Carpathian 18 - Dark Possesion

sultry, her lips curved and voluptuous, so sexy she couldn't believe it was her, so ready to do anything and everything Manolito would ask of her. She wanted to please him, pleasure him, and have him do the same for her.
    He smiled down at her and her heart went crazy, reacting every bit as strongly as her body.
    Päläfertül . "Wife." He kissed the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth, hovered there, a breath away, looking into her eyes. Tell me your name that your koje, your husband, will be better able to address you .
    MaryAnn gasped as the words sunk in. He couldn't have done worse if he'd thrown a bucket of ice water over her. MaryAnn blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. What in the world was she doing wrapped around a man who didn't even know her name, but professed to be her husband? And what in the world had gotten into her that she let someone mesmerize her to the point of doing things totally against everything she believed in? Manolito made her weak. He'd taken complete control of her, and she'd just gone along with it as if he could rule her life with sex.
    Fury burst through her, a fury she'd felt only one other time before, when a man had burst into her home and threatened to kill her. He dragged her out of her bed, punching her viciously before she could defend herself, throwing her to the floor and kicking her. He had leaned down and stabbed her with a knife, and when the blade had gone into her flesh, something wild and ugly and out of control had lifted its head and raged. She'd felt her muscles bunch and knot, and strength had poured into her. At that moment Destiny had arrived, and she'd killed the man, saving MaryAnn's life and maybe her soul, Because whatever had been inside of her frightened her more than her attacker.
    MaryAnn was a woman who absolutely abhorred violence and could never condone it, yet now she had an indescribable desire to slap that handsome face as hard as she could. Instead she leapt away, at the same time screaming in her mind. She put every bit of fear and loathing at herself and her own actions into her cry because no one could hear her, and no one would know the terror she lived with trying to contain that slumbering beast dwelling deep within her.
    Get away from me . For one terrible moment she didn't know if she was yelling at Manolito—or at whatever lived inside of her.

    Manolito staggered, fell back into the broad trunk of a tree and stood shocked and staring. No one had ever delivered him a psychic slap before, but that was what his lifemate had done to him. Not just any slap, but one hard enough to knock him off his feet. No one had dared treat him in such a manner, not in all the centuries of his existence.
    Dark anger crawled through his belly. She had no right to deny him—or defy him. He had a right to the solace of her body whenever he wanted it. She was his. Her body was his. Blood pounded and surged through his veins. His cock was filled to bursting. He'd waited a thousand years—more even—faithful to this one woman and she was denying him.
    "I could make you crawl to me and beg forgiveness for that," he snapped, his black eyes smoldering with dark, telling smoke. He could feel the pull of her, so powerful he couldn't stop the frenzy his bock-had gone into. Hard and hot and crawling with such a need—the feeling was far worse than any hunger for sustenance.
    He drank in the sight of her, shocked at her beauty. Her skin was so soft-looking he ached to run his fingers over it, to slide his body over hers, into hers. She had full, luscious curves and a mouth he couldn't stop staring at, sinful and wicked and so tempting his body hardened into one long, painful ache. He imagined her fingers on him, her mouth, her body surrounding his, tight and hot and killing him with pleasure.
    He needed to bury his face in her wealth of blue black curls, inhale her scent and keep it for all time in his lungs. He needed the warmth of her arms and the sound of her laughter. But his body needing sating first. He couldn't look at her and not want to be inside her, not want to ravage her, bring her to fulfillment, to have her cry out his name. He wanted her on her knees in front of him, wanted her to admit she belonged to him and no one else, admit that she wanted—even needed—to give him the ultimate pleasure of her body.
    MaryAnn wasn't certain exactly what had happened. He'd fallen back, but she'd only yelled at him, the arrogant ass. In