The Billionaire Shifter’s Final Redemption: The Billionaire Shifters Club #6

by Seere, Diana

  She would be his feast.

  From the way he watched her remove her bra, holding the cups over the nipples for a moment before letting go, he promised to be a starving beast who would gorge on every bite she offered and lick the plate clean.

  The thought of giving herself to him made her so wet she was afraid she might climax from the gentlest breeze against her erect nipples. A faintly smug tilt of his head suggested he knew this was as much of a tease for her as it was for him. As if to torment her in revenge, he lifted his arms over his head in a leisurely stretch, exaggerating his muscled torso, his powerful arms, the abdomen and large, hard cock—

  His chuckle reminded her of who was supposed to be watching whom. She snapped her eyes away from his body and turned to give him a view of her ass as she stripped off her panties. Kicking them off her left foot, she sauntered to the bed and, without further drama, stretched out on her back and reached her arms to him.

  “Asher,” she said gently.

  His own reply was a growl and a pounce, nothing gentle about it at all. He pushed her knees up to either side and buried his dark head into her pussy. They’d already made love, and she’d felt his touch, but—

  But. This.

  This.

  First he attended to her inner thighs, kissing and rubbing his stubble-rough cheeks against the delicate skin, and then a palm over her outer lips and pressed firmly, releasing the pressure, then pressing again. She flung her head from side to side on the bed, wanting him to push a finger—or several fingers, a fist, a dildo, his cock—into her as soon as possible. But this was his feast. She’d given herself to him and would let him choose his courses as he pleased.

  He growled in appreciation at how wet she was and seemed to glory in it, stroking and sliding his hand over her folds. She whimpered, unintentionally, and he lifted up and crushed his mouth against hers, continuing to stroke her pussy, this time a little deeper, with a finger that explored with a dexterity his cock could not. His tongue swept into her mouth; his finger curved and pressed the erotic space inside her that was a delicious agony.

  Too delicious. She didn’t want to come yet. It was too soon.

  “Don’t pull away,” Asher commanded, pinning her to the bed. “Take your pleasure from me. Take it.”

  Yet she resisted another moment, thinking how sweet it would be to climax in unison.

  “Come, my vixen,” he said in her ear, his voice rough, a command and a request, hard and soft, yin and yang, lust and love. He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and bit his hard, flat teeth into her flesh. His breath was hot fire. “Come,” he repeated.

  She came. Oh God, did she come. And he carried her over the climax and pushed her higher, stroking with his brilliant fingers as he breathed fire into her ear, igniting every nerve in her body, reminding her of what it could be to be a woman.

  No. Teaching her. She’d never felt this breaking and falling and swimming and burning—

  “Again,” he said. “You’re not done yet.”

  She bit back a retort. Fuck you I know when I’m done, she almost said, but then—no, he couldn’t, that was cheating—he growled into her ear.

  Not like the growl he’d made earlier, the lusty, low-voiced groan of an aggressive human male. No, this was an actual growl. The growl of a wolf.

  Faintly, just faintly, she felt the teeth on her earlobe sharpen a little. She stroked his back and confirmed he was still in human form, so whatever he was doing was subtle, invisible. Permissible.

  He growled again, nibbled again, and harder than before, she came again. And again.

  Lord have mercy.

  As the onslaught of orgasmic waves washed over her, striking against the shores of her body, she lost the ability to see, to hear, to think. She was limp and useless. Pure liquid pleasure. Paralyzed by the gift she hadn’t allowed herself to consider.

  And then a noise rose out from deep inside her that decimated the last shreds of her good-girl human prudery. A growl of her own. No, a scream. A fox’s cry. The mating call of a vixen.

  It was unearthly. It was inhuman. And it was hers.

  Asher shifted his weight and pulled her into his arms, somehow knowing the right thing to do. She needed his strength. She needed his comfort. His acceptance. Love.

  “Darling,” he said, gently rocking her.

  Slowly she returned to herself. Her thoughts sharpened and her vision realigned, allowing her to see the roots of the underground den’s ceiling. Asher’s scent was erotically pleasing and his body warm and slick with perspiration. He was aroused, thrumming with need but under control.

  She hadn’t totally lost her mind or her humanity. She understood now. She was a human woman with the guarding shadow of a fox. Its blood had mixed with hers, and its ancient spirit had chosen to linger with her all these years. Or maybe it had been unable to break free. And now they were bonded together and always would be.

  The prophecy. Another kind of fated mate. When she got to the lab, she would—

  “Now is not the time to think about your laboratory,” Asher said, stroking her cheek. His gaze was perceptive, loving.

  Her reply was to lift her hands to his face and bring him down for a kiss. A thank-you. An invitation.

  Because the fox wasn’t at all satisfied yet. She was insatiable. She wanted more. She wanted everything.

  “Samantha,” Asher groaned, kissing his way down her throat to her breasts. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and drew back to watch it pucker. He blew against her damp skin, and she shuddered. Impossibly, desire flared in her as brightly as it had at the beginning. His hands were all over her body, stroking her waist and thighs, forehead, elbow, belly, pussy. She was his instrument.

  He took her other nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking, scraping suspiciously sharp teeth against her flesh while his hand kneaded and teased her breasts. She burrowed her fingers into his hair, loving how close he was to her heart, her feelings swinging wildly between sweet tenderness and hot, sweaty hunger.

  After a long, teasing feast, he lifted up and met her gaze. Those eyes gleamed, his lips were bruised from kissing her, and his hair, so tidy when they’d met, was now a tousled, sexy mess. She would never get tired of running her fingers through it. Never.

  It was time for him to be inside her. She spread her legs and reached down to his cock, glorying in its heat, its hardness, and angled her hips to take him, to guide him, to surround him.

  He slid his fingers through her, dipped into her wetness, stroked her again, and then finally thrust into her with a shout that was all man. Asher Stanton: a brother, a son, a grieving father. Alone for too long. And now at One with her. At last.

  Chapter 16

  He had forgotten that time could feel like this. The debate over whether five or six senses existed was immaterial compared to the question of time.

  Time itself was a trickster.

  Flesh was easy. Cheap. Simple. Touching another being for mutual sexual satisfaction was a mere transaction. Add in basic attraction and the formula was clean. Done. Finite.

  But this? How Samantha made time itself change when they were intimate with each other? Oh, how priceless.

  How precious.

  How fucking delicious.

  Losing himself in her, he reveled in the tactile, but he soared into a different state of being as they connected, her words, her mating cry, the delectable scents she let loose, the eroticism of it all forming a whole he’d never have assembled from parts on his own.

  Only Samantha brought her unique self and all its attributes to him. Letting her in was his greatest accomplishment.

  And meeting her every need for the rest of their lives was now his ultimate goal.

  But first—ah, first.

  First he needed to bury himself in her.

  Now.

  Her beautiful fingers had guided him inside, but that was just the preliminary of the flesh. Pausing, he peered into her eyes, her own gaze matching his, unflinching.


  The more time passed, the deeper they went into each other. He might have been the one penetrating her in the flesh, but oh how she pierced his heart with those eyes. Those eternal, beautiful eyes.

  Long legs pulled him deeper, her pale, sweet skin against his hard muscles making him groan. The smooth curve of her calf brushed against his hipbone, then tightened, her pussy pulling him in. How? How could she bewitch him like this, her hidden truths drawing him impossibly deeper?

  Because she was his. And he was hers. That was how.

  “Asher,” she moaned, his name sounding so erotic, so full of meaning and want when it tumbled from those ripe, red lips. Unable to hold back, he kissed her, so hard he swore he tasted blood, so intensely she dug her fingers into the column of his spine, searching, seeking, until she smiled against his mouth.

  And tightened, milking him.

  “You witch,” he rasped against her earlobe, biting it hard enough to make her yelp.

  “Is that what I am? Perhaps you’re right. Ever make love with a foxy witch before?” she whispered, her taunt making him harder, her clenching muscles of her delectable pussy pushing him into a frenzied state that threatened to tip him into a mindless madness.

  One that was sorely tempting.

  “Samantha,” he said, the feel of her name on his raw lips its own pleasure. He took one hand and sank it into the long, curling strands of her fiery hair, grasping just enough to tug once. Hard.

  She moaned with ecstasy.

  “You are mine. Witch, fox, or woman, you are mine.” With each word—witch, fox, woman—he thrust, deep and hard, hitting a point inside that made her belly tighten, his body feeling what she felt in a manner that should have disturbed him.

  Instead, it made him soar.

  “I love you,” she moaned against him, moving her hips in rhythm with his, the Beat threading through their bodies, holding them together, joining their love.

  “And I, you,” he replied, the words unnecessary, and yet saying them felt so good.

  “Asher, I—” Trembling, she reached up for him, kissing with a bite as her body quivered, shaking with an astounding strength that made him swell with pride at the same moment he tipped, too, into his own powerful climax. It was, quite simply, the purest moment he’d experienced in his entire life.

  The profound pleasure of it made the madness worthwhile.

  For the next few minutes, Asher Stanton betrayed his one core principle: always be in control.

  And for the next few minutes, that betrayal freed him.

  Perhaps, even, forever.

  * * *

  “Your fingers are so delicate,” he said, marveling at their porcelain beauty in the soft light of the den. They were on the bed, sheets impossibly twisted, the scent of dirt and burned wood and their sex a feast for the senses.

  And then there was touch.

  Oh, how good it felt to touch her. To be touched. To explore Samantha’s eternally gorgeous, ripe body with the time to do so properly.

  There was no greater treasure a man—or shifter—could possess.

  “My fingers are long and manly,” Samantha said flatly, her voice odd. “That is what my piano teacher told me in fifth grade.”

  “You play piano? I have a Fazioli at the main house.”

  “Do you play?” she asked, her fingers going to his chest, playing with the thick hair that rested between his nipples. Clenching his jaw, he let her touch him like that but finally flinched.

  She paused and sat up, looking at him curiously. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” He let out his breath.

  Her eyes widened impishly. She touched him again, one fingernail dragging against the flesh near his nipple.

  He made a strange sound and turned away.

  “Did you just giggle?” Samantha gasped.

  “What?” He sat straight up, the sheet falling off them both. “No! Of course not. I do not giggle.”

  Her fingers curled and wiggled at him. “I’m going to tickle you.”

  “No!”

  “I’m going to tickle you so hard, mister,” she said, moving up on her knees, coming at him. Asher grabbed her wrists and flipped her, the balance of power shifting in an instant.

  “You’re ticklish!” She giggled, bright eyes filled with laughter as he stared down at her, breathing hard.

  “I am no such thing.”

  “You are ticklish and in a state of denial. That’s two weak spots I’ve discovered in you.”

  He moved his fingers to her ribs and tickled her.

  Nothing.

  He tried again.

  Her face remained slack.

  “Surely you are ticklish?” he asked, marveling at her composure.

  “No. Not really.”

  Damn.

  Distracted, he lightened his hold on her wrists and regretted it instantly when she freed one hand and went straight for his ribs.

  Dissolving into a fit, he was laughing as her breasts bobbed in his face, his mouth quick enough to catch one and make her moan as his tongue convinced her to stop her assault. His scar tingled, the feeling no more or less excruciating than her tickles, but distinct.

  And just as he began to move her up his body so his mouth could enjoy a more succulent feast, there came a knock on the door.

  Leaping off the bed, he found himself half-shifted before he contracted, pulling back, realizing that the only two people on earth who would ever knock were Manny and Morgan.

  No one else knew about this place.

  None.

  “You need to dress. Quickly,” he barked, hating his own voice, despising what the knock at the door would mean. Time itself changed quickly.

  Too quickly.

  Shifting from one mammal form to another was one bold change of state.

  But time and the quality of time could shift in more substantial ways.

  “Who’s here?” she asked as she did as told, dressing fast. Asher did not bother, for he knew.

  He knew that he would need his wolf form.

  On his heels, Samantha hopped on one unshod foot, shoving the other shoe on as they made their way to the door. Asher opened it.

  There stood Manny, grief lining his face.

  “Sir? There’s been an incident.”

  The grief was one thing. It’s what Asher also saw on his face that was more disturbing.

  Fear.

  * * *

  Sam rushed out the door after Asher and Manny into the dark night. The sun had set while they were below ground, and she struggled to see Asher’s face.

  “You’ve received reports?” Asher demanded.

  “Yes, sir,” Manny replied. He glanced at Sam as if he wasn’t sure he could say everything. “Like before, but worse. There are eyewitness accounts. One of them is waiting to talk to you at your office at the big house. He’s a shifter, but I didn’t feel right bringing him near the family cabins. He has videos.”

  “I must see him immediately,” Asher said.

  Asher had told her to get dressed but hadn’t put any clothes on his own body. That made her more scared than Manny’s news. The only reason she could think for him to remain naked would be if he was going to shift—

  “Manny will take excellent care of you, my love. I need to go,” Asher said, pressing a hard kiss against her lips and then dancing away.

  “No! Don’t you dare leave me—”

  But he was already a wolf. She’d never seen anyone shift so fast. Some of her research had taught her that the strongest, most powerful shifters could control their forms as quickly as they could think them. She watched—impressed and annoyed—as he took off into the darkness, a streak of silver fur, muscle, beauty.

  “Dr. Baird?” Manny held out an arm.

  She didn’t need physical support. She nodded at him but broke into a run. She wanted to get to the main house before Asher could lock her out of the room and try to take on the responsibility for everything all by himself again.

  Perhaps it was adrena
line, perhaps it was the fox spirit guiding her footsteps, but Sam seemed to have acquired a fleetness of foot she’d never had before. Too curvy to be much of a runner, she’d found other activities for her workouts. But now she could run like the wind, and the darkness didn’t slow her down either. Manny had to struggle to keep up.

  When she reached the side door of the main house, she was breathing hard but not breathless. She flung it open and hurried through the great room with its stone fireplace and panoramic views of the lake to reach the private quarters on the other side of the house. Manny, panting at her side, shouted at a pair of security guards to open the door behind the bar. They hurried down a hallway, and soon they were at the threshold of Asher’s office.

  Manny knocked a special knock—three, one, three—and waited. Sam decided to remember that secret knock for future use. She suspected—imagining a happier, safer future—there would be times she wanted to get his attention without him knowing it was her.

  Asher was behind his desk, buttoning a crisp white shirt while he talked to a thin, redheaded man Sam had never met before. Zach was there too.

  “Has Nate shown you the video?” Manny asked, breathing hard.

  Asher tucked in his shirt. “He was just about to.” He glanced at Sam. “Forgive me for leaving you like that, but I must deal with this absolutely as quickly as possible.”

  She offered a regal nod of her head. She wasn’t going to make a scene unless he tried to kick her out of the room.

  “Proceed,” Asher said to the man whose name seemed to be Nate.

  “This was outside the Novo,” Nate said in a strong Boston accent. “The next one is near your brother Derry’s place.”

  “But what—?” Sam began to ask, then cut herself off as the video began.

  A large black cat. Well-muscled, enormous, and lethal, lounging near the fountain outside LupiNex and the Platinum Club. Deep below which, she’d learned recently, was an old shifter club called the Novo.