His body wasn't his own anymore. It belonged to her. To Catarina. He was hard every damn time he looked at her. His needs and cravings only grew with his addiction to her soft cries, her tight, hot body and the pleasure coursing through her at his touch.
"Eli."
A plea. Music. Such need. Such surrender. She never held anything away from him, not even her emotions, not even when she feared what they were together. She gave and gave. He needed to give just as much. More.
He poured himself into loving her. Bringing her as high as he dared, watching her face for signals, for when the pleasure was too much for her, her body too sensitive and the need too great. Her eyes widened. Her mouth opened in a long wailing scream as he sent her crashing over the edge.
He loved her body clamping down like a scorching silken vise, milking him, gripping so hard his cock was strangling in all that hot, wet silk. He felt the explosion start, a wild ecstasy, somewhere in his toes, rocketing through his body, straight to his skull. His cock swelled, pushing back at those tight, vise-like muscles, stretching and burning her to the point where pain and pleasure came together in a single point to set off another wild, earth-shattering quake in her body.
This time she took him with her, her keening cries and breathless whispers nearly shattering him just as much as the hot sheath surrounding him and her sweet declaration of love and surrender to him had. He threw his head back, wanting to roar with the shocking pleasure. It had never been like this, an all-consuming passion that wrung him inside out.
No other man had ever had her. He was the one to be gifted with such a sensual woman, to teach her, to mold her into the lover he wanted and needed. She matched him, fire for fire. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her neck, holding her tight, feeling her body surround his, the aftershocks that shook them both. Her ragged breathing. Her hands in his hair, gripping and stroking as her tight delicate muscles did the same to his shaft.
"God, Kitten, it's a damn good thing you have no idea how much I love you," he whispered into her soft skin. Feeling her pulse. Feeling her tight, feminine channel spasm around his cock at the admission. She could destroy him. So easily. So very easily.
He had no idea when he'd surrendered himself body and soul to her, but somewhere along the line it had happened. He'd never felt more stripped down and vulnerable to a human being, but she needed to hear it. She needed the reassurance, and he wasn't about to allow pride or ego to get in the way of giving her anything she needed.
She didn't say it back, didn't whisper in his ear, but her arms tightened around him possessively and her soft mouth moved on his chest, kissing him. He rolled, taking them to his side, not wanting to let go of her.
"I like you close, baby," he said softly. "Skin to skin. Part of me." It was a small warning. He wasn't going to allow her to slip away from him and roll into that little ball as she sometimes did. "You get me?"
She surprised him with her soft laughter. "Another Eli rule?"
"Absolutely."
"You're making this up as you go along, aren't you?"
The laughter in her voice kept him semihard, enough that his body stayed connected to hers. "Gives me the upper hand." He stroked his palm down the curve of her spine to the curve of her buttocks, possession in his touch.
"You always have the upper hand." There was no complaint in her voice.
"Glad you think so, Cat," he acknowledged.
"Eli." Her voice went serious. "Thank you for today. For Emma. For the laptop and books. For my gorgeous boots. Mostly thank you for understanding what something like today means to me."
His heart jerked. He brushed her temple with a kiss. "Go to sleep, Catarina. You need your rest." He didn't want to exhaust her, but if she kept talking, he was making love to her again. Slow. Easy. Lazily. Until it turned rough and wild like it mostly did. She needed care. Love. Rest. He took that seriously, even if it meant lying next to her as hard as a rock.
Eli didn't even mind that. He liked holding her close, his body alive, listening to her soft breathing. Knowing she was his.
"Good night, honey," she whispered.
He closed his eyes. Savored the moment. She was nearly there. She was trying--for him. He loved her all the more for that. He answered with a comforting kiss, too choked up to say another damn word.
18
THE storm came out of nowhere. Sheets of lightning lit the sky and thunder crashed with resounding booms, shaking the house. The rain poured down, the skies opening up to spill a wealth of water across the land, pounding into trees and grass to pool in small puddles everywhere.
Dressed in Eli's flannel shirt, her wardrobe of choice late at night, Catarina wandered out to the porch with her coffee, enjoying nature's display. The turbulent weather reminded her of Eli. Wild and untamed. Fierce. The thunder and lightning also corresponded with her restless mood.
She'd felt the buildup for a while now, the gathering tension that had spread across the sky, matching the ominous dark clouds, the jagged forks of lightning and roaring thunder. He was coming. He was close. The nightmares had started again, just like they had right before he found her the last time she escaped. Rafe was coming, and her perfect dream world was about to be shattered.
She was so in love with Eli. She might have a difficult time articulating her emotions out loud, but she tried her best to show him. The days passed and she never thought of leaving. The ranch had become her home, a real home. She found herself smiling most of the time. She couldn't mention liking or wanting anything without the object appearing a couple of days later. Eli liked to give her things. He liked to surprise her, and he did it often.
Her kitchen had been transformed. A gleaming new stove, the exact model she'd dreamt of, was installed there. Along with the stove was a set of cooking pots and pans, hanging now from the rack above the island. She'd ordered books and they'd arrived and were on the shelves behind her desk.
Emma called her twice. A friend. They'd chatted and laughed and made plans for coffee at Emma's house. Life had been good--until now. Until this terrible tension had begun to coil in her gut. Until the nightmares had begun again and she couldn't stop wondering when she would lose it all--because she would. He would come. Rafe would come for her.
She suspected Eli knew something about Rafe. Three days ago, Eli had shut down, become quiet, more watchful, his dark, brooding, moody behavior making her feel more nervous than ever. She'd waited for him to tell her something--anything at all--but he remained stubbornly silent and that only added to the terrors surrounding her nightly.
Just a half hour ago, she'd woken from her nightmare, Eli's arms around her, his voice soothing, his hands caressing, his lips gentle on her forehead. She clung to him, to his protection, the shelter of his body, as he'd drifted back to sleep, but she couldn't forget the echoes of the terrible moment when Rafe's face, a mask of cold fury above her own, had forced her hands into a dying woman, smearing blood everywhere.
Emma. Eli. Emma's children. If Rafe knew about them, they would live under a death sentence, there was no doubt in her mind. Eli drove her day and night, especially this past week, determined to get her in shape, to be able to fight in either form--human or leopard--as if he believed she could defeat Rafe.
He didn't know Rafe. He'd never seen Rafe's leopard. He'd never seen Rafe's evil glowing eyes, or the madness in them. The rage. Life had not been kind to him, and she knew he was so twisted that the only peace he ever found was in other people's pain. He enjoyed watching others suffer.
She took another sip of her coffee and stepped closer to the edge of the porch, the very edge of the storm. Sheets of rain pounded into the ground and she felt the spray as the wind shifted just enough to push droplets under the roof.
Rafe had only looked at her with madness a couple of times--those times when she had escaped his control, even for a few hours. He had hurt her in unbelievable ways. Killing others. Hurting others in front of her. Showing her his leopard. Raking and biting her back and shoulder. But he'd never beat her or struck her. He'd been careful with her. Sometimes when he'd looked at her, she could actually see affection stirring behind the mask he wore.
She sighed and set down the coffee to circle the porch column with one arm, resting her forehead there. She couldn't deny that Rafe had some feelings for her. They were nowhere normal, they were twisted just as he was, but he had them. Perhaps if she'd been older she might have been able to help him, but she was far too young and terrified of his reprisals.
"Kitten." Eli's arms stole around her. "What are you doing out here? It's three in the morning."
She never ever heard him walk. He was a big man and she should be able to hear at least a footfall. He pulled her back into his arms so her back was to his front, his hands clasped at her waist. His chest was bare, but he had pulled on some soft cotton drawstring bottoms.
"I didn't mean to wake you," Catarina apologized. "You don't sleep as it is."