Pairing with the Protector Read online

  “Well of course—I mean, if you really want to. Some guys don’t like the taste of their own, uh, cum.”

  “I like the taste of you,” Rafe told her and then began cleaning her belly with long, slow sweeps of his tongue, lapping away the seed he had left there and tasting the sweet, salty flavor of her skin underneath.

  “Mmmm…Rafe…” Judging from the way Whitney was moving her hips and running her fingers through his hair, she was thoroughly enjoying the tongue bath. Her eager response made Rafe’s shaft throb even harder and he took his time cleaning her, lapping perhaps, a little closer to the top of her pussy mound than was absolutely necessary since almost all his seed had spilled on her belly.

  Whitney seemed to like what he was doing though because after a long time of writhing restlessly, she tugged at his hair to make him look up.

  “Rafe,” she said softly, thrusting her hips up a little. “I think maybe you missed a spot. Just a little lower down—you know?”

  “Did I?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Where would that be, mon’dalla? Show me.”

  Whitney didn’t need any further encouragement than that.

  “Here,” she murmured and pushed his head gently but firmly between her thighs.

  The way she moved him into position and let him know exactly what she wanted made Rafe’s shaft throb with desire. Gods, he loved a woman who took control sometimes—who showed him what she wanted with no ‘beating around the bush’ as the humans called it. But he decided to tease Whitney, just the same.

  “Here?” he asked, looking up as he flicked his tongue over the top of her slit.

  “Mmm…even lower.” Her small but surprisingly strong hands pushed his head further down and she spread her thighs wider for him.

  “Here, then?” This time when his tongue darted out, he lapped her outer pussy lips—first the right, then the left—before withdrawing. He knew the teasing would drive her crazy and that was exactly what he wanted.

  “Almost…” Whitney was nearly panting now. “Do you want me to show you exactly where I need you to lick me—to clean me?” she asked in a low, breathless voice that sent a quiver of desire through his balls.

  “Gods, yes, mon’dalla.” His voice was a lustful growl in his own ears. “Show me where you need me—put me where you want me.”

  “Here.” Daringly, she used the fingers of one hand to spread her pussy lips wide, revealing the slick inner petals of her sex and the throbbing button of her clit. “Right…here.” And she pushed his head down until his lips met her aching little bud in a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

  Rafe bathed her Goddess pearl with his tongue, lapping up her sweet juices, feeling lost in the pleasure of tasting her, which all Kindred warriors loved. As he did, Whitney writhed under his mouth.

  “There! Oh God, yes, there, Rafe! Right there!” she moaned and tugged even harder on his hair while she rocked her hips up to meet his seeking tongue, opening herself completely for him to lap up her delicious honey.

  It didn’t take Rafe long to reach the edge again, even without any physical stimulation. It was enough that he was tasting her, that he was pleasuring her with his tongue.

  Gods, he loved the taste of her—the sweet feminine scent of her pussy—the way her thighs pressed tight against the sides of his face as she drew him in, both begging and demanding more. The way she tugged his hair and called his name, the way her honey gushed for him again and again—he thought he could never get enough of tasting her—never get enough of serving her with his mouth and tongue.

  Mon’dalla, he thought deliriously as she came again and again and he lapped away her honey. Oh Gods, how can I ever let you go now? And how can I keep myself from loving you?

  Twenty-Four

  Whitney woke up feeling amazing the next morning. But then, she supposed with a sleepy smile, having a string of orgasms during the night would do that for a girl. It was even better than a good night’s rest—which she certainly hadn’t had since Rafe hadn’t seemed to want to leave his place between her thighs.

  Damn, could that man eat pussy! It was something Whitney enjoyed—but only if the man she was with knew what the hell he was doing. Which sadly, most men did not. They were either too tentative or too changeable—moving to try something else just when whatever they were doing was working. Why “don’t stop—right there!” was so hard to understand was beyond Whitney. But it seemed like when most men heard it, they took it as a sign to try a fancy new technique which derailed the pleasure train every time.

  Now Rafe…there was a man who could take direction, she thought with a sleepy smile. He had even asked her to put him where she needed him—no man had ever done that before. They all seemed to want to prove they were experts on female anatomy when a real expert, like Rafe, knew that no one knew a woman’s body better than she did herself. There was no shame in asking for directions—it only enhanced the experience.

  Speaking of Rafe, she felt him stirring beside her and turned to face him.

  “Mmm, good morning,” she greeted him, smiling. “Did you sleep well? I know I certainly did.”

  “Good morning.” He frowned and shook his head, as though to clear the cobwebs of sleep away. “I had…the strangest dream.”

  “Really?” Whitney propped herself on her elbow, facing him. “And what was it about?”

  “I dreamed the two of us…that we, er, practiced…” Suddenly his golden eyes widened. “Gods, it was no dream, was it?”

  “Of course not.” Whitney grinned at him. “It was better than a dream—it was amazing.”

  He frowned and looked away.

  “I did things…things I should not have done to you.”

  Here they went with his damn vow again, Whitney thought. But she had already prepared for a resurgence of guilt on his part.

  “You did what you had to do in order for us to be comfortable with each other’s bodies so we can fool Mama Tusker when she comes to check on us,” she said firmly. “I mean, after last night, there should be no awkwardness left between us, right? We know each other inside and out so we can put on a more convincing show.”

  Rafe looked doubtful at this explanation of their late-night activities but before he could voice any more doubt or guilt, they heard the low thud-thud-thud of Tusker footsteps on the metal ramp.

  “Quick!” Whitney exclaimed, jumping out of bed. “Here comes Mama—we have to convince her to take us to the show. Hurry!”

  Rafe nodded, all business at once, and the two of them ran to the front of the cage where they would be most visible. Whitney dropped to her knees and the big Kindred got into position behind her, his hands on her hips. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yancy and Yarrow were doing the same thing. Even Dood was coming forward, swishing his long, auburn hair as he waited confidently at the front bars of his cage.

  Soon enough, Mama Tusker came stumping down the ramp with a tray filled with giant vegetable slices in one hand and peered into their cages one by one.

  “Let’s see, my dears,” she rumbled in her crashing-boulders voice. “Who wants breakfast and who’s up for going to the Tweedle Beautiful Show with me today?”

  She looked speculatively down the line of cages until she came to the one with the little blonde tweedle, with long, platinum hair and big eyes. Mama Tusker smiled and nodded to herself.

  “Yes, you can come, my little Beauty. I’ll bring one of the unmatched males for you to mate with.”

  She looked at the two mindless male tweedles for a moment as she pushed some huge orange sticks into their cages and shook her head. “Not you, I don’t think,” she murmured. “You were both of you too rough with poor Beauty the last time I let you breed her.”

  Moving on, she looked at Yancy and Yarrow and shook her head sorrowfully.

  “Well, not you this time either my dears, I’m afraid,” she said to them. “You’re good little breeders but with only one litter to boast of, how can I offer your babies at the show?” She sighed. “I hate to say it,