“Fyodor, please.” Now she didn’t want anything but him. Her mind had gone to complete chaos, a roaring in her ears, blood thundering through her veins.

Alonzo could barely breathe with wanting his woman. Every time he touched her, no matter how often, how long, the addiction to her grew, not lessened. He knew it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with emotion. He’d had plenty of sex and never once had it been like this. So perfect.

He loved that she never ever stopped him playing. He took her every way he could think of, and he was inventive. Sometimes he was rough. Really rough. She went up in flames for him every time. He loved that she went wild for him. That she was noisy about it. Pleading. Demanding. He loved to hear both.

Her legs were draped over his shoulders and her exotic, spicy scent called to him. He waited another heartbeat while she squirmed and yanked at his hair. He stabbed his tongue deep. She screamed his name, half sobbing, half commanding. She was hotter than hell, burning like a firestorm out of control. He craved the taste of her, and he couldn’t get enough of her. Ravenous, he held her still while he took as much as her body would give him. He knew every way to have her spilling more for him.

He was ruthless, using his mouth to drive her higher and higher until she was gasping, pleading, and sounded close to tears. He took her over immediately, loving the hard earthquake tearing through her body. It was brutal. Perfect. The aftershocks providing more of what he wanted.

He didn’t wait for the ripples to stop but pushed her right back up. He stroked with his thumb, small caresses designed to make her body his. He sucked on her clit and then used his tongue to draw out the hot liquid spilling out of her just for him. She went wild. He felt feral. Primitive. He growled at her as he took what was his.

She detonated again, a fierce quake that raced up her belly and down her thighs. He rubbed his face along her thighs again and then rose above her, dragging her to him. Her eyes were dazed, that wonderful look she got when she was gone. When he’d sent her to bliss and she couldn’t think straight.

“You’re mine, Evangeline,” he said. A jackhammer drilled over and over in his head. He felt savage. Possessive. He knew she could see the brutality stamped deep, those ruthless lines betraying the fact that his leopard was close. His blood pounded with a terrible need beyond anything he could imagine.

“Yours. Absolutely.” Truth rang in her voice. Honesty.