Wicked Kiss

by Rebecca Zanetti

  The kid in front of Adam shuddered in what smelled like pure relief.

  Lucas looked at the two unconscious men on the ground. “What the hell happened here?”

  Fuck. Adam stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to look harmless. Lucas was Bear’s second, and he knew Adam was Bear’s friend, but he might have to save face here. “There was a bit of a scuffle.”

  The member behind Lucas growled. “What the fuck is Fire doing here?”

  Lucas studied Adam, his gaze intelligent if not fully in the know. “That’s a damn good question.” Several more Grizzly members came into view around cars and bikes.

  Victoria moved forward, tension streaming from her. “It’s, ah, my fault.” She batted her eyelashes. “When Lucas, ah, dumped me, I called my friend Adam.” She sidled closer to Adam as if to protect him from the Grizzlies. “Adam’s brother is dating my sister, and well, I just didn’t know who else to call.”

  Smart. Adam slid an arm around her waist. He’d claim a friendship to Bear if he had to, but that would put Bear in a difficult position. It’d also cause hell if the Fire members found out. So the woman had figured out a way to avoid more bloodshed and still give Lucas his pride. “I just want to get her out of the rain.”

  Lucas slowly nodded. “Don’t come back. Next time any member of Fire sets foot in our territory, he eats it.”

  Adam fought a grin at the descriptive language. “Understood.” He moved to his bike and deposited Tori on it. Leaning in, he couldn’t help but press a kiss to her upturned nose. “That was brilliant. Thanks for keeping us safe.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Us? I was keeping them safe. You’ve hurt enough of them tonight.”

  He breathed in. The woman was deadly serious. She thought he was that big of a threat. He grinned. He couldn’t help it.

  * * *

  Tori wrapped her arms around Adam as the bike flew through the rain. Her body still hummed, and her head still buzzed. Maybe that was why the bike was working and not petering out on the side of the road. She forced thoughts of the bike and her oddity out of her mind. If she didn’t think about it, perhaps it wouldn’t become a problem.

  Her hands spread across his ripped abdomen. Even with the wind and increasing rain, he warmed her. The guy was a heater. Was it something to do with him being a witch and being able to make fire? Or was he just that masculine?

  Her mouth still tingled from his kiss. As if what he’d done had been a mere kiss. The bike purred between her legs, sending vibrations up and through her. Not once in her life had she been so close to orgasm after just one kiss. If she moved the right way, she could probably get there from the bike itself. How had he done that to her? The kiss hadn’t even been sweet. No. He’d all but eaten her whole.

  She turned her face and rested her cheek between his shoulder blades. Muscle shifted along her jaw.

  Watching him fight . . . that should’ve turned her off, right? Yet the brutality, the single-minded sharpness of his blows, excited her. He was deadly and dangerous and breathtaking. There was no doubt he’d fight to the death if he decided to protect her . . . and he’d fucking win. That sped up her breath as much as the kiss that was so much more than a kiss.

  The heat beneath her skin pricked, wanting relief. Her entire body needed relief. The rain and wind weren’t even coming close to cooling her libido. She breathed in, allowing the pine scent of the trees surrounding them to fill her. Wasn’t pine supposed to be soothing? If anything, the wildness of the land on each side of them spurred her own.

  Adam turned off the main road onto a barely there trail.

  Soon a river rushed alongside them.

  God, she hurt. Her breasts rubbed against his back, and she stifled a moan.

  He stiffened.

  Oh, man. It was too late. Way too late to turn back. She’d learned young, very young, to take the pleasure life offered before it went away. Well, he’d created this problem, and he’d damn well solve it.

  Gathering courage she’d never doubted, she clasped his rib cage with her left hand. Her right flattened over his abs, slowly sliding down.

  He stiffened against her.

  She reached the hard—very hard—ridge beneath his jeans.

  He jerked the bike to the side and toward the river. She yelled and tightened her hold on his dick.

  He frantically pulled the handlebars, getting them back on the trail. His cock pounded against her hand, even through the jeans, a fierce cadence of rapid pulse. His head lifted, and his entire body seemed to swell somehow. Reaching a small clearing, he swung the bike in an arc, stopping at the steps to a quaint little cabin. A second later and he was off the bike. “What in holy hell are you fucking doing?” he bellowed.

  Finally. She’d finally made badass Adam Dunne lose his control.

  She swung her leg and dismounted from the bike. “You started it,” she yelled back, pushing rain-soaked hair away from her eyes.

  “Two seconds more and I woulda finished it,” he rumbled.

  She swallowed. Shit. They were back at the cabin. The one where her friend had died after taking Apollo weeks ago. She’d rushed him there, thinking the Dunnes could help him. He’d burned in front of her eyes, and she’d been helpless to stop it. Even Adam and his brothers couldn’t stop it.

  “Victoria?” Adam asked.

  She shook herself away from bad memories, determined to make good ones. Excellent hot and sweaty ones, with the bad boy facing her. He was the epitome of male, standing in the rain and wind, a romantic cabin behind him. His eyes had turned to dark emerald, his lips to a fine line, his body to one long tense masterpiece. All sculpted and hot and waiting for her. She took a step forward.

  He stepped back.

  Power flushed through her, heated and sharp. Feminine and dangerous, it went to her head and narrowed her focus. She stepped again, avoiding rocks and downed pine needles, her gaze on the man. On the male. Yeah. Witches weren’t men, but he was all male. “Adam,” she said, her voice lowering to a siren’s purr.

  His head tilted just a bit, his nostrils flaring. “Watch yourself, Victoria.”

  Ah, that voice. Dark and low . . . gravelly and so harsh. It kissed across her, licking and biting, and she wasn’t even touching him. If she was bewitched, she didn’t care. Not now. Probably not ever. So she reached him, sliding her hands beneath his wet shirt. Her eyelashes swept down as the heat from his skin, the hard muscles beneath her hand, forced even more lust through her body. It was too much to keep her eyes open, but she forced them open anyway. “You can’t break a promise.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips. “A promise?” he asked, his arms visibly vibrating with the effort of keeping his hands to himself.

  “Yes.” She rose up on her tiptoes and licked beneath his jaw. Whiskers tickled her tongue, and she kissed down the hard cords in his neck. “Back at the Grizzlies. The kiss you gave me, that was a promise.”

  “Victoria,” he whispered, his voice now tortured.

  She had him. She could feel it. So she stepped fully into him, body to body, her breasts hard against his even harder chest.

  Fire, blue and fierce, flashed down his arms as his control snapped.

  He growled and lifted her up, his mouth on hers before she could draw a surprised breath. His hands clutched her butt, and he turned, gracefully carrying her up the steps and kissing her until his mouth, his brutal body, were all that existed.

  A door closed.

  Warmer air brushed her.

  His kiss deepened, the heat from his mouth nearly scalding her. He released her, twisting his head.

  No. She reached for him, her nails digging into his wet shirt.

  His gaze met hers, and he gave her a small shake. “Say you’re sure.”

  Oh God. “I’m sure,” she whispered. So, so, so sure.

  He ripped her shirt down the front. She gasped, her hands growing still. The look in his eyes. She’d seen it in wild animals on television. Hot and feral . . . absolute. Planting a hand
on her chest, he flicked her bra open.

  She jerked and looked around, seeing a small living area next to a kitchen. “Ah, bedroom?”

  His smile transformed his handsome face into stark beauty. Wild and primal. “We’re not garna make it to the bedroom.”

  Chapter 12

  Adam’s fangs dropped for the briefest of moments.

  Victoria’s eyes widened, and she craned her neck to see better. “Witches have fangs? Like vampires?” she whispered.

  “Aye.” All immortals had fangs. He retracted his, flattening his hand over her upper chest. Small. Delicate. His body rioted as he slid down and cupped one breast.

  Her eyelashes closed and then swept open. A pretty pink spread across her face. Ah, the woman was so responsive.

  Grasping her hips, he lifted her to the back of the sofa, stepping in so she had to open her legs. His fingers snagged the strap of her bra, and he drew it down her arm, prolonging the sensation.

  She trembled.

  The hunter inside him, the one he’d banished in favor of cold logic and strategy, stretched awake. “You’re beautiful, Victoria,” he murmured, tossing the bra to the ground. Her breasts were heavy and full, her nipples the light pink of a true blonde. He trailed his fingers across one, and the trembling of her body warmed him. “Stunning.”

  She leaned into his touch and reached for his shirt. “You’re overdressed.” Her nails scraped his abdomen as she yanked the material up.

  He ducked his head so she could pull off the wet mess.

  “Oh, Adam.” She stroked down his torso, her nails light. Fire streaked through him to land in his groin, which already pounded like he’d never had sex before. “I could touch you all day,” she murmured.

  Aye. He could get on board with that plan. Moving in to her again, he gripped her chin and lifted her face, kissing her deep. She tasted like ginger and something temptingly sweet, all Victoria, wild and succulent . . . and, for the moment, his. Oh, this was a mistake, and he should back away. Instead, he leaned forward and nibbled along her lips, winding across her jaw to sink a fang into her earlobe. The second she’d grasped him on the bike, the moment had become inevitable.

  She grabbed onto his ribs, the smoothness of her skin against his a reminder to go slow.

  Then, even with his mouth working hers, she reached between them and found his cock, stroking him from base to tip over his jeans. He jerked against her, and his head swam. A second later, she unzipped his jeans, freeing him.

  He slid his hand around, grasping her neck. Then he released her lips, tilting his head to study her eyes.

  Need and want . . . along with triumph. Yeah. Interesting.

  She stroked him, and pleasure streaked through him, making him swell in her palm. His lids half lowered. “You’re used to being in control,” he said. It was made as a statement—no need to question.

  She smiled then, a woman secure in her place. In her curvy body.

  Fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

  “Control is an illusion,” she murmured. Her nails scraped his balls.

  Fire shot through him. He growled low.

  “I guess I just like your body.” Her hand tightened around the base of his shaft.

  He let her stroke him, enjoying her soft touch, trying to see more than she’d let him. Oh, what would it be like to get this woman out of her head, to really find all of her? For the first time, he could see the complexity that was Victoria Monzelle. The wild child, the hot singer, the secret-keeping woman—they were all facets of her. The core of her, who she truly was . . . remained hidden.

  Not for long.

  He ran his thumb down the delicate skin on her neck, felt her racing pulse, and tightened his hold.

  Intrigue and desire leaped into her eyes.

  Aye. A wild woman, to be sure.

  His free hand snapped her pants open, ripping the zipper away.

  She gasped and then chuckled. “Nice.”

  Yeah. That was him. Nice.

  Challenge curved her lips. “There’s not much you can do with me sitting here.” Her chin lifted just as her nails scraped his entire length.

  He sucked in air as electricity burned him from within. Though he didn’t know her, not really, one thing was abundantly clear. No way could she win this one. “You sure about that?” he asked, his hand remaining around her throat.

  She smiled, the mystery of feminine power all but rolling from her.

  Blast but she was incredible.

  “Kick off your boots, lass,” he whispered, his brogue breaking free.

  Her breath hitched. Ah, she liked the brogue. ’Twas good, that. Then she toed off the boots, and they clunked on the floor. Still feeling pretty safe, now wasn’t she? He hadn’t spent centuries studying quantum physics and the rest of the physical sciences for nothing. If he was careful, since they were in the middle of nowhere, he could use a whiff of his powers without getting caught. With a wave of his free hand, blue fire enveloped her jeans, burning them away and then dying out.

  Her mouth gaped open, and she looked down at her bare legs. “You, how, what?” Then her head snapped up, the challenge brighter than ever. “My panties survived the burning by Adam.”

  He swirled one finger in the air, creating a flame, twisting it around and around.

  Her eyes widened, and she tried to shove herself away from him and over the back of the sofa. Ah, she’d forgotten about the hand around her throat. He held her in place, almost easily, and moved the finger toward those pretty mint green panties.

  She stopped breathing and watched, her gaze fascinated and wary. The combination almost made him come right then, even though she’d finally released his cock.

  “Adam?” she asked, sucking in her stomach.

  “Aye?” he answered, flicking the flame across the thin material. The green turned to white and then burned away.

  She coughed and then laughed, joy in the sound. “That was awesome.” The flame continued on, controlled by his index finger. She tried to inch away. “Um—”

  He ran it along her labia, keeping it hot but not burning. She gasped, and her legs trembled. He dropped to his knees and kissed her clit, forcing the flame along her thigh and controlling it to keep from burning any part of her.

  She moaned, and trembles shook her thighs.

  He tasted her then, running his tongue where his finger had blazed. Woman and spice . . . with a hint of sweetness. Everything he could imagine, even better, right there for the taking.

  She gasped and pushed against him. For answer, he flattened his hands on her thighs, forcing them wider. Then he set in to torture her. Using his fingers, his flame, his tongue—he nipped, licked, and sucked. Within minutes, she gyrated against him, muttering and pleading off and on. He could feel the tension in her beating against him. The desperate need to come. His legs tangled in his jeans, and his cock pounded with pain.

  She grabbed his hair and pulled before shoving him closer to her.

  He chuckled, and she moaned. Then he increased the pressure of his tongue right on her clit, lashing until she broke. Her entire body jerked and stiffened, and her thighs clamped hard on his shoulders. He prolonged her ecstasy until she came down with a muffled whimper. Then he stood and kicked his jeans across the room.

  Her eyelids partially closed, and a small smile lifted her pouty lips. Her gaze dropped to his erect cock. “I don’t suppose you can create fire with that, can you?”

  * * *

  Tori couldn’t think, much less move. Her body was partially satisfied, with a huge hint of needing more. Adam was even more spectacular nude than he was in faded jeans and a badass T-shirt. His dick was long and thick . . . and harder than rock. He had no shyness about his nudity. Why would he? Seriously. He had muscles, hard and roped, where she hadn’t realized muscles could be. But he wasn’t all bumpy or out of proportion like guys she’d seen on television. Instead, he was long and lean with a natural physique. Like a wild animal.


  He swept her up, easily holding her against his chest before turning toward a door next to the massive stone fireplace.

  She traced the hard cord in his neck, marveling at his sheer maleness. Reaching up, she licked along his jugular. “I think your neck is my most favorite thing in the world.”

  “We’ll have to change your mind about that,” he said dryly, tension in his tone.

  She chuckled. Adam was funny. Who knew?

  He carried her into a quaint bedroom with a huge bed covered by a wedding ring quilt. Oak tables with gas lanterns sat beside the bed. The room smelled like wood polish and cleansers. A window opposite the bed was open, letting in the breeze and the rhythmic drumming of rain. He set her down gently, as if he was afraid of harming her.

  “You can’t break me,” she murmured, sliding her hands down the outside of his thighs.

  A knuckle under her chin lifted her face. “Ah, baby. I won’t break you. Don’t assume I couldn’t.” He pressed a kiss to her nose and pushed her down on her back.

  Not for a second did she think he meant physically. He was smart, and classy, and even fun with the whole fire thing, but she’d never let any man get close enough to hurt her. Not ever again. But she’d sure enjoy every second she had with Adam. She reached for him, and he covered her. The second all that hard muscled warmth rested against her, desire spiraled even hotter than before. She widened her legs.

  He rolled then, flipped her on top of him. She yelped, clutching his pecs to stay on him, her hair flying in every direction.

  “Figured you’d want to play a bit,” he said, his voice rough. Both hands wrapped around her breasts and slid, tugging her nipples toward him. Pleasure streaked straight from his fingers to her clit, and she pressed down on the hard length of his erection. Were all witches like him? Something told her Adam was gifted, something special, even among his own people.

  She stilled. “Wait a minute. You can’t mate me, right?”

  “No.” He reached up and pulled her head down, hissing out a breath when her pebbled nipples moved along his chest. “To mate, I need to bite you and brand you. I won’t do either.”