Kiss and Kin: A Sexy Shifter story

by Kinsey Holley

  “Put your other hand between my legs, baby, please,” he begged. She slid her fingers behind his balls, pressing up. He shuddered again. “That’s it, that’s so good,” he panted.

  He couldn’t hold on much longer. She’d milk him until he came, but suddenly he needed to be inside her.

  He put his hands beneath her chin and gently pulled out of her mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” she cried, looking up in confusion. The love in her eyes warmed him till he glowed.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he growled, stroking her face as he pulled her up. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

  He held her chin and lowered his mouth to hers, tasting himself as he sucked her tongue. Before she could wrap her arms around his neck, he forced them back to her sides and spun her around with a shaky laugh.

  “Taran!” she mewled, “what are you—” She moaned as he bent her over the counter.

  Covering her body with his, he whispered in her ear, “I need to come inside you. You can look in the mirror if you want.”

  She did, her lovely face flushed with desire, lips wet and parted, eyes half closed. He watched her face as he spread her arms and flattened her hands against the counter, making sure she was braced. She shivered as he rubbed his chest against her back, his stiff cock pressing against the crack of her sweet, round ass.

  She cried out when he grabbed her panties and yanked them down. He held her feet steady to pull the panties all the way off, smiling in triumph when he saw her legs shaking.

  “I love it like this,” she whimpered. “Hard. I love it hard like this.”

  He crouched to grasp her cheeks with both hands, reveling in the hot, firm flesh, and she shrieked when he nipped at one side and licked the sting away.

  “Do it again,” she moaned, and he obeyed.

  He slid two fingers inside her, finding her hotter and wetter than he’d even imagined. Her muscles squeezed his fingers. She let out a long wail of pleasure. He slowly spread his fingers, stretching her, and she sobbed when he pulled them out and plunged them back in.

  “Are you about to come, baby?” he breathed.

  Another sob was all the answer he needed.

  He guided his cock into her, groaning long and hard as he finally found the warm, wet shelter he’d sought. They were perfectly aligned, perfectly fitted for this. He grabbed her hips and dug his fingers into her flesh, pulling her ass back against him so she didn’t have to take all the weight on her arms. Finally deep within her, he abandoned control and began to pump, letting his body do what it needed. She met his every thrust.

  “Harder,” she whimpered. “Do it harder.”

  He did, closing his eyes and losing himself in her slick warmth, letting the noise of her ecstasy wash away the remnants of his fear and doubt, sure at last that she was his not because he’d claimed her, but because she’d chosen him.

  He smiled, delighted, when she reached back to grab his hand and press it between her legs. The edge of the counter bit into the back of his hand as she ground against his palm. She screamed when his middle finger found her clit and seconds later she came, wet and hot and screaming his name. Her screams died away into little half sobs, and his body began to jerk as the orgasm seized him.

  He heard himself shout, telling her he loved her, saying things he’d never said to any female before. Hard and helplessly he came, and he collapsed across her back, burying his face in her hair, resting in the scent of his mate.

  “Taran,” she whispered. “Sweetie. I can’t stand up. You have to get off me.” She giggled a little hysterically. Her ankles were wobbling in the four inch spikes, his body pressing her down against the ice cold granite.

  He laughed into her hair. “I’m sorry, baby. One sec.” He raised himself off her, bracing his hands on the vanity and taking a couple deep breaths. “Okay.”

  Smoothly, and with no apparent effort, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, letting her drop with a thud. He laughed at her “oof!” of surprise. Then he tenderly unstrapped her heels and tossed them away before falling down atop her.

  “Oh. Sorry, I’m too heavy—”

  “Shh, it’s okay.” Rolling him over onto his back, she laid her head against his stomach and drew the blanket up. She tucked her hand beneath his butt and breathed in the scent of his seed, the both of them still wet and warm and sticky. She shivered as he played with her hair.

  “La Perla,” he said sleepily.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s—”

  “I know what La Perla is, Taran. It’s expensive lingerie. What about it?”

  “I’m buying you some. A lot.”

  “You don’t want me in flannel?”

  “I’d fuck you in burlap, baby. But I want to see you in satin and silk too.”

  “Bought a lot of La Perla, have you?”

  “No. But Nick buys it for all his females.”

  “Ew.”

  His hands stopped in her hair for a moment. “What ew?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit nothing. Why do you care what Nick buys for his women?” he asked belligerently.

  Alarmed, she raised up on her elbow to look at him. “I don’t care,” she said softly. “Other people might, that’s all.”

  He frowned at her for a long minute, and she would’ve laughed at his eventual shock of comprehension if it hadn’t been such a sad subject.

  “You mean TJ…?”

  “Let’s forget I said anything, okay? Please. I didn’t mean to spoil the afterglow. I’ll wear whatever you buy me.” She put her head back down. “Play with my hair some more.”

  “How about those corset things?” he asked eventually.

  “Corset things?”

  “You know. The ones that go around your waist, but not over your tits. You wear them with garters and panties.”

  “That’s more sex boutique than La Perla but sure, I can do that. I can do anything.”

  His laughter stopped abruptly, and his hand paused in her hair again. “You can? Like, what’re we talking about here? What’ve you done”

  “I don’t mean I will do anything,” she sighed patiently. “I haven’t done everything; I’m just open to ideas. Okay?”

  “You give damned good head.” He was quiet for a minute. “Where’d you learn that?”

  “The Dummy’s Guide to Blowjobs,” she said drily.

  She could sense his dismay.

  “Taran.” She rolled over on top of him, resting her chin on his stomach. “I’m twenty-six. I would’ve waited for you if I’d known you wanted me, but come on.”

  “I haven’t slept with anyone in a long time,” he whispered. “That’s how bad I’ve needed you.”

  “But I still haven’t slept with nearly as many people as you have altogether. It doesn’t really matter, since we’ll never sleep with anyone else again. Right?”

  He nodded contritely. “Right. You’re right.”

  “Okay, then.” She laid her cheek against his belly once more.

  She’d just dozed off when he asked, “What did you talk to my mom about?”

  “Us. Danny. The whole thing.”

  “How’d she know about the whole thing?”

  “Oh. Right, I haven’t told you.”

  She rolled off and crawled up to lay her head on the pillow next to him. He pulled her hand back over and pressed it to his stomach. She remembered TJ telling her how deeply wolves craved touching and holding, and her heart ached to think how long he’d been without it. The touch of friends and family couldn’t substitute for a mate’s. She resolved to hold and caress him every second she could.

  Snuggling into him she whispered, “Well, big guy, you were in the Chronicle this morning.”

  “I was? Why—oh, shit…”

  “Yeah. Big Ass Werewolf Races Down I-10 In Midst of Traffic Pileup, or something like that. Not sure why so many people saw you. That late at night, and you moving so fast, I’d have thought you’d be some kind of bl
ur, but apparently you ran across the tops of a few cars.”

  “Fuck.” He shot up. “Lark! Did I hurt anyone??”

  “Of course not, baby, I’d have told you already if you did! Lie down.” Once he’d settled back, she wrapped her arm around him. “No. You scared the hell out of a bunch of people, but you missed the cheap cars—you only hit the big stuff. Left some dents and scratches. So far, the department’s only said it was a police officer in pursuit of a dangerous suspect, and they’ll reimburse all vehicle owners for damage. So it’s good. Your name might not even get out there.”

  “Nick didn’t mention any of that last night.”

  “I think he was more concerned with you.”

  “About TJ…”

  “No, Taran. No about TJ. That one’s off limits.” She laid a hand against his cheek, looked into his eye. “Swear to me, baby. No word to anyone.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “God…” she groaned in ecstasy, “…I love it when you do what I tell you. If I’d known all these years I could boss you around like this, I would’ve been so…Taran!”

  She shrieked as he flipped her on her back, held both her hands above her head in one of his giant paws, and tickled her mercilessly under her arms and on her sides. She screamed and thrashed but she couldn’t very well move with three hundred pounds of werewolf on top of her.

  “Good Lord, little girl!” he shouted. “Where the fuck did you learn language like that?” He had to stop tickling her because he was laughing too hard.

  She lay beneath him, gasping for breath. “Taran Lloyd, you fucking asshole,” she panted, “every time you tickle me like that, there’s gonna be consequences. You hear me? Big, big consequences.”

  “I think there already are,” he rumbled into her ear. He still held her hands imprisoned above her head, and now his other hand dipped into her folds, stroking the fresh wetness. “See? I think you liked it.” He rested his hand there and stared at her, daring her to move, his mouth an inch above hers.

  “So. You want to know what Meg and I talked about?”

  He grinned wickedly. “You trying to embarrass me? You think I can’t make love to you if you bring up my mom? I’ve been having dirty dreams about my cousin for years. Nothing embarrasses me.” He lowered his mouth to stroke his tongue across her nipple, so lightly she wasn’t even sure he’d done it, and she arched against him with a needy little cry.

  “What’d she say?” he asked casually and began to suckle the whole areola.

  “Aunt Meg said…” she gasped and ground her hips against his, “…she said…oh thank heavens finally.”

  “Wait. Huh? Was that you saying that, or her?” He lifted his head, and she giggled at the confusion on his face.

  “Her exact words. ‘Oh thank heavens, finally.’ Said she’d always suspected we felt that way and she just prayed we’d figure it out one of these days. I asked her why the hell she hadn’t said something, and she said—” she slipped into her Aunt Meg voice, “—‘Well, sweetie, I just didn’t know what to say. You know I don’t like to pry.’”

  “She loves to pry! She lives to pry!” He roared with laughter and she did too, but he didn’t let go of her hands. She wrapped her legs around his waist and began grinding against him again.

  “She said something else.”

  “What?” he grinned against her neck.

  “She said you had to marry me. She can’t wait to be the mother of the bride AND the groom. I think she’s already planned the whole thing.”

  He lifted his head to gaze down at her. “You’ll marry me, right?”

  “Oh, baby,” she breathed, her heart breaking once again at the question in his eyes. “Let go of my hands.”

  Brushing his hair from his eyes, she traced his scar with a finger, reveling in the heat and the love and the tenderness on his face. She slid her fingers into his hair and brought his mouth down to hers.

  “Of course I’ll marry you. I’m yours, Taran. I’ve always been yours.”

  About the Author

  Kinsey W. Holley lives in Houston with the Hub and the Tomboy Diva, who are jealous of her laptop. She’s been a law librarian for over ten years, and she loves her job, but if she awoke to find herself the JR Ward of werewolves one day, she’d give her notice the next.

  For years she’s had people talking in her head—only to each other, never to her (the distinction matters). When it got too crowded up there, she started writing about them. She’s not sure what she’d do if anyone from her church or the Diva’s school found out she wrote sexy romance; she just hopes no one does.

  When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with friends and family (the two groups overlap a lot), chatting on the Internet with close friends she’s never met, and hanging out with the Tomboy Diva, who shares her mother’s love of reading and propensity for daydreaming.

  You can visit Kinsey Holley (and see pictures of the Diva!) at www.kinseyholley.com.

  Three days. One wish. If the Fairy Queen keeps her promise…

  The Man of Her Dreams

  © 2009 Robie Madison

  A Shifting Dreams Story.

  Workaholic web designer Megan Jones exudes sensible and practical by day, but in her dreams she truly lives. Her nights are filled with erotic trysts with a dream lover—who also defends her against the dangerous wild stallion of her nightmares.

  When she inherits a Victorian-era Welsh locket, she opens it to a shocking revelation. The tiny portrait of a black-haired man with a sardonic smile is none other than the man in her dreams. There’s only one way to learn the truth about him—head to her ancestral home town in Wales.

  A member of the ancient race of Tylwyth Teg, Owain Deverell has spent the last 170 years suspended between man and beast—punishment for loving a human woman. Weary of his cursed existence, and longing to be more than the object of Megan’s dream desire, he strikes a bargain with the Fairy Queen. In exchange for retaining his human form, she grants him three days to win Megan’s unconditional love.

  Or remain the object of her nightmares. Forever.

  Warning: Contains graphic sex, dream sex, picnic sex, magic sex, a meddlesome Fairy Queen, and did we mention sex?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Man of Her Dreams:

  He led her around the side of the building and deep into the darkness. His pace was confident, suggesting he was familiar with the lay of the land. Less certain of her surroundings, she hesitated slightly when they reached a line of trees. Firm pavement gave way to the soft crunch of leaves and twigs under her feet. When she tripped over an exposed root, Owain caught her easily, but instead of holding her steady, he backed her up against a tree.

  “Owain.” She whispered the word on the night air. But unlike all those other nights when she’d spoken his name with a sense of frustrated longing, this time her voice was filled with awe. She reached out and skimmed her fingers across his cheek, just to make sure. His skin was warm to the touch and slightly rough with a five o’clock shadow. He was real all right.

  Capturing her other hand, he pulled them both behind her around the trunk of the tree. The move forced his body closer to hers. So close his warm breath laced with a hint of ale fanned her face. He groaned low in his throat and his erection nudged her belly.

  A cornucopia of sensual experiences assaulted her—the rough bark of the tree against her back, his hard body pressed against her own. She inhaled and caught a heady masculine scent that was all Owain. Only unlike in her dreams it was sharper, more pungent. Oh, yeah, he was definitely the real thing.

  Her own breathing grew harsher as a primitive lust surged through her body. Her nipples hardened, pushing against the lace of her bra, demanding to be released from their confines. She suppressed the desire to grin. Dream or real, her reaction to him hadn’t changed one iota.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you into the woods,” he said, though he didn’t sound the least bit regretful. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. I need to kiss you.” />
  A bolt of heat shot through her as he bent his head. The anticipation alone was enough to induce a heart attack. She’d waited so long, believed it impossible that he was real. His lips touched her jaw right next to her ear, at once tickling her and stirring something deep inside her that hungered for more. Instead of being sated, her hunger grew as he ran a string of kisses along her jawline. Her body trembled each time his lips touched her skin. He might as well have been tracing a path to her core. That’s where the fire burned. By the time he reached her mouth, she’d creamed her panties.

  On a groan, he rocked his erection against the apex of her thighs. He caught her at just the right angle and her clit welcomed the friction. Demanded more.

  “I can smell you, sweetheart.” Words whispered in the darkness, only this time it was no dream. His breath mixed with the sweet summer breeze caressed her ear.

  Her tiny gasp of longing was all the invitation he needed to slip his tongue inside her mouth. Their dream kisses were absolutely nothing like the real thing. For one, her senses were sharper—she tasted a hint of the bitter ale he’d been drinking and the flavor of Owain himself. For another, there was nothing gentle or teasing about this kiss. His tongue explored her mouth with an exquisite thoroughness. He traced the edges of her teeth and then plunged deeper, stealing her breath and giving her life.

  Emotions assaulted her, battering her wits. When at last he broke the kiss, she swore she could hear their hearts hammering a duet between their bodies.

  His eyes burned with a hunger that mirrored hers and she decided she’d been cast under a spell of some sort. How else to explain walking into a pub and finding the man of her dreams sitting there as though he’d been waiting for her to arrive? Psychic phenomenon or not, the situation defied any attempt she could make to rationalize it. And suddenly she no longer wanted to. For once in her well-ordered life she wasn’t going to ask for explanations or analyze the situation to death. If this was an enchantment, she didn’t want to wake up.