Savage Retribution

by Lexxie Couper

  A frown dipped Regan’s eyebrows. “How can you joke?”

  The smile on his lips vanished and he gazed down at her, face an unreadable mask of intensity. “I’m alive, Regan. You’re alive. Is there any better reason to laugh at danger?”

  Her chest tightened. “Let me help you,” she murmured.

  He didn’t reply. Just stared back at her, devouring her face with his eyes as though her very countenance was his only nourishment.

  Her breath quickened and she dropped her head, turning her attention back to his side. The trembling in her stomach, her limbs, was now a shudder, a bone-rattling shake threatening to rob her of her strength. Sightlessly, she stared at the bloody gash on Declan’s side, trembling fingers wavering above its raw surface. Oh, God. What was happening to her? A violent sob burst from her, and she fell to her knees, pressing her feverish forehead to Declan’s strong, hard thigh. “Wh-what’s wrong w-wi-with me? I can’t st-stop sh-sh-shaking.” The words were almost inaudible, a stuttered, choked breath. “I’m c-cold.”

  Warm hands ran down her arms, under her knees and back, and suddenly she was lifted from the floor, held firmly against Declan’s chest. He gazed into her face, his heat folding around her like a velvet blanket. “It’s shock, love. That’s all.” He gave her a gentle smile. “You’ve had a wild day. You’re allowed to be a little shaken.”

  They didn’t move for a long moment; Regan’s body shaking, Declan’s as still and solid as a statue. Until, heart pounding, Regan leant forward and placed her trembling, parted lips on his mouth.

  Their tongues met. Slowly at first, each tasting the other with tender flicks and stabs. Regan traced the soft line of Declan’s bottom lip, drawing it into her mouth. He moaned his appreciation, crushing her closer to his chest. She placed her palm to his jaw, loving its angular strength, its stubbled texture on her skin.

  A slight tremble shook her body and Declan pulled her tighter to his, as though willing to absorb the shock coursing through her. His tongue mated with hers, seeking, growing fierce with each penetrating caress. Demanding hers to be the same.

  A wild beat erupted in her sex and she whimpered, tangling her fingers in his hair, tugging on the silken strands until his head lifted. “Your side,” she murmured, gazing into his smoldering eyes.

  “My side is already healing,” he murmured back, brushing her lips with a feather-light kiss. “You are what counts now.”

  “Warm me, Declan,” she whispered. “Make me burn.”

  Desire flared in his eyes. He crushed her mouth with his, dragged his lips along her jaw line, up to her ear. “And burn…” In three strides he crossed the room, lowering her onto a golden, velvet chaise covered in over-sized, plush cushions. For a moment he did nothing but stare at her, smooth, broad chest rising and falling in ragged rhythm, muscles coiled, nostrils flaring. She couldn’t take it. She lifted her hand—a wordless plea. He took it, placed the soft flesh of her palm to his mouth, touching the tip of his tongue to the faint crease of her lifeline.

  Her eyelids wanted to flutter closed but she kept them open. How could she close them? What would she do if, on closing them, she woke to discover it was all a dream?

  She watched his mouth worship her palm, her fingers. Watched him linger over the sensitive, almost ticklish underside of each knuckle, her pussy clenching with each nip and nibble. A hitching moan caught in her throat. Lord, just her hand…just her hand and she was liquid heat!

  Blunt, even teeth worked a delicious path to the tip of her middle finger and, eyes still holding hers, he drew the long digit into his warm, wet mouth and sucked on its length in gentle pulses of pressure. Sending shards of electricity into her sex. She gasped, eyelids fluttering at the sublime pleasure engulfing her.

  Lips circling that one finger, he curled his tongue around its base, flicking at the slight hollow between it and her index finger. Again, scorching jolts shot into Regan’s pussy. Again, she gasped. “Declan…” His name fell from her dry, parted lips in a hoarse breath. “Please…”

  The word ignited silver fire in his grey eyes. He withdrew her finger from his mouth, the tiny nip he gave its tip filling her sex with sodden rapture. With slow and ever-so-steady intent, he lowered her hand to his chest. The hard pebble of his nipple rubbed against her palm and the overwhelming desire to trace its puckered form crashed over Regan. Yet before she spread her fingers to capture it, he slid her hand lower, down the flat curves of his stomach, along the jagged ridge of his scar, to the waistband of his boxers.

  Regan’s heart froze.

  The jutting head of his turgid shaft tenting the stolen boxers nudged her wrist. The contact sent her pulse flying. Declan sucked in a sharp breath, the connection obviously affecting him equally. The reaction shifted his body slightly, but it was enough. The bulbous dome of his cock head pressed to her wrist again and she sucked in her own swift breath.

  It was too much. Such a simple caress, but it was too much.

  The burning intensity of Declan’s stare stole her breath. As did the scalding bead of pre-come wetting her flesh, even through the silken boxers. Unable to take it anymore, Regan let her eyes close and succumbed to the sensations consuming her.

  The second Regan’s long lashes brushed her cheekbones, Declan moved.

  Cock an aching, straining rod of steel, he leant forward and pressed his mouth to the smooth column of her neck, letting the kiss push her backward until he lay on top of her. Her firm, toned thighs hugged his hips, held him to her in an embrace he never wanted to break. Elbows resting on either side of her torso, he moved his hands to the torn edges of her tank top. With a reverence he couldn’t fathom, he pulled the material aside, his mouth drying at what he revealed.

  Her breasts were perfect. Smooth, round and swollen with a desire he knew surged through her. He touched the tips of his fingers to each pinched nipple, a small smile playing with his lips at Regan’s hissed intake of breath. She moved under him, arching her body into his, pushing her hot sex closer to his throbbing cock.

  Christ Mary, he wanted her. Wanted to bury his aching shaft into her creamy folds. But he forced himself to be slow. The poison of McCoy’s bites and scratches still laced his blood, made his control of the beast tenuous. He’d never had a problem containing his werewolf side—not in all the decades of his existence. But then, he hadn’t known Regan Thomas. The mystical power she wove over his body was far greater than the ancient power of his species. He wanted to bring her to climax after climax after screaming climax, but as a man. If he rushed now, he didn’t think he could keep control over what he was. And, even though it made his heart ache, he knew he still scared her.

  So instead, he feathered his fingertips over her nipples, gently, reverently, worshipping their tight dusky-pink tips. Her breast grew rounder under his touch and Regan lifted her arms, placed her hands on his and pressed them harder to her flesh. Made him squeeze the swollen curves with his fingers.

  Hot, hungry blood surged into his cock. His balls felt ready to rupture.

  “Please, Declan…”

  That soft plea. And his name.

  Declan’s head swam with roaring desire.

  “Please…”

  Incapable of denying her—and himself—he lowered his mouth to one straining peak and drew it past his lips, past his teeth.

  Regan arched beneath him, shoved her dampening pussy harder to his cock. “Yes. Oh, Goddamn it, yes.”

  He suckled, the feel of her nipple on his tongue, against his teeth unlike any experience he’d had. The swell of her breast pushed gently on his cheeks, chin and nose and he dragged in a long breath, luxuriating in the musky, slightly saliferous scent of her flesh. She’d done little but run since he’d come into her life and the perspiration of that physical exertion still slicked her skin, making the velvet surface sweet and salty at once. The contradiction drove him wild. He closed his hand harder on her breasts, sucking greedily at one peak as his fingers pulled and pinched and twisted the other.


  Regan writhed, her nails sinking into his hands for a painful second before she moved them to his shoulders. “Jesus Christ, that’s good.”

  Frenzied lust almost overwhelmed him. He ravaged her nipple, gnawed it between his teeth. Pulled the distended nub of flesh deeper into his mouth and suckled on its glorious form. She moaned and thrashed beneath him, scoring savage lines up into his hair with her nails, forcing his head harder to her breast.

  The wordless demand sent fresh blood pumping into his shaft and he bucked against the spread junction of her thighs, hungering for greater contact.

  “Christ, oh, Christ…” The exclamation dissolved into hitching, breathless moans. “Fuck. It feels so good.”

  The cry was like liquid fire on Declan’s control. He shoved his hips forward, needing to feel the heat of her sex on his cock like never before. Dragging his mouth from her breast, he bowed his back, her nails scoring lines over his flesh as he thrust at her pussy with an urgency he couldn’t ignore or deny. “Christ, Regan. What have you done to me?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she cupped her breasts in her hands, kneading them in unison with the frantic pounding of his heart.

  The sight tore a growl from Declan’s chest. He leapt to his feet, grabbed the waistline of her shorts and ripped them from her hips.

  Her feet fell back to the floor before her shorts did, her thighs spreading to reveal the glistening cleft of her sex. Dropping to his knees, Declan curled his fingers around her hips, yanked her down the chaise and plunged his tongue into her sex.

  “Fuck. Oh, fuck. Yes.”

  He heard Regan pound her fist into the cushions, felt her body quiver as he drove his tongue first past the sodden folds of her sex and then over the hidden button of her clit. She bucked against his mouth, thighs spreading further open, cries punching the air. He captured the nub with his teeth, suckled its tiny form. She rammed her sex harder to his mouth, fingers knotting in his hair.

  Raking his nails over her hips, he squeezed her ass, kneading the toned muscles of each cheek until his fingers worked their way to the tight hole of her rectum. He circled it with the pad of his right finger, his already engorged cock growing stiffer at the keening moan slipping from Regan’s throat. A wave of lust crashed over him. She would let him sink his finger into that puckered hole, but he wouldn’t. Not yet.

  With a control he didn’t believe he had, he slid his hands from her ass and found her drenched pussy instead. He tongued her clit faster, shifting his head slightly and sinking his middle finger into her.

  The constriction of her creamy, slick muscles closing around his flesh almost made his cock spurt there and then.

  “Oh, my God!”

  Regan’s raw cry filled the room. Declan lapped at the juices oozing from her sex, drowning in the taste of her desire. His cock, so flooded with blood its skin felt ready to tear, pushed the cool material of his borrowed boxer shorts. Blindly he reached for it. Pushing his free hand past the boxer’s elasticized waistline, he wrapped his fingers around the venous, aching length of his shaft. Pre-come leaked from the head, slicked his stretched skin. He pumped his tight fist once, twice, knowing he was dangerously close to the precipice of a climax more forceful than he’d ever experienced before. Christ, was he close. The urge to straighten and ram his cock deep into Regan’s sodden sex, bury himself to the balls in her tight sheath almost drove him insane. The wolf inside roared for it. Demanded it. But Regan’s sex tasted too good, her cries and moans of ecstasy too intoxicating to bear even the briefest loss of contact. He wanted to fill her with utter pleasure. Wanted to burn away all her fears. Wanted to consume her in the way she—in such a short span of time—had consumed him. Totally. Utterly.

  As if feeling his powerful need transmitted through his mouth, Regan lifted her legs and planted her feet on his shoulders, her folds spreading wider still. She didn’t say a word, just arched her body in such a severe bow her clit ground against his tongue and her perineum nudged the base knuckle of his middle finger.

  The temptation was too great.

  Withdrawing his hand and mouth from her sex, he smeared the slick, pungent juices of her desire from her nether lips to the clenched hole of her rectum, coating the tight opening with a viscous film of her own lubrication. Twisting his wrist, he plunged his thumb into her and placed the pad of his middle finger to her ass, caressing it once.

  For a split second, Regan’s body stilled. He lifted his head, wanting to see her face. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted in a silent gasp, her eyes closed. He pressed his finger gently against her hole. Once.

  Regan sucked in a sharp breath and her hips rose, her sex taking his thumb deeper.

  He pressed again, harder this time, the puckered opening yielding slightly.

  A moan followed. Low. Raw. A moan and then: “Yes. Yes.”

  Scalding, hungry heat surged into his swollen sac and cock. With infinite care and devouring urgency, he pushed into her anus. Gripping her with thumb and middle finger. He pressed the two together, the thin wall between cervix and rectum like velvet fog under his flesh. Regan cried out, grabbing at the cushions around her. “God damn it, Declan. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

  He wriggled both fingers and Regan bucked again, thrashing against his hand. “Fuck. Fuck, yes.”

  “Tell me how much you like that, Regan,” Declan murmured, his cock an inferno of burning hunger between his thighs. He rubbed his thumb and fingers against each other through the membrane of her sex and her pussy convulsed, fresh liquid seeping from her cleft. The distinct scent of sexual bliss filled the room and Declan’s blood turned even hotter, his every fiber imbued with the powerful musk of Regan’s pleasure.

  Her breath burst from her in ragged, shallow pants. “It’s good. It’s so good.”

  He dipped his head a little and blew a fine stream of air onto her sodden, pulsating sex. “Shall I stop?”

  For an answer, she bucked her hips harder into his hand and thrashed her head from side to side.

  Her absolute surrender to the pleasure in her body detonated a carnal lust deep in Declan’s being. He sucked in another musk-heavy breath and, heart pounding, balls throbbing, lowered his mouth to her sex once again. Needing to taste her pleasure as well as feel it drench his hand.

  Her muscles constricted. Sucked at his fingers as surely as he sucked at her clit. His balls rose up and he squeezed his cock painfully, struggling for control. The scent of her sex, the clamping of her pussy and rectum, the sounds of her rapturous desire were pushing him so close to the edge he felt his scrotum swell.

  Regan’s hands fisted in his hair. “I’m going to come, Declan. Oh, my God, I’m going to come.”

  Declan’s cock throbbed eagerly at the panted exclamation. He drove his thumb harder into her, his finger deeper into her ass, wriggling and twisting them, seeking the sweetest of spots that would release the building, mounting pressure of her orgasm and flood her pussy with creamy juice. His tongue flicked and rolled and tortured her clit. He didn’t want her to come. He wanted her to erupt.

  Her hands jerked on his hair, her toes curled into his shoulders. He sucked her clit, wiggled his fingers, stroked the inner wall of heaven.

  Regan snapped into a sharp arc and her fists yanked convulsively on his hair. “Oh, my fucking God!”

  Cream gushed from her. Warm ambrosia. Declan lapped at her gushing climax, his balls two scorching worlds of exquisite agony. He dragged his thumb up the throbbing length of his cock, over the bulbous bulge of its head, readying to slam it into Regan’s sopping sheath.

  He lifted his head, saw her face contorted in release. And felt his wolf’s blood thicken…

  Mary, Mother of God. No!

  The change shuddered through him. His canines lengthened. His flesh rippled. The wolf inside roared—demanding release, existence, fulfillment.

  No! No! No!

  Staring hard at Regan, at her thrashing head and squeezed-shut eyes, he sank his teeth into his bottom lip and his
nails into his engorged, distended cock. Blood flooded his tongue. Pain exploded through him. Before, body screaming with denial, desire and fury, he collapsed to the floor. The sound of Regan’s explosive climax ringing in his ears.

  * * * *

  Epoc watched the Manly ferry cross Sydney Harbor under the mid-morning sun, carrying—no doubt—the maximum limit of passengers, ninety percent of which would be tourists. Tourists heading to the zoo to gawk in brainless amusement at the animals imprisoned there. What would they do if they saw the real animals of the world? Those not trapped in just one form?

  Turning his gaze from the over-burdened vessel, Epoc flicked a glance at the man standing beside him, noticed with a certain sense of satisfaction the wildly pounding pulse in his thick neck. Good. He was scared. As he should be. “I don’t care how many people saw you change, McCoy,” he said, returning his gaze to the busy harbor below. “People are stupid. Almost as stupid as you, it seems, if you let O’Connell best you in human form.”

  Off to the left sat Kirrabilli House, the Prime Minister’s private harbor-side residence. The PM was coming for dinner tonight—an intimate little occasion during which Epoc planned to suggest that Australia needed a biological warfare assault division. Controlled by Epoc, of course. The PM would go for it. When the suggestion came from Epoc, he always did.

  Casting McCoy a barely concealed look of contempt, he threaded his fingers behind his back, power making his cock thick and heavy. “Find the Irish son of a bitch and the cunt with him or it’ll be you I strap into the shackles and drain, do you understand?”

  McCoy’s red-gold eyes widened but he straightened, his mammoth frame towering over Epoc’s even as sour capitulation threaded through his scent. “I understand, sir.”

  Epoc stared out the window, agitation flaying at his calm. The first successful extraction was but an inserted plastic tube away. The lab but awaited the subject. If it weren’t for Regan Thomas, Declan O’Connell’s life-force—that powerful, existential elixir of spirit and being—would already be a part of his own, leaving the bastard’s blood dry, worthless corpuscles in withered, useless veins. The last of the Onchú clan destroyed. Aine’s brutal death avenged.