Though Scythe warns her away, Luna’s passion for justice draws her back into the dark, to her masked lover’s side. For good, or evil? Only the dawn will tell…
Warning: Pow! In the clash of good versus evil, villains don’t play nicely. Bam! When captured, superheroines often get tied up. Kablooie! Hot sex may cause mayhem with your e-reader.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Blade of Moonlight:
“You reflect the moon’s light, don’t you, Luminescence?”
No, that wasn’t it, but he was close. She was one with the moon. As it behaved, so did she, but he could never know that about her.
His fingers slid down her breastbone again, and her breaths hitched when he traced the line of the sheet, dangerously close to her nipples. He watched the soft material tent, knowing what he was doing to her. Their gazes connected but, still, she refused to give him anything.
He turned to the hardwood chair beside the bed. She hadn’t even noticed it until he lifted a scrap of material. The bra of her costume dangled from his finger. Her clothes!
His jaw hardened as he toyed with the skimpy top. “That’s why you run around the city in barely more than a bikini, so you can use your power to its full potential. More skin equals more light.”
Her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth as she struggled not to say anything. He was getting too close to the truth. Her costume wasn’t so much of a style choice, but a necessity. Under a full moon, she could bring down criminals with only her face and her hands bare. But on a night like this—
Her face. Her head whipped to the side, and she searched the chair, hoping against hope. Her stomach dropped when she spotted her mask draped across its high back. The strip of black material might cover only her eyes, but it had protected her identity. Until now.
He’d seen her face.
He dropped the bikini top and picked up the black bottoms. They were made of a synthetic material, giving her the lightness and maneuverability of spandex, but the toughness of leather. Using both hands, he stretched them, watching them pull shorter to compensate, and shook his head in a strange combination of anger and disgust.
And undisguised interest.
“And more skin equals more skin. That helps rattle the boys, too, doesn’t it?” His head cocked. “What if you’re going up against a villainess?”
Some of them were distracted, too, but she wasn’t going to go there. Luna glared at him belligerently. Identify him. He knew what she looked like, right down to the birthmark on her right hip. He’d stripped her of everything she had. She had to find a way to expose him.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to go on. He was big, built and sexy. Her thoughts stalled. She shouldn’t find him attractive—not with the situation he’d put her in—but she did. Adrenaline and pheromones were creating a dangerous chemistry. She had to be careful or she’d get pulled into the reaction.
He held her belt now, the one she normally kept wrapped low around her hips. Everything she needed was on that belt, and she ached for it. Her serrated knife, her palm unit and her taser.
Her gaze stuck on the weapon. He’d grabbed her taser for her?
“The boots,” he said gruffly as he crouched.
Luna cringed. For some reason, his examination of her belongings was as personal as if he’d been going over her naked body inch by inch—which she wasn’t quite sure wasn’t next. She wanted to pull everything back, to hide from his attention.
“The boots are something else, though, aren’t they?” His gray gaze suddenly locked with hers. “They get you off.”
Under the covers, her toes curled. How did he know that? How could he have figured that out? Low-heeled boots or runner’s shoes would have been more feasible, more practical. They had just looked so stupid with her skimpy costume, but the high-heeled black boots? They’d made her cream.
She swallowed again, and this time found her mouth wet with saliva. “The stilettos make good weapons.”
“Meaning they bring down any man with a healthy dick.”
He knew he was right. There was a hint of a dark smile on his lips as he looked at her, and Luna was frustrated she couldn’t see more of his face. He might have gotten rid of the Grim Reaper cape, but his head and torso were covered with a form-fitted, one-piece spandex shirt and ski-mask type of garment. It covered the back of his head and came down over his nose and eyes. Only the lower half of his face was revealed, showing a strong jaw and hard lips. Those lips mocked her now.
“Whatever works,” she snapped. The words were out before she could stop them, and they surprised her. She shouldn’t encourage him. She shouldn’t play along—not in this.
“Oh, they do, sweetheart.” He glanced at the front of his dark jeans and shifted in discomfort. “They definitely do.”
He took another harsh breath that seemed to fuel his anger. With a curse, he began to stride around the room again. “What goes on in that head of yours? What makes you think you can go strutting around half-naked—hell, three-quarters naked—in the most dangerous parts of the city and be safe?”
Outrage hit her. She didn’t strut. When she was out at night, she was fully intent on her work. “You know that I have a cape too. It covers me from head to foot.”
“Until you whip it off and give everyone a good look.”
Her teeth ground together. That was to shine the attention on the bad guys—not herself. She did everything she could to keep herself in the background. She knew how to merge with the darkness. She’d always been smart and safe.
Until now.
He turned on her, looming over the end of the bed where her legs were spread wide under the thin sheet. “Do you know what some of those scumbags would do to you if they caught you?”
Her stomach clenched, and her outrage dimmed. The real question was, what was he going to do with her?
She watched him unblinkingly, afraid to move, afraid to say anything that would make him more upset than he already was. His lips might mock her, but his fingers were clenched and his breaths heaved. The stretchy material of his costume clung to a chest that was heavily muscled. In the dark shadows, each hard curve and dip was delineated. His uniform kept him as covered as she was left bared, and the disparity struck her. Dark versus light. Good versus evil.
Her need to see his face grew to a craving. She wanted to know the color of his hair. Was it thick and silky? Dark and wavy? She wanted to touch that chest, with nothing between her fingertips and his skin.
And she knew it was wrong. All of it. He hadn’t rescued her. He’d pulled her further into the depths of danger. All that darkness might be seductive, but temptations were rarely good for you. She knew this man was bad for her, right down to his core.
“I’ll have you put away for this,” she said quietly. “I’ll have you put away for life.”
His expression went even darker. “You and what army?”
“The justice system will be enough.”
A bark of laughter escaped him, the sound rusty and harsh. He moved again and suddenly he was over her, his hands braced on either side of her pillow. “If you believe that, then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”
His body hovered inches above hers, close but still too far away. Her body tingled, wanting what it shouldn’t. Then his hand was fisting in the sheet, his knuckles pressing hard between her breasts. When he ripped the covering off her, it was like being splashed with chilled air. He tossed the sheet aside, baring her all the way to her cuffed ankles and pink-painted toenails. Luna arched, wanting to run, wanting to hide, but there was no escape.
His big hand covered one breast, and that cool heat poured through her. “Are you out there fighting for truth and justice, Luminescence, or does the danger just turn you on?”
“You won’t win,” she gasped.
“The hell I won’t.”
He squeezed her nipple hard, but then his touch was gone. It reappeared, lower and hotter. He cupped her pussy and ground the ball of his hand
against her. Luna’s thighs quivered. With her legs spread wide, he could touch her however he liked, whenever he liked. Her hips pressed into the mattress as he slid his thumb between her soft, delicate folds. When he lifted it, it was wet.
“What is it that gets you going?” he asked, his voice going steely. “Danger, or me?”
She couldn’t respond. What he was doing was shocking, titillating, and she shouldn’t like it. Couldn’t like it. It went against everything she believed in, everything she’d put herself on the line for, but she couldn’t dispute the evidence.
He bent down over her, his gray eyes turning pewter.
“Danger?” He swirled his thumb deliberately around her clit. “Or me?”
Zero to kinky in 3…2…1…
Inside Bet
© 2012 Katie Porter
Vegas Top Guns, Book 2
As junior partner of an accounting firm, Heather Morris is at the top of her game. Her straight-laced colleagues wouldn’t believe the secrets she hides: her wild teenage past, work-of-art tattoo and nipple ring.
Her orderly life veers off course when she’s approached at a wine tasting by an arrogant pretty boy with a dirty mind and a hardcore dangerous profession. She finds herself tempted to step outside her respectable façade for some well-deserved excitement.
Captain Jon “Tin Tin” Carlisle knows women. Loves women. One glimpse of the nipple ring under Heather’s conservative blazer lights up all his instincts. He’s stumbled upon a rare treasure: an exotic beauty with a sexy laugh and a taste for dares.
After a red-hot hour of roulette, their simmering attraction bursts into an exploration of mutual passion that tests even Jon’s erotic limits. Soon he craves something he’s never desired before. More. But for Heather, more means trusting, and trusting leads to trouble.
Now Jon must decide if the best sex of his life is worth chancing his heart on a woman who shields hers so well.
Warning: Contains hot power play featuring a fighter pilot who comes from old money but knows all about bringing the dirty. Also: a nipple ring, sex on the hood of a hella sweet sportscar, and one teensy, tiny, wickedly naughty fluid exchange.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Inside Bet:
“You’re rather self-assured.” Heather faced forward again, but nothing in her posture suggested that he should remove his hand. She dropped the hem over her top so that lace simply draped over his wrist. Brave girl. He rewarded her with a teasing, kneading motion along the dip of her waist.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked against her throat.
“Has anyone ever told you it verges on arrogant?”
“Once or twice. Or more.”
“You don’t care?”
He didn’t really like talking to her without seeing her eyes. Considering her measured, careful voice, she was more difficult to read without precise physical clues.
“Arrogant is what frightened people call bold.” He didn’t need to bend far to speak directly into her ear. In her heels, she was nearly his height. Good thing his ego had never been fragile. Actually, he rather liked the advantages. It made a whole host of sexual positions easier to contemplate. “When am I going to see your panties?”
“Lay another bet, flyboy.”
The croupier had gathered all the chips, paid out the few winners and opened the table for more bets.
“What’s your birthday?”
That earned him a sidelong glance over her shoulder. “The seventh of August.”
“Not long off.”
She laced her fingers over his, across her stomach, with the layer of silk in between. “Plan on buying me a present?”
He leaned their bodies forward to drop another $100 chip on the black square marked seven. Her ass tucked neatly against his cock. Just as he’d thought. They would fit well together.
“What do you want?”
“Everything I’m worth,” she said. “So maybe the sun and the moon?”
“I’ll throw the stars in too.”
“You think you’re pretty slick.” No question there. Just bemused humor. “But I’m still waiting on our side bet.”
“How slick you are. That’s my reward if I win.”
“What?”
A fine trembling had taken over her limbs. He was perversely proud that she didn’t back down, despite obvious jitters.
“If I win with a black seven, I get to find out how wet your panties are.”
“Here?” Her swallow was an audible click. “How?”
He slid his pinkie under the band of her skirt. Not far enough to brush the top hem of her underwear, but enough to make her think of them. “I’ll leave that up to you.”
Suddenly she laughed. The tension drawing her shoulders tight against his chest dissolved. “You know what? Fine. At 37-to-1 odds, the chances I’ll have to pay out are slim.”
He hid a real smile against her nape. So many to tuck away that evening. “But there’s still a chance.”
“You like chances?”
He darted out his tongue and claimed a taste of her skin. Soft peaches and rich cream. “I live for them.”
The uniformed croupier declared the table closed and propelled the roulette wheel with a flick of her wrist. The white ball bounced twice before settling into a smooth counter-roll against the wheel’s movement.
Heather’s breathing went shallow and fast. He spread his hand over her stomach, the better to feel the fast rise and fall of her diaphragm. She’d breathe like that on her way to orgasm.
Enjoying the lustrous feel of her skin against his lips, Jon didn’t lift his face. He didn’t need to. Her lush body’s sudden jolt told him the exact result.
The ball had landed in the number seven pocket.
“Are you going to pay up, Ms. Morris?”
“I’d never welsh on a bet.”
“Like I said, the method is up to you.” He brushed a lock of dark brown hair away from her ear. Although he didn’t want to give her an out, neither did he want to hear the word panda yet. If pushed too far too fast, she would back off entirely. “You can whisper the answer, if you’d rather.”
She turned slowly. The crowds around the table meant they stayed pressed together. No way she could’ve missed the brush of his stiffening prick across her hip. Maybe now she wouldn’t doubt its size.
Pale blue eyes evaluated him, as if he were an impossible equation. Good. He enjoyed being that tough to read.
She patted his shirt along the line of his vest. Lovely hands. Her long fingers were tipped with a fresh French manicure. He imagined how they’d look when clawing linen sheets as he edged her nearer and nearer to coming. How long could he sustain her there without letting her go over?
“Stay right here,” she said, her voice huskier than ever.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be back?” He didn’t like that question after hearing it said aloud. Too…undisciplined.
“You’ll just have to wait and find out.”
She disappeared into the crowd. Jon watched her as far as he could. She didn’t wiggle as she walked—more like she slinked along. Her hips telegraphed every sensuous intention. Unfortunately, a stream of Japanese tourists following a tour guide’s up-held umbrella closed off his view.
He turned back to the table. While accepting his winnings and handing the croupier a nice tip, he tried to regulate a flush of pure excitement. He had an inkling of what she was up to. If Heather managed, he’d be very proud of her—and more intrigued than ever. She was the kind of woman who tasted risk carefully. The tip of her tongue at first. Not a deep swallow. That made every tiny step all the more valuable.
He gambled too much while she was gone, dropping four hundred dollars on a single spin. Seven again, since it had already brought him such luck. His parents would be appalled if they could see him, so it was a good thing he didn’t answer to them anymore. Grandfather’s trust fund remained excessively handy for pissing them off and for k
illing time.
When she returned, she slid under his arm as if she weren’t tormenting him with every movement. As if she belonged there. Her fingers ducked into his trouser pocket and out again in a wickedly fast move.
She carefully faced the roulette table as she spoke. “I think you’ll be happy.”
Slipping his hand into his pocket, Jon found lace and silk. If he weren’t careful, he’d come to associate the combo with her. The tiny scrap of panties was unmistakably wet. Not drenched—not yet—but now she was bare under her tailored skirt. Any stray breeze could curl beneath the hem to stroke her skin. He wondered if she waxed or kept a delicate thatch of curls.
“Good girl,” he purred.
That earned another backward glance. Black irises swelled to deep pools. “Time for another bet.”
He pulled her flush to his hips. “What age did you lose your virginity?”
Hot, bright red flushed her high cheekbones. “Fourteen.”
Ignoring a jolt of excitement, he placed a single chip onto the number. “So young. Was it worth it?”
Her laugh this time was awkward. Rough at the edges. “It depends what you mean. Did I get the validation I was looking for? Sure.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He wrapped his arm all the way across her belly so that he clutched her opposite hip. Her curves fit the body he’d forged through years of discipline. “I wanted to know if you came.”
She shuddered then shook her head. “No.”
“That is a damn pity.”
“Can’t expect that much when you’re so young and stupid.”
“Ready for our next wager?”
She let her head bend back to rest on his shoulder. “Lay it on me, flyboy.”
“If I hit, I want to see you make yourself come.”
“An inside bet?”
“Yup.”
“Again, the odds are on my side.”
“And look where that logic got you last time.” He chuckled against her loosely bound hair, catching the light scent of roses. “The house edge is just over five percent. Five point two six, actually. You should know, I lost two rounds while you were gone. Don’t play it based on numbers. Agree because you want me to know exactly what makes you break apart—the way you touch yourself when you’re all alone.”
Lexie Page 21
