I wake up with my fangs dropped and Kylie’s scent in my nostrils. No wonder I dreamed about owning her hot little body the entire two hours I slept. I must have marked her in every position in my sleep. I shouldn’t feel rested, but the sexual frustration pumps me with energy.
Claim. Mate. Mark.
My wolf fucking loves that she’s in my house. I force myself to get in the shower with the spray on ice cold so I won’t go hunt her.
It doesn’t help. I’m still ready to dominate her when I get out. Chase her up a rocky mountain, knock her to the ground, and sink my teeth so deep into her flesh, she’ll scream…
Yeah, and that would kill her. She’d be screaming, all right, and it wouldn’t be yes, Jackson.
I skip the suit and tie today, opting for a button-down and khakis. My employees have been up all night working, I don’t need to show anyone up.
Kylie’s scent hits me hard the moment I walk out of my room. My cock swells against the zipper of my pants. I find her in her room, still working.
She has a pen stuck in a messy bun on top of her head and looks no less beautiful for not having slept all night. If anything, the sight of her up, working hard for me—for the benefit of my company—sends a fresh kick of lust rocketing through me. Of course she’s not doing it for me, she’s doing it for her grandmother, but the wolf doesn’t care about that.
All wolves need to dominate their females, but I never knew how turned on I would be by having one under my paw, so to speak. At the same time, the urge to take care of her rises up strongly. “Good morning. Are you hungry, kitten? I should have told you to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”
She flashes an easy smile, the kind that has no intent behind it but could topple nations. “Oh, I would have. I was about to go in search of coffee.”
“Find anything?”
“It’s a complex sequence. There’s something familiar about the style, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’ve been cross-checking old posts on the DefCon board but so far I haven’t figured it out. Your employees have all your data secure now, but I’m guessing the blackmailers had access to at least 250,000 records before you got it quarantined.”
I’ve already heard the same thing from Luis and Stu, but it’s good to know my little genius concurs.
“Come on, let’s get you some breakfast. Your body needs fuel after staying up all night.”
Damn. Why am I talking about her body? It’s a torture enough to me without mentioning it.
“I’ll be down in a minute.” She taps her finger against the edge of her screen as she reads.
Downstairs, I find Sam sitting at the breakfast counter. Apparently, none of us slept much last night.
“What’s going on?” he demands the minute I walk in. I called him when I stayed late last night, and told him what Kylie had done, so my showing up with her in the wee hours of the morning must’ve seemed incongruous.
“The blackmailers kidnapped her grandmother. She turned herself in to me. We’re working on getting a trace on the code to find any clues.”
Sam shakes his head, his mouth screwed into a judgmental ring. “I don’t like it. You’re not acting right, Jackson. She’s a fucking human. Why in the hell did you bring her here?”
A growl erupts from my throat, the wolf in me ready to defend my chosen mate to the death.
Sam’s jaw goes slack as he stares. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What?” I ask tightly.
“You do realize she’s triggered your mating instinct?”
I ignore him and pull out a carton of eggs, then break them into a bowl. “I need you to stay here and keep an eye on her. Don’t let her leave the mansion under any circumstances.”
Sam doesn’t answer, which forces me to look over. He watches me with narrowed eyes.
“And don’t hurt her.”
“I’m to hold her prisoner here, but I’m not allowed to hurt her.” His tone drips with doubt.
Another growl erupts from my throat, but I manage to cut it off as my wolf senses detect Kylie coming down the stairs. She shouldn’t have been able to hear our conversation, but, when she enters, her expression is sharp.
“So Sam’s my keeper?” she asks brightly.
I purse my lips. Damn. She has superhuman hearing. I need to remember that. “Right. I forbid you to leave the house while I’m gone.”
“You forbid it.” Her tone matches Sam’s perfectly with the doubt-infusion.
I arch a brow. “You have a problem with that?”
“You’re the boss.” She shrugs.
Damn right.
“House arrest with Sam. I can’t think of anything more fun.”
“Watch the sarcasm, kitten,” I say, but my wolf isn’t happy. I can’t fucking stand her using the word with and another male’s name, even if it is by my orders.
She peers into the bowl of eggs. “Whatcha making?”
My innate sense of confidence wanes, the need to please my female, to feed her, swelling in importance. “I was thinking about french toast. Does that sound okay?” Fates, I don’t even recognize myself. When do I ever ask anyone if something is okay?
She flashes that picture-perfect smile, and the wolf relaxes. “Sounds great. Thanks. Is there coffee?” She looks around.
“Help yourself.” Sam points to the full pot.
I’m simultaneously grateful to Sam for making it and pissed that he gets to offer it to her.
She pulls down two mugs and fishes the half and half out of the refrigerator. She hands me a full mug. “Cream, no sugar, right, boss?” Her husky tone, along with her act of service, sends desire kicking through me.
Mate her.
I want her here every morning, making me coffee while I cook her eggs. I want to watch those gold-flecked eyes peeking over the top of her mug as she tells me something brilliant. I want to earn that easy smile by saying something humorous.
Record scratch. I’m not a funny guy. I never say anything humorous. Except I had in the elevator. I’d made her laugh then. Around her, I turn into someone else. Someone better.
You’re not the bad guy.
I dip four pieces of cinnamon raisin bread in the egg batter and drop them onto a heated skillet doused with melted butter.
“I’m going to head into the office after we eat. I want hourly updates. Unless you’re sleeping.” I whirl around to pin her with my sternest look. “You do plan on getting some sleep?”
She lifts her mug of coffee in the air. “Not for a while. Don’t worry. I do my best work when I’m half-delirious.”
“Not on my watch. You need rest.”
She rolls her eyes, and I smack her bottom as she passes by. My cock hardens at her yelp.
Sam stares out the window like he’s never seen such a fascinating view.
“Come on, boss, I need to work. Please.” Her begging melts me. “I prefer catnaps to a solid eight hours anyway. “
I flip the french toast, delirious with the need to know if that’s true. I want to know every single detail about this woman. Need to.
I pull out my cell phone and hand it to her. “Give me your number.” She scrolls to my contacts and adds herself with remarkable speed as I plate the french toast and pull the maple syrup from the refrigerator.
I see she’s entered herself as “Catgirl,” and it makes me smile. “What’s your real name, kitten?”
She tenses, and her hesitation wounds me more than I care to admit.
“Why is it a secret?” I ask softly. “Because of the murder you saw?”
She pales, and I immediately regret pushing her, but, if she’s in danger, I have to know. The need to protect her from any and all her enemies is a tearing, consuming beast in me.
“Yeah.” She picks up a plate of french toast and butters them.
Sam must finally realize he’s a third wheel, because he stands from his perch at the breakfast bar. “Holler if you need me. I’ll be around the house, Catgirl.”
“I don’t think he likes me, either,” Kylie says after he leaves. She doesn’t know Sam can still hear every word.
“He’s just protective. What do you mean, either?”
“Like Wolf. Your monster-sized dog.” She forks a piece of french toast, and a low rumble, almost like a purr, rises in my chest. I like feeding her. Too damn much. “Where is he, by the way?”
“He’s probably out. He needs a lot of space to roam.” Not a lie.
“Okay, so I’m your prisoner, and Sam’s my keeper.” She takes another bite, her tongue flicking out to catch a bit of powdered sugar, and I almost groan. “I’m to update you every hour. Any other orders?”
Jesus, I get so hard when she plays submissive with me. And, believe me, I know it’s play—a choice, not her personality. The girl is all alpha if I’ve ever met one. An alpha female who only submits to her male.
A tug of longing pulls at my chest. I finally meet a female who interests me—both sides of me—human and wolf—and she’s human. Fragile. Unable to withstand a marking.
How will I keep her? I have to.
~.~
Kylie
The food and the coffee help. I spend the morning breaking into the FBI’s system to get all their files on known hackers. The malware used to infect SeCure wasn’t the most sophisticated thing I’ve ever seen. Which is good—it enabled Jackson to contain the threat. The downside is I have to look for the suspects in a much larger pool.
Jackson messages me to say that he hasn’t hired a private investigator because he doesn’t trust anyone not to fuck with me, but he’s working on a plan.
By noon, I’m nauseous from lack of sleep, but now I’m so wound up from the coffee and adrenaline, I doubt I’ll be able to rest. I get up to stretch my legs and wander through the upstairs rooms. I haven’t heard Sam—my guess is that his room is somewhere downstairs.
I’m drawn to search Jackson’s room. Hackers are by nature stalkers, and I’m dying to know more about my crush.
I tap lightly at a closed door and push it open. Bingo.
The large master suite must belong to Jackson. I pick up his scent, and it calms my over-wired system immediately. I’ve always had an overdeveloped sense of smell. My dad used to tease me about it.
Like the rest of the house, the room is elegant but simple. There isn’t much to look at, but I wander around, peering on the dresser top at his loose change, checking the wastepaper basket for anything interesting, but there’s nothing.
“What are you doing?”
I gasp and jump, my overtaxed system nearly sending me into cardiac arrest. “Jesus, Sam. You scared me.”
His eyes narrow. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy to tangle with. He may be lean and wiry, but the tattoos decorate hard muscles, and the piercings give him a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe. I remember Jackson had to give him the directive, don’t hurt her. Kinda like his wolf-dog, the violence is there, right below the surface.
I go for the truth. “I’m snooping. Trying to understand Jackson better.”
Sam gives a quick shake of his head. “His secrets aren’t for you to unwrap, Catgirl.”
I like that he calls me Catgirl. The name still has a power to it, evokes the invincible teen I once was. Before.
I lean a hip against the dresser, holding my ground. “So there are secrets?”
Sam folds his arms across his chest and leans against the doorframe. “Everyone has secrets.”
I try a different tack. “I never wanted to hurt him. I’m here to fix things, not make them worse.”
“Your being here definitely makes things worse.”
Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “What’s your problem with me?”
“Look, I can tell there’s something special about you. Jackson wouldn’t be interested, otherwise. But he can’t be with you—it’s not going to work. And your being in this house is going to be a problem for him.”
I turn his words over in my head, but they don’t make sense. The only thing I can come up with is that he and Jackson are a couple and he’s warning me off.
“Is he gay?”
Sam’s brows twist in puzzlement. “No. What makes you think that?”
“I was just trying to figure out if you and he—”
Sam laughs. “No. I told you, he’s my brother.”
Relief floods me. Down, girl. He’s still not yours. “How did you meet?”
Sam’s face sags and, for a moment, he looks thirty years older, weary from whatever happened in his young life. “I was wandering in the Santa Cruz mountains, lost, and he found me.”
“What were you doing in the mountains?” I picture a lost Boy Scout, but it doesn’t fit.
“I was a runaway. Figured I could survive there on my own. But I was starving. Half-crazy—I’d been alone so long.”
“How long?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. A few months, maybe. Jackson saw me, and I ran. He chased me down. I fought him. I didn’t want to return to civilization, but he forced me to come back with him. Promised not to tell anyone he’d found me.”
A rush of sympathy floods my chest. Sam’s been in hiding, like me. Someone out there wants something from him. An abusive family, probably. He’s right. We all have secrets.
“How long ago was that?”
“Seven years. I was fourteen.”
“I’m glad he found you. And I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not worried anymore,” he says. “But, thanks.” A reluctant smile tugs at his lips, and he steps toward me, holding out his fist. I bump it and follow him out of the room, glad to have unearthed another small piece of the Jackson puzzle.
~.~
Jackson
When I get home, I find Kylie crashed out on the sofa, her open laptop tilted against her chest.
Sam’s in the kitchen, eating a stack of ten hamburgers. I pick one up and take a bite. “How long has she been like that?”
“Couple hours,” Sam says with his mouth full. “I found her snooping in your bedroom. She said she wanted to know your secrets.”
A niggling sense of worry tickles me. What if I’m still being played by this girl? But that didn’t make sense—what more could she want or need? She’d already done enough damage to bring me down.
No, hackers have boundary issues. They get an inflated sense of power. They can spy on anyone and anything. Read emails, cancel credit cards. Check high school grades. Kylie’s snooping around my room was an extension of that. She hasn’t been able to hack me personally because there’s nothing to find. She’s not the only one who knows how to create or erase an identity.
“What’s your plan with her? You can’t keep her here forever.”
I stab my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“You can’t. Keep her here,” Sam repeats.
“Why the fuck not?” I snap, even though I know he’s right.
He raises his brows. “You planning to mate her?”
I scowl. We both know that’s not possible. A werewolf bite to a human could kill her. Would cause serious scarring and damage, at the least. And that’s assuming Kylie’s willing. Which would mean telling her—a clear violation of pack rules. And if I tell her and we don’t mate, she’ll have to be eliminated. Pack rules. Or have her mind erased by a vampire. I can’t risk either of those things happening to her.
So, yeah. Sam’s right. I can’t keep her here.
But I sure as fuck can’t let her go, either.
“Just until this blows over,” I promise.
Sam’s pursed lips tell me he knows it’s a lie. “You know what happens to a wolf who ignores his mating instinct?”
Nausea twists in the pit of my stomach. Moon sickness. “That’s not what’s happening here. She can’t be my fated mate—she’s human.”
Sam shrugs. “I realize that, but you’re acting like a male ready to mark. And the moon is full tomorrow.”
“I have the situation under control.” And pigs fly.
Sam polishes off his fifth hamburger and shoves the plate of remaining burgers my way. “I’ll see you. I’m working at the club tonight.” He sometimes works as a bouncer at Eclipse, Garrett’s nightclub.
Don’t rush home.
My wolf wants Kylie alone. Which is probably the worst idea ever.
~.~
Kylie
I wake to the sound of Sam’s motorcyle pulling away and Jackson’s angry voice from the kitchen. “Who leaked it to the press? I will have their ass. Well, find out and terminate them before I get my hands on them. Understand? Good.”
Damn. Jackson’s shit storm just got worse if one of his employees leaked the situation to the press. I wonder if that means I’ve been named as the perpetrator? How long before the FBI is involved? I climb off the couch. The windows are dark, which means I must’ve slept all afternoon. I check the time on my laptop. Seven p.m.
Jackson’s starts up again—he must be making phone calls. “Get me Sarah, in PR.”
I jog upstairs, determined to take a shower and make myself presentable before he sees me. I fail miserably, because he walks out to the living room and watches me ascend the stairs while he yells at his public relations director.
I wince and give him a wave of surrender, mouthing the word shower.
He nods and continues with his tirade.
When the FBI gets involved, will he turn me in? I slip into his guest bathroom and the memory of what we did in there two nights ago comes rushing back.
I strip and climb into the shower, letting my fingers slide between my legs like last time.
I have another punishment coming.
I’m suddenly desperate for it. My time here may be limited. If the FBI is looking for me, I may have to leave in a hurry. And my business with Jackson feels unfinished.
I want his touch, his mastery, one more time.
Right, and he’s downstairs in crisis-control mode.
But maybe a little distraction is exactly what he needs, too. I could give him that blow job I didn’t get to start last time. It could be my penance for what I’ve done.
I rub my clit, excited by the prospect. But I don’t want to finish myself off. I’d much rather have Jackson’s skillful fingers there.
I shut off the water and step out, toweling off.
Yep, there’s only one way to play this. I wrap the towel around my waist and sashay downstairs, my bare breasts puckering in the cool evening air.
Jackson’s still on the phone, but, when he sees me, he stops speaking. He lifts one finger and points at me. I don’t know what it means, but I keep coming.
“You know what to do. Don’t call me until it’s done. Got it?” He hangs up. “Kitten.” His voice sounds strangled. “What in the hell are you doing?”
I play the coquette and bring one finger between my teeth, biting down. “Is it time for my punishment?”
“Fuck.” It comes out in a burst. His eyes look bluer than I’ve seen them—a pale blue. No sign of the green at all.
He points to the couch in the living room. “I’ll be right in.”
My palms are clammy. Despite my bravado, I have no idea what I’m doing. Seduction is a new game for me, and punishment is completely foreign. No, that’s not true. I’ve watched my share of fetish porn. But I’ve never experienced real pain. I’m not sure how I will like it.
Jackson returns holding a wooden spoon, and my stomach flips.
I bite my lower lip and work to keep my breath calm.
He sits down on the overstuffed brown suede sectional and pats his lap. “Lose the towel, kitten.”
My pussy clenches. I’m not sure whether I’m more excited or nervous, but either way, I’m going forward. I drop the towel to the floor and climb over his lap, offering my ass up for his punishment. I pray a wooden spoon isn’t the worst implement of torture in the world. It probably isn’t, since was used regularly on children’s butts in the days when spanking was considered a useful and acceptable form of punishment. Not that I agree with such measures.
“Oh, kitten.” It sounds like a lament, a groan almost. Jackson runs his hand up the back of my thigh and over the curve of one cheek. I feel his hard length press against my hip.
I part my thighs.
“Baby, I’ll take care of that ache between your legs soon. But, you’re right. It’s time for your punishment, now.” He gives my ass a slap, but it’s just with his hand.
“Mmm,” I encourage him.
He slaps the other side and rubs away the sting. A few more slaps right and left and I start wiggling, wanting more.
He leans over and bites my ass, and I shriek and giggle. He chuckles, too.
“Okay, let’s say…twenty with the wooden spoon.”
I have no idea if that’s a lot or a little, since I haven’t felt the spoon yet, so I keep my mouth shut.
He leans over. “If it’s too much, baby, I want you to tell me.”
“Yes, sir.”
He groans. “I love it when you call me that.”
“Is that why you became a CEO?”
He pops me with the wooden spoon. It’s definitely worse than his hand, but not horrible. “No, baby. I don’t want anyone else to call me sir. Just you.” He starts spanking rapidly, one side then the other.
I roll my hips, jerking with the impact.
“I only love it from you. The rest of them can go fuck themselves.”
I squeeze my ass together. It hurts. A lot. But then it’s over. Twenty spanks in twenty seconds. I’m almost sorry it was only twenty. Almost.
Jackson strokes his palm over my twitching ass, and I moan softly. “I’m not sure that was enough,” he muses. “I didn’t know how you’d take it.” His fingers delve between my legs, and my thoughts scramble.
“Should we do another round, kitten? Twenty more?”
“No.”
Heat flushes everywhere; my pussy weeps for him.
“No?” His touch is so beguiling, fingers sliding up and down my slick folds. My brain can’t compute that he’s threatening me with more of the wooden spoon.
“Yes?” I say.
He growls, low and sexy. More like an approving rumble. “I like spanking you, kitten. Love having you spread across my lap for punishment.”
“Who else?” I choke, because, for some reason, I’m a jealous bitch when it comes to Jackson.
He stops moving. “Excuse me?”
“Who else have you spanked?”
His low chuckle goes straight to my erogenous zones, tightening my nipples, making my pussy squeeze. “Just you, baby. Only you.” He picks up the spoon again and pops me with it.
I definitely don’t like it this time, since I’m already sore from the first spanking, but I’m also not willing to say it’s too much. He applies another rapid-fire round, and I squirm and squeal over his lap. “Ouch, please!” I shout at the end, but he was stopping anyway.
His fingers immediately slip between my legs, and I can tell I’m three times as wet as before. I guess I did need a second spanking.
“Jesus, this cute little ass bobbing over my lap makes me want to do this all night.”
“Noooo,” I moan. I’m definitely not down for round three.
He chuckles and flips me over. He’s a big guy, and I know he’s strong, but I swear he makes it seem like I weigh less than three pounds. With one huge palm wrapped around my thigh, he pulls it open and lifts my hips. His mouth hits my core, ripping a scream from my lips.
Holy cunnilingus, Batman. His tongue circles my inner lips. He sucks and nips on my labia, suctions his lips over my clit.
I buck and claw at him, closing my mouth around the screams that won’t stop coming.
He growls, penetrating me with his thumb as he continues his earth-shattering torture of my lady parts.
I come unglued, a climax ripping through me with enough power to fuel a rocket ship.
“Fuck, kitten.” Jackson removes his mouth and pumps his digit in and out of me, watching my face as I finish.
One part of me thinks I should be embarrassed that he’s seeing my O-face, but the rest of me doesn’t care. Or, rather, believes he deserves the privilege, since he’s the one to produce it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” There’s desperation to Jackson’s tone. His eyes glow light blue. He flips me over again, this time onto my knees on the couch with my torso hanging over the arm of the sofa. He slaps my sore ass, and I hear the rustle of clothing.
I realize I’m about to lose my V-card. Things are moving so fast. Jackson’s breath is erratic, his movements jerky. He rubs the head of his cock over my sopping entrance. I don’t think he put a condom on. Part of me is thrilled to have inspired this much passion in him. The other part is—ouch.
I gasp, tears spearing my eyes when he shoves into me, breaking my resistance.
He freezes. “Kylie, no.”
I’m still holding my breath.
“Baby, no.” His torso covers mine, and he strokes my hair back from my face, trying to see me. His cock fills me, stretching my opening. Now that the initial shock of pain is gone, it feels good. I want him to start moving.
“I’m so sorry. Did I just—”
“Yes. I’m okay. Go on.”
He curses and eases out.
“Don’t you dare,” I snap. “You’re not taking this from me. Finish what you started, big man.”
He strokes my hip. “Kylie.” I hear the regret in his voice, and it pisses me off. I’m not a fucking china doll. Or maybe he doesn’t want to have sex with a virgin. Maybe it’s a total turnoff and he’s lost his erection.
“Don’t you dare,” I whisper again, and my voice breaks.
“Kylie.” His hands are gentle this time. He lifts me and tries to set me on his lap, but I’m too humiliated. I lurch off and run up the stairs. My nudity isn’t sexy anymore. It’s just…vulnerable.
Jackson’s right on my heels, but, to his credit, he doesn’t touch me. “Kylie. Kylie, wait. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I run into my bedroom, but when I try to shut the door in his face, he stops it with his hand.
Tears of frustration leak from the corners of my eyes.
“Kylie, please.” He puts his entire body in the doorframe, so there’s no way I’m closing it. I give up and walk to the bed, pulling on my day-old clothes.
“I’m sorry. I totally lost control. I didn’t even have a fucking condom on, and I had no idea you were a—”
I whirl around and glare at him, which stops the word from coming out of his mouth.
He shakes his head. “I never planned to have sex with you. I was just going to give you a little pleasure. But you were so fucking hot, and I lost control.” He shoves his fingers through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “It’s better this way, kitten.”
Why does he look like he’s breaking up with me? I want to throw something at his sympathetic face.
“I’m glad something stopped us. I…can’t have sex with you.”
What in the hell is this? First, Sam tells me it’s not going to work, now, Jackson.
Why can’t he be with me? Why? Is he married already? Subject to seizures? I just can’t fucking figure out what makes it impossible for us to be together.
But I’m too fragile to drag it out of him now.
“I need to be alone, now,” I tell him.
His face falls. “Right. Okay. But, are you hurt? Promise me you’re not hurt.”
I lift my chin. “Definitely not hurt.” Not physically.
Jackson, on the other hand, looks like he’s in enormous pain. I notice his cock still bulges in his khakis.
Well, good. Serves him right for stopping. I hope those blue balls hurt him all night long.
~.~
Jacqueline
Jacqueline rolls over in the dirt and groans. She’s too old for this crap. If her granddaughter wasn’t in terrible danger, she would let herself die out here in the desert.
It would be so easy. She suffered so many bullet wounds. Four, at least. Not even a shifter should be able to survive a bullet to the head.
But she’s still breathing, so that must mean she survived.
How long has she been out here?
An entire night and day, at least. Could be more; she was in and out of consciousness.
But the cat in her rallied, pushing the bullets out of her flesh, closing the wounds. There’s one still stuck in her head, though. And she’s lost a lot of blood. She just wants to sleep.
But Minette. Her petite fille is in danger. The men who kidnapped her have plans for Minette. She has to get help. If only she could shift.
Usually, if a shifter is badly wounded while in human form, their body will naturally shift to beast for protection and healing. Why she is still in her weak, human form, she doesn’t know. It must have something to do with the head wound.
She needs to get to other shifters.
They’ve only been in Tucson a week, but she paid a visit to the wolf alpha, Garrett, to introduce herself a few days ago. She needs to get to him. He’ll be able to help.
She forces herself to her hands and knees and then to her feet. Her clothes are stiff, covered in blood and dirt. She can’t scent her way to civilization because nothing but the smell of blood fills her nostrils.
Maybe it would be best to wait until morning, when she can judge the direction of the sun. But she doesn’t want to spend another night out in the cold. Not in human form.
Shift, dammit, shift.
Why can’t she shift?
~.~
Jackson
I am the biggest ass. I pace in my bedroom, listening for every creak or movement from Kylie’s room.
I feel horrible about taking Kylie’s virginity without asking. Without even using protection. Even worse, if things had continued, I would have marked her. I was already half beast. No thoughts were moving through my brain, other than to take her. Claim her.
Mark her as my mate.
Yes, if I hadn’t hit her virginal resistance, I might have sunk my coated teeth right into her shoulder, tearing her delicate human flesh, possibly even killing her.
But the fact I wounded her pride—insulted her by stopping—made the situation insufferable. How did I not realize she was so inexperienced? In retrospect, it should have been obvious by her blushes, yet she carries herself with such confidence, sexual and otherwise, I never guessed.
The wolf in me preens over being her first, which disgusts me even more. I didn’t even make it good for her. It was a negative five on a scale of one to ten.
And yet, I can’t figure out how to make it better. I can’t finish what I started. If I learned anything tonight, it’s that I can’t trust myself. Especially with the moon full.
Kylie’s emotions aren’t my only problem tonight, either. Someone leaked the story to the press, naming Kylie as the culprit. I will have feds at the office tomorrow, wanting to investigate her, and I sure as hell can’t let them find her.
I log onto my computer to check how the story is coming out in the press.
Art Thief Vigilante’s Daughter Hacks SeCure Corporation.
Art thief? I pull up the story to read about Kylie.
“Daughter of Robin Hood-style art thief Jacob Anders, Kaye Anders, also known as Kylie McDaniel, may be responsible for hacking into SeCure Corporation and stealing hundreds of thousands of credit card numbers. McDaniel was hired by the company just days before she hacked the system and installed malware.
“Sarah Smith, Public Relations Director from SeCure corporation says owners of the accounts breached will be notified as soon as possible, and they are recommending the cancellation of all credit cards affected by the breach.
“Smith says it is unknown whether McDaniel staged the breach as another vigilante-style heist, following in the footsteps of her father. Jacob Anders was best known for reclaiming art and other antiquities stolen by the Nazis during World War II and returning the treasures to their rightful owners or to museums. His body was discovered in The Louvre in 2009 with multiple stab wounds that law enforcement officials believe to have been inflicted by a partner during a heist. The Degas painting ‘Elegant Dancer,’ a painting reportedly confiscated from convicted Nazi war criminal Hedwig Model and donated to the Louvre, was discovered missing from the art museum at the time.
“McDaniel, whose other aliases include the hacker moniker Catgirl, has been wanted for questioning since the 2009 murder but has not surfaced again until now.
“FBI officials were not available for comment, but the spokesperson from SeCure Corporation says they will work hand in hand with law enforcement to aid in McDaniel’s arrest and will press charges to the full extent of the law.”
Kylie, an art thief, in addition to the most talented hacker in the world. My beautiful, talented little cat burglar. But Jesus, she watched her father murdered before her eyes. No wonder she has PTSD. I’ve got to protect her.
A growl rumbles in my chest, my wolf ready to go on the hunt. No one is going to touch my kitten. I don’t know how to fix this, but I sure as hell am not going to let Kylie—or whatever her real name is—take the fall.
I hired a hacker and thief into my company. The PR is going to be hell.
A whimper sounds from her room, and I surge to my feet, flying out the door to stand outside hers.
Another whimper.
I gently push open the door. My little hacker’s asleep on her side, one arm tossed over her head, which she rolls back and forth fitfully.
Bad dream.
I ease onto the bed behind her, curling my much larger body around hers. “Shh, baby. It’s just a dream.”
She whimpers louder. “Can’t get out can’t get out can’t get out.” Her breath drags in and out, too fast, the way it did in the elevator.
I rest my hand on her ribs and give her a gentle shake. “Kylie. Kitten. Wake up, baby.”
She startles awake with a scream.
I start to cover her mouth but realize it will only make the claustrophobia worse, so I go for her sternum again. “Breathe, baby. In. Out. You’re safe. It was a dream. Just a dream, kitten.”
She lets out a tremulous whimper, and I roll her to her back to see her face in the dark.
Her arms loop around my neck, and she clings to me, trembling.
I rub her back. ”Shh, baby. You’re okay. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
As quickly as she turned to me, she pulls away, scrambling off the bed and onto her feet.
I follow her up. “Kylie.”
She ignores me and paces back and forth, her shoulders hunched, her head bent like she’s thinking hard.
She’s rejecting my help. Fighting her problems on her own—as she has since she was just a teen. Maybe all her life. I want her to come back to me. Desperately. But I don’t know how to get through.
“You saw your dad’s murder.”
She stops pacing, and her breath leaves her with a whoosh.
“In the Louvre? Where were you? In an air duct?”
Her knees buckle, and I catch her as she stumbles back. I pull her up into my arms, but she fights me. The scent of her tears hits me, salty and filled with pain. I don’t let her go.
She needs me, even if she doesn’t want to accept my help.
“Stop fighting me,” I murmur as she shoves at my chest. “I’m on your side, baby. Stop fighting.”
She collapses against me, tucking her face against my neck, wetting my skin with her tears.
“Damn you, Jackson. Damn you,” she sobs.
“Why, baby?” I stroke her head. “I know I’m an asshole, but why are you mad?”
“I don’t want you to take care of me so well.”
I find her mouth, capture those tender lips, twine my tongue with hers.
She shifts in my arms, holds my neck, and swings one leg around to straddle me. My cock grows heavy, pressing in the notch of her legs, the heat of her core sending darts of lust through my bloodstream. I’m not going to lose control this time, though.
My female needs me. Needs comforting. Gentleness. And, wonder of wonders, my wolf submits. The need to protect her trumps his need to mate. My teeth stay human sized, even as my cock grows.
“Don’t tell me you can’t have sex with me.” She tears open my button-down, popping the buttons.
Oh fates and all things sanctified.
I carry her to my bedroom and lay her down gently on her back. I shove her skirt up and yank the gusset of her panties to the side, placing my mouth where it always wants to be. Right on her core. Tasting her sweet essence, giving her pleasure. Satisfying her.
She arches, pulling her knees up to open wide.
“That’s right, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
She reaches down to help, rubbing her clit as I penetrate her with my tongue. “I want your cock, big man. I need it here.” She taps her pussy.
I groan.
Can I do this?
I have to.
She’s my female, and she needs me. Even the wolf understands.
I grab a condom from my dresser.
“Clothes off,” she commands. “I want to see all of you, Jackson King.”
I smile and peel my clothing off with purpose, standing in the light of the nearly full moon through the window. “I’ll let you give the orders, just this once, kitten.” I roll the condom on my length, grinning at her wide-eyed attention. “Because I fucked up earlier. But don’t forget who has the wooden spoon.”
Her face flushes, and the scent of her arousal fills the room, even stronger than before.
I grip the base of my cock and point it in her direction. “Like what you see?”
“No wonder it hurt,” she says, but she’s wearing a grin.
“Clothes off, kitten. That will be a rule. You should never be wearing more clothing than I am.”
I take the musical ring of her laugh as another win.
I’m going to take care of you, baby.
She shimmies out of her clothing and lies back. I see why I was fooled. There’s nothing innocent about her peach-tipped breasts, the curve of her hips, her neatly trimmed mons, and long, shapely legs. Even with a blush on her cheeks, she gives me come hither eyes. I don’t know how she made it this long without having sex, but my wolf is doing double backflips in celebration of being the first.
I want to groan. I want to sing. Worship at the altar of her body for the rest of my life.
I will keep it together this time. I owe her.
~.~
Kylie
Jackson kneels between my legs. His body is even more incredible than I imagined—cut from solid muscle. His chest is covered in dark curls, and his cock… sizable.
He nudges my entrance with the sheathed tip of his cock and I arch, pleasure spiraling out, inner thighs trembling with anticipation. He’s breathing harder than normal, but he goes slow, easing into me, even though he already plowed the path open.
There’s no pain this time, only satisfaction. He fills me, holds still for me to adjust. I lift my hips impatiently. Not fragile, buddy. I need this. I deserve it.
Jackson groans and climbs over me, leaning his weight on his fist beside my head.
He’s huge, looming over me.
Before I can control my reaction, I stiffen and lurch away from him, needing to see the exit.
Still buried inside me, he rolls our bodies so I end up on top. I suck in a breath, my muscles relaxing.
He shows me his open palms as if to prove he doesn’t have a weapon, then he shoves them under his butt. “You’re in control, kitten.”
I nibble my lip because he’s made it plain he likes to be the one in charge. And I love his dominance. I just can’t stand being crowded. Still, riding him feels good, and my hips start moving of their own accord, rocking over his huge, hard manhood. I tip my pelvis forward to grind my clit down over him, rubbing harder and faster.
His lips peel back from his teeth, and he squeezes his eyes shut, breath dragging in and out audibly.
A surge of power rockets through me, knowing I’m affecting him so much. It spurs me on. I slide up and down faster, my tits bouncing over his chest. I dig my nails into his shoulders, taking him deeper.
“Fuck, kitten. Fuck,” he roars. His face contorts. His hands fly free of his self-imposed position and grasp my hips. I’m grateful for him to take over because my muscles are shaking, straining for release.
He yanks me over his cock, up and down, and then he shouts, his hips lifting off the bed, carrying me with him, even as he holds me to angle deeper than I thought possible.
I cry out, too, muscles contracting around his enormous cock, milking it for all it’s worth in a pumping motion beyond my control.
Out of breath, trembling, I fall down over him, molding my body to his, nuzzling his neck.
He wraps his strong arms around me and holds me tight. This time, there’s no fear. Only platinum satisfaction.
“Kiss me, baby.”
I turn my head, and he captures my mouth, kissing me aggressively, letting me feel teeth and tongue, owning me.
Yes. That’s what I like. Jackson in control.
It brings back that sense of home. Belonging.
His cock swells inside me. Lordy. Is he really ready for round two already?
He groans. “You’d better get off me, kitten, or I’ll be throwing you on your back and fucking you into oblivion. And you’re probably already sore.”
I am. I ease off him, checking out his cock to see it’s still just as big. “Jackson?”
He reaches down to grip it and surges up, meeting my eyes. “The condom came off!”
I flush, like I’ve done something wrong. I’m not stupid. I’ve read Cosmo. I know it happens. I also know I’m now at risk of pregnancy.
Jackson takes charge, pressing my hips to the bed and delving his fingers inside. Holy embarrassing moment, batman. He retrieves the condom. “Shit. I’m sorry, baby.”
“It was probably my fault,” I mumble, attempting to roll away.
He catches my hip and rolls me back to face him. “Hey. I’m in this with you. Whatever happens. I wouldn’t be sorry if you had my pup.”
My heart pounds, but I snort. “Pup?”
“Kitten,” he amends quickly. “I’d love for you to give me a little kitten-girl.” He gives me a devastating smile.
I roll my eyes. At least he didn’t say, “I’ll pay for your abortion” or freak out. But yeah, this is all too much to absorb. I just had sex for the first time. Twice, because the first time was an aborted mission. Then a rubber gets lost in my hooch. And now I could be knocked up by none other than the guy I’ve been lusting after since I was a teen. Oh, and I may be on the run from the FBI.
If I could just grab a breather and more than a couple of hours of sleep, I’d probably be able to deal.
