His tongue slipped inside her, slick and hot, jolting her, eliciting a groan of achy need, making her bite her lip to keep from begging him to lick her.
And then he began to stroke—long, slow, measured swipes of his tongue, until she rocked against him, savoring the rasp against her clit, relishing the rhythm. Pangs of desperate need clawed at her when he circled her clit, suckled it, keeping the swollen bud aching with desire. His strong hands kneaded her ass, lifting her higher against his wet mouth, pushing her to the brink then easing her away from the edge again.
Martine’s stomach clenched as the easy rhythm increased, creating delicious friction, drawing sharp twinges of need from deep within her until her back arched, thrusting herself into the moist heat of his mouth.
As her orgasm drew near, her thighs trembled, her heart crashed against her ribs and there was nothing but Derrick’s mouth on her, nothing but his tongue sliding in and out of her slick, swollen flesh. When his hands moved to her waist, spanning her lower body, pressing her to his delicious lips, Martine strained, reaching for fulfillment.
The sounds of his mouth devouring her became intoxicating, a wild beat in her head as she came with the speed of light, hard and heavy, letting the heat rip through her body and crying out as her head thrashed against the arm of the sofa.
It left her panting and gasping for air, her muscles tight, almost painfully rigid. But Derrick soothed her with the palms of his hands, letting them caress her skin in circular motions until her hips relaxed back into the couch.
Lifting her to a sitting position, he brushed his cheek against hers and whispered, “Condoms. A deal’s a deal.”
Martine fought a whiny groan, her hands running the length of his arms, delighting in the tight muscle. “Please say you have some, or I might be forced to MacGyver this and use the Saran Wrap in the kitchen.”
He barked a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before scooping her up in his arms and throwing her over his shoulder. “In the bedroom,” he growled as she giggled against his back and gave his adorable butt a pinch.
Derrick stopped beside the bed, letting her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor and she was staring up at him, his blue eyes sparkling.
He made his way over to the nightstand on the opposite side and Martine watched him move with a sigh. He was, of course, as chiseled and honed to perfection naked as he was fully clothed. His shoulders were wide, his waist lean, his hips narrow, with those damn delectable creases that led to his hard cock, just thick and long enough to make her mouth water.
His movements were graceful when he opened the drawer to his nightstand and held up the condom with a grin of triumph. With a chuckle, Martine wiggled her finger at him and pointed to the floor in front of her, eager to touch him, anticipating the moment he’d be inside her.
Derrick didn’t waste any time, he hopped over the bed and sat on the edge, patting the space beside him. With a flat palm, Martine pushed him to his back and sprawled beside him, sighing when their skin met, grasping his cock and taking her first pass of his hard length.
He moaned, shifting his weight on the bed, jutting into her hand as she cupped his balls and gently massaged them. A small shaft of light shone between the heavy drapes, falling over his muscled thighs, thick and sprinkled with fine hair. Martine’s throat tightened at the sight of him lying on the bed, all hers for the taking.
Leaning over him, she was dizzy with desire, her chest tight as she licked her lips anticipating the slick, hot glide of tongue over flesh, loving the way he thrust his hips.
She let her hair graze his cock, draping it over the rigid flesh, enjoying the sharp intake of breath Derrick took as she lingered, allowing only her hot breath to caress him.
His hands reached for the strands of her hair, entwining his long fingers in it, pulling her closer until she took a long, slow swipe of him, loving the silky-hot texture of his skin.
Derrick’s groan rang through the bedroom, his lower body bolting upward as Martine took her time, circling the head of his cock, licking it with quick, light skips of her tongue.
Her hands cupped the heavy sac of his balls as she teased him with her mouth. His shaft was hot and sweet when Martine finally enveloped him fully and he clutched her head tighter, her slow descent making the muscles in his legs tense and bulge beneath her hand.
Gripping both thighs, she kneaded them as she settled between his legs and allowed Derrick to glide between her lips of his own accord. The surge of his hard flesh left her wet, hot, trembling as this enormous man shuddered beneath her touch.
Derrick pulled out of the hot cavern of her mouth with a harsh pant and dragged her upward with arms of steel, rolling her over, his hard body pushing her into the bed, his heavy weight thickly muscled and delicious and against her own.
She loved the way his body enveloped hers, crushing her beneath him. A sigh escaped her lips at the pleasure of their flesh connecting.
As he busied himself with the condom, Martine let her hands roam his back, squeezing the corded network of planes and ridges, wrapping her thighs around his waist and arching upward into him when he finally rested between her thighs.
Derrick paused, looking down at her, his eyes no longer playful but dark and swirling, as though he’d seen something, making her stop all motion.
But then he took control and thrust into her with a powerful surge, jolting their bodies, gluing them together.
Her gasp echoed with her surprise at how they needed no adjustment, their alignment was so perfect.
Derrick’s cock was like steel embedded snugly inside her, plunging with no mercy into her wet depths. She clenched around him, matching his thrusts as his arms scooped her up and crushed her to him, grinding, driving, taking what he wanted.
The swell of white-hot heat between her legs rose and fell, sought relief, backed away in an effort to prolong their complete connection.
But her hips didn’t cooperate as she frantically drove her body toward the cock that filled her, stretched her, made her blood pound in her ears.
Derrick hissed a breath in her ear and her hands found the muscled flesh of his ass, digging her nails into it as he swelled within her and found his release.
Martine let go then, rode the wave with him, her nipples tightening sharply, scraping against his bare chest when she came with a fierce yell.
In his final thrusts, Derrick’s lips found hers, mumbling incoherent words she couldn’t make out, but she didn’t care.
She only wanted this man to stay inside her forever.
Martine frowned. No forever. She’d never wanted anything for forever. She chalked it up to the wine.
As Derrick settled against her, his large frame sagging in release, Martine allowed herself the simple indulgence of a last roam of hands over his hard back, reminding herself that while this lasted, she’d enjoy his incredible gift for lovemaking in between figuring out what she was going to do with her trashed life.
She’d enjoy his beautiful body, his insanely talented tongue, his amazing meals.
Period.
And that was the last thing she reminded herself to do before she disappeared into thin air.
Chapter Eight
Derrick’s eyes flew open when Martine’s luscious body simply evaporated from beneath him. He sat up, his eyes scanning the room for her. Was she some sort of magician? Since when did a shifter have the ability to vanish?
What the hell?
Stunned, he hopped off the bed, shoving the covers back as though she were hiding beneath them.
His gut tightened momentarily in worry then suspicion set in. Maybe this was why she hadn’t wanted him to ask any personal questions?
She’d mentioned spells in their earlier conversations, but he never guessed she was actually capable of them, and he certainly didn’t understand how they related to her. He’d thought she was just talking in general about her dislike for the paranormal.
So who was Martine Brooks r
eally? Was she a witch? He’d heard plenty about witches and warlocks, but he’d never encountered any, not even here in Cedar Glen.
Was this the impossible part of his curse? That she’d just up and disappear on him when the time came to mate?
But what if she was hurt? What if this was something that happened against her will? Maybe someone had put some kind of spell on her? His lips tightened into a thin line, at a loss for what to do next.
Derrick ran a hand over his jaw, scraping the pads of his fingers along the stubble before heading back to the living room to put his clothes on and find his phone.
He jammed his legs into his jeans and went in search of his cell, poking around in the pockets of his jacket until his hand felt the hard square.
But wait. Who did you call when the woman you just made amazing love with vanished right before your very eyes?
Dean and Sam?
Nat. Nat knew all sorts of crazy shit. Maybe she’d know something about this. Using the pad of his thumb, he scrolled his contacts and sent Nat a text, trying to keep as calm as possible.
Need your advice ASAP.
Please tell me you didn’t yell at Martine and scare her off. We like. Don’t fuck this up.
Derrick grated a sigh. Him and the yelling again. He’d never once yelled at Martine. He’d pause for a moment to consider why he hadn’t yelled, because they were certainly in a frustrating position, but right now he just needed to find her and know she was safe.
This is an emergency. Come now, please.
A knock at his door was almost instantaneous before Nat popped her dark head in and took a peek around the room. “What have you done, brother?” she asked, pushing her way in and tugging at her scarf around her neck to drape it on the coatrack by the door.
“Why do you assume I’ve done anything?”
“Because Martine’s really nice and you’re not so nice?” She rubbed her hands together to warm them.
He rolled his eyes, pulling his shirt over his head and jamming his arms into it. “I am nice.”
“Okay, maybe nice isn’t the right word. You’re impatient. That’s the word, and when you get impatient, you yell—”
“I don’t yell!”
Fuck. He did yell.
Nat pointed her finger at him and grinned. “Just like that,” she pointed out. “So what happened? Did she touch your Cusinart? Ohhh, the horror! Does she still have fingers?”
Funny, but he wasn’t laughing right now. He needed to know she wasn’t hurt. “No. She disappeared.”
“You mean like left the house?”
“No, Nat. I mean like into thin air.” He snapped his fingers.
She cocked her head, her ponytail swaying. “Um, drink much?” she asked, nodding to the empty bottle of wine.
Derrick fought his urge to yell again. Because, you know, he was a yeller. “Damn it, I had half a glass. She was in my be—er, in the room and then she was gone. Just like that. Swear it.”
Nat’s mouth fell open as she rushed to his side, rubbing his bicep. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. So what does this mean? You know all about this kooky-spooky shit. What could possibly make a shifter disappear into thin air without warning?”
Her eyes went wide. “I have no clue. Unless she’s not a shifter? Okay, let’s not panic. First, what were you doing when she disappeared?”
“None of your business,” he responded all too quickly, wanting to rip his tongue from his mouth.
Now his pretty sister’s face went all disgusted and disapproving. “You already bagged her, Derrick? She’s been here, what? Two days? God, pal. Does no one ever turn you down? Do you even know what rejection is?”
“I didn’t prop her. She propped me. And that’s beside the point. We had just finished…and she was just gone.” So gone he was starting to worry. Really worry. What if this was because of his curse? What if she had no control over it and ended up hurt?
Nat snorted. “She propped you? Jesus.”
He narrowed his eyes at his sister. He’d been subject to plenty of rejection. He just preferred everyone thought otherwise. It kept his loner reputation intact. “Not the point, Nat.”
Nat’s face softened, her eyes gentle when she gave his arm a squeeze. “You’re worried, aren’t you?”
Yes. Yes, he was damn well worried. He liked her. If he had to have a mate, she was the perfect one because she didn’t want anything from him.
That’s not why you’re worried, Derrick. Don’t lie to yourself.
“Are you worried because she might not come back to mate? Or are you worried for her? Like her safety?”
He’d have liked to give the response Nat expected of him, but he couldn’t. “I’m worried about her and her safety.”
Nat was suddenly all business, her disbelief shelved. “Okay, first thing’s first. Has she told you anything about her background? A clue as to why or how she’s capable of vanishing?”
“Not a word. She asked that we keep things impersonal.”
Nat nodded, grabbing his laptop and dropping to the couch, tucking her long legs beneath her. “She was pretty vague with us, too. She did say she has no family to speak of and no job.”
Which was more than she’d told him. Which made him angry. Which shouldn’t. He’d agreed to no personal questions. That she was able to share with his sister and JC shouldn’t upset him. Yet, it stuck in his craw.
He sat down beside his sister and squeezed his temples. “So now what?”
Nat nudged his shoulder with hers. “Did she use your laptop at all?”
He nodded, leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes. “Asked if she could use it this morning before I left for the bar.”
“Then let’s search the history.” She flipped it open and began clicking, her expression going from passive to concerned.
“What?” he coaxed, sitting upright, fighting the urgency in his voice.
Nat pointed to the laptop screen. “This is her Facebook page. Apparently, Martine Brooks owns a wedding planning business she all but abandoned six months ago.”
His eyes scrolled the messages left on her page, one angry comment after the other, until he had to push the laptop away for the anger the messages stirred in him.
Not for a second did he believe she’d just up and abandoned her life. There was no rationale for that gut feeling, especially after the way she’d talked about her dislike of getting too involved, her disconnect with who she was as a shifter. The way she wrinkled her cute nose when she spoke of how unfair their world was.
But he didn’t believe she’d abandoned it willingly.
And he didn’t know why.
He just knew.
* * *
Martine fell to the hard ground with a grunt and a harsh slap against the freshly fallen snow.
That was snow, wasn’t it?
She let her hands feel around before she opened her clenched eyes.
Yep. That was snow, powdery and still falling, and damn cold when you were buck naked. Where was she? Her eyes popped open, and she found herself surrounded by a midnight-blue sky and trees, lots of trees.
And bunnies. Wow, so many bunnies. Their glowing eyes assessed her from their hiding places. Rolling to her side, wincing as the sting of snow hit her unclothed sides, she made a face at the lot of bunnies poking their heads out from beneath the shrubs. “Don’t judge, okay? Derrick’s a good cook. Now scoot!”
So, if all the small woodland creatures and the trees were any indication, she was definitely still in the town known as Deliverance. Er, Cedar Glen.
But what had happened from the time she’d left Derrick until now?
Panic seized her. Jesus. How would she explain this to Derrick? One minute she was in the warm cocoon of his lovemaking, the next poof, gone.
Her stomach, bloated, churning in turmoil and in need of relief, reminded her of exactly where she’d disappeared to.
She’d been in the ether, or the realm, or as Escobar liked to cal
l it, “That place where you steal shit against your will and bring it to me because you have no damn choice in the matter, seeing as I own you.” Then he’d cackle infuriatingly and disappear again until he needed her to snatch more magic.
Had Escobar found her? Her eyes scanned the surrounding area frantically. He was the only one who could send her into the realm. In the past, he didn’t have to be present to ship her off to do his dirty work. He only had to show up afterward and snatch what he’d stolen.
So what the hell? Did he still think she was in his apartment in New York?
More panic clutched her gut. Sitting up, Martine groaned not just at the freezing cold but also her bloated belly—full up with the witch magic Escobar so desperately needed to become a stronger, more powerful warlock. The bunnies scattered in every direction, leaving her alone with her fear.
And naked.
In the woods, with no idea where Derrick’s house was in all this vast acreage she’d heard JC and Nat talk about today.
If Escobar was responsible for plucking her from Derrick’s bed that meant he’d want the magic he’d sent her to retrieve.
Violent chills accosted her exposed flesh as she tried to remember how to purge the magic. Out. It needed out, now. She’d never done it alone before—Escobar snapped his fingers and it was just magically gone.
But if she didn’t purge, surely she’d explode at this rate. Not to mention, she was certainly some sort of homing device, and if he hadn’t found out she was gone yet, it wouldn’t be long before he did if she didn’t get rid of it.
Rising to her feet, she hopped around in a lumbering fashion, the snow sticking between her toes as her teeth chattered. Maybe if she shifted, weathering the icy cold would be easier.
You see, Martine? This is that point in your life that pig of a father of yours told you you’d come to. He told you, someday, as a familiar, you’d need to learn how to handle things like this.
Martine pictured his angry eyes, cold and as green as hers, his face red and pitted with scars from his drinking and fighting, and shivered harder. She pictured her dainty, dark-haired mother clinging to his beefy tattooed arm, coaxing him away from his daughter, shushing him, offering him another drink to appease his foul, hot temper.
What's New, Pussycat? (Wolf Mates Book 2) Page 8