely at the thought.
“Your puma wanted to claim me.”
Her voice brought his head up, his eyes narrowed and his c*ck pulsing once again at his zipper. She was standing beside the bed, with a pink, wet pu**y, and a bra that remained below her swollen, delectable br**sts. God almighty, he’d never seen anything so f**king hot.
The claws on his right hand elongated.
He swallowed hard. “Yes. My puma wants you.”
Her eyes glistened. “But you don’t.”
Was she kidding? Couldn’t she see his c*ck tenting his zipper? Hadn’t she felt his desire? His uncontained, desperate desire? “Molly—”
She shook her head, then turned to grab her shirt. “I think you should go, Garrick.”
Fuck, he hated that she’d just covered herself. “Don’t, Molly. Don’t be angry with me. I want you. Dammit! I want you so f**king much, I ache with it. But…”
Her eyes, those incredible sable eyes, lifted and pinned him where he stood. “But what?”
There was nothing Garrick wanted more in that moment than to fly at her, get her back to the mattress, get her legs spread and bury himself inside her. But he didn’t deserve her touch, her warmth, her cream—or, more importantly, her heart.
“I wasn’t cut out for mating,” he said, his voice a dark thread. “For being anyone’s male. I don’t have what a good female deserves. I can’t be what you deserve, Molly.”
She held the shirt to her chest, but lifted her chin. “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”
He frowned. “I can’t disappoint you.”
“There’s only one way to disappoint me, Garrick,” she said. “And that’s by not taking what you want. What’s being offered to you. Goddess,” she sighed. “What’s right in front of you.”
She didn’t know what she was saying. She couldn’t. She had no idea what had been instilled in him and what had happened. He would only hurt her more by staying, by taking what he so desperately wanted.
“I’m sorry,” he uttered.
Turning away from the warmth and goodness, sweetness and hunger that was Molly Cochell, Garrick walked out the door.
CHAPTER 6
Stubborn, pig-headed…jackass.
One cold shower and a half a bottle of Jim Beam later, Molly was pacing the floor of her living room. How dare the bastard come into her home and set her on fire with his kisses, his hands, his magic tongue, and his wicked words, and then walk away?
And how could she be so stupid as to allow him to hurt her?
Again.
He was the master hit and run artist.
Was it some sort of game to him? To keep the pathetic Healer so enthralled with him that she stayed to take care of his mother? It certainly made his life easier to know he could dash around the world while she stayed behind, keeping him constantly up-to-date.
Well, enough.
Really and truly enough.
Taking another swig of the hard liquor, she was staring aimlessly at the twinkling lights she’d strung around the window when there was a knock on her door.
Molly frowned, not so drunk that she didn’t recognize the familiar scent.
Setting the bottle on a low table, she hurried across the room to pull open the door, her gaze running an expert examination of Virginia’s angular face. Her color was high, but that could be from the crisp night air, and she didn’t appear to be in any pain.
“Virginia?” Molly gave a shake of her head, trying to clear it. To say she wasn’t used to drinking was a massive understatement. “What are you doing here?”
The female’s expression was set in lines of stern determination. She could be as stubborn as her son—
No, no, no.
She’d stopped thinking about Garrick.
The bastard.
The hot and brutally sexy bastard.
“Something I should have done years ago,” the female said in cryptic tones. “May I come in?”
“Course.” Molly instantly moved back, urging the older female toward a chair near the fireplace. “Sit down.” She waited until Virginia had perched on the edge of the leather wingchair before she grabbed a blanket and tucked it over her lap. The older female wasn’t disabled but she was frail, and despite her protests she enjoyed being fussed over. “Do you want some hot chocolate?”
A small smile touched Virginia’s lips. “You’re such a good girl, Molly.”
Pain stabbed through Molly’s heart. “Good girl.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Virginia frowned. “Is there something wrong with being good?”
“It boring, predictable. Insanely dull,” Molly said, pacing toward the window. In her mind, she could visualize how Garrick had probably once thought of her. The tedious homebody who was in bed by eight and spent her days off baking cookies. While he was surrounded by sophisticated, beautiful females who could no doubt speak a gazillion languages, dance the tango, and make a male have multiple orgasms with just her kiss. “I don’t want to be house slippers. I want to be four-inch stilettos.”
“Because of Garrick,” Virginia murmured.
Had he seen her that way tonight? Molly wondered. Naked, calling out to him, cl**axing against his hungry mouth? She supposed he had, and yet he’d still walked away.
“It doesn’t matter.” Molly heaved a sigh, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Not anymore.”
The older female cleared her throat. “Can I give you a little insight into the mind of my son?”
Molly hunched her shoulders. Do I have a choice? Do I really want to know more about this male I can’t seem to get out of head? Or my heart?
“Garrick is brilliant, there’s no doubt about that,” Virginia said. “And he’s one of the finest Diplomats the Pantera have ever known.”
Molly turned back to meet the older female’s steady gaze. “He had good genes.”
Surprisingly, Virginia grimaced. “Not so good when it comes to the important things in life.”
“What do you mean?”
Virginia touched the plain silver band on her finger. Pantera didn’t exchange traditional wedding rings, but mated pairs often had matching bands made to symbolize their union.
“Before his death, Garrick’s father and I were always a pretty non-traditional kind of couple. We both loved our jobs and traveling the world, which meant that we spent very little time together.” She smiled as Molly tried to hide her confusion at any couple being happy to live apart. “Oh, occasionally we would meet somewhere for a weekend, but it was rare for us ever to be home at the same time. As a result, Garrick grew up being raised by various relatives and friends.”