by Aline Hunter
“Then how do you know the woman in the bathroom wasn’t a shifter?”
“Because we all saw her when she exited the bathroom.”
He turned and leaned against the counter, glasses in one hand and wine bottle in the other. “And?”
“And she looked like a corpse and was obviously in shock.”
“Shifters will display the same symptoms after a large blood loss.”
“She wasn’t a shifter.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, Mr. Can’t Be Wrong, her mind was—” She snapped her mouth closed and cursed her short temper.
Oh crap.
She was revealing things she’d sworn not to without a second thought. If she didn’t watch it, he would know anything and everything about her.
He moved away from the counter and prowled across the distance, each step accentuating the long, sinewy lines of his thighs. As her gaze drifted up, she encountered the outline of his cock and testicles through the black leather, the bulge prominent and shifting to the right. Lust surged through her blood at the sight, causing her entire body to heat from the inside, and a deep craving and intense desire worked their way through the remaining erogenous zones of her body.
“Her mind was what?”
The absolute domination and control he exuded was compacted into those five short words. It was as if she knew better than to answer but couldn’t seem to find a way not to. The cadence of his speech, the alluring dip in that baritone tenor, encouraged her to jump haphazardly into the sky and trust in his ability and readiness to catch her.
“Her mind was a mess.”
He hesitated. “You could hear her thoughts?”
Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, don’t tell him…
“Yes.”
“You’re telepathic, Ava mine?”
She closed her eyes as the endearment sent unexpected ripples of fire scorching through the nerve endings beneath the surface of her skin.
“Yes.”
“Can you read my mind?”
She shook her head nervously and whispered, “No.”
“Good girl,” he purred in approval, as if he sensed her desire to please, and she felt her insides wilt and curve.
A simple form of praise and she was reduced to putty and a mash of quivering parts. She wanted him to tell her how proud he was of her, to hear the adoration in his voice as he rewarded her with nothing more than verbal accolades. If he spoke to her like this during sex, she’d do anything he told her to.
Anything at all.
God, if he didn’t get her blood pumping. Her clit felt as if it were being chafed by her lace panties, the swollen nub throbbing relentlessly against the agonizingly stiff material. She considered shifting in her seat but worried a new angle might make things worse. She had never wanted to climax so badly—her entire body was keyed up and ready to go over—and couldn’t decide if achieving orgasm by excitement alone would be exhilarating or mortifying.
Mortifying, most definitely, she concluded dismally. It might feel like heaven as she came but when all the wondrous sensations disappeared she’d be left gasping for air and facing one horny shifter.
Resigned to her sexed state, she tried to refrain from squirming like a fish on a hook.
After placing the glasses between them, Diskant poured the wine and took a seat. He kept a respectable distance, but distance was the last thing she wanted. Her body was shaking, her skin was flushed and the dampness between her legs was becoming ridiculous. The room was stifling too, the air so thick it was impossible to breathe.
Was it possible to suffocate on sex?
Damn, was that a hot flash?
The questions swarming through her mind stopped without preamble when he started eating. She sat in silence, confused by this strange yearning within, and watched as he cut strips of steak before he brought a piece to his mouth. His tongue darted out, lush upper and lower lips parting and then closing oh so slowly over the four-pronged fork. Millimeter by millimeter, she watched the lucky-ass piece of metal as it exited the confines of his mouth.
Expertly, he cut another piece, only this time he guided the fork and a small portion of the still-red meat toward her. Her focus shifted from the fork, locking on to pools of shimmering gold. Her breath lodged in her throat, sexual hunger simmering within her stomach, causing the walls of her womb to spasm.
“Open.”
A fresh gush of wetness soaked her underwear at his order and she did as instructed, opening wide and accepting the steak. He removed the fork from her lips just as slowly as he had from his own, and as he did she tried to taste not only the steak but the essence that remained from his mouth. As she chewed he studied her, watching as she slowly worked the tender meat between her teeth. When she swallowed, he already had another piece waiting, and she accepted it before he asked her to.
“I want you to listen to me as you eat,” he said, taking the fork away.
Collecting another sliver of the steak from the plate, he looked at her before lifting the fork to her lips. She nodded and took the small morsel, taking her time and savoring the rich seasonings that burst on her tongue, the succulent flavors exploding in her mouth. Chavez was one of the most sought-after chefs in the city, and there was a damn good reason for it.
“I wasn’t there the night that you’re speaking of, but I know everything that happened. The girl you saw at the club was indeed human. Her name is Katie, and she only just bloodbonded to her mate. That would be Zack, the male you saw carrying her from the bathroom.” He fed her another piece before he continued, “What the woman who barged into the bathroom failed to tell everyone is that she believed she walked in on a girl being raped against a sink. I suppose it’s understandable, as Zach had Katie pinned at the time and she was screaming.”
“That doesn’t explain anything. This wasn’t about rough or kinky sex. He nearly ripped her throat out.”
Diskant narrowed his eyes in a clear command to remain silent. “When the woman decided to play would-be rescuer and hit Zack in the head with her purse his teeth tore through the artery in Katie’s neck. The little screecher ran for help while Zack staunched the flow and sealed the wound. By the time Brett arrived everything was under control.”
“But he bit her—”
“We would never hurt our mates,” he interrupted. “The reason Katie was so ‘messed up’ is because she feared the repercussions of her actions. The bloodbonding ramped her libido and she took a stupid risk by begging Zack to fuck her in a public restroom. She knows the danger that exists if humans become aware of us and she worried about the punishment Zack would receive for what she’d done.”
“After what she’d done?” she snapped. “He was the one who ripped into her throat.”
She expected another look ordering her to zip her lips and listen but saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
“During sex, it’s not uncommon for things to get rough. We are known to bite from time to time and enjoy a bit of pain with our pleasure. But Zack never would have harmed Katie. Not intentionally. As for what she did, it’s rare that we punish a mated female. When the shit hits the fan the male is usually held responsible. Ultimately, it’s his job to keep his better half in line.”
“What?” Offended by the implication, she swatted at the oncoming fork with the pads of her fingers. “Keep them in line? Are you serious?”
“Not entirely.” He grinned mischievously. “But mostly, yes.”
“And this bloodbonding thing? What is that?”
All pretense of playfulness evaporated.
He turned from her, put the fork down and stared at the plate in front of him for several agonizing seconds. After a moment he reached for her untouched glass of wine and handed it over.
“Drink this.”
“I don’t—”
“Trust me. I don’t want you inebriated, but you’ll want to take the edge off.”
Reluctantly, she accepted the glass, grazing his ov
en-warm fingers in the process. She wanted the caress to linger but he moved away before she could bask in the warmth.
“Do you know how vampires are made?”
She couldn’t mask a snide grin at his question. Who did he think he was talking to? She was born and raised on eighties cult classics that told you everything you needed to know about the supernatural. The Villati acted all big and bad but from what she’d seen movies were spot-on when it came to the ways to create and destroy the creatures of the night. The Monster Squad wasn’t only a must-have on the DVD shelf, it was also the most valuable weapon a person could have in their ass-kicking arsenal.
“They bite you and drain your blood. Then they force you to drink their blood. It’s some weird vampire blood transfusion via the mouth kind of thing.”
“A bite is what it takes,” he corrected, suddenly canary-yellow irises shining brightly.
Her triumphant smile waned. “What?”
“All it takes is a bite.”
“You’re messing with me.”
“They secrete a poison through their fangs that changes the body and preserves it. It usually takes several bites to complete the process, three being the norm. They can share blood if they prefer but it’s not necessary.” He motioned for her to start drinking and she complied, taking a sip. “Shifters, oddly enough, are more inclined to do what you’re told about vampires in stories or movies. That is where you’re basing your information from?”
She felt her cheeks ignite in embarrassment but she produced a brisk nod of shame.
“Despite what you might think, a lycanthrope can’t change someone into a shifter. A person can be bitten by one of us but aside from causing extensive damage it won’t mean a thing. Shifter mate shifters, but when a shifter mates with a human it can be a problem because they don’t possess our longevity. By bloodbonding we can share a portion of our magic—our lifeforce—with human mates and ensure they remain a part of us indefinitely.”
Her heart started pounding, beating so hard it felt as if it were attempting to hammer free from her chest.
“Define indefinitely.”
He met her eyes, the orbs of yellow-gold bright and brilliant.
“Forever.” His voice was soft, though the meaning was crystal clear. This wasn’t a brief fling that would eventually reach its summit. A relationship with Diskant meant being in it for the long haul, as in for the rest of their lives.
The glass in her hand wobbled visibly as she ripped her eyes from his, brought the rim to her lips, tilted her chin back and downed the contents. The bitter liquid rushed down her esophagus and settled uncomfortably in her churning stomach. Even the prospect of vomiting all over the place didn’t stem the nauseating thoughts racing through her head.
“We don’t even know each other.” Her voice was as unsteady as her quaking limbs. “You can’t discuss forever with someone you’ve just met. It’s not logical.” Trying to find humor in the situation, she quipped, “Your divorce rate must be ungodly.”
“If I were to put my hand down your pants right now, what would I find?”
“Excuse me?” she all but yelped and started to rise from her chair.
He moved with a speed that contradicted his imposing size, pinning her against the wooden chair. His face was within inches of hers, lips so close she could feel the delicious heat of his breath against her nose. She couldn’t look away, frozen in place by irises that seemed to shift from yellow-gold to vivid orange.
“If I were to put my hand down your pants, shove aside the lacy panties I know you’re wearing and dip a finger inside that hot little pussy of yours, what would I find?”
Stunned yet aroused by his frank manner, she stammered, “I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about.”
“Wet.” He growled and nuzzled her nose with his, turning his head from side to side, the motions slow and intentional. “You’ve been wet since I put you in my lap on the Harley.”
“I have not—”
He stilled and pulled away to look her in the eye. “Sweetness, there’s no shame in admitting it. I’ve been drowning in the succulent scent of your cunt since we walked through the door.”
To her utter mortification, a fresh, hot rush of wetness escaped the very cunt in question. His darkly lashed lids slid closed as he inhaled through his nose, taking a long, deep breath. When he exhaled slowly, he reopened his eyes and nailed her with a sultry stare.
“You smell fucking incredible, Ava. So goddamn sweet. I want to bury my face between your thighs and lap up the cream I know is waiting just for me. And it is just for me. You know it and I know it. No one else has ever made you this hot and no one ever will. Do you know why?”
She shook her head dumbly, lips parted while stinted gasps escaped.
“Because you’re mine.”
She went soft at the declaration, body going lax as all logical thought took a first-class trip out the window. The look in his eyes said it all. He was going to have her. And god help her, she was going to let him. He was right. No one had ever made her feel like this—hot and cold, fire and ice. Each made all the more apparent by the other.
He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, the roughened skin gently flitting back and forth. “In thirty seconds I’m going to carry you to the bedroom, drape you across the bed and see if you taste as good as you smell. If you want out, now’s the time to say so.”
There were more reasons to say no than yes. He was a relative stranger, a different species, and once they crossed this threshold she was fairly certain there was no going back. If it had been anyone else she would have played it safe, thanked him for dinner and bolted like a scalded cat. Survival meant surveying the situation and working out all the angles before diving in. The dead didn’t live to tell tales, nor did those who contemplated entering into a world that existed under its own code of morals, so completely different from those she had deferred to all her life.
Yet for twenty-seven years she had played by society’s rules, becoming a perfect daughter, an understanding sister, a good employee, an understanding yet unsatisfied lover. Now she was tired of doing the right thing, of being prim and proper, of pretending she didn’t care that she lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment.
“Pinkie?” He didn’t speak her name so much as he growled it, and the animalistic promise of raw pleasure aroused her all the more. “What’s it going to be? Yes or no?”
What was it going to be? Yes to a night she would never forget? Or no to what she desired most, leaving her safe but desolate, all for the sake of self-preservation?
Fortune favors the bold.
Remembering his earlier vow not to touch her unless she begged him to, she arched her back, pressed her breasts into his chest and whispered provocatively, “Yes, please.”
Chapter Six
Two words, two husky little syllables, and Diskant was ready to come inside his leathers like a randy blue-balled virgin. Pinkie wrapped her arms around his neck as he sprinted from the kitchen. Taking the stairs three at a time, he didn’t slow down until he stood in the entrance of his bedroom.
His body was positively humming, electrified by adrenaline. Shifters often said that when they were due a shift they could feel the fur of their beast brushing on the underside of the skin. Right now it felt as if each and every one of his was doing just that. Going toe-to-toe with them wouldn’t do shit—not now. They felt as entitled to the female in his arms as he did. That meant he had to make sure to maintain control. His mate, as sexy and enticing as she was, was human. Until the bloodbonding was initiated she would heal normally, and that meant he had to take it nice and slow.
His cock immediately protested the idea, flexing angrily as his balls drew taut. He bit back the curse that arose, determined to take her slowly, to give her pleasure she would never forget.
Placing her among the pillows against the headboard, he waited until she was comfortable before he went to work removing her clothes. First off were the sneakers and socks.
He didn’t think it was possible but his dick got harder at the sight of her neatly pedicured feet, the teeny toenails painted a vibrant cherry red.
Eager hands returned to the task of removing the snug black slacks that had taunted him all night, the thin cotton cradling and presenting the mounds of her ass perfectly. The moment the material slid down her pale thighs he was assailed by the scent of her pussy—musky and rich, clean and fragrant—and groaned when he noted the large stain in the center of her panties. The cat roared in his skull as his canines ached and throbbed, desperate to elongate and sharpen.
Christ!
He was pretty fucking sure his fingers were trembling as he removed the starched and pressed ivory dress shirt button by button. Each one revealed more and more of the radiant skin he remembered only too well, until he was parting the sea and removing the damn thing from her body altogether.
When she tried to return the favor he shook his head and stopped her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists.
“I’ve waited weeks to do this. I want you to keep your hands here,” he lowered her hands to her sides and let go, “and don’t move them.”
She trembled slightly but kept her hands were he placed them, fingers limp atop the comforter.
“Is this your first time?” He felt like an absolute asshole for asking but if it was, he’d have to take things in a totally different direction. A virgin would require softness and a slow introduction to making love. Which would suck in this case, as all he could think about was getting her ass into the air and fucking her hard and fast.
“No.” The corners of her mouth quirked as she restrained a grin. “Is it yours?”
His heart caved and missed a couple of beats.
Holy mother of god, I think I’m in love.
Placing one hand on either side of her body, he dipped his head, and just as he hoped, she rose up to meet him. Much like the first time, the connection as their lips met was immediate. The blood in his veins turned to liquid fire, the tingling under his skin settling into the very marrow of his bones. When she parted her lips, his tongue accepted the invitation to explore and pressed inside. The tip of her tongue met his, mating in a slow, sensuous dance.
