by Renee Rose
The moon shines silver, lighting the mountainside. I usually run and hunt most of the night when the moon is so close to full, but my instincts screamed to go back early. It wasn’t because of the rain, either.
Sam chases me, nipping at my hind legs, but I turn and snarl at the young wolf, causing him to tuck his tail and whine. I don’t want Sam’s company—I never do, but the kid is my self-appointed permanent shadow. When we reach the back side of my property, we both freeze. The rain makes it impossible to scent anything, but the high-pitched tone set at a frequency only canines register tells us my alarm system has been tripped.
Sam snarls, his upper lip lifting to show fang. He charges forward, rounding the corner.
I fly inside, through the dog door in the back, to check the interior. I scent nothing unusual. I shift and yank on clothes as I jog to the control room to look at the security feed.
A lone bike stands propped outside the iron gates that surround the front of my property and a small dark figure trudges through the rain toward my front door. A growl reverberates, low in my throat.
Who in the hell?
Sam arrives at full speed, fangs gleaming, and leaps through the air, his front paws landing on the intruder’s shoulders and knocking him or her to the ground.
Take that, motherfucker.
Dark fury pumping through my veins, I leave the control room to confront the unwelcome guest. I jog down the slippery steps and across the rain-soaked gravel.
“Easy Cujo.” The shaky sound of her voice shocks me like a live wire.
Kylie.
A jolt of fear tremors through my body. “Off. Get back,” I snap.
Sam doesn’t move, his wolf side not giving way to human reason, his instinct to protect and defend his home turf too strong. Thank the fates, Sam hasn’t torn her flesh.
My little hacker’s smart—she’s gone perfectly still beneath Sam.
I grab the scruff of my pack brother’s neck and haul him back. “I said off.”
Sam gives his head a shake and tucks his tail at the sound of his alpha’s angry tone. He takes a few steps backward.
I gaze down at our intruder. Even soaking wet, in a sweatshirt and jeans, she’s beautiful. She lies in the mud, not looking nearly as afraid as she ought to.
“What in the hell are you doing here?”
She groans and starts to move, but winces, reaching for the back of her head.
Well, hell. A good-sized rock lay near her. She must’ve struck it when Sam knocked her down.
“I had to talk to you,” she croaked.
Anyone else, I’d grill right there, while they lie on their back in the dirt at my feet. But not Kylie. That new, strange prickly heat takes over and screams at me to protect her—from Sam, from the rain, from the rock, from myself.
I pluck her from the ground and set her on her feet, forgetting to pretend she’s heavy.
Her eyes roll, unfocused, as if the movement pains her head. “Ugh. Wow.”
I reach around and cup the back of her head, fingers questing until I find the growing goose egg.
She flinches when I touch it.
“You’re hurt.” I turn and glare at Sam, who ducks his head.
She eyes my housemate, too. “Good thing you were around, or I think Cujo would’ve eaten me. Is that even a dog?”
“He’s part wolf.”
“Part wolf, part what? Gargoyle?”
I suppress a smile. I love that she pulls out the wry wit despite her injury. But then, it’s her default defense mechanism, as I learned in the elevator.
I study her. I ought to call the cops, or somehow scare her into respecting my boundaries. “Are you going to tell me why in the hell you broke into my place?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, if I was breaking into your place, I wouldn’t trip the laser sights to announce my presence. Forgive me, but I didn’t see the doorbell out there.”
What woman knows about laser security systems? And doesn’t scream when a giant wolf pins her to the ground?
“I don’t recall inviting you. How the hell did you even find me?”
“I’m a hacker, remember?”
“Or a stalker.”
“Same thing.” Her hand goes to the front of her sweatshirt, and I hear the crinkle of paper. “I have something to show you. It couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
I take her elbow and lead her up the slick Italian tile steps and inside the mansion. Kylie moves stiffly, as if more than just her head hurts from Sam’s attack. It doesn’t stop her from looking around my place as I escort her to the guest bathroom on the second floor. Somehow, I doubt she’s missed a thing, either. Why is she here, really?
I angle her through the bathroom door. I intended to grab her a towel and leave her to freshen up, but I find myself gripping the hem of her soaked sweatshirt.
“What are you doing?”
I tug the fabric upward. “Getting you out of these wet clothes.”
Color infuses her cheeks, making her eyes shine bright. Strands of her wet brown hair cling to her cheek and neck, a drip of rain runs down her throat. I want to lick it off.
She lets her arms go slack and follows the movement of the sweatshirt, letting me pull it over her head without protest.
My cock throbs painfully against the zipper of my jeans when I catch an eyeful of skin. I remove her undershirt with the sweatshirt, and she stands in nothing but a lacy red bra and wet jeans.
Her chest heaves, and she keeps her gaze intent on my face, as if waiting to see what I’ll do next.
What will I do?
I know what I want to do. I want to peel those tight, soaked jeans down and bend her over the bathroom counter. I want to plow her from behind as much as I want to get into that whip-smart mind of hers and find out what makes the unique female tick. And dammit, yes, I want to sink my serum-coated fangs into her flesh and forever mark her as mine.
Which can’t happen.
I drop the sweatshirt on the floor and hear the rustle of paper again.
Kylie’s focus snaps to the discarded clothing, and she lunges for it, breaking the stare-down between us. Trapped between the layer of shirt and sweatshirt lies a manila folder, which she retrieves and hugs to her chest, covering those perfect tits from my view.
She licks her dry lips. “Mr. King, before I share this with you, I just want to tell you when I did what I did, I was a cocky teenager trying to prove my worth to myself and the hacker world. I never took anyone’s credit card numbers, and I never sold any information. It was simply a—”
The realization hits me like a fist in the gut. “Catgirl.”
Of course she’s fucking Catgirl. The only person who ever hacked my code. No wonder she was nervous about interviewing at SeCure. What in the hell kind of game was she playing, showing up at my headquarters, at my home, for fuck’s sake?
The one breach in security that haunted me for the past eight years just blew up in my face. Again.
I snatch the manila folder from her hands and dump the contents onto the bathroom counter.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounds small.
Dammit.
I hate hearing her diminished, even to me, a natural alpha who demands submission from everyone. Even when I’m pissed off with her.
“What the fuck is this?”
I flip the stack of papers and read the one on the top. Fuck no. Rage sharpens into a deadlier sense of awareness.
Blackmail.
Someone wants to sabotage SeCure.
Or is this some elaborate game Catgirl’s playing? Because anyone as brilliant as she could have some unseen strategy going here.
This girl’s trouble and my judgment about her has been clouded by lust.
She stands perfectly still, her small hands clenched into fists. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.
I toss the papers back down the counter. “What the fuck? What do you want? Why are you really here?”
I hate seeing tears fill her eyes, but I s
teel myself against my instinct to yank her into me or slay her foes. Those instincts can’t be trusted.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. I don’t want anything.” Her voice wobbles on the first word, but then she regains control of it. “I just figured if I confessed, myself, the jackasses would lose their leverage. I don’t want to negotiate with terrorists, you know?
“I just offered you all the information you need to hand over to the FBI to build a case against me. Obviously, I’m hoping you’ll settle for my resignation.”
“No,” I growl, surprising myself by speaking before I knew what I was going to say.
But I’m not going to let her off that easily. In my world—in the shifter community—transgressions are dealt with head on. They aren’t handled by cops or resignations. Punishment is swift, usually physical. Or else recompense is demanded, or offered, and accepted.
She flinches, her slender shoulders sinking. “What are you going to do?” Her voice sounds hoarse.
Blood rushes to my cock at the thought of taking her to task. Firmly. I lower my voice to a dangerous level. “What do you think I should do?”
“Well”—she licks her full lips, the intelligence returning to her face— “if I were you, I’d want to catch these motherfuckers. So I might keep me as bait.”
Damn, I almost trust her. An enormous mistake.
“You know, monitor me closely to make sure I don’t misbehave, but wait to see who makes contact and put a stop to these guys.”
Yeah, I’ll monitor you closely.
Monitor the way those red lace bra cups lift her perky breasts. Monitor the scent of her arousal, the changing shape of that lush mouth. Kissable lips. “I see. And how should I punish your previous misbehavior?” My voice is definitely deep and raspy. If she doesn’t know what I’m thinking, then she’s a complete innocent.
But her eyes dilate, nipples pop through the fabric of her bra. That’s right, baby.
“No pity for the kitty?” She loses her breath on the word kitty, which makes it sound twenty times sexier.
“Right.” I spin her around and bend her over the counter. My palm connects with the wet pocket of her jeans before my brain even knew the plan. It makes a loud crack, satisfying on every level. My cock hardens at her gasp.
Kylie tosses her head, looking over her shoulder, teeth bared. She likes it. Judging by the scent of her arousal—a lot.
I smack the other cheek, harder.
Fuck, I want to pull those wet jeans off her, find out what color panties she’s wearing before I tear those down, too. But if I see her naked ass, there’ll be no holding back the beast. Even this mild contact over her clothing has me harder than a fucking rock and my teeth lengthening.
Since she didn’t freak, I keep spanking, hard slaps that echo off the Italian tile. “You hacked me, Catgirl?” I smack her again and again. “What were you—like twelve?”
“Fifteen,” she gasps. “I never took anything—I swear—ung.”
The last sound from her lips sounds too much like I’m fucking her instead of spanking, and my vision tunnels, my wolf clawing to take over.
I stop spanking, struggling to slow my breath. I keep my hand on her ass, because, well, the thought of not touching her kills me. “Just wanted to see if you could, baby?” Now that it’s set in, the fact that she’s Catgirl turns me on even more. This girl hacked me as a teen. She’s a fucking genius, and I’m swooning for her brains almost as much as her sexy little body.
My eyes meet hers in the mirror. Her face is flushed, eyes dilated and glassy. I reach around and cup her right breast, squeezing and pulling her back up against my chest.
“Bad girl,” I whisper in her ear, and she lets out the cutest little moan.
I have to fuck her. As in, I’m going to die if I don’t get my cock inside her now. I need to own her completely. Punish her with the roughest fucking of her life until she screams my name and learns I’m the only male who will ever crack her fucking code. Then I’ll start over again, slowly. Lick the pain away. Make her come over and over again until she weeps.
But I don’t trust my control around her, so I settle for flipping her back around, picking her up by waist, and plunking her down to sit on the counter. “Did you like your spanking, baby?”
“Y-yes.”
I love her honesty. I shove her knees apart and bring my thumb to the seam of her jeans, right over her pussy.
She arches into me and catches my shoulders, her head falling back. “Jackson…” she whispers.
I push the hard fold of fabric into her seam, rubbing up to her clit.
She jerks and lets out a needy cry. Her fingers come down and cover my hand, urging me to give her more.
My mental faculties slip away. I yank open the button of her jeans and lower the zipper, parting the two sides.
Matching panties. Red lace, like the bra. I knew it.
My satisfaction is short-lived because a storm of rage blows hot on its heels. “Who’s seen you in these, baby?”
“Wh-what?”
“Who has seen you in these cute-as-hell panties?” I get right in her face, teeth showing. “Who do you wear these for?”
She pushes at my shoulders, but, of course, I don’t budge. Human female strength against shifter alpha male? No comparison. “What gives, Jackson?” There’s real fear in her eyes, and it drops me like bullet. The flash of anger evaporates, replaced by the need to soothe and protect my female.
Shit. I already consider her my female.
I lean my forehead against hers. “Sorry,” I murmur. “Is it wrong to want to kill the guy you bought those for?”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re crazy.”
Because I’m a stubborn bastard, I wait, still wanting her to answer my question.
“No one’s seen them,” she mutters.
Holy hell, is she blushing? Maybe she’s more innocent than I thought.
“No one?” I’m unable to keep the incredulousness out of my tone.
She pushes again, but I’m back to my original purpose. With an arm wrapped around her waist, I pull her off the counter to stand, and delve my fingers into her pants and panties.
Hell, yes.
The moist heat of her core slicks my finger, sending a kick of lust through me so strong I have to drag in a sharp breath.
“Jackson.”
“Yeah.” She can call my name with that husky voice anytime.
I rub my middle finger along her weeping slit, spreading moisture up to the swollen bud of her clit.
I’m still pondering the blush. Is she embarrassed she hasn’t been with anyone recently? Considering the way she clings to my neck and moans the moment I touch her perfect little pussy, I think that’s a distinct possibility.
Some ridiculous male pride surges through me. I’m going to be the one to satisfy her. I force myself to slow down as I circle her clit, my free hand slipping around to grab her ass and pull her pelvis closer.
She grinds down over my finger.
“Greedy girl,” I murmur. If I had her panties off, I would have spanked her pussy, but the fit’s too tight.
Her breath stutters as I screw one finger inside her tight channel. I work the heel of my hand against her clit.
She rises up on her tiptoes and claws the back of my neck, fingernails scoring me like a female shifter marks her mate. My teeth sharpen in my mouth, and I clamp my lips closed to keep from marking her, myself.
Her pelvis undulates forward and back in greedy thrusts.
I work a second finger inside her. “You’re so. Damn. Tight.”
She stiffens slightly, even though I meant it as a compliment, but I stroke her inner wall and hit her G-spot.
Her muscles squeeze, and she grows even wetter. “Fuck...no...I mean, yes. Oh please!” She hangs from my neck, her breasts pressed into me as she pumps her hips over my fingers.
I feel like a pubescent wolf, ready to come in my pants. But this is for her—not me. I thrust in and out
of her, letting my knuckles bump with force until she squeals and clamps her inner thighs together. Her internal muscles contract, and she comes all over my fingers in the hottest display of female orgasm I’ve ever seen.
I did that. My wolf grins with satisfaction.
When her orgasm fades, I ease my fingers out and claim her mouth, prying her lips open with my tongue. I wrap a hand around the base of her head to hold it hostage and plunder, command her to submit.
She does. She opens for me, presses her killer body against mine, kisses me back.
Damn.
With great effort, I break off the kiss.
She gazes up at me, beautifully disheveled from the rain and my assault. “Does this mean we’re square?” She sounds breathless.
“Not even close, baby. You owe me, and I intend to collect.”
Her gaze drops to my stiffy. “How?” She doesn’t wait for the answer, but sinks to her knees.
The creak of a floorboard in the hallway makes me curse inwardly. I yank her back to her feet before we give Sam a show. Why in the hell didn’t I shut the bathroom door?
Although the sound is soft enough I thought she’d miss it, Kylie startles, craning her neck to see around my shoulder. Every cell in my body screams for me to reach for the door knob, shut the door and tell her to please continue.
But no—Kylie is human. And my employee. Because I am keeping her on, where I can watch her.
Keep your enemies closer.
I’ve already gone way too far with her. Any further, and I’d mark her, and then I’d have a world of new trouble on my hands.
Forcing restraint, I pull a clean towel from the cabinet and toss it to her. “Get in the shower and warm up. I’ll find you some dry clothes.”
I turn her around and propel her toward the shower stall, delivering another smack to her heart-shaped ass.
She makes a low purring sound in her throat and looks over her shoulder with heat.
I bite back a groan. It takes all my willpower to turn around and walk out, shutting the door behind me.
4
Ginrummy
His cell phone beeps. It’s eight p.m., and he’s still at SeCure, but that isn’t unusual. It isn’t unusual for half the employees there. They work flex time, and a lot of programmers do their best work at night.