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Authors: Madeline Pryce

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BOOK: Illicit
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She leaned in close and pressed her breasts against his chest. Mouth an inch from his, she whispered, “You know what I think?”

He could barely speak he was so turned on. His hands tightened on her flesh. He’d play her game. For now. “What?”

“I think,” she let out the sound a woman makes right before she orgasms. Breathy. Low. Normally followed by “Oh, Peter,” and a “Yes, God, I’m coming”. Her voice hardened against his ear. “I think you should go fuck yourself, you arrogant prick. No one owns me.” Her hands came between them and she pushed off his chest, trying to remove herself from his lap.

The conniving little bitch. God, he loved it.

He might have laughed if he weren’t moments away from bending her over the seat. Before she could move an inch, he tightened his hands around her thighs and held her in place. Eva needed another lesson. He smashed his lips against hers, taking her mouth in a deliberately rough kiss. Her moan was immediate. The sound gripped his cock, stroked it. The hands that had been trying to push him away now ran up flannel stretched tight over muscles in his chest. Her palm stalled over the pounding beat of his heart. She fisted the fabric, yanked him closer.

Yes.

She belonged to him. No one else. The hand he had up her skirt curved inward. A rumbling noise of approval vibrated through him. He tore his mouth from hers, stared into her eyes. “This,” he plunged two fingers into her sex. She gasped, and he leaned in close to taste the sweetness of the sound. “Is mine, Eva, and I’m going to prove it.”

Curving his fingers, he found the hard knot of her G-spot and coaxed a ripple of pleasure from her. Pressing against her clit with this thumb, he thrust in and out of her channel. She’d sing for him, he’d make damn sure of it.

“I’m not yours,” she said on a keening cry. Her words didn’t stop her from moving her hips against him.

“Wrong answer.” It took him one second to unzip his pants, another to position himself at her entrance and plunge home.

She cried out, a sound of shock, pain and pleasure. Her nails bit into his shoulder, the sharp bite just enough to keep him from coming on the spot. She was hot and tight. He gripped her slender waist, forced her body down as he thrust up. Jolts of pleasure tightened his stomach, propelled him forward for another taste of heaven.

He pressed his mouth against her neck and devoured. His teeth closed around skin, and he bit down. Above him, Eva pressed a palm flat against the headrest and rocked. He slammed his eyes closed, willed his climax away. She rode his cock, every jerk of her hips coming quicker and quicker.

“Harder,” she moaned.

No. He was in control, not her. The flesh beneath his teeth broke, hot blood spilling into his mouth. The copper stung his tongue, spurred his appetite for more. He gripped her hip, stopped her damn writhing, and pounded into her body with the ruthless abandon of a wild animal. Harder. Harder. Harder. Every thrust sent his cock deeper into her gripping channel. Tight vaginal muscles squeezed, let go, squeezed, the sensations drawing unnamed pleasure from deep inside of him.

Nothing should be this good.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, the bite of salt adding to the scents of sex. He gripped the back of Eva’s neck, found her hair damp. What he wouldn’t give to have her naked, sweaty, his body sliding over hers. Not going to happen in a damned pick-up truck. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have her naked. He pushed at her coat, managed to get the wool off her shoulders and onto the floorboard. The dress, still smelling of death and grief, gave no resistance, not when he unzipped and pushed the material down around her waist.

He cupped the weight of her breast before thumbing her nipple. His tongue found hers, stroked, pushed in and then out, mimicking the frenzied pace of their hips working in tandem. Her body tightened. The erotic sounds she made grew more desperate, more demanding. She was close, so damn close. His need to spill inside her drew closer.

Fuck her, mark her, claim her. Yours. Only yours.

“Say my name,” he growled, breaking their kiss. He needed her to know exactly who brought her pleasure. When he was through, Grady’s pathetic attempt to please her would be nonexistent. He twisted her nipple, knew she got off on the pain.

“Peter,” she gasped, the hand she’d braced on the headliner slipping.

He grabbed her arms, pinned them behind her back with one hand. He took only a moment to admire the way her breasts pushed forward, begged for his touch. God, she had great tits. With every thrust they bounced. “Louder,” he demanded.

Her pussy spasmed. She threw her head back on the crest of pleasure he saw building in her eyes. He followed with his mouth, licked the fresh bite mark on her neck. His. Lower, he swirled his tongue around a taut nipple, sucked it into his mouth.

“Harder, Peter. Fuck me harder.”

Their pace doubled. Shit, he was going to come, if not from the sensations, from the noises she was making. Flesh slapped together, a wet sound that proved just how bad she wanted him. He couldn’t stop the climax, couldn’t hold off much longer. His teeth closed around the nub in his mouth, and he bit gently. Eva’s cry was inarticulate and so damned hot. She was close enough to euphoria that he experienced the first rhythmic flutters.

“Who’s fucking you?” he asked.

“You, you are. Please, Peter. Make me come.”

Had any words ever been sweeter? He wasn’t through. Eva writhed, her body moving with a sensual grace he’d not seen in any other woman. His balls clenched, the tingling pulses of his orgasm speeding his heart. Her pussy tightened on his cock, held him in place until her spasms turned violent. Above him, she shuddered. Before he could notch inside—because he felt it coming, felt the swelling, the heat, the damning evidence he belonged to her just as much as she belong to him—he pulled his dick from her depths. He all but threw her onto the seat beside him. She never batted an eye, only eagerly bent forward to take his glistening cock into her mouth.

Fisting her hair, he forced her head up and down as fast as he’d thrust into her body. She moaned, stroked the head of his erection with her tongue, twisted. She gripped the base of his cock and then squeezed. Up. Down. Up. Down. Oh fuck. A mere minute in her mouth had him spilling his seed down her throat. He growled his release, trembling against her like a fucking virgin.

Tension melted the stiffness holding him rigid. He hadn’t proven shit, only that Eva was most definitely one hell of a fuck. His hand loosened his grip in her hair, and ran a hand down her smooth, naked back. Exhausted, he fell back in his seat and closed his eyes tight. He ran a hand down the day-old growth roughing his cheeks. If he watched her swallow his essence, taking another part of him into her body, he’d fuck her again.

Neither of them said a single word when Eva righted her dress and climbed off him. He zipped up his jeans, put the still-running vehicle into drive and pulled back onto the road. Not a single fucking word. He didn’t dare look at her.

Thirty minutes passed before the stone and wood structure of his family home came into view through a clearing of yellow cedars. He pulled in front of the garage and killed the engine.

“Are you coming inside?” she asked.

Her words conjured so many images. His cock twitched, the stupid, stubborn bastard. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t. “No.”

He needed to talk to James, find out everything he could about Grady. The cop wasn’t a local boy because Peter never forgot a face. The asshole must have moved into town after Peter had left. A new wave of anger stole through him. Eva had lost her virginity at seventeen, now she had to be at least twenty-five. How many times had the cop fucked his angel?

“Leave Grady alone,” Eva said, her words snapping him out of his fantasy of death and dismemberment.

A noise left his chest, feral and damning. He speared her with hot, furious eyes. Even though it was Peter’s seed in her belly, it was Grady she protected. His fist slammed against the dash, plastic splintering. “The fuck I will.”

She clenched her jaw, stared at him brazenly, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. Tangled curls fell around her face and a sheen of sweat still clung to her temples. Blood dripped down her neck, disappearing beneath the dress. His dick tightened, ready for round two.

He needed a distraction, anything to keep from shoving her onto her stomach and lifting her ass in the air. Maybe this time he’d paddle her rear end until she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, who owned her.

No. He had to think of something besides fucking her. The image of Eva leaving the cabin only an hour before filled him. She should have looked relaxed and sated after their long night together. Instead, her eyes were glassy with tears and the tip of her nose red. She’d been crying. Had he hurt her...physically?

“You were crying when you left this morning.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You were watching me.”

His only answer was a shrug.

She leaned the side of her head against the window, looked out into the winter wonderland. “Have you ever lost a parent?” she asked, still not looking at him.

He tore his gaze from her swollen, bruised cheek to stare out the window. He’d rather have talked about how harshly he’d fucked her up the ass than delve into this emotional shit. The snow-covered trees and rolling mountains mocked him, took him back to a place he’d long since left.

“My mother, when I was five. A hunter shot her in the head. The physical pain leaves but you never forget, not really.”

The seat dipped, his only warning she’d moved close. No. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, accept her comfort. He leaned across her and threw open the passenger-side door before she could touch him. Gusts of cold air swept through the cab, stealing away their combined scent. He returned to the driver’s seat and gripped both hands around the steering wheel.

“You should go,” he said, his voice cold. “I’ll leave the keys in the ignition.”

“Do whatever you want,” she snapped and climbed out of the truck. Pausing, her hand tightened on the rim of the door. She turned to him. “You were right. I didn’t realize just how much I’d hate you in the morning.”

He turned to her. A forced, sardonic smirk pried one corner of his mouth upward. Deliberately cruel, he ran an indifferent eye from her sex-rumpled hair to her black boots. At the sight of her, his heart sped.

“The morning isn’t over yet,
Angel
. Just wait a little bit longer.”

Just wait until she found out he didn’t intend to leave Bellows Falls.

Chapter Seven

 

Eva stopped at the edge of the tree line, her gloved hand faltering on the last barren tree limb. In the clearing, the Pard waited. Eleven pairs of eyes turned to stare, each one looking her over from head to toe. Cataloguing. Assessing. Judging.

A barrage of emotion slammed into her, changed with each familiar face she boldly locked onto. Disappointment was clear on almost every one of their faces.

Her heart sped. This was not the small, private will reading she’d expected. This was a firing squad.

She searched the onlookers for a clue, something that might tell her what she’d done to deserve this kind of welcome. Sure, she wasn’t leopard, wasn’t particularly close with any of them, but they’d never treated her like this before. When her eyes locked on Mark Grayson, the man Greg had one day wanted her to marry, she learned all she needed to know. Rage simmered in his ice-blue eyes, twisted his aristocratic features into a pained expression of betrayal.

Peter. Was it really so obvious she’d slept with him?

She’d spent hours in the shower, scrubbing her skin raw, desperate to erase his brand, desperate to free herself from wanting him again even after his cruel rejection. In one day, Peter had made her become addicted to him. She craved his touch like a drug.

The Pard’s collective discontent electrified the air, adding to the unease crawling under her skin. Icy wind whispered across her cheeks, doing little to soothe the heat of embarrassment at the knowledge of what she’d done. Across from her, Krystal Priddy touched her swollen belly and glanced down at her thin sweater, her only protection against the cold. All a leopard needed. Her husband tugged her close, as if Eva might taint her in some way. Swallowing, Eva held the lapels of her coat tight around her body, the thick wool setting her further apart from the rest of the Pard.

All eyes stared at her, the outsider. Greg’s angel. Even Becca, barely eighteen, glared as if Eva had committed a mortal sin. As she stood alone in the crowd, her mind spun one sticky, self-deprecating web after another. Maybe she’d misunderstood her role within the Pard. Maybe she’d been nothing but Greg’s pet, the orphaned brat, his angel. Maybe they way he’d isolated her had been to protect her from the truth all along.

Emotion welled, pricking the backs of her eyes, and stung her nose. No, damn it. Lifting her chin, she stared right back at the semi-circle of people in front of her who refused to avert their eyes. The Alpha’s adopted daughter had once commanded respect. Never before had the Pard openly held her gaze. She refused to look down, refused to be ashamed that her brown eyes did not match the leopards’ clear, sparkling blues, proof they were true Pard.

Proudly, Eva took her spot between her uncle and the empty stone chair, a painful reminder of Greg’s absence. James leaned close. She braced for his stinging verbal blow, his “I told you so.”

“I was afraid he killed you,” he whispered with a note of sarcasm, brushing his shoulder with hers. “I’m glad to see you’re more or less in one piece.”

Was he glad? He sure as hell didn’t seem it. She looked up, his six-foot frame towering over her. The hard edges rimming his face were not a comfort. “Big girl, remember?”

Ice darkened his eyes. He lifted his hand, touching it to her bruised cheek. “Still think you made the right choice acceptin’ that drink?”

She pulled away. “I’m fine with my choice.”

James caught her arm, drew her close and pressed his cheek against her marred one. “Actions have consequences,” he said, coarse whiskers scratching her frozen skin. Her senses pricked with apprehension and she forced herself to hold steady. “If you’d refused him, he would have left and things would have fallen into place.” He pulled away, his cold, accusatory eyes stabbing into her injured heart. “I can’t protect you, Eva. None of us can.”

She wouldn’t cry, not in front of any of them. “Don’t bother, then. I can protect myself.”

His gaze narrowed on her face. “Can you?”

Swallowing back the tears, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She opened her lids, turned to meet the gaze of each person in the circle. None of their petty disappointment would detract from why they’d come to the clearing. Today, this was her place, her purpose, the one truth she could count on. She was responsible for Greg’s life now that he was dead. She shoved aside everything that would detract from that goal—her place in the Pard, Grady’s punishment, even Peter’s rejection—and clung to the one task her father had asked of her.

She reached into her jacket for the sealed envelope she’d brought. This was the reason she was here. “If we can shelve the murderous looks for a moment, I’d like to carry out my father’s last wish.”

Her uncle’s heavy hand stilled her arm, kept her from breaking the seal. “You know the rules. We can’t start the meeting without the Alpha’s permission.”

Confused, she looked at him. Was this a joke? As far as she understood, the death of one Alpha signaled a new leader to take his place. Greg’s death should have activated the gene in the next eligible Alpha, James. The oldest and most influential, he’d held the Pard together after Greg’s murder. None among them would fill her father’s shoes better. “Wouldn’t that be you?” she said.

Heat pricked the back of her neck, her only warning. “Who?” she gasped. A hard, masculine body pressed against her from behind and sent her senses reeling.

“No, Angel.” Peter’s deep voice vibrated against her ear, sent a shiver down to the tips of her toes. “I’m the Alpha.”

As he turned to stand in front of her, he trailed his finger across her neck, only stopping when he pressed under her chin and lifted, forcing her to meet his gaze. In the darkness his hair looked black, his eyes fathomless. Stubble shadowed his muscular jaw, made him look dangerously sexy.

For an embarrassingly long moment, she stared. Couldn’t breathe. Possession gleamed in his dark gaze, the look sending her heart racing. Try as she might, she couldn’t calm the staccato beat.

Peter strolled past her, confidence and power in every silent stride. His eyes swept the semi-circle of leopards, pausing on each person until they reluctantly dropped their gaze to the ground in submission. As if satisfied, he turned to address her. One side of his wicked mouth curled into a seductive smile, identical to the one he’d used when he’d asked her to drink with him.

Ignoring Peter, and his damn smile, she turned to James. “Why is he here?”

Peter’s long legs ate up the distance between them in a matter of steps. His smile dissolved and his face took on a punishing hardness, the same look of displeasure he’d gotten right before he’d thrust inside her virgin ass. Only this time, she didn’t think she would enjoy the punishment.

His voice was a harsh growl. “I’m here because this is where I belong, unlike you, Angel.”

The already frayed threads holding her together unraveled at the truth of his words, made worse because he was the one who said them. This was not the playful, aloof stranger she remembered from last night or this morning, the one who did everything he could to keep her from liking him. This one she liked even less. His jaw tensed, one quick bulge of clenching muscle before he faced the gathering crowd.

“For those of you who seemed to have forgotten my existence, I’ll refresh you. I’m Peter Marx, son of Gregory Marx, great grandson of Timothy Marx, and the rightful Alpha of this Pard.”

Eva made a noise in the back of her throat. One hand covered her mouth, the other pressed against her lower stomach to staunch the ache within.

“Hi, I’m Peter. I’m a complete and utter asshole.”

“What did you say your last name was?” “I didn’t.”

“You’re a helluva fuck - P.M.”

Her chest tightened under the crushing realization and she couldn’t breathe. What had she done?

Her stranger looked down at her with a calculated gleam of pleasure in his eyes, as if he’d been waiting a lifetime for her reaction. He stepped close. His cold words fanned her anger and crushed her heart. “That’s right. You get it now, don’t you?”

She heard Peter speak, but couldn’t fully process the words. Pain blossomed inside her chest and expanded to her lungs. Greg had a son. Why had he never told her? So many things made sense now. The locked bedroom Greg visited almost every night after he thought she was asleep. The drawer in his office he casually checked to make sure it was secure when she walked into his study.

James stepped forward, pulled her back when she might have done something stupid. She wanted to kill him, didn’t care she’d have to do it in front of a dozen people. “Leave her alone, Peter. You’ve made your point.”

Peter bared his teeth, a ferocious sound erupting from his chest. Power danced in the air, a hot roiling energy that had those around her dropping to their knees.

One finger at a time, James’ hold on her arm loosened, and then fell away. Her uncle bowed his head. The strain of his submission showed in his tightly held shoulders and balled fists.

She turned hot, angry eyes on Peter, the man she’d let into her body. “What point is he talking about?”

An emotion she recognized flashed in his abnormally dark eyes. He belonged no more than she did. “I’m Alpha. This Pard, and everything in it, is mine. You’re mine.” He brushed a knuckle down the side of her cheek, a caress she slapped away. He caught her wrist, pulled her into his body. Her stomach dipped. Pressing his lips to her ear, he drew the lobe into the heat of his mouth, sucked. She fought, and failed to hide a tremor. “Did you really think a shower would erase my claim over you? Everyone here can smell that you belong to me, that it’s my seed inside you. I fucked you. Bled you. Hell, it’s possible I could have knocked you up.”

Her hand moved with deliberate speed and strength. The slap rang out, the force of the blow throwing his face to the side. Around them, the group gasped in horror.

Her sting of regret was immediate.

She would have done more damage if she had balled her fist.

 

* * * * *

 

Peter thrust his hand into Eva’s golden curls, tightened until she cried out. The sound hit him hard. This was the only way to protect her. The sight of her standing apart from everyone else in the Pard got to him. It made him think of the bar. While they’d garnered some curious looks, no one had tried to stop him, a stranger, from leaving with her. He’d asked the around at the cabin, found out all kinds of useful information.

Greg had done everything he could, including schooling her himself until she’d been sixteen, to keep her separated from everyone else. Her isolation was proof of Greg’s selfishness. Copper trickled into his mouth, brought him back to the here and now. He turned his head, spit, the red saliva staining the crusty snow. Eva packed one hell of a punch, even with her palm. A growl rumbled through his chest, half anger, half appreciation. Pushing on his shoulder, Eva steeled her spine and stood stubbornly straight. He narrowed his eyes, moved his hand to the front of her throat.

Pushing, he forced her onto her knees in the wet snow, her coat gaping open. Full, firm breasts pressed against her dark blue sweater, tempting him. Delicate fingers dug into his wrist, a poor attempt to free herself.

Against his strength, she was helpless. She looked up at him, murder in her gaze.

Out from the circle, someone rose and stepped forward. “Let her go.”

Peter looked up, smiled, a sardonic twist of the lips. Well, well. How time changed people. The last time he’d seen Mark Grayson, they’d been fifteen. He’d given the snobby blond a bloody nose. No longer a boy, Mark held his chin high and his gaze level. He’d gained some weight, mostly muscle through the chest and arms, but he was still scrawny, still short compared to Peter’s hulking frame.

Uncurling his free hand, Peter flashed five razor-sharp claws. He glanced down at the sound of Eva’s whimper, remembered the feel of those claws against her hips, the bite of pleasure they’d brought her in the midst of a powerful orgasm. No one would take her from him. No one. Wasn’t that what this little show was all about? He wanted to be Alpha as much he wanted a root canal. But, if he wanted to protect the woman at his feet, everyone in front of him needed to know he was in charge. That included Eva.

“Step back in line or I’ll take your threat as challenge. Eva deserves her punishment. No one strikes an Alpha without reprimand. She is either in this Pard, or out of it.”

The Pard shifted in agitation, their disappointment and betrayal a black fog roiling overhead. Within, their leopards paced, too restless to cower as Peter had hoped. James had obviously primed the group before he gotten there. Why would the elder, someone who seemed to care so deeply for her, set Eva up for an ambush?

In front of him, Mark’s hands balled into fists and hatred filled his eyes. Possession surged from the lesser cat, spoke of a claim Peter had not known about. Was this asshole Eva’s boyfriend? Had Greg’s death marked Eva as fair game? Her scent didn’t linger on his skin. He hadn’t picked up any other feline on Eva besides James. The leopard inside Peter curled his teeth, merged itself with him until feline canines lengthened. His thoughts festered and rage built. Just how many men were pissing in Eva’s pool?

A growl left his chest, the sound echoing across the clearing. Mark cast eyes to the ground, but didn’t step back, didn’t kneel. His annoying resistance earned him a point.

BOOK: Illicit
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