by Anya Breton
Still he asked, “Who?”
“She says her name is Sam Avira.”
“Send her back,” he said with what he hoped sounded like distraction, just in case she was eavesdropping.
He’d have a minute of privacy until his hostess made it through the crowded establishment and another while Samantha traversed the same trip back. He started the camera software on the computer to check that his hair looked as good as it had when he last stepped out of the bathroom. Likewise he made sure there were no bits of broccoli stuck in his teeth from lunch.
Why in the hell did he bother? He’d never cared what he looked like prior to seeing a woman before.
With a quick jab of his fingers, he had the program closed before Sam’s footsteps hit the back corridor. Dion set about looking as though he were deep into the accounting software for the restaurant. He had been working on payroll when her soft voice interrupted his concentration.
The light knock sounded against the wooden frame of his office moments later. Dion typed a few more letters, making a big show of hitting the enter key, and then he turned his attention on her.
“Are you busy?” she asked with a good deal of hesitance lacing that airy voice of hers.
“I’m always busy,” he replied with a half-smile. “Come on in.”
“I can come back,” the witch insisted. “When it’s not…Sunday dinner.”
Dion’s lips spread into a broad smile. “It’s not like I’m personally serving the crowd out there. I just need to get payroll finished before the banks open tomorrow.” He gestured to the clock on the wall behind him. It was at a spot she couldn’t see from her vantage point. He hoped it would prompt her into fixing that. “I’ve got plenty of time.” But she remained where she was. Her failure to join him was beginning to bother him—still, he maintained his amiable tone. “Come in. Do you want a drink? Or maybe some dinner?”
She shook her head but she did walk forward. The sight of her lean body emerging from the corridor was a pleasure to watch. She’d worn skinny jeans again and a set of black ankle boots that lifted her frame at least four inches. Samantha’s loose cowl-neck blouse looked comfortable. And easy to get into.
His dick had lengthened behind the desk long before he imagined drawing the garment down and licking her perfect tits like the simply gourmet treats they were. At least she wouldn’t see his arousal until it was too late.
He nearly smiled when the witch failed to close the door behind her. Did she think she was safe from him as long as it was open? Didn’t she recall what he’d demanded of her?
This was lining up almost too perfectly. But so had that fuck beside the party last night.
Ah. He owed her an apology for running out on her. Didn’t he? Was that why she’d come?
“I’m sorry I took off yesterday,” he said cryptically so his pack members wouldn’t know what he was referencing. “I heard someone looking for you and assumed you’d get into more trouble if they found me there.”
If his shirt hadn’t been ruined, he’d have stuck around to see if she’d invite him home. Dion had seriously considered it anyway.
Her chin lifted in a slight nod that sent her hair cascading over her shoulder. The aroma of a floral breeze floated into his nostrils, drawing his balls that much tighter.
“I understood,” the hot little witch told him.
So that wasn’t why she’d come. Dion shifted so he could fully face her. He blanked his expression of anything that might scare her off in the hope she’d reveal the reason before he gave in to his baser urges.
“I came about…” She glanced toward the corridor where they could hear the voices of a hundred diners. “The sofa,” she finished.
The sofa behind her? The one he was even now imagining bending her over so he could fuck her from behind?
“And the coffee table,” the witch added. “You shouldn’t have bought them.”
Dion sank against his chair with a surprised thud. How had he forgotten about the furniture he sent to her place? Had the sex really been that good, to wipe his mind of the costly purchase?
Yes. It had.
He rubbed a hand over the top of his hair. “If you don’t like them, you can return them for something you do like.”
“It’s not that I don’t like them. They’re beautiful. It’s just…”
He waited while she swung away, he assumed to avoid looking him in the eye. Dion wasn’t going to try to figure out what she was attempting to tell him. Especially considering how clearly uncomfortable she was with whatever she couldn’t say.
“We already made a deal,” the witch continued. “Furniture wasn’t part of it.”
So she did remember the deal. Dion didn’t like being reminded of it. And he suspected Samantha wanted to refuse his sofa because she didn’t want to have to give him more than what they’d agreed to.
He hadn’t been thinking about their deal when he went to the furniture store to find a piece that could replace her years of memories. He’d been thinking her living room looked lonely and he didn’t want her to feel alone.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Sam winced. She’d noted the tightness in his voice. “Well,” she began at the same hesitant pace she’d used on her original question at the door. “Thank you.”
He wasn’t an idiot. Samantha hadn’t come down to the seedy part of the city to thank him for furniture when she could have easily called him. The witch expected him to broach the subject of sex. She no doubt wanted to hear she’d satisfied the first portion of their deal last night—and she had. But he wasn’t going to offer up that information. Not if it meant he could get more out of her than the three instances she’d agreed to.
So when she made a move to start into the corridor, Dion stood. He had to act quickly before she caught sight of the erection pushing at his jeans. And so he used supernatural speed despite the threat of one of the vanilla waitresses walking by at any moment.
Samantha was understandably startled by his sudden appearance in front of her. He soon wiped away the confusion when he smashed his lips over hers. The witch-with-the-tits had melted for his kisses twice before. She’d do it again.
Chapter Nine
His kisses were drugged. How else could Sam explain the way her body went limp and warm in his arms each time his mouth covered hers?
It wasn’t as if she’d never been kissed. She had. Several times in fact. And by guys just as hot as Dion Hebert. More so. Maybe.
Okay. Not really. Sam didn’t think anyone was as hot as Dion Hebert except Dion Hebert.
She’d wanted to ask him why he bought her a sofa. And a coffee table. But the look on his face—that cautious smile on his lips combined with the heavy set to his eyes—made her think twice. So she’d been on her way out when he stopped her.
With a kiss.
No, not just with a kiss. Those were his palms forming over her ass. He brought her pelvis flush with his. The hard line of his cock beneath his jeans fit far too nicely against her mons.
It didn’t take much to get him going. And apparently it took even less to stop her from moving.
Dion’s tongue slipped between her lips, coiling sensually with hers. She went weak-kneed. Thankfully the grip on her ass kept her upright even as she wavered. Sam was helpless when he bared her shoulder with a freed hand.
He took advantage of her inability to reason right from wrong when he was around. The chatter of a restaurant full of Sunday diners was obvious behind her from the very open door. Yet she couldn’t lift a finger to stop him.
This would satisfy the worst of his demands. And so when he bared more than her shoulder for the warmth of his tongue, Sam did little more than gasp.
If she was honest with herself, she’d admit it felt so good to have him touch her like this, whatever the venue. For once, someone was taking care of her instead of the other way around. And while Dion’s mouth drew her nipple between his teeth for a gentle tug, she could almost forget he was an odio
us gangster with perverted needs.
The weretiger’s tongue made several rough passes around her nipple, further sending her out of her mind, before lifting so he could tug the blouse over her head. He cupped her breasts for as long as it took him to note she could barely stand on two feet. His hands went to her waist to steady her.
Or so she thought. Sam’s cheeks flushed when his fingers inched inward and circled the buttons on her jeans. Each metal fastener he pushed through its corresponding hole lifted her temperature a notch higher.
This was going to happen. He was going to fuck her. Again.
Samantha couldn’t wait. In fact, she set her hands to the edge of his T-shirt to help him out of it. In an entirely accommodating fashion, Dion bent his head so she could pull the shirt forward. He lifted his palms from the final button on her jeans long enough for her to tug the knit fabric from his wrists.
She let herself look at him, at the washboard abdomen he probably hadn’t had to work for, at the smooth, hairless skin he probably had had to work for and the wonderfully toned upper body that flexed with each motion of his fingers on her jeans. Sam let herself look until he pushed the tight denim over her ass.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Anyone could walk by and see her nearly nude. A family could get lost looking for the restroom.
Dion peeled the garment down despite the red flush in her cheeks, bending when he reached her knees. Soon, bending wasn’t enough. He crouched, bringing the denim to her ankles. There he paused with the fabric clenched in both hands. His heavy-lidded stare along the line of her body caught her breath for a different reason.
He was unbearably sexy. And he wanted her—a half Air witch caterer who had insulted him.
His tongue extended toward her belly as he dropped the jeans aside. Sam’s stomach muscles contracted away from his tormenting mouth. The gleam in his dark eyes implied he’d just begun.
Dion curled one hand around her ass. The other slipped between her thighs, gently parting them so he could cup her pussy. His thumb lightly traced the mesh of her panties, teasing far too gently. Those tiny open squares would be flooded by cream—cream the weretiger massaged into the fabric even now. She watched, enthralled as he crouched lower still to lap it up with a flick of his hot tongue.
The rough texture of his tongue rasping the mesh against her swollen flesh made Sam clench her abs. She dug her nails into his arms as a moan escaped her unbidden. Though the clink of plates nearby reminded her of their precarious situation, it was impossible to keep quiet. Over and over, the wicked man brought tiny gasps and low moans from her throat.
When Dion rose from the floor, Sam tried to hide her disappointment. She’d been close to coming. But he had other ideas. And they centered on her right breast.
Her eyes shot wide when his mouth slowly, but completely, took it inside. A low sound rumbled his throat, vibrating her nipple in a distracting fashion. Sam pressed her throbbing pussy against his bare stomach.
Footsteps in the corridor made Sam go stiff. Someone was coming. Someone would see her pressed all but nude to the restaurant’s owner!
But…she’d agreed to this. And it was just one person—one person who probably worked for him.
Sam tore her attention from the corridor. Dion watched her out of a pair of questioning eyes.
Why was he looking at her as if he was concerned? Would he have stopped if she’d demanded it? Even though she said she’d do this?
Surely not. He was a gangster, after all.
Sam gave him a barely perceptible nod to continue. A low groan escaped Dion’s chest. And then his fingers tugged at the elastic of her thong. He deposited frantic, almost rough kisses against her pussy as he dragged the elastic down her legs.
She was nude. In his office. The door was wide open. And the only thing she wanted to do now was spread her legs so he could fuck her.
“Take off your shoes,” he commanded in a hoarse version of his deep voice.
She barely noted her jeans and panties still clung to her ankles because of her shoes. Eagerly, she stepped out of the boots. Dion stood and offered an arm so she could kick off the jeans and then the panties.
“Put them back on,” he told her. “I like them.”
Her head tilted in confusion. “The shoes?”
Dion growled quietly in answer. His lips smashed over hers even as his fingers unerringly found their way to her pussy. Sam couldn’t hold up her head when he massaged her folds with that wonderful circular motion.
“Yes,” he told her now that his mouth was free. “The shoes.”
“What?” Was he talking? Was she supposed to be doing something? She couldn’t think when he touched her like that.
“Samantha.” The weretiger growled her name. He stepped aside, leaving her wobbling on her feet. A quick smack of his palm against her ass was his parting gift as he left her quivering and throbbing.
Was he leaving? After he’d stripped her? Sam would screech if he dared.
A new command echoed through the room. “Put your shoes back on. Use the sofa to keep yourself upright.”
How would she manage to stand in her heels when she could barely stand without them?
Sam wanted him. He wanted her in heels. She kicked her shoes to the side where she could hold on to the armrest. Carefully she slipped one foot into her shoe, and then the other.
There was a zip of metal against metal and then a plop of heavy fabric landing on the floor while she wobbled slightly. He was getting naked. It was about time. The silly shoe demand was completely worth her effort now.
Dion was behind her seconds later. He gripped her hips in a light hold. The tip of his cock pressed against the back of her thigh. So close and yet too damn far.
A sudden, sharp worry hit her when it pressed to her ass cheeks. “I didn’t agree to anal.”
“I’m not going to fuck your ass.”
“You’d kill me if you did.”
There was a low chuckle behind her. “We’d have to ease up to it but I wouldn’t kill you.”
“I’m pretty sure you would.”
The weretiger’s warm fingers spread her cheeks with a deft gesture and then his pinky teased her flower. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”
His touch there shouldn’t feel good. Sam was certain she should be scandalized. But she wasn’t. She could barely keep from arching her ass closer to his finger. Still, she wasn’t ready for something of that magnitude.
“Please, Dion,” she found herself whimpering.
“What, sweetheart?”
Oh. The first time he’d used the endearment it had been sarcastic and mean. Now… Now it was lovely. “Please fuck me.”
Still, his finger circled her asshole, occasionally applying sinful pressure before easing again. “In the ass or…?”
Her face flushed when she failed to immediately argue he couldn’t take her ass. She’d imagined what it would be like but fear had her whispering, “Fuck my pussy.”
“Are you ready for me?” His humorless voice implied he’d be unsmiling if she glanced over her shoulder. Clearly he’d finished teasing her ass. Now he meant business.
“I’ve been ready for ages,” Sam complained.
“Let’s just see about that.” The finger stroking her flower slid into her weeping pussy. Once he’d checked the status of her rampant arousal, he brought his hand away and then took a half-step forward, a movement that put his cock between her ass cheeks.
She stiffened. Did he plan to ignore her demand?
Dion cupped her breast. His thumb made a lazy circle over her nipple. He nuzzled her hair as he brought the rest of his torso flush with her back. “I love your tits, Samantha. My nickname for you was ‘the witch-with-the-tits’.”
“What?” Sam repeated stupidly. But the throbbing in her pussy faded despite the naked man pressed to her back. Coherent thought returned. And that was a bad thing in this situation. Now she was lucid enough to point out, “All female witches have tit
s.”
“They don’t have your tits.” The weretiger’s other hand cupped her free breast. “Your tits are perfect.”
He didn’t mean that. “They’re too small.”
His teeth snapped near her ear. “Bite your tongue, sweetheart.”
“What is my nickname now?”
“I don’t have one yet. Any suggestions?”
“How about the witch who is going to walk out of here in two minutes if you don’t finish fucking her?”
The low chuckle that wound up Sam’s spine made her smile despite the situation.
And then he wiped the expression away when he teased her clit. Sam jerked at the sensation, wobbling on her heels. The erect organ resting on her ass jerked with her.
Dion’s chest pushed against her back, forcing her forward until her head rested against the sofa. Anticipation had her curling her fingers around the armrest beneath her. It wouldn’t be long now.
Strangers’ voices dimmed as she became hyperaware of Dion spreading her pussy lips for his entrance. Sam held her breath when he positioned himself just so. The swollen head barely breached her. Yet it was plenty to recall his size. He was huge!
But that rumor—how could all Alphas be well-endowed? The position was earned. Cock size was something a man was born with. Wasn’t it?
Any thought of Alphas and rumors fled when Dion eased forward. She released a shaky sigh as her sensitive muscles responded to him filling her an inch at a time. Dion trembled behind her. A soft moan slipped from his lips, ruffling her hair. He stood motionless, buried deep inside her as if waiting for a signal that she was ready to continue. Sam gave him one by drawing her hips forward.
The weretiger’s next sound was a good deal louder. He drew her hips back against him. There he settled for another breath. But this time she stood still, letting him rest, as he seemed to need.
“Witch,” he whispered against her ear a moment later.
Sam’s eyes popped open at what might have been an insult. “What? What did I do?”
“You clenched,” he accused in a rasping voice that was far too sexy.
