Holt the Interceptor

by Rhiannon Neeley

  “Mine,” he growled, slicing his thumbs into the cleft of her bottom.

  Ivy began to shake, her need for him to be inside her almost unbearable. She felt him move closer. She struggled to look over her shoulder but she couldn’t. Her ass was too high in the air, her core totally exposed to him. She felt wicked and wanton. It had never been like this. Never. And she wanted more. It was delicious, this feeling of being at his mercy.

  “Mine,” he groaned out again, using his thumbs to spread her.

  Ivy shuddered beneath his touch, any protest she may have had swallowed by a lust she’d never experienced before.

  The head of his cock pushed against her opening, teasing, while he rubbed her anus with a rough thumb. Ivy wanted to push back, let her pussy swallow him whole, but she couldn’t. She had no leverage. “Holt … please, Holt.”

  “Tell me what you want,” he said, rubbing his dick against her slick opening.

  “Fuck me,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “What?” He moved against her again, his thumbs pulling her wider.

  “Fuck me. Fuck me!” She was breathless, had to have him.

  Holt chuckled and squeezed her ass as he slid just the head of his dick insider her wet heat. Tingling sparks skittered up through her lower regions as she gripped him with her sheath. Her pebble-hard nipples brushed against the skin-soft leather of the chair.

  “Ah, God, Holt. You’re—you’re killing me,” she whined, trying to wiggle.

  “How do you want it, Ivy? Shallow and quick?” He did three fast strokes, barely inside of her. “Or hard and deep.” Holt rammed his rod deep into her in one solid thrust. A white-hot rush flowed through her, her body turning to nothing more than shaking jelly. He drew back and impaled her again, jolting her body with his power. Stars sparkled behind her eyelids as a fresh flood of waves rolled through her. She’d never been this full, his cock ramming into her, deep, all the way. “Oh-Oh … yesss,” she hissed, feeling him draw back for another attack. Her ride was just beginning up the crest to another orgasm. She wanted to touch the sky. He could take her there.

  “Like it rough, babe?” he said, his fingers digging into her hips as he entered her full force.

  “Yes! Oh Jesus yes.” It was building, ever building, the feeling that she was going to explode. His thrusts shot through her, sparking in her nipples, tingling through her tongue.

  “More?” he asked, his voice so deep it rumbled through her soul. “You’re mine, Ivy. Mine. You got that?”

  Ivy was gasping, teetering on the edge of oblivion. “More…”

  He stopped, his fingers gripping her.

  Ivy shook her head. Tears stung her eyes. Oh god, he couldn’t stop now. Her pussy was thrumming, clenching around the hard shaft that was buried in her.

  “Say it, Ivy. Say you’re mine.”

  Ivy quivered. He was laying claim. “I’m yours, Holt. Now. Always. Yours.”

  He began again.

  Ivy felt the coil in her belly tighten again, stronger than before. Holt increased his pace, ramming her. The sound of skin slapping skin filled her head. Sweat ran from her in rivulets, wetting the leather that she rubbed against, making it feel like twin tongues lapped at her breasts as she brushed over the back of the chair. His strokes were deep and strong, just like the man himself. Ivy let out a gasp every time he drove his cock home. “Ah—ah—ah,” whispered from her lips. Animalistic lust raced through her veins, drugging her as her heart chugged and clenched.

  Holt groaned behind her, plunging yet again. “Damn, your pussy is so hot. Tight,” he ground out.

  Each word was a shock running through her.

  His cock pulled back, slid in, pulled back.

  “So close,” she said, her synapses firing like firecrackers.

  “Come, Ivy, milk my cock with that tight little pussy,” Holt ordered.

  He surged forward and Ivy burst at the seams. She convulsed with the strength of her orgasm, fireworks shooting through her nipples, her pussy cramping around him like a vise. “Holt!” she screamed, praying that he would ground her because she was flying.

  *

  Holt grit his teeth, feeling his seed boiling up through his dick. He was close—so close he didn’t think he could last another second. Ivy was coming, her body relinquishing control to her passion. She screamed his name, her voice ragged. Sexy. Wild. Her muscles rippled in spasm beneath his hands as he held her.

  He thrust into her again, her pussy so wet that her juice ran down her thighs and wet the front of him. He breathed deep, her scent so powerful that he could taste it in the back of his throat, a seductive perfume. He slid back, then shoved deep again, feeling like a rutting bull.

  Damn, it was good. Her pussy sucked and milked him as her orgasm wet on and on until finally he couldn’t take it. His seed burst forth and deep inside her as a fever washed over him. It seemed to spill from him forever, his legs stiff, his body shaking.

  Holt was covered in sweat. Ivy was, too. Her skin was slick beneath his hands. He struggled to hold on. Holt dropped his head down, trying to regain his breath as his explosion subsided. Ivy’s muscles trembled beneath her skin, the vibration transferring into his hands.

  Holt withdrew his dick from her precious core and leaned over her. Gently, he lifted her up. “Ivy?” He turned her around to face him, setting her on her feet. She started to crumple, her legs not holding her. He caught her, picking her up like a baby in his arms and carried her to the bed. Sitting down, he cuddled her in his lap. “Ivy? Are you okay?” Fear that he’d hurt her scratched at him. Brushing a hand over her damp forehead, he looked deep into her sleepy eyes. Her pupils were dilated wide, darkening her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, as was her chest, her lips parted. At least she’s breathing, he thought, fear gnawing at him. “Ivy, did I hurt you? Talk to me.”

  She blinked. Ran her tongue over her lips, then cleared her throat. “Damn, Holt,” she said, her eyes coming to life but her voice coarse from her screams, “Can we do that again?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Two weeks later…

  Ivy stepped out of the shower and pulled Holt’s thick robe around her, tying it at the waist. It wrapped her up completely but she loved the feel of the terrycloth against her skin. Leaning in close to the mirror, she wiped the steam from the glass with her hand.

  She grinned at her reflection.

  Damn, I’ve never been happier, she thought, noting the rosiness that now flushed her once too pale cheeks. The past two weeks had been … heaven.

  Ivy had worried that Jerry, the guy who had taken her out to Bloody Hell that night, would resurface and make some outrageous claim about Holt and the others murdering everyone on the boat. The Ravens had monitored the news coming out of Crystal View but nothing had been mentioned, except that fact that they had found an abandoned boat and secured it until the owners showed up to claim it. So, Jerry either was keeping his mouth shut or had told himself to forget what he had seen that night. Either way, Ivy didn’t care as long as her Holt didn’t end up in trouble for doing his job … killing vampires.

  Heather had healed and she was beginning to act like herself again, though Ivy did catch her chewing her nails every so often. Heather had been given a room in the wing that Rogue and Colin shared and Heather and Colin seemed to be becoming friends. Ivy was watchful of Colin. Heather had been hurt enough. Colin had assured her that he’d never harm Heather in any way. Ivy had threatened him with the loss of certain body parts if he did.

  Holt’s family had made her feel welcome at Ravencrest. The Raven men were to die for. Handsome and strong, they all had presence. Their women were a mixture. All of them had gathered Ivy into the fold and Ivy had trouble keeping up with the myriad of talents among them.

  John’s wife, Madison, was a talented writer. Eric’s soon-to-be wife, Lydia, was a biologist. Lydia had treated Heather’s blood and was now in charge of the Ravencrest lab, which was an extensive well-stocked lab for a private family. Lydia was
busily testing Ramsey, looking for something that had made him immune to vampire venom. At first, Ramsey had ranted and raved about being kidnapped but over the past week, he had calmed, allowing Lydia to do as she wanted. Ivy wondered if Ramsey wasn’t smitten with the gorgeous blond.

  Dirk’s love, Casey, was a genealogist and the tenderest of all. She was just beginning to fill Ivy in on the Raven family tree. Interesting stuff. Drake, a mouthy member of the family, was kept under control by Grace, a former Sheriff who owned that wild one’s heart.

  Colin and Rogue were a pair. Apart, they were tolerable. Together, they could drive you crazy.

  Holt’s Aunt Lark, who was the mother of John, Eric and Dirk, was regal as the matriarch of the clan. Frail and birdlike, Lark Raven’s eyes had lit up when Holt had introduced Ivy as his life partner. Ivy had agreed to stay at Ravencrest but marriage was still a way off. Even then, Ivy knew in her heart that if Holt asked, she’d marry him in a heartbeat.

  Yes, all of the Raven clan was interesting and friendly people—even though their main focus was to kill vampires.

  But none were like Holt. Holt Raven was the definition of alpha male and he had been the one and only man who had ever had an ounce of control over her. Ivy raked her fingers through her wet hair, already damp between her legs at the thought of him waiting for her in the bedroom.

  She and Holt had fallen into a pleasing pattern. One that Ivy was totally satisfied with.

  When it came to sex—Holt was her master.

  She gave him total control. Sometimes he was rough and demanding, which was Ivy’s favorite experience. Other times he was gentle and loving. Those times were good, too. Every so often, he told her to make all of the moves while he lay back and enjoyed her attention. Those were the times Ivy’s mouth literally watered. Ivy had had more orgasms in the past two weeks than all of the ones before Holt Raven had come along put together.

  She reached for her toothbrush, the last thing she needed to do to get ready for him. Her mouth filling with the strong taste of mint, Ivy knew why sex with Holt was so earth shattering.

  She loved him. Deeply.

  Loved the way he looked, the way sometimes his silence spoke volumes. The danger that seemed to surround him. When he argued with her, she loved him for it. When he talked softly in her ear, telling her his dreams in the middle of the night when no one else could hear, she felt she had been given a gift and her heart swelled with a love that was bigger than she ever thought possible.

  Dropping her toothbrush back into the cup beside the sink, Ivy took a deep breath.

  Tonight promised to be exciting. She and Holt had gone shopping at an adult toy store today. They each had picked out a few things. There was one in particular that Ivy hoped Holt would consider using. Something she really wanted to explore.

  She pulled the sash of the robe tight and flicked off the bathroom light. Already her body was buzzing with heat. As she padded into the bedroom, she wondered if he had a surprise in store for her.

  He stood, naked and glorious, beside the huge bed, his face stern, and his hands behind his back.

  Ivy knew what he wanted from the look on his face. It was what she liked to do most. Even though the set of his jaw was firm, the light in his eyes spoke of his love for her.

  Ivy stepped forward and dropped the robe from her shoulders. It fell in a pool of white at her feet.

  “Master,” she said, heat firing from every pore in her body.

  A smile crossed his lips. “Mine.”

  *

  John Raven looked at the printout that Dirk had handed him a few minutes ago.

  So soon, he thought. He looked at the three that sat in front of him. Dirk, Eric and Rogue waited silently. Holt and Colin were absent from this meeting. Both were otherwise occupied. Holt was busy with Ivy. Colin was talking somewhere with Heather. Holt deserved some time off again. It still amazed John that any woman, especially one as outspoken as Ivy, had managed to break through Holt’s thick skin. No—Holt needed to stay at Ravencrest. So did Colin. Colin seemed to be the only one that Ivy’s sister, Heather, wasn’t skittish around. Heather needed Colin to lean on for a while. Her body had healed but her soul still needed care.

  That left the three sitting in front of him.

  John read the print out again.

  This was in Northeast Indiana. It had struck John that the last two vampire reports had been so close by. One in Kentucky. One in Michigan. John had met Madison while he had been on assignment in their home state—Ohio. Now a report from Indiana. This bore watching. It seemed that the Horde was drawing closer together, Clutches showing up in the Heartland, one after the other.

  But the report Dirk had given him on this one didn’t sound like a full Clutch of vampires. A small town by the name of Garville, IN had opened a new hospital one week ago. Within this first week, blood had been stolen from their on-site blood supply three times. Each time, it had only been two or three bags of blood but the hospital workers were being questioned. Dirk had run additional searches for the surrounding area of Garville and had come up with nothing. No reports of any sort of activity that could be attributed to the work of a vampire. Nothing except the missing blood.

  John shook his head. “This sounds like a loner to me,” he said. He tossed the paper onto his desk.

  “I’ll take it,” Eric said.

  “Why you?” Dirk turned toward him.

  Rogue stood up, a serious look on his face. “No. I’ll go.”

  John leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked with Rogue’s. Rogue was young and anxious but this time; John could tell the boy was dead serious. There was a certain steadfastness to his expression ever since he came back from his assignment with Holt. The tour on Bloody Hell had most definitely introduced the newest member of the team to the darker side.

  John nodded. “Rogue. You and I will go.”

  “Now wait a minute, John…” Eric shot up out of his chair.

  John stood, facing his younger brother. “Problem?”

  “What about Madison and the baby? You can’t just…”

  “Can’t just what, Eric?” John said, anger flaring. “Last time I looked, I was the head of this family business.”

  “But…”

  “No—Eric. I’m going. I’ve been out of the game for too long.” John stepped out from behind the desk and stopped directly in front of Eric. “We all have obligations now. You and I both know it. Just because we have women that we love and cherish here at Ravencrest does not mean that we stop waging the war that our ancestors began.”

  “John has a point,” Dirk said, rising from his chair. “The women know what we are. What we do. We can’t stop.”

  “Not until we end this nightmare of monsters in the dark,” John said. “I’m hoping it won’t go on through Skylar’s lifetime and into the next generation. I’m hoping that Lydia can come up with something in the lab and we can figure out a way to administer it to protect everyone.” John stepped forward until he was nose to nose with Eric. “But until that happens, I will decide who goes. This time—it’s me.”

  John stared into Eric’s ice blue eyes, waiting.

  The silence in the room was thick and heavy. Deafening.

  “All right,” Eric said after a moment. “This time you and Rogue.” He started to walk away.

  John reached out and caught his arm. “Eric.”

  Eric turned and looked at him.

  “Next time,” John said quietly.

  Eric nodded. “Next time.” He grasped John’s forearm. “Make sure you come back whole.”

  “Count on it,” John said. He turned to Rogue. “Gather your gear. We leave in an hour.”

  The group dispersed and each went their own way, leaving John alone in his office.

  He sat down behind his desk and looked at the picture that sat on the corner in a gold frame. It was of Madison, holding Skylar that day she was born. Madison’s smile glowed as she looked down at the precious bundle in her arms.


  John sighed.

  God, he wished this war was over.

  The End

  About the Author:

  Rhiannon Neeley has thought about writing all of her life and has now finally made time for it, along with learning to play an Irish jig on her fiddle. Rhiannon is a very busy woman who has her fingers in almost every pie but she does make time to reply to email if you give her a day or two.

  You can email her at Rhiannon@rhiannonneeley.com . For those of you with Irish roots, Rhiannon's 'Neeley' line hails from County Tyrone, Ireland. She has done quite a bit of research into her family tree. And of course when it come to romance, Rhiannon likes them hot and steamy and preferably paranormal.

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