Love in the Cards

by LoveLustLaptops

  “Mate.” Leon closed his eyes, unable to stop the flow of words as he hammered into David. “My mate.” He bit David on the back of his neck, hanging on as he rapid fired his dick into his man.

  David shuddered beneath him. “Leon. My lion.”

  With those words, Leon tasted his mate’s blood and spilled his seed, frozen as he filled the condom.

  David gasped, and Leon smelled the heady scent of David’s cum, felt the man shudder through his orgasm as it pulsed around Leon’s buried cock.

  Both of them groaned as Leon slid out, and he fell to lie by David’s side. David collapsed onto the bed. Their harsh panting and the smell of sex filled the air.

  “You bit me.”

  “Had to.”

  “I know.”

  Leon turned his head to look at David. “Fuck. When did you figure it out?”

  David ran his hand down Leon’s chest. “I kept thinking something was familiar about you at the party, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. How we were attracted to each other. Your hair looks like a mane, you know.” He tugged on a strand of Leon’s hair. “You smelled me. Your tongue is like a cat’s, and you growl. A lot.”

  “So, I growl, smell you, and have a rough tongue?”

  “Yeah.” David laughed. “And the way you just took me—classic big-cat mating.”

  Leon sighed. “I never meant for you to know my secret.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” David rose up on his elbow to look Leon in the eye.

  Leon rolled onto his side to face David. “Do you care? If I’m a…”

  “Shifter? Is that what you call it? I’ve heard of it, you know. When you work with big cats you hear all sorts of stories. Legends. Fables.”

  “Do you?”

  “Care? Fuck no. It’s sort of cool.” David laughed. “It’s like we’re made for each other.”

  Leon laughed, and then sobered. “Never thought I’d find you.”

  “Never thought anyone like you would want me.” David raised his hand to touch his scars.

  “Because of those?” Leon shook his head. He cupped David’s cheek in his hand. “How did it happen?”

  “My mistake. I had just started working at the zoo.”

  “What do you do there?”

  “Mostly I help with the cats, make sure they’re healthy, not just physically, but mentally. They need stimulation. I work with the keepers to insure they use methods like hiding food, making them hunt for it, that sort of thing.”

  “Details.” Leon cocked his head.

  David sighed, fell backward, and stared at the ceiling. “I was helping them move one of the jaguars for a medical checkup. Thought the cat was knocked out. It wasn’t. I was too close, it lashed out.” He waved his hand at his face.

  “What happened to the jag?”

  “Nothing. He was fine, checked out good.” David looked at him and smiled. “I’d never let anyone punish a cat for doing what comes naturally and for my mistake.”

  “I get that.”

  “So, you trust me with your secret?”

  “I have to. You’re my mate, remember?”

  “Yeah. Not sure what that means, though.”

  “Well, it means you’re mine. I’m yours.”

  “So, it’s like we’re married?”

  “Sort of. I guess. Never had a mate.”

  David rolled back and sat up. “So, uh, do you, uh, love me?”

  Leon mirrored his mate. “Can I be honest?”

  “Yeah. Please. ’Cause I got nothing here.”

  “I don’t know if I love you. I know I want you. Know now I’ve found you, I can’t let you go. Know if you refused me, it’d be the end of me.”

  “Okay. And for the record, back at you.” He chuckled, and Leon joined in.

  “What? Were you expecting a declaration of undying love? We just met.” Leon rolled on top of David, pinning him down with his body and his hands on David’s wrists.

  “So…” David sobered. “Does this mean we’re doing breakfast?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. You’re buying. We can start getting to know each other.” David reached up and kissed Leon.

  “Good.”

  “By the way, you’re going to have to meet my parents. Ask my dad for my hand,” David deadpanned.

  “Joking, right?” Leon raised his eyebrows.

  “Right. You’re getting better at the teasing thing, dude.”

  “I’m a fast learner.” Leon pressed his semi-hard dick into David’s belly.

  “Me too. I’ve learned that means my lion wants to go again.” He arched up, pushing back.

  “Smart man.”

  About the Author

  Lynn Lorenz lives in Texas, where she’s a fan of all things Texan, like Longhorns, big hair, and cowboys in tight jeans. She’s never met a comma she didn’t like, and enjoys editing and brainstorming with other writers. Lynn spends most of her time writing about hot sex with even hotter heroes, plot twists, werewolves, and medieval swashbucklers. She’s currently at work on her latest book, making herself giggle and blush, and avoiding all the housework.

  http://www.lynnlorenz.com

  Other Titles Available by Lynn Lorenz

  Now Available:

  Coliseum Square

  Truth or Lie

  Rougaroux Social Club: Bayou Dreams

  Rougaroux Social Club: Bayou’s End

  Rougaroux Social Club: Bayou Loup

  Coming Soon:

  WereWolf Fight League: Ashland

  Judgment Day

  Rosanna Leo

  Dedication

  To the ladies of Love, Lust and Laptops, for inspiring me, delighting me and egging me on.

  Chapter One

  Even from behind the closed salon door, Verity sensed him coming. Despite the party atmosphere in Dacre House, and the sounds of lusty revelers, she remained attuned to his particular footsteps. The determined thump of his footfall made her as excited now as it had three hundred odd years ago.

  She perched on the edge of a velvet settee, crossing her leather-clad legs. And then, as she heard him reach the salon door, she decided against her pose and stood to reposition herself behind a scrolled chest of drawers. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she stood up straight and gazed toward the door, her heart heavy with anticipation. As much as she wanted to present a brave face, standing behind the bulky piece of furniture made her feel safe. In her hand, she gripped half of a tarot card as if it were a map leading to buried treasure. She glanced at the card.

  Judgment Day. How appropriate.

  So long. So very long. How had she existed all this time without him? Of course, she thought bitterly, it wasn’t as if she’d ever had a choice. He’d turned her away every time she’d pleaded with him over the past three centuries, a victim to his all-consuming guilt.

  The old brass knob turned and the door creaked opened. John Martin walked in, the other half of the Judgment Day card in his big hand, and surveyed one corner of the room. Verity’s heart leapt, something it hadn’t done since the last time she’d appeared before him several decades ago. He was still beautiful, more so, if it were possible. His tall, bulky frame still filled a doorway. His brown hair was cut in a short, modern style that did nothing to erase the memory of the appealing curls he’d once worn. He wore black dress pants and a black shirt, reminiscent of his former Puritan garb. His blue eyes still burned fire.

  He saw her and jumped back, dropping the tarot card. As he moved, his swan-feather angel wings unfurled and lifted him off the ground. He hovered and pointed at her. “I reject you, Satan, and your foul temptations!”

  Despite wanting to cry, Verity forced her rouged lips into a smile and slid out from behind the chest of drawers. As a succubus, she had powers of her own, and needed no wings to take flight. She flew in his direction, wafting her gardenia perfume toward him in a teasing embrace. “It’s just me, John. Your Verity.”

  The slight crinkle in his brow signaled
his distress, but he hid it well, clenching his jaw and forcing his face back into a mask of cold calm. Damn angels, unfeeling creatures. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Very well.” His grim smile lanced right through her. “You wish to play games. That must be why you lead me to this … this place of perversion.” He dropped his gaze to the floor, to where his tarot card fell. “I don’t believe the creature before me is Verity Chisholm because the Dark Lord has seen fit to conjure her image before me many times, only to make her disappear. I have been taunted by what I cannot have time and again.”

  Her heart broke for him. It was just like her employer to engage in such savage sport. There was nothing he enjoyed more than mocking God’s company. Could this be why John had ignored her many entreaties over the centuries? Because he didn’t trust she wouldn’t disappear too? So much wasted time, and all because of her master’s games.

  She hated Lucifer even more now.

  “I swear on my life with you, John, it is me. Not some cruel phantom.”

  He narrowed his eyes, looking her up and down, trying to see through her. His hard gaze stung, but she held it. And then, after the longest moment of her existence, she spied a softening in his eyes. Something in him broke. Her hands moved at her sides in restless surrender. He spoke in a cracked voice. “Verity?”

  Thanks be to God! He believed.

  Relief fanned its warmth through her core. She thought he’d turn her away again. So many times over the past centuries she’d approached him, but he’d warded her off. Casting her away like the demon she was, but which she’d never felt comfortable being. Anticipating another rebuff, she’d invited him here to Dacre House, New Orleans’ own “House of Sin,” hoping he’d succumb to a little Halloween temptation.

  Only now she was tempted. Oh, to feel his arms around her again!

  “I’d hoped by inviting you to this den of flesh and writhing bodies, I might convince you to do something crazy with me. Like hold my hand.” She pasted on what she hoped was a beguiling smile, but it trembled, crooked on her face.

  “I can’t.” He shook his head, his eyes haunted.

  Oh, how his guilt still dictated his every move. However, Verity knew underneath the stoic demeanor that was his angel armor, he was a man. One who hadn’t been averse to a little temptation in his past life.

  Determined to crack his shell, she landed back on the floor, extending an arm to him. “John, it wasn’t your fault.”

  He, too, dropped to the floor, unfurling his majestic wings behind his back. He took up a spot against the far wall, the farthest away from her he could get. “It was my fault! I didn’t save you, and look at the creature you’ve become. It’s because of me that you were damned, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Oh, my John.” He’d never come to her while guilt burned through his stomach like acid.

  Perhaps a little temptation wasn’t amiss.

  She took a step toward him, the click of her stilettos sounding loudly on the hardwood. “Surely an angel is permitted one small sin?”

  He rushed forward like an ominous wind, a thunder cloud. Verity closed her eyes and let his power inundate her as he grabbed her arms. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of holding you?” he uttered, his nails biting into her skin as he squeezed her. “Even in going to Heaven, I was sentenced to hell.” His gaze seared her, so fiery it was almost neon.

  “Existing without you has been hell for me too.” She closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his fingers on her body, and then opened them. “I love you still.”

  “How? Why?” He released her arms and shoved away from her, pain etched in every line on his face. “It’s because of me they killed you. You should hate me.”

  “Even as the noose was placed about my neck, John, I never hated you. I’ve spent the last three hundred and twenty-one years counting each dismal second away from you.”

  She bit her bottom lip, determined not to cry, but her time away from him had worn her down. Despite her best efforts, those damn tears fell.

  He flew to her and brushed away her tears. “Sweet Verity. Please don’t. Your tears are about the only thing that could kill me.”

  Her lungs constricted. He stood so close. His breath warmed her, making her body break into goose pimples of delight. How this man tempted her. Satan had seen fit to make her a succubus, with legions of men at her disposal to choose from if she wished. Her role was to tease men into states of infidelity, but she’d proven a failure because the only man she wanted was John.

  Before his guilt claimed him again, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his. Temptation in its softest form. Raw energy sizzled and wove between their bodies even with an innocent kiss. Her succubus hunger, while rusty, was still strong. She hooked a fingernail into his shirt collar and pulled downward, slicing clear through all the buttons. She watched them fly out of the corner of her eye. Inserting her hand between the open flaps of his shirt, she reveled in the smooth skin of his nipples and tugged at his chest hair. When she traced his mouth with her tongue and he moaned, she experienced the sweet thrill of triumphant reunion.

  Still mine.

  Chapter Two

  Still mine. John gazed at the beautiful succubus in his arms, Satan’s instrument of lascivious evil, and the angel in him wanted to recoil. His role demanded he recoil and repent. He was supposed to be a fucking paradigm, for God’s sake. His role had been detailed to him with celestial clarity: lead lesser beings out of temptation. Show them the way.

  Right now, he just wanted to find the way into her skintight pants and devour her heat.

  He stared at Verity, wanting to glimpse evil, but seeing only the woman he’d loved in Salem. By St. Michael’s sword, she was still there. He could see her under the red lipstick and unnaturally long lashes. Could feel her generous curves under clothing that would have given an old Puritan minister a coronary. If he looked hard enough, he could almost see her as she was then—a sweet girl with black locks and a smile that lit up her green eyes. He’d always known she was a curious thing. After Sunday service, she’d pull him aside, full of questions about his views on Scripture. Her eyes warmed by something other than religious fanaticism.

  Her interest had been for him, and it hadn’t taken them long to succumb to their mutual passion.

  John had been a young teacher in the Salem community, a pillar, a man recognized for his scruples. But when Verity Chisholm flounced by him the first time, her soft hair peeking out from her cap, he’d been smitten. And when she’d brushed by him at a barn raising, her shy smile made his chest expand, and his thoughts had swiftly turned irreligious.

  Their first transgression had been a kiss one night, a mere touch of the lips in the woods behind the parsonage. Neither of them had been able to sleep and had sought solace in the stillness of the outdoors.

  “Mister Martin,” she’d whispered upon encountering him. Her bosom had heaved under her woolen garment. “John.”

  Aching as he’d never ached for anything in his life, he’d taken her in his arms. It wasn’t long before he took her up against the outer walls of the parsonage. They’d continued to meet at night while the good folks of Salem were abed. He’d swallowed her cries of ecstasy so they would not echo in the woods. And with each velvet thrust, John’s love for her grew.

  However, the Chisholm’s had promised Verity to another—Samuel Williams. The man was a jealous so-and-so who’d spotted them in the woods not long after they’d begun their nightly trysts. When he’d seen Verity on her knees before John, he’d spread the rumors about them being deviant witches. How they’d worshipped the devil during their foul nocturnal practices.

  And of course, the citizenry of Salem were only too pleased to add their names to the growing list of accused witches. Being a community leader, John had been so sure they’d both be acquitted.

  They’d been promptly condemned.

  On June 30, 1692, they were led to Gallows Hill. Verity had
screamed, had struggled in her captor’s arms. Ignoring the sweat of terror on his own brow, John had turned to her and implored, “My love, cease your struggling. We will soon be together in Heaven.”

  Her green eyes had taken on a bright sheen, a wildness, and somehow John had known she didn’t believe God would reunite them. As the noose was placed around her delicate neck, he’d expected her to call out in supplication to the Lord, but she hadn’t. Crazed by the deranged proceedings, his lover had instead cried out for the Lord of Hell.

  “You want a witch,” she’d screamed. “Well, I’ll give you one. I curse you all, and I pledge to serve Satan in the afterlife so that I may return and plague you. God of hell, save me!”

  Even as the executioner fitted the rough noose around John’s own neck, her curse rang out in his head, the greatest torment of all. And as he died, he’d prayed to God to release him from the prison of his body and to forgive his lover her crazed outcry. Made insane by terror, she’d cried out for Lucifer, and he’d answered, just as God had heard his prayer and let him join the ranks of the angels.

  He’d spent an eternity plagued by guilt, a guilt so powerful and vile, he’d run from her every time she’d appeared before him, pleading.

  “I need your forgiveness, Verity.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. Just be with me.”

  Her gardenia scent teased him. Her soft skin beckoned. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to master his urges, but his head still swam.

  “We’ve wasted too much time, John. Please.”

  “But we serve different masters. If we give in, what then?”

  For the first time since he’d seen her in the salon, she appeared angry, a bitter sparkle in her eye, her ruby lips twitching with nerves. “I don’t know. We’ll probably be punished. Again.”

  He watched as her breasts rose and fell within the confines of her corset. John knew angels didn’t sweat, but the strange moisture at the back of his neck sure felt like it. He cried silently to God to intercede, but heard no response.