by Kira Blakely
He stops in the act of bringing his glass to his lips.
“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you were like a wild animal. Untamed. I thought I could tame you, but then, I realized I don’t really want to. I want you as you are. I don’t want you in a cage. You don’t want me in a cage either, do you?”
He sets down his glass and walks over to me.
“I’m just going to spread my wings, but that doesn’t mean—”
I don’t finish because Nathan’s mouth is suddenly on mine, robbing me of breath and words.
Afterward, he looks into my eyes as he strokes my cheek, and at the warmth I see there, my heart stops.
“Nathan?”
“I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Sam, and God help me but damn, I love you.”
And he kisses me again. Fiercer this time.
He loves me.
It takes a while for the confession to register, but once it does, I feel my spirit soaring, joy welling in my chest as my heart races.
Nathan loves me.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, placing my hands around his neck.
He wraps his arms tighter around me, pressing his body against mine.
I feel his heart beating furiously.
And I feel something else throbbing.
Both of them are mine.
Thrilled with that knowledge, I lead Nathan to the bedroom. He seems surprised that I’m taking the lead this time, but he follows eagerly.
Once there, I pull down the side zipper of my gown, then slip it off, letting it fall to my ankles. I slip out, holding his gaze as I take off the rest of my clothes, unfastening my bra and then my panties that are already wet, tossing them away. Somehow, I’m no longer shy.
I belong to him now.
“Damn, you’re beautiful,” he says, placing his hands on my waist.
I take his hands, kissing each palm, then place them on my breasts.
“And I’m all yours.”
Again, our lips meet, his hands cupping my swollen breasts, his thumbs pressing against my pert nipples.
My hands go to the buttons of his shirt, popping them off one by one. Then I slip his shirt off and work on his belt next. And his zipper.
His pants fall to his knees and I cup his crotch, stroking the bulge I feel there, delighting in how it quivers and arches against my hand.
“Shit,” he mutters as he pulls his lips away, planting them on the side of my neck as he, too, reaches between my legs to stroke my sex.
My knees shake. Still, I part my legs, letting him stroke as much as he wants and letting him slip a finger in.
I gasp. “So good.”
It’s too good, in fact. I can’t keep stroking him, grabbing his shoulders instead to keep myself from falling as my knees melt.
He puts me on top of the bed, kissing my breasts, the soft curve of my belly, the insides of my thighs, my knees and then finally, my sex.
And it’s no ordinary kiss.
“Spread your legs wider, love,” he orders.
I obey, moaning and fisting the sheets as his wicked tongue plunders.
“Remember.” He stops to hold my gaze. “You can spread your wings as much as you want, but you’ll spread your legs only for me.”
“I promise.”
I never intended to do so for anyone else, not since the day I met him.
He’s the only one who can make me feel this way.
I feel ensnared and yet so free, every fiber of my being alive and buzzing with excitement.
As the tip of his tongue teases my clit, I cry out, and when it enters me, I come undone, my whole body trembling with the force of my release.
He’s the only one who can bring me to such heights of pleasure.
And he knows it. He’s wearing that devilish grin as he takes off his boxers.
As always, the sight of him fully erect leaves me stunned.
This time, though, I plan to do more than just admire the view.
I leave the bed, kneeling in front of him and taking his cock in my hand, wrapping my fingers around him.
Mine.
“Sam?”
I don’t answer, proceeding to do something I’ve never done before.
I lick the tip of his cock then all the way down the length, tracing every vein. Then I take him slowly inside my mouth, sucking.
Nathan moans, his body trembling. “Shit.”
His fingers become entwined with my hair as he pulls. I keep moving, my fingers biting into his ass, my lips holding him captive.
How do I know what I’m doing? I don’t.
I just know I want to please him, and I know I’m succeeding based on what I’m hearing, each moan and curse vibrating through me.
Suddenly, he pushes me away, lifting me off my knees and leading me back to the bed.
When I throw him a questioning glance, he cups my sex, still hot from wanting him.
“I’d rather come in here. Don’t you think?”
I nod. “Go on, then. Don’t hold back.”
He doesn’t. Quickly, he enters me, pounding into me.
I cling to him, squeezing him. “Harder.”
I want him to go wild.
He bends me in half, his massive cock plunging into my very core.
God. Oh, God. It’s so good…
God!
Again, pleasure takes over and this time, his body trembles with mine, his groans echoing my moans.
When it has subsided, he pulls out and drags me into his arms. We lie still, gasping for air.
When I can move again, I prop myself up on an elbow and look at Nathan’s face, his cheeks still flushed, his eyes still dazed, his lips curved into a smile of contentment.
Mentally, I snap a picture of it, committing it to memory.
No matter how far apart we are, I know that image will bring him closer to me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say, resting my head on his chest just above his heart.
No matter where I go, his heart is my home, as mine is his. Knowing that, we both can run wild and wander free.
No one and nothing can tame us.
The End
Thank you!
I hope you enjoyed Untamed. I wrote a special steamy extended epilogue that can be found at the back of this book.
I have also included two stories from two different series that I’ve written. Enjoy!
Love, Kira
Free Gift
Don’t forget your free steamy deleted scene from Kira Blakely’s best-selling series, Billionaire’s Protest. This book is exclusive to her free VIP readers group. Click the button on the next page and download it now!
Billionaire Bad Ass
Billionaire Bad Boy Series
Description
ASHTON
I've always had to fight. I fought my way into this wild life. I fought for every shingle on my roof, and I’ll never back down from my goddamn dreams. I met Laura in a bar fight, and I’ve shown her body love many times—but she has no idea how real and how deep that fire burns.
Prologue
AS HE WATCHED Candy get dressed, Ashton’s stomach made a slow drop into his knees. Her body was okay – whip thin and covered with taut skin – but her face showed her age in every line.
Now uncomfortable, Ashton looked away, his dark blue eyes searching out the cobwebs in the corners of the room. One hand went up and raked through his thick, wheat-colored hair – a nervous habit. His morals, never strong or present, always leaped into existence after every one of these little romps in his current foster mother’s bed. It was inconvenient that his morals should pop up and bring with them a sense of shame and guilt he didn’t like having to feel. It wasn’t his fault he was in that bedroom or that king-sized bed. He was just a convenient hunk of hard flesh, and nothing more. He just happened to be closer to hand, so to speak, than whatever other guy she was cheating on her husband with at the time.
Ca
ndy was the local ride for all sorts of guys. How her husband hadn’t found out yet was anyone’s guess, but Brody’s temper was legendary, and Ashton knew he damn sure didn’t want to be around when he did find out.
Candy stuck a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. Her other hand yanked at the covers, twitching them into place. Ashton’s belly dropped again. His foster dad, Brody, would come home later, and he and Candy would get busy right in that same bed on the same stinking sheets.
Gross and a pervert – that just about summed Candy up. The fact that he’d just had sex with a gross pervert wasn’t lost on him. That he’d wind up on the streets if he didn’t was equally not lost. He was weeks away from an eighteenth birthday that was bound to bounce him out of the foster system and onto the streets, and he needed to take advantage of every situation he had a grip on between now and then if he was going to survive.
The truth was that Candy expected any boy who walked through her door to cater to her. She gave him, grudgingly, a couple hundred bucks of the money she got for taking care of him in return, and Ashton added that to the money he made doing bullshit jobs. Sleeping with Candy was about as appetizing as eating a five-day old donut, but that small sum of money helped bolster his hopes that he’d be okay come his final birthday in the harsh system.
Her voice, all hard rasp and smoke, asked, “Why are you still here?”
Good question. Ashton headed for the door. The whole house was just about as dingy and smoke-tinged as that bedroom, and he needed to breathe. He headed to the front door and went outside, squinting as bright sunlight hit his eyes, burning away the dimness that Candy preferred in every room.
Jackson, a kid who lived down the street, walked toward Ashton, calling out, “Hey.”
Ashton lifted his chin and asked, “Hey, what’s up?”
Jackson’s feet stopped just short of the driveway. Brody had a reputation for being an asshole, and that rep was deserved, and so most of the kids in the neighborhood steered clear. Jackson said, “I managed to hack past that stupid level in that new video game.”
“No shit?” Ashton wasn’t really that interested just then, but anything was better than hanging out in the house with creepy ass, cougar of the year, Candy. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah, you want to come check it out?”
“Sure.” They headed down the street with Ashton still thinking hard. His dad had been dust in the wind before he’d even been born, and his mom had decided to take off when he was five, way past the ‘cute and little’ stage that would have helped him get adopted by loving parents. He’d spent his entire life bouncing from place to place. If there was one thing he wanted most, it was to have a place that was all his and that he would always be able to call home. If things didn’t improve fast, that home would likely be a cardboard box behind the cleanest dumpster he could find.
Ashton’s best friend, Dawson, another system kid, had just turned eighteen and hit the bricks. Unlike Ashton, he’d had a soft place to land thanks to Ralph, the guy that ran the gym where Dawson worked. Ashton knew Dawson would fight to get him into the room Dawson had there if it came to that, but the last thing Ashton wanted to do was screw up one more thing for Dawson. Dawson had gotten tossed out of school before he was supposed to graduate for a fight that involved Ashton. Dawson was guilty by association but tried his best to cover for Ashton. Not that it mattered. The knife-wielding rich prick ran home to tell, and he got a pat on the back and a college career out of the deal. Ashton had gotten stitches in his abdomen and a short stint in reform school. Never mind that the rich prick had been the one to pull the knife.
Life wasn’t fair, and unlike a video game or computer program, there was no way to hack the system. If there had been, Jackson would have found it already.
“Uh-oh.”
Jackson’s word made Ashton’s feet stop. His eyes went to the group of guys coming their way, and Ashton’s shoulders tightened. Gerald Manning was a cocky and arrogant punk who never let anyone forget that his dad, a local dealer of blow and weed, ran the three-square blocks of cinderblock houses and sagging rowhomes.
Gerald was eighteen and in the senior class with Jackson and Ashton. The other guys with him were all graduates of the street. They were also looking for a fight – everything about the way they came stalking toward Ashton and Jackson said so.
Jackson, a skinny dude with a habit of chewing his bottom lip, spoke up. “Dude, should we run for it?”
“Probably.” Definitely. Jackson was no chicken. He’d go up against anyone he had to, but the two of them were no match for half a dozen dudes known for carrying weapons and leaving whoever they decided to fight smeared across the sidewalk. Ashton was tough, too, though, and strong. His body had been honed by years of bad food and the need to stay active and to keep moving, because he never knew what might be coming at him. Even so, fighting those guys was sheer stupidity, and the odds were not in his and Jackson’s favor.
Jackson took a step back. Ashton did, too. Running wasn’t even in Ashton’s DNA, but even he knew the odds of walking away from that crew were too low to even risk. Still, he remained stuck. His brain yelled at him to run.
Jackson echoed that. “Dude, come on. Let’s buck it.”
Too late. Gerald strolled up, the smile on his acne-scarred face far from pleasant. “You,” he thrust his chin toward Ashton. “I got a bone to pick with you.”
“Yeah?” Ashton’s lips parted in a smile too cynical for his years. “Over what?”
“You know what. You’re horning in on my action, and I don’t like it.”
What was Gerald talking about? “No clue what action you are referring to,” Ashton said.
“Then how come I hear it all over the block that you’re doing lookouts for Pete?” The words came out of Gerald’s sneering mouth and hit the air. “Everyone knows this is my dad’s block, and nobody gets to creep in here and work.”
That was true. Pete paid well. Ashton didn’t have to carry or sell dope. He just had to watch the end of the street, check out the cars that didn’t usually cruise through, and use a walkie-talkie to let Pete know when a car that looked like it held a narc was headed down to the little corner where Pete did his street business.
It was easy money, but he’d known going in he might get caught up in a street feud between Pete and Gerald’s dad, and it seemed that he already had.
Ashton knew he should lie his head off and try to walk. But he didn’t. His mouth blasted off. “Your dad’s slipping. Nobody wants to buy what he’s peddling, because he’s too busy doing too much of his own product. Then he cuts whatever he doesn’t put up his own nose so he can still sell some. That’s bad business, yo.”
Jackson groaned. “Wow man, you should’ve just kept your fucking mouth shut.”
Yeah. He should have. Gerald closed in, arms already swinging. Ashton ducked the flying fists aimed at his face easily enough. His fist went right to where he knew it would do the most damage: Gerald’s balls. His other fist landed right on the point of Gerald’s chin.
Gerald didn’t go down though. Jackson sailed in as one of Gerald’s buddies tried to make it a two-on-one fight, and soon the two were fighting wildly and losing badly. Blood spilled down Ashton’s forehead, getting into his eyes and stinging hard. It impaired his vision, and he had to wipe it away, but when he did, he had to stop swinging on Gerald who was still punching and kicking so hard that Ashton’s body could barely absorb each blow.
He saw Jackson go down just as Gerald landed a hard blow in the center of Ashton’s gut. Ashton doubled over. That was bad enough. The cop cars pulling down the street was even worse.
The cops jumped out of the car. Ashton didn’t fight it and neither did Jackson. The cops had itchy fingers, something everyone knew. They’d shoot or tase or work a guy over with the business end of the baton just for the sheer hell of it.
The cop holding Gerald slammed him head first onto the hood of the car. The resounding ‘gong’ would have made Ashton happy i
f he hadn’t just realized the seriousness of the situation.
Gerald was holding.
The drugs – seven or eight baggies of assorted illicit things – came out of Gerald’s pockets and landed on the hood. Ashton, on the opposite side of the car, could practically count the felonies stacking up as each bag joined the others.
He hadn’t started that fight, not in the practical sense, but he had in the only sense that the street would care about.
He’d worked for a guy who’d been horning in on Gerald’s dad, and of course Gerald had had to jump him.
Nobody would say Gerald should have emptied his pockets first, either.
All of this was going to be pinned on his shoulders, and Ashton knew it.
Gerald was going down hard unless he ratted out his supplier – his dad – and no way was he doing that. Gerald was eighteen, so he was stuck in that adult collar now.
Gerald lifted his head and sent a vicious grin Ashton’s way. “I’m going to kill you for this one. Just you wait.”
The cop jerked Gerald up and said, “Well, he’ll be waiting a mighty long time, bud. You’re on your way to the big house. Him? He’s juvie bound.”
Just perfect.
Gerald had plenty of friends in juvie, too, and they both knew it.
Jackson, who’d never been in trouble before, made bail and swore that he’d try to get Ashton out of there.
Ashton had told him not to bother. He already had a record anyway, and there was no way he was getting out. He was shackled again and led to the van that would take him to the center. He kept his head up despite the fear and worry nagging at him.
He landed at the Bedford, a notoriously bad juvenile detention hall. Intake was hellish, and by the time he was in a uniform and being led down the tiered walks that led to the cells, he already knew he was in for some hard time.