HAPTER ELEVEN
Dillon half-carried Brigitte up the stairs to her apartment, barely paying attention to the throbbing ache in the few wounds he had sustained in the battle. He nuzzled against her neck. “Almost there, love,” he murmured, reaching into her purse and finding her keys by touch.
“I can make it on my own,” Brigitte insisted, her voice slightly sulky.
Dillon grinned to himself, unlocking the door and propelling her carefully through it. His mate was uninjured, but he could tell that she was exhausted. It was no wonder; the events of the evening would be enough to wear him out—once the adrenaline left his system, at least. His mate, fully human and pregnant, was in no position to appreciate the thrill of a battle. Brigitte turned to look at him in the light of her apartment as Dillon locked the door behind them, tossing her keys onto the counter in the kitchen.
“You’re hurt,” she said sharply.
“It’s nothing,” Dillon told her, moving to wrap his arms around her tightly.
He could feel the scratches and bites along his legs and arms twinge with pain every few moments, but he knew from experience that he was lucky to come out so relatively unscathed. One of the very good reasons that Kieran wants me in the Pride. When his father and mother had died, and the meeting came to establish who the next Alpha in his home Pride would be, Dillon had taken the opportunity to challenge the person in his former community who he had thought might have had the largest role in the fire that had killed his family.
Younger, more impulsive, and less skilled, he had been defeated by the wily older male; and since then, Dillon’s status as a fugitive had meant that he had gotten into more than his fair share of battles with seconds and lower members of various Prides in different cities. Though a battle like the one he had faced with Kieran’s Pride was rare, it wasn’t the first time that Dillon had seen such an event happen, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last time—though hopefully not in the same Pride. Hopefully, if he had to do battle at Kieran’s side again, it would at least be another Pride looking to take over a new territory.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, at least,” Brigitte said frowning, as she looked him over. “You’re filthy and you smell like blood.”
Dillon laughed, kissing her forehead. “Your nose is getting more sensitive,” he told her, feeling a little stirring of masculine pride.
“Pregnancy,” Brigitte said, sounding not exactly pleased. “My nose telling me what I should and shouldn’t eat.” She looked at him and Dillon was relieved to see at least a little amusement in her eyes.
“So then I won’t be able to convince you to go down on me?” Dillon raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard it’s good to do that in pregnancy. Prevents complications.”
Brigitte snickered. “Nice try,” she said, taking his hand and tugging him with more strength than Dillon would have believed she had at her disposal only a moment before.
Dillon chuckled and pulled her into his arms, lifting her up and pressing her body against his. “You have to let me take care of you,” he said, carrying her through the living room. Dillon kicked the door to Brigitte’s bedroom wider open and shifted her body against his, striding through to the bathroom.
“Such a manly man,” Brigitte said, her voice rippling with amusement.
“You better believe it,” Dillon replied. He let her slide down his body and steadied her on her feet, moving to turn the water on in the shower. “Get your clothes off, love.”
Dillon watched, tantalized, as Brigitte began to peel her sweat-sticky clothes off, letting them fall to the floor. He had become inured to nudity after years of being a were-lion; but he was not just seeing a naked woman—he was seeing his mate, the woman he loved, and right after a battle.
The heavy, molten heat that had pooled in his hips when he first came out of his second form began to stir once more, and Dillon hoped that his mate wasn’t too exhausted to take a little pity on him.
He stripped his own clothes off quickly, realizing the merits in what Brigitte had said about him smelling of blood and being filthy. Cleaning the scratches and bites out would also give him a head start on healing, though Dillon didn’t think he needed much more than bandages.
He gestured for Brigitte to step into the shower first and followed right on her heels, his hands moving almost with a will of their own to slide over the curves of her body, following the water that sluiced down. Dillon stepped under the showerhead with Brigitte, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close as he leaned in to kiss her hungrily on the lips.
He moaned softly as Brigitte’s hands came to life on his body, hesitating for only a moment before they began to caress him everywhere. Dillon deepened the kiss, pressing his hips against Brigitte’s body, able to feel the stirring of his cock beginning to harden from little more than the excitement of the night and the proximity of his mate. He wanted her—more than that, he needed her. But Dillon knew that he had to be careful; Brigitte was still shaken up, in spite of her flippant demeanor.
“You were so good tonight,” Dillon murmured against Brigitte’s lips, his hands gliding down to the curve of her ass. “So brave, so strong.”
Brigitte chuckled, barely breaking away from his kiss. “Yeah, I was trembling like a little baby, trying to find a rock to defend myself against a fucking lioness.”
Dillon smiled against her lips, rocking his hips against hers. “You were about to bash her skull in if you had to—that’s pretty brave.”
Brigitte arched into his touches, moaning softly, and Dillon nearly abandoned the idea of getting clean entirely in favor of taking the woman he loved right up against the shower wall.
“Sure, sure,” Brigitte murmured, her breath catching in her throat as Dillon cupped her breasts in his hands. “I’m the bravest, baddest bitch in town.”
Dillon chuckled lowly, dragging his lips along the line of her jaw, down to her throat. He nipped playfully at the sensitive spot just below her ear, one of his favorite spots on his mate’s body, and smiled to himself as she shivered in reaction.
“I can’t wait to see how well you protect our child,” Dillon told her. He took a breath, suppressing the arousal that was building up between his hips. “I am going to make you come so many times tonight, love,” Dillon said, taking another breath to steady himself further. “But first things first—get clean, and then get dirty.” Brigitte chuckled breathlessly.
Dillon focused on getting the woman he loved clean; he lavished attention on her from head to toe, threading his fingers in her hair and rubbing her scalp affectionately as he lathered the shampoo in her hair, letting his hands linger at her breasts, her hips, her buttocks and between her thighs. The scent from her slick folds was enough to drive him wild, and for a moment—an agonizing moment that took all his self-control to suppress—Dillon wanted nothing more than to bury his face against her folds, taste her and probe her with his tongue, fill his mouth with the flavor of her fluids. Later. Later you can have her all she’ll let you. Now this is about making her comfortable. Soothing her. Making her yours.
In her own turn, Brigitte seemed focused on making the situation all about him; Dillon tried to shrug away her hands as they tangled with his, but he gave into it. She wants to touch you, let her touch you. She wants to wash your wounds, let her do it. It’ll make her more comfortable. Brigitte insisted on carefully, carefully cleaning out the scratches and bites, frowning in concern. “They’re not that bad,” Dillon said, though as she gingerly rinsed them out, they twinged with pain.
“Yeah, yeah,” Brigitte said in response. “Big tough lion. I get the picture.”
Dillon felt his arousal thrumming, building up inside of him with every moment that he was so close to his mate, both of them naked, the hot water flowing over their bodies. He wanted to take her over and over again; he wanted to bury his face between her thighs. It was torture for him as Brigitte took advantage of the excuse of getting clean to let her soapy hands linger around his already hard cock, stroking and rubbing up and down slowly.
“Fuck, love,” Dillon groaned, grabbing at the towel rack as his hips began to move with a will of their own. “If you don’t slow down, I’m going to lose it all right here.”
Brigitte giggled, her hand on his erection slowing to a torturous pace. “Like this?” she asked playfully. Dillon growled a warning, pushing her hand away and lifting her up against the shower wall to kiss her hungrily while he returned the favor of her teasing, slipping a hand between her legs to stroke her pleasure center until she shivered. Dillon pulled back from her lips, panting.
“More like this,” he said, his lips curving in an almost involuntary teasing grin. He withdrew his fingers and brought them to his lips, licking them clean of Brigitte’s fluids as he let her carefully slip down from the wall, steadying her until she could stand without falling.
“You’re the worst tease in the world,” Brigitte said, sticking her tongue out at him as she stepped under the showerhead once more. Dillon chuckled and pushed her slightly out of the way, moving under the water to rinse himself off.
When they were both clean, Dillon lifted Brigitte into his arms once more, carrying her out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around the woman he loved, barely sparing a moment to even give himself a cursory brush-off with another towel before he pulled her by the hand into the bedroom. “I know you’re tired, but I have to have you,” Dillon said, his voice taking on a growling note as the animal part of his instinct took over.
“I’m there,” Brigitte said, her voice breathless with desire. Out of the shower, Dillon could smell the rising sweet warmth of her pheromones, the scent of her arousal beginning to build, and he smiled.
“Good.” He threw her onto the bed, and grinned at the sight of her towel falling away from her body, exposing her to his hungry gaze.
Dillon laid himself on her carefully—mindful at the very last moment of the fact that his mate was pregnant, that she was more fragile than usual. He kissed her hungrily, letting his hands trail over her, explore her curves. Soon enough, Dillon knew, Brigitte’s body would begin to change, to grow in certain areas; he thought he could already detect the ripening of her breasts. As he cupped the full, heavy mounds he thought they might be just a little heavier than before, a little fuller. The gasp from Brigitte’s lips told him that they were just as sensitive as they had been the day before.
Dillon kissed a trail down from Brigitte’s mouth, along her jaw, down the column of her throat. His hands slipped along her waist, gliding over the curve of her hips, and Dillon tickled the insides of her thighs as he spread her legs a little wider, bringing the heel of his palm against her slick folds. He rubbed her slowly, able to feel the dampness that had nothing to do at all with the shower they had just taken. Dillon nibbled playfully at Brigitte’s collarbones before moving down to her breasts, nuzzling against them for a long moment. She would never understand just how delectable she smelled, just how irresistible the scent of her body was to him; but at that moment, Dillon didn’t care. All he wanted was to taste every inch of his mate’s body, to bury his face against her slick vulva and feel her writhing underneath him.
He claimed each of her nipples in turn, sucking and licking, and Brigitte arched up into him, pushing her hips down for better contact with his hand, his fingers, his mouth. Dillon smiled to himself, playing his fingertips along the slick folds of his lover’s pussy, stroking her slowly but steadily as he switched from one breast to another with his mouth, worshipping her with lips and tongue. He drank in the sounds of her moans as he teased her, feeling the tension mounting in her body, able to smell the scent of her arousal thickening in the air around her, the sweet musk almost more than he could stand.
Dillon finally continued down along the lines of Brigitte’s body, kissing and nibbling, nuzzling against the curve of her hip as she writhed underneath him. He spread her legs wider and slipped down between them, breathing in the heady aroma of Brigitte’s arousal, exhaling against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, drawing out the moment for as long as he could stand to.
Finally, he buried his face against her, lapping at the fluids that had accumulated along her slick folds, devouring her with a hunger he couldn’t deny. Dillon sucked and licked, bringing his tongue up to the little cluster of nerves he knew would drive her wild and barely—purposely—missing the little bead of flesh, making her whimper with need. Brigitte pitched and writhed underneath him, her hips bucking as Dillon teased her relentlessly, lapping up her fluids and swallowing them down, letting them coat his tongue as he alternated between her inner labia and her clit.
He could feel his arousal deepening, feel the throbbing ache of his cock as he became harder and harder; but this was about his mate—not about him. You’ll get yours soon enough, he told himself, bringing Brigitte to the edge once more before backing away.
His mate groaned in frustration, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging. “You’re such a fucking tease, Dillon…” He smirked to himself, rubbing against her slowly.
“I’m a tease?” he barely broke away from Brigitte’s vulva to look up into her eyes. “Me?”
Brigitte nodded, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild with desire. Dillon pulled back completely and slithered up along her body, licking his lips clean of the last traces of Brigitte’s fluids before he kissed her hungrily. He rocked his hips against hers, letting her feel the heat and hardness of his erection brushing against her soaking wet labia.
“Is that any way to talk to the father of your children?” Brigitte growled, and Dillon answered the noise with a purr, nibbling along the column of her throat. “You know how to get what you want from me,” he murmured against her ear.
“Please, Dil,” Brigitte said, her voice almost a wail. Dillon chuckled lowly.
“Say it, love.” He brought his lips down on hers again, rubbing his cock against her swollen, soaking folds. “I want to hear it.”
“I’m yours, Dillon,” Brigitte said, freeing her lips from his to murmur the words. “All yours.”
Dillon shifted his hips against hers, reaching down between their bodies to guide the tip of his cock along Brigitte’s inner labia. He took a deep breath to steady himself and thrust into her slowly, pushing past the initial resistance of her body, feeling her muscles rippling around him. Dillon groaned, shuddering as Brigitte’s wet heat wrapped around his cock, her body flexing as if it wanted him to never leave.
They fell into a rhythm together, and Dillon dragged his lips all over Brigitte’s body, kissing her everywhere he could reach as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of her. He could feel the pressure mounting, building up between his hips, the coiled feeling like a hot wire twisting into a deep-seated coil that might release at any moment. He could feel the way that Brigitte’s body tensed around him more and more, how her muscles flexed around his cock in increasingly erratic spasms as she twisted her hips and writhed underneath him, her hands wandering all over his body.
He could hear her moaning, smell the high, hot sweetness of her pheromones as her arousal became more and more intense, her pleasure mounting moment by moment. He could barely hold himself back, but he forced himself to wait; no matter how far gone in pleasure he was, Dillon’s drive was always to make sure that Brigitte got off first. He needed to feel, hear, smell, see, her orgasm before he could relinquish the last of the self-control and tumble into climax himself. Their pace picked up and Dillon found himself thrusting harder and faster into Brigitte, almost mindlessly, nibbling and nipping her sensitive skin carefully, worshiping her breasts with his lips and tongue before moving back up to her lips.
He was on the edge of climax, growling and purring lowly. Dillon reached down between their bodies, his fingers slipping and sliding along Brigitte’s slick folds until he found the little bead of nerves he wanted. He began to stroke her even as he continued his thrusts, and the sharp, startled, pleased cry that left Brigitte’s lips was the best reward he could have ever gotten.
In a matter of moments, Dillon felt Brigitte’s entire body tense underneath him, a delicate shudder running through her; he caught the shift in her pheromones, and he knew, as her muscles flexed around his cock erratically and she moaned out again and again, that she had come, that waves of pleasure were washing through her.
He barely heard the words that tumbled out of her lips as he tumbled into his own climax, groaning with his face buried against her neck, arching back to let out a guttural, almost stuttering roar of pleasure as the coiled spring buried in his hips released. He thrust into her a few more hard, fast times, trying to sustain his orgasm for as long as possible, trying to give the woman he loved as much pleasure as he was capable of.
After a few moments, they both slowed to a stop, and Dillon sank onto Brigitte’s body, draping his arms around her sloppily, panting for breath as he shuddered in the aftermath if the intense pleasure his mate had given him.
She’s never going to know how good she feels to me; but she doesn’t have to, he thought, in the part of his brain still capable of thought. Dillon smiled against Brigitte’s skin and slipped into a warm, hazy doze, contented and satisfied for the first time that night.