“I’m not a damned saint, Saria,” he hissed, his voice nearly demonic.

She looked up at him, a chill sliding down her spine at the desperate tone in his voice. His eyes blazed with a dark lust that only intensified her ravenous hunger for his taste. His hand moved hers to the base, wrapping her fingers tightly around his thick erection. She let the hand bunched in her hair guide her to her knees in the thick grass. The impressive amount of flesh in her fist held her fascinated gaze.

“Draw it into your mouth, nice and slow,” he instructed. “Just like that. Easy now, get used to the size and feel.” He threw back his head and groaned when she obeyed. “Use your tongue, baby.”

She pulled back and licked him, much like a cat licking at a bowl of cream. When he pulsed against her tongue, she enclosed him in her mouth. All that silken steel. The taste of him was feral, hot, all male. His hips jerked and she blinked up at him again, seeing the amazing gold of his eyes shimmering with heat.

His hips jerked again in a desperate, shallow rhythm she immediately caught onto. She drew him deeper, and allowed her mouth to glide back. He drew a ragged, harsh breath in response. She heard her own moan as he filled her mouth again, as she felt power surge through her, a dark passion that fed the lust driving her. She needed him like this, groaning, at the very edge of his control, while her untutored mouth drove him wild.

“Saria.” He said her name. That was all, a single word, but his voice was rough and demanding, a harsh plea for mercy, a command to continue.

He was thick, stretching her lips, filling her mouth, hot and pulsing with life. He tasted so male, so much dark passion, hot and delicious. She licked at the underside of the broad, sensitive head, enjoying the sensation and his reaction. He groaned when she took him deeper. His hand suddenly fisted in her hair, holding her still while his hips jerked in a series of shallow thrusts.

“Relax, honey. Just relax and breathe. Take a breath and hold it when I slide a little deeper. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She did as he said, taking a breath, feeling him slide deeper until she was afraid she might choke, but he went no further and the sensation of feeling his heart beat in her mouth gave her an answering pulse deep inside her core. She felt white lightning arc through her body, as if every nerve ending was connected to her mouth.

“Flatten your tongue.”

Even as the words left his mouth he groaned as she complied, rubbing that sweet spot under the broad head as he slid out. He held her head still as he slid back inside. Again she had to fight her own reflexes not to panic, but he was careful. He began a rhythm, pulling her closer, letting her take a breath and pulling her head down onto him as he thrust.

“Suck harder, honey. Yeah. Like that. That’s so fucking good. More, honey, give me harder. I need it.”

She listened to his harsh instructions, following them carefully, giving herself up to him, wanting only his pleasure, loving the sounds of his groans and the helpless thrusting of his hips. She dug her fingers into his hip, holding him closer, using her tongue and the heat of her mouth to bring him closer to release. She felt him grow larger, felt the heat and fire of him. He pulsed with life, with such erotic passion she couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d wanted to.

His hand pued her head down just a little farther as she took a breath, jerking in short spurts, and then she felt his hot release pouring into her. He moaned low and long, the sound as arousing as the hard flesh jerking in the heat of her mouth. His fingernails sank into her scalp and one shoulder as he breathed hard.

“Use your tongue, baby,” he urged. “That feels so damned good.”

She lapped at him, a gentle ministry to calm them both. She was breathing nearly as hard as he was. She felt achy everywhere, almost desperate to rip off her clothes and impale herself on that thick, velvet-over-steel spike.

Drake drew her up, holding her close to him. “That was unbelievable, Saria.”

“I’m sure I’ll get better,” she said, her gaze suddenly worried.

“Better might kill me.” He brushed a kiss over her temple. “We’ll finish this at the inn in a comfortable room with a bed. Your first time should be special, honey.”

She wasn’t certain she could hold out for special, but he had a point. The swamp was no place to try to have sex. She nodded, unable to get past her own desire. She needed breathing space from him.

Drake could tell Saria was struggling and he cursed himself for allowing her to service him when he couldn’t show her what making love was. He could see she wanted to be alone and he hated that he had to comply, to just leave her after she’d given him so much pleasure.

“Will you be all right?”

“I practically live in the swamp,” she said, studying the edge of the trees. “I can take pictures while you do whatever it is leopards do.”

Uneasy, he shifted, staying close to her for a moment to rub his fur all over her, in his own way trying to reassure her before he set off. Drake searched the entire area, crisscrossing the wild terrain, using every means available to search out evidence of a leopard making a kill. He had never been so frustrated—or alarmed—in his life. There were numerous places where he scented blood and death, six to be exact, and he’d uncovered more empty bottles from the Boudreaux bar, but nowhere did he find evidence of a leopard. Not a single track. Not a scent mark. No fur.

His leopard at times was very settled and then suddenly would become so agitated Drake feared he might not be able to control him. There seemed no pattern to the sudden surge of temper as Drake picked his way through several acres. Saria was at the center of the ever-widening circle he used to hunt for evidence and he made certain he could scent her at all times.