Sinfully Naughty Vol. 2 (BBW Shape Shifter & Contemporary Romance): Five scorching tales of naughty alphas and their mates!

by Mina Carter

  “Fuck me, you’re perfect.” His groan was uttered against her lips, his brushing hers. Pulling back, he slid into her again. Swept his tongue over her lips to demand entrance, and then thrust deep at the same time his hips slammed forward. Taking her twice, filling her and claiming her with hot, hard thrusts of tongue and cock.

  Pleasure made a playground of her body, heating her blood and shimmering through every cell. He moved over and within her, the cage of his body above her protective and possessive at the same time. She moaned, throwing back her head and straining against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  Kissing along her throat, he left a trail of fire. Hot, wet kisses and tiny nips that drove the tension within tighter. Her body ached, filled to capacity with each hard, slick slide. His thick cock stroked nerve-endings she’d forgotten existed, buried so deep she didn’t know where she ended and he began.

  “God, angel. You’re so tight.”

  Catching her leg behind the knee, he lifted her leg and twisted his hips. The added stimulation sent a jolt of sensation through her so intense that she gasped aloud and clutched at him to anchor herself.

  His face was pulled tight, determined as he looked down at her. Tension corded his body, steely muscles rigid to the touch. He bent over her, his hair a dark curtain around his face that swung slightly with each thrust. Thrusts that became shorter and faster.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, angel.” He cursed, dropping his head so she couldn’t see his face. “I wanted this to be longer. Had it all fucking planned. Slow and sweet, seduce you—”

  She reached up, tangled her fingers in the long locks, and used them to pull his face up so she could look into his eyes.

  “Seduce later.” She smiled, heart in her eyes. “Now? Just fuck me.”

  Thank you, God.

  At her words, what was left of Luca’s control shattered. How the hell he’d managed to keep it together until now he had no clue. He’d dreamed of this for years. Woken up hard and on the point of climax with images of her naked and writhing beneath him in his mind. Thrust home into her slick, wet heat so many times…all in his imagination.

  His imagination was shit. The reality was so much better.

  With a groan he pulled back until just the tip of his cock was still within her, dropped her leg in favor of reaching for her hands. He allowed himself one slow slide into her snug, wet pussy, pulling her hands up above her head.

  Utter trust shone in her eyes—his angel’s eyes—as she let him pin her wrists in one hand. A shudder hit him broad-side, and he almost came then and there. He fought it off, and yanked his hips back. The time for slow and gentle was past. Now, the male animal inside would be content with nothing less than claiming his woman with a fire and passion so complete that she’d never look at another man but him.

  He thrust forward, using all the power in his core and hips to fill her to the hilt. His balls slapped against her ass, the sexy-soft sound of skin hitting skin and her little moans filling the room. Fuck, he loved the sounds she made. Not a whimper, not a moan, but something somewhere in between, right from the back of her throat.

  He built up the tempo, stretching her out under him. Fucking and taking and filling her over and over again. With each thrust he made a silent claim and a vow. He loved her, always had, and always would. Tonight was about proving that to her and binding her to him so tightly that she’d never leave.

  But he couldn’t keep up the speed. Fire built at the base of his spine, reaching heated tendrils around his waist, through his body to grab his balls and encircle his cock. He gasped, movements faltering as his release threatening to rise up and overwhelm him.

  “Oh god, Dani…” He managed, his hips doing the funky chicken as he tried to get it under control. Heat of another kind swept his cheeks. She hadn’t come yet. No way was he coming without making sure she was taken care of.

  She smiled, the expression worthy of a siren and pulled on her wrists. Instantly he released them, only for her to wrap him up in her arms. Her hips rocked against his and foiled his attempt to keep them still.

  “Together, love. Together from now on,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss him. At the same moment, he felt her body clench down around his. He closed his eyes and slammed into her a last time, letting his control go and joining her over the edge in ecstasy.

  Together. Forever.

  Thrill of the Night

  by Mina Carter

  There are things that go bump in the night. At one time or another I’d seen and hunted all of them, vampires, shape-shifters, demons and ghouls to name but a few. My lips pursed as I swiped viciously at the tabletop in front of me. These days my weapons were antibacterial cleaner and a wet cloth.

  The stubborn marks on the surface of the booth table were no match for my mad cleaning skills and within seconds the table—like its companions in the small diner—was as clean as a new pin. Or how I’d always expected a new pin to be that was…if tables were small and metal coloured. Actually, I had no freaking clue what a new pin looked like but if I did, then my tables looked like ‘em.

  I should introduce myself. I’m Gwen, technically Guinevere, but only my mother ever called me that. There’s another name which goes with that, but it’s not one I like to admit to. At one time I was a hunter, a slayer of anything dark and paranormal, but that was a long time ago. These days I manage Betty’s Diner off the main route into town, and rent a room in the motel at the back. Not much, but for a woman who’d spent her life on the road, it was as tied down as I was comfortable getting.

  Packing up my trusty spray bottle and cloth, I headed for the counter. It was, as always at this time in the afternoon, a little slow. The evening rush wouldn’t start for a while. Until the cook, Bob, showed up it was just me on duty, in charge of everything from cleaning to cooking. I shook my head, amused with myself. Real high flyer, wasn’t I?

  I tucked everything away and hurried to my purse for my book. The benefit of taking the afternoon shift was a chance to catch up on some reading. And as I was at the beginning of what promised to be a satisfyingly steamy scene, I anticipated getting back to it.

  Fate was not to be so kind. As soon as my fingers latched onto the purse the door opened. Head buried under the counter, I closed my eyes and swore under my breath. Who the feck decided to eat at this bloody time of day? Didn’t they know I had better things to do?

  Bouncing up from behind the counter like a jack-in-the-box, I plastered a bright smile on my face. Only to have it slide right off again. There, standing in the middle of the diner, was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.

  Dressed in plain denim jeans and a T-shirt, he was a little rugged around the edges. The fuzz of stubble decorated his jaw, and his spiky crop was a little mussed, but all that did was invite feminine fingers to rearrange and put it in some kind of order.

  All that faded as I clocked his eyes. A combination between blue-green and brown, they speared right through me. A shiver ran down my spine. I’d always had a thing about men with pretty eyes, and this guy had them in spades. My gaze slipped down a straight nose and collided with a pair of sensually full lips. Instantly my imagination fed me an encyclopaedia of erotic images centered around those lips.

  All in all, the man was a walking, talking reason to thank God for being female. If he could talk. Since he hadn’t uttered a word yet, the jury was still out on that one.

  “What can I get you, sweetheart?” Startled out of my usual composure, I slipped a little and my voice bore traces of my real accent, which, since I’d been born in England, was definitely not local.

  His attention flicked from the menu on the board to me, and he smiled slowly. My ovaries whimpered. Oh, this one was a charmer for sure.

  “Coffee would be good, thanks, darlin’. Pie, if it’s any good.”

  I could have gone into rhapsodies over his voice. Low with a rough cut, gritty quality, it hit me right where it counted…yeah, should have mentioned that. I have a thing for male voices. A
nd a good back…good arms…good ass…nice smile. Okay, I admit it there isn’t much on a guy I don’t like. I’m a tart, through and through.

  I smiled back. Not that there was any likelihood I had a chance with a guy like this, but my feminine pride (and whimpering ovaries) wouldn’t let me at least give it a shot.

  “Since I didn’t make it, I’d say there was a good chance it’s great. Wanna take a seat for me, handsome? I’ll bring it over.”

  I waved in the general direction of the diner as a whole. Since we were empty, he had the pick of any seat in the house. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I busied myself slicing pie and making coffee.

  He walked with a small swagger, and just the right amount of arrogance. The T-shirt clung lovingly to broad shoulders my fingers just ached to explore. I couldn’t help it. My gaze dropped to his ass. Oh yes, tight as all hell from what I could see in the somewhat loose fit denim.

  I bit my lip to stop me complaining out loud. Loose fit on a guy built like that? There had to be at least seven federal laws against it, possibly more. Did the guy not realise what a crime against women it was to conceal an ass like that?

  He chose the booth in the corner, and slid across the seat until his back was to the wall. Good choice, the hunter in me mentally applauded. If the shit hit the fan, he didn’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up behind him, and the window to his left ensured he had an escape route if the situation went to hell in a hand-basket.

  Gah, there I went again. You’d think after three years of being out the game I’d have settled into civilian life, but nooooo…my brain insisted on feeding me firing arcs and assessing the danger in any situation. On the face of it, that wasn’t a bad idea. But when you found yourself fondling the silver cutlery and demanding to see customer’s teeth to check for fangs? Bad thing.

  Of course, I had yet to actually stab a paying customer with a fork, so it was all good. Sighing to myself, I gathered everything on a tray and made my way over. Today I wore my sexiest work outfit, which meant I was dressed in the diner’s standard waitressing uniform, a creation that was about as flattering as a bin liner, matched with comfortable shoes.

  I attempted a sexy saunter as I walked over. All I managed to achieve was slopping the coffee on the tray and almost putting my hip out of joint. Crap, where were a pair of killer heels when you needed them? Luckily, he hadn’t noticed, his attention on the paper he’d snagged from the next table.

  “Your coffee and pie. Anything else I can get you?” I asked sweetly. Like me maybe?

  “No. I’m good. Thanks.”

  He flicked a glance up and smiled. His look was direct, and for a moment, I had the oddest impression he’d noticed my attempt at sexiness. Heat rose unbidden in my cheeks. I ignored it, even though I felt as if I had a “failed cougar with curves” sticker slapped right on my forehead. I resisted the urge to slam the tray down in pique and carefully unloaded it in front of him.

  “Cool. Gimme a shout if you need anything.”

  I skipped the part about being “right over there”, despite the fact my wayward ovaries were damn near tripping over themselves and demanding that I did. The place was a back-road diner with less than twenty tables. If he couldn’t figure out the general direction of the counter then the lone brain cell in his head sure was gonna get lonely.

  “Enjoy your meal.”

  * * *

  Five hours after he’d sauntered out of the diner Mr.Tall, gorgeous, and less than chatty was still on my mind. I loved my work…okay, that’s a load of bullshit…my work was boring as hell. The same customers week in, week out…the same routine every night. But it suited me.

  Life as a hunter was tough. Always travelling to the job, and sleeping in the car if you couldn’t find a place to stay, or were too damn knackered after killing whatever bogeyman you’d been tracking. I’ve woken up in alleys, ditches, fields, even a church. Mind you, that last one had way more to do with an all night happy hour in Mickey’s bar than anything paranormal, so it didn’t count.

  After all that? Boring I could handle, even if my soul did ache at times for the freedom of the open road, and the thrill of facing down a vamp armed only with a nail file, a rubber band and a bulldog clip.

  So my handsome mystery customer had provided hours of entertainment by way of every erotic fantasy my twisted little brain could cook up. And, believe me, I have a great imagination, and a working knowledge of the Kama Sutra. Yeah, admittedly it was the Kindle edition, but hey…it counted.

  Right now though, my feet hurt more than the lure of any erotic fantasy. After a full shift on the busiest night of the week all I wanted to do was fall across my bed and sleep for a week. Checking the lights were all off, I headed out the door with a grateful sigh.

  As always, stepping out into the darkness brought all my old instincts to the fore. My heart rate picked it up a notch, driving fresh blood around my body in case I needed to fight or run like hell. Even though this was the sleepy side of sleepyville, my purse was looped over my shoulder, my hand on the hilt of the knife hidden there. Hey, what can I say? Some women carried around a cute cosmetics purse, I carried a Fairbairn-Sykes commando knife.

  The walk around back and across the parking lot was distinguished by its sheer uneventfulness. No vamps waited to accost me in the shadows, and no shape-shifters burst from the darkness to drag me off. Hell, even the motel guests were all safe and sound in their rooms, the curtains tightly drawn against the night.

  Footsteps ringing out against the wooden walkway, I headed toward my room. It was the last on the block, right at the end where the paint had worn off and the maintenance money didn’t quite reach. The shabby exterior didn’t bother me. It was cheap, and cheerful (also known as free) and as a rule the neighbors were quiet.

  Bloody handprints were uncommon. In fact, as a rule, we didn’t get them. My hand tightened around the knife as I studied the example on the post in front of me. Male handprint, at shoulder height. The edges were smeared and indistinct…enough blood to cause concern for a civilian, but a mere flesh wound for a hunter.

  I flicked a glance out into the parking lot. A sleek, black car sat there, hunkered down and dangerous looking. I’m not good with cars, monsters are more my thing, but this was one of those old style American ones…all shiny paintwork and chrome. Polished chrome. Obviously owned by a man, I didn’t know any women who got that fanatical about cars.

  No one bleeding out there, not that I saw, anyway, so I turned my attention to the door next along the row. Bingo. There on the doorjamb was another handprint, and a scuff mark at the bottom. I recognised the signs, saw where he’d leaned and pushed the door open with his boot. Someone was hurting in that room and, if I wasn’t much mistaken, bleeding onto motel towels until they could get enough cheap alcohol down their neck to start stitching.

  Walk on by. I should just walk on by. I knew that, you know that, hell the freaking world knew that, but did I walk past that blood-marked door? Did I fuck…

  Still telling myself this was such a bad idea, I pulled a handful of tissues from my purse and wiped the mark off the post. Wouldn’t fool anything with a good sense of smell, but at least it would stop anything human wigging out and calling the cops.

  Since I was fairly sure I dealt with a hunter on the other side of the door and not a civilian, the last thing either of us wanted was the cops getting involved. That scenario always ended up bad, and charges of murder weren’t unheard of…an occupational hazard when most of the critters we hunted reverted to human form on death.

  But, officer, honestly. Ten minutes ago he had teeth out to like…here…and tried to disembowel me, didn’t go down too well when you’d just put a bullet through the sucker’s skull.

  The handprint on the door got the same swipe-down treatment before I rapped my knuckles against it. My other hand was still buried in my purse, fingers firmly wrapped around the hilt of my knife. Just because I thought it was a hunter in there didn’t mean it was. I’d b
een wrong before, usually in spectacular fashion. Last time, I’d ended up with a vamp looking for a midnight snack trying to chow down on my neck. Never again.

  “Hey? You okay in there?”

  Anyone watching would think I auditioned for some bad TV cop program the way I hugged the wall at the side of the door. I didn’t care. I’d rather look stupid than get a gutful of lead when a jittery hunter blasted through the door.

  There was no answer. Okay, that wasn’t good. Perhaps he was in the bathroom taking a piss? I listened out for the sound of flushing, but the only answer was a whole load of silence. After a few seconds, I rapped again.

  “Hello? Housekeeping,” I called out as I tried the handle, just to be on the safe side. Even an injured hunter would think twice before firing on an unsuspecting maid delivering towels. Sure, unless he was completely out of it and insensible, he’d have me covered, but the actual pulling of the trigger part would be delayed until he was convinced I was something out to eat his brains, or other parts of his anatomy…I suppressed the snigger and pushed the door open wider.

  I stopped a step into the room. The Colt .45 is rather a distinctive gun, especially when you’re staring down the barrel. I swallowed as my overactive brain fed me the gun’s stats. Being in someone’s sights is never a good feeling, and definitely not when you know exactly what kind of damage the weapon they’re pointing at you can cause.

  I tore my gaze away from the muzzle to look at the guy holding it. My breath caught on a gasp that sounded way too girly and breathless, even to me. My mystery customer sat on the bed, sans shirt, and wearing a liberal covering of blood from the three ragged claw marks across his shoulder. All question of whether he was a hunter disappeared. I recognised the signs of a were attack. I had a matching set on my left thigh.