Steal the Day (46 page)

“Oh, I’ve thought of it, Dev,” Daniel admitted, his voice tight so I knew his fangs were out. “Are you kidding me? It’s all I’ve been able to think about for months. I just don’t know if Z’s ready.”

“Do what I tell you and I assure you, she’ll be able to handle it.” Dev looked down at me his face serene even as I knew mine was tight with need. “Do you trust me, sweetheart? Will you let me lead you?”

“You know I trust you, Dev.” I trusted him implicitly. “Please, please fuck me.”

I was already going crazy. I was worried this little game of his just might kill me with wanting, and he hadn’t really touched me yet.

“Why don’t you find your happy place,” Dev ordered softly, looking at my husband. “But Daniel, long, slow strokes of the tongue. This is meant to tease, to torture in the most exquisite fashion. We don’t want her to come too soon. There should be some work behind a truly good orgasm. Make her beg for it.”

“Dev, that’s not fair,” I managed to say before Daniel took my breath away with that first sweep of his very talented tongue. It ran the length of my pussy, and I could feel every inch of that stroke. Daniel’s big hands spread my legs further as he settled in and started to torment me with the light caresses. I tried to push down, to force him to fuck me with his mouth, but the bonds held too firmly.

“Will it help if I promise you’ll be completely satisfied with the experience?” Dev asked as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned down and touched the puckered nipple with the tip of his tongue. Teasing the nipple to a hard point, he finally pulled it into his mouth. He lightly sucked on it, the sensation making me want so much more. I nearly came off the bed when he gave me just the slightest edge of his teeth. I wanted to cry, to beg, to plead with him to give me more.

“Dev, please.” I gave in to the need.

Love and Let Die

Masters and Mercenaries, Book 5

By Lexi Blake

Now Available!

A Tragic Love Story

Charlotte Dennis’s mission was clear: distract and misdirect CIA operative Ian Taggart by any means necessary. If she failed, she would never see her sister again. With her training, it should have been simple, but after one night in Ian’s arms, she knew that saving her sister would mean losing the man of her dreams.

Ian was tracking a terrorist when he met the beautiful American daughter of a Russian mobster. His instincts told him Charlotte was trouble, but his body craved her like a drug and his heart would not be denied. She took his ring and his collar. For once he was truly happy. But as he closed in on his target, her betrayal cost him his mission while her sacrifice saved his life. As she died in his arms, Ian vowed he would never love again.

A Dangerous Reunion

For five years, Charlotte has thought of nothing but returning to her husband, her Master. Working in the shadows, she has devoted herself to earning a chance to reclaim her place in Ian’s life. But forgiveness isn’t a part of Ian’s vocabulary.

Nothing is more important to Ian Taggart than his new mission. But the information he needs is firmly in the hands of the woman who betrayed him. To catch his most dangerous prey, Ian will have to let Charlotte back into his life. As the hunt takes them to some of the world’s most exotic locations, the danger grows and their passion reignites.

Will Ian forgive his wayward submissive…or lose her again?

* * * *

“Who?”

Charlotte frowned as though the whole meeting wasn’t going quite the way she’d planned. She’d no doubt expected him to give in to instinct number one. “What do you mean who?”

He liked the fact that she was off balance. She couldn’t seem to get a handle on his calmness. He couldn’t blame her. He’d always been a dipshit passionate idiot around her. She didn’t know the real Ian Taggart, the one he’d been before he’d married her, the one he’d found his way back to after long years of mourning. He was cold, calm, collected. He was a professional. “Who shot you, Charlotte?”

She stilled. “You’re not going to like it, Master.”

“Ian, please. I’m not your Master, sweetheart. I would prefer you use my given name. I keep the honorary title for the submissives I top.” He kept his voice at the same even keel, but the word “Master” did something to him when it came out of her mouth.

“You’re always my Master,” she said, her voice sweet and a little sad. “And I’m your submissive.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.” Or he could shove her over his knee, work those jeans off her hips, and slap her ass silly. Charlotte could take it. Charlotte craved it.

Who had been smacking her cheeks and tying her up and fucking her until she screamed? Because there was no way she went without.

“Master, I need you to listen to me.” Her blue eyes fairly pleaded with him. Those eyes were what had gotten him in the first place. Oh, he’d loved her breasts and her hips. She was solidly built, and that just did it for him. He wanted a woman he could fuck for hours and not worry about breaking, but her eyes were striking. Ocean blue, like the waters of the Caribbean reflecting a crystal sky. He’d been drawn into those eyes.

“I’m listening, Charlotte.” A thought occurred to him. “Is that the name you’re going by now or should I call you Kristen? I have no idea what your real name is.”

Her hands made frustrated fists. Ah, she hadn’t changed her little tells. Those fists always made an appearance when she thought he was being stubborn. Her hair might have changed, but he could still tell when he was getting to her.

“I’m Charlotte Dennis and you damn well know it. You checked me out the first time. I never lied about my background.”

He raised a single brow.

She bit into her bottom lip, her eyes sliding submissively away. “I apologize, Master. I shouldn’t have cursed.”

He shook it off. It was just a habit. Disciplining her had been a habit, the same way her sinking to her knees at his feet and rubbing her cheek to his leg had been a habit. The way he’d been able to relax and think as he’d petted her hair and enjoyed the contact before he would inevitably pull her into his lap and start to make love to her.

Yep. Just a habit. He could break habits. He hadn’t had her in five years and he’d survived perfectly well. “Curse all you like. I probably would if my boss had shot me and then dosed me up with puffer fish toxin. Do you think he expected you to live?”

He tamped down the panic that flared at the thought of someone shooting her and dosing her up and leaving her there on the floor of their flat like a sacrifice. The protectiveness was a habit, too. She wasn’t his to protect, and she never had been. She hadn’t really been his sub. She’d been his opponent, and the first round had gone to her.

But she wasn’t going to win this one.

“He wasn’t my boss, babe. He had something I needed, and I thought he was the only one who could do the job. After I met you, I realized just how stupid I was.” Her eyes were cloudy with tears, and she started to reach out for him. He moved his hands and leaned back out of her reach. “I should have talked to you but by then the man I was working for had Chelsea. After he killed my father, he took her as insurance that I would do the job. I couldn’t risk Chelsea.”

“Of course not.” He had no idea who Chelsea was. Probably her dog. “I would like a name, Charlotte.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked down at her hands. “Chelsea is my sister’s name. I know I didn’t tell you about her, but she’s younger than me. She’s more…fragile. You remember how I told you about my father?”

Her Russian mobster dad. Yes, Vladimir Denisovitch. He had a rap sheet about twelve miles long in twenty-two different countries. If he’d followed the Russian mob practice of tattooing his crimes on his body, Ian was sure there hadn’t been an inch of skin left on Vlad’s flesh. But his crimes against Charlotte were even worse. However, Ian no longer cared. “I asked for a name. I don’t need to know about your sister.”

“You’re going to be difficult.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. If you don’t want to talk, you should feel free to leave. There’s nothing at all difficult about it.”

She took a long breath before speaking. “I’ll tell you, but I want you to stay calm.”

Everything fell neatly into place. There was only one name he could think of that would truly enrage him. Or would if he really gave a shit about her. “Then it’s Eli Nelson.

An Unlucky Moon

From USA TODAY Bestselling Author Carrie Ann Ryan

A Dante’s Circle Novel

Hunter stood in front of Dante’s Circle, the sunset beating down on him. He narrowed his eyes, the brown contacts he wore irritating them. He hated wearing the damn things, but yellow eyes seemed to scare the humans. He hadn’t worn them the last time he’d been here, but he’d forgotten.

After spending four years battling demons and doing things that would haunt his nightmares for years to come, putting a thin film over his eyes to keep from scaring the little humans hadn’t occurred to him.

People milled around in the early evening sun, talking and going about their day. Most of them were humans so they didn’t realize they were venturing around a walking shadow of death. A pixie passed him and froze, her eyes widening. She blinked then scurried off, as if too afraid of what he
could
do rather than remembering that, to most predators, prey running away only egged them on.

Hunter wasn’t one of those predators though. Despite his name, he didn’t feel the need to hunt after prey when the one he truly wanted was within the walls in front of him. It had been a month since he’d seen Becca. A month since she’d lain in his arms, her body pale, healing.

He could still remember the howls echoing off the walls. It hadn’t been until later that he’d realized those howls of anguish had been his own. Though he hadn’t known much about Becca—still didn’t—the wolf within him knew everything he needed to know.

Becca Quinn would be his mate—
was
his mate.

Now he just had to convince her of that.

Leaving for a month to let each other heal and work his way through the labyrinth of lies and betrayals within the Pack might not have been the best idea in retrospect. From what he knew of females, he was pretty sure leaving without any form of communication wasn’t the smartest thing.

He’d have to court Becca—something he had
no
idea how it worked or what it entailed. Maybe Ambrose and Balin would help him. Even in hell, the angel and demon had known how to make Jamie smile. Hunter was pretty sure Ambrose had messed something up before they’d gone to hell in the first place. Hunter took that to mean that if the eons-old warrior angel could make mistakes and come out of it okay, surely he could.

Hopefully.

Hunter was the Beta of the Nocturne Pack, yet right at this moment, he didn’t know if he had the strength to face her. He’d never had a mate before, let alone a human one—or whatever Becca was. He wasn’t exactly sure, and the triad hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with details.

 Most wolves within his Pack mated other wolves. That was just the way of things. Wolves had one true mate—sometimes two if they were in a triad. That was it. Sure they could mate others and have children, but it wouldn’t be a true mating. All other supernaturals had the same idea of true bliss.

Finding one’s true half was a blessing.

A rare one.

The moment he’d stepped into that alley and had seen the red-haired goddess, he’d known she was the one for him. It had hit him like a freight train. Where most men would have thought it was crazy, Hunter had welcomed it.

He’d known she was his.

Now he just had to figure out what to do about it.

His Pack wanted him to mate—at least the ones who wanted him alive anyway. He had a true mate, but she wasn’t part of the Pack. Hunter knew this would be an issue, but he really didn’t care. All he wanted was the sweet-scented woman who drugged him like an elixir with her presence.

A human bumped into him and gave him a dirty look, presumably for standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He didn’t blame the human for being annoyed, so he blinked at him rather than growling. The human’s eyes widened, and fear seeped from him before he took off at a brisk pace in the other direction.

“Scaring people again?” Balin asked as he walked toward him from the parking lot.

Hunter shrugged but nodded toward the demon who had become his friend. “I didn’t growl or bite him. I thought I was doing well.”

Balin shook his head and chuckled. “You were. I don’t really get it up here either.” Up here being the human realm rather than the hell realm that Balin had lived in for three hundred years.

Though Hunter’s own Pack was dark, gritty, and slightly demented, he still preferred it to hell.

Balin gave him an odd look then shook his head again. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Did you get things taken care of?”

Hunter thought back to the looks of pity and fear within his Pack. “Not fully, but I’ve been away long enough.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you needed to do, are you?”

“I can’t.” It was true. Though Balin had helped save Hunter’s life, he wasn’t Pack. Some secrets needed to remain within the confines of their own species—something the demon should understand.

“You’re here for Becca, aren’t you?” Balin crossed his large arms over his chest and glared.

Not that Hunter knew exactly why the demon happened to be glaring, but it didn’t sit easy with him. Hunter’s hackles rose, but he toned them down. It was good that Becca had people to take care of her—even if the warnings were misplaced.

“Yes. She’s mine,” he answered simply.

Balin narrowed his eyes. “Remember that these women are not like those you know.” The demon looked around at the humans who were oblivious to the rising tension. “Let’s go inside. We can talk a little more freely there.”

“You’d stand in the way of a bond?”

Balin shook his head and led them to the front door. “No, but I will stand before her to ensure it’s what she wants. You left her high and dry and confused as hell a month ago. Don’t think you can just prowl in and think everything will be okay.”