Reaper's Justice (17 page)

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Authors: Sarah McCarty

Tags: #Werewolves, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Western, #Historical

BOOK: Reaper's Justice
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The beast just wanted her. From the corner of his eye, he could see his claws. A pale ivory color. Many times, he’d seen them coated in mud and blood and gore. Closing his eyes, he willed them away. They would never touch her. That part of him would never touch her. The beast snarled. He snarled right back.
“Isaiah?”
“Right here.” His voice was gruff.
“What’s wrong?”
“You make me lose my head.”
“I thought we were supposed to.”
“Not yet.” And him, not ever.
She stroked his back. “I don’t mind.”
Her voice had its mystical, calming effect. His claws retracted. His canines retreated. The ache in his muscles that proceeded change abated, and that fast, he was Isaiah again. He didn’t understand how she could accomplish so easily what he’d spent a decade attempting to do on his own.
He took a breath. Her scent flooded his senses. Desire throbbed in his veins. His cock throbbed between his legs. He wanted to bury himself in her. Not just with his cock but with his mind, his soul. It scared the hell out of him. He waited for the beast to snarl its own protest, but for once it was quiet.
Contrary bastard.
Turning his head, he kissed the side of her neck. As before, she squeaked and shivered. Goose bumps sprang up under his lips. He followed them down to her shoulder. Her collar blocked his access to her neck. He lingered there, running his lips up and down the taut tendon, smiling when her shiver immediately followed, growling when her nails bit into his shirt.
“Dangerous woman.”
She smiled. “We match.”
“For tonight.”
A blink was her only acknowledgment of the reminder. The material of his shirt prevented him from fully experiencing the pleasure of her touch. With another growl, he sat up.
Her hands clung, sliding off his shoulder reluctantly. He dragged the shirt over his shoulders, noting the widening of her eyes and the softening of her lips. He took a breath, checking her scent. No fear. A new sensation went through him as her tongue flicked over her lips, leaving an intriguing dampness in its wake. Pride. He quelled the urge to puff out his chest, but he didn’t immediately bend down, either. She liked the way he looked. There was no harm in letting her look. Especially when he planned on doing some looking himself.
“You’re a beautiful man.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He reached for the buttons on her shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to see how beautiful you are.”
Her hand clutched her shirt. Her eyes sparkled in the dimness of the lean-to. Another advantage of the beast. He could see in the dark.
“I’m very ordinary.”
Isaiah unbuttoned two buttons before nudging her hands down. “Not to me.”
She clutched the material above her breast. “Yes, I am.”
He met her gaze and tugged her fingers away from the lapel. “To me you’re special.”
“Me?”
How could she look at him as if he were crazy? She with her moonspun hair, big blue eyes, and fingers that flicked over his skin like hot flashes of lightning. “Yes. You.”
Her smile turned sultry and her hands fell away. “I think I like that.”
He undid the next three buttons in rapid order, spreading her shirt, exposing the swell of her breasts and the soft fabric of her camisole. “I know I do.”
For a moment he just appreciated the view. The softness of her skin.
“Am I still special?”
“Hell yes.”
She chuckled, but didn’t meet his gaze.
“What?”
“I’ve never had such high praise couched in a curse.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her gaze clung to his as he lifted her up. “No, you’re not.” He slipped the shirt off her shoulders and tugged the camisole over her head before she could think on what he was doing.
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
Her breasts were small, high, and firm. The nipples were a faint pink. They crinkled into hard tips as he watched. A tide of red flowed up from her chest to her cheeks. She was embarrassed and maybe even cold.
He came down over her. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
He wanted her passionate and eager, not cold and withdrawn.
Her hands immediately went around his neck. “I won’t be for long.”
She said that with such purpose.
“Why?”
“Because I want to see the stars.”
So did he. “Then kiss me.”
She did. Wholeheartedly offering him her mouth, holding nothing back when his lips touched hers. Kissing him the way he’d taught her. It was his turn to moan. This was what he’d been searching for those times he’d managed to steal a hurried encounter with a whore. This connection. This fire that burned from the inside out. This sense of rightness. He cupped Addy’s breast in his palm. This perfection.
“Oh, my God, Isaiah.”
She liked that. He could tell from the arch of her back and the increase in her scent. His beast surged along with his desire. Wanting part of this. Saliva filled his mouth, carrying the taste of her scent. His gums ached.
No!
He wouldn’t let
it
touch her. This was between the man and the woman.
His thumb brushed her nipple. Her whole body jerked. He did it again, lingering on the pass, liking the way the hard/soft nub bent to his will. She squeaked and shivered.
“You like that?” It was only half question.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He did it again, and again, increasing the pressure when she stopped shivering, smiling when it came back. So that was what she needed. When she stopped reacting to the brush of his thumb, he took her nipple in his mouth, rubbing his tongue over the hard tip, nipping with his lips, sucking. Sucking harder as her fingers sank through his hair and pulled him closer.
“Oh, please. Don’t stop.”
“Wild horses couldn’t make me stop.”
“Good. Oh good.”
He liked the way her voice was husky, almost a growl. He loved the way her nails dug into his skin. He adored the way she arched up into him.
“More.” He needed more. More of her cries, her scent. Her taste.
Catching her nipple between his teeth, he raked it gently as he gathered up her skirts. He bit and she cried out. More of her pleasure filled the air around them. She’d liked that, too. He did it again, growling when she would have pulled away, keeping her there.
“It’s too much.”
“No.” It wasn’t enough. Kissing down the slope of her breasts, he said, “I promised you stars.”
“But . . .”
He looked up at her from between her breasts. She was a temptress with her tousled hair, desire-darkened eyes, and kiss-swollen lips. And she was his.
Yes
, his beast rejoiced.
“Stars.”
She fell back on the pallet with a choked laugh as he piled her skirts on her stomach. “Who am I to argue with that?”
Mine.
His beast snarled.
Shut up!
Addy’s passion perfumed the air, drawing him down. Always down. His mouth watered, his senses heightened, focused, closing out all other input—wanting, needing to know her. All of her.
He was almost there before she thought to stop him. Her hands twisted in his hair. “What are you doing?”
Lifting her legs over his shoulders, he grunted. “Tasting.” He needed to taste her. To
know . . . What? What did he need to know?
“You can’t!”
It was too late. He already was. The pain in his scalp was nothing compared to the rightness of being between her thighs, the scent of her pleasure bathing his senses, so heavy, so perfect. He knew how she’d taste. How right. His gums ached in warning. His claws extended. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t help himself. He had to have her.
Burying his claws into the dirt beside the pelts, he held her in place with pressure on her legs before kissing the soft folds of her pussy through the opening of her pantaloons, teasing himself, teasing her, as he fought for control. His chin grazed her slit high up. She squeaked and jumped, just as she had when he’d tasted her nipples. He did it again.
She pulled his hair hard. “Oh, my God.”
Smiling and gazing up at her over her belly, he asked, “Still saying I can’t?”
“You shouldn’t,” she gasped. “It can’t be decent.”
He touched her with his tongue, moaning as her sweet taste spread through his being. Imprinted on his soul.
Yes
, his beast sighed.
Yes,
the man moaned.
Perfect,
they moaned together.
“But you like it.”
“Yes.” The word was little more than a puff of joy that ended in a catch as he took a deeper taste. She let go of his hair and fell back—belly tight, thighs quivering.
“Oh damn, just do what you want.”
He smiled against her, laughter joining passion. Another new experience. “Kind of thought I would.”
A choked sound escaped her as she threw her hands over her face. Passion? Embarrassment? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t closing her legs against him. Wasn’t pushing him away. Instead she was lying there in breathless excitement—something he could scent, feel. No woman had ever anticipated his touch as she did. It was almost as if the excitement inside him had found its match.
Yes.
For tonight, he warned his beast. Only for tonight. The beast snapped its displeasure through his mind in a discordant flux of emotion. Isaiah ignored it, forcing his claws to retract. He’d made his promise. He’d abide by it. But he wasn’t going to miss a moment of it. He took another taste, reveling in her moan as his tongue touched the hard nub straining through the soft folds, focused on it, kissed it, laved it, following the twist of her hips as she cried out. He spread her with his fingers. Isaiah smiled as Addy trembled and seemed to stop breathing altogether when he caught her clit between his lips.
“Isaiah!”
Yes!
That was what he wanted. Her world reduced to him, his name on her lips, her pleasure his to deliver. Yes. That was what
They
’d kept from him. The joy a man felt at pleasing his woman. The pride, the ecstasy . . . the bond.
He blinked, his lips enclosing her, his tongue just touching her. The bond was what
They
’d feared, why
They
’d kept the Reapers from females. The bond was dangerous, but to what? To her? He couldn’t hurt her.
The beast surged forward, latching on to the thought in feral protest.
Mine.
No!
Isaiah’s protest came too late. The beast ripped through the controls he’d built through the years, shredding them with the single-minded intent it usually only exerted in battle. Too late, he recognized the power. Too late.
The beast reveled in Addy’s scent and taste, taking all she had to give, feeding on her desire, taking every flinch, every gasp as its own, leading the race to the culmination with an animalistic exultation. Sucking on her clit, he brought its claws to the inside of her thigh, massaging the soft flesh, letting her feel the power. The claws dented the white flesh. She cried out.
No.
The beast ignored the order, doing as it wanted, wallowing in the lust, the power. Addy arched and cried out as he lashed her clit with a hard circular press of his tongue.
The beast snarled and pinned her hips down.
Fight. Get away.
But Addy didn’t fight. Didn’t try to get away. Instead, she cried his name. Not knowing, not understanding that he wasn’t the one in control. Trusting him still.
Saliva flooded his mouth, blending with her taste, blending with something else, something exotic. Something uniquely them. Something man and beast savored.
Damn it, I’m not this. This isn’t me.
It didn’t matter. Addy cried out again, her body convulsing. The beast growled long and low. Turned its head. Opened its mouth.
No!
The protest was lost in the storm, lost in Addy’s scream of delight, the beast’s howl of possession. Lost in the flood of satisfaction as the beast bit the soft pad of flesh just below the seam of her hip and thigh. Addy convulsed again. The beast held on through her orgasm. The exotic taste intensified, mixing with her blood. Her pleasure.
The beast let go when she lay quivering, his satisfaction a low rumble in his throat as he rolled her over, propped her up.
“Isaiah?”
“Kneel up.”
The words were thick and hot. Addy shivered but obeyed, nothing in her scent indicating fear. Son of a bitch. Why wasn’t she afraid? Isaiah needed her to be afraid. Maybe then he could subdue the beast.

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