by Anne Marsh
Pushing up, she nips my bottom lip. “You say the nicest things. Talk to me some more, big guy.”
I push in and in, filling her up over and over again, giving us what we need. And when I move faster, she grips me to her. Her eyes drift close, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She shivers and presses closer, seeking. Touch, lick, kiss, slam into each other. I shove her down into our bed, and she bucks up to meet me, not breaking our contact because we’re both so close. We move together, tasting, devouring each other until she’s coming hard, and I’m right there with her, my dick driving inside her, her pussy milking me hard as we finish. Rough. Dirty. So fucking raw it should hurt but instead it feels perfect, and I stop fighting to hold back.
Words pour from her mouth in soft, broken, carnal syllables. She whimpers my name, invokes God, and then curses me, demanding more, pushing me away and then dragging me closer because she’s falling off the edge, and I’m the one who made her feel this way. Thank fuck. She comes so hard, and it’s the most gorgeous sight ever. All these centuries and I’ve been waiting for this moment, this woman.
I lace my fingers through her hair and pound into her, burying my face in her hair.
“Car tant vous aim,” I tell her as she shakes and trembles beneath me, her hands running up and down my back, urging me on even as she slides down from her own high.
I bury my dick inside her. She’s so snug. So hot, so wide-open and wet for me. And if she came hard, I come harder, jerking and emptying myself into her. She’s killed me. Game fucking over.
Panting, I wrap her tight in my arms, not ready to let go. Where would I be if I weren’t here? This is right, this is where I belong.
I’ll recite chivalric romances for her all night.
I’ll be the white knight she deserves.
Fuck, I’ll buy her a pony. A unicorn.
I just need her to choose me.
Afterward, I roll off her and scoop her up against my chest.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
Thanks. As if this is just another orgasm, some hot but meaningless sex. As if I could be anyone in any bed. And see? That’s my problem right there. I may have fucked her pussy, but she’s fucking with my heart.
“Just because we—” Leah waggles her hand in the air.
“You can’t say the word fucked?” I pull her back against my chest.
“Had sex,” she says primly, proving my point. “We had sex. That’s all.”
“Thought it was pretty damned good myself.”
“Yeah,” she sort of sighs. Secretly, I think she agrees with me.
“But I could do it again. Just in case you’ve got questions or concerns. I’m real fucking customer-service-oriented.”
She giggles, and for a moment we just lie there. Her hand brushes back and forth over my chest. Don’t even think she knows she’s doing it, but she’s not done touching me.
“We’re not together,” she whispers against my skin. “This is just sex.”
But we’re together right now, and that makes her the sweetest liar. I rub my mouth over her scars, and she stills.
“I’ll kiss it better,” I promise, my voice rough. “I’ll kiss everything.”
And then because I always, always keep my promises, I do.
Leah
I’m the only aesthetician working at the nail salon today. The street we’re on isn’t precisely a hotbed of pedestrian traffic, but business may pick up later. Painting nails isn’t exactly the glamorous life, but it (mostly) pays the bills, and I usually enjoy the chance to chat up my customers. When Keelie Sue comes bouncing through the door, she’s my first customer of the day and she’s more than ready to talk.
After we pick out a bright pink for her nails and I have her hands soaking, she looks at me inquiringly.
“How are you doing?”
My radar zips to life. I make a show of checking her hands. “I’m fine.”
Keelie Sue hesitates. “And Blade?”
“You think yesterday’s barbecue wore him out?” I give the polish bottle a hard shake and then uncap it.
“The two of you are good?” I can feel Keelie Sue’s gaze on my face and that means there’s no hiding the blush that spreads over my face.
“He sure seemed fine,” I mutter. Given the man’s stamina in bed, he couldn’t have been dying.
Keelie Sue laughs so hard she almost falls out of her chair. I scowl. “Go, you! So you and Blade are more than just friends with benefits now? You accepted his mate claim?”
Blade’s actually turning out to be a great guy and pretty awesome. I mean, no one’s more surprised than me at that, but he’s got my back. He looks out for me, I look out for him, and it’s just nice having him around. Not like we’re going shoe shopping or for massages together, but… it’s good. That mating business, however, is a bunch of malarkey.
“No mating, no claiming. He’s just helping me out.” I pat the table, gesturing for Keelie Sue’s other hand.
Keelie Sue snorts but obediently ponies up her right hand. I add a new topcoat of bright pink, smoothing over the rough patches. “Which is why he’s moved into your place?”
“He needed a place to stay. He sleeps on the couch.”
Except, of course, for when we’re having sex.
Details.
Keelie Sue suddenly gets really interested in her drying nail polish. “He has a place of his own, not too far from here.”
I shrug. “He has a plumbing issue.”
Keelie Sue hesitates. “He’s older than you think.”
O-kay. “How old? Are you saying I’d have me a December-May romance? Because experience isn’t a bad thing, and Blade comes in a fine-looking package.”
If he’s an antique, he’s the kind dealers fight over.
Keelie Sue looks pained. Like super, really pained—not a standing-on-hot-asphalt-barefoot kind of pained, but more of a skewered-by-rebar look. “Has he explained how the club works? That club business is never, ever discussed with outsiders?”
Wow.
“You mean I’m missing out on the secret club stuff because I don’t know the special handshake? It’s okay.”
I’ll survive not being invited to eat lunch with the cool kids in the cafeteria.
Keelie Sue shakes her head. “This isn’t a joke. There are things you really should know about Blade and the club, but it’s not my place to tell you.”
“Because they’d have to kill you?” I mean the words as a joke, but honest to God, her face pales. “Do I need to stage an intervention?”
Because I think I will. I’m done with being a pushover, with letting things just happen to me in my life.
“My dad ran the club until Jace showed up,” she says carefully. “And he wasn’t a nice guy, Leah. He did shit that wasn’t okay under any circumstances. Some of the guys who he brought in to the club were even less nice.”
“Is Blade on this list?”
“He’s the club enforcer. When members break the rules, he takes care of it.”
T.D. springs to mind.
“Judge, jury, and executioner?”
“Just the last one,” she says. “Jace handles the first two.”
Again? Wow.
“Jace told me he met you when he was paying T.D. a little visit.”
“Uh-huh.” Apparently, I owe Jace one for not sharing all of the embarrassing details of that meet-and-greet with Keelie Sue.
“It’s not that he’s a bad guy,” she says slowly. “But he’s really old, Leah. He grew up in a completely different world and he’s playing by a different set of rules than you’d expect.”
“So I should ask him about his childhood?”
“No!” She sounds alarmed. “That’s the last thing you should do. I think you should—”
Naturally, this is when T.D. busts through the salon’s front door. Instinctively, I search his face for leftover marks from his beat-down, but see no black eye gone green and yellow or any bruises on his jaw. He’s the pict
ure of health—and pissed off. The door shivers as he slams it shut, the little bell clanging and jumping. His eyes are so yellow that they seem to glow. Is he on something? Drugs? The possessive rage rolling off him, however, is all too familiar. This is the kind of shit my sister’s husband used to pull, usually followed by him beating the shit out of her. T.D. snarls when he spots me and I half expect him to pee on the building or something because this is a man who is staking a claim on what he considers his territory.
“We need to talk,” he snarls.
My least favorite words in the English language.
“I don’t think so.” I stand up because doing this sitting down means giving T.D. the power position, and I’m turning over that new not-a-pushover leaf. After a second look at his face, I reach for my purse in the drawer beneath my nail table. I need to get out of here fast. Keelie Sue takes one look at him and pulls out her phone, probably texting for reinforcements. The salon has a security camera, although it’s pointed at the front desk where we keep our cash box. A couple of punks tried to clean the place out six months ago, and the owner installed the camera then. If T.D. goes ape shit on my butt, the cops will know whose door to knock on. Too bad there’s not a panic button, though. I’d slam the hell out of it right now.
“What’s this?” T.D. holds up his phone. Apparently, I’m supposed to read the screen at ten feet.
I’m doomed.
He helps me out by closing the distance between us. In fact, he doesn’t stop moving until he’s dead in front of me, his big body smack in my personal space, his chest brushing my tits. A hard smile tugs at his mouth.
Stalling for time, I look at his phone. Yep. That’s the message I sent ages ago breaking things off between us.
T.D. shakes the phone as if it’s a Magic Eight ball. “You think we’re over?”
Yes, please. I so want the money back guarantee on this particular purchase.
“Leah?” His voice goes all stern and hard. “Talk to me.”
Time to suck it up and turn over that new leaf with a vengeance.
“I texted you that we were over after our date at Rose Bayou.” My voice doesn’t sound anywhere near as firm as his. He punches a couple of letters into his phone. My own buzzes frantically in my back pocket.
“Better get that,” he growls.
“O-okay.” I pull my phone out and read his message.
No.
He glares down at me. “We clear now? We’re over when I say we’re over. And we’re not over yet.”
“I texted you weeks ago. Your window of opportunity has closed, buddy.”
Shit. I blurt the words out, and I know I’ve made a mistake.
Because T.D. doesn’t back down. Not at all.
“I had turf issues to work out,” he snarls. “I’m here now.”
The aggression rolling off him has my breath coming in short, shallow pants. He’s so pissed—and he’s standing between me and the front door. His eyes look kinda weird, too. Almost gold instead of their usual brown. T.D. isn’t the kind of guy who goes for hair gel or manicures. He’s more lumberjack than metrosexual, so I have a hard time imagining him choosing colored contacts.
He moves closer, his thighs brushing mine, and instinctively I step back until my manicure station cuts off any further retreat. When he slaps his hands down on either side of me, I jump.
“When are you off work?”
“None of your business. She told you it was over.” Keelie Sue steals my line, bless her.
Me? I’m frozen in place, my nails digging into my forearms.
“She’s my woman,” he snaps at Keelie Sue. “So back the fuck off. Run back home to Jace like a good little girl.”
You ever see one of those nature shows about the wonders of the underwater world? Keelie Sue bristles, expanding like one of those harmless looking little brown and white puffball fishes. One minute she’s all kinds of cute, and the next she’s all spines.
“It’s the twenty-first century,” I blurt out. I can do this.
T.D. glowers at me. “The fuck?”
“In case you forgot, it’s the twenty-first century. You can’t own me.”
He laughs. “Sweetheart, I’m a wolf. I can do whatever the fuck I want with you.”
Keelie Sue sucks in a breath. Yeah. She smells the crazy, too.
“I’m taking you out tonight,” he snaps, his eyes never leaving mine. I give into the overwhelming urge to lower mine, to let him take charge just for now. Instead of meeting his gaze, I stare at his belt buckle. I can’t do this again.
“Leah?” His hand nudges my chin up. “Tell me you hear me.”
I could say yes. He’d go away. And then I could run, leave, maybe even ask Blade for help—but pick an option, A, B, or C, I could break our date. I mean, shit, what does he think is going to happen if we go out again? That we’ll ride off on the back of his bike and find us a preacher? Maybe a pair of handcuffs or a leather collar? Because I’m totally on board with T.D.’s possessive side.
Not.
“Answer your phone.” His hand falls away from my chin and he curls his palms around my shoulders. Not hard. Not hurting. Yet. The salon is way too quiet as I stand there, trying to figure out what to do next. I don’t think he would hurt me. Just… he’s not letting go.
“I texted Jace,” Keelie Sue announces, getting up and putting some space between her and my pissed off beau.
“Do that,” he growls. “You want me to challenge him?”
He takes a step away from me, all that aggression focused on Keelie Sue again.
She just glares at him as if he doesn’t outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds. “You want to lose again?”
Keelie Sue doesn’t just poke the hornet’s nest—she thumps it with a club and then drives a backhoe over it for good measure. I stare at the two of them. She’s fighting my battle for me, and while I appreciate the assist, I have to do this for myself. I use T.D.’s distraction to head for the front door.
“No. We’re done. You’re not coming for me after work. We’re not going to work out.”
He prowls after me. I think he might be playing with me. Shit, maybe I should just say yes. I don’t have that much of a choice. If I run for the door, he’ll be on me before I’m free and clear. And even if I do make it outside, it’s not like our street is busy. It’s unlikely anyone will come by while he’s doing whatever it is he wants to do.
T.D. steps closer. “You’re seeing Blade.”
“You don’t have to answer him,” Keelie Sue says quietly from behind us.
“We need to get this cleared up. Blade and I are friends,” I say firmly. I keep the with benefits part to myself.
T.D. doesn’t look convinced. “He’s tapping you.”
Jesus. “That’s rude.”
T.D. inhales slowly, his gaze never leaving my face. “He is.”
“Are you a mind reader now?”
“I can smell him all over you.” T.D. actually growls when he says this, and not some cute little snarl, but a deep, rough, I’m-gonna-fuck-you-up roar. Is this part of his I’m-a-wolf delusion? “I’ll pick you up tonight. Be ready.”
“No.”
He glares at me, mouth opening to say something else.
“No,” I repeat. “I want you to leave. We’re over.”
He leans in, his thighs are brushing mine, and sets his mouth by my ear.
“Not until I say we are,” he whispers.
The roar of bike pipes drowns out whatever he says next. Oh, look. The cavalry’s arrived. Sure enough, right after the sound dies down, the door slams open, and Jace storms inside. Blade is right on his heels. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a rough ponytail, leaving his ink on full display, and something inside me turns over when his gaze goes straight to mine. Jace may be here for Keelie Sue, but Blade’s come for me.
Keelie Sue moves so fast that she’s almost a blur. Jace’s arms close around her and then he swings her behind him, his attention fixed on T.D. B
lade doesn’t look at her—because he’s too busy looking at me.
God, he’s big.
He sweeps the nail salon with a harsh, fierce gaze as if he expects mortal enemies to come popping out of the woodwork. I can practically smell the need to hit something coming off him. You ever walked outside right before a thunderstorm hits, when the wind is picking up but the air is still and heavy, the heat prickling against your skin and baking your lungs? Imagine the air crackling with ozone and then in a heartbeat all hell breaks loose, the rain sweeping in as the mother of all storms fries your ass with one well-aimed lightning bolt. Blade is the storm and the bolt rolled into one.
“She’s not yours,” T.D. snarls. “I had her first.”
“Non.” Blade tosses the word out, a rough, snarly, French sound that makes my panties wet even as it makes me see red. He’s not the boss of me. He’s nothing to me but my friend.
My best friend.
My…
Oh fuck FUCK.
So I do have some unfriendly feelings toward him. Feelings that are more… lover-like than not. While I’m wrestling with this unwelcome revelation, Blade barks out a curse and lunges at T.D. T.D. crows and more than meets him halfway too. I’m not sure what happens next because it’s so impossible. This can’t be happening. I must be hallucinating because instead of two men throwing punches, two wolves snarl and snap at each other.
Blade
I shift faster than I’ve ever shifted before, abandoning my self-control and letting the wolf take over. Some wolves say the change hurts. Gator claims his feels like every bone breaks, the shift stripping skin and muscles off his body and then dressing him in the new four-legged one. Weirdly, Fang has no problem shifting into the wolf, but it almost kills him coming back to the human body. Me? Both forms are weapons, and I’ve never had a problem wielding either one. I simply shuck my human body.
Colors fade some in this form, the world growing less bright but the images coming faster. I follow each twitch of muscle, each breath T.D. takes, and I laser in on him. Jaws snapping, I lunge. Fucker dies today. It’s that simple.
He shifts almost as fast as I do, and he’s wolf before I smash into him. Asshole’s strong, and if he ever got his head out of his ass, he might make a decent Alpha. His wolf form is a big brindle wolf with golden eyes. He rebounds from the hit, crouching and trying to stare me down and prove his dominance. Fuck that.
