Read Online The Sanction by Reeyce Smythe Wilder - Free Book Online Page A

hair that
matted his wide chest was silken to the touch. She twirled her
fingers there and pressed her nostrils to his shoulder to inhale
the very essence of him. His scent put her in mind of the clean
mountain brooks and the stones on the river bed that made wading
through the water near uncomfortable. The memory made her smile,
and she lifted her hand to stroke his jaw line, to outline the
shape of his mouth that was always twisted in a scowl – and froze
like a thief that had been caught.
    His eyes were focused upon her face.
The depth of the almost orange taints there forced her to swallow
hard. Flushed, she allowed her hand to fall. That he should see her
so, near worshipping his form mortified her. She made to move,
wanting to be away from him before he pushed her away as he was
wont to do each morning, and gasped, stunned, as he gently slid his
arm around her waist and pulled her onto his chest.
    The tension seeped out of her body and
through his, and she buried her head in the crook of his neck. One
leg was flung over his stomach, and her fingers tentatively began
their exploration of the texture of his skin. The steady beat of
his heart was constant and powerful. His embrace tightened ever so
lightly. She sighed. She felt protected with him. Safe. The thought
forced her to pause. She should not allow herself to want him, to
want to be with him. This was nothing more than a romp. How many
others had lain here, in his arms? How many others had experienced
paradise at his touch? The pain in her chest could not be compared.
She did not love this Were, but love him or not, he was her mate.
She was joined to him now. When he returned her to the Coven, she
would be unable to survive. It would mean her death. He did not
want her. Amarinda did not know what hurt more.
    These were the only moments she would
have with him. These were the hours she would have to remember for
the rest of her life. There was no one else for her. Even if she
took another lover, he would never make her want to yield, or want
to give of herself the way he could.
    Through a bout of hot tears, Amarinda
lifted her head and kissed him passionately. She buried the gasp in
his throat and demanded his tongue. He allowed her access to
explore there, to draw him into her as he had so expertly done many
times before. The warmth of his hands stroked her body. She became
alive at his touch. She would remember this kiss, she vowed. She
would remember the smell of his skin and the way his lips felt on
hers, the callous of his hands and the way it near bruised her
tender flesh when he took her passionately, the flicker of amber in
his eyes when anger fought his control, and the tiny dimple that
hardly ever showed, for he was not wont to genuinely smile very
often.
    She needed him again. Needed him more
than she needed the blood that sustained her. Amarinda understood
then what it meant to be mated. Had it anything to do with love?
How could she love him? There was nothing he had done to deserve
her love. But how she needed him!
    She straddled him without breaking away
from the surrender of his lips and pressed her forehead to his. He
would never mark her. He admitted as much. But he boasted her mark
all the same. And whether he wanted her or not, she would ensure
that he would never forget her.
    Graeme’s eyes darted open in wonder as
she explored his body with much more than curiosity – but
determination. Every caress seemed calculated, executed with the
intent on delivering much pleasure. He combed his fingers through
her mass of hair, body burning with the effect of her kiss. The
expression on her face was a mixture of stiff resolve and agony.
Somewhat confused, he pushed aside the heat that laced his belly
and gripped her arms to haul her to his chest once again. Her eyes
darted open. He noted the moisture of her lashes, clumped and dark.
He searched her eyes for a long time, somewhat undone by the
passion that swirled there. Something else haunted her