by P. Jameson
Punk ran her hands down his chest, digging her nails in just enough to make him hiss with pleasure.
“When I’m inside you, I want those in my back,” he growled. “Understand?”
She nodded, scooting down his body so she could kiss him. First his chest, dragging her lips over the ridges of his muscles. His breath sawed in and out, a rumble of satisfaction making its way past his throat. Lower and lower she went, licking her way across his rippled abs, breathing in his masculine scent until she reached his waist.
She sat back to take in the sight. He was big. Bigger than she could’ve assumed. His erection stood tall and proud between them, begging for her kiss.
“Mmm,” she murmured in appreciation, wrapping her hand around it and pumping slowly.
Her gaze flicked to him. He looked utterly destroyed by her touch. Why hadn’t she done this sooner?
Keeping her eyes locked on his, she lowered her mouth, taking his cock between her lips and swirling her tongue around the tip.
“Fuck,” Beast gasped, his shaky hand coming to land gently on the back of her head.
Releasing him with a quiet pop, she asked, “Was this on your list? Fucking my mouth?”
She licked him from base to tip, kissing the head gently.
“Yes, but—shit—if you don’t stop, I’m not going to last. And I have to be inside you tonight, Punk.”
“I don’t know if you’ll fit.” She lapped at the tip some more, memorizing his flavor, loving every fucking thing about this experience.
A growl ripped from his throat and he thrust up and into her mouth once before tossing her on her back and settling between her legs. He held his erection in one fist and slipped it up and down between the folds of her pussy, bumping her clit with every stroke and bringing her closer to another orgasm.
“I’ll make it fit,” he ground out, staring at his cock working her into a frenzy. “But not until you come one more time. Fuck, I’m so glad this is mine.”
Punk tossed her head back against the pillows. So good. He felt so good and he wasn’t even inside yet.
She felt the pressure building, climbing to a peak that she’d freefall from. So close.
“More,” she groaned.
But he didn’t increase his speed. He didn’t increase the pressure. He stayed steady, hitting her swollen clit with every sweep. The constant, steady movement is what sent her sprawling head over heels over the edge.
She screamed his name loud enough that Surge could probably hear from his room upstairs, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. Not now, when her whole world finally felt like a place she actually wanted to live in.
Beast collapsed on top of her, one rough hand cupping her breast and squeezing, the other supporting his weight. “Look at me,” he demanded.
Punk opened her eyes to stare deep into his. Slowly, he pressed against her entrance. He lifted her leg, opening her up wider and pushed inside. Slow, inch by inch, giving her time to adjust. It was tight. Her breath stalled, and she waited for the panic to come, but it didn’t.
It was Beast staring into her eyes, his expression full of wonder. It was Beast’s strong body holding her in place for his wonderful invasion. It was Beast who loved her.
He trembled with the effort to go slow, but finally he was buried to the base.
Punk couldn’t look away from his gaze. It was purely possessive, holding her captive, and she knew she was staring into the eyes of a wolf. It promised protection, servitude, devotion. But it also demanded her commitment in return. It demanded her body. It demanded everything.
And that’s what she was going to give him.
“Mate, you feel so good.” He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, sucking and tonguing the stud. He caught it with his teeth, gently pulling. The move sent a shot straight between her legs and she clenched around him. “I need to move.”
“Yes.”
He retreated slowly, the pull exquisite, luxurious, before he plunged forward. Beast gripped her hip, giving her one more leisurely retreat before he picked up the pace. His blistering gaze never left hers as he settled into a deep, quick rhythm that felt heavenly.
This was so right. So pure. She could feel the love in every thrust, in the way he gazed at her through slitted eyes, in the bite of his fingers where they gripped her thigh.
Tears came to her eyes.
Beast frowned, slowing. “Punk baby?”
“Don’t stop,” she mewled. “Please, god, don’t stop.”
He kissed the tears from her cheeks but never stopped making love to her.
“Mark me this time. I don’t want to wait. Please, Beast, I want to be yours. I want this for the rest of my life. Please…” The words tumbled from her mouth and wouldn’t stop. She was damn near delirious with pleasure and her chest felt like it couldn’t hold any more feeling for this man. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She’d never begged for anything in her life, but she’d beg Beast if that’s what it took.
He kissed her hard on the lips, his teeth knocking with hers. “Okay,” he said, his hips swinging. “This is it. I’m going to claim you for good. Are you ready?”
“Yes, yes. Damn it, yes.”
Beast dropped his face to her neck. His sweet nuzzle was in direct conflict to the brutal pounding he was giving her down below. She felt the hot swipe of his tongue and once again, her body clenched for another release. This one was going to be explosive.
Sharp teeth grazed her skin, and her vision went black as she came apart.
A ferocious growl split the air and then the sting of Beast’s bite paralyzed her. It should’ve frightened her, being powerless and at the whim of another, but something amazing was happening. She felt like her story was being rewritten. An eraser was taken to the bad parts and over it was written in permanent marker, never to be altered. She could feel it, the mating bond connecting her to Beast.
One last thrust and she felt his warm release branding her from the inside. He held her close, his teeth still in her skin until he was finished.
Punk gasped, still twitching inside and reeling from how powerful their connection was, both the physical and the emotional. Ella was right. This was more than any human could understand unless they’d experienced it.
Beast carefully released his jaw, blowing on the raw bite. “You’re mine,” he said in wonder. He pulled back to stare at her and she saw the moisture in his eyes. “I’m so fucking happy right now. Tell me you’re okay.”
Punk grinned so wide, she’d be embarrassed if anyone but Beast saw it. “I’m… I’m… there aren’t words. I feel so… good.”
“You feel the bond?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “How did you do that?”
He rubbed his nose against hers. “I just loved you. That’s all.”
She fingered her new body modification, the imprint of his bite. This one meant so much more than all the others. “Does it look okay?”
Punk felt him twitch inside her where they were still connected. “Baby, it’s fucking gorgeous.”
“I can’t wait to mark you.”
“I think you already did.”
Beast carefully slid out of her, and twisted so she could see his back. Either side of his shoulder blades were streaked with claw marks.
Punk burst into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Beast grinned, pouncing on her. “I told you I wanted your nails in my back. You just obeyed your mate. As you should.”
“Oh, is that right? Are you going to expect me to do everything I’m told now that you put a ring on it?”
His gaze fell to her mark and he fingered it gingerly. “Only if you want me to keep making tomato soup.”
“Damn it, Beast. Not fair.”
Gazing up at her, the side of his mouth curled into a sexy grin. “I’m a racer, baby. I never play fair, but I win.” He kissed her neck.
“I think it’s too early to tell who the winner is. It might even take our entire liv
es to figure it out.”
He stared into her eyes. “No. I won when you gave me forever. Now, lay back and let me have my prize. Again.”
Punk sucked in a breath of anticipation as his mouth clamped around her nipple. “Again?”
“Mm hm. And again,” he murmured, dropping kisses on her belly. “I’m going to wear you out, let you sleep, and then do it all over again.”
She moaned, gasping as Beast nipped her hip. “Good plan. Sounds like we both win.”
Growling, he said, “I’ll let you know, mate… at the end of forever.”
About the Author
P. Jameson likes to spend her time daydreaming, and then rearranging those dreams into heartstring-pulling stories of trial and triumph. Paranormal is her jam, so you’re sure to find said stories full of hot alpha males of the supernatural variety. She lives next door to the great Ozark Mountains with her husband and kids, who provide her with plenty of writing fodder.
For more information about P. Jameson and future stories, visit www.pjamesonbooks.blogspot.com or find her on Facebook. To sign up for P. Jameson’s newsletter and receive updates on book releases go HEREor copy and paste the following link into your browser:eepurl.com/3s00L
Don’t miss Blister’s story in Book #3 of the Dirt Track Dogs series by P. Jameson
Coming June 2015
Other books by P. Jameson
Dirt Track Dogs
Racing the Alpha (Book 1)
Racing the Beast (Book 2)
Racing Home (Coming Soon)
Ozark Mountain Shifters
A Mate’s Denial (Book 1)
A Mate’s Sacrifice (Book 2)
A Mate’s Revenge (Book 3)
A Mate’s Submission (Book 4)
Holiday Novella
A Mate’s Wish (Amazon)
Read on for a sneak peek at Book 1 of the Ozark Mountain Shifters series…
A Mate’s Denial (Ozark Mountain Shifters, Book 1)
Chapter One
There she was. After months of hunting, at last he had her in his sights. All he could see was the back of her honey brown head through the café window, but he was certain it was her. His wolf could sense his mate no matter how far away, but this close he could, ever so faintly, catch her scent. The fresh smell—like evergreens and cherry blossoms—made his heart thunder, his pants tighter, and everything under his skin come alive.
Damn wolf. Now was not the time to get excited. He needed to stick to the plan. If he went in there like He-man, it could mess things up. He needed to be patient. Had to keep the wolf at bay for a little while longer.
Trager sat back in the seat of his motorcycle and turned the engine off. He couldn’t get a good look at her from his vantage point, but he didn’t necessarily want to get closer. Too risky. He’d just wait her out. She’d have to leave sometime.
His shades made it possible for him to spy on her in broad daylight, but unfortunately, there was only a bobbing head to be seen. He would’ve given his left nut for a view of her profile. Waiting this long left him feeling desperate.
The amount of time he spent outside the café was measured in units of torture. By the time she left the place, he was dying for even a hint at what his mate looked like. A hint other than the color of her hair. Which was fucking awesome. In his experience, brunettes were always hotter.
Trager didn’t own a watch, and he didn’t feel like digging his phone out to check the time, but if every bob of his mate’s dark head was the equivalent of a second, he sat there for almost an hour before she finally stepped out of the café.
Anticipation made his breath catch in his throat. A truck whizzed by, obscuring his view for more seconds than he could possible tolerate. Fisting his hands, he waited, heart thundering…
Finally, he got a look at her, and the first thing he noticed was what she wore. Khakis. A pale pink polka-dotted shirt, sensible shoes, and khakis. He was appalled, but then a grin inched one side of his mouth upward. He’d like to get her out of those drab clothes. Peel every stitch off slowly, revealing her luscious body one centimeter at a time, until there was all skin and zero fabric.
Trager swallowed hard. His smile slipped and he gripped the handle of his bike to keep steady.
She was going to reject him. It had been prophesied by the Elders when he was still a pup, that his mate would deny him, that he would never find love, that he would never have young.
That single foretelling rendered him useless to the pack. A male who couldn’t secure a mate? One who couldn’t produce offspring? Even though he’d been too young to do much more than simply survive pack life, he was the weakest link and therefore expelled. Or as he liked to think of it, tossed on his ass.
He’d spent so much of his life hoping the Elders were wrong. Now, he needed them to be. And not because his mate was beautiful beyond words, with a body he’d love to spend a lifetime learning to master. No, he needed them to be wrong because his pack—the very ones who’d betrayed him—was in danger.
And she was the only one who could save them.
His plan had to work. There was much more at stake than the future of his love life.
Her scent drifted over to him, a thousand times stronger than it had been when she was still inside. His wolf shuffled under his skin, wanting out, because he knew Trager wasn’t going any closer to her. Wolf wanted to get cozy, and Trager wouldn’t mind either, but he had to take it easy.
He gripped the handle of his bike so hard, it squeaked.
His mate paused by the door of the restaurant to dig in her purse, her long hair falling to shield what he knew now was full round cheeks, big almond-shaped eyes, and a mouth that formed a perfect puckered bow.
Time to go. He needed to regroup, rethink. Some place her scent wasn’t clouding his mind.
Trager revved his bike, preparing to escape her presence and find a way to calm his wolf. But at the first sound of the engine, his mate’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing, her gaze lasering on him.
His mouth dried, at the look on her face. Shock, anger, concern. He couldn’t understand why she looked at him like that, with her already big eyes widening.
Attempting to ignore her, he turned the wheel of his bike to pull into the lane, narrowly missing a minivan. But that wasn’t the real trouble….
It happened so fast all he could do was react, and deal with any consequences later.
The pop of a chain snapping, the rush of collective gasps, the whoosh of something falling fast enough to do a hell of a lot of damage when it landed. He had the smallest fraction of a second to make sure his mate was out of harm’s way.
When he realized he was the one in danger, not her, he dove from his bike, rolling across the road, thankful for a break in the traffic. Before he’d even come to a stop, a crash that sounded like a bomb exploding, sent dust and debris skittering into the road. He jumped up, and lunged at his mate, shielding her from any possible shrapnel.
Their surroundings erupted in commotion. A disturbing combination of sirens wailing, people yelling, and horns honking. But Trager hardly noticed any of it. Not with his mate pressed so close to him he could feel her heart pounding like the fluttering of a tiny bird’s wings. Up close, she was even more delectable, her lips parted slightly. His body surged with adrenaline, breath heaving with the effort to keep his wolf in check. He wanted to put his nose to the soft skin of her neck and sniff, until her scent was all he knew.
Her brow furrowed, forming a tiny line between her eyes, before she pushed at his chest. “Let me go!”
A command. He immediately stepped back, releasing her. She wobbled on her feet, but when he reached out to steady her, she jerked away. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. And so it begins.
Trager cleared his throat—twice—before he could speak. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Fine. You?” Her voice sounded angry rather than concerned.
“I’m good. My bike might not be though.” Staring back over his shoulder, he cou
ld see the dust was clearing. A crowd of people gathered around his crumpled motorcycle. Some stared his way, pointing, their lips flapping a story about his narrow escape.
Trager’s gaze went upward, to the heavy machinery working the nearby construction site. It appeared a steel beam had come loose and fallen on his poor ride. Damn. Just… damn.
“Perhaps if you weren’t so careless,” his mate huffed.
Wait, what? Careless?
He turned back to her. “Excuse me?”
She bent to retrieve her purse where it had fallen on the ground, and came up brushing dark strands of hair from her face. “Careless. Reckless. I don’t know who you think you are, but you almost caused an accident right before your… accident. You should be more careful. Karma can be a bitch.”
Trager narrowed his eyes. “Are you really suggesting that I could have prevented a steel beam from falling on my bike if I’d been a tad more careful?”
She raised a dark eyebrow. “Yeah, pretty much.”
He crossed his arms. “Oh, I’d love to hear this. Please, enlighten me.”
“Sure,” she snapped. “If you had been watching where you were going, you wouldn’t have almost hit the van. They wouldn’t have slammed on their brakes, causing traffic to slow. You could have carefully pulled into the lane, and the beam would have missed you altogether. By seconds, of course, but yes, this could have been avoided. But you’re just like all bikers, utterly careless of anyone but yourself.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. So, his mate had an axe to grind.
Trager cocked his head to the side, searching her face. There was fire in her eyes, but also something else. She’d been hurt. Vitriol like that could only be born from pain. Something inside him stirred. A feeling of protectiveness. He wished he’d found her sooner. Maybe he could’ve prevented whatever had hurt her.