by T. S. Joyce
Her entire body was tingling. She leaned forward to play his game and whispered into his ear, “You sure you don’t want to prop me up against the tailgate and fuck me from behind?”
“Fuuuuuck.” He said the word on a growl. “Morgan, get out of the truck.”
“What?”
“I’m trying to be a gentleman. Get out of the truck.”
But whatever he’d done to her body made her feel drunk, or high, or…something. He opened the door, and she poured out like a bowl of gravy on a pile of mashed potatoes. Her legs didn’t work right, so when she hit the ground, they buckled and she went down to her knees.
Liam hopped out like he had no problem with his legs at all, and now his eyes were glowing in the dark. He stood in front of her and offered her his hand to help her up.
She was sitting there in the grass between him and the tire of her truck, looking up at this sexy, monstrous man, and she wanted to stay lost. It felt good not to think for a little while, and how damn long had it been since a man had touched her? How long had it been since a man’s touch made her feel like this? Never.
She reached up for his hand, but instead slid her fingertips down the length of his thick, hard shaft. Liam pitched forward with a groan, locked his arms against her truck. Eyes closed, he whispered raggedly, “I’m trying to be a good man.”
“Maybe tonight I need the animal,” she murmured.
There was a loaded moment, his shoulders heaving, him standing over her, his dick twitching right at eye level. She stroked him again and brushed his balls with her fingertips, and the groan he let off was the sexiest sound she’d ever heard. She felt powerful for the first time ever. Big, dominant man, gripping her truck so hard the metal creaked. Letting her do anything she wanted. She slowly ran her nails down the insides of his powerful thighs, down to his knees, to the insides of his calf, ankles, and back up.
His breath was shaking now. “God, what are you doing to me?” he asked.
She gripped him hard and stroked down, back up, down, back up. He moved his hips with her. This was the sexiest thing she’d ever been a part of, and she didn’t want it to end. So big, so hard, swollen with wanting. She’d done this to him.
On and on, she stroked him, faster, harder, reveling in the noises he made, the way his muscles tensed. Morgan didn’t have her mind anymore. She was living for the moment, from one stroke to the next. She could tell he was close. He was leaning into her now. She lifted up on her knees, and when she slid her mouth over the head of his cock, he threw his head back and yelled her name. He gripped her hair and thrust into her mouth, then tensed. And she could feel it. Could taste it. His release pulsed into her mouth and down her throat.
She was so turned on, so wet. He was moaning as he finished emptying himself into her mouth. And then he did something that shocked her. He released his grip on her hair, dropped down to the ground, turned her, and pulled her into his lap. Her back was pressed against his chest and her legs braced on the tire of her truck when he unsnapped the button of her jeans. And then he slid his hand under her panties, through the wetness he’d created, and pushed two fingers inside of her. She arched back and moaned his name as he whispered against her ear, “Your turn.”
Her body quaked as she thrust her hips to meet his fingers. His hand was so strong, pressed against her just right to hit that feel-good spot. He pushed his fingers deep inside her, over and over, faster and faster. Feet against the tire, she reached behind her and gripped the back of his neck as her body broke apart completely. The pressure exploded inside, her body pulsing hard with her release. But he wasn’t done. He pushed his fingers into her until he’d drawn out every throbbing wave of release. And then he kissed her neck, nipped it, kissed it, nipped it, as she sat there wondering what the hell kind of sorcery this man had attained to make her come so hard and fast with just his fingers.
She had this sneaking suspicion that if she looked in the mirror right now, she wouldn’t recognize the woman who looked back at her anymore. She felt changed from the inside out.
This…being held, being appreciated, having a man care if she felt good... This was what she wanted. Not the building storm of her old life.
“You want to know something weird?” he asked softly.
“I want to know everything, even the weird stuff.”
“Earlier today, Holt was talking about how Bre curled into his lap and let him comfort her, and I wondered for the first time ever what it would feel like if a woman did that to me. How it would feel to know a woman knew she was safe with me.”
With a smile for the dark, Morgan inhaled deeply and asked, “And? How does it feel?”
“Do you feel safe?” he asked against her ear.
“Yes.”
She could hear him swallow hard and he rested his cheek against hers. “Well, that changes everything.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes just so she could feel the strength of his arms around her, and the breeze against her skin, and the rasp of his whiskers against her cheek. Just so she could appreciate the sensation of him. “Liam?”
He was just sitting there with her on his lap, holding her close, rocking her gently to the soundtrack of the frogs. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want to go home yet. I want to do some living.”
She could feel his cheeks swell with a grin, and there was pride in his voice when he said, “Thata girl.”
Chapter Six
“Whose boat is this?” Morgan asked from the front.
“I don’t know,” Liam said, just to watch her reaction.
“Liam,” she hissed, spinning around on him. “You can’t just take people’s boats in the swamp. That’s the number one rule. That’s how you get shot!”
Liam shrugged and steered them toward the left split in the river. “People are shooting at me all the time anyway.” She was so easy to tease, looking at him like she was concerned for his safety and well-being. It was fun, but his inner gator didn’t like him worrying their mate. Mate. Shit, this girl didn’t know how deep she’d gotten them into. “Morgan, I’m kidding. The boat is mine.”
She sat up straighter and frowned. “Oh.”
It was dark but he had excellent night vision. A bonus to being a freak.
She asked, “You have a swamper boat?”
“I grew up here, remember? Everyone has a boat.”
“But…you had it tied to a dock. And there was another boat there. Was that your dock?”
“Yep. And the other boat, and the ten acres to the west of that dock.”
“What?” she whisper-screamed.
He chuckled because she was so damn cute. Her cheeks were still flushed from what they’d done up against her truck an hour ago.
“Woman, I have to Change. I would rather do it near my own legal territory. I’ll buy the next lot over when old man Mac decides to sell it to me. I’ve been asking him for years.”
“So you’re expanding your territory. You must be rich.”
“Rich? No. I’m a car salesman. I live simply, though, and I’m a saver. I buy land when I have enough saved up. Been doing it since I was in my early twenties.”
“Oh. How old are you now?”
“Thirty-five.”
“And still unmarried.”
“Un-mated,” he corrected her.
“Old maid,” she joked, her pretty little eyebrows arched high. She locked her arms on the metal seat she was sitting on and leaned back. “Also, I don’t understand why you put a shirt on. It’s hot, and I want to look at your abs some more.”
“My abs? That’s what you want to stare at?”
“That or your belly-button.” But she couldn’t get through saying that without giggling. “You have a very sexy man-button.”
She was funny, made him laugh and, hell yeah, a sense of humor made her even sexier. Tough girl, independent girl, funny girl, sexy-as-hell in the sack, beggin’ for his dick. A growl clawed up his throat, and he gave her a toothy smile.
“You thi
nkin’ about what we did back there?” she asked cheekily.
“Woman, I’ll be thinking about that until the day I die. That was so fuckin’ hot.”
“You taste good.”
“Mmmmmm,” he rumbled in approval.
He really liked this side of Morgan, the open side that said whatever she wanted. The one with her walls all torn down, just living for the moment and having fun.
He was about to test her in a big way, though.
“Whose house is that?” she asked, pointing to the houseboat with outdoor light strands illuminating the upper and lower deck porches.
“That would be Raina Lachlan’s house.”
Morgan gasped. “The witch?”
“My grandma. Kind of.”
“What do you mean kind of?”
“Her husband was my granddad, but he had my dad before he met Raina. She didn’t have much to do with my dad, but when my parents left, she helped raise me like I was her flesh-and-blood grandson. So to me, blood related or not doesn’t matter. She’s my gram.”
“This is a bad idea,” Morgan said, her eyes round. “She’s…she’s…the witch of the swamp, controls all the gators, and she got that dark magic, and I’m…I’m…”
“You’re what?”
“A poacher’s daughter!”
“No,” he assured her. “You’re Morgan. You’re with me. You’re safe. Oh, look, it’s Holt’s boat. He and Bre must be here tonight.” Her test just got a whole lot bigger.
Morgan chewed on her thumbnail as he steered them closer. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I trust you. And you should see the real side of what your dad has been hunting all this time. They’re good people, just different.”
“And if Holt eats me?”
Liam hid a smile and shrugged. “You’re a tough woman. You’ll probably kill him first.”
She looked flattered. “It actually makes me feel good you have that much faith in—”
“He’ll probably choke on you as you go down.”
“Liam! Oh my God, that’s a terrible thing to say.”
He was cackling under his breath, though, and she couldn’t hide her smile. “You’ll do just fine. Just…” He turned the boat sideways to tie it off on Raina’s porch. “Don’t get cursed by Gram.”
****
Don’t get cursed by his gram? By Raina Lachlan, the known witch of the swamps? The one from the bayous with the black magic? Morgan’s family was four unbroken generations of gator poachers, and Liam had brought her to the mother-freakin’ gator witch! “I said I wanted to do some livin’, not some dyin’,” she hissed out as he rocked the boat climbing onto the porch of Raina’s houseboat.
“Don’t worry,” he said, tying off the boat and offering her a hand. “If you get cursed, I know someone who can undo it.”
Relief swirled around in her chest. “Oh, thank God. Who?”
He grinned brightly. “My gram.”
She let off a very human growl. “This is the worst first date in the world.”
“It’ll get better with moonshine.”
“Great,” she muttered, slipping her hand into his. She climbed out of the boat like a pro, because this was her life, doing outdoorsy swamper shit. She’d watched many a city person tip a boat in her years living in Uncertain, but she was as sure-footed as a Billy goat on a mountain in these things.
Her palms were sweating by the time Liam lead her across the houseboat porch and around a set of plastic lawn furniture. By the time he knocked on the door, she was wringing her hands and feeling nauseous. The witch and a couple gator shifters. How bad could this party be? Very…very bad.
A dog barked from inside, and it sounded like a fuckin’ gargoyle. Chills rippled up her spine and her hands started shaking worse. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered as she watched a shadow approach the door through the window blinds.
“I can hear your heart racing. You’re panicking,” Liam murmured.
“Yeah, but—”
“Hey,” he cut her off. Liam rested his hand on the small of her back and told her, “You’re with me. You’re okay.”
“Swear you didn’t just lure me here to kidnap me to get back at my family!”
“I wouldn’t have cared about your pleasure earlier if that was my plan,” he muttered, plastering a smile for the statuesque woman who opened the door.
Well, how was she supposed to respond like a normal person after he said that? Okay, touché, he wouldn’t have fooled around with her and been all sweet and gentle if he was planning on feeding her to his family…right?
Raina Lachlan was a rare beauty, mixed race, tall woman with curves and a pair of red horn-rimmed glasses over her light brown eyes. But her smile fell off the face of the planet when she saw Morgan.
“Child, what are you doing bringing her to my part of the swamp?” she asked Liam softly. “Do you know who her daddy is?”
“She ain’t her daddy,” he clipped out.
The dog inside barked again, and then Holt and Bre appeared behind Raina, shushing the monstrous German Shepherd who was scrabbling its giant paws against the wooden floors and baring its teeth at Morgan.
“Fargo, stop it!” Bre exclaimed. She looked up at Morgan and shook her head apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s never like this.”
“He senses evil,” muttered Holt Lachlan, Bre’s fiancé…husband…mate…whatever-he-was.
Raina stood aside and watched Morgan like a hawk on a rat as she said, “Come on inside, the both of you. I’m sure curious about why you’re here.”
“Same,” Morgan said low as she stepped past the snarling dog. Bre had a hold of his collar, but Holt was standing there with his arms crossed, not helping, as if he was fine with his dog eating Morgan. Asshole.
“This was a mistake,” she murmured to Liam as he pulled out a chair for her at the table.
“Sit down,” he rumbled, his eyes sparking that inhuman gold.
“Don’t tell me what to do—”
Liam leaned down, gripped the back of her chair, and had his face within inches of hers. “Morgan, I’m doing my best to keep my gator in control and not rip Holt a new asshole and destroy this fuckin’ house. My instincts are up, I don’t like when you’re uncomfortable, I’m about to eat that fuckin’ dog if he even looks at you rude, and I brought you here for a reason.”
“What reason is that?” Raina asked softly from right behind them.
Liam rolled his eyes closed for a second and sighed, then straightened up. “Because y’all are my family. And I wanted her to meet you.”
The fire in Raina’s eyes faded. “You like this girl?”
“Woman,” Liam corrected.
Raina sighed heavily and gestured for Holt and Bre to join them at the table.
Holt’s eyes filled with fire, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Raina cut him off before he even began. “I ain’t askin’!” she barked.
A rumble rattled the air, and another one answered, emanating from Liam.
“You want to fuckin’ go?” Holt asked him, squaring up, only a couple feet separating them.
Raina got between them, shoved them both back, gripping each of their shirts in her clenched fists. “You boys ain’t gonna fight on family night.”
Holt jammed a finger at Morgan. “She ain’t family.”
Liam jammed a finger at Bre, “Then she ain’t either. Family isn’t always blood, Cousin. Thought you’d already figured that out.”
“Holt,” Bre whispered, and the effect on him was immediate. The tension left his shoulders as he looked down at his mate, still holding Fargo’s collar. “She warned us about her daddy. She gave me a warning for Liam without asking for anything in return.”
“Yet,” Holt said. “She ain’t asked for anything yet.”
And that was enough. Morgan slapped her thigh. “Holt, I ain’t ever asked for anything from you or your family, and I never will. I like
doing stuff on my own.”
“That, I can say is true,” Liam said low. “She would rather gnaw her own arm off than ask anyone for help. I learned that quick.”
The back of her chair creaked from his tightening grip, so Morgan did something she would’ve never seen herself doing in a million years. She slid her hand to his wrist and massaged a little circle right on the inside. She comforted a riled-up man instead of putting her head down and going invisible. And the darndest thing happened. The tension in his body relaxed, too, and the rumble that was in his chest from the moment they walked in the door finally faded away.
Liam was looking down at her, searching her eyes, the hard lines of his clenched jaw softening. And when she forced herself to look away, Holt, Bre, and Raina were staring at the place her hand held Liam’s wrist.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Raina murmured. “You did figure out how to tame a monster, now, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Morgan asked.
“A gatah-man will only calm for one.” Raina made her way into the kitchen. “Now, we’re gonna play some spoons, drink some moonshine, and have a good night.” Only she didn’t pour the moonshine right away. In the loaded silence of the small houseboat, Raina poured a shot of whiskey and drank it down with her back to them. She shook her head and then brought over a glass jar of ’shine and a small stack of red solo cups.
Fargo was still growling, his eyes locked on Morgan, but Holt brushed his fingertips on the top of the dog’s head and said, “She’s all right. Go on, lay in your bed.”
The threatening noise died to nothing in the dog’s throat, and he did as he was told. He trotted over into the corner, did one circle on an oversize dog pillow, and laid down, his narrowed eyes steady on Morgan. He didn’t blink. Just glared.
Well…that was fuckin’ weird. There was something about that dog. Something…more.
“Okay, then,” Bre murmured, shock on her face and her fingers still outstretched where Fargo had trotted away from her grip on his collar. She took a seat directly across the table from Morgan while Holt slowly sat across from where Liam was settling into the seat next to Morgan. Raina seemed happy to stay busy and not sit at all.