My hips flexed, instinctively, pumping like pistons, fucking her mouth as she groaned her approval. Her fingers clenched over my ass, pinning me closer, working me harder, in and out.
“Lo, shit,” I ground out through gritted teeth. No fucking way. There was no way I was going out like that.
I grasped her hair in my shaking hands and, calling on every ounce of self-discipline I had, I held her still.
“Inside you,” I said. My voice was all raspy, far quieter than the breath sawing in and out of my lungs. I could feel my heart pounding from my ears to my cock and I focused on trying to slow it, trying to get a grip. If she would just stop with the tongue…
“Lola,” I snapped.
She froze and then shifted her gaze upward to blink up at me.
“Lay back on the bed.” My tone brooked no argument, but it remained to be seen whether or not she would listen to me.
She hesitated, her brown eyes still hazy as she pulled back and released me.
“Do you not like it?”
“Oh, I like it. But I want to come inside you. I want us to come together.”
“I already came.”
“Once,” I agreed, and then pressed her back against the mattress. I kicked my underwear aside and climbed in after her, covering her soft, sweet body with mine. Her breasts were crushed against my chest and I could feel her hard nipples, branding me like hot pokers. “And now you’re going to come again.”
She swallowed hard, her long, elegant throat working as she bit her swollen bottom lip. “I don’t think I can.”
I didn’t respond with words. Instead, I pressed my knee between hers and spread her legs wide to slip my hand between us. Her mouth formed an “O” as I found her slick center and slid two fingers deep, in one, sure thrust.
Her back bowed, mashing her tits against my face and primal satisfaction roared through me. I could die like this and be happy. My fingers buried in Lola, her soft breasts against my face, the sound of her catchy moans ringing in my ears.
But then she was on the move again, hips rolling, working my digits in and out in long, deep strokes. “Oh my god, Reid, that feels so good.”
I let her have her way, controlling the movement, slowing and then quickening, until her muscles tensed and her eyes went wild. Then I pulled back and took my cock in hand, positioning myself at her entrance.
“Do it,” she panted. “Please.”
I probed her entrance with the thick head of my cock, sucking wind in an attempt to catch my breath. Then, in one surge, I plunged forward, seating myself to the hilt.
The room went stone silent and began to spin, her body closed over my cock like a fist. All the discipline I’d managed to gather evaporated under the nuclear heat of it all, and I was done for. The need to come came barreling down on me like a monsoon and I didn’t fight it this time. I just let it swallow me whole as I pulled back and drove deep again.
She gasped my name and I bent forward to nip her chin before taking her lips in a punishing kiss. Our bodies were on autopilot, racing toward the finish line, hips slamming together, the slap of skin on skin growing more frantic with every thrust.
She was pulling me in, dragging me over, and then the world fell away. She cried out against my mouth and flexed hard, her muscles tensing as her pussy fluttered around me. Squeeze and release, squeeze and release.
Hot liquid snaked up the length of my shaft and I couldn’t contain the grunt as it spurted forward, exploding into her. I stilled, buried as deep as I could get, my cock jerking as I came.
The minutes ticked by and my heartbeat finally started to slow as Lo quieted beneath me. Just like the other times before with her, the euphoria didn’t fade now that the edge had been taken off. In fact, I was as stoked to lay in bed with her and watch movies and laugh as I’d been to touch her, just in a different way.
I rolled to my side and dragged her with me, pulling her tight to my chest.
“Love you, Reid,” she murmured, her warm breath washing over my neck. I squeezed her tighter and tried not to let the little kernel of darkness in the back of my mind take up any more real estate than it already had.
It was going to be okay. I had Lo’s back and she had mine. I’d meet with Sherri and it would either work out, or it wouldn’t. But Lo and I, we were straight. Isolated from this mess.
Because, after all it had taken to get us to this point, the last thing I was going to do was let Sherri McDaniels get between us…
Stay tuned for the final installment in the McDaniels Brothers series, Between Us, Reid and Lola, Book Three, coming early March 2015!
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Want more romance? Check out this steamy FREEBIE by Christine’s New York Times Bestselling pen name, Chloe Cole!
Home for the Howlidays
Nicklaus Maslov left Stone Creek, Montana, in his rear–view mirror three years ago and never planned to go back. His pack’s ways are antiquated, and the girl he loves will never be his. But when his father, the pack’s alpha, sends him an urgent message, he can’t deny the protective instinct drawing him back to his hometown, or the lure of the one that got away.
Petra Stevens has had her heart stomped on once and vows it will never happen again. When her former lover and packmate returns to Stone Creek, all the rage and hurt she felt when he’d left comes bubbling to the surface…along with other feelings she can’t control. If she can just avoid him while he’s in town, things will be fine. But fate has other plans…
Excerpt
“Son of a bitch.”
Nicklaus yanked his parka more tightly around his shoulders and grimaced as another wet glob of snow slid down the inside of his boot. He didn't miss this part of Montana. Even with his body temperature at a solid three degrees hotter than a normal human, winters here were still bitter.
He stomped through the three feet of white powder that led up the pathway to his new digs, grumbling under his breath the whole way. If only his brother could see him now. Ivan would've laughed his ass off and told him that living in Aruba had made him soft. Maybe it had, but the knowledge didn’t warm him up in the least.
In fact, so far, being back in his hometown was everything he'd imagined it would be when he'd left three years before.
Not good.
Memories crowded in on him like a murder of angry crows, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to fight them off.
"As you can see, the place needs some love. It's been a while since a family lived here, so it's a bit rough around the edges. Maybe it’s just me, but I like it that way." The petite, blond real estate agent tossed a smile over her shoulder that suggested the dilapidated cabin wasn't the only thing that was looking a little rough and to her liking.
He raked a hand over his stubbled chin and squashed down his annoyance. It wasn't her fault the only place for short-term rent in a twenty-mile radius was this shit-hole. Besides, he didn't need much. A pot to piss in, a frying pan, some food, and a burner to cook it on would about do it.
And heat. Definitely some heat.
She keyed open the front door and they both stomped their feet to get some of the slush off before she led him into the sparse, dated kitchen.
"I picked up the things you'd asked for and plugged in the fridge for you, so you should be all set. Coffee is in there." She pointed a manicured fingertip toward a scuffed pair of maple cabinets before holding out her other hand. "And here are the keys. Back and front door share the same locking mechanism, and the second key is for the shed out back. There's a snow blower in there if you need it, as well as some shovels and such."
He set down his duffel bag and took the keys from her, forcing a polite smile. All he wanted was to lay his head down and catch ten winks. It had been a long flight, and he hadn’t been able to stop his brain chatter for a second of it.
"I know you said it’s been a while since you’ve been back
, and there are a few newer places to eat that have opened up. Moe's Grill on the corner of Main and Barstow is pretty good if you like ribs and the like, and then a tiny cubbyhole of a place called Caroline's over on Market Street has fabulous stews and soup, perfect for a winter meal." She gave him a lingering smile and patted her helmet of hair. "If you need someone to help you reacquaint yourself with the area, you have my card."
She held his gaze a little too long and he swallowed a sigh. What was it about him that tight-ass, uppity women seemed to flock his way? So not his type, but that didn't stop them. Maybe it was the scruffy beard that made him look dangerous or something.
He made a mental note to shave when he got the chance, because the less attention he got, the better. In fact, if he could get in and out of town before Christmas without running into anyone he knew besides the man he’d come to see, he’d be happier than a little pig in a brick house.
"I appreciate the offer, Marjorie." He laid a hand on her shoulder, which felt bony even through the layers of her down parka, and led her toward the door. "And thanks for finding this place on such short notice. I know it was tough on you."
She waved him off like it was nothing as he swung the door open. "Any time. Call if you need anything…at all," she said, this time adding a wink to make sure he got her drift.
"Will do." Not really.
“Also, supposed to be some weather later tonight, so be careful.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped out into the Montana open-air freezer.
He watched her go, blowing out a sigh of relief. One hurdle clear. Only ten more to go.
Hell, that was an understatement. Just dealing with whatever pack business his father had summoned him for was going to count for a dozen.
Maybe after his nap he'd take a run out to town and find one of those new restaurants. A bowl of piping hot stew would hit the spot right now and give him one last reprieve before tomorrow’s meeting.
He cranked up the thermostat and climbed onto the narrow bed that sat in the far corner of the single room cabin. He hadn't closed his eyes for a second when the memories came crashing down on him again.
Watching as his twin's casket was lowered into the ground.
The vicious fight with his father.
And Petra. Always Petra.
* * *
"I'll take a quart of the Italian Wedding to go."
Petra Stevens stood behind the bar and swiped a hand over her forehead, taking a quick peek at the clock. More than an hour before closing time and her feet were already killing her. "Sure thing, Mrs. Davis. About five minutes. You want some bread to go with that?"
"Oh, yes. Frank would be so upset if I brought the soup home without it." The old woman's nearly toothless grin made Petra want to grin back in spite of her aching tootsies, and she didn't fight the urge.
"I'll put some extra in the bag, then."
Mrs. Davis settled onto one of the bar stools and Petra shuffled into the kitchen.
"Large Italian Wedding to go."
Her best friend and business partner, Lita, stood in front of the industrial stove and gave her a cheery thumbs up. "You got it, kiddo."
Kiddo?
"What's got you so frigging chipper? It's going to snow again tonight and then freezing rain all day tomorrow. Business is going to be shit, and you're back here grinning like a loon."
They'd had three good days in a row, which was a miracle, but so far, winter was killing them and it wasn’t even Christmas yet. If they’d had any staff besides the two of them and Rosie, their part-timer, they’d be looking at seasonal layoffs.
Apparently, whatever had Lita in such good spirits was bigger than that.
"He called me," she said, ladling some soup into a pan, a grin stretching out over her gamine face. "Chad. The guy I went out with twice last week? He's going to pick me up at closing and then we're going back to his place for hot chocolate and a movie."
"That's great. I know you said he seems really nice." Petra pasted on a smile in return and hoped it looked genuine.
She was happy for her friend. Truly. But Lita was infamous for falling madly, wildly in love and then getting her heart spectacularly broken, to the point that she could barely function.
And then she found a new guy and did it all over again.
While part of Petra admired the tenacity, another part couldn't help but wonder if her friend had a screw loose. One heartbreak was more than enough for a lifetime. The idea of putting herself out there, again and again, for a guy to obliterate her emotionally seemed like an exercise in masochism.
"Stop making that face," Lita called over her shoulder as she stirred the heating soup with a wooden spoon.
"You're not even looking at me anymore," Petra muttered.
"I don't need to. I bet a million bucks you’re rocking that pinched, disapproving expression. But guess what?" Her friend met her gaze then, and brandished her spoon in warning. "I don't give a shit. You know why?" She didn't wait for Petra's answer. "Because I deserve to be loved, in love, and happy. And so do you."
Petra barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Lita was forever reading self-help books on dating and quoting them at whoever would listen. After a while, it got irritating, but being that Lita was also really funny, generous to a fault, and the kind of friend who would not only help you hide the bodies, but also torch or dismember them if need be, cutting her loose wasn't an option.
Still, enough was enough.
"If you promise I won’t have to come over and force-feed you for a week if it doesn’t work out this time, I'll stay out of your love life. But then you have to stay out of mine." Petra held her hand out for the soup container Lita was putting a top on, hoping to hurry the process along so she could get out of the kitchen before her friend switched into full-blown lecture mode.
"I would be very amenable to that. Except you don't have a love life for me to stay out of. So…" Lita shrugged and handed Petra the soup, the playfulness fading from her face. "Seriously, though. Don't you think three years is long enough, sweetie? I know he hurt you, but it's long past time to get back on the horse."
Petra ignored the stab of pain that came with the words and stuffed the container and a mini-loaf of bread into a white bag before spinning on her heels and heading toward the swinging door. "I don't need a horse. I can walk on my own two feet, thanks. I’ve got to get back to work."
She pushed through the door and stepped back behind the bar, sucking in a steadying breath. Lita was right about one thing. It had been three years, and that was far too long to allow a man to hurt her. But the last thing she needed was another one to swoop in and take up the mantle. What Lita didn't know was that Petra wasn’t like everyone else she knew, and her kind didn't love like humans.
Werewolves loved deep and forever and to the point of pain, at times. Breakups just didn't happen. The only thing that separated true mates was death.
Ergo, Klaus wasn't your true mate, or he wouldn't have left you.
Which meant there was someone else out there she could love more than Klaus who was her true mate. And if that was the case? She never wanted to meet him.
Even now, just thinking about her ex made everything inside her hurt. She pushed back the sense of foreboding that slid over her.
"All set, dear?" Mrs. Davis asked, eying Petra expectantly from her perch on the other side of the bar.
Petra nodded, cheeks growing warm. She'd just been standing there holding the soup like an idiot. "Yes, sorry. Let me ring you up."
She set the bag on the bar between them and took care of her customer, hoping against hope she wasn’t the last of the night. A quick glance out the window cut that thought short and she winced. They still had more than an hour to go before closing but the sky had already gone pitch dark, the rolling clouds eclipsing the moon.
“I’d better get home before it starts coming down.” The little bell on the door jingled as Mrs. Davis scurried out, and Petra shoved aside a rising sense of pan
ic.
An empty bar would be the kiss of death for her psyche tonight. Keeping busy was the only way to stay sane when Klaus was at the forefront of her mind like this.
Her favorite days were the ones where she was running from dawn until dusk. Summertime was best. The restaurant was hopping and by the time she crawled into bed at night, she was too tired to dream. Too exhausted to remember, or miss it at all. The way he smelled. The way he tasted. The way his hands—
Shit.
Determined to find something to fill her time, she turned to face the wall of jewel-toned liquor bottles. It had been awhile since she’d taken them all down and done a deep cleaning.
She squatted low and turned up the volume on the little CD player housed in one of the cabinets, letting the strains of Fitz and the Tantrums fill the cozy but empty room. Rolling up the sleeves of her cable-knit sweater, she dove in.
Half an hour later, some of the tension had finally started to ease and she found herself singing along as she worked. Once she finished up here and treated herself to a steaming mug of hot chocolate before bed, she might have a shot at getting some rest tonight after all.
The music was too loud to hear the bell, but the frigid air washing over the back of her neck clued her in to the fact that she had a new customer. She leaned down and lowered the volume just in time to hear his greeting.
"Evening, there."
The silky baritone sent a wave of heat through her despite the open door and she froze in place, terrified to face him and confirm what her heart already knew, but just as afraid not to.
"You okay back there, miss?"
She turned slowly, every nerve-ending alight, and connected the face with the voice. And there he stood.
Nicklaus Maslov.
Former packmate.
Former lover.
The man who had ruined her for anyone else.
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