They bow before their proper lord and master, hissed Shane’s panther smugly.
Don’t be ridiculous, Shane replied. Cats don’t have lords or masters. Not even housecats.
“Did you show them your leopard?” Shane asked Catalina.
“I did! They were thrilled. I foresee lots of time with us all sleeping in a pile on the sofa. If my leopard fits on the sofa.” She grinned at him. “Maybe I’ll buy a giant deluxe couch so we can all fit. Your panther too.”
That sounded pretty good to Shane. “What are their names?”
“The black one is Jessica Jones, the orange tabby is Natasha Romanova, and the black and white one is Rogue.”
His mate’s pets were all named after superheroines. Of course they were.
He offered the cats his hand. Jessica spat at him and ran away. Rogue gave him a cautious sniff. Natasha tilted her head, considered him silently with her brilliant green eyes, and then nudged his palm. When he petted her, she bit him and fled.
Shane wryly examined his bleeding hand. “We’re going to need a demilitarized zone.”
Catalina lifted his hand and kissed it. “That’ll be the bedroom.”
She kicked the door shut. It slammed behind her back, making the frame shake. The atmosphere in the room altered in an instant, s
witching from easy playfulness to a charged intensity.
Shane remembered how he’d showed her his kata in their prison at Apex. He’d known halfway through that this was the moment, this was how he’d lose control, this was when they’d kiss for the very first time. When she’d pressed herself against his hard-on, he’d known that he had to offer to step away, but he’d also known that she’d refuse. He’d known that in just seconds, they’d be making love, him inside her, her enveloping him, their bodies and hearts changing a place of cold and fear into one of heat and passion.
He could feel that same knowing urgency now. Catalina’s breasts were heaving beneath her low-cut blouse, her breath loud enough to hear. They snatched at each other, falling hard against the door. The frame shook again, sending a vibration through their bodies.
He bent to kiss her, smelling the cinnamon spice of her hair as it fell across his face, cool against his burning skin. Then he bent lower, pressing his mouth into the delicious curve where her shoulder met her throat. He flicked his tongue across that soft flesh, tasting salt, feeling nothing but smooth skin. She was a shifter too now, quick to heal. The scar of his last bite was long since gone.
She gripped his upper arms, fingers digging in tight. The sensation was more intense than painful, though it was hard enough to bruise. He wondered if she knew, and meant to leave her marks on him. They’d be gone soon enough, but he liked the idea of having the imprint of her fingers on his body.
“Go on,” she whispered. “I want you to.”
He bit down, quick and hard, tasting copper. She gasped, her fingers tightening even harder, but he knew it was from excitement, not from pain. Or at least, not from the bad kind of pain. Even with his human senses, he could smell her arousal, hot and musky and very, very female. It had to be soaking through her panties.
His cock pressed up against her belly, rubbing into her soft flesh with every inhale and exhale of her breath. He didn’t know how much more he could stand. His blood had been replaced with pure adrenaline. He couldn’t control his breathing. He was shaking with desire, tremors running up and down his body like he was freezing to death. He had to get in from the cold.
Catalina licked a drop of sweat from the hollow of his throat. Her voice was a throaty purr as she said, “This is why I wore a skirt.”
Shane had assumed she’d dressed more formally to see her family. The real explanation excited him so much that his hands shook as he unzipped his jeans. His cock had been so tight against the denim, releasing it was a tremendous relief. The sensitive head was slick and glistening, the shaft rock-hard and throbbing.
He reached under her skirt to pull off her panties. His fingers slipped between her slick thighs, then sank into wet heat. She wasn’t wearing any panties.
A bolt of lightning shot up his spine. He heard himself groan, even as she gasped and thrust herself against his fingers. He wanted to be inside her so much, so much, now. But she was gasping in his ear, her face flushed, her eyes closed and her black eyelashes fluttering. Her hot juices ran down his hand, and he could feel her clit swell and pulse.
She was so close to coming, just from his fingers inside her, it was all he could do to not come himself, without even being touched. He buried his face in her shoulder, biting her again, marking her as his own, as she cried out her climax and her inner walls pulsed against his fingers.
“Shane...” she gasped. “Shane...”
“I— I have to—” He couldn’t even get the words out. He grabbed her under the hips, lifted her off her feet, and pushed her up against the door.
His fingers were wet with her juices. He could smell her arousal, her own unique scent, as strongly as if he was going down on her. The taste of copper was in his mouth. He thrust into her, burying himself in that liquid heat. Now he was in her, as she was in him.
In the entire time they’d been making love, she’d never let go of his arms, not once. Her grip tightened to the point of pain as he thrust inside her, but that only made him more excited. Her smell, her tight wet heat, her soft gasps, her responsiveness to his every thrust, the contrast between her soft flesh and the iron grip of her fingers— all of it was driving him wild. They were two of a kind, halves of a whole, mates who needed to live on the edge, in the place where pain and pleasure met, where danger made you feel alive, where you and your beast were one.
Shane let go of control, abandoning himself to the wildness within him. And not only wildness, but pleasure and passion and freedom and love. His climax shattered his senses, then reknit him new and whole. He and Catalina were so close as to be one heart in two bodies, and yet he felt more himself than he had in years.
Finding your mate is finding yourself, he thought. This is me. I’m finally back.