Enticed
Page 3
Lips curving, I turned my head to the side enough to sink my teeth into her butt.
Her body twitched forward away from me, but it was a pathetic effort. “Hey.”
She peered back at me over her shoulder, from where she’d sank to the mattress God knew when, her torso all twisted up like I’d broken her, though I knew I hadn’t. The fingers of her right hand fisted around the cover of the duvet. The raspberry fringe of her hair stuck up or out, above eyes half closed and a bright glassy green, so full of lazy contentment my dick swelled all over the fuck again.
“You going to let me rest first?” she murmured.
I smiled. “What do you think?”
“Thank God for that.”
Chuckling, I gripped her hips and flipped her onto her back. A hand skimming down each thigh, I parted them enough to reveal the glossiness I’d created as I climbed up onto the bed with Shelley.
Her eyes flickered downward, toward my crotch, where my dick bounced over top of my boxers like a divining rod in search of the good stuff.
Her eyebrow arched up, nudging at the few strands across her forehead. “You start without me down there?”
“No, he was suffocating.”
“Poor Buddy. Good job you rescued him, then,” she said, a smile playing on her lips. “It’s dangerous for a guy to shut off the oxygen supply to his brain.”
I thrust forward, bracing a hand alongside her shoulder as I slipped a finger into her still-damp depths and pressed down with the ball of my hand. Her gasp was loud, fast descending to a low groan as she tipped back her head and closed her eyes.
I sank my lips to her ear. “Pot, kettle, black, Shel.”
She un-clutched the bedding, but didn’t open her eyes as she tapped her head. “A woman’s brain is always in—”
She gasped again, as I sent in a second finger to join the first, cupping my hand to catch the spillage I could feel swelling in there. She pushed her foot against the bed, lifting her hip as she arched toward me.
Pulling out and sliding back in with a third finger had her hand fisting at her temple, and with the second wave of Shelley’s scent brewing in the air, my hips surged forward with impatience.
Nose nuzzling against her neck, I inhaled, long and deep. “Jesus, Shelley, I need you,” I murmured, the words hoarse.
Her lips brushed my neck with her whispered, “Then, quit fooling around.”
I chuckled on an exhale and lifted from her throat. Before I could dive for the bedside cabinet, Shelley gripped my forearms. She didn’t explain when I sent a questioning glance down at her, just wormed out an arm, reached high over her head, sending the stiff lace of her bodice up to scratch against my chest, and nudged up her pillow.
Beneath lay a scattering of condoms. More than enough for a good few hours of fun. Enough for an entire day. To the point I wondered if the pack’d miss me if I didn’t show to my own party.
My smile appeared, whether I wanted it to or not. “You’re eager.”
“I prefer to think of myself as prepared,” she said with a wink, snatching out one of the foil wrappings.
It took all of two seconds to ram my jeans and shorts the rest of the way over my hips. To kick them off, out of the way. To nudge us higher on the bed and nestle my knees back between Shelley’s thighs.
She pushed up to sit, and I tangled my fingers into the hair at her nape, catching her for a kiss, her mouth soft and warm to my tongue as I swept it past her lips. When her fingers wrapped around my dick, I groaned, let my lids shutter, bowing my head and resting my brow against her temple as I swayed there a moment. The tips of her hair fanned across my chest as she gripped me with her other hand, the tiny crinkle of latex and the clinical non-smell accompanying the firm downward slide over my shaft.
The instant her fingers continued down and cupped my balls, like some kind of signal, my patience took a hike.
Fisting my hand tighter in her hair, I tilted her face up and all but swallowed her damn lips as I yanked at the dangling ribbon trapping her breasts. Except, untying didn’t release them, it only loosened the binding. When I grabbed the top of her corset on either side, she pulled at my wrists, her cat-like eyes shining up at me with both want and amusement.
“I’ve got this,” she said, her tiny fingers leaving my arms and fiddling with the thread. “You’ve cost me enough lingerie already.”
“Then, it should get out of my way,” I said, sucking her lower lip between mine.
Nudging her back against the bed, I braced my hands on either side of her, skimming my kiss over her cheek, along her jaw, burrowing up through her soft strands below her ear to suckle there.
“Damn it,” she whispered in a hiss, her arm jerking with her tugs.
I smiled. “Need some help?”
A couple more yanks, then, “Not anymore.”
Tucking my chin in close, I peered downward. The dark pink tips of Shelley’s breasts peeked back. Her skin glided beneath the palm I swept over her shoulder, her collarbone. Reaching her right breast, I cupped its fleshiness, brushed a thumb over the nipple—smiling at the slight acceleration to Shelley’s breathing.
Knocking aside the front flaps of the corset, I slid my hand to her waist and let my lips venture lower. Her heart beat against my face when I sucked her breast into my mouth, the tempo increasing with the tease of my tongue. Her chest pushed up, spine arcing with the scrape of my teeth, and she groaned alongside me with the soft taunt of my dick against her wetness.
“When are you going to quit torturing yourself?” she said on a shaky whisper.
She was right. I was torturing myself. Prolonging the moment. Forcing restraint. Knowing it’d be worth the wait.
“This isn’t torture,” I said instead. “This is the path to the garden of fucking Eden.”
“Show me,” was all she said.
I didn’t need any more invitation than that.
Sliding a hand beneath to cup her butt, I lifted her higher, and the instant I pushed inside her, my hands fisted, and my long-brewing growl spilled out in a deep companion to Shelley’s high-pitched gasp.
I let my eyes close, holding still a moment as she moulded around me. The first thrust got me every damn time. The way her body fit to mine—like any female who’d come before her had been wrong, so fucking wrong, because none of them had been Shelley. None of them had drawn me in so deep. None of them held me so tight and embraced my body the way she did, the way her depths hugged around my dick like it’d spent every second of every day our bodies’d separated for missing the connection. When my lids lifted and my eyes met Shelley’s shining up at me, I took in the blush scattered over her cheeks and the way her lips parted to let past the broken breaths she took, and I knew, I just knew, it affected her the same damn way.
Not breaking her gaze, I pulled out until my tip balanced at her entrance, and drove in again, harder, deeper, a second growl releasing before I withdrew again. I thrust again, stopping only when I had no more to give, grunting as Shelley whimpered.
The tiny groove Shelley always got between her eyebrows appeared as I hit a rhythm, her lips parting and releasing each heightened breath with each plunge of my hips. It took only seconds for the steady coiling of my muscles to begin an upward climb of my calves, thanks to my self-torment, but I ignored them, blocked them, shut down the gates on them creeping any higher.
Above her head, Shelley’s fingers grappled with the loose cotton of the bedding, twisting and clutching, her fingernails scraping and sending splinters of excitement stabbing out from my groin. With each scratch of fabric, the more I wanted that hand on me. Wanted her scratching into me instead of the bed. More than wanted—I needed her hands on me. Hell, I’d have her hands all over me, if that were even possible.
Reaching up, I gripped Shelley’s wrist and pulled it down. “Touch me, Shel.”
The heat from her palm seemed to scorch where she brushed over my back, over my hips, until her fingertips dug into my butt. She raised a leg, and h
er right calf hooked over my hip. Her left foot wove around my right thigh, her heel digging into the back of my lower leg as she brought her body up to meet my thrusts.
Clutching her hip, my right hand tugged and caressed in a pattern that guided her rhythm to match my own. My other hand folded around her left shoulder, holding her steady for each pound of my hips, holding me grounded for each undulated rock of her body.
My face buried into the crook of her neck, where her scent seeped from every one of her pores like she secreted a personal aphrodisiac she’d formulated just for me, and she found a pattern of her own, one I was forced to match. Her right leg clung tight, pinning me to her with each of her thrusts. Her left foot dug into the muscle of my calf as she urged, urged, urged upward, her hips tilting and retreating, tilting and retreating. Throughout it all, her breaths shared space with her tiny whimpers, her gasps, her groans each time our hips rejoined.
With each drive of my own hips, the scratch of her nails pierced the flesh at the base of my back, hauling me to her and sending prickles of pain dancing the length of my spine that brought only pleasure. Her nails pierced deeper, and the growl in my chest hummed through me like some kind of infestation. Digging its way outward from the very centre of my being. Threatening to take over the core of everything that was me. My lips rippled with the effort to keep it contained, to keep my jaws contained. To keep from fucking biting. To keep from fully mating. To keep from making Shelley mine.
My fingers sank into the slender flesh of her thigh with the effort of restraint. The muscles bunched through my shoulders. My balls tightened and fucking tightened more. I curled the hand vice-gripping her shoulder into a fist to save crushing the slender bones of her clavicle.
Trying to rein it all in was torture. Being with Shelley always had the potential to be both heaven and hell. Most times, I controlled it, but with my waiting, with her body dancing and thrusting, her fingers massaging, her sounds of pleasure growing … the pressure was building—really fucking building.
Releasing her thigh, I rammed both fists down on the bed, twisting my face to the side as the snarl erupted out of me.
“Fuck!” The word shot out as a gravelly grunt, and every chasing breath panted out of me as a growl. Every ensuing thrust of my hips drove down a little harder.
Beneath me, Shelley’s gasps grew louder. Her fingertips sliced harder. Her chest rose and fell.
The stabbing of my back ceased, and she crammed her fingers into my hair, dragged my lips to hers.
Her cry blasted into my mouth as her body coiled tight, but I couldn’t cease my lips from curling. Her whimper echoed through me as her body stilled, and did little to halt the rebuilding hum in my chest. Her long, low mewling sang right down to my very soul, telling me she’d breached the pinnacle of orgasm, before a long, slow softness spread throughout Shelley’s body, despite the cinching of her thighs around me, the pinning of her arms about my shoulders.
As the sensual contractions trailing her release hauled my frantic dick along with her, my breath blasted from me on a grunt that evolved into a fresh snarl, and my body shuddered through my final thrusts, my calves and ankles threatening to twist beneath the cramps infecting them.
When I finally stilled, my chest heaved—Shelley’s, too, her butterfly wings of a heartbeat tickling against my booming one.
It took a few seconds to realise the dampness smacking my face was caused by my own breath bouncing back from Shelley’s throat.
It took another second to recognise that I was about a half-beat away from biting down.
“Ethan?” Shelley’s whisper, lower than ever, sounded pained.
I was almost afraid to look up, but I did, fast realising my eyes were clamped closed. The room seemed too bright as I blinked up at Shelley.
She peered back at her me, her eyes shining bright, her lids half shuttered. “You need to let go of me,” she said, equally as quiet.
I followed the upward flicker of her gaze. To my fingers. Wrapped around her hair so tight, her head was hauled back, her scalp pulled taut. “Shit,” I muttered, slowly uncurling my fingers, trying not to make it worse. “Shit! I’m sorry, Shel. I’m so—”
Her fingers pressed to my mouth. “Quit already.” She replaced her fingers with a brush of her lips. “You don’t have to keep worrying about me so much. I’m a big girl.”
Still, I couldn’t stop from smoothing the yanked hair down, pressing a kiss to the spot. Pressing a kiss to her temple. I also couldn’t help the trail my lips took downward to her lips, or the need swelling once more through my dick, or the way my hips ground against her.
Shelley breathed out a laugh, and I closed my eyes, rested my forehead against hers. “Damn, woman, you’re going to be my undoing one of these days.”
Her fingertips skated over my bicep. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me?”
I drew back and studied her, but found only seriousness in her eyes. “For what?”
“For only getting you a cake and some new underwear—”
“For yourself,” I cut in, my lips twitching.
She gave a reluctant nod. “For myself.”
“That you wouldn’t let me remove,” I added.
Her lips curved at one corner. “Excuse me, but this is limited edition Linger lingerie.”
“Stupid name for something that didn’t even linger that long—”
“Are you answering me, or not?”
I chuckled. “No, Shel, I’m not mad. How could I be? This is perfect.”
You’re perfect, I wanted to add. Perfect for me. But I didn’t. I never did.
Instead, I just rolled with her. Slid her atop me. Gripped her hips and urged her down until her lips parted in a quiet gasp. “Now,” I said, rolling my hips. “Remind me whose birthday it is again.”
“I don’t think you need reminding at all,” she said, but she still leaned over me and reached under the pillow for the second wrapper.
My family would just have to forgive me when I showed up late.
Acknowledgements
Aside from Mr B and the kidlets, my biggest thanks for Enticed goes to my street team, The Hollerers.
My writer buddy Keri Lake strongly hinted at (more like demanded) a saucy short story for Ethan, and as soon as it got mentioned in my street team, and Terri Rochenski jumped on board with the demands, I'd pretty much got a mob after me for Ethan's hot tale. And your love for this little story is my reasoning for going ahead and publishing it.
So, to everyone in my street team, thank you! Not just to the ones who shouted out for this to happen, but to all of you who constantly help to spread the word about my books, who cheer me on in my writing, who enjoyed my stories enough to even be a part of my team—my heart swells with gratitude.
A personal thank you to my beta readers for this one: Renée Vossen, Keri Lake, Terri Rochenski, Wendy Eaves Seagondollar, Ambur Hostyn, Rachel Bennett, Maghon Thomas, Jennifer Runkle, Sandra Richardson.
I also owe a big thanks to Aimee Laine. I sent her Enticed to read for fun. She sent it back edited. She's also the reason the coverart doesn't look like a mishmash of random images with jagged lines. Thanks heaps, Aimee, for taking the idea inside my head and bringing it to life.
Finally to Carla. Just because. ;)
About J.A. Belfield
J.A. Belfield lives in Solihull, England, with the best husband in the world, aka Mr B, a couple of back-chatting but pretty cool kids, a pooch she treats likes the baby of the house, and a scrawny cat that drives her insane.
Although best known for her Holloway Pack series: DARKNESS & LIGHT (July 2011, J. Taylor Publishing), INSTINCT (February2012, J. Taylor Publishing), ETERNAL (July 2012, J. Taylor Publishing), BLUE MOON (December 2012, J. Taylor Publishing), RESONANCE (April 2013, J. Taylor Publishing), CAGED (August 2013, J. Taylor Publishing), and UNNATURAL (April 2014, J. Taylor Publishing), amongst other titles, she is currently trawling her way through a New Adult Post Apocalyptic and would LOVE to try her hand at
YA. Maybe she will.
J.A. Belfield also writes children’s picture books under the pen name Jenna Lyn Field.
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Titles by J.A. Belfield
Holloway Pack Prequels:
Instinct
Eternal
The Holloway Pack Series
Darkness & Light
Blue Moon
Resonance
Caged
Unnatural
Holloway Pack Minis
Fated Encounter
Hereditary
Enticed
Anthologies
Make Believe
Coming Soon from J.A. Belfield
Cornered
A Holloway Pack Novel
Coming Winter 2015
Read on for a glance at Chapter 1 of CAGED
1
“... from the Shropshire area. Following Carly McDowd’s disappearance on the fourth, and Andrew Doherty’s on the seventh, this is the third incident this month ...”
I turned from the square-jawed newswoman on TV to Dad, where he sat in his corner armchair.
His attention remained on the screen, a frown across his brow.
“... the duo of friends were first reported missing late last night by their parents, after they discovered neither of the teenagers ...” The newscaster’s voice infiltrated once more.
Images of a couple of lads flashed side by side on the screen. The one on the left had the appearance of any late teen, with shaggy overgrown hair and the twinkle of mischief in his expression.