Zar, my first book, launched three years ago. Zar and Anya are one of my most beloved couples. I wanted to write a sequel and didn’t want, as one of my early readers worried, “sequels are usually a pale re-hash of the original story.” Well, no one who reads Zar-Rynn will ever call it a pale re-hash. If you check the early reviews, almost everyone uses the word “rollercoaster.” It is a wild thrill ride I promise will give you ALL the feels. I’ve never read a book like this, and I hope to surprise you. In fact, the book description begs you not to give spoilers in your reviews because there are so many unexpected twists and turns.
Here is the first chapter. Click here to buy it on Amazon.
Zar and Anya are exploring a cave:
“Make love with me, Zar,” I say as I press my back against the black stone wall at the deepest part of the alcove.
Sometimes our lovemaking is like a cataclysm—hot, hurried, full of passion. I love those joinings. They make me feel fully alive in a way nothing else can.
But by the lambent look in Zar’s golden feline eyes, this isn’t going to be one of those couplings. No, the serious look on his expression promises my favorite type of mating, the one where he pledges his love with every blazing gaze, every gentle touch, every gust of breath.
Maybe it’s that we’re on our way to one of the most sacred temples in the galaxy, but here, in our little niche in the wall, I know we’re about to have our own religious experience.
He’s purring already. Good. It means he’s relaxed and calm. I didn’t need the reassuring noise to know he’s laid down the burden of leadership. His wide, furred shoulders aren’t stiff like they can be when he has difficult decisions to make.
Twisting my wrist so the light shines on his face, I take this moment to inventory him. I don’t need the light. If I had a lick of artistic talent, I could paint his portrait from memory.
Gorgeous feline face with a flat nose, pronounced channel from there to his lips, and eyes so golden it’s almost as if they’re lit from within.
His mane probably looks fearsome to the uninitiated, but to me, it just signals the promise of velvety softness. His fur is mostly golden, but his mane and the tuft at the tip of his tail are mahogany.
“My Beloved,” he says, then nuzzles my neck with exquisite tenderness.
I never tire of that endearment, even though he lavishes me with it. Every time he says it, he reminds us both how precious we are to each other and how tenuous our time together might be. It makes me want to seize the moment.
I ensure he can see my face, see my sincerity when I say, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Aye, that’s true for me as well.”
His purr increases, vibrating so vigorously I can feel it although we’re inches from each other. His tail wraps around my waist and tugs me closer. It’s forceful enough to make its meaning known—the time for words is over.
He dips his head for a kiss, brushing those pillowy lips against mine as he moves his head back and forth. His mane is softer than silk as it grazes my cheeks. The whiskers that sprout from either side of his flat nose quit tickling years ago. They simply remind me of our delicious differences.
As soon as his lips coax mine open, his burred tongue presses inside, exploring with wonder as if it’s our first time. My knees sag as his taste bursts on my tongue. It’s like coming home.
I was right. This isn’t going to be a military assault. It’s going to be a gentle exploration. A claiming. A declaration of love. Not only do I feel it emanating from him, but after three years, I’m still crazy-in-love with this Ton’arr male.
My hands curl around his shoulders as my fingers slide through his soft fur. Although my mate wants to go slow, my body seems to have other ideas. Desire roars through me despite the sweetness of our kiss.
My nipples prick as they press against my bra. My core moistens with need and my legs open so I can grind against the bulge pressing against his leather kilt.
Feeling my need, perhaps by my scent, he picks up the pace. Although he doesn’t relinquish his invasion of my mouth, his hands mount an attack on another front.
After sliding his hands upward from my waist, they stay on my ribcage where his thumbs circle directly under my breasts. His intentions are clear. He’s going to tease me, make me ache for him. Oh yeah. I love this game, especially because I know exactly how it’s going to end. Bliss.
My hands roam down his back and under his black leather kilt just so I can get a grip on that muscular ass of his. I love the feel of his powerful haunches. My palms fit perfectly against the indents at the sides. With my hands resting here, I can feel every micromovement as his hips thrust against me, mimicking what we’ll be doing naked in a moment.
“Anya,” he breathes when he lifts his head from me for a moment, just to look at me, to keep our connection.
I lean to bite his plump lips, then shake my head, pulling his bottom lip taut.
He grips my ass and thrusts against me with a growl. I love that it’s not a human growl. No. This is a lion growl, full of menace. Well, mock menace. Sexual menace.
Lifting my t-shirt and bra up, he dips his head to lave my nipples. First one, then the other. You’d think after three years I would be used to the scratch and rasp of his feline tongue, but it never ceases to make me crazed with passion. I arch against him, silently demanding more.
He scrapes the tips of my nipples with the flat of his front teeth.
“Yes,” I say, bending farther so I can rub my clit against him. I know I’m not even feeling his magnificent cock, just the thick leather of his kilt, but the friction gives the tiniest relief.
He opens that fierce mouth wide and grips the side of my breast in his fangs. He didn’t do this with me for the longest time. We only stumbled upon this maneuver accidentally and he later confessed he was surprised I didn’t punch him for it.
Punch him? No. It makes my core quiver in lust. There’s something about having one of my most intimate places at his complete mercy. It’s arousing knowing he could bite down and tear my flesh, but he doesn’t. Feeling his four fangs on my tender flesh and knowing he will never, ever hurt me makes me wet for him. Yeah, there’s something about riding the edge of danger that ramps my excitement.
His breath whispers across my breast, hot and humid, then he releases me with a darkly feline pant, again reminding me of his leashed strength. It’s a powerful turn-on.
Reaching down, I grip his furred thighs above the knees and slide upward, knowing I won’t encounter any clothing. My male likes to go commando under that sexy kilt of his.
Bypassing the main attraction, I go for the road less traveled, choosing instead to cup his heavy sac. He makes no noise, although he’s still purring. Instead, he releases my breast and tosses his lion-like head, then snaps that ferocious mouth in pleasure.
Only now that I’ve gotten his full attention does my palm head north, gripping him at his base and applying pressure in tiny increments until he rewards me with another head toss and dangerous snap.
I drop to my knees, duck under the kilt, and suck him into my mouth all in one continuous movement. This earns me a growl. Which earns him a gust of my arousal scent.
“Anya. You are too good at that. Too generous.”
Lies. How can I be too generous to a male who deserves everything?
With my hand securely gripping his thick base and my lips in a tight ring around his girth, I pleasure him. I swirl the tip with my tongue, stealing a taste of his tangy essence, then bob and suck, relishing the way his fingers tighten on my shoulders.
With every extra psi of pressure, I know I’m destroying his initial resolution to be gentle. I’m unraveling him bit by bit. This is good. Unraveling Zar is my mission.
His soft fingertips press into me and his hips pump in the same rhythm as my bobbing head, but I won’t be happy until I… yes, there it is. I feel the slightest prick as his claws descend into my shoulders.
He won’t break the skin. He never has. This beastly male is tightly leashed. But I like to bring him to the brink, to the edge of control. When I feel his claws, I give myself a mental point. I know I’ve won.
She’s done it. My mate hijacked my game plan. I’d wanted to show her with every touch, every breath, how much I love and cherish her. But she has other ideas. She wants it hard and fast? She’ll get it. She owns every part of me. I’ll give her the parts she wants.
Lifting her from under her arms, I force her to her feet, then spin her to face the stone wall. This sensual dance, where no words are necessary, is the result of three annums of working in sync. We know each other in a thousand ways. Many of those are in bed. Or, like now, up against a cave wall.
I flick off the light in my wrist-comm, then turn hers off as well.
Cupping my hand over her mouth, it’s my silent command for no words.
“Want it hard?” I ask, a mere whisper of breath against her ear.
She nods as I knew she would.
“Want it all?” I ask, assured she knows exactly what I’m asking.
She pauses, probably less to think than to reassure me she’s certain of her answer—which is one nod. A deliberate up and down and up again.
After her teasing blowjob, I hadn’t thought I could get any harder, but when she buys in to my last question, my cock punches against the leather of my kilt.
With one hand still covering her mouth, I pull her pants and panties down in one movement and tug one leg off completely over her sandal, leaving her with her pants around her left ankle. In case she forgets how primitive our coupling is, here in this pitch-dark cave, she’ll remember we didn’t even take the time to remove our clothes.
“Anya wants my cock?” My voice is a deep snarl against her ear.
I slide through her folds from behind, reveling in her slickness, how ready she is for me.
“I will never tire of you, Anya.”
She releases a little moan of pleasure which undoes me. We’ve learned we like to mate like this sometimes. To feel primitive and alive and unfettered. Usually when we’re in this space, I leave the flowery words behind. But today, for some reason, I can’t.
I may be about to slide my cock into her, but I have to remind her the body clinging to her back is her lover, her mate, her friend.
“Beloved.” The word is an endearment, but I’m too lost in passion for the tone to sound like anything but a cross between a rasp and a growl.
“Mine,” she says into the palm of my hand, pulling a smile from me.
Then I slip fully into my nature, letting all the civilized trappings fall away. Snapping my hips against her bottom, I focus on the warm slide of my cock through her dripping folds. My palm covers her mouth a bit tighter, giving her permission to make as much noise as she wants, even though there may be others in this cave. My other hand drifts to her nipple, plucking it until she writhes against me with a moan.
Dipping my knees, I line up to spear into her. I hiss in pleasure when my cock finds its way, easing into her only as far as the tip.
I stroke her this way for long minimas as I pluck her nipple and nip her shoulder and make us both skirt the line between pain and pleasure as time ticks by denying us release.
She’s riding me, bending her knees, trying to press me deeper inside her even though she knows it never works. I am and always have been stronger than her. She’ll never get her way in a battle of wills. Not in this venue.
Her voice is too muffled to understand, but I know what she’s chanting into my palm. “Please, please, please.”
In one slide, I give us what we’ve both been waiting for. All the way to the hilt, then one more thrust to reassure us both I’m fully inside her. She moans, tipping her head back. I’ve seen her like this enough times to know her eyes have rolled into the back of her head. I love her like this. There’s no other time in our lives when I feel more like she’s fully mine.
As I pump into her, I reach to her clit and circle her with the pad of my finger in the way she likes. I bring her to the brink of orgasm, but don’t let her fall over. She asked for it all. I want to give it to her.
I wait until she’s straining, her haunches quivering in anticipation, her moans louder even though they’re muffled by my palm. Then I circle her faster and apply a bit more pressure until I feel her body spasm beneath me. Her voice changes timbre to the decibel level that signals only one thing—her exquisite pleasure.
I live for this.
I bring her pleasure two more times, forcing myself not to release, even though her inner walls are milking me.
“Now?” I ask.
Her “Yes, yes, yes,” is muffled, yet clear as day.
Her t-shirt is still on, but won’t be an impediment. She’ll just have to replace it with a new one from the gift shop before we step off the mountain.
I set my fangs on her shoulder near her throat. Making certain she feels the promise of my intentions, I wait for her almost-imperceptible nod.
I come, feeling my essence leaving my body and imagining it entering my beloved, then bite my mate.
My purr gets so loud I feel it vibrating against her, although it’s hard to differentiate it from her own orgasmic spasms. She moans, then screams my name, then sinks against the rock wall in front of her. As she screams, a roar thunders out of my mouth, announcing our matebond. So much for remaining quiet.
The first few times we did this, I panicked, thinking the scream that accompanied the bite was one of pain. She had to reassure me a hundred times that it was pleasure.
Pulling her shirt toward the edge of her shoulder, I lick the punctures with flat swathes from my tongue to remove any lingering sting.
She’s limp as a noodle, which gives me a pang of regret. I should have done this in our bed. But when I flick my wrist-comm light on and turn her in my arms, her gorgeous green eyes look up at me like I hung the moon. My regrets fly away.
I’m filled with love. Only love.
Somehow, I find the energy to reach around his neck, and somehow he finds the strength to lift me into his arms and tuck me against his chest. If we were in bed, I’d sleep for a few hours. But I’m not in our bed. I just need a moment. A moment to bask in this amazing, beautiful thing we have.
It’s not just love, although that’s the foundation. It’s the friendship and the partnership and the common goal we strive for every day. It’s the camaraderie and the… we’re bonded. We’re totally in sync.
And the sex? That’s the icing. And when he bites me? It’s the cherry on top. It symbolizes everything we have together. I love, love, that it’s a physical embodiment of everything we share.