Shifters' Storm

by Vonna Harper

  “That’s not the only thing we’re good at.” Ber made his point by cupping himself. Smiling, Songan did the same.

  She agreed. And several hours later with three sweating, naked bodies tangled together, she agreed even more.

  About the Author

  A fast-fingered writer of erotica, Vonna Harper loves penning stories set in remote locations where her characters can give into primitive impulse. Throw in a little capture and/or bondage and she’s a happy camper. Her website is www.vonnaharper.com. She’s also on Twitter and Facebook and loves connecting with readers.

  Look for these titles by Vonna Harper

  Now Available:

  Bloodhunter

  Predator

  Night Hunter

  Desire is their only connection. Love may be his only salvation…

  Night Hunter

  © 2011 Vonna Harper

  Locals call the highway Alligator Alley. Emerging jeweler Mala Bey sees it as a storm-tossed road to a bright future. When a black-clad motorcyclist pulls alongside, thrilling her with dark eyes that promise raw, wild sex, her system goes into overload. Moments later, the stranger loses control and crashes into the Everglades.

  Horrified, Mala desperately searches for the compelling man, but it’s as if the thick vegetation swallowed him whole. Yet she hears his voice calling for her—only his voice.

  Caught in a portal filled with disembodied voices calling him backward in time, Laird Jaeger clings to his only lifeline to the present—the woman with gray-green eyes. A mystical thread connects their thoughts as ancient forces drag him deeper into a nightmare, farther back into a past only his Seminole blood remembers.

  A mysterious, panther-like creature guides Jaeger toward a past life as Thunder, the ancient tribe’s one hope of survival. Even as the past wraps tendrils around his soul, his and Mala’s connection endures. Its power is enough burn a fiery path of desire through time, but their growing love may not be strong enough to break destiny’s spell.

  Warning: Sex in the Everglades. Lots of hot sex with no bugs. Or snakes. But some rather judgmental Seminoles.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Night Hunter:

  The air conditioning wasn’t working in the Fort Lauderdale motel room, but Mala was barely aware of the sticky heat. After placing the case containing her jewelry on the small table, she kicked off her sandals and collapsed on the bed.

  She lay staring at the speckled ceiling, her thoughts going places her tired body couldn’t. She’d spent what was left of daylight prowling Alligator Alley. Hugging the side of the road had done nothing to sway her conviction that she had been right about where she’d directed Todd and his fellow patrolmen to look.

  Not that being sure had changed anything, she admitted as she became aware of the blinking telephone light. Because she’d told Sandy where she’d be staying, it had to be her friend trying to get in touch with her. The past five years had been a journey to where she was tonight career-wise, and yet it no longer mattered because a stranger on a motorcycle had become more important. Had penetrated her in frightening, exciting ways.

  Still—

  On the tail of a sigh, she sat up and dialed the motel operator who informed her that Sandy had left three messages asking—insisting—she get in touch with her immediately.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Sandy demanded before Mala had time to do more than say hello.

  “It’s a long story. I’m sorry. I know you were worried.”

  “Yeah, I was, old kid. But that isn’t the half of it. Ralph called asking if the three of us could get together for dinner tonight instead of waiting to meet in his office tomorrow. Naturally I said yes, and then when I couldn’t get hold of you, I had to cancel. I don’t know what he’s going to think. Hopefully chalk it up to artistic temperament. I just hope he won’t decide you’re undependable.”

  Ralph Korn of Southeast Jewelry Unlimited had long dealt with independent crafts people. He wouldn’t be successful if he hadn’t developed an instinct about those who could be depended on. Sandy would have done her best to make things right, but they deserved an explanation. The apology she could handle. As for the explanation—

  “Where were you?” Sandy demanded.

  “What?” she asked, then struggled to correct herself. “You don’t have time for the whole story. Besides, if I get going, I’ll sound like an idiot.” Or sex-starved, which I am. “I’ll try to make sense of it in the morning. The meeting’s still set for then, right?”

  “Yes. You’re not going to blow it. You’ve worked too damn hard, and you’re incredibly talented. You deserve this break. All right. Enough of the morale booster and lecture. I’m serious, though. The competition’s intense. I’m thinking we need to get together before early tomorrow. What if…”

  Mala tuned her friend out, paying just enough attention that if Sandy asked another question, hopefully she’d be able to field it, but knowing Sandy, it would be a long time before she ran down. Her friend was right. Tomorrow could be a major turning point in her life, and she should be wired. She had been until the storm and the man.

  Laird Jaeger.

  What had it been, mind control? More like body control along with something that stirred her as she’d never been before.

  Still holding on to the receiver, she turned on the lamp, then reached for her case and opened it. Light spilled over compartments filled with necklaces, bracelets, and earrings, all created from her trademark abalone and silver. She’d been making jewelry inspired by sunsets and sunrises, dew on leaves, pristine beaches and white-flecked waves since she was in high school, experimenting and refining until these pieces and hundreds of others like them became an extension of herself. Now, in part because of Sandy’s connections, she had the opportunity to become a full-time jewelry maker.

  “Sandy,” she said finally. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

  After hanging up, she stared at the samples of her work Ralph Korn would be looking at tomorrow, but then her vision blurred, and she lay back down on the thin coverlet. Sandy had called her dependable, but she wasn’t. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have left Laird Jaeger alone.

  Laird Jaeger.

  She felt, not exactly a presence, but something settle beside her. Whatever it was felt like pinpricks along the length of her backbone, heightened awareness at the base of her spine most of all, growing warmth in her pelvic region. With her eyes resolutely closed, she surrendered to whatever it was.

  “You’re mine. You have to be.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “Whatever is happening, I will not go through it alone.”

  “What can I do? I failed to—”

  “This was meant to be.”

  “The accident?”

  “No accident. Fate.”

  Fate. The warmth in her belly and beyond increased, demanded attention. Moaning, she turned onto her side and pressed her hand hard against her stomach. Already her breasts felt too swollen for her bra.

  “I’m doing what I have to. You’re my connection to the world. I must have that. Must keep you with me.”

  Although she didn’t move, barely breathed, Mala felt a man’s hand cover hers, pull it off her belly and replace it with his own. Shivering, she asked herself the vital, stupid question: did she want this? Hell yes!

  Impatient with clothing, he yanked off her shorts as if he had every right to do whatever he wanted with and to her and threw them on the floor. Her practical briefs no longer hugged her waist, but had been pulled half off her hips. She waited for them to join her shorts. Instead, a hand that felt like fine sandpaper slid under the fabric. In her mind—maybe only in her mind—she spread her legs. She felt so damn exposed, like a mare in heat waiting to be mounted.

  Strong, short fingernails teased away her pubic hair and found willing flesh. His other hand settled over her hipbone and pressed her against the mattress. She arched her spine, but although she might have been able to break free, that was the last thing on
her mind. In truth she wasn’t sure she still had a brain, not that it mattered. Forget self-restraint. Bring on an old-fashioned dose of sex. For an excruciating length of time, he simply held her prisoner while his nails tasted and tested the rounded bulge in front of her clit. She couldn’t think past the exploration. Wanted more.

  He knew what he was doing. Oh damn, did he.

  “Don’t…make me…” Don’t make me wait, please, she finished silently.

  She heard laughter. A moment later the hand slid fully between her legs. He cupped her cunt and pressed. For maybe a half-second she was terrified of his bold possession, but what the hell. He wasn’t here in the flesh. Besides, whatever was going on was a thousand times better than masturbating.

  Sometimes raking lightly, sometimes pressing with enough force that it bordered on the painful, he branded her now pulsating bud. He teased at the entrance to her passage as she broke out in a sweat, but although he must know how desperately she wanted it, he didn’t penetrate. Just the same, she felt herself rising, rising, growing and becoming hot. No, not just hot. On fire! It was happening so fast. So hard. So close to climax. So close!

  “Fuck me,” she begged. “Damn you, do it!”

  “No.”

  “Damn you.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Yet? What—” Before she could continue, he caught her swollen bud between thumb and forefinger. Gasping, she arched toward him, nearly levitating off the bed. Just one more touch, please, just one and she’d be there. Gone!

  “No! Please,” she gasped when suddenly, cruelly, he released her. “Don’t stop. Not now!”

  “Soon. I promise.”

  Still on fire, she threw herself into a sitting position and looked wildly around. She was wet between her legs. Throbbed. On the brink.

  Brought to that place by a man who existed only in her mind. Who spoke and commanded and claimed in ways that defied description and both thrilled and terrified her. Like a drunk without a drink for too long, she couldn’t focus on anything except the next time. And there would be a next, damn it! Only, when he again clamped his hard, powerful hand over her cunt, he’d better be there in person.

  To break this curse, they’ll have to turn the heat up. Way up…

  The Yearning

  © 2011 Tina Donahue

  Jasmine Dante prowls Key West’s nightlife, fighting a losing battle against a jealous rival’s curse that forces her to seek carnal pleasure, no matter the danger. Weakened from lack of sleep, driven by insatiable lust, she spots a man who stirs her desperate craving, and begins yet another dance of seduction.

  Except the dark stranger who returns her direct stare is no ordinary lover. Inside his powerful body lies a raw sexuality that just might be enough to break her curse. There’s only one way to find out: imprison him in her bed and feed on his passion.

  Former U.S. Marshal Mike Stearn is many things, but he’s no woman’s sex slave. The deadly telekinetic power he ruthlessly suppresses comes alive again at Jasmine’s touch. Beneath her bold, potent sensuality he senses vulnerability and desperation. He may be in handcuffs, but she’s the one who’s enslaved.

  As Mike resurrects his power to free himself so he can find the curse’s source and defeat it, Jasmine revels in his masterful rule. Her ravenous yearning evolves into rapture as she surrenders to his hunger, her darkest needs—and the emotional connection that lies beyond. Unless the curse takes her life first…

  Warning: Tons of steamy sex, smoldering passion and a to-die-for love story with a hot Alpha hero who finds himself imprisoned by one sultry and desperate babe.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Yearning:

  Desire compelled Jasmine forward even as a thread of panic stole up her spine. Had Violet and Lily seen them leave the floor? If not, how long would it be before they noticed? Where was he taking her?

  His earlier comment nagged. He didn’t have anything planned for the next couple of days or nights.

  Jasmine forced down a swallow. She’d asked about work to learn if he’d be missed immediately. Too easily, he told her he would not. Her sisters would be pleased if she lured him to their house tonight. If not, where would she end up?

  Dizzy with ambivalence, she allowed him to lead her past the restrooms and a small, cluttered office. He paused at the opened back door where two club employees enjoyed a smoke and shared laughter. The young men cast them a look, then exchanged knowing glances. Sly smiles plumped their youthful cheeks as they discarded their cigarettes and moved past, returning to their jobs.

  Mike brought her outside. Late-summer air, humid and heavy with the ocean’s tang, enveloped her. The dimly lit alley stretched the length of this establishment and the other businesses. Her heart jumped at the metallic clack of the door closing. She heard traffic whooshing by on the next street. Faint music pumped from the club. Laughter floated on the gentle breeze, coming from an unknown place, since she and Mike were the only ones around. She asked, “Why are we back here?”

  His mouth captured hers. Her apprehension fell away, turning into stark need. She tried to slip her arm over his shoulder. He stopped her, taking her wrist and tearing his mouth free. “Not here.”

  Her heels clicked on the asphalt as he led her to the adjacent building, set back from the club and closed for the night. He stopped next to a door stenciled with fading white letters stating: Delivery Only. If the same young men or others came outside for a smoke, they wouldn’t see her or him.

  Without warning, images of Travis sped through her mind. Him ordering her to undress in the secluded apartment above his shop. Her wrists and ankles lashed to his bed. His frightening smile.

  Jasmine’s heart crashed into her chest. She looked at Mike, her emotions torn between worry and craving.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said, reading her fear. Holding her face gently, he studied her, his dark eyes concerned. “Have you been raped?”

  It never got that far. Her sisters had arrived and—she shook her head, not wanting to think about it. “No.”

  “But someone hurt you.”

  Her mind saw the belt in Travis’s hand. She recalled its whistle as it hit the air. “He tried. I got away.”

  “A boyfriend?”

  She lied. “Yes.” Her voice sounded strange, strangled as she next offered the truth. “He seemed fine at first. I didn’t know he was doing meth and that he’d injured another woman. He got crazy and—” She couldn’t continue.

  Mike’s thumbs skimmed her jawline, stoking her pulse, making her limp and restless for more.

  “Why did you choose me tonight?” he asked.

  Her smile wobbled, feeling weird. “Like I said before, I liked the way you handled that young woman. You were the perfect gentleman.”

  “That may be, but I wasn’t the only one showing restraint. The bouncer was a regular sweetheart.”

  Her smile widened. “I’m sure he’s a nice guy and really I don’t want to sound unkind, but he’s not you. Haven’t you seen yourself in a mirror recently?” She could scarcely hold back her wonder. “You’re freaking awesome.”

  He barked a laugh. “Bullshit.”

  “You are.” She touched his bottom lip with her fingers, breathless at its silkiness. Her words rushed out. “I spotted you the moment I reached the dance floor. It pissed me off when the redhead got to you first. The server told me there were a dozen other women interested in you. Could be she was lying. It might have been more. That’s why I sent you the beer. It was the only way I knew to get you to notice me.”

  His eyes rounded in amazement. “You wouldn’t be putting me on now, would you?”

  She reached for her purse. “I have a mirror. You really should look at your—”

  “Fuck that.” He lowered his head and captured her mouth.

  An indecent grunt tore from the back of her throat. Lips parting, she accepted his tongue, needing its wet warmth more than she required oxygen or food. She tasted a hint of the beer he’d drank, along with his
flavor, which spoke of cleanliness and good health. His chin and upper lip rasped hers with his beginning stubble.

  She wound her arms around him. Eager to touch, her hands moved up and down his muscled back.

  He ground his lean hips into her mound, taunting her with his imposing cock. Her pussy clenched, bidding him inside. Unaware, he trailed his fingers over her cheek, sending tingles to her temple. His hand ventured lower, past the line of her jaw and throat to the edge of her halter. He hesitated, interpreting her reaction, before he slipped his fingers inside, his palm clothing her naked breast, his heat searing it. She edged nearer, her knees knocking his, telling him she craved all he had to give. Assured, he squeezed her flesh hungrily.

  It wasn’t enough.

  With his superior height and weight, he backed her into the building. Shoulders pressing the weathered wood, she moaned. His tongue invaded deeper, while his other hand explored.

  Bunching her skirt in his fist, he lifted the gauzy fabric, exposing her to the night air. Its sultry breath licked the moisture bathing her opening. The side of his hand grazed her, moving from her navel to her mound.

  There, he stopped, most likely surprised. He broke the kiss, stepped back and whispered, “My God.”

  Mike dropped to one knee in front of her and looked up.

  Silken waves the color of cocoa framed her face. Her graceful nostrils flared. She searched his eyes, no doubt gauging what lay beneath his shock.

  He found it difficult to breathe or think. She wasn’t wearing panties. Even more amazing was what she did wear—a silvery belly chain and navel ring with tiny diamonds in an ornate design that dangled over her slightly rounded stomach. The gems winked in the scant light, trailing beads of brightness to her shaved pubes.

  Jasmine’s feminine folds were slick with womanly moisture, plump and impatient. In spite of her bad experience with the fucker she’d dated, she hadn’t given up on men. She wanted him. Equally important, she trusted him.