Hunger Untamed H3

by Dee Carney

  Coming to a decision, he made his way back to the house, almost at a crouch. He left the creature behind, putting a lot of faith in his unsubstantiated hopes. Logic dictated that if the lycans had found them, there would be more than one. In that case, Lucy would be in danger.

  Hell, for all he knew, someone stood in the house with a knife to her neck, waiting for Victor to come bumbling through. Heaven help the beast if it harmed her.

  A rush of protectiveness pushed him into jogging toward the house. Then full-out running.

  With his gun drawn, Victor turned the knob slowly, his ears still straining for any sounds coming from behind him or from inside. The door swung easily, silent and ominous. He couldn’t hear sounds of a struggle or a voice being muffled by a hand or gag.

  Although he knew his footfalls were soft, each one felt like a burst that ricocheted through the room, announcing to any and everyone he’d entered the premises and was ready to stomp the yard. His heart pumped hard and fast, the urge not to rush through the bedroom door almost making his skin lift up and take off without him. Why had he left her alone? Why had he dropped his guard and thought they’d be safe out here?

  Back to the wall, he peered around the doorway into the bedroom, but no sounds of movement came from within. He pierced the darkness with his vision, but she wasn’t there. Neither was a would-be assailant.

  His gut clenched, the clear sounds of a woman crying drifting toward him. Every instinct—every Goddamned one—demanded that he burst through the door, gun blazing. But the bathroom was minuscule like everything else in this place, and odds were good he’d hurt her accidentally. How the fuck had someone found them?

  Cold fear made his teeth elongate, his grip tighten. He closed his eyes after pressing his ear to the door. Whatever it took to get her out of there undamaged was his sole focus. The shithead stupid enough to come after his ward would spent the next twenty-four hours praying for an early death while Victor peeled his skin off inch by inch.

  Her soft sobs echoed around his heart, each one more torturous than the last. He reasoned that no one else could be in there with her. Not feasible.

  Victor took a chance. Stomach in knots, he called into the door seam, “Lucy? You okay?” If she was being held against her will, at least the guy would now know she wasn’t alone.

  Abruptly, the noise cut off.

  It put his worry back on raging concern. “Are you okay?” he bellowed.

  She gulped down air, and Victor threw his shoulder against the door. It splintered beneath his force, and Lucy shrieked. Shards of wood stabbed him in the arms while he forced his way inside. He must have looked crazed as he scanned the bathroom, not much bigger than a postage stamp, set on ripping apart her assailant.

  Instead, he found Lucy huddled in the corner of the shower, nose and eyes red and puffy. She made no attempt at hiding her body, but she wouldn’t look at him directly. “What are you doing?” she cried.

  Instincts still screaming at him that something was wrong, Victor reached into the stall and turned off the running water. Still keeping his eyes above her neck, he reached out for a towel and thrust it at her. “Here.”

  She glared at him but took it. Thankfully, she wrapped around herself. “What the hell was that about? I thought you were attacking me.”

  “I thought you were being attacked.” Victor studied her face, really studied it. She had been crying, although she was doing her best to hide her dying sniffles. The heart-wrenching sobs were those of a person who’d lost everything, who saw no hope. “What happened?”

  Lucy pushed past him, still not looking him in the eye. “Nothing.” She folded her arms across her chest, keeping the towel in place. “But you’re damned well going to pay for the damages you did here.”

  “Lucy, talk to me. What happened from the time you left me to now?” Had she changed her mind? Had she come to regret kissing him or leaving him with a promise of more?

  She pushed past him, a stubborn set to her face. Her jaw was tight, and everything about her body language said that she didn’t want to pursue this topic.

  But Victor was just as stubborn, dogged in his pursuit of her. “You talk. Talk to me and tell me what the hell happened. For a few minutes there, I thought the worst.”

  “It has nothing to do with you. So it’s none of your business.”

  “I’m making it my business.” He stood in the doorway of the bedroom and fought the urge to ball his hands into fists. There was no way he was leaving this topic alone, not when he thought something was beginning to happen between them. “Are you angry with me?”

  A pause, then brief shake of the head.

  “Are you hurt?” He’d been rough with her during their training, for her own good. Maybe he’d crossed a line.

  “No,” she muttered. She kept her head down as she sat on the bed, towel still wrapped around her.

  The urge to pound across the room, clutch her shoulders and shout barreled into him, but Victor chose to grind his teeth in frustration instead. A growl issued, but he cut it off when she began to shake. “Give a dog a bone here,” he said gently. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  She looked up, eyes blazing. “I didn’t ask for your help. Not on this.”

  He almost capitulated, almost left her to her own devices.

  Then Lucy’s face crumpled, tears streaming down her ruddy cheeks. “I’m so damaged,” she whispered.

  He would crush whoever put that thought in her head. For now, he remained silent, sensing she needed to get out of her system whatever bruised her thoughts currently.

  “I’m asking you to help me with an impossible task, and you don’t know everything. You don’t know how impossible this really is. I can’t stop thinking about my sister and I don’t know why I’m being so stubborn about doing this myself. If I mess it all up, who’s going to make sure it gets done? I should have listened to you.”

  Victor frowned, not following this conversation. But he didn’t want her to stop. “Yeah?”

  “I’m selling myself again, and I’m not even sure why. I like you when I shouldn’t. I’m not thinking straight. I don’t know...I just feel so broken right now.”

  He stifled a sigh, because whatever plans he had for her the rest of the night needed to be set aside. Even he wasn’t so much of an ass that he’d expect her to perform now that self-doubt assailed her. They’d made a wager; she’d won. If they acted on the lust they incited, he’d be reneging on his assurances and for this woman, he wanted to wait.

  “You’re not broken, doll.” He went to her side, hesitated, but then put his arm around her. She didn’t struggle at all when he forced them both prone. They’d had a hard day and both of them would invite the comfort of a bed. “You’ve simply had to sleepwalk through one of the best parts of life. Now you’re trying it out, the real thing, and it’s different. Doesn’t mean you’re broken, just not what you’re used to. But when we get together, I promise you’ll know the difference between sleepwalking and living. When we get together, tomorrow night, you’ll live.”

  It was his promise.

  Chapter Eight

  He studied the naked woman on the stained mattress, his gaze straying to the moisture coating the insides of her thighs. She seemed to take notice of his attention, spreading her legs, putting herself on lewd display. Blue veins stood out against her pale skin, fascinating him.

  He’d paid top price for this red-haired dove, someone who would meet his appetite for sex. Bill collectors be damned, he was a gentleman and would enjoy himself as one.

  “You were right rough with me,” she purred. “Should charge you another quarter for making me squeal.”

  Fastening the buttons on his trousers, he cocked his lips into a smile. Victor said teasingly, “I always make you squeal.”

  “Aye, and me,” the other one called. She was dark skinned with large breasts and gloriously erect nipples. He loved to place love bites along them, using enough force that sh
e bruised. The madam of the house commanded less for the black beauty, but Victor enjoyed her vigor as much as anyone else’s.

  “But missus should charge you for it. Or you could tip it in my hand, and I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

  She’d do no such thing, instead keeping the extra fee for herself and leaving the black woman out of it. The latter wouldn’t tell the madam, nor would she scrap for the difference.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” Victor asked.

  “You make me come, Master Collins. More than once,” she said slyly.

  “Molly, the fault isn’t mine.” He reached between her legs, using a finger to swipe some of his leaking spend, and began to rub slow circles over her rapidly swelling clit. “If you squeal, it is your own fault for losing control. I pay you to make me shudder. If you happen to enjoy it yourself, then perhaps you should pay me.”

  “Such a randy gent for always wanting two of us.” She arched her back as rising passion from Victor’s quickly swirling finger made her a wanton bit. She reached for her pink nipples, squeezing the tight tips as her hips rolled.

  Ida, with her gloriously chocolate-covered skin, rose from the chair. She stooped before Victor, without question working on unfastening what he’d just done up. Relief swept over him as his pecker pushed free of the material. She tugged free the rest, leaned forward and then engulfed him between thick, sensuous lips. Liquid pleasure engulfed the head of his cock, pulling his full attention to that singular place. Her tongue trailed molten sensation, and he could have lost all thought to it.

  Tonight though, he yearned for more.

  “Ida,” he said softly. “Find me another rose. Bring her to us.”

  She released him with a soft pop, but nodded. The seductive smile she bore him made his cock that much harder. He fisted it, using her saliva to ease the way. She walked with a queen’s grace to the door, her nudity a draw for his eyes. His heart thudded hard. That beautiful skin...

  “You’re right randy, indeed,” Molly said from the bed. She reached for his cock, replacing his hand with hers as he thrust two fingers into her wet heat.

  With one hand, he gripped her jaw. She twisted, exposing the beating pulse of her throat. He found women fascinating, especially their many parts. Indulging with these women might be frowned upon in some corners, but his large appetites needed satiation.

  The door burst open, and Molly screamed from the bed. Ida was shoved into the room and went sprawling onto the floor. She didn’t make a sound as she tried to recover, pulling herself into a ball and scooting to the edge of the bed.

  Victor went to her and crouched down. Glaring at the men strolling inside, he stroked his hand over Ida’s hair and shoulder, a superficial check of her person. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, Master Collins,” she said softly. Big brown eyes were wide with fear, but she wasn’t watching him.

  He stood and faced them, knowing who they were long before they made any announcement. Gambling. Overspending. Mismanagement of his family’s substantial estate... His lifestyle had caught up with him. Bound to happen sooner or later.

  “Victor Collins?”

  “Who may I ask is inquiring?”

  The one in the bowler stepped forward. “Madame Dupree has collected your debts. She wants to see you.”

  “Well, as you can see, I had been busy—”

  “Now.”

  Chapter Nine

  She had no idea when they’d fallen asleep.

  Victor had her tucked in beside him, his leg wedged between her thighs again, his early morning woody poking her in the behind.

  Heat flooded her face as she recounted their last conversation. She’d been overwhelmed by her desire for Victor, a man who saw her as a transaction. She’d thought about how she’d even come to be here with him and how she was letting Cindy down by turning her focus on his body and what it could do, instead of avenging Cindy’s death.

  She’d been flying high from the victory of tagging Victor, the eroticism of a kiss that begged to be relished and continued, and from the understanding that she yearned for more in the depths of her belly. She’d wanted to be seduced and touched. She’d needed it.

  Did it matter if she could pinpoint the exact moment he’d stopped being an instructor to her and had become someone she’d wanted to touch and be touched by?

  She groaned, embarrassed.

  Victor squeezed with his arm. “Feeling okay?” he murmured. “Too hard on you yesterday?”

  “What—uh, no. I’m fine.” But now that he mentioned it, her nose throbbed and muscles screamed at her. Nothing a couple of ibuprofen wouldn’t cure if she could get her hands on some.

  She waited for him to mention their last conversation, to make her want a hole to appear in the ground and swallow her, but Victor seemed content to slowly rock his hips against her instead. The friction of his cock sliding against her skin sent warmth shooting into her blood. Lucy swallowed hard, cautious about the stirring of feelings he caused, but she couldn’t deny that this excited her.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, throat incredibly dry.

  Victor ran traced his fingers over the sensitive skin of her forearm, making every hair stand on end, electricity arcing between his touch and her. Her nipples hardened into beads, her breasts growing heavy.

  He grasped her hand, then dragged it low, stopping when she could touch the vee between her thighs. “Touch,” he said in a low voice.

  On reflex, her fingers tightened on his, a sudden jerk away from what he wanted her to do. Her stomach rolled. “But I thought you wanted...”

  “Most definitely I want. But I’d love to see you get yourself off in front of me.” He applied more pressure to her fingertips.

  “Please...don’t.”

  He released his grip but dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “Not today, but someday. I want to watch you.”

  She ducked, still waiting for a nonexistent hole to swallow her. “What is it about guys and wanting to see that?”

  “We’re very visual. And you are a beautiful woman. What’s in my head cannot be anything like seeing the real thing up close and personal.”

  “Well, don’t hold your breath. I’d probably evaporate on the spot if you watched.” She waited for him to ask her more about their discussion, push for more details. It made her tense, her skin itchy with the need to bolt.

  But he never asked. Never pushed. He seemed content to lie in bed with her all day, caressing and kissing. What was she supposed to do with that?

  “What about my training?” she asked when his hand strayed to the curve of her breast.

  He grunted, a noise of disappointment, but then said, “Ready when you are.”

  She waited a few minutes more, mind drifting to impossible scenarios, before rolling away from him. It took the sudden memory of Cindy to get her moving because the contentment she felt weighed a small ton. It tried to keep her glued to the bed and plastered to Victor’s side.

  Neither spoke much as they finished their morning ablutions and Lucy opened another tin of peaches. A wave of dizziness settled over her mid-chew, and she pushed them aside. Victor’s vow to make a trip into town might be more necessary than she’d previously thought. Maybe Peggy, her housekeeper, hadn’t rotated out the stock quickly enough.

  “That’s not sufficient,” he said when they took a break from their sparring a couple of hours later. Like yesterday, she’d soaked through her clothing with sweat, the T-shirt and jeans clinging to her skin. She was caked in dirt and leaves, testament to the many times Victor had flipped her over his shoulder and she’d landed in an indelicate heap on the ground.

  “That burger you had last night was a start, but you need more protein for what we’re doing. We should head into town tonight, see what we can get for you. Clothes for me.”

  The patty, rock hard out of the freezer, had been tasteless and dry, but it had filled a hole. Although, her stomach ached today.

  She took her frustration out on a nea
rby tree as she practiced leg sweeps. Hours of practice in, and he hadn’t mentioned another modification to their contract. Must have been sympathy on his part, but her luck would only hold for so long. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t know if Victor’s temporary injunction was a good or a bad thing.

  “Aww, you’re thinking of covering up that body?” she asked sweetly. “Too bad, because I like seeing you run around looking all lord of the jungle. Topless and with a pair of raggedy shorts that don’t quite fit.” Every bone in her body creaked as she rose, kinks working themselves out of her system. Fully erect, she took a deep breath, trying to suck in air that wasn’t there. “Just need to make that aa-aaa-aaaah sound, and the elephants’ll come charging.”

  “Someone’s been watching one too many black-and-white Johnny Weissmuller movies.”

  She stopped to stare at him. “Oh my God. You actually know about them?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, an amused tilt to his mouth. “You’re asking a vampire if he knows about black-and-white movies?”

  “I know, but it’s just so...old. I doubt even cable is showing those episodes anymore.”

  “So now you’re calling me old? Should I point out that you, a human in the twenty-first century, know who he is too?”

  Lucy waved an errant hand. “That’s neither here nor there.” They continued to make their way back to the clearing, the conversation fascinating her. “The Lord of the Apes just doesn’t seem like your kind of flick. I’d expect you to go more for something involving muscle cars and lots of guns.”

  “Stereotypical much?”

  “Well, look at you!” she cried. “You’re a walking stereotype.” If he was offended, she couldn’t tell. If anything, Victor seemed pleased she’d associated him with such masculine matters.

  “For that, you get to run some laps.”

  She gaped.

  “Go on. Get. Burning moonlight.”

  “Ass,” she muttered, but started jogging anyway. She felt like death warmed over, muscles achy and breathing as if she’d dunked her face into pea soup on an inhale, but she was doing something.