Taming the Beast: Eleven Paranormal Romances

by Alyse Zaftig

  “Fuck.” He pulled in another breath and worked his cock backward—not far enough to completely unsheathe himself, but enough that she moaned from the loss.

  Mary wanted more than just his head inside her. She wanted everything. She wanted to feel his heavy balls slapping against the backs of her thighs—wanted to be grabbed by the hips and put on her hands and knees almost as much as she wanted to sit him up and grind on his lap.

  She could blow his mind, and she wouldn’t stop writhing atop him until he couldn’t come anymore.

  “Maybe you should take me home,” she said.

  “No.” He pushed forcefully into her while pulling her head back by the hair. “I’m not taking you to your home, or to mine. We’re not leaving this building…”

  Thrust.

  “Until we’re satisfied.”

  “Fuck.”

  She was certainly getting close. What Andreas lacked in grace, he made up for in girth.

  “You could ruin me,” she said in a whimper.

  “Why do you sound so wistful about such a thing?”

  Mary didn’t have a good answer for that. She tilted her hips into him, trying to take more of him within her, as if such a thing were possible—as if such a thing were wise—but she was feeling so crazed, so needy.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, grazing his fingertips up the inside of her thigh and pausing at the crease between thigh and sex.

  “Am I?”

  “You are, and I think you know it. I think you look in the mirror each day and decide what to don based on how many men you want to humble.”

  She laughed and then sighed as she bore down on him.

  So good.

  “Are you humbled, Andreas?”

  “What do you think?” he whispered. He snaked a hand up her shirt and palmed her breast, flicking at the nipple.

  “Oh. Don’t stop doing that.”

  “You like that?”

  “I like to feel everything at once.”

  “I want to give you that. But not here.”

  She understood. What they were doing wasn’t about lovemaking, but rather satiating urgent needs. She may have been less wild about hers, but they both had them. His needs were animal. Hers were witch. Passion should have been a given.

  His thrusts faltered as his breath went uneven and ragged. “Sweet Mary, you’re so wet for me. Gods, your pussy is…”

  He swallowed loudly and whatever adjective he was going to use was lost in his stream of swears. He didn’t need to be explicit. She was touching him, so she understood. She was wet, and she liked that he appreciated her responsiveness, because not every man was so lucky. Few turned her on the way he did. Fewer still got access to what he was receiving.

  His arm draped over her waist possessively, and he whispered, “Help me. Help me make you come. Show me what you want.”

  Done.

  She put his hand at the top of her mound and got him rubbing, and then worked her hand into her shirt, plucking and pinching her nipples, all the while rolling her hips and squeezing him with all the power she could muster from her lower muscles.

  “Just…just like that.” Her voice was an unattractive whine in a pitch she normally couldn’t reach, but she could hardly draw enough air to push sound through her throat. Her spine bowed from his enthusiastic fondling of her clit. Prickles of pleasure made her sheath clench, her belly spasm. Added to the extra sensation from her nipples, the nerves of which seemed to be on a direct line to her cunt, she could hardly tell if she were awake or dreaming.

  Like him.

  He’d been dreaming of her body. “Gods.” She gripped his wrist and stopped his fingers from working her, and then writhed violently against his body. He didn’t stop thrusting, though, not even when she hiccupped from a shortage of oxygen. Not even when her eyes watered from the overload of sensations.

  “Thank you,” he said softly, and he thrust once more, and then voiced a primal-sounding howl toward the ceiling.

  She should have been afraid. She should have slid off of his amazing cock, fixed her panties, grabbed her bag, and ran.

  But she didn’t. He wasn’t the monster she needed to fear.

  She pulled her arm more tightly around her and closed her eyes to the sound of Andreas’s breathing gentling and to the feel of his body going languid behind hers.

  He slipped out of her, and swallowed audibly. “Thank you,” he repeated. The words sounded like a chant or a prayer, and she didn’t understand why. She hadn’t earned them.

  “What are you thanking me for?”

  “I don’t know. I think the wolf…” He drew in a breath and let it out. “The part of me that is wolf needed me to say the words.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  He skimmed his fingertips over her belly and twined his legs with hers. “I think wolves have some peculiar mating practices. My urges aren’t so easy to qualify right now.”

  She opened her eyes, only to furrow her brow and stare unseeing at the pile of junk in front of them.

  Wolves…

  She’d read every book from her father’s stash. She may have known more about werewolf lore than Andreas did, but she’d never tried to put any of the information in context. Like the Afótama, and their distant cousins in Fallon, Wolves were peculiar about their mates. Wolves, especially, tended to form quick and lasting attachments to their partners if they were the right ones.

  Werewolves mated for life if the mate was right.

  He kissed the top of her head and moaned pleasurably as he fit his warm body against hers.

  “Andreas?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think I’m your mate?”

  His fingers stilled against her belly, and she felt the beating of his heart against her back ratchet up in speed.

  “Andreas?”

  He swallowed loudly again. “I—yes, I do believe you are. I’d like very much to keep you, sweet Mary. Will you let me?”

  She didn’t respond, and not just because she’d been in the man’s acquaintance for less than a day and shouldn’t have been able to tell him yes.

  She didn’t respond because she wanted to tell him yes and that she’d take care of him, but she couldn’t be so certain that she was interpreting the magic accurately. Couples in Fallon didn’t stick anymore—the magic that steered people toward partners who’d be loving and faithful had diminished rapidly in the past generation. Not even her parents had been in a pairing that was meant to last. Her father hadn’t been enough for her mother. Mary hadn’t been enough for her mother. Her mother had left, and her father didn’t talk about what he’d felt or hadn’t felt with her. He’d only ever said, “I got you from the ordeal,” as if that were the entire point of bothering.

  She wanted Andreas—that was a certainty—but she didn’t understand if that tightness in her chest was from the excitement that she’d found The One or if the feeling was a warning sign that things were moving too fast. She had no mentors to ask. No one to guide her in matters of fated loves. Her father wouldn’t even have known.

  Taking a deep breath, she took his hand and squeezed. “We’ll play things by ear, okay? I’m leaving Fallon soon. There’s no way of knowing what’ll happen.”

  He didn’t respond, and she was glad. She didn’t know what else to tell him.

  Chapter 9

  Andreas needed to feed his woman. The meager offering he’d given her earlier was only enough to be insulting, and he needed to start providing for her. Given he was a man of considerable means, he should have been doing more. He should have been better prepared, but never in his wildest dreams would he have anticipated having a mate, and certainly not one like Mary.

  She’d moved away from him, weaving through the stored items in the expansive basement and murmuring to herself about the curiosities she’d found.

  He remained anchored on the chair with the blanket draped over his waist, watching her.

  Listening to her belly growl.
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br />   Every time he thought about getting up and pulling on his clothes, his skin began to ripple and the muscles beneath spasmed, ready to shift into that beast he was again.

  He didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling that might have been triggering the metamorphosis, but had found keeping still and quiet kept the beast locked down. Too bad, because he wanted sweet Mary back in his arms.

  “What do you plan to do with all this stuff?” she asked. “When’s the last time anyone’s been down here?”

  He leaned back against the settee and sighed. “There are pears in the refrigerator. Please eat them. And, the last time I spent any significant amount of time down here was about four months ago. I spoke with some engineers about the structural integrity of the building.”

  “Why were you concerned about that?” She did what he asked—returned to the makeshift kitchen and pulled the fruit from the refrigerator shelf. “Did you plan on doing something with the building?”

  “Yes and no. The town wanted proof that the building shouldn’t be condemned. They sent their inspectors out, but I didn’t trust them. With or without the building on the property, this lot is worth a great deal.”

  She took a bite of one of the pears and retreated into the maze of junk. “What did the inspectors say?”

  “Approximately what you’d expect, but they gave me the opportunity to appeal their decision. I hired two independent engineers to write up assessments about the building. They spent plenty of time down here.”

  “I bet. What’d they say?”

  “One said that this building could likely withstand a nuclear apocalypse, though I’m certain he was exaggerating, at least somewhat. The other confirmed that there’s no justifiable reason to raze the building.”

  “What do you think the town wants?”

  Andreas shrugged, and then remembered she couldn’t see him. Her voice had come from somewhere in the back. There were lots of interesting treasures there he thought she’d like. “Hard to speculate on what the town would want with this particular parcel, though I’ve heard rumors that the town planners have been eying locations for the new auditorium.”

  She scoffed. “Yes, that’s exactly what we need. Another underutilized building in a place that’s populated in large quantities by transients.”

  “No one ever said bureaucrats were supposed to make sense, sweet Mary.”

  “I know that all too well. I’m a paralegal, remember? I deal with people who talk out of both sides of their mouths every single day. Ooh, Andreas! What are these?”

  Smiling at her sudden excitement, he pushed onto his feet, draped the blanket over his shoulder toga-style, and padded after her. He had a pretty good idea of what she’d found and, upon spying her crouched beside the open crate, holding both pears in one hand, and tucking her fair hair behind her ears with the other, he confirmed his suspicion.

  “My family used to do some dealing in railroad supplying. Not the rough things like tracks and such, but the upholstered seats, the tables in the dining cars, the dishes…”

  She held up one gilt-trimmed plate and scoffed. “That is incredibly gorgeous.”

  “Mmm.” He glanced around the niche and did a quick estimate of how many must have been left. His grandfather had sold some at auction, and many other things from the basement as well, but he’d died before he could clean up the way he wanted to. He’d wanted to make sure the items in the building went to people who would know how to treat them. “I think of that particular pattern, there are twenty dozen left.”

  She whistled low. “You could make some high-end caterer very happy.”

  He grimaced. “Perhaps. I haven’t decided yet on what to do with all of this. My grandfather’s inventory sheets are incomplete. I would need to know everything that’s here before I make any decisions.”

  “Wise.” Sighing, she set the plate gingerly back into the crate. “I guess that’s the same way I’ve dealt with my father’s property. I didn’t know what I was willing to let go of until I understood the scope of what all was there.” She accepted his hand for help standing. “And I’m sure you know best to maximize your profit on these things.”

  “I’m not entirely concerned with profit.”

  “No?” She slanted a brow and took a large bite of a pear.

  Its juice dribbled down her chin. She lifted a hand, ostensibly to wipe the liquid away, but he got there first. He licked the juice away, and sighed against her parted lips.

  “Thank you.” Her lips curved. “I think.”

  “You drive me to distraction,” he whispered. He took a step back from her because she could very easily unpin his limited self-control, and he was afraid to shift again and not be able to shift back. He didn’t want to lose time on four legs. He wanted to be on two legs with his human throat and mouth, able to talk to and understand his mate. “And regarding the plates, I like money a great deal, but not every transaction is about making more of it.”

  “You’re quite wise. Did you know that?” Winking at him, she moved on to other crates.

  He followed, grinning. Following her seemed natural and smart. She was curious, but cautious. She’d keep him as safe as he’d keep her.

  “I’d just as soon donate much of this,” he said.

  “I bet the folks in Norseton would take it off your hands.”

  “What would they do with dozens of dishes?”

  “Don’t you read the Norseton e-newsletter?”

  “No, I didn’t realize there was one.”

  “It’s really entertaining, actually. The queen’s aide, Lora, compiles all the news and happenings. There’s also a really freaking difficult crossword puzzle in there. Some of the facts are pretty arcane. I can never complete it without copious assistance from Google, and even that’s risky because people on the Internet aren’t always great spellers.”

  He snorted, and she smiled.

  When she smiled, so soft and genuine, he started to believe wholeheartedly that the future wouldn’t be as execrable as the recent past. She’d make things better.

  “Anyway, they host these huge banquets there all the time. They’re not all super-fancy, but I think dishes like those would be pretty versatile. I also think Muriel would appreciate that they have a little history.”

  “Hmm. Think so?”

  “I do.”

  Across the room, Mary’s phone chimed loudly.

  “Oh! I’d better see who that is. I’m sure there are a lot of people trying to get in touch with me today.”

  He followed at her heels, curious. Worried, really, of what she’d say or do—if she’d send out some sort of S.O.S. for her rescue, leaving Andreas high and dry, or if she’d keep her personal business exactly that—personal.

  She fished the phone out of her bag, sat on the settee, and squinted at the screen. “Oh.” She typed in a response and sent it before Andreas could query her about the recipient.

  “The wolves,” she said aloofly. “They needed to know our exact location.”

  He set his nails against the flesh over his sternum again. Inside, he felt that beastly stir again—the agitated flexing of an impatient, untrusting animal. “Well, surely, you didn’t tell them, did you?”

  “Well, yes, that’s the point. They can’t help you if they can’t get close to you, and what difference would it make if they came here versus some random, public place? At least here, we’re in your territory.” She giggled, but he didn’t find anything amusing about the joke.

  They were in his territory, and he’d defend his home against all outsiders. He’d protect what was his and who was his, and didn’t care how bloody the fight was. If they got anywhere near—

  His hand, pale before, was brown and gnarling. His nails extending and curling under. Fur spreading.

  He gripped his transforming wrists and yanked his blurring gaze up to her. “No!”

  “No, no, no, stay with me.” She grabbed him by his hair and yanked. “Don’t you dare shapeshift right now. Resist!”<
br />
  ___

  “Damn you!” Mary spat, and then ran as quickly as she could to the door Andreas had herded her through. She just needed to get it open. She wasn’t going anywhere—she wouldn’t abandon him—but she needed to let those other wolves in. If she’d ever thought there was a possibility she’d be trying to outrun a territorial werewolf, she wouldn’t have put money on a wager.

  “You stay!” she snapped, weaving through the clutter in the basement and eying the door at the side. “I don’t know which part of you is listening to me right now, but I swear, if you don’t behave yourself, I will hogtie you and torture you with every trick in my arsenal the moment you shift back. You like whips? I’ve got one.”

  The wolf stopped. Then, he canted his head in a very human way and eased closer.

  She scoffed. “Damned Vikings. I bet you’d like that, huh? A little bondage and pain would probably set you off like a rocket. I’ll have to think of something else. What do dogs dislike? Baths?” She climbed atop a crate and then jumped down on the other side.

  If she could get around the row of boxes, she only needed to zip past the door and knock the latch up. It was a very simple, but effective, closure.

  “Can you hear me, Andreas? Is that you I see in the wolf’s eyes, or are you letting the beast make a fool of you? That doesn’t sound like something a man who’s meant to be my mate would have a problem with. My man would be in control.”

  She suspected that she needed to control him, but she didn’t want to tell him that. She wanted to get him angry enough that he forced himself back to his two-legged configuration.

  “No man of mine would let a dog lead him around. He’d be the one holding the leash.”

  Andreas paused his pursuit again and did that odd canting of his head, though he had one paw still raised to take another step.

  She ran.