He knew she was drunk, could smell the liquor in her veins mingling with her woman’s scent—a scent that was finally driving him to the point of risking exposure, a scent so sweet it could make a man risk shifting before his body was ready. Feeling a tingling in his limbs, Viktor stiffened in surprise. Was he healed enough to finally try it?
The smell of her again filled him and a mindless urgency overcame him. Viktor urged his body to transform. She’d petted him, stroked him. It was his turn. He needed to touch her with his flesh, had to know if her skin was as soft and supple and sweet as he imagined. It had been a long time and the transformation hurt like hell. He endured the pain exploding in his limbs, popping his joints, extending his bones and retracting his canines. An imaginary fire burned across his flesh, pulling his skin to the point it felt as if he might rip in half. Sore muscles twinged and hardened, cramping violently. He’d come too far. He couldn’t stop it now, not as he shifted to human once more. Black fur was slowly replaced by tanned flesh. His muscles lengthened and stretched, arching and curling until they molded into a hard, masculine frame. The bed shook and Eve moaned. Her hand reached out, absently petting his shifting shoulder as she slept. The touch brought him little comfort. His lips parted in a silent, agonizing scream. And then, finally, it was finished.
Viktor took a deep breath, trembling weakly as he readjusted to the energy it took to be in the larger form. His skin pulled tightly against his frame and his joints ached. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay a man for too long—not yet anyway. But once he was completely healed, the human form would again be his dominant shape.
Lying naked on the bed, he looked at Eve with his dark human eyes. His cock stood erect and ready and he couldn’t discern whether it was from the rush of blood through his shifting body or the knowledge that he’d finally be able to satisfy that deep curiosity. Though his vision was sharper as a cat, he could see her soft lines perfectly. Delicate material cupped her breasts, revealing shape but not texture. His fingers twitched. One touch. That was all he’d take. One small touch. He had to know.
Running a masculine hand down his ribcage, he suppressed a groan. He was lying to himself. If he touched her now, in this state, he’d never stop. His eyes flickered down Eve’s body only to come up again, landing once more on the soft rise and fall of her round breasts. His long, tapered fingers wrapped around his thick cock. Shifters weren’t known for suppressing their sexual appetites and it had definitely been too long since he’d indulged his. The heavy length of his shaft lurched and throbbed beneath his hand as he stroked it.
His mind whispered wicked thoughts to his body. She said she wanted a wild man to take her. She asked for it. She wants it. You want it. Think of how her skin will taste. Think of how fragile her flesh is. Think of how wet she smells between the thighs.
Moving with liquid grace, he turned onto all fours and crawled to be closer to the woman on the bed. His breath came in hard gulps as he looked at her. He was a fool to think he could ever resist. He’d been forced to gaze at her creamy breasts and athletically smooth thighs for too long. He wanted a closer look. He wanted to touch her, taste her. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to make her scream his true name.
Viktor licked his lips and sat back on his heels. Sexy lace panties hugged her narrow hips, the straps falling over where her hipbones protruded slightly from her skin. He knew when he pulled them down that he’d find a narrow patch of dark blonde hair guarding her opening.
Her thighs parted slightly as she stirred next to him on the bed. He couldn’t resist lowering his face between them to breathe in her exotic feminine smell. Without thought, his lips parted and his long tongue reached forward to taste her through the silken barrier.
Eve lurched against him at the contact, wiggling and moaning in her sleep. A soft pant came from her lips and her legs fell open to him as she inadvertently begged him for more. Viktor grinned and could not deny her plea.
“Mmm,” he moaned in the back of his throat, bathing her panties with his tongue until they were soaked and clinging to her hot, moist pussy. His breath hit against her. He could taste the sweet cream of her body trying to saturate the silk.
He pulled back and she whimpered lightly. She reached for her own breast and began massaging. Her legs stirred as she mumbled, “No, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Hearing her soft, sleepy voice, he couldn’t help but obey it. His fingers ran up her warm thighs to grab her panties from her hips. He worked them down, off her body. Seeing the soft glistening of her drenched pussy, he adjusted her on the bed and spread her legs wide to him.
As his mouth latched onto her clit, drinking furiously, his fingers rode up her flat stomach to help her massage her breasts. Their fingers intertwined on the soft globes. With a rip, he tore open the bra, freeing the mounds to his searching fingers. He rubbed the nipples, pinching and squeezing them into hard buds. His teeth nipped lightly, making her squirm against him. He moaned and dipped his long tongue into her slick channel for a deeper taste.
Though his cock protested, his mouth would not give up its newfound pleasure. Muscles tried to grip his tongue as it swept inside her. Her thighs squeezed his head. She sighed softly, moaning for more.
And, oh, Viktor wanted to give her more.
They believed the evil was destroyed. They were wrong.
Revenge
© 2010 Jaycee Clark
A Ghost Cats Story
It took Reya Lynx a long time to learn to live with her animal half, but now she’s perfectly content as a gallery owner in Taos. She’s lived longer, loved more, even died more than most. Enough to have ceased caring what anyone thinks of her, least of all the one man she’s managed to steer clear of—until now. Her mate.
Lorenzo Craigen, leader of the southwest mountain lions, is a cop, and a damn good one. A recent string of murders seems all too familiar, and it’s not something he can exactly share with his colleagues. The last time he faced a killer like this, it was a long time ago. As in centuries. And that’s why he has sought out Reya, whether she likes it or not.
Reya can’t believe the sadistic shaman who left her haunted with brutal memories—and tore her and Lo apart—has come back from the dead. There’s only one way to find out. Bite the bullet and work with him to solve the murders. And try to resist the re-ignited heat between them…while a killer waits for the perfect moment to serve up cold, cold revenge.
Warning, this title contains the following: A sexy hero with no mercy when it comes to protecting his mate, an independent heroine who doesn’t want to be his mate—or so she claims, and a villain bent on revenge.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Revenge:
Lo watched her talk, the way her hands moved, the way the low light caught with a dull sheen on the wide silver bracelet she wore, the way it winked from the dark black stone of her pendant.
The pendant he’d given her still hung around her neck, between her breasts. Her eyes might glare at him, and he knew she might never fully trust him again, not like she had once upon a time, but she still felt something for him. She still wore the damn pendant. He remembered the little jeweler from the shop in Spain.
Shaking off the memories of the past, he focused on what she was saying. “I want another drink.”
He motioned to the waitress. Other tables had already seen their share of diners come and go, but they’d stayed, talking more than eating and she’d already had three margaritas. Not that he really cared. But she’d never been one to drink and when she did, it didn’t take much for her to get wasted. He wondered what she was trying to get away from. He wondered at that flicker of fear he’d caught in her eyes when she’d mentioned threatening. His jaw tightened at the thought.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with the tequila and whatever other poison, probably triple sec, they mixed in their margaritas. “So glum. Why so serious? You were always so serious, Lorenzo Craigen.”
“And you were always laughing.”
>
She waved a hand. “That was before.” Plopping her chin on her fist, she asked. “So why a cop?”
“Can you honestly see me as a banker?”
She chuckled and the sound pulled a smile from him. Definitely enough drinks.
“Nope. Though you’re driven enough you could have your own business again, just like before.” She leaned over as if to whisper something and he couldn’t help but glance to the vee of her dress and admire the view of her cleavage. He slowly ran his gaze up, noting the pound of her pulse in her neck, the way her collarbone dipped and curved, the way the candlelight made her appear even more beautiful.
Without thinking, he reached over, his hand curving around the back of her neck, to tangle in the silkiness of her upswept hair. He leaned towards her. Stopping just shy of laying his lips on hers, he looked in her eyes, saw the excitement and the want there. Smiling, he kissed her. Her lips were as soft beneath his as he remembered. She still tasted of cool desert evenings and warm sun-drenched mornings.
Her lips parted beneath his and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Reya swayed, her hand gripping his thigh to stay upright.
It was she who pulled back, and the fact they were in public was the only reason he let her. She licked her lips, her eyes staring at his mouth as she whispered, “I wish you would have stayed away.” Then she frowned. “Or I wish I had.”
Lorenzo tightened the hand at her nape. “We don’t always get what we wish for.”
He jerked her to him and kissed her like he wanted to, felt his inner soul claw to get out. The damn woman would make him forget his own head. Abruptly, he pulled back. He ran his hand from her neck, over her shoulder, down the bare inside of her arm and felt her shiver as she watched him. “We’re leaving.”
He tossed enough bills on the table to cover the meal and drinks, nodded to the waitress as they made their way off the little patio and to his Dodge pickup truck.
“Boys and toys,” she muttered.
“And how the hell practical is a damn Beemer when the roads are covered in ice and the ground in snow?”
She walked with him to the driver’s side and climbed in, sliding over to the middle seat and straddling the stick shift.
He started to tell her to move over and buckle up, but to hell with it. He climbed in after her, his truck rumbling to life. He shifted the truck into reverse and couldn’t help but notice how his hand grazed the inside of her thigh, and with that damn flirty little skirt, it didn’t do much to help him out.
Lo cursed as he turned the truck out of the parking lot and pulled onto the highway.
“I don’t want to go home yet.” Her voice was lower than normal. “I want to see where you live.”
Yeah, he’d make it through this night. He had no intention of sleeping with her tonight. None. She was drunk. She’d regret it. She’d blame him. Plus, they had things to talk about. Important things to plan. Not…not… Well, damn.
He hadn’t planned on getting her into his bed. Hoped, but didn’t actually plan on it. At least not tonight. He’d have to work at it. Without a doubt, she’d make him work hard to get her back into his bed, let alone his life. At least that was what he had assumed. But if she wanted him…
Drunk. She was drunk.
The beast in him said, Shut up and stop arguing. Take her.
Damn it, if Reya didn’t still twist him up into freaking knots.
The memory of what it was like to be inside her, to have her lithe limbs wrapped around him as she came apart in his arms shattered through his well-meant plans. He reached over and flipped the stereo on, punching the scan button on the radio. It landed on a cultural station.
“I should take you home,” he said through his teeth as he shifted again, his hand once again grazing a thigh. Again he shifted into a higher gear, leaving his hand all too close to the heat of her, tangling memories with reality. He knew what she tasted like just there on the inside of her knee and how hot she got the higher up those silky thighs he travelled.
He fisted his hand on the steering wheel.
Her hand on his thigh tightened as she leaned over and nipped his ear. “I said I don’t want to go home, Lo.”
When they were on open highway, he rested his hand on her thigh, the skirt bunched up so that bare skin met his.
He stared at the highway and tried not to think about what lay a few inches from his fingers.
The ride to his home outside of town flew by in a blur. His sprawling one-story adobe house sat a few miles off the highway at the base of the Sangre de Cristos on a hundred-acre ranch. Not that he had time to ranch, though he did keep a couple horses in the barn for when he felt like riding.
Like now.
But it wasn’t his horses he wanted to ride all damn night long.
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Best Intentions: A Ghost Cats Story Page 9
