by Anya Breton
Dion clenched his fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her. He shouldn’t want to comfort her. It wasn’t like him. Especially not with a woman openly derisive of him and his lifestyle.
“I guess she has enough to go to New York.” From the way she kept her gaze riveted on the floor, Dion doubted she spoke for his benefit.
It was clear when she turned her back on him to leave. Had she forgotten he was there? He trailed her quietly into the corridor, where she unknowingly led him to a bedroom that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years.
Had the space with the delicate cream-and-blue decorations belonged to her deceased mother? The thick coating of dust on the older woman’s photographs backed up what he’d learned of the Avira matriarch’s passing—she’d been a young mother and the unfortunate event had occurred some time ago.
He took in Samantha’s hunched shoulders. She’d worked hard to keep her sister with her rather than letting the state break them apart. Samantha had succeeded, beautifully if truth be told. He admired her for that.
She stood in front of the metal bed frame, staring at the eyelet coverlet stretched across the queen mattress. Her shoulders lifted with each unsteady breath she took. For once Dion wasn’t thinking of fucking her. He was thinking of how he could fix her life.
Hell. What had he gotten himself into?
This was supposed to be sex and retribution. How did the only woman to ever humiliate him get on the receiving end of his aid?
Because she asked. Dion had never been able to refuse a woman’s plea. But Samantha hadn’t asked him to fix her life.
Outward appearances implied things were good for her. Catering two high-profile weddings had propelled her into the news, where he regularly saw her face. She was successful in her own right. The witch didn’t need him to improve her business.
Staring at her hunched figure told him a different story. She was unhappy. Dion shouldn’t care. Samantha made it clear he was beneath her notice. And yet that kiss…
Was the problem her inability to control her sibling? According to his Gamma’s last call, Kari Avira was eighteen now. She’d soon graduate from high school—provided she finished the year instead of going to New York. Perhaps Kari needed advice from an adult who wasn’t part of the family. And he knew exactly how to persuade her to listen.
Chapter Six
Sam hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone until she heard the shifting of shoes against the parquet floor behind her. She whipped around to find the broad-shouldered figure of Dion Hebert quietly backing into the corridor.
He’d followed her. Into the house. He’d seen her mother’s room.
The urge to shout at him was strong. Especially when she saw the softened set of his red-velvet lips. Did he pity her?
She managed an icy statement. “You can leave the money in the living room.”
The weretiger’s eyes widened. And then they narrowed into fine chocolate slivers. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Each syllable jabbed her ears with condescension.
Sam’s chin came up all on its own. “I haven’t forgotten I have to fuck you.”
The rise of his anger heated the air. If she were smart, she’d have immediately apologized, especially when his body drew into a tight line. But Kari’s desertion had upset Sam too much to behave properly. So she defiantly glared at the man.
“I meant that I was owed a little gratitude. A simple ‘thank you, Dion, for rescuing my sister last night, persuading the weaver to hand over the cash Kari earned for her sacrifice and then turning him over to the Rangers’ would have been nice.”
Sam’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment. She did owe him gratitude for how fast he’d found Kari. A thank you would have come easily if he’d done it out of the kindness of his heart. But he hadn’t.
Dion stepped forward into her personal space before she could point out this had been a transaction. “We both know you want to fuck me. And before I’m done with you, you’ll beg me to do it in public.” The words were a dark promise that made her breath catch in her throat.
The weretiger stood a silent beat, staring forcefully out of angry eyes, and then he stalked through the corridor. Sam remained where she was long after the front door closed.
Would there ever be a reality in which she’d beg to be fucked in public?
Sam had never begged for sex in her life, let alone pled for something so deviant. But…Dion was another species, literally and figuratively. She’d never met anyone who exuded raw sexuality like he did. He’d probably been that sexy even before he got infected.
As if their differences weren’t great enough, he was also an Alpha—responsible for a pack of weretigers. They stuck to their own kind.
Didn’t they?
Deriding him was easier than dealing with her attraction to a man she could never have.
When Sam finally moved, she found an envelope atop the hall table. Inside was a cashier’s check for thirty thousand dollars.
Now her sister had little reason to stay.
* * * * *
A fresh tureen of lobster bisque hung from Sam’s arms on her trip across the dining room.
“These crab cream puffs are amazing and the pâté is decadent. Who did your catering?”
Feigning ignorance, Sam continued the trip at a slower pace.
“Simply Gourmet,” the hostess eagerly replied. “Ah, there is the owner now. Samantha? Come meet the food editor for the Times.”
“Certainly,” Sam replied. “May I bring the fresh lobster bisque to the table for your guests first?”
“Fresh lobster bisque,” the food editor, a delicate woman with hair the shade of cocoa powder, exclaimed with a delighted smile. “How about I follow you so I’m the first to partake?”
“Of course.” Sam returned the smile as best she could.
Hours, she’d spent baking and cooking for this event. She’d wondered where Kari was nearly every minute of it. Sam’s distraction continued as the food editor moaned her appreciation of the bisque.
Kari had spent the night at a friend’s house. Or so the late-night text message claimed. Sam hadn’t heard a peep out of the girl since. Only the occasional Witchbook and Facebook update told Sam that Kari was still among the living.
“You have to tell me how you persuaded Dion Hebert to attend your dinner party.”
The mention of his name brought her shoulders back stiff. Sam’s gaze shot to the speaker. A beautiful woman sporting a black cocktail dress in an indecent length chatted with the matronly hostess. The woman’s attention darted to the back of the room in between sips from her wineglass.
Was Dion here? If the weretiger was in the building, he’d no doubt caught his name in the conversation. Especially considering the bombshell speaking it.
Sam needed to disappear. Fast.
She finished checking the status of the chafing dishes along the buffet and then excused herself from the food editor to check on the refills in the kitchen. Losing a chance to chat with a journalist who might give free publicity was frustrating. But a run-in with Dion would be worse.
Her assistant was hard at work unboxing the champagne flutes at the back of the makeshift kitchen. Sam checked her watch. The dinner buffet would run for another half hour and then they’d replace it with champagne and cake.
Sam sensed the change in the air before she noted the lift of her assistant’s eyebrows. Someone had joined them, someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Slowly she turned to face the interloper, knowing by the displacement of the air and the faint scent of bergamot that it was a large male.
The weretiger Alpha leaned against the wall, watching her. His handsome face neither smiled nor frowned. He’d dressed for a party—clad in black slacks that were fitted to his narrow waist before flaring gently around his hips. A taupe blazer hung open, framing a white dress shirt. Sam tried to keep her eyes from going to the golden skin visible between the undone buttons of his collar.
She played stupid. “Is the b
uffet missing something, sir?”
Dion’s chest jumped slightly, a laugh, she thought. “Yes.” His lips formed a wicked grin. He pushed off the wall and tracked forward until he could lower his volume. She assumed so the assistant at the back of the room wouldn’t hear. “It’s missing ‘all-I-can-eat Air witch’.”
Sam didn’t stop the disgusted snort. “That has to be the worst line I’ve ever heard.”
His smile remained despite her insult. “I thought it was sexy.”
“I’d expect something like that from a horny teenager,” Sam retorted. “Not a grown man with his own business.”
The weretiger stepped into her personal space. Sam stumbled back a foot to avoid him. He tracked her movements as though she was prey. And she supposed she was.
Dion’s wicked smile faded into something a little too serious. Especially given the words he spoke next. “Maybe you make me feel like one.”
“I’ll work harder to stop—”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and brought himself flush with her chest before she could finish the statement. And then he kissed her, hard and needy like no horny teenager she’d ever met.
His bergamot scent filled her nostrils, teasing it with sweet heat. Before Sam could close the surprised part in her lips, Dion’s tongue slid between. He tasted of crab puffs, buttery bisque and male. But the flavors took a backseat to how he made her feel. Sam didn’t want to acknowledge the hot shiver that spread through her limbs. It was impossible to ignore as it woke her every nerve. A soft moan escaped her throat.
Shuffling footsteps sounded from behind her and then the door whispered open. The soft bang hinted her assistant had left her. Alone. With the city’s Underground kingpin.
The weretiger’s left hand slipped behind her back and brought her closer while his tongue made lazy motions over hers. The ridge of his erection nestled against her pussy. One kiss and he was already aroused. Something in the party must have worked him into a sexy frenzy. Or was it that they were feet from a crowded party?
The memory of their deal—that he wanted to fuck her in public—caught her breath in her throat. What if he planned to do it now? She was being paid to work! And the food editor from the Times was out there. This could ruin her business.
Sam pushed at his shoulders rather than acknowledge the answering need in her now throbbing pussy. He didn’t note her small movements in his quest to devour her mouth. When the fingers of Dion’s right hand formed over her breast and a low groan rumbled his chest in front of her, Sam forgot what she’d been worried about.
Pleasure shot tiny frissons from her tightening nipple out across her chest. She let her arms curl over his broad shoulders rather than shoving him away. The weretiger’s back shivered as her nails trailed along the bare skin above his collar. Her fingertips slipped into the cropped chocolate hair at his nape. It was soft, almost like a cat’s fur. Sam couldn’t resist petting it exactly as she might a feline. The male made another contented sound, this one closer to a purr than a rumbling groan.
Dion lifted her off the floor. His broad steps smacked her chest against his. A table dug into the small of her back for a mere second before he deposited her atop the metal surface. His mouth never left hers, instead renewing the fervor of his kiss as he parted her thighs to step within.
Deftly, he tugged the crisp white shirt from the waistband of her black-linen pencil skirt, and then his fingers skimmed the bare skin of her tummy.
Was his skin as soft as his hair?
He didn’t protest when she removed her hands from his neck and pushed at his blazer. He shrugged the garment off, briefly withdrawing his hand from her stomach so he could pull his limb from his sleeve.
Sam yanked at the shirt he wore beneath. She wanted to feel him—to touch the muscles she’d only fantasized about. He must have known, or shared her impatience, because he gripped the buttons lining his cotton top and tugged until the plastic discs scattered on the linoleum.
The golden span of the chest in front of her was too alluring to ignore. Sam splayed her fingers over his chest first before allowing them to slip to the circle of his nipples. His breath hitched. And then he frantically shoved the buttons on her shirt through the tiny holes. Yet for all his effort elsewhere, the weretiger continued to kiss her to the edge of senselessness.
Dion spread the fine cotton away from her chest, revealing her filmy white bra. A low groan emitted from his throat, and then his fingers plunged beneath the lacy cup. His teasing motions over her taut nipple built wonderful warmth deep within her. She brought her pelvis fully against his, seeking more. The weretiger ground his cock against her pussy in reaction. This time it was a growl that tore through his throat as the emulation of the sex act became almost too much to handle.
Sam let out a startled hiss when her nearly bare bottom impacted the icy metal of the table below. When had he lifted her skirt?
She forgot the cool temperature when the weretiger’s rigid cock rubbed at the barely there lace of her thong panties through the soft twill of his slacks. Friction in exactly the right place made Sam dig crescent-shaped marks around his nipple.
Dion’s tongue withdrew from her mouth. She whimpered at the loss. But soon he nibbled at her chin, sparking a hot trail of shivery heat down her neck. Sam had thought she’d scream for him to get away the first chance he gave her to. Now she’d scream if he did.
Dion deftly unfastened the clasp at the front of her bra, spreading the cups wide in time to capture a nipple between his talented lips. The sensation of him sucking at her like a decadent treat shouldn’t have transfixed her. But it did. However, she wasn’t so hypnotized that she didn’t note the meandering path his fingers took down her belly.
Dion skipped over the bunched fabric at her waist. His hand soon fell against her inner thigh an inch above her stocking’s lace band. Fingernails grazed the skin there, pushing at the lace until it threatened to roll. And just when she thought it would slide away, Dion’s fingers began the teasing path up her thigh.
Sam no longer cared where they were or who was on the other side of the wall. Her only concern was getting the weretiger’s cock inside her. Now.
Maybe he needed a hint. Sam plunged her hand beneath the waistband of his fine slacks. But when she clasped his long, rigid length, she began having second thoughts.
The rumors of Alpha endowment were true—he was huge.
Dion jerked at her touch. He brushed his hand over her weeping pussy in retaliation. Perhaps enjoying the whimper she let loose, Dion ground the heel of his palm against her lace with dark intent.
Rough fabric rubbed against her throbbing clit. It wasn’t enough. Not by half. She responded with a thrust of her hips against him and a squeeze of the swelling head hidden beneath his pants. A silent demand for more.
His low growl echoed within the room, the only warning he was about to lose control. Faster than she could follow, the weretiger unfastened and dropped his slacks to the floor. He tore the lace from her hips with a swift motion she barely felt. The ruined scrap landed on the floor beside his garments. Foil tore, and then his fingers gently grasped her tormenting hand and set it to his shoulder. Her breath held during the second it took him to roll the rubber over himself.
She lost the ability to reason once he positioned that hot tip—if the engorged head could be considered a tip—at her entrance.
Chapter Seven
Dion hadn’t been quite sure the witch-with-the-tits did want to fuck him until the moment she brought her bottom lip between her teeth instead of shouting rape. His dick was millimeters from entering her. She had exactly one second to put a stop to this.
Please don’t stop this.
The dig of her fingernails into his shoulders, a move that brought him slightly forward, was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly he eased his dick into the dark, sweet-scented passage between her smooth thighs. His eyelids fluttered closed as the muscles parted for him and then embraced him in a hot caress. Each centimet
er he pushed in rewarded him with a tighter fit.
She felt amazing. Though he hadn’t been Samantha Avira’s first, he might have been her second. The knowledge should have made him retreat rather than drive deeper and squeeze her closer to his chest—his heart.
The thought flared out of nowhere, startling him nearly enough to release her. But then the witch sighed into his neck, tickling his skin with her warm breath. It was little incentive to retreat. She was so slick, so eager, but not quite ready for all of him.
Dion withdrew at a slow, torturous pace that made her wantonly shake her hips. His eyes rolled as a moan escaped him unbidden. Was she tormenting him with those squeezes of her inner muscles?
He allowed himself a single moment to catch his breath before he plunged right back into the sweet torment. Her black suede pumps thudded against the floor. And then silk-covered legs coiled around him. The witch used her new pose to bring him closer with a powerful clench of her thighs. Another moan echoed in the space at the feel of her muscles tightening fully around his dick. She’d taken all of him this time. Every spare inch of his length. And fuck if it didn’t feel as though he’d found paradise.
He needed more of her. In his mouth. In his hands. Everywhere. Dion’s fingers molded around her taut ass. He dragged it to the edge of the table, grinding the rough hair on his pelvis against her beautifully shaved pussy. His mouth found hers as she gasped from the jolt of desire she’d no doubt felt from the coarse texture against her swollen clit. He swallowed it with a pleased sound of his own.
She wiggled against him, seeking to hurry the pleasure he’d delayed. Dion intended to bring her at least once. He’d hoped to give Sam multiple orgasms—so she’d think of him when she thought of pleasure—but she simply felt too damn good. He wasn’t able to hold out for much longer.
It was the witch with the glorious tits who thrust next. She brought her pelvis back as far as she could go with his palms bracing her, and then she slammed herself forward over his cock. Dion could do nothing but groan at the desire lancing through him.
