Mona Lisa Eclipsing

FIFTEEN

WE RAN FOR Several hours. The jungle was denser this far south, and the trees taller, providing more shade. Riding the back of a huge tiger might have been better than running barefoot through the jungle, but it had its disadvantages. Especially when you didn’t have any underwear. Going commando was not something I planned to do ever again.

While he ran for our lives, I was being tortured and flayed with erotic stimulation, and had become embarrassingly wet while riding him, not just perspiration of skin but damp between my legs where his thick but surprisingly soft fur brushed up against bare and sensitive parts of me. Dante, polite saber-toothed tiger that he was, didn’t say anything when I first became stickily moist, not that he could anyway. But the heavy, musky scent of arousal I began to emit soon made my condition pretty obvious, if the honeyed wetness starting to drip down his sides wasn’t a big fat clue already.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the stimulation down below stirred things up above. My nipples peaked into hard pebbles and swelled my modest bosom, made worse by the rhythmic surge that rubbed them against the soft, furry pelt. I had more nerve endings than I had ever imagined. Nerve endings that became increasingly sensitive at each brush, each back-and-forth movement atop stimulating fur as Dante ran in long, loping strides.

I alternated my position, trying to ride more up on my knees to alleviate the torturous fur-rubbing friction, but that just made my weight harder to balance; alas, riding on top of a giant prehistoric tiger was not at all like riding a horse. When I almost toppled over, Dante turned his head and growled softly. Plastered tightly against him once more after almost falling off, I felt the deep rumble pass right through his back up into my own chest, and more jarringly, between my thighs. “Oh God,” I gasped, swallowing down a moan. “Don’t growl. I’m sorry!”

Boy, was I sorry. If he growled again, I was going to light up like a freaking lightbulb and give our position away. Not that I’d heard any signs of pursuit after that surprising power blast I had thrown at Mona Sierra’s minions, knocking over their front line like ninepins.

I clung to Dante and endured with gritting teeth and glazed eyes for another hour before we finally stopped at a stream. By that time I was thirsting for something far beyond water.

Sliding off him was almost unbearably, sensually painful. I was never going to look at fur quite the same way ever again. By now, I was so aroused, I wouldn’t have cared if a horde of hunters were about to descend on us. I just wanted, needed, something I couldn’t name, but that wasn’t quite true because in the next second I opened my mouth and did so. “Dante,” I whispered, my eyes huge as I panted and trembled with need.

That great jaw opened, dropping the bracelets he had carried, then transforming light sparkled and glimmered as fur formed back into naked skin, silver-blue eyes, and a prominent state of arousal. “Mona Lisa,” he growled.

He was magnificent: that arresting face, the riveting body. A gorgeous study of pure masculine form. I touched his chest—smooth skin flowing over hard, rippling muscles, softness over leashed power—trailed my marveling hands down the ridges of his abdomen, finally touching what, two days ago, would have sent me shrinking away in anticipation of pain, not pleasure. My fingertips trailed lightly over his jutting arousal, feeling him, learning him.

“Your skin is even softer here,” I murmured in wonder, “like smooth silk over hard iron.”

Dante’s eyes blazed. He held still, so still, not even breathing as I slowly leaned forward and pressed my nose, my lips, against his throat, inhaling deeply. “I still smell you—tiger . . .” And the animal scent of him was as compellingly attractive, as enticing and intoxicating as the rest of him. “Taste you . . .” My lips trailed down over the graceful slope of his chest. Strength, power, pleasure . . . all inherently combined in him.

Moving farther down, I pressed a kiss over the firm, round head of him, finally eliciting a reaction, a sound. His hands buried themselves in my hair, gripping tight as I licked and delicately tasted the drop of wetness at the tip and found it salty sweet, such contrast, like the rest of him. Discovered that it could be a delight, a pleasure in itself to learn, to taste and touch, the male form, envelope it into your mouth—the smooth, hard slide of him in. To suckle and lap and stroke over that silky, plump smoothness, the vein-rich shaft, testing the firmness beneath.

I moistened him there, as much as I could take of him into my mouth. Then, pulling away with a gasp—both his and mine—I stood and pressed myself against his strong, smooth chest, his hard, wet shaft rubbing above my own wet feminine folds. His harsh moan twined with my breathless mew of need. “Dante, please . . . I ache.”

His hand reached down and pulled my leg up around his hip, opening me fully to him so he could rub against me, once, twice, letting my swollen, sensitive tissues ride along the turgid ridge of his length. The movement, the pressure, made me cry out. An exquisite bombardment to my senses . . . sharp twinges of pleasure and even more throbbing, aching need.

I wrapped my hand around him to guide him in.

With a wrench, he pulled away, whirled me around. “No, this way,” he said in a guttural tone and dropped me down to my knees, guiding my hands to the ground. “Yes,” he murmured as I felt him kneel behind me, one hand reaching beneath my shirt to knead an aching breast, the other hand splaying over my triangular tuft of hair, tugging it gently, teasingly, before stroking me down farther below.

Sublime bliss. Whimpers, cries, indecipherable words.

More primitive, urgent sounds from my throat as he pushed a finger into me and stroked wetly, one finger, two . . . Oh, God, oh, God! Stretching wetness, more melting honey. The withdrawal of those fingers. My protesting cry of distress. Then those wet fingers touching me behind in a spot that shocked me still.

“Shh, it’s all right,” he husked as he spread the honeyed wetness over my surprisingly sensitive rear hole.

I whimpered with distress at the unfamiliar touch.

“No condom. Let me love you this way,” Dante said hoarsely, and I understood then that even now he was trying to protect me.

My tenseness and uneasiness melted away. “Yes,” I breathed. “I need you inside me, any way.”

There was the touch of lips to my back, then the press of his shaft pushing into me. Pressure . . . so much pressure. As the tip of him breached me anally with a forceful push, I felt his fingers push into my welcoming wetness in front, a twin forging into me combining stretching pain with sobbing pleasure.

Glimmering light and sweat dewed our skin, glowing brighter and brighter as he pushed his way steadily into me with both cock and fingers, and my body accepted him, if not easily, then hungrily, with wet, thirsting desire.

So good, so good . . . So unbelievably, wonderingly good to feel him inside me, so deep and full. Then the slow drag of him back out with both fingers and shaft, almost to the end but not quite, fingers sliding out completely to search out my hidden pearl.

“Oh!”

A light touch over the swollen nub to send exquisite bursts of spreading sensation within me. Licking, teasing fire that grew hotter and hotter with each burning stroke in, each heavy pull back out with that thick, stretching shaft while those clever, wet fingers played over me, stroking my pleasure higher and higher, winding me desperately tighter as he moved in and out, smoothly, fluidly, in increasing force and rhythm.

His fingers shifted—thumb pressing my swollen pearl, two fingers thrusting back into my tight sheath—his shaft drilling me, filling me behind, and I exploded in screaming climax. He drove into me one last time, his own body convulsing in release.

The light around us, from us, was so blinding that for a moment the moon’s light outshone the day’s sun, then slowly, slowly, it began to fade until our skin no longer glowed, no longer shimmered and shone.

He pulled out with a heavy groan and drew me into his arms, both of us lying on the ground, breathless.

“Better than before?” he murmured.

“So much so that I almost fainted.”

“Good,” Dante murmured. “Wanted to keep my promise.”

“You absolutely did.”