by Renee Rose
And there’s no denying his assertion. The evidence is there between my legs, slick and wet.
A low growl reverberates in his throat, only it has a satisfied tinge to it—more like a purr, if it’s possible for wolves to purr.
“You have the best ass for spanking, Layne.” He rubs my tingling cheeks, kneads my flesh with rough hands. “In a wolves’ world, disobedience is met with punishment.” Another slap.
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” I protest, without much heat. “You left.”
He slaps my butt three more times. “I was doing my best to keep you safe. And you bailed.”
I reach back to cover my ass. He pins my wrist behind my back and slaps again.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” I figure I’m in no position to keep pushing back. I go with the truth. “I was scared.”
He immediately pulls me up and turns me around. He cradles my face with both hands. “Layne. Sweetheart. I never want you to be afraid of me. Never.” The last word is a growl. “I’m sorry.” Misery bathes his face, his haunted blue eyes are ancient again. He leans his forehead against mine. I’m intensely aware of his naked body so close to mine, the head of his rigid cock brushing up against my bare pussy. I glance down and he hurriedly yanks my torn boxer briefs back in place.
“I’ll keep my cock away from you. I don’t know how that happened. Why were you on the couch with me to begin with? Didn’t I tell you to lock your door?”
“You were having a nightmare.”
He squeezes his eyes closed. “That’s every minute of every night.” There’s defeat in his voice. “And I’d be especially dangerous if you woke me then.”
I shake my head stubbornly. I calmed his nightmare. I know I did.
His forehead rests against mine again. “You were sweet to worry about me.” His lips are so close. I want him to kiss me again, the way he did last night. I’m mixed up and stressed and the only thing that seems to make sense is the way I feel under his touch. “Want me to finish your spanking?” he murmurs against my lips.
“But what if you lose control?” I have to ask it.
He slowly rotates me. “I won’t. I promise.”
“How can you be sure?” I whisper. There’s a stretch of silence and I’m sorry I asked. I want the spanking. Want what comes after.
“Losing control means losing you.” His voice is tight. “My wolf saw you driving away. He won’t risk it again.”
I’m not sure his hypothesis would withstand rigorous testing, but I’m willing to accept it for the moment.
He rubs my bum through the boxers. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”
I’m glad I’m facing away, because my cheeks burn. “You know,” I mumble.
“Do I?” The purr returns to his voice. “More spanking? You like being restrained, too, don’t you?” He pins both my wrists behind my back with one hand.
My pussy clenches. Yep. I definitely like being restrained.
He tugs down the briefs once more. “If you were my mate, I’d spank you every night.” He smacks my ass hard, then rubs away the sting.
“Why?” I protest. It’s ridiculous but I’m less offended by the physical punishment thing than I am by the assertion that I might require it. I’m a good girl, after all. I’ve played the good girl my whole life. I had a sick mother growing up, and I compensated by working hard, studying hard.
Then I got sick myself.
So no, I’ve never had time to be disobedient.
“Because your ass is so spankable.”
Ah. I like that idea far better than the one where it’s because I deserve it. He slaps me again and a puff of air comes from my lips—half giggle, half moan.
“If you were my mate, I’d tie you spread eagle to the bed and make you come over and over again until you begged me to stop.”
The shudder that runs through me is of tsunamic proportion. Is that even a word? My pussy clenches, butt cheeks squeeze.
Sam laughs and gives me two quick slaps. He pushes my torso lower, angling my hips up high and penetrates me with his fingers.
I kick my legs, instantly frantic for more.
He pumps his fingers in and out.
“Please,” I beg.
He twists his fingers, slopes them in and—oh lordy—makes contact with my G-spot again.
I squeal, electric current shooting through every vein. My legs shoot out behind me. Sam thrusts his fingers in and out, hitting the magic spot every. Single. Time.
All kinds of crazy sounds come from my mouth, like I’m the animal, not him.
“P-please. Please!”
His thumb wedges between my butt cheeks and I squirm, embarrassed, but he holds me fast. He finds the pucker of my anus and gently presses it while he angles his fingers in and out. “Come for me, Layne. Go ahead. Let go.”
I scream into the couch cushions and he pushes in until his knuckles grind against my clit. My muscles contract around his fingers, feet kick in the air as I come and come and come.
And come some more.
It’s ridiculous how big a climax he wrings out of me using just his fingers. It doesn’t seem possible.
I collapse, shaking and weak. Utterly spent.
Sam eases his fingers out of me and kisses my backside. He tips me up and turns me around. I pull up the boxers before he lifts me to sit on the sofa’s arm. “Stay here,” he commands. “I’ll clean up the glass.”
I hop off the sofa. “I have to use the bathroom.”
His lips twitch and he scoops me up onto his hip, like a child, and walks across the broken glass. I start to protest until I remember how fast he regenerates.
He drops me off at the bathroom, the site of our first escapade.
My fingers tremble as I close the door.
I don’t know what in the hell is happening with me. I told myself it was just a little pleasure. Something I never normally allow myself. But I know that’s a lie. I’m falling for Sam. A werewolf. A shifter. Someone I can’t have.
Even if I weren’t dying.
~.~
Sam
I manage to stuff my aching cock into a pair of jeans and pull on a t-shirt. I need to get Layne some clothes to wear, too.
It’s true what I told her.
My wolf freaked over her driving away. And then he backed all the way down.
But still I grind my bare feet in the glass as I clean it up, wanting to feel the pain from the tiny cuts. Deserving it.
I can’t believe I almost marked Layne. Scared the crap out of her. She doesn’t deserve this. She definitely doesn’t deserve the heavy dose of crazy I carry just below the surface at all times. I can’t bring that into her life.
But I can’t say she would’ve been better off without me, either. If I hadn’t found Data-X, it only would’ve been a matter of time before they either experimented on her, or killed her.
I know how Smyth works.
My burner phone rings and I look at the screen. Kylie, Jackson’s mate.
I answer. “Yes, I’m still alive.”
“Well, you could’ve let me know sooner. Meme was worried and so was I. I’d go to California to find you if I didn’t have a newborn to worry about. WTF?”
I didn’t like it when Jackson took an interest in the human female. Not because it disrupted my cozy home life freeloading off Jackson, a multi-millionaire, my alpha, and my only friend. Only because I was afraid she was trouble and humans and shifters don’t mix.
But it turned out she had shifter blood and when she got pregnant with Jackson’s pup, the baby provided whatever her body needed to figure out how to shift.
Bet Smyth would love to study that.
Laurie, one of the other prisoners in the lab, had a theory about Smyth. That he was defective—a shifter who couldn’t shift—and that’s why he was so obsessed with shifter research.
“I found another lab. The data lab this time.” Kylie helped me get to the experiment facility a few months ago in Utah. One I blew up after I sear
ched it.
“Is that why you’re there? Did you destroy it?”
“Not yet.” I already regret that bargain I made with Layne, but the problem could be rectified. “I stole the data and wiped their servers. Oh, and I took one of the scientists.” She probably would find out soon enough on her own. Kylie’s an info security maven and if her research efforts were focused on me, she’d find the connection between a missing scientist immediately.
“Sam.”
I shrug even though she can’t see it.
“Wait. let me guess. Is she female?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You wolves have a penchant for keeping your females prisoner before you mate them.”
“She’s not a wolf,” I mutter, the word mate knocking around in my head like a bowling ball tipping pins. But Kylie’s right. If Layne was a wolf, I’d have marked her as forever mine twelve hours ago. But that’s just a sign that my wolf is damaged. Why would he pick a human? And a human from Data-X, no less. Enduring torture during the puberty years probably imprinted the wrong thing on me.
“I’m not a wolf, either,” Kylie reminds me.
“I mean she’s not a shifter,” I say, but recall the Tucson pack leader, Garrett, kidnapped a human female and made her his mate. “Mating’s not a possibility.” That much is certain. I sound more curt than I mean to, but only because the idea that Layne can’t be my mate pisses me off. “Listen, I could use some help. I got some files of other shifters who have been experimented on. Can you help me locate them?”
“Sure. Send me the information.”
“I uploaded the data to the CG server. I’m trying to find anything that will lead me to Smyth. Oh, and Kylie? Two things. One—I think the government might somehow be involved. Smyth was a military doctor. I found pictures of him with the lion shifter Tank released from the facility in Utah in uniform. It would explain the funding and high-level security. And two—Santiago was there. Tell Garrett, he’ll want to know.”
Santiago is the shifter responsible for Garrett’s sister’s kidnapping. Our pack and his brother-in-law’s pack in Mexico have been hunting him.
“Okay. I’ll be in touch. Answer my messages next time, okay?”
“I’ll try,” I mumble and hang up the phone.
Although my senses already told me Layne entered the room, when I turn, I go still at her beauty. Raven black hair and smooth, pale skin. She’s more exquisite than any Snow White depiction I’ve ever seen. She’s back in her dress from yesterday. Remembering pulling it up over her breasts, my first discovery of her ripe flesh beneath it makes my already blue balls contract.
She clears her throat. “Who was that?”
I’m confused by the wary angle of her shoulders, the way she seems to be holding her breath. And then it hits me. She heard a female voice.
She’s jealous.
I shouldn’t be so overjoyed by that realization, but I am. I grow about ten feet tall, my chest expanding.
“My pack brother, Jackson’s mate.”
Her shoulders relax and her head falls to the side. “Doesn’t that make her your pack sister?”
I shrug. “I guess, except she’s not a wolf, she’s a panther.”
Layne absorbs that, her intelligent gaze seeing everything. “Where do they live?”
I only hesitate for a second. I have nothing to hide from Layne; she’s not the enemy. “Tucson.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“I’m from a test tube in a lab.” I don’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “Jackson found me on a mountain after I escaped Smyth’s lab and took me in. When he moved to Tucson, I moved with him.” I was a dangerous, traumatized prick, but Jackson’s no buttercup himself. We formed a reluctant alliance. Basically, he left me alone, let me freeload off him and I promised to stay. When I got itchy and the beast took over, I’d run away. He’d track me down and force me back to my human form. Drag me back to his place. After a while, we grew to trust each other. Watch each other’s backs.
She nods. “Sam?”
Fuck, there’s a vulnerability to the way she gazes at me from under her lashes that charges my wolf up, ready to defend her to the death. “Yes, doctor?”
“I need to go to my apartment.”
I shake my head. “Not going to happen. They’ll be looking for you there.” I try to figure out what she needs. “We can stop somewhere and buy you clothes and a toothbrush. Whatever you need.”
She sucks on her lower lip, making me wish it was my teeth dragging over that plump flesh. “I need to go to my apartment,” she repeats.
I frown and advance on her, cupping her chin. “Tell me why.”
Her pulse flutters near my fingers, cleavage lifts and falls. “I, uh, need to pick up a prescription—my birth control.”
I tilt my head as I smell the untruth. Why is she lying? I don’t pretend to have much experience with females, but up to this point I thought I understood Layne. “I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s worth risking our lives for. Do you?”
She sags, but shakes her head. I almost ask her what the real reason is. After what we’ve been through, I’d hoped we were beyond mistrust.
But then, what do I know about relationships, anyway?
A big fat nothing.
And I’d better stop pretending that we can be together. It’s not going to happen. She’s got a bright future in front of her.
I’ve got nothing else left in me but revenge.
~.~
Layne
My hand trembles a little and I clench it. Sam is at the table, working on his computer, but I turn away so he won’t notice. Hiding my symptoms, just like my mom used to.
Barrington’s is slow advancing disease, and the first signs are easy to miss, unless you know what to look for. If, for example, you watched a loved one die slowly in front of your eyes. My mom didn’t know the signs until after she had a child. Otherwise, she might have done the research and chosen not to have me. To leave her daughter motherless.
I need my medication. Why didn’t I just tell Sam?
Because I don’t want this to end. This thing between Sam and I. I can’t be in a relationship. I’m not going to do to him what my mom did to my dad. But now that I’ve had a taste, I’m selfish enough to want to take it a little further.
It’s not too much to want to have good sex before I die, is it?
I head to the small kitchen, skirting the table. Sam doesn’t move a muscle, his perfect face illuminated by the screen. He really is beautiful, for a man. Almost perfect bone structure. And his muscular body—flawless. Except for the scars.
For once in my life, I have something other than my research to live for. I’m not a virgin—I didn’t really date in high school and college, but I did enough to check sex off my very short bucket list. But I’ve never felt anything like what I have with Sam. Maybe I shouldn’t feel this way about someone I just met, but I want to see where this goes. Just a little further, and then I’ll pull back. I’ll tell him about Barrington’s. He’s already made it plain he can’t be in a relationship, either, so no harm, no foul.
Images flicker across Sam’s computer screen.
“What are you watching?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He pauses the video but doesn’t look at me. “Footage from Data-X experiments. The Alpha Project.” I’ve never heard someone’s voice so empty, yet so filled with pain.
I swallow. “May I see?”
He rises and waits until I take his seat. The still shot shows a camera’s eye view of a room, with a blurred figure inside. I grip the edge of the seat, bracing myself as he pushes play.
A man stands rigid in a small space, bare-chested and barefoot. The way the camera’s angled, the frame catches three corners of the room. There’s a cot and bare concrete walls and floor.
It’s a cell, and the man inside is a prisoner. The way he holds himself still and straight—he looks like a soldier about to snap to attention.
> “Who is this?” I ask.
“Brian Nash Armstrong. Goes by Nash. Lion shifter,” Sam murmurs.
The door opens, the man’s shoulders tighten but he doesn’t move. Three men in black enter the small room, weapons trained on the half-naked man. Two more appear, holding a woman wearing a white sort of garment between them.
I suck in a breath as the two guards push the woman forward, yanking her garment—no more than a sheet—off at the same time. Naked, she stumbles into the man, who snaps his arms around her, steadying her as she huddles against him. Her thick, tawny hair hides her face as she presses it against Nash’s bare chest. He angles his body, hiding her from the men in black. His mouth moves, saying something just before the men in black retreat, shutting the door and leaving the woman alone with him.
Sam reaches around me to stop the clip.
“What was that?” My voice wobbles.
“That was one of the branches of the Alpha project. The breeding program.” He taps at the computer and pulls up another video. The same man, Nash, strapped to a table with wires patched to different parts of his body. The man looks thinner, his face pale and gaunt. “Here’s the other branch.”
The words “Endurance Test 173” appear on screen and disappear a second before Nash’s body tenses, tremors running through his legs as whoever’s off screen pumps some sort of current through him. Claws tear from Nash’s knuckles, convulsions wracking his body as his lips curl back in a silent scream.
“Oh my God,” I turn away. Instantly, Sam shuts off the clip, leaning down to lift me into his lap. I huddle against him, much like that poor woman clung to Nash in the cell of a Data-X lab.
The cells from the Alpha project. The people tortured and forced to breed. What have I done?
“It wasn’t you, Layne,” Sam says, and I realize I’ve spoken aloud. “You didn’t know. It wasn’t your fault.”
I push my hands under his shirt, seeking the warm comfort of his flesh. I trace the scars under my fingertips. He holds still, letting me touch him.
“They hurt you,” I whimper.