Serengeti Lightning

Chapter Two

The need to shift pressed against the inside of his skin, a clawing animal compulsion that pushed into the base of his skull, making each rational thought a struggle. It took every ounce of his control to keep from bowing his spine and giving into the impulse to take his lion form.

Michael swore under his breath as he guided Mara across the parking lot toward the SUV.

He knew he had limitations. His lion was always too close to the surface, ready to break through his skin. He’d adjusted to the fact that he had to be extra cautious whenever he left ranch land. The other shifters could go into town whenever they pleased, but Michael was different. They had to be careful with him. He was unpredictable.

Which apparently meant he couldn’t even take his girlfriend out for drinks and dancing without ruining it by almost going feline in a room full of humans. Dammit.

“Michael? Are you okay to drive?”

At least she wasn’t using her teacher voice—smooth, a little stern, and unswervingly calm, as if he was a cub on the verge of a tantrum who needed to be talked down. There was a breathy quality to her words, but Michael still barely restrained the urge to snarl at her. He felt three-quarters feral.

“I’m fine,” he bit out. “Did you bring a car?”

She shook her head. “No. I took a taxi. Do you want me to dri—?”

“No. Come on.” He was being a Neanderthal, dragging her across the parking lot and grunting out monosyllabic commands, but he didn’t have the control for manners right now. Thank God she didn’t seem to mind.

He’d parked on the far edge of the lot, instinctively drawn to the cover of the shadows there. The other cars left in the lot all clustered under the single lamppost near the door.

Michael pulled Mara around to the passenger side so the bulk of the Cherokee blocked them from view. He dropped her hand and leaned against the rear passenger door, pressing his forehead to the warm metal. Silently, he reached for calm. It had to be in him somewhere.

“Michael?” A feather-light touch brushed across his tensed shoulders. “Is there anything I can do?”

He was on the edge of losing it, his lion riding him hard, but something in her voice, the low, suggestive throatiness, called him back from the brink. “I’m fine,” he repeated, starting to believe the words. “Just give me a sec.”

He could practically feel her restlessness pulsing off her in waves. She fidgeted at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her twisting her hands together, as if that was the only way she could keep herself from touching him.

Shifters were tactile creatures. Touch was traded casually. Michael could see it was driving Mara crazy not to touch him, to soothe him the only way she knew how. Without lifting his head, he snaked out one arm and wrapped it around her, crushing her against his side.

Her arms came around him instantly, her body curving to align with his. He felt her ribs expand beneath his arm as she took a deep, relieved breath and let it out slowly, burrowing closer.

She was one of the most dominant females in the pride, but asking for the reassurance of touch wasn’t a sign of weakness among their kind. She rubbed her face back and forth on his shoulder and he wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to soothe.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his shirt. “I shouldn’t have teased you. I forgot—”

A flash of irrational anger had the lion surging to the surface again. “Don’t,” Michael growled. “You didn’t do anything.”

He wouldn’t let her apologize for something that was a failing in him. A woman should be able to flirt with her lover in public without worrying he was going to turn into an animal and expose all of their secrets to public scrutiny. If he let her apologize to him for his weakness, that came dangerously close to accepting her pity. The proud cat that was so much a part of him rebelled at the thought.

He ran a hand down the curve of her spine, the soft fabric of her dress catching on his calloused palm. “You look amazing tonight. I wanted to touch you the second I walked in the door.” He buried his face in the loose, dark-gold mass of her hair. He breathed in her scent, the familiarity of his pride overlaid with the unique sweet tang of jasmine. He whispered the next words, more for himself than her. “I wanted you to wear my scent, so everyone would know you were mine.”

Mara made him want to mark her on the most primitive level. Something about her cool, analytical reserve had always fascinated him. It seemed so foreign to shifters who often reacted quickly, instinctively. She stood apart.

Her low, controlled voice. The efficiency of her movements, each gesture deliberate, each shift perfectly contained. He’d been nothing more than a hormonal teenager when she completed her master’s work and returned to the pride to take up the teacher position, but she’d called to him on an animalistic level even then.

He hadn’t been stupid enough to make a pass back then. Cool, elegant Miss Mara was a million miles out of the league of a horny kid like him. It was almost a decade later, after he’d finally come to terms with the fact that he was never going to grow into his control the way all the other cubs did, that he finally made a play for the prim schoolteacher…and discovered she was just as wild beneath that restrained primness as he’d always fantasized.

Their relationship had started out as all sex and only sex, but Michael knew she wanted more than that. Mara wanted cubs. She wanted a family. And he wanted her. What had started off as a fling, pure chemistry, had subtly shifted until it was something more.

He loved kids, but he’d never really thought about being a father. Up until Landon took over the pride a year ago, a shifter who hadn’t developed control by his twenty-fifth birthday would have been sterilized to prevent the spread of an unstable gene. A family hadn’t really been an option. But now…

He knew Mara wanted kids like an ache in her gut. He saw the hunger on her face when she watched the little ones play. At first, he’d just wanted to do whatever he could to ease that ache, but lately he’d begun to entertain his own fantasies about tawny miniature Maras tripping around his feet.

His heart tightened. He’d never been in love before. For someone who felt every emotion as keenly as Michael did, to have skipped one felt significant. Like he’d been waiting for her.

He’d wanted tonight to be perfect. This date was his chance to prove he deserved her, to show they were more than just hot sex. He knew she didn’t think he was steady enough to be her mate, but he’d hoped to prove her wrong tonight.

Instead, all he’d proven was that he hadn’t changed at all.

His sister, Ava, would remind him it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help it. The pride doctor said Michael was missing a neural inhibitor that drew the line between animal and man.

The science was small comfort. He would never be worthy of the woman curled against his side. How long could he expect her to stay with someone who could never give her the stability she craved? One more month? Two? Then who would she run to?

Michael forced the thought of the man who would take his place out of his head. Jealousy was savage—more likely than any other emotion to bring on a shift. He needed to get her back to the ranch, back onto pride lands, where a loss of control wouldn’t expose them all.

He started to set her away from him, preparing to load her into the front seat, but her scent curled around him. Michael froze in place, his hands tight on her. He barely managed to keep his claws from snapping out.

Intermingled with the sweet twist of jasmine was the sinuous spice of lust. He could taste her desire on the air. While he’d been contemplating his sabotage of their relationship, Mara had apparently been thinking more much luscious thoughts. Naughty girl.

“Michael?” She spoke softly, a whisper on the warm spring breeze, but he felt that sigh of sound like a fist around his cock.

She slipped between him and the SUV, rubbing her body against his front every inch of the way.

Over the last few months, they’d learned one another’s wants and needs. At first, they’d both assumed they would eventually grow tired of each other, but familiarity had only intensified each experience. They’d learned to play to their personal vices. He knew exactly how to touch her to get her wet in a heartbeat. And she knew he went hard at just the idea of pinning her to things—walls, doors, slippery shower tiles. He couldn’t seem to get enough of crowding her against firm surfaces until she had no choice but to yield her softness to him.

Michael leaned into her, looming over her and pressing her back against the door until he heard the telltale catch in her breath. She loved this too. Mara may be dominant, but she almost never wanted to be on top. She wanted the man who would push her until she gave in, trusting her pleasure to his strength. She wanted him.

Now if only he could convince her their compatibility didn’t end at the bedroom door.

Heavy-lidded eyes beckoned him. “Your wildness makes me feel wild,” she purred.

Michael hesitated. Mara was never reckless. She reasoned things out and made the good decision, every time. So there was absolutely no explanation for her current behavior.

He had calmed. He was ready to take her home. All she had to do was hop in the car and drive back to the safety of the ranch. So why was she inciting him?

She urged him forward and he followed her lead. He bore her back against the metal wall of the SUV until the vehicle rocked slightly. She seemed to bask in the warmth of his body, drawing him tighter against her, if that was even possible. A small, sinful curve of a smile flashed out around her mouth.

Was she thinking what he was thinking? If he took her here, against the Cherokee, would they tip it? He knew he shouldn’t want to try, but was captivated by the image teasing his thoughts. When she bit her lip, he wanted to bite it for her then suck that plump curve into his mouth.

“We should go.” His voice was as rough as the gravel beneath their feet, but he kept his hands gentle as they stroked down her sides, over the flare of her hips, pausing above the hem of her skirt.

They should go. He should back away. He could yank up that little skirt, wrap those long legs around his hips and fuck her senseless just as soon as they were back on pride land. A fucking parking lot, no matter how late it was, no matter how deep the shadows, was no place for this kind of game. He gripped her hips, fully intending to step away, but Mara—never, ever reckless Mara—forced his hand.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushed up onto her toes and captured his mouth in a ravenous, open-mouthed kiss. She begged him with her mouth, drawing him into her madness with each longing pull of her lips and strong sweep of her tongue. Or was it his madness she was surrendering to? Right now, he didn’t know or care. Her willing heat fried his last working brain cells and he fell into instinct and need.

Michael took command of the kiss. He sucked that luscious lip and gently scraped his teeth across it. His hands fisted in her skirt, jerking the stretchy fabric up, and Mara sighed into his mouth. God, he loved the noises she made, the little murmurs and sighs, not quite caught in her throat. She was musical in her passion, an instrument his fingers loved to pluck and strum.

The skin of her thighs was satin beneath his fingers. He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs. His fingertips brushed against her heat and he hissed out a curse.

She wasn’t wearing panties. And she was dripping already. His slightest touch called forth another rush of moisture. Her need hit his nostrils, fogging his already blurry thoughts.

With one swift pull, he lifted her. Her legs wrapped snuggly around his hips. He notched his denim-covered erection against her pussy, but he didn’t push like he wanted to, concerned about the rough fabric against her sensitive flesh. He shouldn’t have worried. Mara ground herself on him, tearing her lips away from his to gasp out his name.

“Easy,” he murmured into the hair at her temple, barely recognizing his own voice. He slid his hand between them and slicked a finger through her folds. The touch was designed to be more soothing than arousing. He wanted to wind her up a little tighter before he let her take off. Her hips shoved his hand restlessly, and he speared one finger high into her slick heat, then two, scissoring them apart as he ground her clit with the heel of his palm. Her moans spiked to a high note and a surge of satisfaction shot through him. He had done that, pulled that sound from her.

She rode his hand, her head thrown back, eyes half-closed. There was no moon tonight, but his feline eyes didn’t need one to see the ecstasy carved into every gorgeous line of her face. She tossed her head impatiently and her long dark gold hair flicked along the roof of the SUV. He changed the angle of his thrusting fingers so they stroked against the front wall of her pussy. A choked gasp and a rush of moisture rewarded him as her inner muscles clenched tight around him.

Then he eased back, releasing the pressure on her clit and slowing the thrusts of his fingers until they were long, soothing strokes. She gave a short, frustrated keen and her fingers scrabbled at the fastenings of his jeans. She was too frantic to be firing him up on purpose, but every clumsy brush of her fingers over his cock, where it pressed hard and tight against the rigid denim, made his blood pump hotter. She was driving him mad, but she was no closer to getting his damn jeans off.

Michael withdrew his fingers from her wet heat and she moaned in protest. It couldn’t be helped. He needed both hands and a shitload of good luck if he was going to get the zipper down over his rigid erection. As he worked slowly with the uncooperative zip, Mara’s hands roved beneath his shirt, her claws softly drawing patterns in the muscles of his back.

Finally, the zipper yielded. Relief and impatience made his hands clumsy as he shoved his jeans to the base of his hipbones. Michael wasted no time taking himself in hand and fitting the head of his cock against Mara’s entrance. She hissed out his name as he drove in the first inch, forcing himself to go slowly.

Shallow pulses, each a fraction deeper than the last, rocked him into her slick channel, until he hilted, high and deep. Their sighs whispered out together into the night. She tightened around him. Her pussy squeezed his cock, milking him hard, and his knees almost buckled. He gripped the frame of the door beside her hips and shook his head once to clear his vision.

Her eyes challenged him, filled with equal parts wicked delight and bone-deep pleasure. Michael grabbed the roof to brace himself. He drew back and thrust home, feeling his claws sinking into the metal roof like butter and not able to bring himself to care. They could be standing in the town square in broad daylight and he wouldn’t have been able to retract his claws, not with Mara’s slippery heat wrapped around him. He drove deep two more times, pleasure burning in a hard knot inside him.

Then the door to the Bar Nothing squeaked open.

Michael froze, his gaze locked on Mara’s wide green-gold eyes.

His lion-keen hearing picked up the sound of several pairs of shuffling feet and a chorus of moans about closing time. The door squeaked again, this one changing pitch in the middle as if someone had caught the door and wrenched it open again. More footsteps followed the others into the night.

The SUV was on the opposite side of the parking lot, hidden in the shadows, but that was no guarantee no one would wander over to check out the seemingly abandoned Cherokee.

Michael stroked Mara’s hair back away from her face, never taking his eyes off hers. Sweat had begun to curl the tendrils at her temple and the heady scent of their arousal still filled his nostrils. Her breath came in shallow little pants and he could tell her attention was locked on the crowd milling across the parking lot, but when he tried to ease back, her claws clenched in his back and her inner muscles tightened fast enough that for a fraction of a second his vision went black.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, more mouthing the words than giving them voice.

The woman was trying to kill him.

He’d had good intentions. He really thought he was going to be able to pull out, tuck her in the car and get her home. But that whisper killed every noble inclination he’d ever possessed.

He couldn’t have stopped now if his life depended on it.

Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Michael sank his claws back into the Jeep—as much to keep it from rocking as to keep himself steady—and pulsed his hips forward. Mara whimpered, catching the sound with her teeth snagging her plump lower lip. “Quiet,” he reminded her, so low the words barely carried the two inches to her ear.

Another shallow thrust. Another not-quite-contained moan. He watched her eyes, drinking in every flicker of sensation.

A bark of laughter from the direction of the bar had her shuddering around him. His sweet little schoolteacher had discovery fantasies. Who knew?

As the sounds of lazy conversation floated across the parking lot, Michael took up a steady rhythm, his focus on Mara complete. Half a dozen men loitered twenty yards away, but only she existed. The tight, wet fist of her pussy, the dazed, wicked gleam of her eyes in the darkness. The need to come built, drawing up his balls, but he fought it back. She was close. It was there in the way she worked at her lower lip and the mindless flexing of her claws in his back.

Michael bent his knees, shifting his angle slightly, and drove up into her higher, dragging the head of his cock against the front wall of her pussy. She came with a silent jerk, clenching around him. Her eyes squeezed shut and a single drop of blood formed on her lip where her teeth cut into it to hold back her cries. He slammed deep and hard, one last time, before giving in to a savage, soundless orgasm that blew the top of his head clean off.

The only sound was the soft complaint of metal warping under his claws—too soft to carry to their unknowing audience.

When the world stopped exploding, Michael collapsed forward against the door, Mara’s body still trapped between him and the vehicle.

Not exactly what he’d had planned for date night. But, damn, what a way to end the evening.

He stroked a hand down her side, drinking in every shivering aftershock that rippled through her body. If this wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was. She was perfection. Wild and uninhibited in bed—or up against a car—but poised and controlled in the pride. Michael caught his breath, drunk on the scent of her.

Their date may not have gone exactly as planned, but it had redoubled his determination to make Mara permanently his. Whatever it took.