by Amy Redwood
“Bastard,” I said, smiling. I had already come and his cock inside my pussy felt way too good to complain. Who cared if I couldn’t climax a second time?
“I’m going to fuck you slow,” he said, restraint heavy in his voice, “but I don’t know for how long.” He groaned, moving in long languid strokes, his hands clamped tight around my hips. “You’re so tight, so hot.”
His words kicked my arousal higher and I could feel him hit something good, again and again, until I swallowed hard. “I’m coming with you inside me,” I whispered, more to myself than to him, but I heard him suck in his breath and pause for a moment.
“Don’t stop, God, don’t stop,” I said, wanting the hot pleasure that spread through me each time he thrust deep.
When he rammed inside me, all gentleness forgotten, I urged him on hoarsely. He slammed into me and I could feel his cock thicken. When he sent a smacking slap on my flank, I yelled out, my orgasm crashing over me hard and unexpected while he pounded his cock into me. He shouted, his cock pulsing inside me in hot spurts as he spilled his come inside my still-convulsing pussy. When I finally had my breath back, I dropped onto my stomach, feeling his still-hard cock slip out of me.
I rolled over to my side, breathing hard.
“Don’t move,” he said, a heavy hand landing on my feet as he carefully cut the cord from my wrists and ankles. Then he moved behind me, drawing me into his arms.
“There’s something you are not telling me, right?” I said quietly, heart beating in my throat. “Are you…are you a shifter too?”
He was silent for a moment, and I turned toward him until my nose touched his. “And?”
Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me on top of him. I nuzzled my face into the warm side of his neck, closing my eyes, trying hard not to nag him further, when he said, “My brother was like you,” and cleared his throat. “He was reckless, hot-blooded and always looking for the next challenge, for the next fight. He would disappear for several nights in a row. Or he was depressed for days by the inability to show the world who he really was.” He curled his hand into my hair at the nape of my neck. “I’d have sold my soul to be like him.”
“But you weren’t.”
“No, I can’t shift. I feel it inside me, have the strength and heal faster than anyone I know, but I can’t shift. And my sister Gabrielle was born without a trace of wolf to her. It was my younger brother who had it all.”
I heard the pain in his voice. “What happened to him?” I asked, fearing his answer.
“He loved being a shifter, bragged about it even. He’d just turned eighteen. They said he killed himself, but I never believed it.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He kissed the crown of my head. “It was a long time ago. While I searched for his killer, I got involved with the wrong crowd, took up the wrong work. My reflexes and ability to heal quickly are quite an asset. When my little sis married Simon, I finally came to my senses. She had already lost one brother and asked me to clean up my act. So I did.”
“Well, I’m glad you did,” I said. “I’ll be sure to thank your sister if I ever meet her.”
“I’d love you to meet her,” he said. “After my brother was found dead, she founded a foundation for the education of gifted teenagers,” he said. “Gifted meaning being a shifter. To this day she is convinced that my brother’s death could have been prevented by getting him in touch with his elders and equals from around the world.”
“I would love to know other shifters,” I said, remembering how lonely and confused I’d felt all my life. Yes, I thought, it had been tough growing up without ever meeting other shifters. I suddenly had a very good idea what I could do with the check in my drawer. “My mom was terrified when I shifted the first time under her eyes. She—she—she helped me as best as she could.” The shame and pain of those first months and years after I first shifted was forever engraved in my memory. I swallowed, thinking back to what Mom had called my safe room but had in reality been nothing but a cage for a couple of days and nights each month. “Well, my mom coped the best she could, really, and it’s a long time ago anyway.”
“And your dad,” he asked gently, stroking through my hair.
I snorted. “According to my mom he left one night and never came back, leaving her alone and pregnant with me. I guess I can thank him for my special talent.” I hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but I did.
“You’re my wolf girl,” he said, wrapping his hands around my cheeks, making sure I couldn’t evade his gaze. “And as long as you want, I’ll take care of you. Every four weeks, I’ll make sure you won’t have to deny yourself your wildness, your hunger. We can fight, we can play chase, or we can have you in iron handcuffs, your choice.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, but couldn’t stop smiling. Tomorrow, I’d finish packing and move to the new apartment. And the day after, I’d start looking for a new location for my store. Money was too tight for big plans, but enough for small, well-planned steps. And my plans started to involve him in a way I hadn’t thought possible. “I’m looking at new spaces to lease next week,” I said, “and I’d love to hear your opinion.”
“Is that a date?” he asked, pinching my bottom.
I squirmed away, but tried to keep my voice light. “Would that be terrible?” I was in the arms of a man who accepted and understood all aspects of my nature. Tough to resist, really.
“I’m all yours,” he said, flipping me over so I rested underneath him. “For as long as you want me.”
“That could be quite a while,” I said, gazing up at him, holding my heart in my hands.
He grinned. “Knew you needed saving,” he said then started to kiss his way down my body as if to prove exactly how hard it was to resist him. When his tongue found my center, I tipped my head back, wrapped my hands around the bed’s iron bars. “Oh God, yes, save me, but tie me up first.”
And he did.
About the Author
Amy Redwood lives in Vancouver, Canada. This wasn’t always the case. She grew up in Europe, moved to New Zealand and then explored China before settling down on the west coast of Canada. She likes nothing better than dark chocolate, autumn rain and curling up on the couch reading a great story. But what she loves is writing about smart heroines and sexy heroes enjoying hot nights, hotter days and a happily ever after. After all, nothing beats a happy end.
Amy welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Amy Redwood
Jaguar’s Claim
Midsummer Charm
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