“I hope you don’t regret this, little wolf.”
She shook her head. “I can’t regret it. If I did, then it’s not a choice worth making.”
With that, she stood on her tiptoes and brought her lips to his. He stiffened for a moment then wrapped one arm around her waist and placed a hand on the back of her head.
She gasped then parted her lips, letting his tongue tangle with hers. He growled, nipping at her lips, taking control of the kiss. Her shoulders melted, her body sinking into his. He tasted of spice, power, and a future she couldn’t see.
When he pulled back, they were both breathless, and she could feel the hard ridge of his cock against her belly.
At least his body wanted her.
His heart, though, would be another matter.
He cupped her face and studied her. “I suppose that sealed the deal,” he said, his voice a deep rasp.
She swallowed hard, his taste burned forever on her tongue. “I suppose it did.”
Her fate was locked with his, entwined around a promise and an uncertainty.
She only prayed she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life. Because no matter how much the idea of a Pack despising her scared her, it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.
No, the fact that she didn’t have Gideon’s heart was the one thing that could break her.
And when he pulled away again to catch his breath, she had a feeling she’d be broken long before she could figure out the next step. Some things were out of her control, and those were the ones that hurt the worst.
Or at least that’s what she feared.
For more Bites by Carrie Ann Ryan, visit her at https://bookandmainbites.com/carrieannryan
If you loved this Bite, read Tattered Loyalties on Amazon or on iBooks
About Carrie Ann Ryan
Carrie Ann Ryan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance. Her works include the Montgomery Ink, Redwood Pack, Talon Pack, and Gallagher Brothers series, which have sold over 2.0 million books worldwide. She started writing while in graduate school for her advanced degree in chemistry and hasn’t stopped since. Carrie Ann has written over fifty novels and novellas with more in the works. When she’s not writing about bearded tattooed men or alpha wolves that need to find their mates, she’s reading as much as she can and exploring the world of baking and gourmet cooking.
More from Carrie Ann Ryan
Book+Main Bites
https://bookandmainbites.com/carrieannryan
Newsletter
http://bit.ly/2zP6qvW
Website
http://carrieannryan.com/
Illicit Hunger
Christa Paige
Nadia shook her head again, and the tip of her tongue slid out, moistening her lips in a long sweep. The tips of her blunt, white teeth chewed on the corner of her mouth. She turned those soulful eyes on him. “I want—” her breath faltered and her chest rose with a tense inhalation. Twisting the hem of her shirt in her fingers, she focused on the wall behind him, breaking off their connection.
Time stilled as her lips parted and closed again as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t. “You,” she pushed into his mind, and he could feel her fear, and overwhelming need.
He closed the distance between them, grabbed her face with both his hands, ignoring the metal on his arm. Sliding his fingers along her jaw, he cupped the nape of her neck and pulled her forward. He bent his head, stopped fighting against everything he knew he wasn’t supposed to do, and gave into everything he wanted.
She gasped and he covered her mouth with his, hard and seeking, deep and urgent. And, she tasted like sweet wine.
Her arms laced around his shoulders, pulling him into her with a desperation he recognized. The rounded curves of her breasts crushed into his chest. He was lost. He propelled them backward, needing to feel her fully against him, desire crashing into him with every passing second. Fisting her hair, he yanked her head back, trailing kisses along her throat to her jaw and back to the hollow below her ear. She squirmed and rubbed against him. Warm heat and silken skin, utter desire prodded him to capture her thigh, drag it up to his hip and notch the apex of her body to his hard, throbbing length. The bite of her nails pricked his upper arm. That sweet pain only spurred him on.
“More, Gunnar. Give me more.” Her raw demand prodded him to let loose the caged beast roaring for freedom.
“I’ll give you what I can,” he promised.
And he meant it. That didn’t mean he’d take anything for himself. He couldn’t compromise her in any way. Even in his delirium, he had the honor not to do anything that would end with consequences.
He slid his hand under her top and shaped along her ribs, to the unyielding material of her bra. “Now, kjaere, let me feel you.”
Her eyelids fluttered and drooped. She leaned her head back to the wall exposing the elegant column of her throat. Cheeks flushed and whimpering with desire, she swallowed hard and implored, “Please, Gunnar. Don’t stop.”
A deep yearning crashed into him and Gunnar didn’t want to stop. “I won’t,” he reassured, the promise in his tone something he could do nothing to conceal.
∙•∙
Her first kiss. And, it was Gunnar.
Just like she’d dreamed and fantasized about for the last few days.
Hot, passionate, and stirring low in her belly, his kisses woke the female within her. It was wanton, needy, and clawed for more. The tip of his tongue brushed her teeth, the sensitive flesh along her lips and teased the space between. He explored and she met him there, eager to feel the warmth of his kiss deepen as their tongues dueled, lips pressed, bodies aligned together. It was too much.
It was perfect.
Rough fingers brushed her sides, along her ribs and it didn’t tickle or scratch her skin. The touch provoked her, coaxing her need with gentle caresses. A moan tangled in her throat and he captured it in his kiss, swallowed it back and an echo of his desire rumbled in his chest.
“Nadia,” he whispered against her mouth. “So sweet and hot.” His strong fingers pressed into the small of her back and held her firmly in place. He rocked up on his toes and brushed the solid length of his body flush to hers. “Why can’t you be mine?”
She heard his anguish, the same pain in his voice reverberated inside her heart. It’d only been a few days since they’d met but something inside her knew Gunnar was hers. Maybe biology? Or emotions. Either way, she hated not being allowed to follow her heart.
She covered his mouth with her fingers. “Don’t, please. Just pretend, for now.”
He nodded, but fire sparked in his eyes. It was alive, elemental, and the torment of their situation pierced her straight to her soul. She grabbed his shirt, fisted the material like it was her lifeline, her connection to him.
The heavy metal of his fixator came into view as he trailed a finger down the side of her face to her chin. Pressure directed her head back and exposed her throat further. Warm breath feathered across her pulse points, and little kisses followed. Her grip on his shirt tightened. Against her ribs, her heart beat hard and fast. Intense. Yes, take from me, she commanded in her thoughts, but didn’t allow him to share that desperate plea.
“I want to taste you, kjaere. Just a sip.” His growled whisper overset her and she pushed up on her toes in an unspoken consent.
His cheek brushed across her collarbone and the weight of his head settled on her shoulder. Ragged breaths wrenched from his chest. “I can’t. I won’t be able to stop.”
“Gunnar,” she muttered his name and licked her suddenly dry lips. “Only a little. Please. I want to feel your fangs on my skin. I want the bite. Yours.”
“I’m losing control.” He trembled, the muscles in his back tense as steel. She pressed him closer, a silent nudge. The tip of one sharp canine scraped fleetingly in a crude arc. The sting lasted only a second before his hot mouth covered the tiny wound and sucked. A moan shuddered inside her.<
br />
Gunnar shifted and pushed harder against her, pinning her to the cabinet and holding her still. “Ah, Nadia. You’re like nothing I’ve ever tasted. It’s paradise. You’re my paradise.”
Desperate for every possible sip, he sucked at her skin, rasping with his tongue. The miniscule amount he’d taken would hardly bond them but the intimacy was there anyway.
“God, I want you at my throat, taking from my vein,” he muttered, and his breath feathered along her pulse points. An elicit image popped into her mind so dark and erotic. She imagined tasting him, drawing his essence into her mouth and inundating herself with him.
Strong yet restless fingers tripped down her arm to her hip. His thumb trailed the edge of her waistband, stroking and raising her need with each teasing swipe.
“Let me touch you, Nadia.”
For more Bites by Christa Paige, visit her at https://bookandmainbites.com/ChristaPaige
If you loved this Bite, read Mated in Treason on Amazon or iBooks
About Christa Paige
Strict professor by day. Romance author by night. Lover of all things alpha-male twenty-four hours a day. Christa Paige is a multi-published author writing sensual, romantic tales and sweet love stories. She is the author of the Kan Asma Vampires series. In her free time, Christa likes knitting and has a yarn stash that keeps growing. (Especially if it is bamboo.) She never tires of watching a Star Wars marathon or rereading Lord of the Rings. There’s a special place in her heart for the Regency Romance which she co-writes with the amazing Vivien Jackson.
More from Christa Paige
Book+Main Bites
https://bookandmainbites.com/ChristaPaige
Newsletter
http://eepurl.com/dxGGK5
Website
http://www.christapaige.com/blog
Prove It
Juliette Cross
But Jude… He was all heat and steel and rock-solid, bone-melting beauty. His presence felt like unquenchable fire and impenetrable armor all at once—smothering and burning me with an insatiable need to bask in the nearness of him. Amid his fiery aura, I felt protected, rocking gently within his ship of flame, sure to be taken to safe harbor. I stopped walking, inhaled deeply and blew it out in a shaky breath, willing myself to be calm before I stepped into the bedroom.
The lights were off. A dark form stood tall and still, his profile silhouetted by the faint light filtering through sheer curtains. A long, sharp line angled against the wall—his broadsword. He didn’t face me as I entered. When he spoke, his voice was steady, level, distant.
“Do you trust me, Genevieve?”
A simple question. Of course, I did. Everything I knew about Jude incited trust. Though the man himself was still a mystery, he’d done nothing to make me doubt his intentions. Having saved my life now several times and having never harmed me in any way, how could I not trust him? Yet, there was a heaviness in his voice, as if this short inquiry held the weight of something far greater than I could imagine.
My reply came out low but strong. “Yes.”
He continued to gaze toward the curtained window, his frame stiff and unyielding. I stepped farther into the room, standing at the edge of my bed.
“Do you believe I am thinking only of your safety when I tell you to do something?”
Uh-oh. I knew where this was going.
“Jude, listen, I know that—”
“Answer the question.” His sharp tone halted the pitiful excuses about to spill from my mouth.
He turned to me then. Though I couldn’t see anything but the black outline of his body, I felt the weight of his eyes. Could he see me in the dark? I wondered what other gifts a Dominus Daemonum might have in his arsenal.
“Yes.”
He walked toward me, stopping outside that personal zone he so often liked to fill up with all his manliness.
“Then tell me”—his voice monotone, but sharp as a razor—“why do you value your life so little to leave this apartment for what, a romp about town with your boyfriend? You don’t seem to comprehend your new reality very well.”
His voice was calm, but edged with danger.
“I just thought, well, Kat said today… I mean—”
He went on, heedless of my stammering response. “Do you think I care if you go out with the boy?”
“Um, no. Well, yes. Maybe.”
“You’re free to do as you please, within reason. If you prefer to spend your time bar-hopping, that’s entirely your decision. But understand this, every time you step foot out the door, you’re risking your life, your very soul. Is it really worth it to sip beer and hold hands with the boy?”
My mouth went bone dry. He was so pissed.
“Why do you keep calling him a boy? He’s twenty-one years old. He’s a grown man.”
A derisive noise, almost a snort, came from the shadow before me. I felt the touch of shimmering flame he wore like a coat wherever he went.
“Mmm.” He inched into my space. I inched back, feeling like cornered prey. “And tell me, how do you know he’s a grown man?”
Words dripping with sarcasm. Malcolm was a good friend, possibly more than a good friend. Angry heat flushed my cheeks. “He’s, I mean…he just is!”
“‘He just is.’ Excellent definition. I’ll have to remember that.”
He mocked me. I was glad to have the darkness to hide the smug smile he surely wore and the humiliating flush crawling up my cheeks.
“Well, he’s a gentleman, that’s for damn sure!”
He inched closer. Though my eyes had adjusted, I could only see his outline in the dim light.
“Really? Gentlemen molest women on their doorsteps without invitation nowadays? Interesting. I hadn’t realized the definition had changed so much over the decades.”
“What! You saw! You watched me when he, I mean, when I… Damn you! That’s why I went out on my own tonight. I don’t want a babysitter all the time!”
Closer still. The backs of my knees bumped the edge of the bed.
“Babysitter? Honey, I’m not sure what mirror you’re looking in, but you are by no means a baby any more than that boy is a grown man.”
Honey? He’d never called me an endearment, and though I caught the condescending tone, the possessiveness in his voice struck me near dumb.
“Well, what’s your definition of a grown man, since you know so much?”
Already breathless, I hoped he couldn’t sense my nerves fracturing on multiple levels. The overwhelming sensation of his nearness in the dark was heady, intoxicating. I felt dizzy, wanting to grasp his shoulders for support, but I dared not touch him.
“A man,” he said, deep voice like velvet, warm breath caressing my cheek, “knows when to take action and when to be still, knows his strengths and his weaknesses, knows control when it is necessary and release when it is essential. And a man”—his voice had dropped deep, throaty, close to my ear—“knows when a woman wants him and how to please her.”
Two words popped into my head, and before I could possibly consider the consequences, the challenge shot from my mouth.
“Prove it.”
Jude crushed me onto the bed before I could blink, his glorious, hard body caging me in. A large hand hooked behind my knee, bending it as he fitted his pelvis to mine, his arousal pushing into the vee of my jeans. God! I gasped. Fingers spread into my hair, gently tugging so the column of my throat arched for him. I made a breathy sound as he scraped his stubbled jaw along the soft curve of my neck, trailing warm lips back over the rough abrasion. He tilted my head straight again, rocking against me in one slow movement.
“Ah.” A helpless pant escaped my lips.
If I could see his face, he would certainly be smiling. I was boneless beneath him. I bit my lip to keep any other embarrassing noises from escaping, as if that might help. His hand at my knee slid up along my thigh to my hip, massaging gently. Even through my jeans, his touch seared me to the skin.
“Let go, Genevieve.” I still
held my bottom lip tightly between my teeth. “Open for me.”
God, the man’s voice rumbled so low, a rough whisper caressing me in a tangible way, forcing me to obey. I did as I was told. Those lips I’d caught myself staring at entirely too often showed me the difference between the boy on the doorstep and the man on top of me.
Slowly, slowly, his lips urged mine apart with gentle yet determined movements until I tasted the invading heat of his mouth. His tongue came in—exploring, demanding, claiming me as his own. I’d felt desire before, but not like this. An aching need wrenched at my core, tightening low and deep. His aura of fire singed me from the inside out, waking every sense, wrapping me in palpable longing. A burning tendril reached out, weaving around me, into me, pulling me toward him like the tide to the moon. How did I ever mistake Danté for Jude? I knew in that moment no man would ever come close to him, no matter how long I lived.
I threaded one hand into the hair at his nape, shocked at the silkiness. My other hand moved along his neck to the crook of his jaw, feeling the muscles work as he continued his deep invasion. I couldn’t keep the little whimpering noises from escaping my lips. He responded at once, pressing his erection harder, grinding against me, kissing more deeply, nipping at my lips with his teeth, then devouring me again with heavy intent. My back arched, a primitive response, pressing my breasts against his chest. The friction wound a knot in my abdomen. He moaned. Christ. The sound made me want to give him everything, give him all of me. My other leg bent of its own will, inviting and cradling him between my thighs.
First Kisses: a Book+Main Bites anthology Page 6
