by Renee Rose
His grin widens. “Oh baby, I’ve imagined claiming you again for a thousand nights, but I never pictured it this way.”
I lick my lips. My ass tingles where he smacked me and the pulse in my clit takes all my attention. “Why not?”
He lets out a harsh curse and smacks me again, twice, then returns me to my back and works open the button on my shorts. “Need this pussy,” he growls. “Gotta taste.”
I’m unbelievably wet by the time he gets my shorts down. He’s still dressed, and I’m fully bared to him, which only makes me hotter. I slide my legs wide as he kisses down my shuddering belly. He flicks my belly button with his tongue, then licks his way lower. Hooking his hands under my knees, he spreads me wide.
“Is all this for me, baby?” he asks before tracing my inner lips with his tongue.
I jerk against him, but he holds my pelvis down, getting on with business.
And he definitely means business.
I haven’t forgotten Nash’s skill in bed, but after such a long drought, it’s even more devastating. Every flick of his tongue has me moaning. My wrists are bound together with the bra, but it’s not attached to anything so I bring my hands down to grip his head. He doesn’t have enough hair to pull, but I push him down, lift my pelvis to rub up.
He toys with my outer lips, nipping me.
I moan and writhe, needing more.
He sucks my clit, then works two fingers inside me.
I start coming almost immediately, he finger-fucks me roughly, pounding his knuckles to get deeper while his tongue flicks rapidly over my most sensitive nerve-bundle.
“Nash!”
“Aw, that’s it, baby. Come for me. I need to see you come.”
“Yes, yes!” I scream, my pussy squeezing and releasing as the storm passes through me.
He slows the movements of his fingers until it becomes a slow undulation, then a possessive cupping of my mons. He rises over me and kisses me hard, my scent on his lips.
He works the bra off my wrists while he kisses me, but then surprises me by flipping me to my belly and binding my wrists behind my back.
Oh goodie.
I’ve never had sex like this. Never playful. Never kinky. Nash was already the epitome of masculine attractiveness to me, but this? This is like sex in another dimension. It’s every fantasy and desire I’ve had plus all those I never dared dream rolled up into one.
“Since you’re having a hard time with your hands, I’ll have to give you a little more help.” Nash’s breath is short, like he’s already panting for release.
He’s already brought me to orgasm twice—he must have balls the color of blueberries.
“And I think you liked having your ass smacked, didn’t you, baby?”
I tense for more spanking, but it doesn’t come. I realize he’s waiting for my reply.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Yes, sir, is usually how this works.” There’s a chuckle in his voice.
I’m getting swoony just over the fact that he knows how this works. Whatever this is.
“Yes, sir.” My voice is so husky I don’t recognize it.
He lifts my hips until my knees slide up under me, so I’m resting on my upper body with my ass in the air. “Mmm, now that’s a beautiful sight.” He slaps my ass a couple times. I want more, but he reaches for the condom. I hear the crinkle of the packet and then he’s there, pressing at my entrance.
“Yes.” I utter the word like his cock is my salvation. Maybe it is. I want him so badly. Want the sensation of him filling me. Claiming me. Using me.
He groans as he pushes in, his large cock angled perfectly to seat deeply. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in. He doesn’t move. I feel his thighs shake against mine, the pulse of his thick manhood inside me.
“Fuck, Denali. Fuck. You feel so good. Better than I remembered. Better than anything.” He’s babbling. Offering his words up to the Gods of Sex. Of lions and lionesses.
Finally, he moves. Out and then in. He slams home like he couldn’t stand the half second of retreat. “Baby, I’m losing my mind already.”
Who am I to complain? He already got me off twice. But I start giving orders. “Fuck me, Nash. I need it harder.”
He curses and jackhammers into me, stuffing me so full of his cock I lose my mind, too. Slap-slap-slap. His loins smack against my ass, his balls catch my clit. He drives deeper and harder and faster.
My eyes roll back in my head, my teeth chatter.
His roar bounces off the walls. I scream. We both come in a monumental orgasm.
Before I can recover, he’s freed my hands from the bra and he pushes me to my belly. His fingers lace over the top of mine as he fucks me slowly, taking his time now, like he’s savoring the feel of me. Or he doesn’t want it to end.
Hell, I don’t either.
My mind is beyond blown. I’m still orbiting the moon.
Nash’s mouth finds my neck. He bites and kisses and sucks. Traces the place where he marked me.
My pussy squeezes his cock. My lioness purrs.
Nash releases one of my hands and works his under my hips. Still rocking in and out of me, he lazily rubs my clit. I’m not ready to orgasm again. I’m too relaxed. Too replete.
Nash isn’t in a hurry. It’s just pleasure for the sake of pleasure now. No rushing to a finish line. Just two bodies communing. Two animals purring.
My mind wants to race around this problem. Figure out what to do with Nash when we’re done. How to side-step our connection. But my lioness won’t let my mind follow any thread of thought. It’s only the rightness of Nash moving inside me, the glory of his touch, his scent.
And just when I reach the point where I need Nash to either stop or move forward, he pounces—quick, and powerful. I find myself on my back, Nash shoving my knees wider to make way for his thighs. “Gotta fuck you again, my queen.” He thrusts into me.
I gasp at the power of the drive. My mouth opens with a cry, head falling back, chin arched to the ceiling.
And then he’s driving hard again. The king of beasts, plowing his way home.
Lights explode behind my eyes. I’m suspended in time—hurled into an explosion of carnal pleasure. I think the snarling sound comes from me, but I can’t be sure. The room shakes with our roars, bed slamming against the wall.
He fucks me way too hard, but I love every second of it. I crave this pounding contact, need more, more, more.
“Yes, Nash—yes!” I scream. My nails dig into his back, I think I bite him, although I’m not sure where. My eyes flip back in my head and the room spins.
“Nash, oh fates, Nash,” I mumble, chanting his name on repeat mode until the swells smooth and I’m floating on a still, quiet bed of blankets.
Nash crashes beside me, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his light brown chest hair curls. I trace the tattoos across his chest. He turns into me and strokes a hand up my side to cup a breast. “Keep saying my name like that, my queen, and I’ll never let you out of this bed.”
Nash
My world—no, my entire universe—just shifted and rearranged. This is where I belong. In Denali’s bed. Satisfying my mate.
Except I have nothing to offer her but a ruined animal and a male who fights with his fists for his dinner.
Still, my beast kneads his paws, a new strength pouring through my veins. Just being with Denali, mating with her again, revives my tattered spirit. I don’t know why I need my mate so much, but I do. It’s the first time I’ve lifted my head and looked around since I broke out of the lab. No, since before Afghanistan.
Denali doesn’t look at me, caught in her own musings.
Fates—I have no clue what she thinks of all this. Our physical attraction is undeniable, yes. But while she appears content, she’s not giving off the let’s move in together and play house energy. No, she’s definitely giving off a solitary lioness vibe. More like, thanks for the orgasms, catch ya on the flip side.
I should give her space.
>
No space, my lion growls. Don’t let her out of your sight again.
But that’s crazy. I’m not a stalker. Okay, yeah, I just chased her up a hill and tackled her to the ground, but I couldn’t help myself.
And that’s precisely why I need to give her space. My lion is not well. I’m dangerous. And I definitely don’t want to fuck this up.
I sit up and roll off the bed, recalling that she had to leave by 4 p.m.
Denali
“What time is it?” I reach for my phone and get a chill. It’s almost 4 p.m. “I have to go.” I rise and grab my shorts.
“I know.” Nash bends over to tie his boots, gorgeous muscles glowing in the lazy afternoon light. There’s a heaviness to his tone that makes my chest tight.
He knows what I’m going to say.
So I say it. “Yeah. You should go.” I face the wall as I shrug on a shirt, wincing at how cold I sound. “I’m sorry. I have a life. A job.”
I barely hear a step before he’s at my back. “This isn’t over, Denali.”
My heart lurches and skids. Of course not. It’s too much to ask, to share one more afternoon and then part ways.
“I’m late. I have to go. Please, Nash.” I turn to plead with him.
His expression is shuttered. He nods.
“It’s probably not a good idea for you to come back.”
Well, that came out sounding wishy-washy. Because my lioness is scrambling my brain. She doesn’t want him to walk away. I’m not even sure I want him to walk away. But I definitely need to proceed with caution. It’s not just about me. I have Nolan to protect.
His frown tells me he doesn’t agree.
“Walk me to the door?”
He escorts me with a hand on my back. Ever the gentleman. He had manners, even when we were trapped in a cell.
“So where do you live? How can I get in touch?”
“I’m in San Diego. Not far. I’ll give you my number.”
I enter his phone number into my cell. He doesn’t ask for mine in return, but if he found me here, he probably already has it. “It was good to see you.” I mean it. As troubled as I am by his appearance, I also hate saying goodbye. I lock the door. “I’ve got to run.” I kiss him on the cheek—and jog to my car. Somehow he arrives before me, and opens the door.
I get in and focus on turning on the car, ignoring him as he leans over me. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “But I’m late. I really have to go.”
I pull out of the drive, leaving him standing there, watching me go. Everything in me wants to turn back, run into his arms, tell him everything.
I shake my head, and the flower falls out of my hair. Somehow in all our lovemaking, it hung on. Until now. It lies on the floor, battered but still beautiful. Like the lion I left. A brutal fighter with a sick animal. My mate.
What the hell am I going to do?
Nash
I follow Denali’s beat up hatchback through town. She’s hiding something. Normally I wouldn’t stalk a female, but my lion insists. She’s my mate. Even if I’m in no shape to take care of her.
She’s done well for herself. From the information Sam forwarded, she has her own small business running errands and taking care of homebound elderly. She pays most everything in cash. Still living mostly under the radar.
Her old car runs a yellow light and I pull through a gas station parking lot to keep her in my sights. She wasn’t kidding about being late. Either that she drives like a maniac. No matter. I catch up with her easily, almost pulling flush with her car. She doesn’t notice me following her. A little frown of concentration mars her forehead.
My lion admires her. He hasn’t been this happy in... ever. My animal was born in blood, triggered in battle. I’ve never known him to be anything but a stone-cold killer.
Except with Denali. Drumming my hands on the steering wheel, I realize I’m grinning.
She let me into her bed, even though she wasn’t entirely happy to see me. But afterward, she certainly was in a hurry to get me out of her life. That just shows she’s smart. No matter. Even if I should, I’m not about to let her go.
She stops briefly at a grocery store, coming out with two bags before continuing on. She must have more errands because she doesn’t head home, but back to the main boulevard until she turns into the parking lot of a low building with a fenced playground.
What is she doing at a preschool?
Denali disappears into the building. A minute later, she exits, holding the hand of a little boy.
My entire body turns to ice.
A cub.
She has a cub. But... who’s the father? She wasn’t pregnant when she met me, and I mate-marked her. Who would dare touch her after that? A human? As I blink away the red haze, there’s a crunching sound. I broke the steering wheel. I tear open the car door, my legs eating up sidewalk. Mine, my lion growls. Mine.
Denali looks up. Shock and fear cross her face, followed by anger. The little boy has his head down, oblivious. She steps in front of him.
“Stay back, Nash.” Her chest rises and falls. She’s gearing up to fight me. Momma lioness prepared to protect her cub.
Does she think I’ll hurt him?
Well yeah, I did storm out of the car mad as fuck. She’s right to fear me. Hell, even I fear my lion most days.
The spice of her scent hits me and I stop in my tracks. The little boy peers around her. I suck in a breath.
His face and hair are pure Denali, only a few shades lighter. But the boy’s eyes are green, like mine.
Denali
No, no, no.
“Nash,” I warn. “Back off.”
He does, stepping off the sidewalk. I hurry Nolan past him and get my son into his car seat.
“Here, baby.” I hand him a juice box and his usual snack. Just keep calm. Stay normal. Even though all my plans have gone to hell.
“Who’s that, momma?”
I glance back. Nash is rooted, staring right at Nolan. His son.
“He’s a... friend.”
The boy sniffs, scents the air. “He’s like me. He’s a lion.”
“Yeah, baby. But we don’t talk about our animals in public, remember?” I shut the car door, and head to face Nash.
Damn, this is so fucked up.
“What the hell?” Nash chokes out.
“Quiet,” I hiss, even though he’s only said what I’m thinking.
“Who is that?”
“My kid.” I lift my chin and hold my ground.
“How old is he?”
I close my eyes, willing this moment away. I’ve imagined it a hundred, a thousand times. I don’t know whether I wanted it to happen, or just knew it would.
“Denali, how old?”
“Three,” I whisper. “He’s three.” I’m almost dizzy, helpless to stop this moment. For the past three years, my whole life has been centered around protecting this one vulnerability: my sweet boy, currently eating his goldfish and drinking his juice in his car seat.
“He’s mine.” He starts to push past me, but I block his path.
“Stay back,” I warn.
He stops, craning his head to look around me. “You don’t want me near him.” It’s a statement, not a question and it hits me like a two by four across the ribs.
He’s right, I don’t.
And yet, haven’t I wished a thousand times that Nolan had his daddy in his life? Haven’t I imagined what a good father Nash would be?
But that was a different Nash. One I conjured out of memories and fantasy. One who doesn’t exist. This Nash looks like he’s barely holding on to basic living.
My shoulders sag. “Nash, I just—I don’t want him hurt. I can’t let him get attached to someone who’s not going to be a part of his life.”
A muscle in Nash’s jaw flexes. “Who says I’m not sticking around?”
I press my lips together. “I never said you could.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. He has a legal right to be in his son’s life whe
ther I want it or not, but he doesn’t challenge me. He rubs his stubbled jaw, still trying to peer past me at our son.
The static-y quality to his animal grows louder.
I shiver, my lioness senses telling me I’ve made a mistake, but I ignore them.
“You have a son.” The awe in his tone would make more sense if he’d said we have a son. The omission sets of alarm bells for me.
“Yeah. His name is Nolan. He’s pretty awesome.” I ignore the stabbing desire to share Nolan with Nash—for him to review and soak in every milestone he’s missed. To laugh with me over the cuteness I endure on a daily basis. To love him as much as I do.
“Denali,” Nash chokes. “I didn’t know.”
I can’t stop myself, the words tumble out and expand between us. “Come back this weekend. Maybe we could go to a park and hang out or something. You can meet him. If you don’t tell him you’re his dad.”
Agent Dune
Charlie scales the rope hanging from the skylight of his target’s mansion and slips out, gently replacing and sealing the domed covering.
Bugs successfully planted in international smuggler Duke Ducey’s home. He had to rush back from his personal jaunt to Tucson to obey these orders.
Quiet as a cat, he slips over the edge of the roof, hangs from his hands, and throws his body away from the house, over the seven-foot metal fence. Landing noiselessly in a deep squat, he pulls up the black mask that covered his pale skin and stays in the shadows as he walks swiftly up the block to where he parked a car under cover of some bushes.
He calls his handler as he drives away. “It’s done. Feed should be live. Check it.”
“Already on it,” Agent Ann Gray sings, the clack of her fingers flying over keys audible in the background. She’s a thirty-something analyst—never been in the field, but highly utilized for information security and transmission. “Yep, feed is live. I’ll have it stored on the Degas server and to yours. Anything you want me to monitor for?”
“No, I’ll handle it.” He hesitates. “I need you to look for something else for me, though. For a different case.”