His hand smacked the side of her buttocks, the sound loud. Fire spread through her. She couldn’t help the small cry that escaped. His palm was there, rubbing, soothing, even as his other hand slipped between her legs to feel the rush of damp liquid.

“Can I just say ‘ouch’?” she asked.

“Say whatever fucking thing you want to say, Cat, but don’t you fucking move.”

Two of the f-bombs in one sentence. Clearly he was really angry.

“I just misunderstood, Eli. I didn’t think you meant here at our house. In our home. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Where the hell else do you go, Catarina? Nowhere without me. So if I say it isn’t safe, not to go anywhere at all without me, that means anywhere.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, but she thought better of it. He wasn’t calming down. If she shifted positions she could maybe touch him, get a hand on him, but the way he’d forced her to lie back, she needed both hands to hold herself up.

“I’m sorry, Eli.”

“You aren’t. You think I can’t read you like a fucking book, Cat? You’re trying to think of the right thing to say or do, but you still don’t get it. You still don’t think you have to listen when I lay down a rule for your safety.”

Okay, that was true. Her home felt safe. They had a security system. She knew every shadow, the layout of the furniture, where every weapon was placed, scattered around the house, in each room, taped under furniture and in small cracks and down the cushions of the softer armchairs and couch, everywhere throughout their home. She felt safe, because even if she went on the porch, all she had to do was call and she knew Eli would come.

His finger slid inside her, scooped out hot liquid, and he began a slow, torturous circle around her clit. “We had an agreement, Cat. You knew from the beginning what kind of man I am and what I expect from my woman. I tell you don’t fucking leave my side then you don’t. I tell you to strip naked and dance on the damn table because I like seeing you up there you do it. Most of all, when I tell you trouble is close, trouble that can get you injured, raped or killed, you listen.”

Fury edged his voice and he exploded, yanking her legs up over his shoulders, dipping his head low. His mouth clamped down on her and he began to devour her, eat her as if she was his last meal. His mouth was a weapon of total destruction and he knew exactly how to wield it. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop him. His tongue plunged, his teeth bit, tiny nips that stung, but sent blasts of radiant stars bursting through her body like white lightning.

The breath left her lungs in a rush. He pushed her up fast and high and she felt her body gathering – gathering. She reached for it. Needed it. A sob escaped. Then he was gone. Lifting his head. Leaving her desperate. Leaving her in need.

His eyes glittered with menace. More cat spilled into him. The driving demand to dominate. His face glistened with the evidence of her need. She tried to find anywhere at all to grind against something, but the way he held her legs over his shoulder prevented her from finding release, but left her open to him.

“You should have learned by now, Kitten, I’m not a man you cross. Not when it comes to your safety.” His voice was low. Growling. Twice she felt the brush of fur when his hand stroked down her belly to her mound.

“Please, Eli.” She tried not to sound as insane as she felt. As if on fire. He had a look on his face that scared her more than anything. He could torture her slowly and he’d enjoy every second of it. She could see the dark intent on his face.

He blew on her. It didn’t cool the heat at all; if anything, his warm breath fanned the flames. Her entire body jerked. Before she could catch her breath, say anything, promise anything, he ducked his head a second time, clamping his mouth on her, only this time he added his fingers.

His thumb stroked her clit and then his tongue followed, flicking and pulsing against that sensitive bundle of nerve endings. She nearly came off the table. She fell back, unable to sustain her weight but needing to keep from going over the edge. Her hands started toward his hair.

He raised his head instantly, the glittering eyes moving over her face broodingly. He was still angry. It was there in the set of his mouth, his jaw. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” he snarled. “You’re in enough trouble without making it worse. If you have to hold on to something, hold the edge of the table and keep your hands to yourself.”

That hurt. He didn’t want her touching him. She liked touching him. She needed it, that closeness and intimacy between them.

“Eli, please,” she cajoled softly. “Don’t be angry with me. I don’t like it.”

Eli watched her face intently. All the while she pleaded with him, her hips undulated, bucking softly, in need. Her body was coated with a fine sheen of perspiration. He’d driven her up fast, and left her there. He wanted her there, right on the edge, but unable to fall over. Not without his say-so. Not without his consent.

His leopard felt every bit as mean as he did, not willing to give an inch on this issue. They both could have lost the one they needed beyond all others. Rafe Cordeau could destroy them, not just their lives, but Eli and his leopard. Just thinking about the possibility had Eli snarling all over again. Heat banded, coloring his vision, streaking it with reds and yellows. He made a halfhearted attempt to push the leopard down as he bent his head to his feast once again.

As his tongue plunged, he brought his hands up to her breasts, soft, full mounds, tugging mercilessly on her nipples. Pinching and rolling, deliberately rough. She thrashed wildly. Begged. He felt her body tense. Immediately he lifted his head, looking at his prize sprawled out so prettily for him. He removed her legs from his shoulders gently, held her open to him, opened his jeans to release his throbbing cock and positioned the head right at her entrance.