Wild for Him Page 7
Although she hadn’t sent him any naked pictures, she’d been feeling naughty this afternoon at work. She’d slipped her phone under her skirt and snapped a photo of her lacy red panties. The shadow of her pubic hair was apparent beneath the sheer fabric. She texted the image to him, her heart racing.
His response made her laugh out loud: brb, masturbating.
Now she was home, lying in bed. He’d promised to call at the usual time. Her hands itched to get started. There would be no preliminary conversation tonight. She just wanted to touch herself, imagining him touching her.
The arrangement wasn’t completely satisfying, of course. If self-pleasure was enough, no one would bother with a partner. She longed for his heavy weight on top of her and his callused palms on her skin. Her hands were too soft and small.
Her vibrator, while effective, couldn’t compete with him.
She picked up her phone to check the clock. He was late. That wasn’t like him. Maybe he hadn’t been joking earlier, and he’d already gotten off. She waited ten more minutes, her nipples tight and her sex pulsing. Then her phone rang.
Finally.
“Sorry,” he said. “I got hung up.”
“It’s okay.” She’d fallen asleep on the couch once and missed his call entirely, so she could forgive a late start.
“I liked your text today.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch. “I liked yours, too.”
“Are you still wearing those panties?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
His sharp intake of breath excited her. “Take another picture.”
She smiled at the request. “Why don’t you take one?”
“Of what?”
“Whatever comes up.”
He laughed, a deep rumble that sent shivers along her spine.
She was just teasing; she didn’t really expect him to send her a dick pic. “Speaking of photos, I found another good one online.”
“Tell me about it.”
She often browsed the web for tattoo art. Some of the images were pornographic, which was par for the course on the internet. Last week she’d come across one of a man with tattooed shoulders going down on a pretty blonde. Her face was contorted in ecstasy.
When she’d mentioned the picture to Mitch, he’d looked it up and said a lot of hot things about wanting Gwen in the same position.
“It shows a dark-haired woman with half-sleeves.”
“Like yours?”
“Kind of. She’s on her knees in front of a man.”
“Doing what?”
“Sucking his cock.”
“Describe it.”
“It’s big. Like yours.”
He cleared his throat. “What’s she wearing?”
“A frilly apron. It makes a bow in the middle of her back. Her head is turned toward the camera, so you can see her mouth on him. But she’s also bent forward, so you can see…”
“Her pussy?”
“Yes.”
“Send me a link.”
She did, waiting patiently for him to check it out.
“I want you like that,” he said, a moment later. “I want your mouth.”
Sliding a hand into her panties, she started stroking.
“Are you touching yourself?”
She stroked faster. “Mmm.”
“Christ. Don’t come without me.”
“You’d better hurry.”
“Are you wet?”
“Very.”
“Where do you want me?”
“Inside me. In my mouth. Anywhere.” She brought her slippery fingers to her lips and sucked them, moaning.
“Fuck, baby.”
He was breathing hard into the receiver. She imagined him with his pants around his ankles, his cock in his fist. Then she heard a click, as if the call was dropped. She was about to ask if he was still there when the doorbell rang.
She sat up in bed, startled. Who would drop by this late?
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“The doorbell.”
“Ignore it.”
“I can’t,” she said, putting on her robe. “It could be an emergency. A neighbor might need help.”
“I need help,” he muttered.
She hurried down the hall and turned on the exterior light, peering through the peephole. There was a large man standing outside her door. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and she couldn’t see his face.
Heart racing, she stood on tiptoe to study the rest of him. He had an erection straining the front of his jeans.
Retreating in shock, she ducked into the hallway. “There’s a pervert at my door,” she whispered into the phone. “I have to call 911.”
“Wait—”
She hung up on Mitch and dialed the number with trembling fingers. The man rang the doorbell again. He started pounded on the door. Oh God.
“It’s just me,” the man outside said. “Gwen, it’s me.”
She paused, listening. “Mitch?”
“Yes! Open the door.”
When she looked out again, he’d tugged down the hood to reveal his features. She unlocked the door and let him in. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
She smacked his arm. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“Sorry,” he said, grinning. “I guess I overshot my mark.”
After a moment of staring at him in disbelief, it dawned on her that he hadn’t dropped by for no reason. He had news to share. He wouldn’t have flown in from Denver just to spend the weekend with her.
Would he?
“I got the transfer.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You did?”
He nodded. “I’m here for two weeks to check out the expansion site. Then I’m back in Denver for a month. After that, I’ll be in San Diego full-time.”
She threw her arms around him, unable to contain her excitement. He returned her embrace, laughing. Tears flooded her eyes.
He was coming back to her. For good.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“I’m really here. Your very own pervert.”
She pressed her lips to his, overjoyed. He lifted her against the wall and kissed her back with a hungry growl, his big hands roving over her lace-covered bottom. He was still aroused, his erection jutting at the front of his jeans. After a long, tongue-tangling kiss and some frantic groping, she tore her lips from his.
“This calls for a celebration,” she said, unbuttoning his fly.
“Does it?”
She sank to her knees before him and freed his cock from his briefs. He was rock-hard and pulsing with desire. Instead of teasing him with soft licks, she closed her mouth around him and took him deep.
He groaned, threading a hand through her hair. “I like the way you celebrate.”
She sucked him up and down, over and over.
“I love you, Gwen.”
Almost choking, she released him. “What?”
He cupped her cheek. “I love you.”
“You can’t say that during a blow job.”
“Why not?”
“Every man is in love when he’s getting a BJ.”
“I can wait until you finish, and say it again.”
She rose to her feet, stunned. He didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. He met her gaze steadily, daring her to dispute him. He was a steady guy. Solid. Too structured, perhaps, but there were worse flaws in a man.
Gwen hadn’t allowed herself to fall for him until she’d talked to Helena. Since then, she’d been teetering on the edge. She hadn’t wanted to get too invested in a long-distance relationship. She had a business to run. She couldn’t move out of town.
Now that she knew he was coming back to stay, there were no more obstacles in the way. And she felt herself topple, head over heels in love with him.
“I think I love you, too,” she said.
He arched a brow. “You think?”
“It’s a new feeling. I need to test it out.”
“Okay,” he said gamely. “I’ll take you to bed and we can test it all night.”
She wanted to finish what she’d started, but she didn’t protest when he swept her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom. They had plenty of time to explore each other. The rest of their lives, in fact.
She couldn’t wait.
Author’s Note
Thanks for much for reading Wild for Him. If you have time, please consider writing a brief online review. Reviews help new readers find me. Feel free to visit my website, sign up for my newsletter and like me on Facebook!
Check out Josh and Helena’s story in Wild (Aftershock #5):
Wild passion
Zookeeper Helena Fjord has a dangerous job at San Diego’s Wildlife Park. She’s got no time for nonsense, and no interest in handsome, laidback security officer Josh Garrison. She steers clear of his silly pranks and sexy smile—until disaster strikes.
Natural instincts
Josh has been coasting ever since his Navy SEAL dreams went up in smoke. He’s always had the hots for Helena, but the lady is off limits. When a devastating earthquake hits, the unlikely pair must work together to secure the park’s borders. With wild animals on the loose, aftershocks imminent, and fires blazing across the city, they face serious peril—and a powerful attraction. Josh vows to protect Helena at all costs. But who will safeguard her heart?
If you prefer contemporary romance, these novellas are light on the suspense:
“Scenes of Peril” from Passion & Peril
Snowed in with a sexy stranger.
Island Peril
Stranded with a handsome adventure guide.
“Holiday Secrets” from Risky Christmas
Sexy holidays with the hot surfer next door.
Full-length romantic suspense from my Aftershock series:
Aftershock (Aftershock #1)
A female paramedic and a former Marine get trapped with a group of survivors.
Freefall (Aftershock #2)
A rugged rock climber teams up with a female park ranger to solve a murder.
Badlands (Aftershock #3)
A bodyguard with a tortured past falls for his client.
Backwoods (Aftershock #4)
A family camping trip gone terribly wrong!
Looking for more heat? Try Riding Dirty, the first book in my new Dirty Eleven MC series! This is erotic romance with very explicit language and edgy sexual situations.
He’s her weapon of choice
Psychologist Mia Richards wants revenge. Her new client, tattooed Cole “Shank” Shepherd, provides the perfect means. She just has to manipulate the felon-turned-informant into eliminating her husband’s killers—members of Cole’s rival motorcycle club. The first step, seducing Cole, is simple. As for walking away before she falls hard—it’s already too late…
Dirty Eleven practically raised Cole, and he plans to double-cross the cops rather than sell them out. But smart, sexy Mia is an irresistible distraction. While she’s evaluating his mind, all he can think about is her body…until he discovers her true intentions. Walking a fine line between desire and betrayal, they’ll have to outrun her past, his enemies and the law for a love that’s dangerously real.
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Michelle knew something was wrong as soon as she walked through the door.
There was mail strewn across the floor, as if Philip had knocked it off the counter and not bothered to tidy up. That wasn’t like him. Voices in the study alerted her that he wasn’t alone. He made his own hours, and often invited colleagues up for a drink or to debate about art. But the tone of the discussion struck her as strange. It sounded more like barked orders than a friendly quarrel.
“Philip?” she called out, setting her satchel on a chair.
Feeling a stab of unease, she strode down the hallway. The door to the study was ajar. When she reached the threshold and peered in, her world tilted on its axis. Making sense of the scene was difficult; the visual images were scrambled. Philip was on the floor with his arms tied behind his back. The wall safe stood open, and there were two other men in the room. All three turned to look at her.
She got the impression of puzzle pieces, floating independently. Philip on the ground. Two strangers, dressed in black. One held a gun. He had a tattoo on his wrist, between his glove and the sleeve of his leather jacket.
“No,” Philip shouted.
One second ticked by, maybe two, while she stood frozen. Then she turned and broke into a run. She didn’t even try to make it to the front door. She was wearing designer high heels, and her ankle twisted as she fled. Smothering a cry of distress, she ducked into the guest room. There was an antique phone on the nightstand, totally inappropriate for an emergency. She didn’t have time to dial 911. Instead of reaching for the receiver, she dived behind the bed and scurried underneath it, praying she’d be left alone.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out other sounds. When a hand wrapped around her ankle and tugged, she screamed at the top of her lungs. The man dragged her across the polished wood floor. Rolling over, she kicked out with her free leg, but failed to connect. He caught her other foot and wrenched her legs apart. Some kind of mask covered the lower half of his face. He had dark eyes.
Those eyes were all she could see. Her soul seemed to separate from her body, drifting up to the ceiling. When he clamped a gloved hand across her mouth, she snapped back into reality. She bit down on his palm and bucked underneath him, pummeling him with flying fists. One of her wild blows connected with his throat, and his grip loosened. Her hands found the phone cord. The heavy antique piece came crashing down on his head.
It was just enough to hurt. Not enough to stop him.
With a growl of fury, the masked man picked up the phone and threw it, smashing a hole in the drywall. Then he grabbed her by the front of her blouse and slammed her into the hardwood. Pain exploded in her skull. Lucidity flickered in and out like candlelight. When she came to, her hair was wet and warm.
“Fucking bitch,” the man said, straddling her waist. “I was just going to fuck you. Now I’m going to fuck you and kill you.”
Another voice said, “Get off her.”
The man looked over his shoulder. His partner, also wearing a half mask, was standing in the doorway.
“No DNA,” the partner said.
“No witnesses,” her attacker replied. Then he grabbed a decorative pillow from the top of the bed and held it over her face.
Michelle didn’t think she had any fight left in her. She was wrong. Instinct took over and her muscles sprung into action. Robbed of oxygen, fueled by panic, she clawed at his forearms, searching for tender skin. Her fingernails found no purchase, only slick leather. Her heels scraped uselessly across the floor.
Stop fighting.
Philip’s voice spoke to her. Not from down the hall, but from another place.
Play dead.
She forced her arms and legs to go slack. The man continued to smother her, not letting up until she was almost unconscious. When he lifted the pillow to study her, she kept her eyes open, staring sightlessly into the dark recesses under the bed. Her lungs ached to draw in a full breath, and black stars twinkled behind her eyes. Her bladder released in an embarrassing rush, as if her system was shutting down.
The man made a noise of disgust and dropped the pillow. He scrambled to his feet to avoid getting wet. Urine soaked into the fabric of her skirt, which was bunched around her hips. She lay in a puddle of her own body fluids, dying.
“What a waste,” her attacker said.
“You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”
“You told me to take care of her.”
“I meant knock her out or tie her up. Jesus Christ.”
Unable to draw a breath, she let the black fog take her.
CHAPTER ONE
&nb
sp; Mia Richards rose to her feet as her new client, Cole “Shank” Shepherd, walked through the door.
She’d anticipated feeling resentment toward him, even loathing, so she schooled her features into a pleasant mask as she stepped forward to greet him. Not too pleasant—there was no need for coy friendliness or overt displays of interest.
Yet.
The stark prison photograph she’d pored over the night before hadn’t done him justice. With his chin up and his head tilted to the side, displaying the spider’s web tattoo on his neck, he’d resembled an ordinary white male thug. All hard edges and hooded eyes. He was better looking in person. Taller and more intimidating. She registered his towering height along with the span of his broad shoulders, his bulky biceps and ink-sleeved arms. He wore a plain T-shirt with no leather jacket for protection; maybe he’d left it with his bike. Faded Levi’s covered his long legs. His scuffed motorcycle boots were almost Frankensteinian.
She lifted her gaze to his face. His eyes were the color of amber ale, pale brown and a little bloodshot. He had dark hair, cut razor-short on the sides and longer on top. His jaw was angular, his nose had seen better days, and his mouth was a sardonic slash. There was a sharpness to him that extended beyond his features.
Mia felt a jolt of unease. She hadn’t expected him to be so attractive. He was the kind of man who would draw female attention wherever he went, based on his build alone. Some women were excited by danger. They probably went crazy for his tattoos and checkered past, too. Mia was disturbed by her own lack of repulsion. Executing her plan was going to be even more difficult than she’d imagined.
Tamping down her nerves, she offered him a polite smile. “You must be Cole. I’m Mia Richards.”
He gave her figure a brief perusal as they shook hands. She’d taken pains with her appearance today, applying extra makeup and styling her sleek brown hair in tousled waves. Her slim-fitting skirt clung to her hips and her silk blouse accented soft curves. Overall, the effect wasn’t showy or obvious. That was next week.