Dark & Stormy Alpha Nights
Page 13
His words must have excited her. She sighed low and long, and he could feel her pulse jump beneath his fingers as he tied her other ankle.
“I've probably dreamed about you every night for a decade. Even when I shouldn't have. About what your skin would feel like against mine.”
“I dreamt that too,” she said.
He crawled up the length of her body, letting the hair on his chest tickle her. “How does it feel?” Slowly he nibbled his way down her jaw to her ear. She sighed and arched against him. God, she smelled good.
“Wonderful. Wonderful. Please Sebastian...”
“What is it, amour?”
“Touch me...”
“Where?” He laughed at her exasperated sigh.
He caressed her cheek with the back of her fingers. “Here?”
She shook her head.
“Here?” He cupped her breast and tugged on the nipple. She squirmed against him, her pelvis rubbing against his cock. He rolled to the side, at a safer distance.
“No!”
He moved his hand up to her collarbone. “How about--”
“No! Down there. For heaven's sakes. Don't make me beg! Touch me!” Her pleas made him laugh, as did her modesty. She'd quickly outgrow that. Werewolves weren't known for their modesty. They had no problem with colorful language or nudity.
“Ahh... you want me to play with that pretty pussy. Is that it?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Say it,” he whispered against her ear.
“Wh...what?” she stammered.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Oh, for heaven--”
He slid his palm down her tummy and let it rest right above the nest of curls between her legs. He could feel her straining to move underneath his hand.
“I'm not touching you until you say it.”
“Touch my pussy, Sebastian.” Her words were even, almost clinical, but it was her tone that told him how desperate she was. It was the rise and fall of her chest, the ragged breath against his cheek.
His fingers slid through her wet curls and between her delicate folds. She was so wet. So warm and just waiting for him. “Good girl. Now that wasn't hard was it?”
He circled her clit with the tip of his finger. Slow lazy circles that had her hips lifting off the bed.
“A little anxious are we?”
“Sebastian!”
“Sorry love.” He settled himself between her thighs and kissed every inch he could reach. The sweet scent of her swirled around him; filled him until he felt as if he were drowning in it. He sank a finger into her, coating it with her juices.
“Now, tell me about those dreams so I can make you come.”
“We're in the woods. You're always chasing me,” she offered so quickly it made him laugh.
“Do I catch you?”
He kissed and nipped his way up her thigh. Her legs spread wider and he lapped up her cream, loving the taste. Memorizing her musky scent. He turned his finger left and right and slowly curled it forward. Her hips shot off the bed and she cried out.
“Found it… Tell me more.”
Her body tightened up, every tendon and muscle. He could see her pulling on the ropes, but he'd tied them carefully. They wouldn't come undone without his help.
“You catch me. You rip my clothes off and toss me to the ground.”
He sucked on her clit just enough to make her gasp. Then he stopped and waited for her to continue.
“You thrust your fingers inside me, but I'm already wet. I'm always wet for you.”
He groaned low in his throat. “I like the sound of that. How many fingers?”
“Two, sometimes three.”
“Think you can take three fingers, petite?”
“I hope so.”
He chuckled and asked her why. Before she could answer, he added a digit turning them inside her slippery channel.
“Because you have a huge cock, that's why. Sebastian, please.”
“What? What do you want?”
God, he sounded just like he had in her dreams. Amanda was about to come apart and he only had two fingers in her. The roar of the storm was nothing compared to the quake building deep inside her.
“Tell me, chérie. So I can make you come.” He went back to work scissoring his fingers and lapping at her pussy. Every so often, he hit her clit just right and she felt a spark of pleasure. She dug her heels into the bed as best she could so she could drive herself against his fingers, his incredible mouth.
Just when she thought he might let her come, he pulled out his fingers and licked at her juices with his velvety tongue.
“Oh, God. Yes!”
He sampled her, nibbled on the tender flesh. She cried out when he slowly speared her with his tongue. Her cries turned to screams as he thrust faster and faster into her. Deeper. She had to have more.
Something bigger.
She was starting to feel dizzy. Starting to wonder if the orgasm would ever hit her. It was so close. So wonderfully close.
The candle flickered, giving her a view of the handsome man between her thighs. She tossed her head back and pulled on the ropes again. This wasn't fair. She wanted to touch him. To feel him. She'd fantasized so many times about learning every inch of his body and now he was so close.
Then he stopped.
She whimpered. “Sebastian!”
“Relax, love.” No sooner had the words left his lips than three thick fingers filled her. “Now, you were telling me about your dream. About my fingers pumping in and out of you. Like this?”
“Yes.” She could barely find her voice when he was touching her like that.
“What next?”
“Please, Sebastian.”
“Please what?”
“Untie me,” she whined. “Enough is enough.”
“I told you, no touching—”
Exasperated, she stared down at him, barely able to make out his face in the darkness. “I don't want to touch you. I want you to fuck me. Now.”
He froze. For five whole heartbeats, he didn't move a single muscle and she started to wonder if she'd shocked him. Then in a lightning fast move, he was circling the bed, snapping the ropes.
“Ready for this, petite?” he asked, his voice dark and low, as he shed the last of his clothing.
“Yes!” Her cry was punctuated by a loud crack of thunder. It was as if the heavens had been waiting for this very moment just as she had.
He crawled across the big bed and settled himself between her thighs. She ran her hands up over his arms, memorizing with her touch what her eyes couldn’t see. He repositioned his hips and the broad tip of cock nestled against her opening.
He thrust himself home in one fluid motion. She screamed out in pleasure and pain. Neither of them moved for endless seconds. He kept his arms bracketed around her and she ran her hands down his sides, silently urging him to make love to her. Finally, slowly he pulled back.
For a moment, she felt empty but then he was inside her again, filling her. She angled her hips and he sank deeper. With each thrust, they found a rhythm. Him driving forward and her lifting her hips to meet him. He nuzzled her neck, his chest grazing her breasts with each movement. She recognized the tender caress for what it was, a man barely holding onto his control. He pumped his cock into her faster and faster. She wrapped her legs around him, her moans growing louder.
She'd never felt this good before. This complete.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked when she moaned low in her throat.
“No. Harder. Faster.”
She realized very quickly that human men were no match for werewolves. He fucked her harder and faster. So hard, she thought they’d break the bed. So fast, she could scarcely breathe. But her body accepted him. Welcomed the onslaught.
Then, as if she'd just leapt off a cliff into the turquoise waters of the ocean, she came. She moaned out her pleasure as it crashed into her like a tidal wave. Every cell in her body seemed energized and b
lissfully happy.
She heard the throaty grunts and groans of the man above her, her husband, who was thrusting for all he was worth.
With a loud shout of raunchy French, he froze inside her, his cock shooting his seed deep into her body. His muscles were hard beneath her fingertips, but they were also quivering. When he collapsed against her, she lazily ran her fingertips over his back.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you too, Amanda St. James.” He rose up just enough to kiss her chin.
“Deveraux,” she corrected.
“You’re right. Mrs. Deveraux. Has a nice ring to it.”
“It certainly does.”
Note from the Author
Finish Sebastian and Amanda's story and meet the other sinfully handsome members of the Deveraux pack
in the Stormy Weather anthology. selena-blake.com/sw
Discover The Cajun’s Captive.
Learn more about Selena Blake at:
www.selena-blake.com
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Kiss Of Fire
by Catherine Vale
A burning hot dragon shifter romance
There's nothing more breathtaking than the kiss of a primitive, dangerous, and irresistibly beautiful man. Except a man who is also a dragon...
He took her to a downstairs room, and once again pulled a huge key from the ring on his belt. The key rattled in the lock, and the large oak door swung open. He moved silently into the room, and she followed behind him.
“This is her.” Craig held the lamp higher. She stepped beside him, and looked up at the painting on the wall. Her heart stuttered in her chest like a bird in a cage, her mouth going dry.
The painting showed a young woman looking out, her gaze clear and frank. Her expression was neither happy nor sad, or maybe it was both. She seemed just as enigmatic as the man standing beside her.
Beyond that, the woman could have been Arianna's twin. The obvious differences were there, of course. Her dark hair was pulled back in a complex braid; she wore a tartan shawl over one shoulder, and a white linen blouse edged with lace.
“Who is she?”
“Bridget Munro.”
“The woman on the marker in the yard?”
“Aye. The love of my life.”
Arianna suddenly felt light-headed and dizzy. It was the wine, or that she hadn't eaten since lunch. Or else it was the fact this man had just told her the love of his life had died in 1768.
“Ye think I'm mad, I know. It sounds mad, when I say it out loud.”
“I don't know what I think.” The woman…Bridget Munro…stared down at them, her dark eyes telling nothing. She turned to look at Craig.
He was looking up at the painting, a mixture of longing and stoic acceptance playing across his face. Then he shrugged.
“I think I'm mad most days.”
“I'm not her though.” Arianna's voice deserted her and she tried again. “I'm not her.”
He looked down at her. “I ken that. There will never be another.”
She held his gaze, and her heart clenched. He wasn't crazy, she didn't think. But she didn't care. A memory from her childhood: a cat, a feral really, coming to the porch, tentatively sniffing her hand, bolting when she reached to pet him. She's spent the summer sitting still, gaining its trust, until it curled in her lap and went to sleep.
Gently, slowly she reached for him, touched first the cloth of his shirt, then her fingers brushing against the warmth of his arm. He moved away, and the warmth beneath her fingers cooling. He drew a breath, a choked sound that made her think he was on the verge of tears. But she knew better; this wasn't a man who cried easily.
She held still, touching only cloth, and he moved back gradually, until her hand rested on his arm. And then in one movement he set the lamp on the floor and pulled her into his arms.
Slowly he brushed his lips over hers, a frisson of dizzy excitement rushing through her. She tilted her head back, falling into the kiss, into the warmth of his arms as he pulled her close.
The kiss deepened, his lips parting, hers following his lead. His tongue probed her mouth, and she opened to him. It was the most intimate kiss she’d shared with anyone, his tongue sliding against hers, delving deeper, pulling back. For an instant she saw them, arms and legs entwined, in the throes of making love.
Abruptly he turned away from her, taking the light with him, leaving the painting in the dark, and Arianna in shadow and surprise. But in the dark, his hand found hers, and she followed him into the hall, the lamp casting wavering shadows. The first door he came to he pushed open, the first door he hadn’t used a key to unlock.
She wasn’t surprised to find the room was a bedroom. The lamp went out and in the dark he pulled her back into his arms. Expecting a kiss, she tilted her head up to him, but instead he bent his head, nuzzling her neck, murmuring words, his lips leaving a hot trail of fire over her skin.
The words she didn’t understand, but it was clear what he wanted. She wanted the same, to be in bed with him, to have him naked beside her. To have sex with him, plain and simple, if that could be simple.
His hands rose to her breasts, caressing her gently, slowly, almost reverently. She closed her eyes, letting the sensations build inside of her, both the physical sensations of his hands on her, the tingle that ran through her as he moved over her, and the thrill at the realization this was a stranger who was touching her, a man she had just met.
The touching and caressing slowly changed, grew more and more aggressive until she found herself gasping, arching against him, wanting more. She opened her eyes, breath catching in her throat as she looked at him.
“Make love to me, Craig. Please.”
His eyes were so heavy lidded, she thought they were closed. But he lifted his face, eyes meeting hers with a look so searing she felt as if she’d melt on the spot.
“Aye.”
Watery silver light filled the room. The rain must have stopped, and the moon shone somewhere out there. Or she’d grown accustom to the dark, adapted to it. But she could see him, see the passion in his eyes, the graceful way he undid whatever held up his kilt. It fell to the floor, and he pulled his shirt over his head. Then he stood, relaxed and expectant, watching her.
He was, to put it simply, beautiful. The arms she’d seen were only the tip of the iceberg. His chest was sculpted, stomach flat, hips narrow. Her gaze drifted lower, and she briefly closed her eyes, embarrassed by her desire to look at all of him.
But she wanted to see him, needed to see. She opened her eyes.
His cock lay against his thigh, long, not yet fully hard, emerging from dark hair. She blinked, wondering what it would feel like, to have him make love to her, to have him inside her, moving, thrusting…
“Undress, woman. It’s no going to work with ye clothes on.”
She looked at him, wide-eyed, face flushing hot, then reached for the zipper on her jeans. No man had ever watched her the way he did, standing across from her with his hands on his hips, eyes never leaving her. Suddenly self-conscious under the heat of his gaze, her hands flattered with the zipper. She reached for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it over her head, finding brief comfort with fabric over her face. Craig made a noise, a soft sound, not words, but the meaning was clear. The shirt came off, landing on the floor.
She toed off her shoes, pulled the zipper down, then slid her jeans down her legs, and she stepped out of them. As she straightened, he took a step toward her, reaching for her, setting his hands on her waist, pulling her toward him. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, sliding them down as he reached to cup her ass. She wiggled in his hands, and the panties pooled around her ankles.
“I want ye, Arianna, like I’ve wanted no one for a long time. I can’t explain it…I don’t want to try. I just want ye…”
He dropped his head to her shoulder, nuzzling her neck. “Soft…like the wind in the morning.”
She raised her hands
, winding her fingers through his thick hair, letting her head fall back while he kissed her neck. She felt him reach behind her, his fingers against her back, and then the sharp snap of her bra coming undone.
Raising his head, he slowly slid one finger beneath her bra strap, pulling it down her arm. He kissed her shoulder, his lips softly caressing her skin. He pulled down the other strap, trailing a line of kisses down that shoulder. Her heart beat faster, breath catching in her throat as he let the bra fall to the floor.
The light caught his dark hair, gilding it with silver, as he bent his head, kissing the round fullness of one breast, nuzzling his cheek against her. Something unfurled deep inside her as he took one nipple into his mouth, as his tongue caressing her, something dark and sweet, a physical thud that made her weak in the knees.
He lifted his head suddenly, eyes glowing in the moonlight. Without a word he scooped her up, crossing the room, setting her on the bed. He climbed onto the bed, lying full length beside her.
The light from the window outlined his body, strong arms, flat stomach. It was impossible not to want to touch him, and she gave in, running a tentative hand over his chest. The room was cool, but his skin was warm, very warm. She let her hand drift lower, fingers playing over his stomach, but she faltered the lower her hand strayed.
“I’ll not bite ye…at least not with that.” He’d lain still under her brief explorations, but now he took her hand, moving it lower, her fingers brushing against the thick thatch of hair that ran down below his navel. The pressure of his hand on hers increased, moving her hand lower, until she touched the shaft of his erection.
He was hard now, very hard. A shiver ran through her as he took his hand away, trusting her, as she ran her hand down the full length of him. He flexed his hips at her touch, his thighs moving apart, his cock pressing into her hand. It was such a subtle movement, but so sensual, so overly masculine. A little whimper of excitement escaped her.
Wrapping her fingers around him, she moved her hand over him, stroking him. A rush of feminine power coursed through her, quickly followed by a rush of arousal like she’d never felt before. This man, this beautiful enigmatic man—this stranger—was doing things to her that no man had ever done before. And he’d barely touched her. But he’d gotten her to touch him.