Leopard’s Blood Read Online Christine Feehan (Leopard People #10)

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Leopard People Series by Christine Feehan
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Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 145729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
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She cried out as white lightning ripped through her body, shocking her. The things he did should have hurt, but the bite was a sweet ache that fueled the darker desires of her body. His tongue licked gently, a velvet rasp that sent more lightning arcing through her. She fisted one hand in his hair and with the other cupped her breast, guiding his head to that side for equal attention.

He obliged, his mouth closing over the soft mound. Her knees went weak. The brush of shaggy hair against her breasts and midriff sensitized her skin more. The bristles on his jaw rubbed the swelling curves, marking her the way his mouth did. Her boy shorts were around her thighs, forgotten as his hand slid down her mound, fingers curling to find her entrance.

She threw her head back and keened, a long, low wail of pure pleasure escaping her throat. His mouth left her breast, and he turned her toward the railing, one hand curling at her nape, pressing until she obediently leaned over it. She found herself looking down from the upper story while his fingers moved in her, sliding in and out of her.

“You’re so tight, baby. So fucking tight I can barely get my fingers in you. How the hell you manage to take my cock, I don’t know.”

She didn’t know either, but she did know she needed him in her right that moment. “Stop messing around and get inside me.”

She should have known the way he would respond, slowly drawing down her lace panties so she could step out of them. She knew him now, the way he was with sex. He liked to do everything his way. She didn’t mind because she reaped the benefits, but sometimes he took forever to get where she knew he needed to be. She caught the railing and held tight while he began his slow torture. Soft touches. A fiery lick of his tongue. The edge of his teeth raking her clit. Over and over, small tortures designed to drive her out of her mind – and he was succeeding.

Her breasts were mashed against the wrought iron railing, swinging with every movement, pressed tightly against the twisted metalwork the next. She heard herself sob, plead, her hips squirming and earning his hand. That felt good, spreading even more heat, more need. He did it again and again and then his mouth was there, right where she needed it. She pushed back, and he was gone. She cried out in protest.

“You want me?”

“Yes.” She hissed her answer. “Hurry.”

She felt the head of his cock, so broad, so velvet soft and hard at the same time, stretching her, giving her that burn she craved. She held herself still, knowing if she moved he would stop, maybe start all over from the beginning. He liked to play. Liked to make her body hum and vibrate. He loved her pleas, or the cries she couldn’t suppress. She knew that, because he told her he did. Sprawled on top of her, he had confessed he loved her need of him. The “music” she made for him. He liked the way her lungs struggled for air when she was desperate to come or when he gave her his weight, holding her down with his body, gliding gently in her.

He pushed deeper. So slowly. The burn scorched her. Took every bit of air. With him moving so slowly, her muscles were forced to give way for his invasion and then stretch to accommodate him, burning more than they ever had. It was brutal. It was perfection. It was them. He seemed to know exactly what she needed, or better yet, he was right all along and she’d been born for him. Created just for him. The wind ruffled the Spanish moss in the trees and her hair as it hung down over the wrought iron.

“Do you feel your beauty right now? The moon is shining on your body, spotlighting you. That glorious skin.” He stroked his hand down her back. “I love your skin.” His hand slid over her right cheek. “Your sweet ass is red with my marks. Do you like them as much as I do? You can’t see them, but can you feel them?” He rubbed at the marks, and when she didn’t answer, he added another one.

She cried out, and he felt the hot liquid surround him, enticing him into her farther. She pushed back subtly, trying to get him to fill her.

He laughed softly. “Yes. The answer is yes, my little cat. Say it. Say you know how beautiful you are with my marks on you.”

“I love them,” she admitted. “Every one of them, and I especially love how you put them there. It’s sexy. Hot. And it feels good. Now please, please, please, stop teasing me.”


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