Now after answering her questions and watching her clear his stuff off the table, he found himself being dragged along behind her toward the back of the restaurant.
Why am I not fighting this?
He thought about it for a moment. Wait, why the hell would I fight this?
It was almost like he could hear her muttering under her breath, even though it sounded in his brain and not in his ears against the noisy backdrop of patrons watching the hockey game. Not that he paid the game any attention. He hated violence of any kind, even sports.
But they served great fried mushrooms here.
Okay, focus. Hot woman taking me somewhere.
When he hesitated at the ladies’ restroom door, the mystery woman dragged him in behind her as if he didn’t have several inches and at least fifty pounds on her.
Jesus, how strong is she, anyway?
She could give Buffy the Vampire Slayer a run for her money. Actually, he realized that description seemed to fit her, except she had glossy, dark auburn hair that beautifully accentuated her creamy skin.
* * * *
Thankfully the ladies’ room was empty and had a separate large, accessible stall for patrons with disabilities. She shoved her mystery man into the stall ahead of her and locked them inside. After setting his bag down, she pulled his glasses off his face and carefully set them on the sink before she shrugged off her coat, kicked off her boots, and started working on her jeans.
“Pants down,” she growled. “Now.”
That seemed to break his spell. “What?”
“Down. Now. If I have to rip them off you it’ll hurt like hell when I do. Not to mention I will march you out of here half-naked when we’re done. I’d rather not draw that much attention to us.”
Apparently sensing he couldn’t argue with her, he started working on his belt with trembling fingers.
Her jeans and panties already lay on top of her coat in a puddle of fabric. His khakis hadn’t hit his knees yet when she reached over and yanked down his tighty whities.
“That’s good enough.” She grabbed him and kissed him deeply, now tasting him as well as smelling his scent.
No doubt about it. He was hers.
She yanked the collar of his blue knit shirt to the side to expose his left shoulder. He tried to offer token protest again but she kissed him, silencing him.
Not hung like a horse but plenty respectable enough, his cock stiffened when she wrapped her fingers around it. “Do not drop me,” she growled. That was all the warning she gave him before she hopped up, wrapped her legs around his hips, and sank his shaft inside her.
Explosions went off behind her closed eyelids, and that wasn’t even an orgasm.
Holy fuck!
His obvious confusion immediately transformed to passion as nature and need took over. He grabbed her ass, holding her, then turned them around, bracing her against the sink as he thrust hard and fast. Maybe he didn’t look like much on the surface, but he sure as hell knew what to do with the ample equipment the Goddess gave him.
“That’s it, baby. Hard and fast,” she managed to whisper before she felt her canines elongate and she sank her fangs into the flesh of his left shoulder.
With enough sense of mind to slap her palm over his mouth to muffle his scream, she kept her teeth buried in his flesh, savoring the taste of his blood over her tongue, sweet and sharp, warm and…
Mine.
He came with her, her climax milking his from him as she licked his wound to stop the bleeding. It would completely heal in a few days, indelibly marking him as hers.
At least he didn’t drop me.
* * * *
He tried to regain his wits and realized that would be damn near impossible at this point. In the space of less than five minutes it seemed his life had totally shifted on its axis, wildly swinging from boring reality into something resembling The Twilight Zone. All he’d wanted was to grade papers and eat dinner, alone as usual, and at least feel like he was part of his surroundings.
He didn’t have a lot of partners to compare the mystery lady to, but he’d never had an orgasm as powerful as the one he’d just experienced with this strange, beautiful woman. He came so hard it felt like his cock would explode.
And what the hell with the biting thing?
Not that he’d ever had a woman practically rape him like this before. Okay, so not rape, he damn sure didn’t mind what she was doing to him once he got into it. Maybe a half-foot shorter than his five-eleven, with straight, dark hair falling around her shoulders. A few light freckles dusted her cheeks over creamy skin. Her mocha eyes seemed to compel his obedience. And that throaty voice!
Reality intruded. He’d just had unprotected sex—albeit very hot and very good sex, the best of his life—with a perfect stranger.
In a bathroom.
A ladies’ bathroom.
Her palm against his mouth felt hot. Unable to help himself, he flicked his tongue against her flesh. She tasted sweet, salty, exotic.
Something inside him wanted to curl up with her in a very large, very comfortable bed and hold her in his arms forever.
Maybe those assholes in the Engineering department hired her to fuck me. They’d been busting his balls enough lately about his lack of a love life. Except she felt dangerous in a totally sexy way. Really, that coat she wore made her look like an extra from some Quentin Tarantino movie.
Then again, it was the first sex he’d had with another person in three years. And she was really, really hot.
Maybe I shouldn’t complain too much.
* * * *
She pulled her palm away from his mouth. When she put her feet down, she felt something she hadn’t felt in…ever. Shaky, knees trembling.
He leaned against the wall. “What the fuck?” he whispered.
Peckingham.
“No time.” She didn’t have time to explain to this poor bastard what just happened. She needed to take out her mark and safely get her mate the hell out of there. There’d be plenty of time for pleasantries and snuggling and more fucking later.
Much more fucking.
She reached for her panties and jeans and pulled them on. “Get dressed. Now.”
He stood there, pants down around his ankles. “What?”
“Pull. Your. Pants. Up.” She buckled her belt and had her boots and coat on and his laptop case slung over her shoulder again by the time he leaned over to reach for his clothes.
Leaning a little, she got a look at his pale ass. Tight, nice.
Lustful heat rolled through her core when she imagined leaving bite marks on his unblemished flesh.
Later. At home.
“Hurry up,” she growled.
He straightened and turned away from her as he tucked himself in. “I’m sorry, but it’s not every day I get raped at dinner by a perfect stranger.”
Guilt flashed through her. She hadn’t given him much of a choice. It wasn’t his fault he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken care of pleasantries first, like finding out his name and zodiac sign, before taking him to bed and claiming him. “You damn sure didn’t fight me. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain. Later. At home.”
“Who says I’m going home with you?” He finished putting himself back together, lips tightly pursed as he reseated his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate you paying for my dinner, and…this, but frankly, I’d rather go home. Alone.” He held out his hand, presumably for his laptop case. He wasn’t a skinny toothpick, but she’d seen more muscles on a starved raccoon.
Oh, my mate is so cute when he’s angry. She’d soon fuck that attitude out of him. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Sorry.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re coming home with me. You’re going to follow me, and when I tell you, you’re going to run like hell for my car.”
Screw the earlier plan. She’d shoot the fucker in the booth and mojo a few patrons to swear they saw one of his buddies do it.
She’d been to this pub before and knew they didn’t have any security cameras in the dining room.
Her mate glared, but he couldn’t resist her order.
She grabbed his still outstretched hand and dragged him out of the bathroom. Across the crowded restaurant, Peckingham sat in his booth, oblivious.
She leaned in and rumbled in her mate’s ear. She really would have to ask him his name at some point. “Wait for me by the front door. When you hear the shot, run. I’ll catch up with you.”
“What shot? Run where?”
“Straight ahead. You’ll see my car. Can’t miss it. Go.”
Casting a glance at her over his shoulder, he crossed the dining room and stopped at the door.
Good, she didn’t want to have to chase him down after making the kill.
That could lead to a very ugly accident. Or, at the minimum, public indecency.
At least she still had his laptop. She had a feeling he wouldn’t try to run away without it.
She stopped beside a waitress, touched her shoulder, and sent her a thought. On her way across the room, out of Peckingham’s direct line of sight, she repeated the action several times with patrons and waitresses alike. Then she walked up to his table.
The men were so drunk they didn’t notice her at first.
“Jonathan Peckingham, Junior,” she softly said.
That’s when his eyes focused on her. Recognition and fear washed across his features. She drew her gun.
“As Head Enforcer of the Targhee pack, and by edict of the pack Alpha, this is for selling out your daughter, asswipe.”
She put one hollow-point bullet squarely into his heart and another between his eyes into his brain, turning both to mush and ensuring his demise despite his wolf shifter bloodlines. He slumped back in the booth. Screams filled the restaurant as she calmly holstered the gun and turned from the booth. She’d expected at least one of his slimeball buddies to come after her, but they didn’t, apparently in too much shock and too drunk to do anything but stare at their fallen comrade.
Across the room, the glass door was swinging shut after her mate. Several patrons spooked by the sound of the gunshot stampeded toward the door. Quick, smooth strides carried her across the dining room, through the throng, and out the door before she even had to reach out to push the door open again.
She spotted her mate halfway across the wet asphalt, frightened, running. Without missing a step she reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. In his path, her Saleen’s lights blinked and the horn chirruped as the car unlocked.
He slid to a stop a few feet from the car as she strode up behind him and opened the passenger door.
“In.”
When he hesitated, she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him into the seat and dropped his bag in his lap. “Buckle up.” She closed the door and walked around the front end to slide behind the wheel.
When she turned the key, the engine smoothly roared to life. More patrons spilled out of the pub onto the sidewalk and into the parking lot as she pulled out and pointed the car toward I-75. A few sheriff’s cars passed going the other way, lights and sirens blaring, heading toward the pub.
She smiled at him. “Another job well done.”
* * * *
He felt like he could barely breathe. He sat there clutching his laptop bag and praying he’d wake up in a hospital after maybe slipping in the shower or something. When a line from The Big Bang Theory came to mind, something about a lack of adhesive ducks, a frantic giggle escaped him.
Or maybe I’ve died and this is a weird form of Hell?
Okay, maybe not Hell. Not that he was religious, but he guessed eternal punishment probably didn’t include scorching hot sex with a smokingly gorgeous stranger.
“My bike’s back there,” he lamely said. It was the only thing he could think to utter in his shock. “I need to get it.”
She glanced in the rearview mirror as she took the I-75 northbound on-ramp. Then she looked at him. “Ah, I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have taken you for a rider. That’s good. We can ride together. What kind of bike? Harley? Or something fast and sporty, like a Ducati or a Hayabusa?”
“Schwinn.”
She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “That’s not a motorcycle.”
He shook his head. “Oh, I’d never ride a motorcycle. Those things are dangerous. It’s a bike, a twelve-speed. I prefer to take green transportation. I want to leave as small a carbon footprint as possible.” He knew he was ridiculously babbling in his fear.
He didn’t think he imagined her disgusted sigh as she turned back toward the road ahead of them.
“I told you to buckle up.”
He wanted to argue, but something in her tone told him that might be a very, very bad idea.
Especially considering she’d just killed someone.
He carefully set his laptop bag on the floor between his feet and buckled his seat belt. “Where are we going?”
“Home. I told you that.”
“You told me? Sorry, I don’t remember that. Would that be before or after you raped me?”
Maybe not the wisest thing to say, but self-preservation had never been his strong suit.
In the glow of the instrument panel, he saw her expression darken. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to explain.”
“When are you planning on making time?”
“After we get home. I have to eat.”
“I have a home, and it’s in the other direction—”
He was thrown hard against the seat belt as she jammed on the brakes, the car sliding with a loud squeal of tires on the damp pavement. They came to a stop on the right-hand shoulder.
She turned to him. “Listen to me, and listen good. For the last time, you’re coming home with me, and it’s now your home, too. Do. You. Understand?”
Something about her eyes stole his strength. Not just their sweet, dark mocha color, but they compelled him, washing away all his will.
He felt himself nod.
She nodded back. “Good. We’ll figure out how and when to get your stuff moved.” She shifted the powerful car into gear and took off again, the force slamming him back in his seat. Apparently, she drove at only two speeds—stop, and oh, shit.
He wanted to ask her name, or at the very least find out if she was going to kill him, too.
She spoke again, her tone sounding more gentle. “No, I’m not going to kill you. I will not hurt you, I swear. I’m sorry you had to see that. I never expected to meet you tonight.”
Spooky. As if she’d read his mind.
Maybe I don’t want to know her name. Less chance of him identifying her so she wouldn’t come after him. “So you can’t let me go because I know what you did?”
She smiled. “Not exactly.”
He liked her smile. Jesus, I’ve lost my mind. I’ve been abducted by a hot sexy murderer, and in less than five minutes I’m already suffering Stockholm Syndrome.
She veered toward the Land O’ Lakes exit. “I’m not a murderer. I’m a pack Enforcer. That fucker sold his fifteen-year-old daughter to his drug dealer to be a sex slave so he could pay off his debt.” She timed it just right so she rolled through the intersection as the light turned green, veering hard to the right. “Asshole does something like that, he gets taken out. It’s my job to do the taking.”
“Isn’t that something for the courts to decide? Why not turn him in to the police?”
She snorted. “Police have no business in pack business.”
He didn’t know what to make of that, so he kept his mouth shut.
* * * *
For more information on Bleacke’s Geek and the other books in the Bleacke Shifter series, including buy links, you can visit the page I have for the series on my website.
About the Author
Author Lesli Richardson, who is better-known by her more prolific wild-child Tymber Dalton pen name, lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husba
nd (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. She writes a wide variety of heat levels and genres, from mainstream sci-fi all the way to scorching ménage.
The two-time EPIC award winner and part-time Viking shield-maiden in training loves to shoot skeet and play D&D with her friends. She’s also the bestselling author of over one hundred and fifty books and counting, including The Reluctant Dom, Cross Country Chaos, the Bleacke Shifters series, the Governor Trilogy, the Determination Trilogy, The Great Turning Trilogy, the Suncoast Society series, the Love Slave for Two series, the Triple Trouble series, the Coffeeshop Coven series, the Good Will Ghost Hunting series, the Drunk Monkeys series, and many others.
She lives in her own little world, but it’s okay—they all know her there.
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