by Tracy Wolff
He watched her own widen in answer, watched them glaze over as the passion she too was fighting to hold off rose up and overwhelmed her. Her scent, a mixture of wildflowers and hot, spicy woman, teased him, drawing him closer and closer to the edge of his resistance.
Reaching forward, he plucked the beer from her hands and slowly drank, enjoying the taste of her as much as the beer. He watched as her eyes found a drop of sweat at the hollow of his neck, as they helplessly followed it as it worked its way over his bare chest and onto his stomach.
* * *
She wanted to reach her tongue out and sweep the drop from his body. Wanted her tongue to follow the lazy path made by the drop, testing, tasting every inch of his well-muscled torso before working her way slowly, oh so slowly, beneath the waistband of his jeans.
Serena’s breath hitched in her throat and her eyes met Kevin’s for the first time in many hours. His breath, too, was coming in harsh pants, and she could tell that he was as aroused as she was. That he wanted her at least as badly as she wanted him.
She reached one still-trembling hand towards him, whether in invitation or denial she didn’t know. But when he grasped her fingers with his own, she shivered at the strength in his work-hardened palm. And when he slowly, oh so slowly, lifted her hand to his lips, she shuddered with the power and the pain of her desire.
His tongue reached out and caressed her index finger, once, twice, before drawing her slowly into his mouth. His teeth nipped lightly at her fingertip, even as he pulled her deeper and deeper into him. He sucked her finger gently, his tongue sweeping in slow, lazy circles as his mouth slid back and forth.
Serena’s breath came in short gasps and her knees weakened until she feared their ability to support her. Her eyes drifted shut and her head rolled back on her neck. She knew this was wrong, knew she shouldn’t be doing this. Kevin wasn’t the type to be satisfied with a one—or two—night stand and she didn’t have anything else to offer.
But she couldn’t deny the need flowing between them. Didn’t want to deny it. And his mouth on her finger felt so incredibly good. How would it feel on her lips? Her breasts? Between her thighs?
As Kevin slowly relinquished his hold on her finger, she bit back an instinctive protest. She was on fire, burning, her underwear soaked through. Glancing down at the front of his jeans, she felt her eyes widen at the erection the denim couldn’t begin to disguise.
She reached to touch him, but he grabbed her hand before it could connect. “Not yet, cher,” he whispered, holding her newly captured hand to his chest. His heart pounded heavily, riotously beneath her palm. Her fingers flexed, explored, slid lightly over one nipple, and his heartbeat grew faster, harder.
Echoing her own, she thought, as blood pumped hot and quick through her veins. The storm raging outside had moved inside, buffeting her from every side, sweeping her into its powerful, chaotic embrace and leaving Kevin as her only anchor.
His stormy, heavy-lidded eyes burned into her own, midnight blue and fierce with desire. His musky scent overwhelmed her. Yet his touch was tender and his lips gentle as they moved slowly over her finger, down her palm, his tongue trailing a path of fire wherever it touched. Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, his mouth pressed long, lazy kisses across her hand—over her love line, her life line, slowly, slowly working his way down to the rounded pad at the base of her thumb. And there, right there, at the juncture where her palm met her wrist, he bit gently, firmly, his teeth sinking in even as his tongue laved away the hurt.
Serena’s knees gave way and with a cry of ecstasy she slid, trembling, down the wall.
Kevin crouched beside her, his eyes on hers, searching for any sign of uneasiness. But she was too hot, too steamy, too far gone to think of the consequences. Reaching out, she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him forward until his lips met her own.
He tasted like the cinnamon gum he chewed obsessively, a combination of spicy and sweet that drove her to the brink of her control and then beyond. She knew he’d meant to take it easy, slow, but with the first powerful touch of his mouth, Serena was lost and her uninhibited response sparked his own. His tongue swept across her lips—ravenous, demanding, desperate—and she opened for him as lust burned through her.
They plundered each other, tongues testing, tasting, tangling together. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and bit slowly; he groaned in response, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, to press her against him.
She was hot and wet and frantic to feel him within her. Kevin must have sensed her desperation, for he tightened his hold, pressed more firmly against her, began a gently thrusting between her thighs that sent her pulse soaring. A high, keening sound escaped her, one that would have mortified her at any other time. But here, now, with the frantic grip of her hands on his body and the powerful thrust of his hips against hers, it seemed natural. More than natural. Perfect.
But she wanted more, needed more. Breaking free of his kiss, Serena slid her lips slowly over his cheeks, relishing the stubble on his unshaven jaw before her tongue darted out and explored the inner shell of his ear. Frenzied, frantic, she closed her teeth around his earlobe and bit gently, even as her hands moved to caress the rippling muscles of his back.
Kevin growled deep in his throat and moved his hand slowly down her chest. As his fingers closed around her breast for the first time, a huge streak of lightning lit the sky beyond the studio and the lights went out, plunging the room into a still and eerie darkness.
Read on for an excerpt from Virna DePaul’s
Arrested by Love
CHAPTER ONE
Somehow, Claire Fullerton had managed to perfect the appearance of being a “good girl.” No one, absolutely no one, suspected what she feared most—that she was a bad girl to the core. All they saw was the dutiful daughter and responsible reporter who provided citizens with important information. They had no clue she was a reckless hedonist who sought out life’s darker elements for sheer vicarious thrills.
At least, they hadn’t until now.
“Let go of me!” Claire twisted and pulled, straining to escape the bald man with overblown muscles and a long jagged scar bisecting his right eyebrow. Her efforts were futile. With ease, he pulled her from the small abandoned trailer just on the outskirts of Guardian property, which she’d been staking out for the past two days. Her patent leather flats slid against the pebbled dirt as he dragged her toward the dilapidated warehouse that served as his gang’s headquarters.
“I told you, I just took a wrong turn.” The lie fell easily off her lips. Too easily. Even so, the man snorted, the sound clearly emanating disbelief.
He shook his head. “Give it up, Fullerton. We’re gonna teach you to mind your own business, the Demon way.”
The statement should have had terror zipping through her veins. She knew, after all, that the man—Jed Randall—was the Demonic Guardians’ second-in-command and an ex-felon to boot, one with a string of robberies behind him. Still, she could admit—if only to herself—that what she felt wasn’t fear but rather an odd sense of anticipation.
Despite the gang’s reputation for violence and their prior threats against her, she knew they wouldn’t really harm her unless they got the green light from their hardened leader. Thankfully, Brad Hoyt wasn’t here, and Claire felt fairly confident Randall wasn’t the type to hurt a woman or let others do it either. Not unless they had reason to …
From her hiding spot, Claire had watched illicit drugs flow freely but she’d seen no evidence of violence by the gang’s members. Their primary mission had been an unabashed commitment to everything sensual and sexual. If it felt good, a Guardian did it. As to whom he did it with? Well, plenty of women had been shuttled on and off the property, and consent hadn’t once seemed to be a problem. From what Claire had seen and heard, the women had thoroughly enjoyed themselves, prompting her to feel more than one pang of envy.
At no point, however, had she seen the man she’d most wan
ted to see. She’d fantasized about him though. Remembered time and again the feel of his warm skin against hers. She’d watched men and women getting it on, and she’d imagined her and Ty in their place—or sometimes even joining in. As a result, she’d been quivering with sexual excitement more times than not over the weekend.
And apparently, getting caught by Randall hadn’t changed that.
It didn’t matter that he’d probably be back in prison before the year was out. Even the dominant way he held her—firm and inescapable but painless—heightened the arousal she’d felt while watching him have sex minutes earlier.
She told herself her response was to be expected. That any woman would have trouble remembering a man’s criminal history when she’d just observed him, naked ass clenching, pumping into a woman and making her come so hard her legs had buckled.
Even as she continued to struggle against Randall’s grip, lingering excitement made her heart pound and her breath jerk in and out of her in small, ragged pants. She envisioned the way his large hands had stroked the brunette’s breasts moments earlier. They’d been going at it against a tree, the woman’s back pressed to his chest, his arms braced on either side of her head as he’d hunched over her, his slick length, eight inches long and as thick as Claire’s wrist, pounding in and out of the woman while she’d mewled steadily. Both had seemed oblivious to the other people milling around them, as well as to Claire, who’d been safely ensconced in her hiding place. Or so she’d thought.
But then, as soon as the couple’s ragged groans of pleasure had faded away, and with Claire biting her lip to keep from echoing them, the man had gently lowered the woman to the ground, jerked up his pants, and headed straight toward the trailer where she hid. They’d obviously known she was there the entire time because when he’d jerked open the door and pulled her out, the brunette had smirked and waved at her.
Now Randall led her inside the Guardian compound, into the one place she knew next to nothing about despite her previous attempts to get inside. It was disappointingly ordinary, but she couldn’t say the same for its occupants. Through a series of open doors, she caught glimpses of bodies, some naked, others not. The smell of sex permeated the air, evidence of the debauchery that occurred at least once a year when the Demon Guardians initiated a select few into their merry band of criminals.
She couldn’t have known for sure where he was taking her, yet somehow she did—especially when they passed the broad-shouldered man who leaned idly against a doorjamb. She recognized his spiked blond buzz cut immediately. Much taller than Randall, and far more ripped than bulky, he was dressed simply in faded jeans and an open unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms. Although he locked gazes with her, not a hint of recognition showed on his face. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she might have actually wondered if she’d made a mistake. She’d only met the man once after all …
But she did know better. She knew who he was. He was Luke Anderson, and he hadn’t come here alone.
With her body tightening even more with dread and anticipation, she was dragged by Randall into a room crowded with men and a few women. No one noticed her.
Not. A. One.
Instead, while the men or women fondled whatever body parts called to them, their own or another’s, they kept their gazes riveted on the two people at the front of the room.
Moisture pooled between her legs and her stomach quivered. Oh God, Claire thought, her excitement escalating to almost dizzying heights.
The kneeling woman’s rosy lips formed a perfect circle as she sucked off the man sitting in a low chair, his legs splayed open and his thick cock jutting out of his open fly. The man had his fingers tangled in her hair and was guiding her head even as he pumped his shaft deep into her mouth, but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite, in fact. She made a purring noise and swirled her tongue around the head of the man’s cock like it was an ice cream cone. The man moaned and raised his head from where it had been tilted back against the chair, his familiar features twisted in a grimace of pleasure that, for just the briefest of moments, made Claire want to kill him, right after she killed the woman blowing him and the crowd for watching it happen. They were cheering the couple on, as if the approach of the man’s climax would bring them all pleasure rather than just him.
As soon as he spewed his seed into the woman’s mouth and she swallowed it, he’d officially be a member of the Demon Guardians. A brother. One of them.
This was Ty Williams’s initiation into the state’s most feared biker gang.
Even though she knew it was all part of Ty’s job as an undercover cop, that didn’t make the red she was seeing fade any faster or her fingers itch any less with the urge to rip out every strand of the woman’s long blond hair and strangle Ty with it.
Of course, the bad girl inside her jeered at her hypocrisy, which even now made her want to sink to her knees and take the woman’s place. And although she wasn’t an exhibitionist—the very thought of being naked and exposed in front of a crowd made her stomach clench with anxiety—she might be willing to make an exception if it meant she’d finally get another taste of Ty. Imagining it made her body flash with heat and her pussy gush with undeniable arousal.
Realization was like a bucket of ice water tossed in her face.
Sick. She was sick.
Ashamed and already dreading the knowledge that would fill Ty’s eyes once he saw her and sensed her excitement, she tried to move away. To run from the room. Of course, she couldn’t. Randall laughed and jerked her closer, pulling her hair with his other hand and yanking her head back. “Like what you see, do you? Let’s get you a closer look.”
“No—” She’d been a fool to come back here, but she hadn’t been able to resist.
It had been Hoyt’s absence that had cinched it.
Six months ago, just before her in-depth exposé on the gang leader had run in the paper, she’d had the unfortunate pleasure of talking to the man face-to-face. It had been him, and only him, that Claire had truly feared during her entire investigation—and that had been true long before she’d ever met him. Still, when she’d learned that Hoyt had been arrested three days ago during a drug raid and would be absent from the gang’s annual initiation “festivities,” she’d told herself not to read anything into it. That it wasn’t a sign. That it would be stupid for her to risk going back onto Guardian property now that Hoyt and several others knew what she’d written about them. She had to remember that as harmless as Hoyt’s men might seem, they were dark enough to do his dirty work for him.
None of those arguments had kept her away. She’d heard what went on during Guardian initiations. She’d wanted to see it for herself.
And she’d wanted to see one particular person being initiated far more than any other. Now that it was happening, Ty would discover the very thing she’d been trying to keep hidden from him.
Voyeurism. Danger. Kink.
It was what got her off. It was her vice and her shame. And it was the reason she’d run when Ty had come into her life, even though running from him had been the last thing she’d wanted to do.
If he saw her now, he would know how bad she really was. He’d realize that while he associated with the gang for the greater good, she did it out of sheer fascination and pure perverted pleasure …
“Ouch!” She winced when Randall pulled her hair even harder. Apparently, he didn’t have a problem hurting a woman after all. He propelled her past the crowd, dragging her toward the front of the room until she was standing no more than five feet from Ty.
Even then, he was too distracted to notice her.
Hard to blame him.
The blonde was moving her hand up and down his massive cock as she continued to suck him. Ty’s gaze was fixed on what the woman was doing to him, his eyes half-hooded and his fingers still tangled in her hair. But Claire noticed he wasn’t saying anything. In fact, he wasn’t making any sound. The contrast to how he’d sounded
when he’d touched her months earlier, after police officials had arranged for them to meet, was marked. She’d been supposed to prep him for his undercover assignment, but that had led to a date and far more intimate acts. The memory of his gravelly voice wafted around the room, reminding her that he had been far from silent the night they’d almost made love.
That’s it, baby. Let me make you feel good.
Give it to me, Claire. Give me everything you have.
But he hadn’t always been so articulate. When she’d stroked him with her palm, he’d groaned his pleasure unabashedly, instructing her with hot, guttural, broken words where to touch him and how hard.
No, he wasn’t a reticent lover, but she had to remember this wasn’t Ty. The person sprawled before her was the cop, not the man. The one doing his “duty” while others, herself included, got off on it.
“So what do you think, Fullerton?” Randall taunted. “You think you can do a better job than Brea here?”
As soon as Randall said “Fullerton,” Ty’s gaze jerked to hers. He blinked, as if struggling to focus his vision. Then, unlike his partner, Luke, Ty couldn’t quite suppress the surprise that flashed across his face. It took a few seconds, and probably no one but her noticed, but he deliberately forced his expression to go blank, then annoyed. He glared at Randall. “Who the fuck is she, Jed?” he gritted out.
The blonde’s head didn’t stop bobbing for one second.
As Ty’s gaze once more landed on Claire, a conflagration of heat spread from the tips of her toes to between her thighs and then to her extremities. She actually shuddered, and it made her remember just how strong and unique her body’s response to Ty was. Watching Randall fuck the woman outside had given her a buzz of pleasure, but it had been nothing compared to this.
