by Danica Avet
* * * *
His nostrils flared as he leaned closer, his eyes closing as he caught her scent. She was unfurling, like a rose, her hormonal rhythm changing to meet his body’s demands. Grant rested his head on her thigh and breathed her in. She’d bathed his abdomen with her musk, marking him, and now he was about to taste the reward for his efforts.
She squirmed slightly, waking him from his trance. Looking up, he stared into her chocolate-colored eyes and stroked her with his tongue. Her body shuddered, slumping back as he lapped into her wetness with all the delicacy of a bee sipping honey. Her taste exploded on his tongue, sending his well-wrung cock into overdrive. He groaned, cupping her soft ass in his hands to hold her still so he could delve deeper.
Isola’s breath grew ragged as he sampled her delicate folds. She tasted so fucking good. He groaned, closing his eyes to better savor her. He thrust his tongue into her as far as he could, curling it at the tip to scoop up her sweet cream before retreating.
He repeated the careful tasting for several long seconds before his desires got the better of him. With an expert flick of his tongue at her rigid clit, he herded Isola towards orgasm. Her body tensed above him, her chest desperately rising and falling as she struggled to breathe. Slipping one hand down her sweet ass, he filled her tight channel with two long fingers.
Grant groaned at the vise-like clasp of her. He could so easily imagine her sheath snug around him, the little flutters of her building orgasm rippling around his cock. Her hands fell to the top of his head, her fingers clutching at his hair. Grant smiled against her pink flesh as her hips rose to meet his wriggling tongue and thrusting fingers.
“Grant,” she moaned. He watched her without slowing his motions. “Grant! Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods!” Her voice climbed progressively higher until she was keening.
The orgasm tore through her body. Isola’s thighs were wide-pressed, her hips jerking as she sang out in true operatic style. Strong muscles clamped around his fingers, squeezing and releasing in a rhythm that had Grant’s cock throbbing in unison. Her body’s moisture rained down on his tongue and hand. He growled. She was magnificent and all his.
* * * *
A loud ringing destroyed Izzy’s cocoon of sated pleasure. She wasn’t sure how long she’d hovered on the edge of oblivion, but was brutally yanked into the real world when Grant cursed. Guided by instinct and embarrassment, Izzy was off the counter and in her room before he even got off the floor. Her face burned. Had she lost her fucking mind?
Leaning on the door, she heard Grant curse again and slam out of the bathroom. She breathed a sigh of relief when his voice came from the living room. She wasn’t sure what would have happened if the phone hadn’t interrupted them. She was afraid she might’ve broken down and begged him to take her. And that wouldn’t have been good for either of them.
Chapter Twenty
Grant stared at Isola’s bedroom door. He didn’t know what to do. She’d brought him to climax twice—he blushed at the memory of his lack of control in the shower. He’d brought her to the kind of orgasm he’d only read about in Playboy, but she’d run from him as soon as she could. Anger pulsed through him. If the fucking phone hadn’t rung at that exact moment, he would probably be locked inside her right now.
The phone rang again. Stomping across the room where he’d thrown it, he snatched it off the phone.
“What!”
There was a stunned silence, then his mother’s voice. “Grant Strickland, how many times have I told you not to answer your phone like that?”
Closing his eyes, he collapsed on the sofa. Between Isola and his mother, he never seemed to win. His mouth curled. “Hey, Ma.”
She huffed. “I just wanted to be sure you didn’t forget about dinner with the Connellys tonight. Bill’s bringing his daughter, Bethany, and she’s so sweet! Wait until you meet her, Grant. I really think she’s the perfect first mate for your harem.”
She continued rattling on while Grant sat, stunned and disbelieving. Hadn’t his mother or father listened to him? He wasn’t taking anyone but Isola to mate. Anger at his parents for not understanding and anger at Isola for not realizing they were meant for each other bubbled beneath the surface as he listened to his mom extol the cow-swan’s virtues. Bethany sounded boring and placid, just like every other cow-swan he’d ever met. Nothing like the Amazon he’d come so close to fucking on his bathroom counter.
When Arabella paused to take a breath, Grant inserted his two cents. “I’m bringing Isola with me.”
“Wh—What?”
He pictured her blinking into space, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She sounded horrified, as though he’d told her he was inviting the local butcher to dinner.
“I’m bringing Isola. She isn’t from around here and doesn’t know many people.” Which wasn’t exactly true. She’d made quite an impression on several of the shifters in the area after her fight with Lisa, but he didn’t want her hanging around them. He was the only horny bastard she’d be hanging around from now on. “And you always say it’s rude not to offer our hospitality to newcomers.” That was the sticking point, he knew. Arabella hated being thought of as anything but warm and welcoming.
Her breathing whistled in his ear and he knew she was fighting off a faint, but she was made of sterner stuff. She sucked in air. “That’s good. I’ll be sure to tell Bill to invite one of his business associates to even out the numbers. Be here for seven o’clock, or I swear I’ll take a switch to your backside, Grant!”
She hung up before he could protest the addition of another person, which was how she usually played it. If he had been thinking straight, he would’ve hung up after telling her Isola was going to dinner. Then he would’ve had the last word. He grimaced and turned the phone off.
“Who keeps calling?” Her voice was cool and collected as though they hadn’t set off earthquakes with their passion a few minutes ago.
Grant resented her poise. He liked it when Isola was fiery and untamed. Deliberately sitting back and splaying open his legs so that the towel gaped over his thickening cock, he looked over at her. “That was my mother. We have to be at their house for seven thirty.” He wasn’t going to be there at exactly seven to spend half an hour making small talk.
She frowned. Her wet hair was slicked back from her glowing face. She looked young and innocent, but he knew the fire that burned beneath the surface. She’d dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans, a baggy T-shirt, and her ever-present moccasins.
“What are we going there for? You know we have work to do here. I was going to try to call Fallon to see if he heard from Queen Albreda.” She frowned at him then it was like a light bulb went off in her head. She sighed deeply. “Oh, right, you have a date.” She shrugged and flapped a hand in his direction. “You go on and play coochie-coo with the cow-swan. I’ll stay here and try to save the world.”
Grant laughed at her, ignoring the angry glint in her eyes. “You know your queen won’t be happy if you call before you’re supposed to,” he told her chidingly. An angry blush burned her cheeks, giving her a freshly fucked look that he loved. “Come to dinner tonight and protect me from the lascivious cow-swan who wants me only for my seed.”
The anger shifted into amusement, but she fought it back. Her eyebrow rose in an arch expression he wanted to kiss right off her face. “I’m sure she wants you for more than your seed, Grant.” Chocolate eyes raked him from his head to his toes, stopping in the middle to study his swelling cock. “I’m sure she’s also interested in your money.”
He guffawed, not taking offense at all. “Yeah, probably right, sweet cheeks, which is why you should save me from her.” She opened her mouth to protest, and Grant did something he hadn’t done since he reached maturity. He pushed out his bottom lip and pinned her in place with his most sorrowful look. “Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please? Don’t let the mean cow get me.”
Her lips quivered, and he knew he had her. Triumph filled him with renewed vigor and opt
imism. “Fine! But I’m not dressing up and if someone insults me, I’ll start naming my favorite beef cooking methods. I swear it.”
Grant fought back his laugh, but couldn’t hide his smile. “I’ll even help you.”
* * * *
This was a stupid idea. She hadn’t done something this stupid since…well, since the morning when she’d tracked Grant to his parents’ house. She grimaced. Really, maybe she needed some kind of intervention.
Grant looked fucking good, of course. The black slacks and black button-down shirt he wore made him look…dangerous. The gold ring in his nose gave him a sexy edge that he really didn’t need. The man was lethal without it. She wanted to dig her hand into those slacks and…No, not gonna go there.
Nervously pleating the folds of her skirt, she hoped she looked okay for this dinner. He hadn’t said exactly who they would be meeting there, so she’d opted for casual dress. It had been well worth pulling the skirt out and ironing it to see the look on Grant’s face when he caught sight of her.
It wasn’t the sexiest thing she’d ever worn. She had other outfits that were just barely legal to wear in public. The skirt went right above her knee, the top she’d paired with it was modest, but a deep earth brown that Rosetta had picked out for her. She shrugged. Grant seemed to like it. A lot, if the hunger in his eyes was any indication.
She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself and stared out the window. She would not think about Grant, his cock, or how much she wanted it. No. Not gonna happen.
They were about two miles from his parents’ home when Grant finally broke the silence. “Thanks for coming.”
Surprised that he would thank her for something that really was…nothing, she looked at him. “You’re welcome. I wouldn’t want them to make a meal out of you.” Those four-legged bitches. “Besides, I think your dad and I need to have some words.”
“Please don’t piss my mom off, okay? She gets really…uptight about these matchmaking dinners.”
Izzy blinked at him. “You mean she’s not normally uptight?”
He laughed loudly. “I—”
She never got to find out what he was about to say because the world exploded in a ball of fire. The truck bounced off the road, Grant cursing and struggling to keep them from going into a deep ditch. Izzy grabbed the “oh shit” bar and tried to see past the flames to whoever was attacking them. She saw shadowy figures, but nothing that gave her real information.
“Shit,” she growled. She’d left her fucking weapons at Grant’s house. She hadn’t wanted to freak his mother out, and now she was without means to protect Grant. The truck bucked, throwing Izzy into the air, her head slamming into the ceiling.
“Dammit, watch where you’re going!”
“Yeah, easy for you to say, Miss Sitting-Over-There-Doing-Nothing!”
She would have responded, but the truck crashed into the wide trunk of a tree. The force of the wreck caused Izzy’s body to snap against the strain of the seat belt, her forehead hitting the dash. Pain exploded through her head, but she fought past it. They had to get out of the truck, get away from whoever was out there before things got worse.
“You okay, bull boy?”
Her hands fumbled with the buckle of the seatbelt and she kept seeing three of everything. When Grant didn’t answer her, the calm she’d forced upon herself threatened to crumple.
Shredding the seat belt to free herself, Izzy slid across the seat to the minotaur slumped over the steering wheel. He was breathing, though the sounds were ragged. She touched him, searching for an injury that would keep him immobile. His big body quivered in what she thought was pain, but the more she touched him, the more she realized that Grant was shaking with rage.
He lifted his head, his horns already growing as he shifted to his minotaur form. Izzy fell back as he turned towards her to avoid being gouged by his horn. Once she got a good look at his face, she scrambled for the door. He wasn’t in there. Grant, as she knew him, was gone, and in his place was a beast. She knew he would hurt her, not purposely, but she’d rather have him out of the truck where he had room to move. And that was the only reason why she backed away from him.
She landed on the ground with a grunt, jumping to her feet as soon as she could. Swaying in place, she squinted into the night. Her fucking head felt like Ronaldinho had bounced it off his knee a few million times. It was a concussion, but she didn’t have time for being hurt.
Grant roared. His door exploded outwards as he exited the truck.
Fucking show-off.
The ground beneath her feet trembled as he stalked around the hood to stand next to her. She didn’t look at him though. If she did, she’d probably lose it. Instead, she headed to the stainless steel toolbox in the bed of the truck. She didn’t have her knives, throwing stars, or her flamethrower, but she was an Amazon. She could improvise.
Sirens wailed in the far-off distance. Quiet, fugitive sounds from closer indicated that their attackers were nearing. Izzy pried open the toolbox, finding a couple of tire irons, a nail gun, pliers, and screwdrivers. Thank the gods for ranchers, she thought as she grabbed the tire irons and the nail gun. Making sure the gun was loaded she swiped another pack of nails and stuffed them in her bra. Yeah, not exactly comfortable, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Grant hadn’t moved from his spot, his eyes on her as though waiting for her to freak out, or faint, or some other sissy shit she didn’t have time for.
“Ready to kick some ass?”
He didn’t answer, his eyes drilling into her as though waiting for her reaction.
Okay, so she could see why he thought she’d freak. In his minotaur form, Grant would have been scary if Izzy hadn’t seen Rosetta without her wig and make-up and a five-day hangover.
Where he was a large male before, he was positively massive now. She guessed he stood at seven foot five, his shoulders more than a yard wide, with nothing but pure muscle packing his frame. His horns flared away from his temples, curling up at the ends at least a foot from his head. His face was harder, more angular. The proud nose she was so used to seeing was flatter at the tip and blackened just above the gold ring. He still looked humanoid, despite the horns and black eyes. If he were bright red, he’d look like Tim Curry in Legend. It was fucking awesome!
A pelt of short, black fur coated his body, making him gleam like onyx in the moonlight. Her eyes trailed down his body, pausing at his crotch because—hello!—how could she not look?
He was hung. His cock dangled nearly to where his knees would have been, his balls massive. She wanted to stare. Okay, she did stare, but she couldn’t help it. He was fucking huge! Some part of her, the weak, feminine part of her, prayed he didn’t plan on getting that thing anywhere near her. She was pretty sure minotaurs didn’t fuck in this form, but you never knew.
Reluctantly dragging her eyes from his cock, Izzy saw that from his hips to his hooves, he was all bull. Something moved behind him and she walked around him to see that he had a tail. How cool was that? She’d always thought she’d look sexy with a tail. But there was no time for daydreaming. Grant was waiting for her verdict and they had bad guys to beat up.
“You have a huge ass.”
* * * *
Grant’s heart stopped at Isola’s flat tone. Was she disgusted? Frightened? Then her words registered and relief flooded his system. Thank the gods she wasn’t running away from him screaming. It had happened once before, which was why he tried not to use this form as much. Although he seemed to slip into it more and more around her. He supposed Isola had the strange ability to let his true beast out of the cage. Gods help her.
It was a damn good thing he wasn’t able to get a hard-on in this form, too, because the way she’d stared at his cock would have had him sporting a bat-sized erection. He scented her unease and knew she was wondering if he would try to fuck her in this form. She had no worries about that, he wanted to tell her, but they didn’t have the time.
“Not huge.” His fan
gs didn’t allow for easy speaking, but he couldn’t let her get away with calling him fat.
Those doe brown eyes surveyed him. “Okay, maybe not huge, but you definitely have a lot of junk in your trunk in this form. And how cool is it that you have your Halloween costume already!” She bounced a bit. “You should come to the camp for the annual party this year. I’ll go as Lili and you can be the Lord of Darkness!”
She lifted the nail gun and for a split second, Grant knew true fear. She’d lied to him. She was planning to shoot him because she really was scared of him! Isola fired. He felt the nail burst past him as it headed for an unknown target. He spun around to see an imp slide to a stop at his feet.
Blood trickled from a small hole right between its eyes, telling Grant that Isola had hit it spot-on. More poured out of the trees, no longer silent since their presence had been given away. They were small and usually very ineffective fighters, but in great numbers, they could cause a lot of damage. Someone was serious about this fight.
Brimstone singed his nostrils as they swarmed over Grant and Isola. These weren’t mage-summoned imps. No, that scent alone meant they’d been called forth by a demon lord. Small, wiry, and unbearably childlike, the imps wore uniform black chainmail with no discernable markings. They smiled with glee, incredibly sharp teeth bared at Grant and Isola.
Grant roared, charging forward as the first wave broke over him. He snapped necks, stomped on their four-foot bodies, but they barely put up a fight. They clung to him, trying to slow him down, but none of them inflicted wounds. The imps he killed were replaced until he was buried beneath a mound of the gibbering creatures. If they weren’t trying to hurt him, what did they want?
He heard Isola laughing hysterically even as the steady thumping of the nail gun echoed through the night air.
Chapter Twenty-One
