Insatiable Craving: 2 (Insatiable Nights)

by Rosalie Stanton

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “For all you know, that girl you killed would’ve done worse to you. So what happens with you and other werewolves and your psychotic family members and whatever else doesn’t matter.” Ginny tensed and briefly broke her gaze away, drew in a fortifying breath, then looked back. “I’ve already gone through the worst thing in my life. Whatever comes next will be a cakewalk.”

  Hope flickered behind Razor’s beautiful eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Her heart thundered so loud she was sure it would dance right out of her chest. “So long as…you’re with me.”

  The next second, his mouth was on hers, Razor’s hands were on her, and the world around them dissolved into a sea of color.

  He was right. He’d been right since the beginning. The past didn’t matter a damn anymore. Not when she held the keys to the future.

  And come hell or high water, Razor would be at her side. It wasn’t something she understood so much as trusted.

  That, to her, was all that mattered.

  Epilogue

  The first time he’d seen her, her wavy brown hair had been pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Her outfit had consisted of a pair of ripped jeans with various food stains, a greasy blue shirt, a Trixie’s apron she hadn’t bothered to shed before leaving work and a red hat that cast a shadow over her tired eyes. Ginny had looked every part a mess, and she hadn’t seemed keen on changing it. Razor recalled that night as the one that had changed his life. He might not have realized it at the time, but he sure as hell had known he kept staring at her for a reason. Every inch of her had screamed exhaustion and distance. She might have wandered willingly into Electric Panther, but she wasn’t there to make friends.

  Tonight, Ginny stood on stage. Her hair hung loose, soft wisps of brown curling around her face, neck and shoulders. The food-stained shirt had been exchanged for a form-fitting blue camisole, her torn jeans traded for sleek, satiny black gauchos. She didn’t wear much makeup, but what she had applied made her eyes seem darker, more seductive. Her lips were colored a burgundy red, which contrasted against her alabaster skin in ways that spoke directly to his cock.

  The past ten months had been nothing short of amazing, but it was only when Razor saw Ginny on stage that he realized just how much things had changed. How she had taken charge of her life, reclaimed herself.

  On occasion, the phantoms from her past would catch up with her, but those times were few and far between and seemed to annoy her more than anything. As though her inability to completely dodge old wounds was a personal failure rather than proof of her humanity. Her counselor was helping her with exercises that would hopefully discourage her from being too hard on herself. Healing, after all, was a steady process. It wasn’t something one just shook off with a smile and a cocktail of antidepressants.

  This was one of the ways she had decided to reclaim herself. Taking the stage. Putting herself in the limelight rather than burying herself in the shadows and hoping no one noticed. It had taken a couple months before she looked like she belonged up there, but now she handled the crowds with ease and grace, if not a few lingering nerves. And Razor loved watching her. Loved listening to her. She had an untrained voice but a natural ear, and when she took the mic, she sounded like a goddess.

  To him, at least. Anyone else didn’t count.

  On stage, Ginny stepped back from the microphone and curtsied as the crowd broke out into modest applause. The smile that brightened her face could have made the stars weep.

  “Thanks,” she said, placing a hand on her throat. “I’m getting better, I think. Anyway, I just wanted to thank everyone here. This last year has been…” She raised her gaze to Razor’s, her smile turning intimate and familiar. “Amazing. And I just wanted to…well…I won’t hold up the band very long.”

  Razor shrugged and said loudly, “Take all the time you want. I think they come to see you, anyway.”

  She laughed as the crowd responded with a mixture of denial and concurrence.

  “That’s Razor,” she said into the mic. “Always needing his ego stroked.”

  Razor smirked. Beside him, Aria cupped her mouth and yelled, “Since when is it just his ego?”

  The crowd tittered again, and though Ginny’s face reddened, she didn’t shy away. Instead, she neared the mic again. “Well, as you all know, Razor has been good enough to welcome me into his stage family. Enough to steal time away from you and cater to my own ego, which grows exponentially whenever I’m up here.”

  Aria snickered and yelled, “Smaller words! These folks didn’t go to college!”

  This earned more laughter from the audience, and one or two nasty glares.

  Ginny shrugged. “Forgive Aria. She’s still mad at me for getting her a dictionary for her birthday.” She shook her head, grinned, and waited as the crowd’s laughter died again. “Anyway, I just wanted to take a moment to personally, and publicly, humiliate my boyfriend.” Her gaze once more centered on Razor, and while the warmth in her eyes remained, the amused snark faded almost instantly. “This past year has been a big one for me. Lots of changes. None of which would have been possible without you.” She paused and swallowed, which allowed a flicker of hesitation to break through her façade.

  Razor’s chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat and an anxious rush of hope had his whole body tensing. She probably wasn’t… He was probably wrong… But his treacherous brain wouldn’t let him cast the thought aside.

  For as much as the past year had been filled with ups, there remained a good share unsaid. Times when Ginny would get quiet and serious, when she’d hint that there was something she wanted to tell him but couldn’t quite force out. It was all right—he understood. Just because his love for her had been an almost instant revelation hardly meant it was expected in turn. The words meant a lot to her. She’d never said them before to a lover—not even a high school boyfriend—and she wanted to be sure. She couldn’t bear the thought of hurting him.

  She faked him out a lot, but he knew it wasn’t intentional. Honestly, Razor had felt her love a long time now, even if the sentiment itself remained unvoiced. She showed him every day in a thousand, wonderful little ways. And every time he sank inside her, every time his incisors found her throat, she’d whisper she was his. The claim remained unreciprocated, but honestly he wasn’t sure if it was needed.

  Life without Ginny wasn’t possible. She’d be here tomorrow, words or not. Yet still, he couldn’t help but build himself up, even if he knew the outcome.

  Then Ginny said, “Reyvon Zeigler, I love you.”

  Razor’s stomach dropped out.

  Or not.

  The crowd moaned and Aria gagged, but shit, he didn’t care. His eyes remained fixed on her.

  “Ginny.”

  He doubted anyone but him could see it, but she was trembling so hard it was damn lucky she didn’t drill a hole into the stage.

  “And,” she continued, her voice pitched slightly higher, “and I have an answer for you.”

  “An answer?” he echoed weakly.

  “To the question you posed to me almost a year ago.”

  Razor’s mind hit a wall, though he knew what was on the other side. There was only one thing it could mean. His heart crushed his chest.

  “And I doubt this surprises anyone, except maybe you.” The remark earned a few laughs. She offered a small, humbling smile. “But yes. My answer is yes.”

  Razor didn’t remember moving, didn’t feel the floor beneath his feet, didn’t register time had passed at all until he was on the stage beside her, her cheeks captured between his hands and his lips on hers. Her taste exploded in his mouth, her tongue immediately at war with his. Her body pressed flush against him, her stomach soft against his denim-clad erection. Any hope of Razor’s Edge taking the stage tonight was immediately off the books. He needed her. Right now. Hard and fast, slow and tender, over and over until he didn’t remember his own goddamn name.

  Catcalls and whistles erupted from the audienc
e, but he didn’t care. Nor did he care about the band’s displeasure or Aria’s loud mocking. The second after their lips parted, Razor had Ginny over his shoulder and was en route to his office.

  “Put the DJ on, Aria!” he yelled. “We’re not playing tonight.”

  “Razor!” Ginny thrashed against him but it was halfhearted at best. “You Neanderthal. It can wait!”

  “Maybe you can.” He smacked her ass hard and was escorted down the hall on a wave of lewd jokes, claps and a few grumbles. All fell on deaf ears. He didn’t give a shit. Not with Ginny under his fingers.

  Not with what she’d just said hanging between them.

  Razor kicked the office door closed behind him, then helped Ginny find her feet again. He didn’t let her get more than a second’s reprieve before shoving her against the wall, mauling her lips with his. Her warmth drew him in, sending delicious little tingles across his skin. He’d never tire of her taste, which he never could quite pin down—it was simply unlike anything he’d ever sampled before, and wagered ever would. It was wholly Ginny.

  “You love me?” he murmured breathlessly after their lips parted. “Really?”

  “You know it.” Ginny’s eyes fluttered shut, her brow resting against his. “You’ve known it for a long time.”

  No sense arguing. “I’ve known. But it’s nice to hear.”

  “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  “Hey now. None of that.” Razor stole a kiss as his hands began wandering. She felt so damn good—warm and inviting, and all his. “You mean it? You’ll claim me back?”

  “Absolutely.” She nodded rapidly and opened her eyes. “You’re all mine.”

  He had her pants off in a blink, taking her panties with them. Then her pussy was pressed against his palm, her heat damn near tearing him apart. “Fuck yes.”

  Ginny released a steady breath and pressed her mouth to his neck.

  He was hers. He had been since the moment she entered his life.

  The rest was just ceremony.

  About Rosalie Stantono

  A lifelong enthusiast of larger-than-life characters, Rosalie Stanton’s muse is fueled by alpha males, from badass bikers to scruffy-looking Nerf herders, and the intelligent, strong and independent women who actually do the driving. She loves interweaving the lives of people who appear to be polar opposites and delving beneath the surface to see how well one actually complements the other.

  Rosalie lives in Missouri with her husband. Writing is her first creative love, but she also enjoys working with other authors and has a variety of critique partners, and likewise works as an editor. At an early age, she discovered a talent for creating worlds into which she could escape. Over the years, her vivid imagination evolved into a love of words and storytelling. Rosalie graduated with a degree in English and is now a multi-published author. Neither writing nor editing pays the bills, but thankfully her day-job employers understand where her true passion lies. When her attention is not engaged by writing or editing, she enjoys spending time with close friends and family.

  Rosalie welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Rosalie Stanton

  Elevated Exposure

  Insatiable Need

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Insatiable Craving

  ISBN 9781419945595

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  Insatiable Craving Copyright © 2013 Rosalie Stanton

  Edited by Jillian Bell

  Cover design by Kendra Egert

  Cover photography by Shutterstock.com

  Electronic book publication June 2013

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