by Anya Breton
“Is there someplace private we can talk?”
He had her attention in an instant. Again her lips parted invitingly and her lids lowered heavily. Dion’s proximity meant he scented the spice in the air. No doubt she was thinking about the last time they’d talked in private.
Good. So was he.
But what came out of her mouth was far different from what he’d hoped. “This is only a single-course buffet. I wasn’t given a room to prepare. We can talk in the corridor.”
Sam thought she’d be safe from him if they were in the corridor of a busy hotel. Suddenly his good intentions fizzled like tissue paper in a blue flame. Calmly, he nodded though he felt anything but calm.
She exited by the nearest door. Dion followed until she came to a stop near the building’s exit—the one she’d used to bring in food.
“Other deliveries could interrupt us,” he told her. “What I have to say is…” He let the words trail off with the implication he wanted to discuss the Underground with her. Dion walked to the end of the short hall perpendicular to the longer main corridor.
A glance down either side showed him the hotel’s main entrance was to the right near the ballroom holding the event. The left was quieter and darker. There were few doors. Those it claimed had prevalent signs marking them as storage or conference.
Dion walked the length of the corridor until it forked to the left. The second section ended at a window with a plush window seat beside a room with a humming ice maker, pop machine and snack machine. He walked to the window seat, noting the door marked emergency to his right. And then he focused on the seat’s cushion.
He was going to fuck her. There. On that window seat. In the corridor where anyone could happen upon them.
And it would count as her public fuck even though he’d imagined something far more elaborate. He’d let her off the hook because he no longer wanted her to feel obligated to him. Now he just had to persuade her.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam hesitated at the bend in the corridor. This was a dead end. Dion wanted to talk about witches and weavers but that didn’t require something this off the beaten path. She should suggest they go out to the van to talk.
But the van was empty now. He might get it in his head to try out the back. Her cheeks heated because she was the one with the thought in her head.
She traveled a quarter of the length to him, much too far for him to touch her but plenty close for a conversation. “What did you want to talk about regarding Kari?”
Dion’s broad back was to her. That wonderful ass taunted her beneath his black jeans. His taut golden ass had moved with a mesmerizing shift of muscle beneath skin when he walked out of his office on Sunday. Clothes were almost an insult to Dion Hebert’s form.
Slowly he turned his large body to face her. Sam’s breath caught. Those hooded dark eyes made her insides warm. Especially with the way they raked over her body as though he was imagining tearing off her clothes. Right there. In the corridor where anyone could happen upon them.
The thought shot heat to her pussy. Sam pressed her thighs together in an effort to combat it. She didn’t want this man, this gangster, to fuck her here.
But she did. She couldn’t deny it. And the flaring of his nostrils proved it.
He knew too.
Regardless of what her pussy throbbed for, Sam wasn’t about to ask Dion for it. Especially after his parting shot days ago. It would be mortifying enough to request something that was wrong on so many levels. But to have him refuse her would be unthinkable.
“It’s been days now,” he told her in a gruff voice.
Yes, three days. She hadn’t gone a single one without fantasizing about him.
“Dale admitted to the interrogator that he took Kari,” Dion went on. “Either he was working alone or his cohort knows Kari is being watched.”
Sam’s cheeks flushed red because she’d been thinking about the last time she saw Dion rather than of her sister’s safety.
“My interrogator asked every question he could think of to ferret out an accomplice,” Dion added. “He thinks Dale was working alone.”
“Then why did you send Kevin?”
“Kevin was there before the interrogator spoke with Dale,” Dion reminded her with a subtle shifting of his body toward hers. “After that, I didn’t want to call him away without talking to you first.”
He could have mentioned it on Sunday. But then…Kari might not have gone back to school. The girl certainly wouldn’t have woken early on Monday to make coffee.
“He’s been a good influence on Kari,” Sam admitted. “But we can’t have him watching over her for the rest of her life.”
The weretiger’s lips quirked slightly. “Not unless he wants to.”
Sam’s lips pursed when she recalled how her sister had mooned over the guy. “Has Kevin said something?”
Dion’s glossy brows winged up. “Said something about…what?”
“I think she might have a crush on him.”
He choked on his next breath. “On Kevin?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” Sam scolded because his incredulous tone had been almost insulting to his pack member. “He’s a handsome man. He’s polite and has been very sweet.”
The weretiger’s nostrils flared in contrast to the angry narrowing of his eyes. “As opposed to my rude harshness.”
Sam gave a little shrug rather than admit she agreed. Dion had her forearms in his hands a half second later. He’d moved up the corridor at a human pace, albeit a fast human pace.
His bergamot scent warmed her insides with sensory memory as he glared down at her. “Do you have a crush on him too?”
“No,” Sam quickly retorted. Too quickly.
The weretiger growled. “Even though he’s polite and very sweet and has been living in your house feet from your bed for the past four days?”
Dear Aer. He was jealous. And Sam had overheard what Dion did to people who stood in his way. “No,” she insisted a second time. “I barely remember he’s around most of the time.”
He brought her closer until his body heat warmed more than her skin. “You would remember I was there if I’d personally taken bodyguard duty.”
The thought of Dion trailing Kari everywhere soured the contents of her belly. She shouldn’t feel this way. Kari’s safety was the most important thing. And yet if she had to choose between keeping Kari safe and keeping Dion from Kari, Sam wasn’t sure she could abide the correct decision.
His head dipped, bringing his lips near her ear. “I wouldn’t have been feet from your bed.”
He would have been in it.
The weretiger pressed his mouth to the sensitive spot below her ear. Heat sparked from her lobe to her shoulder. Sam’s knees wobbled unsteadily from the rise of desire.
“Ask me,” he demanded.
She could play stupid and pretend she didn’t know what he meant. He’d be angry and she wouldn’t get what her body needed. Or she could risk his rejection and ask.
“Please fuck me,” she whispered.
Dion drew back until he could look her in the eye. His irises darted across her face. “Here?”
Here? Across the building from where she should be setting up for a party? Her business would be ruined if she got caught. But there’d been no noise beyond the ice machine, no footsteps or talking since they arrived.
Sam nodded. “Here.”
Dion’s eyelids fluttered closed as he exhaled a long breath. His shoulders shook on the inhale. And then his eyes opened. The force of his gaze stole her breath. “This will count,” he told her. “As your final obligation. If you want it to.”
Her heart skip-jumped over its next beat.
An empty corridor at the end of a sparsely traveled hall was going to count as his public fuck? Did he intend to make enough noise to get them thrown out of the building?
“I won’t let anything endanger your business.”
She believed him and she didn’t know why.
He was slated to become her competitor. It was in his best interest to ruin her. And maybe that was truly his plan.
But right now, she wanted him too badly to worry about the future.
“Just fuck me, Dion.”
Those words should have been music to his ears.
They weren’t.
Dion didn’t want to just fuck her. He wanted his fuck to be integral to her continued existence. He wanted to be in her blood like the Were virus was in his, altering him on a cellular level. Dion wanted Samantha transformed into something new, something only he could have.
His thoughts were almost enough to frighten him away. But when Sam’s fingers went to the hem of her pencil skirt, he forgot why he should run. She steadily pulled the crisp fabric up, revealing the lace band of her silk stockings, curled around her thighs like he wanted his hands to be. Desire lanced down his body, drawing a low groan from his chest.
He should tell her how he’d struggled not to replace Kevin on Monday morning. Or how he’d gone so far as to call his Gamma on Monday night for an update on what the Avira sisters were up to. The news they’d been watching a movie together on Samantha’s bed was bittersweet.
Perhaps he should have told her he’d tried to forget she existed yesterday with a complete Avira blackout. It worked until he found himself alone in his office during the dinner hour. Dion couldn’t look at his sofa without imagining her on it. He’d searched the internet for photographs of the beauty and then relived their Sunday rendezvous with her face staring at him from the screen.
His confessions could wait until she was sated.
Dion didn’t realize he’d hesitated until the witch dropped to her knees in front of him. Every muscle froze, except one. Nothing in the world could have made him interrupt her now.
Worried she’d reconsider whatever she thought to do, Dion dug his arms into his sides rather than touch her as he wanted. Samantha’s attention fixed on the sturdy fabric folded over his zipper. No doubt she saw the outline of his dick pressing against the garment.
Dion held his breath when she ran a pair of fingers over the hard ridge. Her motion translated well through the thick barrier. Sensation zinged to his brain. The muscles in his neck loosened, sending his head back. But he needed to see her. He struggled to lift his head upright.
Samantha took hold of his zipper. Her breathing deepened. That glorious chest steadily rose and fell in a way that would have mesmerized him if he hadn’t been focused on what she planned next. She looked up at him, an expression on her face that was almost questioning.
It would be a stupid question if she bothered to ask it. Fuck yes he wanted her mouth on him. Now.
He needed her hands on him before he gave in to the urge to throw her atop the window seat and fuck her senseless. If he had her hands on him, he could hold out until he discovered if she truly meant to suck him off.
His lungs stalled as she parted the stiff fabric then pushed her narrow digits between. They soon took hold of his stiffer organ. “Sam.” The groaned name hardly sounded as though it came from him.
She carefully freed his dick from the constricting garment. And then she sat back, staring. At his dick. As if it were some sort of display at a natural museum.
Her gaze flicked up to his—that question lingered but now a glimmer of mischief joined it. Dion didn’t dare move. Asking for what he wanted would be too easy. And right now he needed to know if this woman would give without being asked. He needed to know the answer to that question more than he wanted her mouth on him. Dion didn’t consider why. He simply heeded.
Sam shifted forward until her breath puffed against his dick. The promise of bliss was mere centimeters away. Dion let out a tormented groan. His next shaky blink was long enough to miss the most important move to date.
Dion damn near slumped back when her hot mouth closed over his dick’s pulsing head. He clutched his thighs to remain upright even as a deep, pleasured sigh emitted from his chest.
She hadn’t moved over him yet. He’d needed this—her—so much that her lips on him was almost enough.
“That feels so fucking good.” His praise was slow, with several halts to catch his breath.
Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut because hers opened and his dick slipped out. Dion pried open eyes he didn’t recall closing. He found her gazing up at him with a wicked smile curving her thin lips.
“Even better than my pussy?”
A low groan escaped him upon hearing her sweet mouth speaking the dirty word—a word he never thought he’d hear come out of her. He dug his fingers into his legs to stop himself from grabbing her and burying his dick exactly where she’d suggested.
“No,” he croaked from the exertion of holding back. “Nothing is better than that.”
“What about my tits? You said they’re perfect. Aren’t they better?”
Was she taunting him? Dion tried to concentrate through the need driving him to distraction. Of course her tits were perfect. But were they better than her pussy? It was a ridiculous question only a woman would ask.
Her taunting deserved a little retaliation. “I don’t remember what they look like.”
Dion hid a smile when her gaze darted down at her shirt and then back up to his face as if to say they were right there. He knew exactly where her tits were. Dion also knew they were hidden where he couldn’t suck on them.
Sam leaned back until her bottom rested over her heels. The pose lifted the pencil skirt. A pair of red-lace panties covering her fantastic sex became visible. Spice heated the air from her desire. She’d be soaked and ready if he brushed his fingers over the delicate fabric.
His attention snapped to the fingers unfastening the clear plastic discs along the front of her shirt. She spread the fabric just so after each until he caught a glimpse of the bare breasts beneath.
The minx toyed with the button closing the fabric over her chest. Her hand dropped to the bottom half of the garment rather than giving him what he wanted. Dion made a small sound of agony at her teasing. She sent him a smirk in response.
Sam unfastened and spread each tiny disc beneath his rapt attention, revealing just a little more of her smooth flesh. Finally she reached for the last button. Sam’s gaze locked with his for a breathless moment. And then she pushed the plastic through its hole, drawing his attention down.
“Perfect,” he groaned as soon as the beautiful mounds were revealed. The pink nubs of her nipples were already erect, silently calling out for his tongue.
But before he could make a move, the witch drew forward where he couldn’t see the amazing tits. He thought of protesting for all of a split second. Her mouth closing over his dick silenced him.
She drew him inside as far as she could go, which wasn’t half as far as the majority of the women he’d been with yet it felt better. Her lips went taut around him as her cheeks drew in for a powerful suck. A jolt of pure lust shot to his brain.
Sam’s delicate grip on his balls—the talented massage learned only through experimentation—was proof he wasn’t her second lover. Samantha Avira had been with others. And that made him want to ruin her for anyone else.
Chapter Fourteen
The thought of never touching Dion again made Sam get on her knees in the corridor. She’d never be able to get him out of her head if she didn’t experience all of him at least once. From the way he responded, as though she’d done him the kindest favor, it was worth the pain on her legs.
His white-knuckled grip on his thighs didn’t look comfortable but the regular moans he emitted said he was doing just fine. Better than fine. Dion’s length and girth had been difficult to handle at first but she was getting the hang of it now. And like her ex, he enjoyed when she played with his balls too.
Or so she thought. He grabbed her by the cheeks and pulled her head back. His eyes were wide and a little wild as he stared down at her with a rapidly rising chest.
“I’m going to come if you keep that up,” he told her.
&nb
sp; Sam’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “That’s the point.”
“You asked me to fuck you. I want to come inside your pussy, not your mouth.”
Sam opened that mouth to protest she was nearing her cycle and wasn’t sure she could take the risk no matter how sexy he was. But Dion soon produced a foil-wrapped condom from the back pocket of his jeans, as though he went around carrying a cache for just such an occasion.
Her features puckered in irritation as he rolled the thing over himself. Images of him cornering another female in a hotel hall flared in her mind, drawing her jaw tight. Valiantly, she hid the reaction from him before he lifted his attention to her face.
Dion tracked back to the window seat, where he settled his considerable frame atop the white-wood bench with its feminine floral-printed cushion. He should have looked comical there, especially with the erection proudly jutting from the crop of curls bursting out of his jeans. Instead he looked twice as masculine in contrast.
He used one hand to shove the jeans down his thick legs and then kicked them to the side with a powerful motion of his left foot. He slapped his thighs for her to come forward.
“Wait,” he told her when she moved two inches. “Draw up your skirt for me. Like you’re stripping.”
Sam would have refused him if he’d asked her the last two times. But this might be the final time she’d be with him.
Holding his gaze, she bent her knees and reached for the hem. Slowly, Sam drew the fabric up her thighs as she twisted her hips, swaying to the unheard beat of a sensual song.
His erection bounced as the skirt lifted above the edges of her stockings. Dion’s eyes grew heavier with need the higher the fabric moved, until it skimmed the edge of her panties. His breath caught. Absently, he grabbed hold of his cock as though he were watching an internet sex show with no other option but to touch himself.
“I can do that for you,” Sam heard herself tell him.
Dion blinked in confusion and then looked down at his hand. He let out a low groan. “I don’t want your hand on me.”
