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by Belinda McBride
Category: Erotica/Paranormal Erotica/Science Fiction EPIC eBook Award Finalist
Description: After being sidelined by her first heat-cycle, Marshal Belle Oakley goes out looking for trouble. Instead, she finds Armand de le Croix, a dangerous werewolf with amnesia. When they meet, it's magic. When they part, it's mayhem. Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual content, menage (m/m/f with m/m content), sex while in shifted form, violence.
eBook Publisher: Loose Id, LLC, 2009
eBookwise Release Date: July 2009
191 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [308 KB]
Reading time: 196-274 min.
Belle felt all eyes swivel in her direction when she swung into the bar. The lights were dim, but she could see a game of multi-pool in full swing. Patrons sat at various tables, indulging in illegal and dangerous games of chance. Smoke hazed the place, both legal and otherwise. When she saw some of the weaponry, Belle felt seriously underdressed.
Automatically, she glanced to her left, missing the presence of Tucker. As soon as they'd hit the street, he'd dropped his nose to the ground and begun to track, no doubt on the trail of a bitch in heat. Well, she wasn't here to avoid trouble, and having a huge wolf at her side was a deterrent to what she was looking for.
She moved to the old-fashioned bar and nodded to the bartender, ordering up a beer. She didn't particularly like the Earth beverage but didn't want anything stronger, given her already clouded judgment.
There were several possibilities, the first of which was a big dark man at the pool table, with short-cropped hair and a scar on his cheek. His knuckles boasted marks of a recent fight. She preferred a smaller man most of the time. She was a big woman and enjoyed feeling like a big woman. A blond at a game table was looking her over, his eyes hot with want. No Weres, but beggars couldn't be choosers. There were a couple of other good possibilities as well. The air began to crackle with sexual tension as her pheromone cocktail began to drift through the room.
Okay, so the men were in place, now for location. She wasn't normally big on exhibitionism, and Roane had made it pretty damn clear to keep it outside the Quay, so her berth was off-limits. Her cruiser was secured in dry dock; there was no way to access it now. She glanced at the bartender, catching his eye.
"Do you have rooms?" She almost didn't recognize her own voice; it was that husky and sexed up.
The bartender's gaze raked over her body and then shifted up to the next level of the bar. "By the hour and by the day."
She nodded, noting that his eyes were on her lips. A spike of arousal shot through her cunt. She normally didn't think of her body that way, but she was like a bitch in heat and was pared down to her most primal. Part of her wanted to pit the men against each other, winner take all.
Better yet, first come, first served. Line 'em up, Lucky.
Belle paid for three nights and pocketed the key. Her long coat swishing around her ankles, she rose from the bar and headed for the doorway to the stairs, taking her beer along for the ride. Belle turned, leaning in the doorway, surveying her choices. From across the room, she could smell sour sweat on the big dark man. He'd have to shower first, and she wasn't in the mood to wait. Her glance fell on the blond. They made eye contact, and he straightened, setting down his cards. And then he picked them up again, returning to his game. He pointedly ignored her.
What the fuck?
She was so distracted that she missed the movement in the dark hall to her back. An amateur's mistake.
Without warning, a hard body pressed up against hers, a pair of hands circling around to cup her breasts. Warm breath feathered her hair, sending shivers up and down her sensitive flesh. His fragrance was wild and heady, and his cock was hot and hard when he pressed it against her bottom. A Were, fully aroused. Her heart dropped. Her pussy cheered. Her beer slipped from her hand. He caught it, lifting it to take a long drink.
"Slumming, bébé?" His voice was gravelly, harsh. His head dipped down to her neck, and he took a deep breath. "Ah ... you've been exposed to Matruscan ladies ... Their scent has brought your own ripe time. Poor little bébé."
What was his accent? Belle carried a southern American accent courtesy of her family. His was not French, not southern. Cajun? It was a dead culture, but that's what it sounded like.
"You looking for a male to slake your needs?" He was fully against her body now, his hips still pressed against her bottom, moving in rhythm with his hands as he kneaded her breasts through the leather.
She should kill him right now. Spin and plant her knife ... God ... she could feel the heat of his body through the leather coat! Her eyes fluttered, and lust shot through her system, making her dizzy and weakening her knees.
"I come with you to your room now--forget those ones. They're boys, can't take care of a woman like you." His hands were under the coat, wandering, exploring. She could smell him; he was clean male, his own pheromones calling to hers. Her eyes dropped closed, and her lips parted. Without letting her turn to face him, the stranger walked her backward to the staircase, one step at a time.
He was taller than she, and stronger. The knowledge gave her goose bumps, triggering a primal, thrilling fear. Few men, if any, were stronger than Belle. It was just her genetic code. It was what made her good at what she did.
He swung around behind her, following her up the stairs. She still hadn't seen his face, but his scent was melting her body. She felt her arousal slip from her channel, smearing between her thighs. He stopped her on the stairs and pushed aside the skirt of the coat, pressing his cheek into her buttocks.
"Oh, bébé, you smell so sweet, and it's for me, isn't it?" His hands were up the short skirt, fingers trailing through her moisture. He dropped the skirt of her coat, allowing her to move forward again. A few more steps and they reached the landing. Her hand trembled as she inserted the old-fashioned key card into the door.
He followed her in, placing a hand over hers as she reached to switch on a light. He paused and scented the air. She should have known she'd draw a Were; even on a good day, they seemed to find her. Normally, she'd avoid them, but he was exactly what she needed.
The Were turned her to face him, and she studied him in the filtered light of the room. He was well made, handsome, and strong featured. But the Were generally were an attractive species. What surprised her was his age. His face was youthful but not young, and his hair was silvery white, cropped close to his head, lying in artistic disarray. She wondered how long it took in front of a mirror to create that look. His eyes were vivid arctic blue. And he was tall.
Gigantic. In bare feet, Belle measured six feet three, minimum. Add the stiletto heels she wore, and she towered over most men. She liked it that way, generally preferring men of lesser height. Belle was honest with herself; she was a little more on the Alpha side than not. But this man was looking down into her eyes. His shoulders were not bulky, but much wider than hers. His hard, hot cock rested against her lower belly, where he gently rocked against her, firing up her instincts.
Without a word, he lowered his head to kiss her, hands coming up to the back of her skull, one wandering to her face, stroking her chin. Her lips parted eagerly, and he stroked his tongue inside of her warm mouth, exploring her teeth, coming back out to lick her upper lip, nipping before kissing it gently. She watched his face, seeing the lids drop blissfully over his eyes as he nuzzled into her hair, trailing warm kisses down her throat, up to her ear.
Her legs buckled when he stepped around behind her and found that sweet spot on the back of her neck. Her coat slid to the floor. The dress came next, and she dropped her head back to his chest as first his hands and then his lips explored her arms, her waist, the valley between her breasts.
Without warning, he grasped her arms tightly, raising them over her head, and he bit, bearing down hard into the soft skin of her rib cage. She jerked, moaned, and sighed as he gently licked the spot.
"I'm sorry, bébé. The wolf wants domination. You are very powerful; we want your surrender."
Wolf. She'd hoped he'd be wolf, although she wasn't sure why. He was at her neck again, whispering words she didn't understand that raised goose bumps on her skin. His hands came up, cupping her breasts, circling the nipples into full erection until she cried out with the sensation, her body jerking away.
"You will stand still while I touch, bébé." The warning came as a stern but gentle whisper. His head dropped to her neck again, and he pushed her head forward, placing his teeth threateningly over the nape of her neck. He bore down, and the pain was exquisite, bringing a moan to her lips. He suddenly dropped to his knees and bit again, this time on her buttock, causing her to cry out. But she didn't move.
He stood, towering over her, controlling her. His big, rough hand skimmed over her bottom, then around to her belly, pulling her against his groin, grinding his cock between her buttocks.
"I smell another man on you, chère. Did he make you feel good? Did he make you feel like this?" His voice sounded like gravel wrapped in velvet. It frightened her. Thrilled her. Took her breath away.
She shook her head, unable to speak.
"Do you want to feel me against you? My skin against yours?"
"I didn't hear you." He pulled her tighter against his body.
"I want to feel you. Please."
Who was that? Surely that wasn't her voice, husky and moaning, pleading.
He pressed his mouth against her shoulder. "Turn around, bébé. Take off my shirt." She swiveled in his arms, slightly unsteady on the heels. He wore a high-necked shirt, skintight. She could see every muscle, every curve and valley beneath the jet-black fabric. The sleeves stopped at the midpoint of his muscular biceps. Belle tugged the shirt from his denims and slipped it over his head. She gasped. His broad, muscular torso was the stuff that dreams were made of. Wet dreams, anyway. A wide scar skated over his rib cage. Another rested low on his belly, near his hip. She wanted to taste it. She wanted to rub her face against it, losing herself in his scent.
"Take off my boots and pants."