She moaned and angled her head to the side, opening for him.
He lifted his head, staring at her form under his lashes.
Her lids lifted and she licked her lips, sucked on her lower lip.
He thought nerve endings might have exploded.
“Should I stop?” he asked roughly.
“I haven’t told you to yet, have I?”
The shy, nervous woman he was used to was gone and she met his gaze steadily. Holding her eyes, he reached up and tugged open the belt of her robe—a miserable excuse of a robe, he thought.
A faint pink blush rode her cheeks but she didn’t look away, didn’t squirm.
He trailed his fingers down her middle and she acquiesced when he shifted and nudged her thighs wider.
He pushed one finger in and she caught her breath, her mouth parting. He did it again, and again, and when she started to pump her hips against his hand, he stopped.
She made a mewling sound in her throat, the disappointment clear.
Shifting his position, Alex stared down the length of her slim, pale body, her perfectly rounded little breasts, topped with dark pinkish-red nipples, her slender torso and narrow waist, slim hips. Tight brown curls covered her pussy and he wanted to go to his knees and lick her clean.
Slowly, he began to kiss a path down the center of her body and her breathing went from high and breathy to low and rough. He cursed himself for being a fucking idiot. Six months of this. He could have had six months of it.
Pressing a kiss to her hipbone, he flicked a look up at her and watched as she stared down at him.
He stabbed at her clit with his tongue and she jerked against him, a harsh cry escaping.
He just wanted one taste…But that was a lie.
Surging up, he braced his hands over her head and bent down to growl in her ear.
“I’m trying to tell myself I didn’t come here to fuck you. I’m trying…and I’m lying. Tell me to stay or tell me to go, Ali-cat, but decide fast.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, tugged on it and then pushed him away gently.
Alex wanted to haul her back, lift her up and bury himself inside her. He could change her mind—
“The last time, you had me on a floor. Maybe this time, you can do better.”
Then she stepped back up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He felt something die inside him.
Lost, helpless…dying…he boosted her up against him.
Wicked
Wild
Fantasies
Previously titled
Whipped Cream & Handcuffs
By Shiloh Walker
This book has been previously released.
It has been extensively revised and rewritten.
Copyright
Previously published as Her Wildest Dreams
Original Copyright 2004 Shiloh Walker
Revised 2015 Copyright Shiloh Walker
Cover Image
The Reed Files | TheReedFiles.com
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Bonus ebook, Hunt Me Copyright 2011
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people.
Please note that if you purchased this from an auction site or blog, it’s stolen property. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Your support is what makes it possible for authors to continue to provide the stories you enjoy.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About
Dedication:
To Pam, the Wondrous One…you gave me my first real chance and I love you for it.
To my readers who’ve supported me over the years.
To my husband and my kids. You’re my world.
Chapter One
February
It’s weird, the way a woman can go her whole life without ever really seeing herself. And the things that can flash through her mind when she finds herself face to face with a strung-out addict, especially one willing to end her life, all for whatever cash might be in her purse at the time.
He was high; Alison Ryan had spent two years giving out meth at a clinic.
She could spot high easily enough.
To this guy, her life wasn’t worth the twenty dollars she had in her wallet.
Yet, in that moment—when seconds stretched out to a crawl—it wasn’t any odd sentimental moment from childhood that rose to her memory, no poignant moment spent in a lover’s arms.
Instead, she could see her reflection as she had looked just twenty minutes before she had left the house to run to the bookstore. It wasn’t a pleasing image. She could see her mousy brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, her glasses sliding down her nose, her long narrow face pale.
She rarely looked at anybody unless she knew them and if she had to look at anybody, she only did it for as long as she had to.
Her clothes, baggy jeans and a flannel shirt were clean, but that was the most she could say for them.
Comfortable, yeah. That was it. Her coat was warm and that, combined with her baggy clothes hung on a frame so skinny, it could have belonged to a teenaged boy.
She was twenty-six years old and her life could have been summed up in a few short sentences.
A few short pathetic sentences.
As she stood there staring into the eyes of a man running on a lot of desperation and not a lot of hope, she felt an odd flicker of kinship.
She felt almost the same way.
Desperate.
Just not for the same things.
She looked at him and saw a man desperate for enough money to score.
He looked at her and saw a skinny, pathetic woman, an easy mark.
Dimly, she heard footsteps and a shout.
With a jolt, reality snapped back into focus and her eyes, hidden behind huge plastic frames and lenses, narrowed. She set her jaw and her mouth flattened out into a grim line.
As the man swiped out at her, she swayed out of reach, instinctively drawing one hand down, cocking it back.
Her brother had drilled that manuever into her head, over and over and over…
Now she knew why.
To her surprise, the boy—was he even seventeen?—went crashing down, shouting with shock. She was certain she had felt cartilage crunch under her hand, but the pain of that wouldn’t faze somebody so obviously strung out. She drew her foot back, praying for forgiveness, and landed a kick square in his unprotected crotch.
That drew a howl from him…and a vicious curse. She dropped into a crouch she didn’t even know she remembered, drawing her hands up, eyes darting around for a weapon.
But it wasn’t necessary.
A body hurtled out from nowhere, tackling the boy before he could scramble to his feet.
She blinked, confused, watched as a large hand clipped the boy across the
face, stunning him.
Quivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked around.
She heard a voice.
It took her a few moments to realize that voice was addressing her by name.
Big hands closed over her shoulders and shook her gently.
“Girl, have you lost your mind?”
Alison blinked and then shook her head, trying to clear it. Then she looked up, homing in on that rough, angry voice. She knew that voice.
With a dazed, dreamy smile, she met the eyes of the man she’d loved for more than half her life. Not that he’d ever noticed.
“Why, Alexander O’Malley, how nice to see you.”
In the span of a few moments, her body went from subtle shivering to outright quaking. Her own heart started to kick, pounding heavily against the wall of her chest, causing her breath to catch in her throat.
His dark brown hair spilled onto his forehead, falling into his chocolate-brown eyes as he glared down at her in unsuppressed rage. His mouth—that sexy, sexy mouth she had always wanted one taste of—was grim and tight, his lean, tanned face stark with anger.
Her mind felt oddly disconnected as she stared at him, head cocked. Vicious, furious curses drew her attention away from Alex. Alex turned away from her for one brief second and she heard a low, menacing growl come from him. “If you even think about getting up, I’m going to carve out your balls and feed them to you…got me?”
Her already queasy stomach lurched on her and Alison pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Normally, her stomach was like iron, but that… oh, no. She stumbled a few feet away and braced a hand against a wall.
“Alison,” Alex said quietly.
She held out a hand and shook her head. “I’m alright,” she lied. “Go on. Be a cop. I’m sure you have…” She made a distracted motion with her hand. “Cop things to do with him, right?”
“Yeah.” Alex sighed. “Cop things.”
She nodded and slumped against the wall, struggling to control her heaving stomach as he pulled out a phone and began to speak into it, his voice low, the words fast, almost foreign to her.
The boy rolled pitifully onto his stomach and lifted a hand to his face.
He went to roll away and Alex moved closer, gave him a single, glittering look.
The boy’s sobs stopped abruptly and he went still, half-choking as he struggled to stop crying. It must have been hard, she thought, because the blood and mucous poured down his face. It would be clogging his throat, too.
I did that, she realized, shock settling in. She’d done that.
She was still struggling to process that thought when a warm hand cupped her chin.
Alex lifted her face to his.
The fog encasing her brain started to lift and she calmly said, “I think I might have broken his nose.”
“I think you might have,” Alex agreed, but his voice was grim. “But that son of a bitch was about to slit your throat. Why didn’t you just give him your damn purse?”
Slowly, she lowered her gaze to her purse. Somehow, through all of that, she’d held on to it. There wasn’t too much inside it. Her iPad and a phone. A book…just in case. Her wallet. Nothing that couldn’t be replaced. She didn’t even carry that much cash.
Shaking her head, she murmured, “I really don’t know.”
But then she looked back at him.
“It wouldn’t have mattered though. He would have killed me no matter what I did. And we both know it.”
∞
Alex O’Malley needed little in the way of material things to be happy.
He liked good beer, he liked a good book and he loved good, hard sex.
He’d also like it if his contact could get off his ass and get him the information he needed. He had a case to solve and it wasn’t going to get any easier if he just sat around twiddling his thumbs.
Or drinking a beer.
Or reading a book.
Or…
Okay, things might seem temporarily better if he found himself balls-deep inside a sweet, willing woman, but that would only be temporarily better.
Alex wanted this case solved.
But until his man came through with the information he needed from the boys down in Georgia, then he was stuck.
Since he needed to quit thinking about it and get out of his head for a while, he left his work at work for once and headed into Clarksville.
One of his favourite places on earth was a bookstore and it was Tuesday.
Any booklover knew that Tuesdays was a beautiful day.
That was, after all, when the new books came out. He figured he could grab a book and maybe even a beer and some wings. He’d kill some time and see if maybe fate smiled on him. If his contact came through before…oh, hey, eight, he might be able to push through for a warrant tonight.
Otherwise, he’d be doing this same song and dance tomorrow.
His cell rang as he was climbing out of the car. Alex glanced at the number on the display, then ignored it.
He recognized the number and the name, although the woman’s face was already fading from memory. They’d hooked up a few weeks ago when he’d gone out with some friends. They’d ended up at her place and it had been a pleasant evening. Very pleasant. Pleasant enough that he’d accepted her number when she gave it to him, but now, after one more night, he’d decided he was done.
In the time it took for him to process the number, acknowledge who it was and then dismiss it, three things happened.
He heard a low noise.
Somebody dropped something.
And he realized he definitely wasn’t done working for the night.
The cop part never fully shut down. At least not for Alex O’Malley.
He placed one hand on the butt of his weapon, hidden under his light jacket and he placed his back against the work van.
They’d just renovated the damn mall a few months back, but the annoying work vans were still all over the place.
Peering around the edge, he caught sight of two figures.
They were half hidden by the work van and on a Tuesday night in February, the mall wasn’t exactly busy.
When he saw the glint of a knife, he blew out a slow careful breath.
Panic never helped anything after all and he’d been a cop a good long while.
But then the woman shifted, changing her angle as she braced herself…to fight the maniac with the knife.
And Alex saw her face.
His blood ran cold.
Alison, he thought.
That was Alison Ryan.
The man swung the knife toward her.
Both Alex and Alison moved at the same time.
By the time Alex got there, blood was already flowing.
Chapter Two
He would have killed me no matter what I did.
Those words rattled around in his head as Alex paced the small bullpen of the Jeffersonville Police Department. Located on the Ohio River, right across from Louisville, Kentucky, the town had been growing at a slow but steady sprawl over the past few years and the police department was—like many others—struggling to keep up.
Alex had hoped that if he had to come back here tonight it would be to hassle a judge over a warrant he needed signed.
The last thing he’d expected was to come back because the kid sister of his best friend had damn near gotten her fool neck slit.
He swung around and shot a look at the silent, slim figure huddled in the chair. As he watched, one of the female detectives approached and crouched in front of her, a cup of police coffee in her hands.
He half-expected Alison to say no.
Her brother was a cop. She’d been in and out of this place more than a few times. She normally showed some sense of appreciation for her stomach lining. But to his surprise, she gave Detective Amber Downing a faint smile and accepted.
Downing rose and returned to her desk, cocking a brow at him.
Alex scowled and resumed pacing.
Alison resumed her study of the wall.
He seriously doubted she was seeing anything, but he had to admit, she was much calmer than he ever would have thought.
It wouldn’t have mattered though. He would have killed me no matter what I did. And we both know it, Alex.
Damn it. Fuck.
The bitch of it all? She was right. The boy was so fucking strung out, he would have killed her and it wouldn’t have fazed him. Oh, he would have been sorry—once it was too late.
Alex already had the kid’s record back, although he wasn’t going to let Alison know. The dumbass would shortly be on his way back to prison. He’d been out on parole and there had actually been a warrant out for his arrest. He’d missed several meetings with his parole officer. His mother, his grandmother, his preacher and his young wife had all sworn he was a changed man, ready to be a productive member of society.
My ass.
Although the little punk was lucky Alison knew something about defending herself. If he’d hurt her…
Alex clenched one hand into a fist at the thought of what might have happened. If he’d been too late or if she’d been too slow. If he’d gone to see her one last time, stretched out, forever still in a long, gleaming box.
Swearing, he stormed over the men’s restroom and shoved through the door. In there, alone, he braced his hands on the sink.
She’d saved her own neck.
She’d done exactly the thing both he and Mike had been drilling into her head from the time she was still a gawky, gangly girl, all legs and arms and big eyes.
A sick, hot little ball of nausea slid through his gut and Alex clenched his jaw. Fuck. He had known her since she was a kid. There was no way to describe the rage he had felt when he had raced upon the scene and realized that woman with the knife at her throat was Ali. That the strung-out kid had been holding a knife on Ali.
But she had handled it. Who would have thought it? Alison Ryan. She was such a… well, mouse. It wasn’t the nicest thing to say about his best friend’s baby sister, but what else could he say? It was the truth.
Her pale face was a bit paler than normal, but nothing that was worrying him.
Wicked Wild Fantasies Page 1