The moment he settled perfectly between my legs, he froze, paused and pulled away. Almost too abruptly, as if he’d realized or forgotten something. Though his voice came out calm and steady, the rapid tattoo of his heart vibrated through his chest to mine. He lifted his body an inch, no longer touching but hovering in torturous intimacy. I almost cried out in anguish.
“Proven?”
What? Proven? What was he talking about? My mind had nearly melted away the conversation before this more than heated interlude. I could hardly form a coherent thought, much less speak, still panting and wanting more.
A throaty laugh. His chest rumbled, inadvertently, or maybe on purpose, rubbing the tips of my breasts. I definitely whimpered at that. He bent his head, keeping our bodies apart, sweeping his lips lightly along mine, giving me a brief, wet kiss, tugging at my lower lip before letting go. He released a jagged breath.
“Don’t settle, Genevieve. Don’t let strangers grope you on dance floors. Don’t allow college boys to fondle you in doorways. Don’t waver in uncertainty about your own desires. Even ageless, life is too short to live halfhearted. Know what you want. Endeavor to seize it, and keep it when you do.”
The mattress shifted as his weight lifted off the bed. A swift whooshing sound, and he was gone. His heat lingered on my swollen lips, my chest and lower. I curled onto my side, feeling bereft and so very alone. I’d forgotten all about Garzel and the Collector and Malcolm. None of it mattered as Jude’s advice swirled in my mind, specifically the last words he spoke to me.
“I thought I just did,” I whispered into the dark.
There was no answer.
For more Bites by Juliette Cross, visit her at https://bookandmainbites.com/JCross
If you loved this Bite, read Forged in Fire on Amazon or on iBooks
About Juliette Cross
Juliette calls lush, moss-laden Louisiana home where she lives with her husband, four children, and black lab named Kona. She has a B.A. in creative writing from Louisiana State University, a M.Ed. in gifted education, and was privileged to study under the award-winning author Ernest J. Gaines in grad school. Her love of mythology, legends, and art serve as constant inspiration for her works. From the moment she read JANE EYRE as a teenager, she fell in love with the Gothic romance—brooding characters, mysterious settings, persevering heroines, and dark, sexy heroes. Even then, she not only longed to read more novels set in mystical Gothic worlds, she wanted to create her own.
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A Bad Girl Kiss
Lee Savino & Renee Rose
“Did you like your spanking, Amber?” His voice rumbles deep and seductive.
“No.” I want to stand up, but he’s leaning forward, rough palms on my knees, and I would have to push him away. Touching him would be dangerous.
“I think you did.” Sexy wrinkles appear in the corner of his eyes. He’s laughing at me.
“If I told someone you were a werewolf, what would you do to me?” I ask, mostly to kill the mood.
His blue eyes turn to ice chips. His hands squeeze my knees, and I wonder that I ever thought his touch sexy. My body freezes, staring down a predator.
“You don’t want to know,” he rumbles, totally serious. The threat in his eye effectively kills the sexy mood.
“All right then,” I find my voice somehow. “I don’t need to know. I won’t tell anyone, on the pain of death.” I try to say that last part like it’s a little joke, but fumble it. My stomach feels like a bottomless pit.
His big body relaxes. After a moment, so does mine.
“Good girl,” he says.
A sigh escapes me, so big it rattles my bones.
“Come here,” he murmurs, and gathers me in his arms. I stay stiff, stunned, before melting against him.
“I’m sorry if I scared you tonight,” his voice reverberates in his big chest. His hand soothes up and down my back. It feels so damn good.
“Oh, I wasn’t scared. I normally climb down from my balcony at two in the morning.”
His chuckle warms me. “I really like you, Amber.” He stands and sets me on my feet, as if he hasn’t turned my world upside down. “I hope we have an understanding?”
“Yeah. My lips are sealed.”
“Good girl.”
Fuck. Those words.
I raise my chin. “I’m reserving the right to sue you for assault and battery.”
He grins again. A toothy, wolfish grin that makes my pussy clench. He reaches down and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I would apologize,” he purrs, “Except I’m not sorry at all. I enjoyed seeing that gorgeous little ass of yours. And those panties—” he makes a satisfied growly sound that makes my pussy clench. “Come on, baby. It’s late and you should get some rest.” He leads me out, a hand on my back. I thought he might just close his door behind me, but he escorts me to my apartment like a gentleman. We stand in front of the door a second before I remember.
“Crap. It’s locked.”
“I’ll get it. I’m good with locks.”
He disappears back into his apartment and re-emerges with a small tool and wrench.
“You’re going to pick my lock?”
“It’s a good skill to have, not that I use it much. I’m more of a huff and puff and blow your door down kinda guy.”
A half-hysterical laugh bubbles out of my throat. “You don’t keep a master key to all the apartments? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
“This is more fun. Wanna learn how? I’ll teach you if you want. It’s actually pretty easy. Come on,” he says when I hesitate. “Unless the princess is too good to get her hands dirty.”
“No,” I huff.
“This is what happens when you hang with a bad boy,” he winks, and hands me a wrench.
He talks me through breaking and entering while slouching against the wall. “Okay, so the tension wrench goes into the bottom of the key hole. No—” His large hand swallows mine, making me jerk.
“Easy,” he murmurs in my ear, and suddenly there’s no air to breathe. He shifts the wrench, showing me how to apply tension in the direction my key would normally turn. “Now you insert the pick at the top. Yes, that’s it. Now move the pick back and forth in the keyhole to lift each pin. Whoops—you released the wrench. You have to keep applying pressure there, because that’s what will actually open the lock. Try again.”
Let the record reflect: Picking a lock is easy. Or it would be, if I weren’t pressed up against a giant hottie. Electricity runs through my body, tiny shocks pulsing between my legs. My head swims with Garrett’s deep voice and patient instruction. He’s so gentle, yet he carried me like a war prize just a few minutes before. Carried me in and spanked me. Oh God, every time I think of it, my belly gets fluttery and pussy clenches. And even when he threatened me, I felt safe.
My shaking hands slip. “I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can. Try again. It’s easy once you have the hang of it. Slow and steady, counselor,” he murmurs as I jiggle the pick back and forth.
One by one, I release the pins and the wrench turns. “I did it!”
He grins as he opens the door for me. I try to hand the tools back to him and he waves them away. “Keep them. They might come in handy.”
“You’re my landlord. Should you be encouraging all this breaking and entering?”
“I trust you to be good.” He puts a finger under my chin and lifts my face to his. His handsome face fills my vision. “Until I make you bad.”
I can’t breathe. Is he going to kiss me?
He drops his finger. “Remember what we talked about.”
“Or else?” His closeness makes me bold. Giddy. Or maybe I’ve just lost my mind.
“Or else.” His eyes are flint, striking sparks. “You’ll
be punished.”
I lick my lips. “What do I get if I’m good?”
A pause, then he crowds me against the door. Two giant hands come to cup my face, tilting it up before his lips slam down on mine.
It’s a great kiss. A bad boy kiss. A naughty girl kiss. He pins me against the door, mouth dominating mine. His knee presses between my splayed legs, his hard thigh angling against my pussy. Sparks fly in my mind, my body reigniting like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I grind down, helpless against the rising tide.
Let the record reflect: Werewolves kiss good.
At the last moment he breaks away.
“Damn,” I breathe.
“That’s right, baby.” He angles his hips, and his erection brushes against me. “Be good, and you just might get another reward.”
For more Bites by Lee Savino, visit her at https://bookandmainbites.com/LeeSavino
For more Bites by Renee Rose, visit her at https://bookandmainbites.com/reneerose
If you loved this Bite, read Alpha’s Danger on Amazon
About Lee Savino & Renee Rose
Renee & Lee are moms, chocoholics and queens of TMI. They banded together to write about sexy billionaire and motorcycle club werewolves who like to dominate in the bedroom. ;)
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If You Stroke My Ego Any More, I Will Demand You Stroke Other Parts As Well
Nadine Mutas
The sight of Maeve curled into a ball of misery on the ground sharpened Arawn’s ever-present hunting instinct into lethal focus. Only there was no one to chase down and tear to bloody shreds, no focal point for the urge to murder with mad methodology.
So he drew it inward, directed that rage at the other impulse beating at his brain, the need to gather the tense form of his witch and stroke her fears away. Doing so wouldn’t help her. Not yet, anyway. What she needed, at this point, was support of a different kind.
She sat up, shaking, her shoulders drooping, her hair hiding her face. He didn’t need to see her expression to know it was one of abject defeat, her humiliation smothering her like a mantle of failure, fringed by fear. Rising silently to her feet, she turned her back to him, as if wanting to slip away.
He would have none of that.
“One setback,” he said, keeping his voice conversational, “and you are ready to throw in the towel?”
She stiffened, anger in the set of her tense shoulders.
Anger was good. Anger was better than defeat.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she rasped. “It’s not that easy.”
“Who said it should be?”
She crossed her arms, and a muscle in her jaw twitched.
“Someone once,” he said on a silken murmur, bracing his elbows on his knees, “broke every bone in my body. When I tried to walk again after I started to heal, I fell on my face more times than I can count. It hurt. It was humiliating. But it would have been even more so had I given up.”
Eyes wide, she faced him, her arms falling to her sides. Surprise flickered over her features, and an echo of a stinging emotion flowed along the bond.
“Who did that to you?” she whispered.
“You would do well,” he said softly, “to remember what sort of reactions you dislike in others when they hear of your struggles.”
She blinked, those copper lashes lowering and lifting over gray-streaked amber. “I’m not pitying you,” she said after a moment. “I want to know who dared lay a hand on you, and whether they’re dead, or still mine for the killing.”
He barked a laugh, the sound startling him. He hadn’t laughed in ages. Not like this. Unrestrained, taken unawares by the sort of rousing amusement that came out of nowhere, yet consumed him.
He was still grinning, his chest feeling wide open, when he said, “I wish I could bring them back to life, then, just to watch you burn them to cinders.”
Her features had gentled, her eyes glowing as she beheld him, her lips parted on a sigh. “You’re magnificent when you laugh.”
Raw. She had to be ripped raw still from her flashback to be saying such things. “Tell me again tomorrow, and I may believe you.”
“Show me more of your laughter, and I will tell you every day.”
“Careful now,” he murmured. “If you stroke my ego any more, I will demand you stroke other parts as well.”
The blush on her cheeks was belied by the way her eyes flicked down to his crotch, his cock hardening at the unfettered hunger written on her face.
“First things first,” she said, focusing back on his mouth.
He straightened again, one hand braced next to him on the log, the other crooking a finger at her. She followed his call, her hips swinging in a way she was likely oblivious of, yet managed to rivet his attention, holding him spellbound.
Her curves were made to fit his hands, the impulse to comply with that surely perfect fit and to mold his palms to her flesh a surge in his veins. He had to dig his fingers into the moss and bark to keep from claiming what should be caressed, enjoyed, appreciated, in the most physical of ways.
She stepped back into the space between his legs—which he took the utmost care now to keep from trapping her again—her hands once more stroking feathered caresses over his face. He allowed his powers to twirl around her like before, a tiny taste of touching her that must suffice for now.
Her breath went uneven as she bent down again, pressed her lips to his, and he luxuriated in the feel of her heat, the silken curtain of red that fell around their faces, her scent of fire and wind another sort of kiss to a different sense of his.
Every muscle in his body hardened almost painfully as he forced himself to remain still, to let her lead. She needed that leeway, the promise of freedom and choice, the sort of passivity on his part that would allow her to reclaim what she lost in that warehouse.
And when—not if—she regained her confidence and kicked the terrors out of her mind, he’d be ready to pounce and play in a wholly different way than they’d done earlier.
All his thoughts scattered like leaves in a wind at the brush of her tongue against his lips.
Claws slid out from his fingertips, embedded in the log with the effort it took him not to reach for her, tug her closer. Instead he opened his mouth to hers, to her sensual invitation, drank in her soft moan when their tongues met. His powers vibrated over his skin…over hers.
She gasped at the touch of his energy, inched closer to him. Deepening the kiss, she leaned nearer still, and his body became, impossibly, more rigid as she slid one knee up his thigh, slowly slung that leg over his. Continuing the sensual exploration of his mouth, she repeated the move with her other leg, until she straddled him, her weight a lush caress in itself.
“You,” he muttered against her lips when she broke away for a breath, “are killing me.”
“Hm.” An unrepentant smile that he felt more than saw. “You look very invigorated to me.”
That teasing side of her…it slayed him.
Her fingers running through his hair, more touches of her tongue against his. Her teeth on his lower lip, sending a surge of need directly down to his cock. The scent of her arousal thickened the air, a lure to everything male in him.
“I want”—his teeth now nipping at her lip—“to feast on you until I drown in your taste.”
“You are.” A breathless whisper.
“Lower.”
A squeaky sort of moan. A roll of her hips against him, and she froze at what she obviously felt between his legs, his desire unmistakable.
“Eyes on me, Wildfire,” he repeated the words from earlier in the day, not letting her slip into a different place and time.
Quivering, she kept her focus on him as she deliberately rolled her hips again, r
ubbed against him in sinuous little moves that threatened his now tenuous control. He’d always prided himself on having a firm handle on the primal wildness of his nature—thousands of years of practice should bear fruit, after all.
Maeve grinding on his lap while he wasn’t allowed to touch her held the potential to shred the last of his civilized veneer.
Breath coming faster, she kissed him again, her own control in tatters as well, it seemed, for the licks of her tongue were more aggressive, her tiny moans more frequent, her fingers now gripping his hair. His powers snapped their leash, flowed into and through her, pushing all the buttons that needed pressure—and she shattered.
A low, long moan broke from her throat, which he swallowed with a kiss, more demanding than he’d thus far allowed himself to be. She shuddered, her eyes glazing over—not in a good way.
He grabbed her chin, made her look at him. “Here.” He tugged on the bond between them. “Now.”
Her lips trembled. She swallowed.
“Who am I?”
A soft inhale. “Arawn.”
The sound of his name spoken in her husky voice made his cock throb even harder, but he ignored it. There would be time for that. Later. When she was not on the verge of sIf You Stroke My Ego Any More, I Will Demand You Stroke Other Parts As Wellplintering for all the wrong reasons.
“You are in control,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her chin. “You decide. When. What. How much.”
She gave a shaky nod.
“But for now,” he added, pitching his voice to a low caress, “we are finished.”
Elegant ginger brows drew together over eyes of molten amber. “I know I am. What about you?”
First Kisses: a Book+Main Bites anthology Page 7
