“Yes,” I answer just as quietly.
His finger moves in and out of me in a slow pump. He moves my legs apart slowly, and it feels natural. Hot.
I spread them wider, allowing him better access to the center of me.
“Greta,” he moans against my neck, kissing softly, “you are too beautiful for words. Your body is made for mine.”
I agree without words, pulling him against me, but he resists. “Not yet.”
I lift my head, staring at him between my legs.
His eyes move to my splayed folds.
Oh.
I'm instantly self-conscious, until he gives a smile full of raw need. He wants this. Paco puts his hand on my stomach and, with a nod, dives below.
I expect something harsh and penetrating. It's my only point of reference. But his hot breath at my entrance warms me.
That is all.
Then the softest stroke of his tongue slowly licks up one side of my labia, crossing a path of wetness over my clit, and I shudder. He pauses at my reaction, inserting his finger again, and my hips come off the bed.
“Oh, God,” I breathe in surprised wonder.
His tongue glides down the other side, and my palms hit the sides of the bed as fingertips sink into the sheets. I whip my head back and forth when his tongue inches inside.
Before I can protest or analyze anything, his tongue begins to move in and out.
My hips meet his soft wet thrusts.
He tucks his hands beneath my hips and suddenly jerks me deeper into his face.
“Ah!” Pressure builds down low where his lips touch my flesh. I work my hips against him with abandon when the swelling feeling of hanging from a cliff stops.
Then I fall—crashing pleasure sweeps through my body, and his tongue eases, lapping against my entrance and running the length to the small bundle of nerves untouched before Paco's deft caress.
“Now,” he says softly as I begin to ease back into my body, the walls of my pussy still pulsing from the orgasm he just gave me.
Paco hovers above me in push-up position, and I give him a languid smile of permission. The tip of him inches slowly into me.
He's large, and I'm tight.
My eyes go wide, and he cages me with his arms, kissing me.
“Trust me, Greta.”
I widen my legs, tasting myself on his mouth, and go limp with desire. His mouth did that to me. Made me wet.
Made me want.
As I relax, he rocks deeper.
Then he's at my end. His face pulls away, and his lips lift, but he doesn't smile.
He waits.
“Yes,” I say.
Paco pulls out.
When he enters me again, I throw my head back. It's so beautiful, so complete.
He owns me in the best way, with my desire, permission, and love.
I give back what he gives me, my hips rising to meet each gentle thrust.
His pacing becomes irregular, and I instinctively know he's close. Paco is waiting for me to catch up.
He rocks more deeply, touching the same spot up high again and again.
“Harder,” I say, feeling that same golden weight begin to build as it did earlier.
Paco draws back and slams into me.
I breathe against the memories—then meet his deep thrusting. This is mine.
Ours.
He pounds into me, and I meet every plunging bit of him. The orgasm takes me by surprise, and I shout out my pleasure.
“Greta,” Paco says in a strained voice.
My eyes open, and he's rigid above me, pumping all himself into me. Hot liquid fills me, and I milk him of every drop. We're frozen together, my pulses of pleasure eating up what he gives me.
Paco covers me with his body. I don't feel suffocated by the gesture. I feel cherished.
He lays within me until he grows too soft and slips out, barely rolling off me and to the side.
His fingers scatter the sweaty strands of my hair out of my face. “Are you okay?”
I stare up at the ceiling for a few seconds, letting Paco trace the contours of my face as he waits for my reply.
“I'm so all right.”
Paco leans over and kisses my tears. He knows the difference. He tells me happy tears taste different from sad ones.
I believe him.
EPILOGUE
Paco
The narco was not invited, they do not wish to play anymore.
I look at Zaire, absently wondering what he's done there, to get that particular misery out of my life.
He tilts his hat in my direction. The motion is little more than a caress of the brim, but an acknowledgment nonetheless. The owner of Club Alpha got what he wanted.
I'm standing under an arc of flowers on my wedding day. The perfect woman will enter this artfully constructed courtyard in the next few moments, and I owe it all to Zaire and his determination to secure a happiness I could not. I share the sentiment of the other Club Alpha players—I'd do it again.
Seeing Greta enter through the tall rustic gallery doors in a gorgeous floor-length dress of soft white takes my breath, shattering the oxygen to the wind. I'm left gasping at her beauty.
My fortune.
I finger the matching wedding bands inside my pocket.
Greta's worth was never in her wealth, but in who she is.
To me.
I scan the audience as the music starts, catching Gia's eye. She winks, and I give her a nod.
Tallinn's dark presence graces the only exit. His eyes constantly rove the proceedings, though things could not be safer. I moved heaven and earth making sure of it.
The music trills, announcing the beginnings of the traditional American song “Here Comes the Bride.”
And she does.
Greta begins to walk down the aisle, and my heart swells, my chest tight with a new emotion—the only emotion.
Love.
THE END
If you enjoyed CLUB ALPHA, you might also enjoy THORN, a standalone novel of dark romantic suspense....
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Acknowledgments
I published The Druid Series in 2011 and Death Whispers in the same year with the encouragement of my husband, and continued because of you, my Reader. Your faithfulness through comments, suggestions, spreading the word and ultimately purchasing my work with your hard-earned money gave me the incentive, means and inspiration to continue.
There are no words that are sufficiently adequate to express my thankfulness for your support. But know this: TDS novellas continued past HARVEST only because of you.
I truly feel connected to my readers. It is obvious to me, but I'll say the words anyway for clarity: a written work is just words on pages if they are not read by my readers. As I write this I get a lump in my throat; your enjoyment of my work affects me that deeply.
You guys are the greatest, each and every one of ya~
Marata (Tamara) xo
Special Thanks:
You, my reader.
My husband, who is my biggest fan.
Cameren, without whom, there would be no books.
About the Author
Marata Eros (the pen name for Tamara Rose Blodgett) is the author of over seventy titles, including her New York Times bestselling novel, A Terrible Love, and the #1 international bestselling erotic Interracial, and African-American TOKEN serial. Marata writes a variety of dark fiction in the genres of erotica, fantasy, horror, romance, sci-fi and suspense. She lives in South Dakota with her family, and enjoys interacting with her readers.
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