Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

rising and falling on frantic breaths. “Anything…please, just—”
    He dipped his head, spread her slick folds, and licked deep. He groaned as he got his first taste. Hmm…yeah. A feast for a starving male.
    Pressing in, he worked his tongue deeper: exploring her softness, coating the back of his throat with her cream. With a wild cry, she jerked beneath him, hands flexing in his hair, begging him for the pleasure. He flicked the little bud at the top of her sex. Playing, cranking her high, he did it again and again, circling with the tip of his tongue.
    “Bastian!”
    He tongued her again then settled in—holding her down while he stoked, drawing on her sensitive flesh. With a whimper, she caught his rhythm, rocked against him, asking for more. Lured by her scent, undone by her taste, he upped the stakes and slid one finger deep. She pulsed inside, fisting up tight, moaning when he set a pace designed to drive her wild. He stretched her gently, slipping a second finger into her heat, and sucked harder with his mouth.
    Spread wide, deep in the pleasure, she threw her head back. Hips churning, back bowed off the bed, she came in a screaming wave of energy. As she throbbed around his fingers, the blast hit Bastian dead center, splitting him wide open. Ferocious need stepped through the fissure, killing gentleness in one broad stroke.
    Bastian tried to hold on, to cage the undeniable urge to take her hard and fast…without mercy or feeling. He wanted inside her so bad that…Jesus. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt her. Couldn’t control the animalistic need and—
    She came again, clinging to him, sobbing his name. Her need pulverized restraint, sending him over the edge with a snarl. Spreading her beneath him, he rose above her. As she panted, riding another wave of delight, she wrapped her legs around him, inviting him home. He thrust deep, buried himself to the hilt inside her with one powerful stroke, then roared in ecstasy when she clenched hard and held him tight.
    Home.
    Fuck, yeah. He’d finally come home.

Chapter Twenty-eight
    Shifting the precious bundle in his arms, Rikar willed the door locks open with a thought. The deadbolts double clicked, and he shook his head. He’d lost his frickin’ mind. Bringing Angela home was a bad, bad, bad idea. But leaving her at the bar—surrounded by males sucking back Budweiser—hadn’t been an option.
    Not with her like this. Sleeping hard after the mind scrub…and his feeding.
    Shit, he hadn’t meant to do that. Taking her energy hadn’t been part of the plan. As far as he knew, his agenda had read: Angela Keen, quick mind scrub; Ian MacCord, wash, rinse, repeat if necessary. Not stay out all night getting your ass kicked by a gorgeous redhead with serious pool skills.
    Rikar snorted. Trust a female to screw up a perfectly good plan.
    He glanced down at her, trying not to brush the top of her head with his mouth. But, man…it was hard. Her hair was so soft. He knew it firsthand from when he’d buried his fingers in the fiery strands, pressed his thigh between her legs and her back to the wall, and drank deep, taking his fill.
    Now, she lay content in his arms, curled like a kitten, head on his chest, hands tucked inside his leather jacket, her scent all over him.
    Fuck, she was pretty.
    He sighed, flipped the handle, and shoved the door open. The security system fired up, beep-beep-beeping a warning. He deactivated it with his mind, but his boots stayed planted on the paisley carpet in the corridor. He stared into the dark hole of her condo, unable to turn away, but not wanting to go in. There was no doubt a bed in there. And he’d have to get close to it to lay Angela down. Dangerous territory for him right now.
    He blew out a long breath. Maybe he could leave her sitting in a chair or propped up on the couch and avoid the bedroom all together?
    Now who was a jerk?
    Him, that’s who.
    Christ, leave her sitting upright, getting a kink in her neck? What the hell was wrong with him?
    Unlocking the clamp down on his legs, Rikar crossed the threshold. He kicked the door closed behind him, shutting out the light from the corridor. His night vision fired up as the condo plunged into darkness around him. Huh. Pretty sparse…not much to look at in the small, upscale apartment.
    He walked past a galley kitchen on his left and into the small living room. Long couch, two rattan chairs, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. No area rug, no pictures