Leopard 04 - Wild Fire

her—the way he explored her body without reservation, with his hands and mouth.
    He was cat, and it showed in his oral need to lap at her skin, to tease with the edge of his teeth and massage tactilely.
    “Then I’m sorry, baby, but I have to do this.” He withdrew his fingers, reached behind him to get the syringe. He pulled the cap with his teeth, put the syringe in his mouth and brought down his hand a little harder, hoping the sting would momentarily numb her skin. He plunged the needle in and pushed the Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    plunger to dispense the antibiotic.
    She hissed, a long, slow promise of retaliation. He wasn’t a male leopard for nothing. He recognized a female cat’s displeasure and he wasn’t about to let her up until he soothed her and made her forget such an indignity.
    “I’m sorry, beloved, but you refused even the doctor.”
    She turned her head to glare at him. Her eyes had gone cat, taking on the fiery glow of the night. In the moonlight she looked incredibly exotic, her pale skin soft and enticing, the perfect globes of her butt tempting and her red hair tumbling around her furious little face. His entire body tightened, his shaft painful and full.
    “There was a reason for that, you dimwit. It’s called a needle phobia.”
    “You told him you weren’t allergic when he asked you,” he pointed out. His hand began a circular massage to ease the ache and, if he was lucky, start a new one.
    “A phobia isn’t an allergy,” she explained. “Now let me up.”
    She was becoming receptive to his attentions again but her voice said she didn’t like it, she wanted to keep her “mad.” He stroked his tongue across the sore spot and slid his fingers deep inside her again.
    “You’re so wet, honey.” He withdrew his fingers just as she was pushing back against his hand to draw him deeper. “See?” He held them, gleaming with moisture, in front of her face. “Like nectar.” His hand was back, massaging and rubbing. “I want you, Isabeau, are you going to tell me no?”
    She shivered at the dark promise in his voice. The hand on her back eased and he allowed her to slide off his lap. She sat on the floor gingerly, afraid of sitting squarely on the offending sting. She looked up at him. The moonlight spilled across his face, giving him a softer edge in spite of the scars. She lifted her hand and cupped the side of his face, her thumb sliding along the groove of the deepest scar.
    “Rio told me you got an infection.”
    His hand covered hers, and then he turned his head and pressed kisses into the center of her palm. “I’ve gotten them before and will again.” His golden gaze burned into hers. “I took my shot of antibiotics without whining.”
    “You’re just so big and brave,” she answered, her smile faint and mysterious. Her gaze dropped to his groin, to the heavy erection, thick and standing up against his flat belly. Trailing her fingers with a light delicate touch over his shaft, she found her way to the sac hanging below, watching him shiver as she did so. “Yet one touch and you’re trembling.”
    Isabeau stroked the pads of her fingers over his soft velvet balls, before she cupped them, rolling and squeezing gently, all the while keeping her eyes focused on the center of his body, as if his every reaction was the most important thing in the world to her. His breath exploded out of his lungs when she leaned into him and licked gently, over and over, lapping at his balls and the base of his shaft while pleasure flooded his body and he hardened impossibly.
    She sucked on him, again her mouth infinitely gentle. Everything she did was designed to please him. Her hands were back, caressing and stroking as she removed her mouth and went back to watching his reaction.
    Conner absorbed the feel of her touch on his skin. She could transport him instantly to another realm just with her fingers. He observed her through half-closed eyes, watching the rapt attention on her face as she closed her fingers around his thick shaft, forcing a gasp of pleasure from him. She pumped experimentally. Once. Twice. Her gaze never left his cock. She studied the way it pulsed in her hand, reacted to the warmth of her breath on the mushroom head. When small pearly drops appeared she licked them off as if she was clutching an ice-cream cone.
    Every touch, every stroke was feather-light, barely there, designed to torment him. There was