Outback Master

by Lexxie Couper

  Her eyes darted over his face, confused by the obvious control he was trying to maintain. She licked her lips nervously and whispered, “Okay.”

  Bracing his hands on either side of the wall, capturing her head between them, he leaned in even closer. “From the first damn second I saw you, I wanted you. I wanted to rip off those clothes you hide under, drop to my knees and devour your sweet pussy. I can smell you right now, Freya. I can almost taste you on my tongue, and I want to lick every inch of you until you scream so loud, it’ll make my bones rattle. I want to fuck you deep, hard, long. But I can’t.”

  She was dizzy, intoxicated by his admission, so dizzy, she had to brace her hands against the wall behind her. Her thighs became soft butter; her body one desperate ache of need.

  Where are you in there, Freya? another voice called. The one belonging to her self-esteem. Her pride. By now, the not-so-drunk Freya would have told him to piss off.

  “I get it. You hate werewolves.”

  That statement should have been her cold bucket of water. She just didn’t understand his hatred of her kind. In fact, she shouldn’t want to understand it. Instead, it should disgust her.

  Twirling a thick strand of her hair, he yanked her head backward so her neck arched and she was forced to look into his eyes. “I don’t hate werewolves, Freya,” he growled under his breath. “I want a werewolf I can’t damn well have. That’s what I hate.”

  Her breasts jutted forward when he tightened his grip, forcing her chest to meet his. Her tight nipples scraped against his thin T-shirt, and even beneath her thick sweater, she felt him. Yet, she remained silent, staring up at him, daring him with her eyes to act.

  She had no words to fill this sexually charged void. All the things he said were all the things she’d thought about over and over.

  “Courtland,” he muttered, his hand moving to her hip, massaging the swell of it, mesmerizing her. “There’s Courtland.”

  She lifted her chin. Even in this bizarre fugue, she was still aware enough to recognize how much she despised Courtland Dodd. “Never,” she whispered up at him fiercely.

  Then everything changed with his next words. “Do you want what I want, too, Freya? Do you want my mouth on you, my tongue deep inside you?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, her breathing coming in short pants now. She wanted to clench her eyes shut to block out his luscious lips speaking decadent words that made her insane with a lust she’d never felt before. “Yes,” she managed to hiss, forcing the word from her mouth, fighting to keep her hands at her sides.

  His nostrils flared again when he wrapped his hand around her waist. It trembled ever so slightly, surprising her. Liam pulled her upward until she strained to even remain standing on her tiptoes. “Then say it, Freya. Tell me. Tell me you want me. Because I warn you, if you say the words, I’ll rip every stitch of your clothing off, spread you wide and fuck you until you won’t remember any other man but me.”

  There wasn’t a second’s hesitation on her part. She didn’t question why he’d changed his mind. She didn’t ask what had brought this on. She didn’t care. She wanted what he offered.

  She wanted Liam so much it physically hurt. “I want you, Liam.”

  There was no hesitation on his part either as, without another word, his lips found her neck, his hand tilting her head back farther, his teeth grazing along the sensitive flesh before he drove his other hand into the waistband of her sweats and yanked them down, leaving her exposed.

  The material tore on its way off, adding to her insane lust, and then his hands were on her bare flesh, slipping inside her folds, so wet, so swollen, she almost came from the moment his fingers made contact.

  And then he was pulling away, driving her sweater up over her head and unhooking her bra, freeing her breasts.

  Again, she watched him as he stood in front of her, every muscle available to her eyes flexing and tensing, rippling as though he fought some inward battle. But his eyes—his eyes gobbled her up, scanning her from head to toe.

  He reached out, his thumb and forefinger tweaking a nipple, making her core clench tight. “Beautiful…Like ripe cherries,” he murmured before he knelt in front of her, still fully clothed, and pulled her close.

  Her arms instantly wrapped around the top of his head, her toes curling when he took a nipple in his mouth and swiped it with his tongue, surprisingly warm and silky.

  Wave after wave of white-hot heat sliced through her when Liam ran his teeth over the rigid peak, making her head fall back on her shoulders and her groan echo in her tiny house. Her legs shook as he enveloped her nipples one at a time, sucking them deeply into his mouth and swirling his tongue over them.

  Freya dug her nails into his back, gritting her teeth to keep from screaming, the pleasure was so bone deep—so intense.

  And then he was rising to his feet, scooping her up, wrapping her thighs around his lean waist and carrying her to her small hallway. He didn’t ask which room was hers. He simply managed to chose the right door and kicked it open, dropping her to the big bed.

  Liam stood over her, staring down as he kicked off his shoes and pulled hers off, too. His jeans swiftly followed, along with his trench coat and shirt—and then he was naked.

  Impossibly perfect, breathtakingly naked.

  Every chord of muscle in his stomach was shadowed by another, the line of sinew along his hip lickable. His dusky skin, oddly not as pale as one would expect of a vampire, gleaming and smooth.

  His chest was wide but his waist was lean, his thighs thick and sprinkled with dark hair. But it was Liam’s cock that took her breath away. Ramrod stiff, jutting forward, thick and as perfect as the rest of him.

  Her mouth watered, her hands ached to explore, to touch every inch of him.

  Yet he hesitated, his wide fists clenched at his side, his eyes searing her to the bed. “Jesus, you’re more amazing than I ever imagined.”

  Freya didn’t move—didn’t breathe—didn’t know what to do short of begging him to make love to her when he spoke the words, so husky and thick.

  Grabbing her ankles, he drew her knees up, placing his hands on her inner thighs. Her breathing became choppier by the second, but still he stared at her, his eyes narrowed and gleaming.

  It was all she could do not to grab the back of his head and drive his mouth against her flesh, force him to satisfy her. But she knew Liam well enough to know who was in charge, so she waited, swallowing a plea.

  Liam finally spread his hands open, pressing his palms into her upper thighs, trailing his fingers over her skin, setting a path of unmerciful fire. He moved in closer, standing so his sides just touched her knees, skirting a finger over her swollen, exposed flesh, slowly, whispering his knuckles across the smooth expanse.

  Freya bit the inside of her cheek, her chest heaving, so aroused, so intoxicated by his response to her, she was already fighting an orgasm. He let a finger dip inside her wet recesses, slipping out and grazing her throbbing clit before pulling away.

  She fought a scream of frustration when he retreated, but then Liam closed his eyes and moaned as he licked his finger, tasting her, making her chest so tight it hurt. He gripped her knees hard, gritting his teeth, his large body so rigid she thought he might break in half.

  Lifting her calf, he draped it over his shoulder, sliding his mouth along it until he was kneeling in front of her, his hair whispering over her leg. She clenched the blanket on either side of her, insane with a pulsing, desperate need, fighting not to lift her hips until he was ready for her.

  Liam’s gaze captured hers, his face hard, his eyes on fire. “You’re so smooth, soft…My tongue belongs between your legs. Don’t ever forget that. Watch, Freya. Watch me so you won’t ever forget who belongs right here.”

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from this perfect man, chiseled, hard, poised at her core, demanding she watch him pleasure her.

  Her breathing hitched, almost stopping altogether when Liam finally used his thumb
and forefinger to spread her then laid his open mouth over her core, flattening his tongue against her clit.

  She saw stars behind her eyelids as Liam rested there only a moment before he began to make slow, methodical swipes, dragging his tongue through her swollen folds, swirling it over the sensitive bud of her clit, moaning his satisfaction.

  Her heels dug into the mattress, her hands went to his head. She thrust her fingers into his hair, clutching him to her as heat, so white-hot, so thick, began to course through her veins. Every nerve in her body was alive with a driving, throbbing beat toward climax—a destination only he could offer her.

  Liam drove a finger into her as he licked, thrusting unmercifully into her slickness. The sound of his mouth on her, the sight of his tongue slipping in and out of her body, was more than she could bear.

  Her muscles tensed, fighting the culmination of this superb pleasure, but Liam was too skilled, sucking her clit into his mouth until she exploded. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, a scream ripped from her throat, hoarse and raspy as she came, bucking against him, pulling him closer, savoring the heat of his tongue.

  The sharp release, the incessant pull, dragged her over the edge and dropped her hard, but Liam was there to catch her, sliding up along her body, hauling her close as she gasped for air.

  He braced himself over her with his elbows, pressing his forehead to hers as her arms went up around his back and she clung to him, savored every plane of his body sinking against her.

  Then his mouth was on hers. For the first time since they’d entered her bedroom, he was kissing her, slipping his tongue between her lips, reigniting the flames that began to lick at her insides.

  Freya moaned against his mouth, helpless to do anything but succumb to this newfound pleasure, kissing Liam, tasting herself on his tongue, driving her wild all over again.

  He pressed his frame to hers, gluing every inch of their flesh together, searing them, branding her from head to toe, grinding against her until her fingers dug into his back. His scent—and the scent of her on him—left her breathless, left her pulse racing.

  When he pulled away again, it was to skim her neck with his teeth, find her breast, lick her nipples to tight peaks once more as his cock brushed between her thighs.

  Suddenly, that’s all there was. Liam’s hard, thick shaft burning her, his skin on hers, his delicious weight pushing her into the mattress.

  This time, she didn’t wait to show her impatience. She reached between them, gripping his cock, enveloping it in her hand, stroking it until his hips began to move in time with her hand.

  “Freya, goddamn it, I’m trying to keep from devouring you. Stop,” he warned from between teeth clenched tight.

  She slid his cock between her folds, using it to create friction against her clit, gasping her delight as it teased the aching bud. Wrapping her leg around his hip, she lifted herself higher.

  But Liam chuckled before he put his hands at her waist and rolled her over to her belly, hiking her up until his abdomen was at her ass and his shaft between her legs. He leaned down, nipping her spine, running his tongue over the line of her vertebrae.

  Freya’s belly coiled tightly, her hands fisted, her knuckles white with anticipation when he placed himself at her entrance. Slick with lust, agonizingly needy, unable to stop herself, she pressed back against him.

  And that’s when he drove into her—with such force, she bucked forward and cried out her pleasure. His hands went to her ass, kneading it before gripping her hips and driving upward once more.

  He let out a moan, long and low, stilling for a moment, his strong body quaking against hers. “This is so much more than I thought it would be,” he rasped, his voice deep and thick, before he plunged into her again.

  Liam’s cock stretched her, filled her, burned inside her, fit her so perfectly she had to clench her eyes shut from the tears stinging at the corners.

  His thrusts demanded she accept him, demanded she drive back against him, demanded she allow him to possess her.

  He reached around her waist with one hand, found the swollen nub of her clit, caressing it until that searing heat ripped through her again.

  As he buried himself in her over and over, the wet sound of their bodies meeting, the hard muscle of his lower abdomen against her ass, Freya couldn’t stand any more.

  Her teeth clenched tight, her hands gripped the edge of the mattress as Liam sank into her one last time. Her orgasm was so pure, so guttural, she let out a silent scream and drove back against him as hard and as fast as he thrust into her.

  Because there was nothing else but this. Nothing but the wave of sizzling fire in her core, nothing but his hands all over her, nothing but this gnawing ache, this intense, pounding climb to the top of a cliff and the freefall drop over the edge.

  Liam gripped a handful of her hair, pulling her upward, making her back arch until his mouth was pressed against her neck and he went rigid.

  She heard the elongation of his fangs, the hiss of his completion, the long howl he let go of, the sweet sting of his teeth rasping against her flesh and then her harsh breathing.

  Then Liam was pulling out of her, folding her in his bulky arms, cradling her, soothing her until she allowed herself to melt against him, her cheek pressed to his smooth chest.

  Freya closed her eyes, falling, sliding into blissful oblivion cocooned by the man who, after tonight, she wasn’t sure she could ever let go.

  * * * *

  Freya awoke with a hard jolt, as though someone had wrenched her from some deep, black void of nothingness. Her stomach growled an angry rumble, her eyes popping open then slamming shut when bright daylight hit them, making them burn.

  Jesus, that had been some whiskey. The next time she saw Lachlan, she was going to have to ask him what the hell the brand was so she could avoid it—forever.

  Her head throbbed an almost unbearable rhythm, her nerve-endings licked by invisible flames.

  Blindly, she reached for the edge of the bed and forced herself to sit upright.

  That was when she realized she was naked.

  Which was swiftly followed by the memory of her encounter with Liam.

  Even in the throes of this ugly hangover, she remembered Liam and last night. His body hard and muscled against her own, his mouth bringing her to orgasm after orgasm, his lips on hers. The taste of her on his tongue.

  She shivered with the recollection, but her underused muscles quivered. She’d never felt so weak in her life.

  “What the hell?” she asked, her eyes still closed as she swayed and almost gave up and lay back down, but a hand at her spine stopped her. Wide and cool, it supported her.

  “You need to feed.”

  Gripping the blanket on either side of her, she shook her head. “No. This doesn’t feel like I need a tenderloin.” She felt as if she would die if she didn’t get something…something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “That’s because you don’t want a tenderloin, Freya.”

  She let go of one side of the blanket and brought her fist to her eye, rubbing at the incessant throb. “I’m surprised you’re still here,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.

  Flashes of the night before came and went in vivid color behind her eyelids.

  Liam, appearing almost angry that he wanted her.

  Liam, struggling with some invisible force as he made mind-blowing love to her.

  Liam’s fangs elongating…

  She stiffened.

  No.

  Holy shit. No.

  “I suspect you’re putting two and two together in that razor-sharp brain of yours right now?” The mattress lifted and then Liam’s footsteps crashed in her ears like a slow, merciless jackhammer.

  She heard him pull the blinds down before he said, “Open your eyes, Freya.”

  “I can’t. It hurts like hell. Why does it hurt to open my eyes, Liam? Even on one of my worst benders in college it never hurt like this hurts.”

  And th
en she felt him, kneeling in front of her, placing his hands on hers. “I need you to look at me, Freya.”

  She tried to swallow to prepare for the impact, but found she couldn’t. Panic swept over her, making her want to gulp for air—but she couldn’t do that either. “What’s happening? Tell me now, McConnell, or I’ll chew your head right off those big hunky shoulders!”

  “You think my shoulders are hunky?”

  “Liam!”

  “Sorry,” he said, and she heard genuine remorse. Heard it like she’d feel it.

  Okay, situation normal all fucked up. “Tell me what’s happening right now. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care how bad you think I might think it is, just say it!” Her eyes finally popped open in frustration and she winced in response to the dagger stabbing her in the middle of her forehead.

  This wasn’t like any hangover she’d ever had. Her eyesight was amazing as a werewolf, so were her senses, but they weren’t this keen.

  So keen she saw every pore in Liam’s gorgeous face. Which was almost a relief—it meant he wasn’t as perfect as she’d made him out to be.

  Vampires had pores, too. Huh.

  His eyes flitted over her face, and they were filled with concern. “Better?”

  “Nothing is better. Tell me what the hell is going on. Please.”

  “We have a situation.”

  She had to lean back because watching his lips with her super-duper eyesight was mind-bending. “Situation?”

  “That rumble in your stomach, your eyes, how weak you feel. It’s because of a situation.”

  She managed to pry her fingers from the blanket and latch onto the front of his T-shirt, giving him a weak shake, dread pooling in her stomach. “Please tell me it’s not the kind of situation that means I’m never going to Aruba again.”

  He gripped her wrists and winced, his face, usually so hard, soft with understanding. “You can still go to Aruba, Freya. The sun will only be uncomfortable for the first two hundred years or so. But you get used to it.”

  Her fingers began to tremble, her eyes burning with tears she was never going to be able to shed again. “I’m a…”