by Josie Hunter
He heard her chuckle softly, and he ran his hands through the smooth silk of her hair, crooning her name almost thoughtlessly.
“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie…”
It was the only word he could think of.
She gave one final tug, her mouth suctioning his cock in a vicious rhythm. His cock felt close to bursting under the pressure, and he exploded, sending floods of cum into her mouth. She swallowed voraciously, as though she hadn’t drunk in days.
When she moved away from him, he collapsed to his knees.
* * * *
Steve couldn’t just stand by and watch. The sight of Robb’s cock vanishing between those red lips had almost been too much. He’d taken his cock in his hand and begun to stroke it in rhythm with the movement of Rosa’s mouth. He watched Robb’s head fall backward, the pleasure on his face so intense Steve almost felt it in his own cock, which pulsed and throbbed in sympathetic bliss, the head engorged, the veins tight and hard under his fingers. He’d closed his eyes, trying desperately to hold on, when he felt a warm hand cup his balls.
His eyes shot open to stare into deep brown eyes, filled with desire, lust, dominance. Her arms around his waist, she yanked his body toward her then slid one hand down to his ass. His hips thrust toward her just as her hand struck his bare ass, hard. The stinging made his cock lurch and throb. Rosa rubbed her body against his dick, up and down, her sinuous body angled so that her clit rode the pressure of his erection. Her breaths came in tiny pants, each one telling him how turned on she was, how much pleasure he gave her. Little tremors racked her body, skittering beneath the surface of her skin like the ripples of a pond, but Steve knew what it really was. He knew because he could feel the soft feathering of his fur beneath his skin. Their bodies wanted to shift, to revel in the animalistic power of the sexual act. Only the fact that they were different species kept them in their human forms. His panther howled inside of him, wanting out.
He brought his hand up and cupped one of her breasts, and she slapped his hand away.
“Did I give you permission to touch me?” Her raspy voice caressed his ears.
“No, Mistress.”
She continued to rub, harder and harder, and he groaned when he felt the shudder rush through her body. She jerked against him and gripped the cheeks of his ass. Her nails dug into his flesh, deeper and deeper, until finally he felt a spike of real pain flare through his body, and he came, his cum rushing from his cock in a splash to coat the tiny space between them.
Her lips pressed against his neck, the first kiss she’d ever given him. His heart nearly stopped beating.
“Rosa?” he whispered.
She lifted her face, and her hand came up to cup the nape of his neck.
“Kiss me, Harris.”
“Is that an order, Mistress?”
“Sí, kiss me now.”
He ducked his head and found her lips, rich, soft and oh-so-hot. He kissed her like he’d never kissed another woman in his life, putting everything he had into it to let her know how much he cared. When she pulled away, he missed her desperately.
* * * *
Marcus held his breath as she approached him. His cock was ramrod straight, hard as a rock, and she hadn’t even touched him yet. She slid her hands up his chest, winding them around his neck, and tugged his head down.
“What do you want most in the world, Gallagher?”
“To be with you…like this.”
“Then you don’t want to fuck me?” Rosa asked sweetly.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I want that too.”
She pressed her lips close to his mouth, her breath like a siren call. “Then why don’t you do it?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Jackson, take off my panties.”
Robb came up behind her and slid his hands over her hips, gathering her panties and shimmying them down her legs.
“Am I wet, Jackson?”
Robb reached between her legs, and Marcus smelled the musky scent of her arousal.
“Yes, Rosie.”
“Lick me,” she ordered.
Robb dropped to his knees behind them. Rosa widened her stance, and Marcus knew the moment Robb’s tongue touched her clit. Rosa moaned, and little shivers of delight coursed over her skin. Marcus envied him the taste of her. Rosa tugged his head down and traced the seam of his lips with her tongue.
“Lift me now, Gallagher,” she whispered. “Fuck me.”
He caught her thighs in his hands and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, raising her body slightly, and impaled herself on his stiff, pulsing cock. The feel of her pussy was heaven, the walls clutching his dick like a vibrating glove. He began to lift her up and down on his cock. With each slide and thrust, her body serpentined in a sinuous curve, and she ran her clit over the length of him. After several moments, she grabbed his shoulders and began to bounce, forcing his cock deeper and deeper into her until she threw her head back and bit her lip. Her body convulsed in his arms, and her pussy began to milk him in violent contractions.
Robb came up behind her and caught her when she nearly slipped, running his hand over her breasts, pinching her nipples, hard and quick, as her pussy continued to pulse around Marcus’s cock. Steve put his big hand behind her head and slammed his mouth over hers to catch the scream she looked ready to release.
* * * *
They held her while her body came down from the pinnacle of bliss. She sagged in their arms. Her limbs were like rubber, completely useless, and she would have slipped from Marcus’s arms, but Steve had put his hand under her ass and Robb was holding her back.
Her three Tomcats, her three panthers, her three men. Each different, yet all possessing the same wonderful traits and offering her a bounty of gifts—comfort, affection, security, sexual prowess, intelligence, bravery…and quite possibly love.
She slid to her feet, the three of them huddling around her in a circle of caring. Each wore a sappy smile, though she had no doubt it mirrored her own.
They cleaned up and dressed, and then they settled down to drink the champagne, celebrating their new relationship. No one had felt the need to call upon a safe word, and she was grateful for that, but more grateful that she’d allowed herself to open and accept what they offered.
She took one last sip of champagne, gave each of them a soft, gentle kiss, and then she said, “I’m sure your panthers need to run, and I need to go home now. I have four classes tomorrow, the first at ten.”
“A run does sound pretty nice.” Steve pulled his hair back and wrapped it in an elastic band.
“We can drive out to Cattail,” Robb said, “or just hit the woods outside of town.”
Marcus shook his shoulders. “My panther’s been prowling since I got here. I say we just get to the edge of town, shift, and hit the woods.”
They agreed that would be the best option, but all three offered to walk her home. She needed some time to think so she declined. They walked her downstairs. Their gazes lingered on her as she turned toward the door. She knew because she could feel the warmth of their stares on her back in the chill of the club.
She nodded to Redwolf and stepped out into the warmth of the Texas night. She smiled.
Could her life be any better than this?
* * * *
Raptor took one last look around his little apartment—handicap accessible, of course. It was quite a cheery little place actually, but then everything in perfect Catamount was fucking perfect, from the he-should-be-a-god alpha to the pretty little bitch he planned to kidnap.
He figured it would be a piece of cake. She’d been nothing but nice to him, always friendly and helpful every time they saw one another. She waved to him every morning from her kitchen window. He’d only seen the balcony, of course, but she had nice wrought iron furniture and buckets of colorful flowers. He imagined her little apartment was blissfully perfect too. Not that he’d ever see that, even if things were different. Hell, the apartment wasn’t even handicap accessible. Oh well, water under the bridge. Pret
ty soon he’d be getting the hell out of Catamount and away from all the happy little faces of the cheery shifters. How on earth so many types of shifters could exist in one place was beyond him. He had trouble being in the same room with his brother, and they were both eagles.
It was close to 2:00 a.m. She should be done fucking those panthers and on her way home by now. He knew her schedule, and she had four dance classes the next day. Rosa took her dancing and class schedule seriously. Sure, he’d probably have to hurt her, but he didn’t think that mattered. He could still admire her good qualities.
He glanced once more at the clock. He hoped to catch her before she hit the sack because daylight might put a damper on his plans.
He cracked his knuckles and stuck a hat on top of his head—it said Keep on Truckin’. He liked the little logo, a bunch of funny-looking guys in a conga line just happily strollin’ on down the highway with their big, clumsy feet. Some day Raptor intended to do his own bit of strolling with his own pair of big, clumsy feet. For now though, he just kept that little promise of the future tucked away in his head like a bride kept linens in her hope chest.
He glanced around once more, patted his pocket for his keys—a necessary part of his plan—and rolled toward the door.
“Showtime.”
* * * *
She tossed her purse on the table and clicked on the TV to a movie classics channel. After kicking off her shoes, she toyed with the idea of making some sleepy-time tea. She was a bit wired after their fuck-fest that evening, and she highly doubted she’d be falling asleep of her own accord. Despite three—or was it four—separate orgasms and despite her tired and rather boneless limbs, her body still thrummed with energy, and her inner serpent really wanted to come out and play. She generally didn’t like to let it loose too often, but her snake had displayed such control lately. She felt the inner animal deserved a treat.
“Olly olly oxen free,” she murmured.
She threw back her head and laughed as her skin began to shimmer with a golden glow, and suddenly she was lost in the fabric of her dress. It was a warm nest, filled with her body heat and shadows, the perfect place to lull her to sleep, but falling asleep as a serpent was not acceptable. She needed to move. She coiled and rose up to find a way out of the silky prison, popping out through one of the armholes.
She undulated across the hardwood floor, twisting around the four legs of the table in turn then wound around the large decorative pillows lying on the floor. She rose up then darted forward to hurl herself up and onto the sofa. She spiraled around the sofa cushions, in and out between light and dark, and then her body rippled up along the back and down the arm. She raced across the floor in a surge of movement to the floor-to-ceiling window. She pressed her body against the warm glass, stretching herself long and lean and rubbing her scales over the window, satisfying the itch her inner snake had been feeling for hours.
She dropped to the floor when her serpent felt complete. She happily coiled into a circle, her tail sliding over her body and face in a gentle caress. She felt relaxed and replete, but her fangs felt full, her mouth aching with the flood of poison. They often got that way after she’d had sex, so she launched herself toward the nearest throw pillow—a turquoise one the human part of her liked very much.
No, not that one!
Too late. She bit into the cushion as deeply as she could, tearing and shredding the silk as she raked her fangs across the pillow and sank them into the fluffy interior. She expelled the poison, moving her head slowly up and down in an effort to milk her fangs dry. It felt heavenly, another sort of orgasmic release.
Tired now, and feeling very lethargic and sleepy, she almost fell asleep right there. She forced herself to lift her head, and in another shimmer, she found herself standing upright, naked as the day she was born in front of her window.
She glanced at the floor, reached down, and lifted the turquoise pillow.
“Damn, my favorite. I wish we’d choose the less expensive ones.”
She carried it to the kitchen, tossed it in the trash can, and then went to the bathroom to clean the drops of venom from her skin. Her fangs always seemed to drip for a few minutes afterward. She pulled on her silk flowered robe then returned to the kitchen. She felt much more relaxed now, but a bit of sleepy-time tea sure wouldn’t hurt. She filled the kettle with water. As she started toward the stove to turn on the burner, she glanced out the window and saw a wheelchair roll across the park.
The clock on the microwave said two thirty. What was Larry doing in the park at two thirty? She watched for several moments as he seemed to roll in a circle, around and around between the edge of the park and the bench near the gazebo. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She opened the door to the balcony and went down the back stairs in her bare feet.
He saw her coming when she’d crossed the alley. He took off his hat and waved at her, and she waved back.
“Larry, what are you doing out here? It’s two thirty in the morning.”
“Hey, Miss Rosa. Lost my keys.” His gaze swept the park. “Not sure where, but I had them when I left Hanrahan’s. I just love Irish pubs, don’t you, Miss Rosa?”
She caught the smell of beer on his breath—a lot of beer actually. “I do,” she said, nodding.
* * * *
“Care to accompany me to Hanrahan’s sometime, Miss Rosa?”
She smiled as she continued to scour the grass. “I’m not sure I could do that, Larry. I’m kind of seeing someone.”
“Oh yeah.” He nodded, trying to keep his sneer to a manageable, believable level. He tried for the right combination of disappointment, jealousy, and that bit of disdain he’d shown earlier when he’d met that fucking prick Jackson. How much disdain had that been? “The panther. Your beau.”
He must have nailed it because she said, “Sí, but perhaps we could both meet you at Hanrahan’s one evening.”
“You’re an awfully nice woman, Miss Rosa. I’d love to buy you a beer sometime.” He gave her what he hoped was a drunken, goofy grin. “I’ll even buy one for your beau. No hard feelings.”
“Then we’ll make sure that happens sometime soon.”
She walked a foot away, still scouring the ground…so close, so close. He could see the glitter of the metal in the grass.
Come on, bitch. Just a little closer.
“Hey! Look what I found!”
She leaned down, and he gave his wheels a mighty shove, rolling forward quickly. He stabbed the needle through the silk robe into her ass. Bingo! Direct hit! The silk probably made it easier than any other outfit she could have worn. He rammed the plunger, forcing the needle deeper just because he could.
Sunday, Monday, crappy days. Oh, wait, it’s Wednesday…no, Thursday. Doesn’t matter. The bitch is back.
Rosa jerked upright, her mouth opened in a silent scream. She stood frozen for a moment, her eyes wide with terror, or was that confusion? He couldn’t tell, but he didn’t give a fuck.
He counted in his head. One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four…hit the floor.
Her body crumpled and slammed to the ground. Raptor heard the rustle in the tree above him and leaves rained down over his chair. A wind swept past his face along with the smell of feathers, and suddenly Talon was standing beside him. His brother didn’t say a word, not even a, “Hey, good job, bro. Nice work.” Bastard.
Talon pulled the clothes out of the basket behind the wheelchair, yanking on the pants and shirt and stuffing his big feet into some sneakers. Keep on truckin’, bro. Talon lifted Rosa Santos in his arms and started across the park, keeping to the gravel path, where the shadows of low overhanging limbs blocked out the light from the streetlamps.
“Now that was just too darn easy,” Raptor murmured. “Good work, Raptor, if I do say so myself. Thank you so much. I concur.”
Raptor rolled behind his brother, keeping to the grass for ease of wheeling and whistling a happy tune. Thursday, Friday, crappy days.
When he heard the h
oot of an owl and the branches rustled above him, he paused beneath the big cottonwood.
“That’s my tree, you stupid bird,” he muttered, his hands clenching on the armrests. “And you’re killin’ my buzz.”
He reached down and grabbed a handful of pebbles from the gravel pathway. He hurled them into the tree, one by one, until the nocturnal bird gave a final hoot and took flight, winging its feathered way into the darkness of the sky. Merciful silence descended.
“Ah, that’s better. Keep on truckin’, bird, and remember, stay outta my tree.”
He stared after his brother’s departing back long after it had disappeared around a bend. Then he shook his head and began to sing quietly. He’d always liked The Grateful Dead. He couldn’t remember the actual lyrics, so he improvised.
“Truckin’ down to New Orleans, fuckin’ off of Bourbon Street. New girl’s gonna scream and scream. Long as we keep truckin’ along. All night long.”
Chapter 10
He’d spent most of the morning with the alpha and his pride detailing his evening with Rosa and Esteban Santos and hashing everything out. Though Robb knew his gut was right, and Rosa would probably concur, all four Lucas brothers agreed there was no physical evidence to link him to the murders or to victims, other than Adelina Santos. After all these years, finding the true cause of her death would be impossible without a witness. They all agreed, though, it would be very easy for a man with Santos’s reputation and connections to bury his involvement in any of it pretty deep, particularly if most of his contacts met with unexplained accidents or suicides, like a man named Haney had several months before. He’d killed himself after Carly Lucas had found some incriminating information and a plot to kill Senator Montgomery on his computer at the school where she’d worked. The suicide had been a good call considering Viper would have made his death far less pleasurable had Haney tried to live. All of them agreed Santos might have been covering his tracks by eliminating his middlemen for years, much as Viper would have done. Like father, like son.
