Mists of Velvet

He felt it, coursing through him. He would protect her with his dying breath. She was his, and he would keep her safe—and satiated.
    “If you’re not going to let me leave, then what are we going to do?”
    The hunger in her eyes made him instantly hard. This was a woman who could satisfy all his needs. She was lusty and eager, and he liked that. She was also strong and independent, and capable of keeping him in check when he didn’t want to admit he was too weak to do something.
    He kissed her, a soft and lingering kiss, and when he pulled back, her eyes were still closed. He smiled, then lowered his head once more to kiss her again. This time he used the tip of his tongue to brush along the seam of her lips. She gasped, and he clutched her tighter.
    He wanted to make this right, to cement their bond. He was going to be inside her this time when she came.
    “I don’t even know your name,” he murmured against her mouth. It obviously didn’t matter to her, because she pressed up against him and deepened the kiss.
    He wanted her. Badly. But Rhys couldn’t help but slow things down. This was what he wanted, to be inside her, to make love to her. Except he wanted to make certain his beliefs were what she believed.
    “I’ve dreamed of you, and you’ve dreamed of me. I believe you’re mine. That we’re destined to be together. Is that what you believe?”
    She pulled back just enough so she could gaze up into his face. Her slow nod made his body light up.
    “Then you agree to this? You . . .” He swallowed hard. “You accept me as your mate?”
    Her smile was big and warm. He gathered her close and began kissing her, but not with the slow, lazy kisses he had teased her with before. Now he was kissing her hard, his mouth open over hers and his tongue delving deep into her mouth.
    Rolling on top of her, Rhys rested his weight on his elbows and allowed his fingers to curl into her hair. It felt like silk, and she smelled so damned good to him.
    She was restless beneath him, her voluptuous body curved into his hard one. Jesus, he was the luckiest bastard in the world to be able to claim a woman like this. She was beautiful and responsive, and she was his . . .
    Something he couldn’t recognize snapped into place inside him. All of a sudden, his feelings were stronger, more acute. He felt possessive, but something else? Love? Was it even possible? Had he started to care for her in his dreams?
    Shit, this feeling was so foreign to him. Maybe it was just a hard-core case of lust. But when his hands left her hair so his thumbs could brush along the bounding of her pulse, he knew it was something much stronger and more long-lived than a simple case of a hard-on and a willing woman.
    Her heart was beating fast, but so was his. Her pale skin was flushed pink with sexual excitement, and her breathing was rapid, irregular—aroused.
    Lifting up from her body, he gazed down at her. She was gorgeous, her breasts full and pink tipped—perfect. Cupping her breasts, Rhys ran the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, watching as they beaded. She moaned then, the first sound she had made. It was beautiful, and he fell onto her like a starving man.
    He suckled her, blew hot air across her nipples, nibbled at them, while her legs slid over his ass and her fingers clawed at his hair. Her pussy was wet; he could feel the slickness of her folds against his cock. He wanted to penetrate her, but he wanted to taste her, too.
    Sliding down her body, he spread her sex and licked. She cried out and reached for his shoulders, lifting her hips to meet his mouth. He took his time licking, tonguing her. She was wet, sweet, and he brought her up slowly, making her burn.
    When she was ready, when he felt her fingers in his hair pulling him up, he loomed over her, caught her gaze, and slowly rubbed his cock against her.
    “Do you want this?” His breathing was heavy and his words gruff with passion. She reached for his ass and gripped him, lifting herself to him.
    He teased her by circling the tip of his cock against her clit; she purred, the sound like some wild animal. It made him feel primal, and he slipped into her, stretching her wide.
    She was tight, and he was careful. He knew she would be a virgin. Goddesses who wore white were chaste. After they had taken a mate, they wore various colors. This goddess, he thought with satisfaction, would know only him, and soon she would no longer be chaste, but his.
    Plunging deep, he broke her,