“Tell me you love me,” the wolf growled.
Stasia sucked in a shocked breath and shook her head. “I…can’t.”
He stopped moving. “Because you don’t?”
Stasia closed her eyes. “Because you’ve never said you love me,” she whispered.
His teeth nipped her shoulder. “That’s not the way this works, baby. You have to take the chance. You have to break free. Go for broke.”
Her body trembled, close to ecstasy while her heart broke. “But that leaves me naked. Totally in your control. You want everything from me.”
His muzzle rubbed her neck. His hips circled once, screwing her deliciously. “Trust your instincts, Stasi.”
Still she fought him though the tension building along her channel rippled on the verge of something wonderful. “It’s not hard for you,” she gasped. “You’re not giving anything up. All you want is my obedience, my devotion.”
“Sweetheart, if you haven’t noticed, I already have that,” he said, the wry note sounding sexier than it ought to in his beast’s voice.
“You’ll hold all the power,” she said, her voice thin and high.
“I won’t abuse it, I swear,” he rumbled in her ear.
“I love you,” she blurted out.
His tongue licked her jaw and shoulder and his hips drew back, pulling his thick cock out until only the swollen head remained inside. “Hold on, I can’t stop now.”
Disappointed he hadn’t given her the words back, nevertheless she couldn’t resist the heat that built with the powerful thrusts he delivered, each one harder and sharper than the one before. No one had ever fucked her like this—controlled, precise power—all of it directed at her pleasure.
His domination was his gift to her. He’d sensed her need and given her what her body and soul craved most. That was real love.
That he’d also discovered a wicked delight in torturing her, was just an added benefit—and incentive to keep him torturing her until they were old and gray.
His strokes scooted her across the carpet, but she welcomed the hot, stinging burns growing on her knees. She’d beg him to lick them better later. As his hips hammered faster, her cries built into howls that intertwined with his as they both crested the wave.
Her last thought as she drifted into a faint was she couldn’t wait to wear his collar.
* * * * *
Quentin woke as the sun slipped beneath the ocean snuggled next to his beloved’s naked body. His hand cupped a small breast, his thigh rode her slim hip. He kissed her shoulder and fingered the rosy-brown nipple until it spiked.
Her flesh remembered him. If he slid his hand between her legs, she’d cream and he could take her like he’d been dying to do so many nights. But the release she’d bring him would be hollow.
He pulled away his hand and sat up on the side of the bed, bowing his head as he gathered the strength to do what he must. Then he turned back to check the manacles that kept her limbs chained to posts on the floor at both ends of the bed.
His sleeping beauty was healed—in body. The gruesome wounds the wolf had left in her belly and skin had closed, not leaving a single scar to mark the change. Even her belly, that had swelled so with child, was flat—no trace of her pregnancy to mar her pale skin.
He picked up the razor blade on the nightstand and made a thin, but deep cut down his wrist, piercing the throbbing vein beneath the skin. He held his hand above her mouth, pleased she drank without him having to resort to manipulating her throat. She really was getting better.
By the time his wound closed, her mouth stopped moving, her hunger assuaged. Now he needed to find a meal to replenish what he’d lost. He dressed slowly, always listening to the sounds of her breathing, hoping for some little sign she’d waken—and dreading it, too.
Her injuries had been so extensive she might never wake up. He almost hoped she wouldn’t, because he feared what he’d find in her eyes. A revolver rested in the drawer of the nightstand, a bullet chambered in the awful event she woke…changed.
He wasn’t sure he could do it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to. She’d remained in a coma since the night of the attack, had barely survived as he’d held her torn skin together with his hands and licked her wounds over and over to help her heal and fed her his blood to save her life.
But she could very well carry the werewolf’s poison in her blood. There was a chance, when the next full moon rose in the night sky she could awaken a beast. A nightmare. A maddened rogue with a vampire’s strength.
Perhaps Navarro had been right. He should have let her life slip away that night, but he couldn’t bear the thought. If there was one chance on earth that she could be saved, he’d give it to her.
Without her he was a shell of man. If he was forced to use the silver bullet to end her life, he’d greet the sunlight and join her in death.
The glass door slid silently open and he stepped out onto the sand. Two days until the full moon. Two days left to try to save her.
There was only one person on the planet who might possess the magic to awaken her and prevent the werebeast from rising.
The witch who’d sired him.
He’d bundled Darcy into a bloody sheet and carried her to the private plane he’d paid a fortune to acquire. With her slack body strapped into the passenger seat he’d flown her to his birthplace in the Caymans on the blind hope she would help him.
Following the curve of the familiar shore, he felt the breeze lift his hair and plaster his shirt against his skin. The palms creaked as they bent to the rhythmic gusts.
A little farther, his heart beat faster. But where a crude wooden shack with the palm-frond roof had once stood was a whitewashed villa with an iron gate. Maybe this journey was for nothing. The past he’d sought to leave behind was really gone.
Maybe there wasn’t any hope left for Darcy…or him.
Pushing through the creaking gate he stepped onto a tiled patio and caught a whiff of an elusive fragrance, like honeysuckle and mint. Hers. Already he braced himself for the sight of her dusky skin and the sound of the island patois in her whiskey-rich voice.
She’d seduced the human man, made him a slave to her passion, until the day she’d taken his life and pulled away the gauzy curtain that had hidden the true darkness in her heart.
A footstep sounded behind him and he stiffened, closing his eyes to steel himself against her glamour.
“‘Bout time you come home, husband.”
About the Author
Delilah Devlin dated a Samoan, a Venezuelan, a Turk, a Cuban, and was engaged to a Greek before marrying her Irishman. She’s lived in Saudi Arabia, Germany, and Ireland, but calls Texas home for now. Ever a risk taker, she lived in the Saudi Peninsula during the Gulf War, thwarted an attempted abduction by white slave traders, and survived her children’s juvenile delinquency.
Creating alter egos for herself in the pages of her books enables her to live new adventures. Since discovering the sinful pleasure of erotica, she writes to satisfy her need for variety--it keeps her from running away with the Indian working in the cubicle beside her!
In addition to writing erotica, she enjoys creating romantic comedies and suspense novels.
Delilah welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.
Also by Delilah Devlin
Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales from the Temple III anthology
Fated Mates anthology
Lion In the Shadows
My Immortal Knight: All Hallows Heartbreaker
My Immortal Knight: Love Bites
My Immortal Knight: All Knight Long
My Immortal Knight: Relentless
My Immortal Knight: Uncovering Navarro
Garden of Desire
Nibbles ‘n’ Bits anthology
Prisoner Of Desire
Ride a Cowboy
Silent Knight
Slave Of Desire
The Pleasure Bot
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
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