When his fingers slid through her slick folds, Camille saw stars.
Viktor panted against her throat as he drew circles around her clitoris and then moved down, down, until he speared her with two fingers. No preamble, no warning. There was nothing but possessiveness in every line of his body, every sound he made, every wet push and pull of his fingers.
She cried out, her muscles rippling around the sudden intrusion, but he didn’t give her time to adjust. His wildness was a buzz against her skin, threatening to drown her as she took what he chose to give her.
It was glorious. This was no gentle petting. There was no fear of rejection, of incompatibility. It was all raw carnality and it made her body sing.
A constant rumble, almost a purr but not quite, filled the air as he bit her jaw, her throat, the curve of her ear. With each nip and thrust of his fingers, he got wilder, more desperate. His movements were jerky and rough as he repositioned her against his front, bowing her back. Viktor rocked into the softness of her backside with abandon. It was as if he’d waited all his life to do this and now, presented with the opportunity, could not hold back.
Camille welcomed the burn of her muscles, the sting of his bite. She relished the way he thrust against her, seeking friction where their bodies met even as he drove her closer and closer to a perilous orgasm.
“Gods, you make me crazy,” he gasped. “I want to look at you. I want to pet you. I want to taste you. I want to bend you over this table and fuck you until you can’t stand anymore. But I can’t stop touching you—” He broke off with a choked sound as she fumbled blindly with his belt and zipper. When they both gave way, she arched her back and plunged her hand inside to find him hard and aching for her. He damn near burned her through the silk of her glove.
His voice was taut as a bowstring, almost unrecognizable, when he continued, “Yes, yes. Touch me however you want, sweetheart. I want your hands everywhere.”
Pressure built and built, the pleasure of his touch and his scent burning a path in her lungs like nothing ever had or would. Every nerve was a livewire. Camille chased her climax ruthlessly as she stroked him, as he plunged his fingers in and out of her, the heel of his hand grinding against her clitoris with almost punishing force. It was exquisite. It was the greatest sexual experience of her life.
It was also agony.
Fear battered at the edges of all that liquid desire drowning her good sense. With her rising orgasm and his hitched breath, she knew that this moment was coming to an end. Reality pressed close. It threatened to steal all that golden pleasure from her.
It would steal him, too.
Desperation to hang onto the moment, to the brief, shining lie, made tears prick behind her eyes. Gods, this is going to hurt.
But it was worth it. So worth it.
One moment was all she asked for. Only once would she be this selfish. Only once would she indulge. When it was done, she would cling to the memory for a lifetime.
Viktor’s breath ghosted over her ear when he roughly commanded, “Come for me, sweetheart. Give me everything you have. Show me that I own this cunt.”
Fingers curled inside her, he dropped his head to close his teeth over her silk covered throat and bit.
Camille bucked. Light burst across her eyelids as pleasure, hot and dark and rich as molasses, spread through her. Distantly, she heard Viktor curse. Through a haze of pleasure, she felt him cup her hand and squeeze hard as his hips jerked behind her.
His scent bloomed in the air — salty and fresh and distinctly him. She shuddered as another wave of pleasure rolled through her, tightening her muscles around his fingers in a pulsing wave.
For just a moment, she hung in that golden twilight where her release left her sated and the beast inside her basked in the scent, the touch of its mate. Viktor panted against her throat and kissed her there once, twice, a third time, as if compulsion demanded he do it again and again.
Home, she thought, drowsy and calm. This is home.
Except it wasn’t.
Eventually, Viktor slowly removed his fingers, leaving her empty and cold as he skimmed her thigh, her hip, and her side. Gently, he began to turn her around. She was pliant in his hands, but as the seconds dragged on, cold reality replaced the sweetness with fear.
Chin down, Camille dared to stare up at him through the fringe of her lashes.
He was beautiful. She knew it, of course, but there was no escaping that fact when she turned around to find him flushed and disheveled, his cornflower blue eyes half-lidded and his suit ruined. Blond curls fell against a deeply tanned forehead and a small white scar marked his upper lip — a result of hitting a rock while surfing, she recalled. It was a testament to the wild young man he once was; the devastatingly handsome alpha he had become.
“Cam… Gods, I fucking missed you.” He cupped her cheeks, his eyes seeking hers in the semi-darkness. A smile played at his lips. Every line of his lupine features was beautiful and made moreso by the joy shining there. “Ah, sweetheart. You’re so damn pretty. I’ve imagined this moment for years.” His thumb smoothed over the swell of her cheekbone. Humor danced in his gaze. “Though, I’ll be honest, I didn’t picture our reunion here.”
He leaned forward, eyes closing. Camille held her breath. He was going to kiss her, just like he kissed her that awful night—
Good sense chose that moment of shallow tenderness to reassert itself.
Gods, what have I done?
Camille lurched backward, stumbling out of his hold just as his lips brushed hers. The silk of her glove, wet with his release, felt like a brand.
She was halfway across the room before he even opened his eyes.
“Do not,” she gasped, pressing her back up against the wall. Her hands fluttered as she righted her skirt over her shaking thighs. Anger at herself, anger at him, made her voice thick when she said, “This is never happening again, do you understand me? I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
It was a scary thing, watching a powerful man go from relaxed to hunting-sharp in an instant.
Viktor’s shoulders dropped and his knees bent slightly as his eyes flicked back to wild gold. If he cared about his undone slacks or the mess they’d made of him, he didn’t show it. He remained perfectly still when he calmly demanded, “Explain why. Explain why you let me touch you but you won’t let me see you again.”
No, she thought, inching along the wall toward the door. He can’t know.
Viktor grew up around elves, but she knew that even he didn’t know everything. While she figured he knew that elves had their own matehood, she doubted Theodore would have told him about the pull. That was their most shameful secret — and their greatest weakness.
Besides the security risk it posed, she wasn’t inclined to think that teenage boys throwing each other around on the sparring mats stopped to talk about mating habits, of all things.
If he knew, Camille was certain he would never let her go. He would hunt her down to the ends of Burden’s Earth. Not because he wanted to be with her, but because Viktor was a man of honor and compassion. He would only want her because without him, she would lose herself to madness and eventually death.
Once, her mother had promised to put her down if the pull dragged her under. But her mother was dying, too ill to remember her vow, so the responsibility came down to Camille’s twin brother.
If she couldn’t escape the pull to be with Viktor, she would be dooming her brother to the greatest act of compassion their kind could conceive of — as well as a lifetime of grief.