by London Casey
Damn, but the woman knew how to suck a cock. Went down on him like she’d never get enough. The perfect O of her lips encircled the tip the same way they did one of her favorite flavored cigars. And the woman knew her way around a good cigar.
Her tongue flicked over, teased and licked his lollypop before covering him completely. Over and over again, she sucked and laved until his balls practically crawled up his back.
“Damn, Chrys. God, that feels so good. Yeah, suck it, baby.”
Her hums and moans became frantic, sending a wicked vibration through his cock and sac. Rahn loved the way she got all hot and bothered from giving him head. He knew if he reached down and stroked her pussy, she’d be soaked and ready for him.
A strong hand slid over the ridges of his abs and up to tweak a stiff male nipple. The other followed her talented mouth up and down his stiff length. The woman’s whole body was into what she was doing, hips wriggling, back arched. She mumbled around him, her breath both cooling and warming his throbbing length.
“Mmm, you taste so good,” she panted. “All male and musky and…mine.”
Between wet swirls of her tongue and equally wet draws on his flesh, the words spilled out and sent his heat level soaring.
“I’m so hot right now. My pussy is aching. Oh god, I need it.”
How he loved it when she talked dirty. He loved it even more when she followed through. Chrys crawled up his body. The next instant, Rahn gasped with pleasure, balls-deep inside scalding-hot, wet, willing woman. And she rode him until the cream of her cunt frothed around the base of his rod.
“Oh yeah, Chrys. Give me that pussy, baby. Fuck me.”
“Yes. Rahn. Mmmm…” Each word rose in volume and intensity until she yelled her pleasure. He shattered into a million pieces as her juicy sex rippled and gripped, pulling his own orgasm from the base of his cock.
Holding her tight to his chest, Rahn kissed the wild riot of curls on top of her head. The Great Spirit had truly blessed him.
He had two African lions, strong and regal, for spirit guides. A job he loved. And the most special woman on earth, his equal professionally, spiritually and definitely in the bedroom. And he loved her to the depths of his soul. More than he could have ever imagined loving another human being.
And he’d found her in the most unlikely of places.
On an Egyptian voyage.
Also by Author TJ Michaels
Carinian’s Seeker
Book One in the Vampire Council of Ethics series.
Serati’s Flame
Book Two in the Vampire Council of Ethics series.
Hatsept Heat
Book Three in the Vampire Council of Ethics series.
Wild Winter Anthology
Feral Fascination Anthology
Gift Wrap Optional
Jaguar’s Rule
Spirit of the Pryde
Turn the page for a preview of TJ Michael’s award-nominated book paranormal romance that brings the wilds of the jungles of Belize up close…and very personal:
Jaguar’s Rule
Chapter One
The big male swatted at the female’s head but missed. She’d eluded his huge paw, jumped to the side of the unconscious human lying face down on the ground, his blood mingling with the wet grass. The female crouched again, ready to spring and prepared to fight for the human. He didn’t doubt he could take her, but the set of her powerful shoulders and the gleam of the moonlight off her bared canines made him think twice. He’d seen this particular female before, often out in the jungle. None of the other males ever approached her. Perhaps she was a formidable foe?
But he wasn’t just another male. He was a prime of his species, a jaguar, a fully grown panthera onca who always got what he wanted. He decided he wanted her.
She thought he was after the body she guarded. Good, let her. He would back off for now, taking the opportunity she’d unknowingly given him to watch her closely and see just what kind of female he was dealing with. But he had no doubt that in the end, she would find herself underneath him while he thrust with powerful strokes into her body. Oh yes, she would yield. He would see to it. And perhaps afterward, he would keep her.
Uhhnnn, owww. Aaron was sure someone had split his head open and used a metal baseball bat to work sand into the wound. And those voices! God, why wouldn’t they just shut up? The buzz overlaying the words of whoever needed to shut up drilled through his brain.
Each breath sucked into his lungs felt shallow, as if he couldn’t drag in enough air, and every breath out left behind a tight burning sensation. Why couldn’t he take a deep breath and hold it? Pain this intense could only mean one thing—he was dying.
The voices were louder now. Damn it. Ready to glare at the people talking when his head pounded like a drum at a rock concert, he was somewhat surprised at the gritty feel behind his lids as he forced them open. He blinked then blinked again, but the blurry images wouldn’t clear. They just moved back and forth in the dimly lit room. The sound of a million cawing birds filled his ears, and the sweet scent of wet grass floated on a cooling breeze across his skin. His bare skin. Did they have bare skin in the hereafter?
He blinked a few more times, wincing as the side of his head exploded with a new round of pain. And who was the bearded old man leaning close to his face? He wanted to lift his hand to smack the man and tell him to back up a bit. The garlic on his breath made Aaron’s stomach lurch but the pounding in his head was so fierce, just the thought of blowing chunks made him grit his teeth to hold back the bile while the vein in his forehead threatened to burst. The old man was speaking. What? Sounded something like mud, or blood, or…he just couldn’t make it out, his thoughts were too scrambled. Oblivion had been pretty sweet compared to this. Perhaps he could slip back into it?
But not before he caught a glimpse of the angel standing just behind the garlicky old man. Now he remembered, sort of. Lightning. His plane had gone down in the jungle after the engine under the left wing caught fire. The image was blurry but he knew an angel when he saw one. Was she here to take him to heaven? He was sure he’d done at least a few good deeds to warrant making it through the pearly gates.
This angel had milk chocolate skin and a set of piercing, almond-shaped, light gray eyes that made his pulse skip a beat or two. And her hair, a shoulder-length mane any woman would kill for. Thick and curly, it hit her shoulders at the perfect length and made his fingers want to reach out and touch the silky black-as-sin tresses before he floated away to the hereafter. The image of his angel wavered.
“Wait! Come back, beautiful! Can’t we spend some time? Maybe talk awhile before I leave this plane?” Could she hear his urgent whispers? Of course she could, all supernatural beings had great hearing. So why didn’t she respond? Instead, she just looked at him with a strange mix of pity and irritation. What the hell kind of angel was she anyway? She was supposed to be smiling at him, preparing him for his journey. Well, she obviously wasn’t interested in doing her job. Maybe if he lodged a formal complaint with God, she’d get fired.
The garlic master was back. His stomach lurched. Damn it, old man, he shouted in his head, and immediately regretted the ferocity of his thoughts. Now his neck, shoulders and ribs joined his head, pounding relentlessly against his skin from the inside out.
The older man stuck him on the top of his hand with something and the beauty faded away fast, but not before he got a good glimpse of the swell of the angel’s breasts and the curve of her shoulders. Since when did cherubs wear tank tops? It sure looked good on her. And how could be he in so much pain and still manage to achieve a hard-on? Damn, she’s sexy, he smirked at himself as his eyelids fluttered closed. Hell, even in his state of impending death, he was thinking with his cock instead of his brain.
I’m no better than the half-assed angel, he thought as sleep claimed him.
Reya followed Dr. Matons out of her bedroom and closed the door with a quiet snap. After brewing herself a cup of tea, she joined her old
friend out on the screened veranda and plopped down in her favorite plastic patio chair. The smell of the passing storm was heavy in the air, along with the scent of charred wood and jet fuel. In spite of the evening’s hair-raising events, she was calm and determined.
Vanilla and clove scented smoke floated up from Dr. Matons’ pipe. She should have never asked her Aunt Sulu to send the stuff. Now the old curmudgeon would never again settle for the local tobaccos.
“Well, our little patient was lucky tonight,” Dr. Matons drawled around his pipe.
“Little patient?” Reya queried with amusement. She was sure she’d never met a man so long his feet practically hung off the edge of her bed, or a more muscularly perfect specimen as the one lying in her bedroom. She and Dr. Matons had spent the past several hours removing glass and plastic from various patches of skin. They’d stitched the deeper cuts across his back, wrapped his chest tightly and cleaned off all the blood. She’d seen every inch of his magnificent body and there was nothing, and she meant nothing, little about him.
“It’s a good thing you were out on patrol when his plane went down. I don’t know if he would have made it otherwise,” the doctor said, blowing out a ring of thick smoke. “He is certainly handsome, as men go.” His eyes crinkled at the sides as he watched her. The old matchmaker. Always looking for someone to pair her up with. Even an unconscious man in serious condition.
When she didn’t answer but stared out into the night, he continued. “I gave him a strong painkiller, but he’s not out of the woods. Do you mind if I sleep here so I can check on him during the night?”
“No, I don’t mind at all. Why don’t you take the office? The futon in there is pretty comfy. I’ll take the couch.” Her eyes hadn’t strayed from the tangle of ferns and vines leading into the dark canopy of jungle no more than a hundred yards from her back stairs.
“You’re not planning on going back out in this deluge, are you?”
“The storm is almost past. I’ll be fine. Besides, something weird happened out there tonight. If you’re still awake when I get back, I’ll tell you about it.”
The moon, pale and obscured by dark thunderheads, was the only light shining onto her second-story veranda. Reya unlaced her boots, toed them off and set them beside the screen door that led down the back stairs. Dr. Matons continued to puff on his pipe while she peeled off her tank top and blood-spattered pants, tossed them in a pile and loosely tied a small bundle around her neck.
“Be careful, my dear. Wake me when you return,” Dr. Matons called quietly. Extinguishing his pipe, he rose and slipped through the sliding glass door and into her living room.
Reya watched his retreating back until the subtle snap of the office door told her she was alone. Shirt, pants and shoes in a neat pile on the floor, she dropped to her knees. Muscles rippled and bunched as raw power surged through her limbs—heady, thunderous power as her body shortened then stretched. Her tall frame shuddered as thick fur burst through her pores, replacing smooth skin. The cooling breeze ruffled the sleek fur on the tufts of the ears of a black jaguar as she stalked down the stairs and loped into the surrounding jungle.
About the Author
TJ is a USA Today and NY Times bestseller, and an award-winning author of several romance genres, including paranormal, fantasy, sci-fi and urban fantasy romance. Writing like a madman, TJ hasn’t lost steam. Her mind? Yep, that’s gone, but steam there is a-plenty.
First Breath
Love in Time Book Two
Cate Dean
Copyright © 2014
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.
Cover design by Jes Richardson.
Sign up for Cate’s list: http://catedeanwrites.com/join-my-list to learn about new releases.
Trapped in the ancient past, Kane and Elizabeth must find a killer – before one of them becomes a victim.
Jackson Kane and Elizabeth Barrritt head for home – and land at the edge of Roman Britain, on Hadrian’s Wall. The wrong side of Hadrian’s Wall.
After Kane is accused of murder just minutes into their painful arrival, Elizabeth does everything she can to free him. When the body count rises, the investigation takes a dark turn, and she becomes desperate to prove him innocent.
She has to find the real killer – or risk losing Kane forever.
A Note From Cate
Though I do dive into actual locations, this is a work of fiction. I have been as historically accurate as I can be, when the research is available. If I do take liberties, it is to keep the story as a story, and not the dry history book you didn’t read in high school.
Book One in the series is FREE
Chapter One
The portal threw Kane and Elizabeth into the cold night air—and straight at a wall.
This time he couldn’t put himself between her and danger. They both slammed into the wall, and tumbled to damp grass.
“Beth—” Kane rolled over, flinching at the movement. Elizabeth was on his right, visible against the lighter stone, and hunched over like she was in pain. “Talk to me, Beth.”
“Ouch,” she whispered. One hand pressed against her left temple. “It doesn’t get any easier.”
His shoulder agreed; it ached like the devil. Hell, his entire right side was stiff, and useless. That hardly surprised him. What did surprise was the absence of nausea he usually experienced when he traveled with an injury.
He pushed up to his knees. “Give me your hand, love.”
She started to straighten, and halted with low moan. “I think my head hit harder than I first thought.”
Kane shot to his feet, ignoring his own pain. He knelt beside her, used his stronger left arm to help her sit. When she lifted her head, her waist length blonde hair slid away from her face—and revealed blood. Too much blood.
“Stay still, now.” He settled her against his chest, carefully tilted her chin, and used the moonlight to illuminate her face. Blood streaked her left cheek, from a gash just below her hairline. “Hell.” His right hand fumbled for the handkerchief in his pocket. Even now, after more than two months of physiotherapy, he had little strength, and less control. Finally, he grasped it, transferred it to his left hand. “You’ve got a right nasty gash, love. I am sorry—this is going to sting.”
He touched the wound and she recoiled. “God—”
“I’m sorry. Please—I need you to keep still.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes when he dabbed at the blood. “God, that hurts—ow—” Her voice spiraled up as she jerked away. “No more—it feels like you’re drilling into my head.” She touched her forehead. “Damn.”
“We need to get you out of this cold.” Kane looked around. Aside from the wall stretching above them, the moonlight revealed nothing but hills, field and trees. “Arm around my shoulders, now.”
“No—your shoulder—”
“Is strong enough.” The lie came out smoothly. Maybe because he had been telling it to himself since he was injured.
“I can walk. Just help me stand.” She laid her hand on his right arm, and froze. “Oh.” Her fingers dug in as she stared out at the landscape.
Kane ignored the twinge. “You know where we are.”
She swallowed, turned her head. “I’ve never been here, but I’ve seen hundreds of photos. That hill, the curve of the wall, they are distinctive. I want to be wrong,” she whispered. “But I think we’re on Hadrian’s Wall.” Her fingers brushed the pale stone. “The wrong side of Hadrian’s Wall.”
Elizabeth stared at the impossible. A complete stone wall, standing at least twelve feet high. If it was daylight, she knew she’d see the ditch they huddled in. They landed on the north side, facing Scotland, at the back side defe
nse of an important fort. Housesteads. They were outside Housesteads.
No—Vercovicium. That was the latest name the historians she read were tossing around.
They had to get out of sight before—
“Ho!” The deep, masculine shout froze her.
Kane took her down to the ground. The movement had her gasping. “Stay still.” He whispered against her ear, his body covering her. If something nasty came their way, he would get hit first.
She understood his move, even if it left her dizzy and sweating. With their dark clothes, they blended into the shadows of the ditch. She swallowed the nausea burning her throat.
Silence spread around them, broken only by the wind sweeping over the grass. Elizabeth let out her breath. Kane’s low, accented voice brushed her ear. “I am going to help you stand, and we are getting out of here.”
“Kane.” He stopped. “There’s nowhere to go.”
The string of inventive curses, some in other languages, made her smile. “You’re certain?”
“If we’re where I think we are.” She swallowed again, her head pounding in earnest now. “There is a civilian settlement below the fort, but even if we could get there, we’ll stand out like goats at a party.” His chuckle rumbled through her, reminding her that he lay sprawled on top of her. His clean, woodsy scent surrounded her, calmed her. “And everyone will be speaking Latin. I don’t know about you—”