by T. S. Joyce
Holt rolled his eyes closed and let off a sigh. Hands, don’t shake now. Bre brushed her touch over the curve of his strong shoulders and up his neck, barely touching his warm, rain-soaked skin.
His eyes remained closed, and he tightened his grip on her waist slightly, pulled her closer.
Up, up her fingertips went, up the back of his head, scratching his scalp gently. Holt’s shoulders shook with a slow, deep shiver, and his skin was now covered with chills. Up around his ears she gently scratched, and then down his jaw. As she felt the scruff on his face, a rumbling sound emanated from him. It was deep, barely audible over the pouring rain that pounded against the ground outside of their shelter. The growl was soft but powerful, vibrating against her skin and filling her up from the inside out.
Now it was her turn to close her eyes and memorize his body with touch while he was allowing it. Down his stony pecs to the abs that flexed with every deep inhalation.
Holt was rubbing circles onto her hips bones with his thumbs, building a fire within her.
As she reached the waist of his jeans, he leaned forward and murmured against her ear, “My turn.”
He didn’t ease back. Instead, he stayed right there, the scruff of his short beard scratching her cheek, his lips millimeters from her sensitive earlobe, as he drew his fingertips up the curve of her waist to her ribs.
She was utterly lost to the sound of the rain, of his soft breathing, of the smell of earth and ozone, the scent of his skin, the feel of his touch on her body.
Never stop, rain. Let this moment last an eternity.
His right hand traced the swell of her breast and then drifted to her neck, cupped the back of it. He eased back just enough to press his lips to hers. He dragged her wet tank top upward and then slid his hand to her back under her shirt, skin on skin. A tiny, pleading sound escaped her, and he smiled against her lips.
“Mmmm hmmm,” he rumbled against her mouth. “Tell me what you like.”
Before she could respond, he pushed his tongue past her lips. She moaned and opened for him, reveling in the taste of him.
She was disappearing. That’s what this felt like. It was as if her edges were disintegrating, blurring and fading into him until they were one. The chill from the rain didn’t reach her skin anymore. She was warm because Holt was warm. She was becoming part of him. Nothing had ever been like this before, and she wanted everything.
He broke their kiss just long enough to pull her soaking wet shirt over her head and unsnap her bra with a flick of his fingers. He yanked the thing from her arms and threw it onto the ground, then pulled his shirt off and hugged her to him. A soft clicking sound emanated from him as she pressed her breasts against him. Her nipples were so sensitive to the smoothness of his chest they perked up to taut nubs. And for a minute, he just held her there, kissed her gently, embraced her like she was delicate. Like she was important. Could a monster covet something fragile like a human? Like her? She was beginning to think so.
Everything she’d thought she’d known about shifters was wrong.
The whole world was wrong. Holt was so, sooo different from what everyone thought he was.
His touch turned to velvet against her skin as he traced the curve of her hips. But as soon as she settled into the gentle feeling, he gripped her hard like a massage, and she gasped and lean into him more. Trace, trace, up to her breast, lulling her into a trance, and then his firm grasp was on her, kneading her fullness there.
His lips dipped to her neck as she arched her head back, and just that hint of teeth on her skin had chills rippling up her skin. So good. Everything he did felt so good.
Thunder rolled outside of the shelter of the weeping willow. She could hear the pouring rain, but in here, barely any water made it through the thick foliage. Every touch, every kiss, every sigh and moan, every moment that they bound their souls together more tightly made Bre believe in magic.
This was special.
She dragged her hands down his stomach, and he rested his forehead against hers as she unsnapped his jeans.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “There’s no going back if we do this.”
She looked up at him, cupped his jaw and smiled when he leaned into it. “I know what you mean, Holt.” She swallowed hard. “Bind me to him.” She dipped her voice to a whisper. “Bind me to you.”
Holt rolled his eyes closed as he leaned in and kissed her again, moving his mouth so smoothly against hers. The sound of his zipper was barely audible over the rain. He pushed his pants down and then unfastened her jeans and pulled off her remaining clothes. And here she stood, naked in front of a man for the first time in so long, yet she didn’t feel an ounce of self-consciousness as he dragged his gaze down her body and back up. It was the look of awe on his face that made her feel so beautiful. So comfortable with him. The man had no complaints, and how could she not feel like a goddess when a man looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed?
When she pushed his chest gently, he sat down on their pile of clothes. She straddled him. Holt was big. His long, thick cock pressed firmly against her wet sex. God, it felt so good to have him so close and not be separated by clothes. She pressed her breasts into his chest as he gripped her waist. With a groan, he rocked her forward over his shaft and then back. Forward, then back, but she was ready. Lifting slightly, she placed his thick cock at a better angle and slid over the tip.
She exhaled a shaky breath.
Holt’s eyes flashed gold with those long pupils, and he gripped her neck gently. Through a wicked smirk, he whispered, “All the way.”
Holy hell, she liked when he told her what to do.
Bre lifted slightly, relaxing her legs, then took his cock by inches. She took it and took it until she settled onto the hilt. It hit her just right, and she moaned at how damn good it felt to be filled by him.
He gripped her hips and rocked his as he pulled her back and forth, staying deep, rubbing against her clit until she was gasping. “Thata girl,” he murmured in a gritty voice. “You gonna come for me?” He nipped at her earlobe. “Do it, Bre. Come on me. Let me feel you gripping my dick.” He pulled her against him harder, faster. So deep. Felt perfect. Felt like everything.
Bre closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his stony, strong body against hers. Faster. Harder. She was so wet; he was so slick in her, so big. Pressure built and built, feeling better with every deep stroke.
She could tell the exact moment his control slipped. His hands went rough on her hips and he yanked her against him hard, faster and faster. His growling was getting louder, and his breath was shaking right along with hers. She chanted his name mindlessly as her body shattered.
“Bre. Fuck, Bre. Don’t you stop,” he gritted out.
She cried out as her orgasm blasted through her, but he was there, too, she could tell, so she rocked harder against him.
Like a rutting animal, he thrust his hips fast, slamming his cock inside her, fingers digging into her hips. Pleasure and pain. Perfection.
Holt gritted out a long, sexy grunt as he blasted into her deep one more time. When she froze, she could feel it, the first intense pulse of his release. Warmth filled her as he jerked inside of her.
“Fuck,” he whispered on a breath.
Bre’s body was useless right now. She couldn’t move to save her life. All she could do was sit here connected to the man she was falling so hard for and enjoy every fading pulse of their orgasms.
That had been unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It was bigger and brighter than any experience she’d had with a man. She should tell him. “Holt?”
“Yeah?” he asked, searching her eyes. His gaze belonged to his gator. She should be scared, but he was hers. Bre stroked his cheek and tried to find the words. She parted her lips to tell him how she felt about him, but nothing came out.
“It’s okay,” he said, wearing a crooked smile. He pressed his hand against hers, pressing it to his cheek to keep her there. �
��I think I know.”
“Is it the same for you?” she asked, hope blooming in her chest. Dangerous game to have hope in a man who wasn’t all human. Who lived by different rules and different instincts.
He swallowed audibly and shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. I just know it feels different with you.”
She hugged him because she didn’t want him to see her face right now. She didn’t want him to see her tearing up or have to explain that sometimes tears were for happiness, not sadness. “It’s enough,” she murmured, all wrapped up in the man she loved. “It’s more than enough.”
Chapter Eleven
Humming to herself, Bre opened the guesthouse door to run into a solid wall of Holt. She squeaked in startlement as he steadied her by the shoulders.
“Hi,” she panted out.
Holt grinned down at her, his eyes bright against the evening shadows. “I was thinking we could do something different for dinner tonight.”
“Whooo, date night in town? Tired of cooking for me already?”
He snorted. “No. I always cook anyway. Now I just have to do bigger portions.” He smirked. “You eat a lot.”
She smacked him on the shoulder and marched past him toward Beetlejuice. “I eat a dainty, perfectly feminine amount.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her, changing directions toward the big house. “We aren’t going into town.” He let off a shrill whistle and said, “Come on, Fargo. Let’s go in the boat.”
The giant shepherd jumped up from where he was lying on the porch and bolted down the stairs and around to the back of the house.
“Geez, he must really like the boat,” she murmured.
“Not really. He don’t like the water much, but he likes where we’re going. It’s the only trip I make with him.”
“Oh. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. You trust me, don’t you?”
Holt was holding her hand. Really holding it again! She squeezed his hand and uttered, “Yeah, I trust you.”
“Silly girl, trusting an animal,” he teased, ducking out of the way of another one of her smacks.
“Can’t you just be serious and romantic for an entire conversation?”
“Hell no, that sounds boring.”
She couldn’t help giggling. The man didn’t need encouragement, but he was funny. And light. And sure he ruined any conversation that got too sweet like a wrecking ball, but she was getting used to the ups and downs with him.
“Do you know how alligators mate in the wild?” he asked as he led her down the dock toward his three-seater flat-bottom boat.
“Nope. I missed that lesson in my internet research.”
He helped her into the boat, which Fargo was already lying down in, frozen like a little icicle and staring at the water in front of them. He was shaking. Poor Fargo really was afraid of the water.
When she was settled, Holt pulled the cord of a small boat engine in back and untied them from the dock, then eased them away from the big house. She stared at it behind them until it disappeared in the evening shadows. White-washed house on stilts right on the edge of the water. It had seemed like an old, forlorn house just a week ago, but now she felt a special connection to it. She remembered everything, the creaking floors, the smell of food always cooking in the kitchen, the softness of her favorite couch blanket.
“What’s that smile for?” Holt asked over the engine noise.
In the dimming blue light, Holt looked wild. He wore his favorite baseball cap backward, and he hadn’t shaved since she’d come to Uncertain. His head was cocked to the side, like a curious animal studying her. And his eyes…
He didn’t control the color as much around her anymore, nor did he cover them with sunglasses. Lately, he let her see the animal in him more and more. Big broad shoulders and hands with a grip strength that could easily squeeze the life from a man.
“The smile is getting bigger,” he murmured, frowning slightly.
“I was just thinking about how much I like it here.”
“Which parts?”
“The house. Fargo. The shop and the tours.” She turned forward again and leaned back, resting on his knees. “You.”
“Mmmmmm,” he rumbled. He wrapped his fist in her ponytail and leaned forward. “You ruined all my plans.”
Bre leaned her face all the way back until she was staring up at him upside down. “Good.”
Holt leaned down and kissed her lips, then straightened up and looked out at the swamp before them. The motor noise and cicadas were their soundtrack as he took them deeper and deeper into the swamp. Where they were going, she hadn’t a clue, but he’d asked if she trusted him, and Brea really and truly did.
That was a big deal. She didn’t trust many people. She was careful in general, distant. She’d seen too much pain with her job to get close to many people, but Holt felt like a safe place to land, and she wanted to enjoy every second of it.
God, she needed to get her phone fixed and get ahold of Brian. Make sure he and the station knew everything was called off. She wanted Brian to leave the motel he was staying in and take another job somewhere far away from Uncertain.
Because of Brian’s drive at his job, he was a risk to Holt and the life this shifter had built here. No doubt he’d been spending his time in town finding out all the dirt and rumors about Holt and going through every word of audio that was recorded. A wave of nausea washed over her at the guilt of having given Brian anything, just by holding that microphone in the beginning.
Someday, when she was sure Holt wouldn’t run, she was going to tell him everything and beg him to keep her anyway.
Tomorrow, she would work on the phone situation while he was out on a tour. She would meet Brian in town and be upfront with everything. Beg for him to understand it wasn’t just a job anymore. It was her life. A chance at a good one. They’d worked together enough years that if she talked to him honestly, he might help get them off the hook. And he was smart. Maybe he could get the station’s attention off Uncertain, Texas altogether.
“Quiet girl,” Holt said from behind her.
“How do gators mate?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Well, after I tell you, you’re going to be really impressed with how romantic I am.”
With a snort, Bre leaned forward and scratched Fargo behind the ears. “You romantic? Okay, Swamp Monster, change my mind.”
“Mating rituals are complex between a male and a female. A dominant male has breeding rights. When a female is ready, she’ll sing back and forth with him, a set of rumbling and clicking noises. The male will slap his jaws on the water and then lift his tail above the surface, vibrating until the water rains off his tail in droplets. He’ll pin her in the water, press against her, mount her. The courting takes a while, but the coupling only lasts thirty seconds.” Holt arched his eyebrows. “You know damn well I’ll always take care of your body. I wouldn’t give you a thirty-second fuck and dismount. Then that male will go searching for another female afterward and start all over again. No emotion involved, it’s science. It’s chemistry to get his genetic material into the next generation. There’s not a whole lot of evolution for gatahs. There didn’t need to be. If an apex predator ain’t broken, no use fixin’ it.”
“Ah, but I think they did evolve. Along came you.”
The smile faded from Holt’s face. “Never thought about it that way.”
“Maybe gators are just more stubborn than other animals. They didn’t want to change, but change is inevitable. Maybe you aren’t a monster, Holt. Maybe you are the compromise.”
He went quiet for a few minutes after that, and Bre just pet Fargo and let him mull it over. Sometimes men needed time in their own heads.
Deeper and deeper, they went into the swamp, Holt maneuvering through the waterways like he’d done it a thousand times. Hell, maybe he had. This was Holt territory.
“Firefly,” she said, pointing at the light in the woods along the shore.
&nb
sp; “They’ll get thicker where we’re goin’.”
“How many girls did you bring to those firefly woods?” she asked again in a rush. She really wanted to know.
He opened his mouth to answer, but Fargo seized that unfortunate moment to bark. The dog was up on the nose of the boat, looking at something ahead. It was a two-story houseboat, tied off on shore, the lights of it casting a glow onto the water.
Fargo barked again, the sound echoing through the swamp.
“Okay, okay, we’re almost there,” Holt murmured.
He tied off on a peg at the open side of the houseboat and shook his head as Fargo went scrambling out, rocking them hard as he did. Bre held onto the sides for dear life and laughed while Holt muttered a string of colorful curse words that would’ve impressed a sailor.
The houseboat was half porch with white railing around the parameter. The home part of it was covered in light blue siding. There was an upper deck with just as much outdoor space as the porch Bre was stepping onto.
It rocked gently with the waves, and Holt pressed his hand onto her lower back to guide her past a set of plastic chairs to the front door where Fargo was circling and whining to be let in.
Just as Holt lifted his fist to knock, the door swung wide, and the saturated light from inside made Bre wince. Fargo just about knocked her over as he bolted past her inside. And as she wobbled, trying to catch her balance, she was pulled unceremoniously into a back-cracking hug and was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of lavender and a deep feminine chuckle that vibrated through her entire body.
“This must be your wife,” the woman said.
“No, Gram, I told you that’s not what this is about,” Holt explained.
The statuesque woman shoved Bre out at arm’s length and studied her in the dim light from the outdoor light strands that hung from the porch rafters above.
“You got one of them flashy, pretty ones, Grandson. What did I tell you about that?”
Holt sighed and said, “Here we go. Gram, this is Bre. Bre, meet Raina Lachlan.”
Bre gasped. “Like the legend? You’re the legendary Raina?”
