by Celia Styles
“Tell me.”
His voice was deeper than before, like the growl of an ancient lion. And his eyes…they haunted her, the things she thought she saw there.
“I want you.”
He did groan then, his chest swelling a little as he stared down at her.
“What do you want me to do?”
She tugged at his hair, pulling him close enough that she was able to brush her lips against his. But he didn’t respond, he didn’t make a single move to kiss her back.
“Deacon,” she moaned. “Please don’t do this. Please…”
“Tell me you want this,” he said so softly she almost couldn’t hear him. “Tell me you accept me as your mate, that you want what I have to offer.”
“I do. I want you.”
“Say it.”
Amy pressed herself against him, frustrated by the interference of her clothing, her nipples straining to touch his bare skin.
“I accept you as my mate.”
His groan was clear—and loud—that time. His arms immediately came around her, lifting her, his lips searching for hers on her throat, her chin. When their lips met, he instantly asked for entrance, his tongue invasive, but gentle, exploring, tasting, exciting. He carried her to the bed, both of them falling in a tangle of limbs. His hand slid under her skirt, his fingers seeking out the bottom edge of her sensible cotton panties. When his middle finger inadvertently brushed against her cunt, she cried out, her clit so swollen that it only took that minimal touch to send a shock of pleasure racing through her body.
Deacon suddenly pulled away. Amy reached for him, but he was turning her over, lifting the back of her skirt and ripping her panties away. She didn’t have time to catch her breath before he thrust inside of her so roughly that her mind had no chance to catch up before he began thrusting. She pressed her hips back against him, her vision going dark as her whole body became about the pleasure of his touch. His hands started on her hips, but they began to wander, one cupping a breast while his other sent a middle finger against her stiff, throbbing clit.
Fireworks seemed to go off in her head. She saw lights, color, as her belly tightened and her nerves short circuited. She had never felt an orgasm quite like this one. It wasn’t just a tingle deep in her belly. It was an earthquake, a shattering of her consciousness, a shock of bliss rushing through every inch of her body and soul.
Deacon’s movements stilled as she collapsed under his body. Very slowly sensation came back. She became aware of his naked chest pressed against the linen of her blouse, could feel the pounding of his heart. She felt the heat of his quick, harsh breaths against her ear, the smell of his sweat and his arousal—a heady smell that brought back to life the ache that lived deep in her belly.
He lifted her hair from her neck and kissed her jaw. She turned into him, wanting the taste of his mouth even at this awkward angle. She groaned when he pulled out of her, rolling onto his side so that their mouths could better touch and explore. His hands were gentler as he tugged at the buttons on her blouse, sliding the material off her arms so that he could have free access to the clasp of her bra. That, too, went sliding away, his mouth quickly searching for, and finding, each of her hard, elongated nipples. And then her skirt slid from her hips almost as if under its own volition, baring her body to the whims of her new lover.
He rolled her back down against the mattress, that hot, sexy mouth moving over throat, breast, and ribs, bringing back that frenzied excitement that she thought her orgasm had quelled. But the moment his tongue brushed against her clit, she knew she was headed down that same road, that her body was capable of more than she had ever imagined. She buried her fingers in his hair, guiding him to the places that begged the most for his touch, bending her knees and rolling her hips, pleasure too simple a word for the sensations his tongue, his lips, and his teeth were introducing her to.
“Oh, please,” she groaned, tugging at his hair. “I want to touch you.”
He obediently crawled back up beside her, the taste of her on his lips as he captured her mouth. She lingered for a moment, the throbbing between her legs so hard to ignore. She reached down and slid a finger over her own clit, a shock of pleasure rushing through her from just that slight touch.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as he slid his hand slowly over her ass. “So, fucking beautiful.”
And that—something about the sexy, vulgar word he chose to use—gave her the courage to do what she so desperately wanted to do. She straddled his chest and took his cock between her hands, impressed by the length and thickness, by the perfection, of it. She had never been too interested in looking at a man’s cock—Joshua’s was the only one she had seen up close and personal, not that she had ever looked at it when she could avoid it—but this…she wanted to memorize every inch of Deacon’s body.
And she wanted to taste.
She lowered herself to him, hesitating out of fear of disappointing. But then Deacon grasped her hips and pulled her cunt to his face, burying his tongue inside her without a hint of doubt. Encouraged again, she ran her tongue over his head, tasting the thick liquid of his precum. She sighed, her breath washing over his cock, mingling with the moisture, making him moan. She moaned, too, wondering if it was possible to cum with just the brush of a man’s breath against her clit. And then she took him into her mouth, wanting to offer him even the tiniest measure of pleasure compared to what he was giving her.
They moved into a lovely little rhythm, she rolling her hips against his mouth as he rocked his hips against hers. She took as much of him as she could—which wasn’t nearly enough—loving the sound and the feel of his approval as he moaned against her cunt every few strokes. It didn’t take long until she was ready to fall from that cliff of desire, before this tingling tightness spread in her lower back and she knew the fireworks were about to explode again. But she didn’t want to cum against his mouth. She wanted to feel his cock inside of her again, wanted to bring him to orgasm with their bodies connected in that most intimate of ways.
She started to pull away, but he held onto to her thighs with a grip that would surely leave bruises. But when she sat up, he let go. She slid her body down his chest, her cunt rubbing hard against his body. She imagined it leaving a trail of moisture, like a snail’s slimy path against the ground, marking this man as hers—hers and only hers. She guided him inside of her and leaned forward, her hands on his knees, the angle forcing his cock deep, pressing against parts of her that had not been touched in such a way before.
She closed her eyes and sat still, letting her body adjust before she tossed it into that pit of mind blowing gratification. He pressed his hands to her ass and pushed her forward, forcing her to move sooner than she had planned. But the rhythm he encouraged with the push and pull of his hands was perfect—not too fast, not to slow. She closed her eyes as she rocked against his cock, again her reality becoming nothing more than this quest for satisfaction. Even when his thumbs slid between the roundness of her ass cheeks and pressed against the last untouched, unexplored orifice of pleasure, it did nothing to distract from the building excitement his cock promised her tight, quivering cunt. In fact, it only added to the building need, the ache that was begging for release deep inside her.
His touch, his thumbs exploring a place she had never thought of as erotic, was a promise of future pleasure, one she knew she would allow him to pursue. She knew now that she could never deny him anything…it might seem like she was the one in control, but she was really a slave to the touch of his hands, the thrust of his cock.
She was so close…so close, when he suddenly sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist. He cried out, a sound that was so much like the animal cry she’d heard early that morning that it brought her dreams, that rush of arousal, storming back. And it was the last her shattered nerves could take. As he emptied his cum inside of her, her muscles convulsed, her vision shattering into a kaleidoscope of colors. She sank back against him, lost and vulnerable like a kitten explor
ing the world on its own for the first time.
That’s exactly how she felt…like a whole new world had suddenly just opened to her, one she would never tire of exploring.
Chapter 4
“You’ve accepted him.”
Amy glanced distractedly at her mother as she dumped her bag and the half dozen files she was carrying onto the table. The DA had given her all the loser cases—the traffic violations and minor drug cases no one else wanted—after she told him about Jeannette Huntington’s alibi. It was her punishment for letting the case of the century walk right out her door.
The bright future she’d had yesterday was suddenly a fleeting dream destroyed in the bright light of reality.
It almost made her consider Deacon’s proposal that she open and run a satellite office in Conroe for his firm in San Antonio.
Almost.
“I can see it in your face. That’s how I looked when I accepted your father as my mate.”
Something about her words made Amy look sharply at her mother.
“What did you say?”
Her mother smiled, that same dreamy look from this morning back in her eyes. “I’ve waited a long time to be able to share this with you.”
“Share what?”
Her mother’s smile only widened. She took Amy’s hand and pulled her out onto the back porch, the setting sun spectacular in the sky behind their house. Amy began to ask what was happening, what she was talking about, but her mother shushed her with a gesture. A moment later, the cry of a wild animal reverberated through the evening air.
It was the same cry Amy had heard that morning.
“They hunt at dusk and again at dawn.”
“What does?”
Her mother waved her hand toward the fence line marking the end of their property. Almost as though she had called them with that gesture, two long, sleek jaguars jumped the high fence and padded toward them. Amy stepped backward, panic rising in her chest. But her mother stepped off the porch and welcomed them like they were family pets, or long lost friends.
“Mami,” Amy whispered, standing as still as she could, “be careful.”
“They won’t hurt me. They’re family.”
Amy slid her hand to her hip, looking for her cellphone in the narrow pocket of her skirt. But even as she did, she found herself staring into the face of first one, then the other of the beautiful animals. The first was dark, its coat a sleek black that reminded her of the unique sheen of her father’s hair. And the other, so pale his coat was like the midday sun with spots that were like pools of ink. And his eyes…so familiar.
“Deacon?”
The animal lowered his head as though in response to her whispered question.
“And Tomas,” her mother said, stroking the rounded head of the darker animal.
Amy shook her head. “That’s not possible.”
“I said the same thing, all those years ago.” Her mother came to her, taking her face in her hands. “I know it’s a lot to take in, my love. But accepting as your mate one of these amazing creatures will change your life, make it so much more than it would have been before.”Amy again tried to shake her head, but her mother held tight. “When your father told me what he was—“
“Papi was…”
“Yes.” Her mother’s eyes filled with pride and grief. “Your father was the leader of his pack. He brought them here from Cuba to protect them from the tyranny of Castro. Under his leadership, the pack grew and flourished. And they continue to do so under Tomas.”
“I don’t understand. What are they?”
“We are descendants of Nahual, an ancient people who could transform themselves into many different creatures.” As he spoke, Tomas seemed to simply appear where the black jaguar had stood. “We have lived as jaguar for many generations.”
Amy stepped back, away from him, away from her mother’s touch.
“I don’t understand.”
“Your father wanted to tell you when you were old enough, but…” Her mother’s grief overwhelmed her pretty features for a moment. “He would have explained it so much better.”
“Papi was like this?” Amy asked, gesturing wide to include Tomas and the other jaguar in her movement. “He could do this?”
“He died protecting his pack.” Tomas took Amy’s hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “He was a good man who understood what was important in this world. That our reality is so much more than just what you can see.”
And then beautiful, sexy Deacon stepped up behind him. “And now our packs have been brought together because of you.”
Tomas smiled, stepping aside so that Deacon could take his place.
“Our packs?”
He touched her face and that need he had awaken earlier came alive.
“Your father’s pack is just one of many. And some are not happy to share the reality of our existence. A man from a pack in Houston killed Jeannette Huntington’s housekeeper because her mate is a member of my pack. Tomas and his people hunted the killer down. In return, my pack has agreed to a pact of loyalty. And our mating,” he said with a soft smile, his hand again caressing her jaw, “has solidified that pact.”
“We are a family now,” Tomas said. “With Deacon’s pack we will be stronger, better able to face whatever might come in the future.”
Amy stared at these people, the two people she loved most in the world and the man she barely knew, but with whom she felt an unbreakable bond. It was insane. She was an educated woman whose whole world was rooted in unshakable facts.
So why did she believe them? Why did she not doubt a single word pouring from their lips?
Why did she feel that trusting them was the smartest thing she could ever do?
“Okay,” she whispered, moving into Deacon and stealing a kiss. “Okay.”
He slipped away from her after a minute, leaving a promise burning on her lips. As she watched—not sure she truly believed her eyes—Deaconand Tomas melted into jaguars and jumped the fence, roaring as they rushed off to do whatever it was they did.
Amy’s mother took her hand, and they stood there in silence for a long time.
SURPRISE!
I like providing my readers with a little extra content… because, who’s ever satisfied with one short story? As my gift to you, I’ve included another short story in this book. All you have to do is flip a couple pages until you get to the next story. Consider this as my way of sharing my appreciation for you choosing to read my stories. Thanks!
FREE EBOOK!
“As a thanks for checking out my book, I’d like to give you access to my Fiction Insider’s List, along with a FREE eBook! As soon as I come out with another hot & sexy new-release or have a book sale, you’ll be the first to know!” – Celia Styles
(Simply Click the Link Below)
Seduced by Two Magicians
By Celia Styles
I fluffed my hair in the mirror one last time, and dabbed at my lipstick with my ring finger; well, I might be hitting the town without my fiancé tonight, but at least I looked damned good.
My heart did a little, unhappy leap when I remembered that Victor and I wouldn’t be spending our big, make-or-break trip together; that said, it could hardly come as a surprise to anyone who had been paying attention over the last few weeks.
Victor and I had been together for two and a half years when he’d proposed. And it had been as romantic and perfect you could hope for; after a quiet dinner, on a bridge, in Paris, where he’d swept me away for a short surprise break last year. And of course I said ‘yes’; this was a guy who I’d been in love with for years. There was no way I was going to turn down the chance to make him mine for life.
And then came the commitment phobia. I guess that a lot of people would argue that, since Vic proposed to me, he had quite the opposite of commitment phobia; to those people, I say it’s amazing what the prospect of actually marrying your girlfriend will do to a man. And it wasn’t as if he’d hired a bunch of prostitutes and
fucked them in my living room (though sometimes I wish he had, just because at least then it would have made a good story). No, it was nothing as interesting as that. But Victor started flirting with my friends whenever they came over, spending more money that he specifically had on drink and pot, and generally doing all the low-level shitty things that dumb fiancés who haven’t thought about how their future wives might feel about all this have been known to do. And, though before I had consoled myself with the knowledge that I could get the hell out whenever I wanted with no real kickback, it was different now. I had officially said yes to spending the rest of my life with this.
There was a nagging little voice in the corner of my mind that told me I shouldn’t have said yes, but that voice became pretty insistent by the time I picked up Vic’s phone to answer it and heard an unfamiliar woman on the other end. That in itself wouldn’t have been so bad, but the look on his face when I went to pass on the message was enough to tell me that he felt guilty, even if he hadn’t actually done anything yet. Her name was India and he had met her through his work as a music promoter; she was a singer-songwriter, he was the skeevy older man who kept his number on his phone a little too long.
I’m sure you can picture what came next for yourself; screaming, yelling, shouting, bawling. There was a falling out. There might have been some storming-off and some slamming of doors (guilty as charged). But it wasn’t long till Vic had convinced me to let him take me on an all-expenses paid trip to Atlantic City, courtesy of the label he was working for. He got to poke around a few new bands, I got to soak up the sun, sex, and gambling of this knockoff Las Vegas. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best reason to give the relationship one last parting shot, but hey, it was a holiday. So I booked the time off work and hopped on a plane, letting Vic book up an expensive hotel on the label and ordering champagne through room service as soon as we walked through the door.
Then, of course, the reality of actually trying to pull off a make-or-break holiday set in. Within minutes, Vic was out the door and on the phone while I sipped on the cheap champagne, wondering if we would get to have make-up sex on the hotel bed. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to or not, but felt like I probably should.