Shifters of Grrr 2 (42 page)

"Now I have claimed you," Ryan whispered in my ear. "We are bonded together."

He flipped me over, so that I faced him once again. My hands were still pinned beneath me, forcing my back to curve upward at an awkward angle and my breasts to jut out. My eyes landed on his, and there I read the hunger of a hunter spying a deer in the distance. He bent over my chest, scraping his teeth across my nipples, enjoying the shudder that ran through my body.

I longed to reach up and touch him – to run my fingers over his wide, muscled chest – but he didn't seem to want to untie me. He had to be in control. Ryan threw the corner of the duvet over my head, so I lost sight of him. I fought against the folds of the fabric, but this only made him clamp the sheet down tighter. "Don't fight," he warned me. "I'm not going to hurt you...much."

His words filled me with a delicious terror. I don't know what he'd done to me, but it make every inch of my body shimmer with a kind of magical ecstasy. Ryan pinned my legs with his arms, and I felt something warm slide over my wet folds, dancing over the spot that gave me such joy.
His tongue.
I ached for him, longing to feel his hardness inside of me.

Not being able to see him made the experience even more erotic. He licked and sucked, reaching up with his fingers to twist my nipples, first softly, but then harder, so hard that my chest soon ached with pain. The strange energy he'd transferred to me took that pain and spread it through my entire body, pressing it against the fiery pleasure that once again threatened to overwhelm me. My stomach swelled with the pressure building inside of me, tendrils of pleasure reaching out through my arms, down my legs, across my chest, filling my body with warmth.

Ryan scraped his nails across my inner thigh as he buried his head between my legs, his tongue darting into every fold of my most intimate place. I felt his stubble along my thighs, his long hair tickling my sensitive skin as his tongue worked its magic. The pressure in my stomach burst and the warmth flooded me. I cried out as the orgasm carried me away, my vision disintegrating into a thousand red splodges – like one of Matisse's decoupages coming to life before my eyes – and my limbs kicked and jerking of their own accord.

Before I had even recovered, Ryan climbed on top of me and pinned my legs with his. I heard him tear open a condom and roll that on, and then he thrust deep inside me. I cried out as his length filled me, pressing against my wetness on all sides. Frantic and wild, he came at me with abandon, thrusting with such force and ferocity that the bed around us creaked in protest. I could see nothing but flashes of silk and bright red spots, but I could
feel
everything, more powerfully than I ever had before – every stroke, every swirl of his fingers, every thrust. The energy in my body flared up once more, only now it seemed to be swirling all around us, enclosing us in a cocoon of shimmering, sizzling magic. Feeling him move inside of me while he swirled his fingers around my tight nipples made the pressure bubble up inside of me once again, starting between my legs and rising like steam through my belly and chest.
 

Ryan tore away the sheet from my face, and covered my mouth with his, his tongue darting possessively into every corner and crevice. We rocked against each other. Ryan's fingers closed around my breasts, squeezing them, pushing them together, making them ache and throb. The pain and pressure built inside of me, and became one in my body, crawling through my limbs and reaching right down to my toes. I cried out as another orgasm rippled through me, my moans muffled by Ryan's forceful tongue. Fire coursed through my limbs, and I bucked against him as I fought to gain control over my body. All the while, the strange magical energy danced over my skin.

Heedless to my passion, Ryan continued to pound against me, his thighs slapping against mine. He twisted my nipple hard, and tears fell from my eyes as the last of the fire within me faded into a dull, warm ache. I bucked against him, rising up to meet each stroke. We began to move together, slamming against each other with enough force to knock the bed against the wall.

Finally, Ryan's own orgasm claimed him. He cried out and collapsed against me. When he had completely emptied himself, he rolled me over and pulled the sheets around us both, wrapping his arms around me and holding me against his warm body. The air around us seemed alive, crackling with residual energy.

"You are mine," Ryan whispered into my ear. "And I am yours."

***

TEN

A noise woke me. The creak of a door opening.
 

I opened one eye, then the other. The room was unfamiliar. Where there should have been a pile of clothing and a large calico cat sprawled across the bed, there was only light streaming from a large picture window overlooking the forest, soft grey walls and a warm figure snoring beside me. It took me a few moments to remember where I was.

Phew, what a night.

I rolled over, rubbing my eyes to rid them of sleep. There was Ryan, his muscular arms curled around his pillow, one hand reaching lazily across the bed toward me. His chest moved up and down slowly, and he emitted an unattractive, wheezing snore. He was still asleep. Behind him, I saw the door to the room creak open slowly.

I reached behind me and pulled my phone from the dresser. The time read 7:29. "Is that you, Simon?" I called, wondering if Ryan's dutiful servant was bringing us breakfast in bed.
I could get used to this lifestyle.
I pulled at the laces on the front of my pyjama top, trying to stuff my breasts back inside. "I'm not sure we exactly decent at this moment."

"Nothing is ever decent in this room," a sultry voice replied.

I looked up again. A woman stood at the doorway, wearing a red silk gown with a plunging neckline that clung to every inch of her perfect body. Tawny red curls fell over her shapely shoulders, framing a porcelain, heart-shaped face and emerald eyes that sparkled with all kinds of wanton promises. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. As I watched – too shocked to cry out – she lifted the small pouch from the doorknob, raised it to her bow-shaped lips, and sniffed delicately. Screwing up her face in disgust, she tossed the protective spell into the hall.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she cooed at Ryan's sleeping form, stepping into the room, her red gown swishing around her shapely legs.

"Who are you? How did you get in? The house is locked up and protected by magic."

She narrowed her emerald eyes at me. "Who are
you?
What are you doing in this room?"

"I'm Alex Kline. I'm his..." I glanced over at Ryan, his face still. I kicked him with my foot, hoping to wake him up. But all he did was snort, and continue right on sleeping. What was I to him? I didn't know how to articulate it. "...I'm his art curator. Who are you?"

"I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned me," she smirked, tugging at the ruby choker around her thin, elegant neck. "My name is Melissa Sinclair. I am Ryan's mate."

TO BE CONTINUED

Want to find out what happens next? Order your copy of PART 2 in the Crookshollow Foxes serial:

ART OF THE HUNT

The evil wolf Isengrim has Raynard Hall surrounded, and he's moving in for the kill. Billionaire artist and fox-shifter Ryan Raynard must protect his mate – the clever curator Alexandra Kline – at all costs. But that's difficult to do when she refuses to even talk to him.
 

After discovering Ryan's lie, Alex flees Raynard Hall and aligns herself with Marcus, a vicious mutt with his own agenda. But without Ryan's protection, Alex is vulnerable. Isengrim's shifter army are gaining power, and too late Alex realises just how dangerous the enemy really is.
 

With less than two weeks until Ryan's exhibition launch, can Alex and Ryan find a way to reconcile and stop an army of rogue shifters from killing every last human in Crookshollow?
 

Reader Warning:
Art of the Hunt
is the second book in the Crookshollow Foxes serial by Steffanie Holmes. This book contains scorching sex, adult language, and a cliffhanger ending. If you like dirty, raunchy sex with a hot fox and one clever, sarcastic heroine, then this book will have you howling for more. Enjoy!

Buy now on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00W3824XS

EXCERPT FROM ART OF THE HUNT

"Holy shit," Kylie had her hand over her mouth.

We were standing at the top of the bank, looking down at my car. Or rather, what was left of my car. Deep ruts in the dirt marked the spot where Ryan and I had left the road and hurtled down the bank. The front right side of the car had plowed into the tree, folding upward like an origami crane, the metal bent and twisted. One wheel lay in the dead leaves a few feet from the wreck, the tire torn to shreds. Seeing it in the daylight, I felt my stomach churn with fear. I couldn't believe I'd survived that.

Taking a deep breath, I started walking down the hill. "Alex!" called Kylie. "What are you doing? What if it's dangerous? What if the engine explodes?"

"This isn't a Bruce Willis film," I yelled back. "I'm looking for my purse."

"Don't leave me here with him." Kylie pouted, walking a little closer to the edge of the bank to watch me. Marcus sniggered. "He's naked and strange."

"If you fall and break your neck, princess, I'm not coming after you." Marcus yelled. He still sat in Kylie's car, using a torn strip from his t-shirt to mop up the blood from a claw mark on his leg.

Ignoring them both I half walked, half-slid down the slope, each step jolting my wounded shoulder. My bare feet crunched over dead leaves and dry sticks. Up close, the car was even worse than I'd realised. I slid past the driver's side door, which lay in the leaves several feet from the car, a great dent in the middle of it. Jagged metal teeth curled up from one side, where it had been torn from the car.

Ryan.
He'd torn that door away to rescue me. I marvelled at the strength he must possess in order to do that. Odd that it had never occurred to me last night. Perhaps being a
vulpine
gave him more strength than an ordinary human, as well as super hearing.

But that doesn't stop him being a liar,
I thought angrily. I swiped at my eyes, trying to force away the tears I didn't want to cry. Ryan wasn't worth the tears. I blinked, and my gaze fell on a pair of boots hanging in a branch not far from the car. Ryan's boots.
 

Don't think about him now. It's over.

I stepped closer, and peered inside the car. I had been driving, so I would've placed my purse on the back seat. I pulled open the back door on the passenger side, and searched through the empty takeout containers and dirty laundry. Where was it? I leaned over and felt under the seats. Nothing. It wasn't there.

As I stood up, I noticed something on the back of the driver's seat. It was a pawprint, caked in dirt. I rubbed the edge of it. Dry. It was from last night.

I backed away from the vehicle, my mind spinning. My purse was gone, and shifters had been in the car. They had taken it. Which meant they had keys to my flat. They had a swipe card for the Halt gallery. They had my cellphone and date planner, with contact details for all my colleagues and friends.

Holy shit.
 

#

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Aimee and the Bear - Cara Wylde

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST RETELLING

FAIRY TALES WITH A SHIFT

Copyright © 2015 by Cara Wylde

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

About the Author

PROLOGUE

I should have known better. I should have known this wouldn't end well. I wiped my tears and tried to clean my dirty cheeks with the rim of my sleeve, which was probably useless since I was almost sure I was going to rot in this filthy dungeon. The little light that was coming through the small square window was just enough to allow me to see how dirty the floor and the walls of my prison cell were. I was sitting with my back against the cold iron bars, trying to make myself as small as possible. I could see the shape my body had left on the dusty floor when the
thing
had thrown me into the cell. I shuddered at the thought that half the filth and dust in this enclosed space was now on my face, hands, and clothes.
 

Yes, I should have known better. This was all my fault. Stealing is bad even when you're starving and the thing you want to steal is not that important or valuable. I deserved this.