Illicit (3 page)

“You sure?” he asked.

“You were right. The whiskey helps. For the first time in a week, the pain isn’t as sharp and the chill is easing. Tonight, I’ve decided, I’m going for numb and you’re going to help.”

He stared at her, held the bottle just out of reach.

“Come on,” she said. “Who’s being the baby now? Don’t worry, Peter, I’ve got my big girl panties on. Pour me another. You wanted a drinking buddy, here I am.”

Unscrewing the bottle, gaze never leaving hers, he topped off their glasses. He raised his glass for a toast. “To being numb inside and out. And,” he leaned close, “here’s to hoping your big girl panties are some sort of black lace.”

“Wouldn’t you love to know?” She clinked her glass against his, drank.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Unlike the awkward pause between strangers, theirs was…companionable. The rumors he’d heard flashed in his mind.

“How did he die?” He hated the liquor for making him weak enough to care.

“I’ll tell you. But first, I want to know who he was to you,” she fired back.

“You first.”

She sipped, swallowed. “He was murdered.”

Peter’s hand tightened around his glass. Every muscle in his body clenched. First his mother, and now his father. Both of their lives stolen.

Eva kept speaking, her voice low and detached. “Someone shot him in the head, between the eyes. I found his frozen body in my SUV four days ago. It had been snowing all day, and the car door was frozen. I had to put my leg on the back panel, yank it open. A body rolled out of the car, landed at my feet. I couldn’t see his face. At first,” she looked away, “I didn’t think it was him. I let myself hope. In my gut I knew it was, but I just kept thinking…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“It’s on your mind and you don’t know me. We often tell strangers our most intimate secrets,” he said, hoping to coax more information out of her. How in the hell had Greg let himself get shot? Why hadn’t James mentioned it?

Eva turned back to him, leaned in close. Lip between her teeth and fingers dancing an agitated rhythm on the table, he saw her struggle with the decision to trust him. Finally she made her choice.

“There was a note, one I didn’t give to the police.”

A line of tension stiffened his spine. He bent forward, stopped just shy of his forehead touching hers. He didn’t want to be overheard. “What kind of a note?” he growled.

“It was a threat, a warning. I don’t know. Whoever shot him implied they knew he was a shifter. The note was addressed to me, basically said, ‘You’re mine.’ He died because of me.”

Motherfucker.

“Eva,” he said seriously. “Does James know about this? He’s letting you traipse around town by yourself while some murderer has his sights set on you? I’m going to sink my teeth in his neck.”

“He knows, and calm down. I didn’t tell you so you could get all...protective hero on me. I can take care of myself; I don’t need, or want, anyone else getting hurt because of me. I know self-defense and I trust my instincts. They haven’t failed me yet.”

“
Yet
. Bullshit. Surely you know how lethal and fast shifters are. Someone got the drop on Greg, and it must not have been easy. If I wanted, I could reach across this table and snap your neck before you blinked.” Peter scanned the room, searched the haggard, weather-worn faces of the people he hadn’t seen in twenty years. Was his father’s killer in this room?

“You aren’t a murderer,” Eva said, drew him from his thoughts.

He glared at her, wondered how someone so beautiful and seemingly intelligent could be so stupid. “You sound sure of yourself.”

When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Instincts, remember? How am I supposed to live with the knowledge that Greg died because of me? I failed him.”

Her confessions explained the shadows under her eyes. He refused to dwell on how her pain and fear made him feel. Eva wasn’t Pard, and she wasn’t his, no matter what the stupid cat inside him thought. The same instincts forcing him hundreds of miles from his home in Montana were screaming at him again.

Mine,
the beast insisted.

Peter had a terrifying thought. Perhaps the leopard hadn’t driven him all this way because of the death of his Alpha. Perhaps the real reason he was here sat across from him looking like a heartbroken angel.

“Part of being an Alpha is protecting those around you, at all costs, even it means sacrificing your life for theirs. Greg died because he was Greg, and because he loved you. End of story. Murder isn’t rational, and it’s no one’s fault except the one who pulled the trigger. You didn’t ask for this to happen.”

The leopard inside paced restlessly, rubbed the inside of Peter’s skin every few seconds. His animal’s agitation transferred to him, made it hard to separate what the man wanted and what the animal demanded. Could James keep Eva safe? He didn’t think so. Peter was Alpha now, needed to protect…

No fucking way. He wasn’t staying. No matter what, come morning, he was leaving.

“Look, let’s talk about something else, anything else.” The longer they talked about the danger surrounding Eva, the more riled up his leopard got. He wished he had some kind of internal tranquilizer gun.

“You know,” Eva said as she gulped down the rest of her drink, “you’re the first person who’s said that to me. Everyone wants to talk about it, for me to ‘share’ my feelings. I want to repress it and shove it all in a tight ball where I can ignore it.”

“Repressing works great until you close your eyes. Now, I’ve got an idea, a way to take our mind off death for a bit. Do you like games?” he asked, refilled their cups.

“Peter, I’m not really in the mood for—,” she said, but he cut her off.

“You ask me a question, I’ll answer. Then, I get my turn. Anything is open for discussion, anything except Greg.” If she were smart, she’d ask the right question. Like, what is your last name? Not technically about Greg. He wouldn’t lie to her. Evade, yes. Lie, no.

“And if I don’t want to answer?” she asked.

“Then you drink. And I’ve decided I want to go first.” His gaze slid to her breasts. “What kind of panties are you wearing, and do they match your bra?”

She closed her lids, smiled his favorite smile. When her lids opened the look in her eyes was grateful, and a little sassy. “They are black, lacy, and technically I think that was two questions.”

“You are a woman after my own heart. Your turn.”

“If you insist on playing,” she huffed, but settled more comfortably into her chair as if she planned to stay a while. “Boxers, briefs, or nothing?”

An hour later, the bottle between them was half empty. Or, depending on how one looked at it, half full. Across from him, Eva had a glazed look in her eyes that said the liquor was treating her right. He was probably giving her some version of the stupefied grin she was giving him.

“It isn’t working,” she said, and put her elbow on the table, her cheek in her hand. She lined up her limbs on the first try, and the move told Peter she wasn’t totally shit-faced, just moderately drunk.

“No?” he asked, his own head pleasantly fogged. The effects of the alcohol wouldn’t last long, not with his increased metabolism. He needed to keep drinking to maintain his drunk.

“I still feel,” she said, eyed her drink as he drew it to his side of the table and downed it in a single gulp. She gave him a little pout. “Hey, that’s mine.”

“I’m cutting you off. That is, unless you want to fall on your ass the second you stand up? Numb is great, but some feeling is required, at least until you get home.”

She grinned at him, a softness to her face that hadn’t been there an hour before. He’d gotten to know Eva Marx. And damn if he didn’t like all the miscellaneous details he’d discovered about her. He knew the cut, style and color of her bra and panties. He knew she’d been seventeen the first time she’d had sex. He knew she loved books ranging from horror to cheesy romances, to westerns. He knew she liked peanut butter and banana sandwiches. They were friends now, he and Eva. In a few more minutes, they were going to be more.

“I want complete blackness,” she said. “I haven’t slept in a week. I don’t want to think, to remember. I don’t want to see the sympathetic faces anymore. I just want…oblivion.”

Lifting her head from her palm, she folded her hands in front of her. Leaning forward, she stretched her legs under the table until their limbs tangled. He took her cue, shifted forward and stroked her knuckles with his own. He’d been dying to touch her since they sat down.

He had a stupid, moderately lucid, moment of hesitation. He should tell her the truth, should walk away and call it a night. Fuck, but he couldn’t think straight. The liquor had done its job, fogged his brain and shut up the feline inside him. He now had one thing on his mind and nothing seemed to sway him from his goal. The thought of jacking off in the shower held no appeal. Not with the possibility of her soft, feminine body beneath his.

“I can make you forget,” he said.

She licked her lips, and he found he couldn’t look away from the glistening moisture. “How is that?”

“Trust.”

She swallowed, but didn’t look away from him. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

“Come back to my room with me.”

She drew her freshly licked lip between her teeth, contemplated. “This is ridiculous. I’ve only known you for an hour.”

Under the table, one of his knees found its way between her legs and he pressed against her bare inner thigh. She sucked in a small breath, but opened further in invitation.

As if he wasn’t moments away from shoving his hand under the table and up her skirt, he spoke in a soft, controlled voice. “Would it matter if we’d known each other a week? A month? I don’t think so. Tonight is our only option. I’m not sticking around Bellows Falls. In the morning, when the pass opens back up, I’m on my way. Either you are going to trust me or you aren’t.”

Curiosity darkened the rich shade of her eyes. She wanted him. “If I go back to your room with you, what’s going to happen?” she asked.

He leaned further across the table, finally pressing his thumb to the lower lip that was driving him insane. Looking directly into her eyes, he said, “Eva, tonight I’m going to fuck you unconscious.”

Peter’s seductive words heated Eva from the inside out. The last vestiges of cold vanished. The gut-searing grief and stress eased its relentless grip. In its place she experienced an unexpected sense of freedom.

After Greg’s death all eyes had turned to her to make the arrangements for his funeral, because she’d been his adopted daughter. She’d been plagued with decision after decision when all she wanted to do was curl into a ball. What flowers did she want? Should she serve food? What kind? Who did she want to invite? How would she get Greg’s acquaintances from outside of Bellows Falls into their remote, snow-strewn town?

The stream of questions had kept her busy. Only in the quiet hours of the night did she replay that awful day. As if the memory was on an endless reel, she watched herself open her truck door.
Thud
. The sound of Greg’s lifeless, frozen body hitting the ground sickened her stomach.

Eva forced the memories away. Now the funeral was over. All that remained was the cold, empty shell of her heart. It was that darkness she wanted to hide from.

The solution was right in front of her. The need for total abandonment won out over common sense and the line Eva had been toeing since meeting this dark-haired stranger disappeared.

Tonight, she’d be his. Tonight he would make the decisions. Tonight he would make her forget everything.

Eva flicked her tongue against the thumb Peter stroked back and forth across her lower lip. His nostrils flared, and she watched his pupils dilate in unabashed need.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Peter growled, and closed the distance between them.

For a moment she stopped breathing as the anticipation mounted. Instead of closing his mouth over hers, he trailed his moist thumb down her chin and pressed his lips against her ear. His hand closed around the front of her throat, and she remembered his warning about being able to snap her neck.

The thoughts swirling in her head faded. Peter’s warm breath caressed her lobe. A tremor ripped through her, made it difficult to draw in breath.

“Do you have any idea how delicious your need smells? I feel I should warn you…” His voice was deep and husky. “You seem to have stolen my control. If you’re looking for something soft tonight, something gentle, I can’t give it to you. I need you naked, tied to my bed and screaming my name as I pound into you. I call the shots. If you’ve got a problem with that, you should tell me now.”

His words filled her body with heat, sudden and demanding. Between words, Peter drew his lips from her ear to her throat in hot, open-mouthed kisses. The dark stubble shadowing his jaw scratched her skin, and was more erotic than the soft press of his tongue along her pounding pulse point. Tilting her head, she gave him greater access to her throat, a clear sign of submission among the Pard. A sign she had no plans to heed his warning. She struggled to breathe, to pull in rational thought when his teeth closed over her flesh.

“I’m not looking for gentle,” she whispered, threaded her fingers through the short strands of hair at his nape and pressed his mouth harder against her neck. “I’m looking for abandon. You want my trust, I’m willing to give it to you.”

“I think we should leave before I fuck you right here.”

A needy whimper left her throat. Drawing back, Peter’s hot, branding mouth fell from her neck. He trailed the pads of his rough fingers down her arm, a simple, sensual caress that she felt all the way to her core. A wave of goose bumps lined her skin and puckered her nipples. He gazed into her eyes, and she admired the unbidden lust in his depths.

What made her stranger truly sexy, more than the cut of his jaw or his hooded eyes, was his confidence and the authority gleaming in his gaze. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and right now, that something was her.

His chair scraped back and, with no other preamble, he stood. Eva rose, luxuriating in the dizzying rush to her head. When Peter stepped forward he towered over her meager five feet, four inches. Her gaze darted from the tight muscles clenching in his jaw to the impressive ridge in his pants.

“Eva,” he warned. “If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

She stepped closer, nudged her boots against his. Her gaze trailed up a chest nicely outlined in a snug black sweater until she met his eyes. “How am I looking at you?”

“Hungrily.”

He took her arm in a firm hold, dragged her against his side and threaded his way through the tables. She couldn’t see the expression on Peter’s face, but whatever it was had the patrons of
Lost Isle
looking anywhere except at them. She was grateful for the reprieve, grateful she didn’t have to see the judgment in their eyes. Her choice to leave the bar with a stranger wasn’t going to help her dig her way out of the isolated life she and Greg had lived.

Peter grabbed her coat. Never breaking her gaze, he placed first one arm through a sleeve and then the other. Already he was taking the choices from her. One button at a time, he closed the heavy wool around her. She didn’t dare look away, didn’t question what she was about to do.

No more questions. Only trust.

Outside of the bar, alone in the swirling gusts of icy snow, they didn’t speak. Darkness closed around them and the wind bit at her cheeks. The wooden sign above the bar’s door thudded against the brick, the knock echoing through the empty town.

Peter’s long-legged stride ate the half-mile distance between
Lost Isle
and the set of cabins at the end of Main Street as if it were nothing. When she started to straggle behind, Peter gripped her hand tighter.

He stopped at the last cabin, pulled her close and backed her against the door. Even through her coat, the wood was arctic. God, could she really do this? Have sex with a man she’d known for less than two hours? Have sex with a man on the day she’d said goodbye to the only person she’d ever loved?

Peter stepped forward, brought his erection against her, and all thoughts of death, of right and wrong, faded. “You aren’t chickening out on me, are you?” he asked.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said.

With cat-like speed, he took hold of her wrists and pinned both her arms above her head. She strained against him, silently begged for more.

“Tonight you’re mine.”

Peter didn’t ask for submission. He took. His kiss was bruising and rough, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His tongue swept inside of her mouth, claimed, demanded, and conquered. He tasted of whiskey and snow.

He pulled back, a growl trembling in his chest, vibrating from him into her. He dug in his pocket, fished out an old-fashioned key. The door gave way behind her, and she stumbled back. Before she could fall, he steadied her in his arms and shoved the door closed.

She expected Peter to rip off the jacket he’d just dressed her in. Instead, he took his time unhooking each button, only gracing her with the briefest of touches as he pushed the heavy material from her shoulders. Anticipation soared higher when the heat of his mouth found her chilled neck. He licked. Sucked and nibbled until her body clenched in response. She drew her fingers through his soft, silky hair.

Slower than she could stand, he drew the zipper down on her dress as if he had all the time in the world to get her naked. He guided the material down her arms, waist, his fingers trailing hotly over her skin. Taking a single step back, Peter watched the dress drop to the ground. He drank in her bared body clad only in a black, see-through bra and matching silk panties.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and the heat in his eyes was combustible. “That is so much better than you described.”

Peter lifted his hand, skimmed his knuckles between her breasts and down the quivering muscles in her stomach. He stopped at the top of her panties, ran a single finger back and forth under the band. Her sex clenched. His gaze flicked up, met hers. She wondered if it were possible for one’s heart to actually stop.

A breathless moment passed where she wondered if he would press lower and cup her sex, or change directions and touch her breasts. He did neither. One-handed, he undid the clasp of her necklace and pulled the pearls from around her throat. The necklace landed on the floor. He stroked her bared throat, sent a shiver racing through her, before his hands fell to his sides.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

Eva blinked at him. “Wh...at?”

He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her close. His voice was a fierce whisper against her ear. “I’m in control. Trust, remember? You do what I tell you to do, no hesitation. I want you on your knees.”

She tried to pull away, couldn’t. He pressed down on her shoulder until she knelt before him. The cold carpet was rough against her knees and she reveled in the loss of control his domination brought.

He grabbed the hem of his sweater and the tee shirt below, pulled until the fabric was over his head. The thick wool hit the floor and Eva stared up at him. Her mouth opened, closed. She could do nothing but admire. He was tall, lean and well muscled, from the definition in his chest to the rigid eight-pack of his abs. Dark hair colored the pale skin of his chest and ran down the center of his stomach before disappearing beneath his jeans. Those same jeans rode low on his hips and exposed the cut muscle narrowing his waist and leading to his groin.

Peter pulled the cups of her bra under her breasts. Cold air tightened her nipples and arched her back as if she was instinctually trying to get closer to the man in front of her. He flicked first one nub, and then the other. Bolts of sensation travelled straight to her pussy. Her inner muscles clamped, desperate to be filled.

“Undo my pants. I want your hot, sweet little mouth around my cock.”

Trust. Her hands trembled as she worked the buttons fastening his jeans. The moment the denim parted, his cock sprang free. His erection was thick and long, the swollen head dark with his arousal. She wrapped her hand around him, measuring the girth with a forefinger and thumb that didn’t close around the base of his shaft. How would he ever fit inside of her?

He gripped her hair, drew her face forward.

“I didn’t tell you to play with it. Open your mouth and suck it.”

Her pussy throbbed. She wondered if he knew how his authority spurred an unspoken fantasy. Opening her mouth, she curled her tongue around the smooth mushroom tip. She flicked the underside of his penis along the ultra-sensitive foreskin.

He shuddered, thrusting forward in an involuntary jerk. She hollowed her cheeks, sucked him deep and began a quick rhythm to best bring him to his knees. In and out, each time she used her tongue to caress the most responsive part of him right under the head.

His groan echoed through the room. “Fucking Christ, I knew you’d be good at this. Your mouth was made for sin.”

Using the hand in her hair, he guided her head in a pace he liked. Normally she hated a man controlling her head during oral sex, but for some reason, with Peter, the action revved her up. He was taking control, making her submit. She moaned around him, cupped the heavy weight of his testicles.

“That’s it,” he praised, stroking the back of her neck as if in reward.

She looked up the line of his body and met his eyes. He stared down, his gaze riveted to the sight of his glistening cock moving in and out of her mouth. The naked lust in his eyes was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

“Play with your pussy.”

Wavering only for a moment, her hand slid down her stomach, under the band of her flimsy panties. She sought out her clit, found it hard and swollen. Her breath stuttered, and when the rhythm of her mouth would have faltered, Peter kept pace. He thrust his hips against her lips and groaned.

“That’s a good girl.”

Her pussy was wet and dripping with arousal. She rubbed, the tips of her fingers teasing the slit of her sex each time she pressed the heel of her palm against her clit. A moan fought free, an involuntary reaction. She rubbed harder, the need for release burning in her quivering muscles. She was desperate to reach what was just out of her grasp.

Peter reached down to clamp a nipple between his fingers. He twisted. She cried out, the sound muffled around his cock. He did it again, and again, the sharp bites of pain bringing her into the first spasms of orgasm. Her moans escalated, each coming louder than the last.

The heat of his hand against her breast vanished, her climax disappearing with it. He pulled her away from his cock, the fist in her hair keeping her on her knees, head tilted back. His eyes narrowed. “You sound awfully damn close to creaming all over your fingers. I did not give you permission to climax. You come when I tell you to come. Understand? Consider this your first lesson.”

Her cheeks warmed and her body pulsed. Her arousal ratcheted, eclipsing every other worry. He’d promised oblivion if only she’d trust him. Whimpering, she rocked her hips against the hand between her thighs, tried to lean forward and suck his dick back into her mouth. He held her just out of reach.

Taunting her, he wrapped his large hand around his shaft. Slick with her saliva, he stroked slowly, highlighting every glorious inch of him.

“Do you understand?” he asked again.

Her gaze darted from his glistening cock to his eyes. She licked her lips, nodded.