Hot and Haunted (15 page)

Chapter Seven

“
I
CAN’T BELIEVE
after what we just went through that you want to spend another weekend with me in a deserted cabin in the woods. We could have locked ourselves in my apartment in Kansas City.” Miranda laughed as she tucked herself into Aden’s side as they walked through the cabin on Lake Dexter in North Carolina. “Especially given how well that turned out last time we tried it. But I guess crazy does run in families.”

“It does,” Aden agreed readily. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “This weekend is about us. Getting to know each other,
really.
I want more from you than hookups between cases.”

Miranda let her eyes go wide with faux innocence. “You mean you don’t want to hook up?”

Aden grabbed her and swung her up into the air over his shoulder, hauling her to the bedroom, stripping her one-handed as he went.

“Did you know that I’ve had you everywhere but a bed? In the Expedition on the way to the airport, in the lavatory on board the plane—”

“In which I had to struggle
not
to scream twice, but I’m sure a couple of other agents knew what we were doing.”

“In one of the closets at the Nelson-Atkins, the coat-check room at the Weston, your dining-room table, my La-Z-Boy, your parents’ swimming pool. We’re going to do this in a bed.”

“How crazy is it that the bed is the exotic place?” She giggled. “You’re just too hot, Special Agent Brewster. I can’t help myself.”

He slapped the curve of her ass lightly. “We’ll have to work on some home correction.”

“Mm, do that again. But just remember, when you’re done, it’s my turn.”

He spanked her again. “What happened to ‘yes, Agent Brewster, may I have another?’ ”

“Is that how you want to play?” She squirmed in his grip, loving every second of friction between their bodies. “Yes, Agent Brewster,” she replied in a saucy tone, “may I have another?” He obliged her, and the stinging slap echoed sensation straight to her clit. “I think I like this being-bad thing.”

He deposited her gently on the overstuffed down comforter, settling between her thighs as he licked at the mark on her neck where he’d bitten her that had yet to really heal. He hadn’t drawn blood, but it was like the hickey that wouldn’t die.

Miranda loved it. Every time she wanted to remember him, she could touch the mark, and the sensation there wasn’t quite pain, but it was a gentle reminder, like a fading bruise. She especially liked it when he licked it and grazed his teeth back over it. It’s what made her scream. Sometimes, when she was alone, she’d push on it hard with one hand while she fingered herself with the other. He still had yet to watch. Every time they tried, he wasn’t content to observe. He had to partake, and Miranda liked it that way.

Her blood rushed hot and molten through her veins like liquid gold as he began his descent down to her breasts.

“Mark me again.”

“Miranda,” he began.

“It feels so fucking good all the time, Aden. Every time I think of you, I touch it. I want that intensity on my nipples. It’ll be like your mouth is always on me, sucking me. Please,” she begged.

He took her nipple between his teeth and bit down carefully. Bliss exploded from the tight nub scattering throughout her body in electric jolts. He laved at the flesh, swirling his tongue over it, making it pucker tighter, harder.

When he closed his mouth over her other nipple, pleasure shot straight to her clit, as if his mouth had been sucking her there rather than her breast. Something bright and hot exploded behind her eyes as an orgasm rocketed through her, and when she closed her eyes, she really did see stars. Her blood rushed in her ears, loud like the noise of an orchestra tuning itself.

It occurred to her that not all the books she’d snuck under the covers to read at night had been bullshit. A man could make her hear a symphony with his kiss and see stars from his cock.

She heard the telltale crackle of the condom wrapper and opened her eyes to look into his when he filled her. That was a habit that had become an addiction. It was like they were falling into the ether of some carnal nirvana together. A world that was only theirs.

Miranda’s favorite part of fucking him wasn’t the orgasm, it was this. That first invasion of his body into hers, that feeling of impossible fullness and the sense that he was always a fraction of a second away from pushing all of her limits so far past the confines of what she thought she was capable of.

Every time with him was like the first, that initial sensation of shattering like a broken vase, with his mouth, his hands, and his tongue stitching her back together.

“How do you want it, Miranda?” He pumped into her.

“Fast and hard, baby. I still want breakfast food for breakfast.”

“We could stop . . .” He held himself still.

“We could.” She nodded, bucking up to force his movement. “Then I’d have to stab you in your sleep.”

He laughed. “I love how fierce you are.” Aden bent his head and swept his tongue over her love mark.

She shuddered. “Not
that
fast.” She referred to the power the mark had over her now. It was strange, something she’d just accepted.

“Yes, that fast. I’m hungry, too.” He continued to licking at the mark, driving her higher and higher while he plowed into her—hard and fast, just as she’d demanded.

The force of his thrusts pushed her down into the bed, and she loved the weight of him, his strength. Loved feeling his muscles working like a well-oiled machine under his smooth skin. He kept swiping his tongue over her mark, and she regretted for a moment telling him what it did to her. He used it like a button to get his way, to assert his control.

But she kind of liked that, too.

The edges of her vision faded, and she surrendered to the impending burst that would send her flying through seas of ecstasy. She tensed her nails into his back; he loved it when she scratched him like some kind of wild beast—a good thing too, because she couldn’t help herself.

“Yeah, that’s right. Come for me, now.” His arms tightened around her, and he followed her down the spiral, his cock jerking inside of her as he came.

He held her until she fell back into the real world.

“I love what you do to me, Aden. You’re the only lover I’ve ever had who could make me come so hard or so fast.”

“Is that why you like it fast? I always thought women wanted it to last longer.”

“Mmm. Not me. Hard and fast. So we can do it again. I like immediate gratification.” She tilted her chin up to kiss him and swiped her tongue over his lips in a teasing caress after she broke the kiss.

“Keep teasing me, Miranda, and we’ll never even make it out of the cabin. We’ll do it long and slow, and there will be no breakfast, lunch,
or
dinner.”

“I’m happy to lie fireside with truffles and champagne. Or enjoy that party-size Jacuzzi spa while you go freeze your balls off in the lake.”

“That’s what they call a compromise.” Aden pulled her to him and kissed her hard before getting up and dressing.

She followed suit. “But promise me something,” she murmured.

“If I can.”

“I like how you don’t say anything, as if whatever I ask will always be in your power. Shows you’re listening to me.”

“Huh, what did you say?” he teased gently.

“No, really. This is serious.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t ever lie to me again. That’s part of why I don’t have relationships. I don’t trust, but you saved my life. So I’m trusting you. If you fuck that up, it’s broken, and it’s gone forever. I can deal with any truth you have to give me so long as you don’t lie.”

“Are you sure about that? What if it’s something that will change everything? What if it changes how you see the world and everything in it?”

“As long as it’s the truth, I want it.” Hell. What was he going to lay on her now? This was a bigger buildup than finding out that Webster was his brother. There couldn’t be another skeleton in his closet, could there?

“Then I have something to tell you, Miranda. But after my morning run.”

“Oh, so it’s important enough that it will shatter my world and everything in it, but it can wait until after your morning run?” She laughed. “Are you finally going to tell me how you got out of those handcuffs? Or how you escaped your brother’s familial killing spree?” He’d never answered those questions, and they were always there in her awareness, her brain turning the question from every angle, yet she’d never been able to settle on an answer that satisfied. She needed the words from his mouth. Miranda didn’t know why he wouldn’t answer her, probably just so she’d wonder as she did. He liked to keep her guessing.

“Maybe, but later. It’s going to rain,” he said by way of explanation, and shrugged. “Unless you want to come with me?”

“Run? There better be something chasing me.”

“Oh, but you’ll work out on the elliptical like a hamster on a wheel?”

“I can watch movies while I run, and I don’t have to think about it. Plus, you know I’m not into that back-to-nature thing like you. Not only do I need my indoor temperature control, but I like my cross-trainers too. I don’t know how you run barefoot. You’re going to get tetanus or something.” She finished dressing and followed him outside to the deck of the cabin.

“I’m going to get this bad boy out of the way before it starts raining too hard. I have other plans for inclement weather anyway.”

“What are those?” Miranda asked as if she didn’t know.

“You, sweetheart.” His voice held a note of promise that made her shiver every time she heard it.

He brushed a kiss across her lips before jogging out toward the path that wound around the lake. Miranda wasn’t alone for ten minutes before she decided maybe she’d join him. It would be a challenge to see if she could catch up
and
keep up. He challenged her in so many ways.

But she would cheat—she was definitely wearing shoes.

Miranda changed into her workout clothes and jogged outside. She followed the path until it started to turn to mud. She saw Aden’s footprints wedged deep in the mud. He had such a heavy gait.

She jogged a little farther, following his trail until the prints began to smear in the mud. They had to be smeared; otherwise, what she saw wasn’t something she wanted to know. As the prints smeared, they stretched, elongated, until they looked just the ones that had been outside the cottage in Minnesota. The ones Aden had said were bear prints.

The howl of a lone wolf echoed through the trees. Miranda turned back toward the cabin, the soft sprinkling rain splashing down her face as she jogged. Maybe she didn’t want the truth after all.

But as she jogged, her muscles burned and stretched—pushing her forward harder, and her jog turned into a run, and the run a sprint, driven by some primal compulsion. The love marks on her neck and breasts blazed, the fire spreading through her body, and her steps turned away from the cabin—toward the woods. Toward her lover.

Her mate, who’d bitten her three times.

Later that evening, when the wolf howled again, the sound echoing through the barren winter forest, there was a second howl to answer its call.

Author’s Note

T
HIS STORY WAS
born from long summer nights and cloudy winter twilights spent staring out my grandmother’s window into the woods on the very same Lake Ida and being unable to shake the feeling that there was something hungry in the dark looking back at me. Of course, it didn’t help that
The Howling
had just become my favorite movie. It should also be noted that there are shades of truth to this story: the formerly endangered wolf population in Minnesota is now considered healthy enough that at the time of this writing, the state was in the process of okaying a wolf-hunting season to control the animals’ numbers.

About the Authors

MEGAN HART has been writing since she could grip a pencil in her fist. Published in nearly all genres of romance, perhaps most notably erotic, she intends to keep writing stories that make her happy. She lives in the deep, dark woods of Pennsylvania with Superman and two monsters . . . er . . . children. Readers may learn more about her at www.meganhart.com or drop her a line at [email protected].

LAUREN HAWKEYE is a writer, yoga newbie, knitting aficionado, and animal lover, who lives in the shadows of the great Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada. She’s older than she looks—really—and younger than she feels—most of the time—and she loves to explore the journeys that take women through life in her stories.

SARANNA DEWYLDE has always been fascinated by things better left in the dark. She wrote her first story after watching
The Exorcist
at a slumber party. Like all writers, Saranna has held a variety of jobs, from an operations supervisor for an airline, to a call girl’s assistant, to a corrections officer. But like Hemingway said, “Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.” So she traded in her cuffs for a full-time keyboard and lives in the Midwest with her very own Prince Charming.

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