by Renee Rose
Is that normal? Or was that just for me? A blush creeps up my neck as I realize how much I want to think he’s into me.
He leans forward and places his hands on the countertop outside of mine, caging me between his arms. His lips brush my ear. “I don’t know. I think it’s kinda hot.”
Oh God. He’s totally into me. Heat floods my core, tingles race along my skin.
One of his hands grips my hip as he backs off.
I lift my eyes to the mirror and my breath stalls when he lifts his other hand and brings it smartly down on my ass.
“Ow!” I protest.
“That was for shooting me.” His voice is deeper than usual. He smacks my other cheek, just as hard. “And that’s for running back to Data-X.”
A whimper bursts out of my mouth, but not because of the pain. More because both of my knees went weak and I’m not sure how I’m going to stand.
He rubs his palm over my stinging flesh and I find myself pushing back into his hand, rolling my hips up and back.
His breath grows quicker and his hand strokes lower, down the back of my thigh and under my skirt.
I never feel sexy—ever. But in this moment, listening to the rasp of Sam’s breath, seeing the lust glazing his eyes, I feel like a pinup girl. Or the star of a porn video.
Hot scientist punished and fucked hard by angry test subject.
Oh God, I should not have thought that.
“Layne.” He utters my name like a lament. Like an apology.
I wonder what he’s sorry for—what he’s going to do? Or what he’s holding back from doing? Because I can see the struggle in him. Guilt and repression rippling beneath the surface, as his hand strokes higher, higher. His fingers brush my nether lips, sending a shock of pleasure through my body.
“Tell me to stop, Layne,” he rasps.
What’s wrong with me? I don’t want to. I meet his eyes in the mirror and shake my head.
His lids widen in shock, fingers shove under the gusset of my panties.
I jerk at the firm contact, the rub of his digits along my slit. I’ve never been so wet.
“You don’t want this.” It’s like he’s pleading with me to stop him.
I hold his gaze in the mirror and lift one knee up on the counter next to my hands.
The sound that comes from Sam is pure animal. He pulls his fingers out of my panties and slaps my pussy.
My mouth forms a round O of surprise. I didn’t even know that was a thing.
“What are you doing, Layne?” Sam continues in a rough voice, even as he hikes the skirt of my dress up and tears my panties down. “You don’t want this. Not with me.” He smacks my butt again, hard.
Before I can answer, he’s on his knees at my feet, shoving my leg back up onto the counter after freeing my panties from my ankles. He licks into me.
I gasp at the jolt of pure pleasure.
Okay, I didn’t even know this position existed. Cunnilingus from behind? He presses my hips firmly against the counter as he destroys me with firm licks of his tongue.
I don’t recognize the sounds coming from my mouth—guttural and needy.
Another slap. Somehow my leg on the counter ends up on his shoulder, my ballet flat kicking in the air.
Sam’s tongue twirls around and flicks my clit, over and over again.
I moan, jack my hips up and down, humping his face. “Please,” I plead.
Sam’s mouth comes away from my pussy with a smack and he stands up. He replaces his mouth with his fingers, pushing inside me, filling me.
I moan. “Please.”
He pumps his fingers in and out of me, knocking his knuckles against my entrance, penetrating deep.
He hits my G-spot and I lose control. My only standing leg scoots out from underneath me, but it doesn’t matter, Sam holds me in place with one hand on my ass for his continued finger-fucking. Smack-smack-smack, he gives it to me as my orgasm crests hard.
My muscles clench around his fingers, pussy gushes. “Sam!” I gasp. “Sam!”
“That’s right, sweetheart.” His voice is so deep and raspy I hardly recognize it. “Say my name when you come. I’ll be jacking off to that for the rest of my life.”
My brain power is seriously hindered by my orgasm, but I file his words away to examine later. There’s something off about them, but I can’t pinpoint it now.
When my climax passes, he removes his fingers and stands, still holding me up. His expression is pure agony. I want to offer to reciprocate, but he turns away from me, stripping off his jeans and stepping into the shower.
Still stuck to the counter with tape, all I can do is watch the shadow of his figure in the mirror as he faces the spray and lets the water cascade over his head.
His erection is huge. Through the shower curtain I see it standing stiff and straight in front of him as he rests one palm against the shower wall and sags into the water.
His hand comes to his cock, but he hesitates before he touches it, fingers twitching. As if he lost some battle, he grips it and a shudder runs through his body. I hear a stifled moan. The mirror’s fogging up from the steam and I don’t want to lose my show.
I lick my lips. “Is that for me?” Lordy, my voice sounds husky.
He drops his head further, a rueful laugh echoing against the walls. “Believe it, sweetheart.”
“Why don’t you open the curtain so I can watch?”
He freezes, hand in his cock, as if he can’t believe what I just suggested. Then the curtain flies open.
I’m misted by a light spray of water, but I don’t mind. I get to see Sam’s naked body in all its glory. Wet. Powerful. Rippling with lean muscle.
He bends his forearm up against the wall and rests his head there, pumping his cock. “This is all for you, Layne,” he rumbles. “You have me so out-of-fucking-control, I can’t think straight.”
Even though I just orgasmed, my hips grind over the countertop with excitement.
“Are you going to... give it to me?”
Wow. Did I really just say that? I’m definitely channeling porn-Layne now. But it’s what I want. Now that I know how skilled he is with his fingers and mouth, I’m dying to know how he gives it with his manhood.
Again he pauses in his masturbation and when he resumes it’s with a furious rhythm. “I can’t,” he grits between clenched teeth. “Wish I could, sweetheart.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in his voice I don’t understand. “Best I can do is keep you alive until Smyth is dead and this research is shut down.”
That was a mood-killer. Which I assume was his intention. Apparently, it hasn’t dampened his need, though, because his trapezius muscles are corded up, a vein popping over them as he abuses his manhood.
A growl comes out of his throat, echoing off the tile walls. He closes his eyes, jacks his hips and comes. Ribbons of his essence coat the tile in front of him, mingling with the water and running down the drain.
He flicks off the water and stands there dripping, head hanging.
“I’d hand you a towel, but—you know—I’m taped to a sink over here,” I say dryly.
When he finishes, he swivels his head to look at me, and I swear there’s an accusation there. Like he’s angry over his attraction to me.
A ghost of a smile curls his lips and he steps out, grabbing a plain white towel from the rack and drying off.
“Okay, doctor.”
Ah, so we’re back to doctor now.
He yanks on his black jeans and shoves his cock in, although he doesn’t zip and button them. I stare in the mirror at his glorious body, the curling golden hair dusting his chest, the happy trail leading down to the V of his zipper. A tattoo winds over one of his pectorals and I see it, too, hides scars. Burn marks.
He sidles up behind me, caging me once again between his arms. He rips the tape off my hands in a quick yank.
“Ow!” I yell, louder than necessary. I’m mad at him, but not sure why. Maybe for holding back from me.
He turns me
around and grabs my hands. His forehead furrows with concentration as he rubs the irritated skin with his thumbs. “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “I never meant to hurt you, Layne. I just... I just don’t want you to become another casualty of Smyth.”
Before I can answer, he attacks my mouth with his, grasping the back of my head to hold me still for his onslaught. His tongue sweeps between my lips.
“We can’t do this,” he says when we break apart.
I blink up at him. Huh? He kissed me, not the other way around. Like he can’t help himself, he dips back in for another passionate kiss and this time I forget his words and surrender. His hand is in my hair, mouth commanding. My knees go weak again.
“This is a bad idea,” he murmurs. His irises glow yellow, like a wolf’s. He kisses along my jaw, down the column of my neck. He jerks away, like he’s wrestling with part of himself. “I can’t… be with you.”
“Fine.” I sound way more defensive than I’d like, but he’s acting like a crazy man. Of course, that is his modus operandi.
“It’s not possible for me to be in a relationship.” His hand is still in my hair, fingers opening and closing, pulling it out of the ponytail.
“Yeah, me neither. I don’t want anything like that.”
His eyes return to blue, and they hold a world of pain. Sorrow I can’t begin to comprehend, not that I understand much about this man.
“I think it’s okay for us to give each other a little pleasure, though, don’t you?” I’m still horny as hell after the shower show and round one with his mouth and fingers. Despite his mixed signals, I crave his touch. To feel alive and beautiful and sexy in the unique way he shows me.
“Yes.” He pulls my mouth to his again, kissing me hard as his other hand tugs up the hem of my dress.
In a flash, he has me sitting on the countertop, dress hiked to my armpits, bra cups peeled down and his lips suctioned over one of my nipples. I arch into him, moaning.
“No.” He shakes his head, eyes glowing yellow. His hands squeeze my breasts, weighing them. He rubs his thumbs across the stiffened peaks, treats the other nipple to his mouth. “I can’t. Layne—” He strokes his palms up and down my bare sides. “I’ll hurt you.” He pulls me off the counter and walks me backward toward the door, his body pressed right up against mine.
“You mean you can’t with a human?”
“Can’t with you,” he rasps, his voice deep and growly.
I blink up at him, unsure whether to be hurt or offended or both.
He reaches around behind me and opens the door. “I’ve had lots of humans, Layne. But none who made me lose control like you do. My wolf—I don’t have enough control of it. I could hurt you, Layne. Badly. Possibly fatally. It’s not safe.” He pushes me out the bathroom and shuts the door, locking it.
A hysterical laugh bubbles out of my throat.
Sam curses on the other side of the door. It sounds like he’s leaning against it. I put my hand on the wood, as if I could feel his body heat through it.
I swear I can.
“I’m going to take another shower,” he says. “A cold one. Please don’t leave or call anyone.”
“I won’t,” I promise. And I mean it. I don’t understand Sam yet, but I do trust him.
3
Sam
Christ, I am one kiss away from marking Layne. I swear, if I get my cock anywhere near that female, I will fuck her senseless and sink my teeth right into her neck.
It’s that bad.
I literally couldn’t keep my hands off her, even when my brain tried to pull back. Just like when I nearly lost my humanity, my wolf has too much power over me. I can’t let him take the goddamn lead or I won’t be able to finish Smyth and Data-X.
It’s not just about revenge. I need to end this madness so no one else suffers. Christ, the Tucson pack’s only female shifter was grabbed in Mexico by harvesters that link back to the guy Smyth was with at the lab this morning—Santiago.
I turn the water all the way to cold and step back in the shower. It does nothing to tamp down my erection. I swear, steam comes off me as the water hits.
Maybe we could just offer each other a little pleasure.
Did she actually suggest that? How in the fuck did I get so lucky? I’m definitely not worthy of Layne Zhao, a bright woman with an even brighter future.
When she said she couldn’t be in a relationship my wolf wanted to shred the walls. But it can’t be because there’s another male, or she wouldn’t have suggested we fool around.
A snarl leaves my throat. Fuck, I want her.
But I can’t. The second I get my cock in her, my wolf will mark her. I can tell because my eyes change every time I get too close. My teeth elongate, preparing to deliver the mating bite.
Why in the fuck would my wolf want a human?
He’s confused. Probably there’s some underlying biology at work. I’m fully prepared to die bringing down Smyth. Some instinctive part of me wants to make sure I reproduce before that happens.
That can be the only explanation.
I’m tempted to jack off again to take the edge off, but what if it makes it worse? Touching myself last time I was in the shower did nothing to calm the mating frenzy.
I leave my cock alone, other than dousing him in cold water. When it’s plain the water isn’t helping, I shut it off and get out.
I towel off, pull on my jeans and examine the gunshot wounds in the mirror. They are already closed, the flesh knitting back together, cells regenerating. The shirt is too bloody to put on, so I walk out without one.
The scent of some kind of food hits me. Good, Layne helped herself in the kitchen. There isn’t much fresh food, but I stocked the cabinets with canned goods when I rented the place last week.
I walk in to find Layne stirring a pot of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. She turns and her gaze falls to my bare chest. Her eyelids droop.
Fates, the chemistry between us is off the charts. At least I know she feels it too.
She clears her throat. “Hungry?”
“Always,” I answer, which is true. Ever since I almost starved roaming the mountains as a wolf all winter, I eat at every opportunity. Too bad I’m still scrawny for my kind.
“I’ll, ah, go find a shirt and be right back.”
Because, yeah. If she keeps looking at me that way, I’m gonna tape her hands to this countertop for round two.
When I return, she’s split the soup between two bowls, which she sets at the small table by the window. I spend a few seconds looking in every direction out the window before I concede we’re safe and sit.
I pick up the bowl and down the soup in three gulps.
Layne stares at me like I have five heads and jumps up. “Want some more? I can heat another—”
“Please.” I grab her wrist to stop her. “Don’t serve me.” Because the fates know if she keeps it up I’m going to pull her onto my lap and show her how much I like it. “Sit down. I have some questions for you.”
A guarded expression clouds her face. “Like what?”
“Why do you work at Data-X?”
“They offered me the best opportunity to pursue my research.”
“Which is?”
She looks away. “I study genetic diseases. That was the focus of my post doc research. Data-X offered me a chance to continue the course of study. They said—claimed—it was ancillary to one of their other projects, where they created super cells that were self-regenerating and disease resistant.”
“And you believed them?”
“Not at first. But what I’ve been seeing—the super cells stand up to the test. Smyth was right.”
“Tell me about him.”
“I don’t know much about him. He hired me. I was surprised that they’d appoint me head of the Omega project, but he said he’d been following my work, and knew I was driven. That I’d be a good fit for the project. That we’d help a lot of people, including—” her breath hitches and she looks down, study
ing her hands. “He knew just what to say.”
“Why are you so driven?”
“My mom died of Barrington’s.”
“What’s that?”
“A rare disease. An immune disorder where the body attacks its own cells. There’s no cure.” She takes a deep breath. “Not yet. ”
That’s why she’s so dedicated to her research.
“What can you tell me about Santiago?”
“Señor Creepy?” She sighs, rubbing her eyes. She’s got to be running on fumes. “He just showed up today. Smyth introduced him to me. He had a bunch of bodyguards. They wanted to know my progress. That’s all I can tell you. That’s all I know.”
Shit. She’s not giving me anything.
“The cells you’re working on. The super cells. Where did you get them?”
“Something called the Alpha Program. Smyth won’t tell me the real source. He doesn’t want the research biased.”
“No, Layne.” Her eyes snap to mine when I say her name. “He doesn’t want you to know how he got them.”
“How did he get them?”
“Illegal harvesting. He takes people captive, and forces them into his experiments. That’s what Project Alpha is.”
She swallows hard. “He did that to you?”
I look away as the dark pulse of horror envelopes me.
I’m in a concrete and silver wire cage, a choke collar is around my neck, the chain hitched up and attached to the ceiling. I’ve been alone, with almost no human interaction for weeks. Still, when Smyth appears in his white lab coat and clipboard, only fear washes over me. My body tightens, bracing for more pain. More endurance testing. More knife wounds to the chest, hot brands on my legs and arms.
Smyth detaches the chain attached to the choke collar and yanks me up against the silver coated bars. Anger burns in his eyes. Hatred.
“Sam?” Layne’s concerned voice comes from across an ocean. The horrible throb of bass drowning out her words drops away the moment she takes my hand.
I draw in a gasp of breath, give my head a shake to clear my vision.
Smyth. Why did he hate me so much? It’s a question I never asked myself back then. Now, it suddenly seems like an important clue—one I’d missed until now.
