Enticed (4 page)
Authors: J.A. Belfield
Tags: #erotic, #werewolf, #werewolves, #mythology, #mythological creatures, #holloway pack, #enticed, #ethan holloway, #ja belfield
She pushed up
to sit, and I tangled my fingers into the hair at her nape,
catching her for a kiss, her mouth soft and warm to my tongue as I
swept it past her lips. When her fingers wrapped around my dick, I
groaned, let my lids shutter, bowing my head and resting my brow
against her temple as I swayed there a moment. The tips of her hair
fanned across my chest as she gripped me with her other hand, the
tiny crinkle of latex and the clinical non-smell accompanying the
firm downward slide over my shaft.
The instant her
fingers continued down and cupped my balls, like some kind of
signal, my patience took a hike.
Fisting my hand
tighter in her hair, I tilted her face up and all but swallowed her
damn lips as I yanked at the dangling ribbon trapping her breasts.
Except, untying didn’t release them, it only loosened the binding.
When I grabbed the top of her corset on either side, she pulled at
my wrists, her cat-like eyes shining up at me with both want and
amusement.
“I’ve got
this,” she said, her tiny fingers leaving my arms and fiddling with
the thread. “You’ve cost me enough lingerie already.”
“Then, it
should get out of my way,” I said, sucking her lower lip between
mine.
Nudging her
back against the bed, I braced my hands on either side of her,
skimming my kiss over her cheek, along her jaw, burrowing up
through her soft strands below her ear to suckle there.
“Damn it,” she
whispered in a hiss, her arm jerking with her tugs.
I smiled. “Need
some help?”
A couple more
yanks, then, “Not anymore.”
Tucking my chin
in close, I peered downward. The dark pink tips of Shelley’s
breasts peeked back. Her skin glided beneath the palm I swept over
her shoulder, her collarbone. Reaching her right breast, I cupped
its fleshiness, brushed a thumb over the nipple—smiling at the
slight acceleration to Shelley’s breathing.
Knocking aside
the front flaps of the corset, I slid my hand to her waist and let
my lips venture lower. Her heart beat against my face when I sucked
her breast into my mouth, the tempo increasing with the tease of my
tongue. Her chest pushed up, spine arcing with the scrape of my
teeth, and she groaned alongside me with the soft taunt of my dick
against her wetness.
“When are you
going to quit torturing yourself?” she said on a shaky whisper.
She was right.
I was torturing myself. Prolonging the moment. Forcing restraint.
Knowing it’d be worth the wait.
“This isn’t
torture,” I said instead. “This is the path to the garden of
fucking Eden.”
“Show me,” was
all she said.
I didn’t need
any more invitation than that.
Sliding a hand
beneath to cup her butt, I lifted her higher, and the instant I
pushed inside her, my hands fisted, and my long-brewing growl
spilled out in a deep companion to Shelley’s high-pitched gasp.
I let my eyes
close, holding still a moment as she moulded around me. The first
thrust got me every damn time. The way her body fit to mine—like
any female who’d come before her had been wrong, so fucking wrong,
because none of them had been Shelley. None of them had drawn me in
so deep. None of them held me so tight and embraced my body the way
she did, the way her depths hugged around my dick like it’d spent
every second of every day our bodies’d separated for missing the
connection. When my lids lifted and my eyes met Shelley’s shining
up at me, I took in the blush scattered over her cheeks and the way
her lips parted to let past the broken breaths she took, and I
knew, I just knew, it affected her the same damn way.
Not breaking
her gaze, I pulled out until my tip balanced at her entrance, and
drove in again, harder, deeper, a second growl releasing before I
withdrew again. I thrust again, stopping only when I had no more to
give, grunting as Shelley whimpered.
The tiny groove
Shelley always got between her eyebrows appeared as I hit a rhythm,
her lips parting and releasing each heightened breath with each
plunge of my hips. It took only seconds for the steady coiling of
my muscles to begin an upward climb of my calves, thanks to my
self-torment, but I ignored them, blocked them, shut down the gates
on them creeping any higher.
Above her head,
Shelley’s fingers grappled with the loose cotton of the bedding,
twisting and clutching, her fingernails scraping and sending
splinters of excitement stabbing out from my groin. With each
scratch of fabric, the more I wanted that hand on me. Wanted her
scratching into me instead of the bed. More than wanted—I needed
her hands on me. Hell, I’d have her hands all over me, if that were
even possible.
Reaching up, I
gripped Shelley’s wrist and pulled it down. “Touch me, Shel.”
The heat from
her palm seemed to scorch where she brushed over my back, over my
hips, until her fingertips dug into my butt. She raised a leg, and
her right calf hooked over my hip. Her left foot wove around my
right thigh, her heel digging into the back of my lower leg as she
brought her body up to meet my thrusts.
Clutching her
hip, my right hand tugged and caressed in a pattern that guided her
rhythm to match my own. My other hand folded around her left
shoulder, holding her steady for each pound of my hips, holding me
grounded for each undulated rock of her body.
My face buried
into the crook of her neck, where her scent seeped from every one
of her pores like she secreted a personal aphrodisiac she’d
formulated just for me, and she found a pattern of her own, one I
was forced to match. Her right leg clung tight, pinning me to her
with each of her thrusts. Her left foot dug into the muscle of my
calf as she urged, urged, urged upward, her hips tilting and
retreating, tilting and retreating. Throughout it all, her breaths
shared space with her tiny whimpers, her gasps, her groans each
time our hips rejoined.
With each drive
of my own hips, the scratch of her nails pierced the flesh at the
base of my back, hauling me to her and sending prickles of pain
dancing the length of my spine that brought only pleasure. Her
nails pierced deeper, and the growl in my chest hummed through me
like some kind of infestation. Digging its way outward from the
very centre of my being. Threatening to take over the core of
everything that was me. My lips rippled with the effort to keep it
contained, to keep my jaws contained. To keep from fucking biting.
To keep from fully mating. To keep from making Shelley mine.
My fingers sank
into the slender flesh of her thigh with the effort of restraint.
The muscles bunched through my shoulders. My balls tightened and
fucking tightened more. I curled the hand vice-gripping her
shoulder into a fist to save crushing the slender bones of her
clavicle.
Trying to rein
it all in was torture. Being with Shelley always had the potential
to be both heaven and hell. Most times, I controlled it, but with
my waiting, with her body dancing and thrusting, her fingers
massaging, her sounds of pleasure growing … the pressure was
building—really fucking building.
Releasing her
thigh, I rammed both fists down on the bed, twisting my face to the
side as the snarl erupted out of me.
“
Fuck!
”
The word shot out as a gravelly grunt, and every chasing breath
panted out of me as a growl. Every ensuing thrust of my hips drove
down a little harder.
Beneath me,
Shelley’s gasps grew louder. Her fingertips sliced harder. Her
chest rose and fell.
The stabbing of
my back ceased, and she crammed her fingers into my hair, dragged
my lips to hers.
Her cry blasted
into my mouth as her body coiled tight, but I couldn’t cease my
lips from curling. Her whimper echoed through me as her body
stilled, and did little to halt the rebuilding hum in my chest. Her
long, low mewling sang right down to my very soul, telling me she’d
breached the pinnacle of orgasm, before a long, slow softness
spread throughout Shelley’s body, despite the cinching of her
thighs around me, the pinning of her arms about my shoulders.
As the sensual
contractions trailing her release hauled my frantic dick along with
her, my breath blasted from me on a grunt that evolved into a fresh
snarl, and my body shuddered through my final thrusts, my calves
and ankles threatening to twist beneath the cramps infecting
them.
When I finally
stilled, my chest heaved—Shelley’s, too, her butterfly wings of a
heartbeat tickling against my booming one.
It took a few
seconds to realise the dampness smacking my face was caused by my
own breath bouncing back from Shelley’s throat.
It took another
second to recognise that I was about a half-beat away from biting
down.
“Ethan?”
Shelley’s whisper, lower than ever, sounded pained.
I was almost
afraid to look up, but I did, fast realising my eyes were clamped
closed. The room seemed too bright as I blinked up at Shelley.
She peered back
at her me, her eyes shining bright, her lids half shuttered. “You
need to let go of me,” she said, equally as quiet.
I followed the
upward flicker of her gaze. To my fingers. Wrapped around her hair
so tight, her head was hauled back, her scalp pulled taut. “Shit,”
I muttered, slowly uncurling my fingers, trying not to make it
worse. “Shit! I’m sorry, Shel. I’m so—”
Her fingers
pressed to my mouth. “Quit already.” She replaced her fingers with
a brush of her lips. “You don’t have to keep worrying about me so
much. I’m a big girl.”
Still, I
couldn’t stop from smoothing the yanked hair down, pressing a kiss
to the spot. Pressing a kiss to her temple. I also couldn’t help
the trail my lips took downward to her lips, or the need swelling
once more through my dick, or the way my hips ground against
her.
Shelley
breathed out a laugh, and I closed my eyes, rested my forehead
against hers. “Damn, woman, you’re going to be my undoing one of
these days.”
Her fingertips
skated over my bicep. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me?”
I drew back and
studied her, but found only seriousness in her eyes. “For
what?”
“For only
getting you a cake and some new underwear—”
“For yourself,”
I cut in, my lips twitching.
She gave a
reluctant nod. “For myself.”
“That you
wouldn’t let me remove,” I added.
Her lips curved
at one corner. “Excuse
me
, but this is limited edition
Linger
lingerie.”
“Stupid name
for something that didn’t even linger that long—”
“Are you
answering me, or not?”
I chuckled.
“No, Shel, I’m not mad. How could I be? This is perfect.”
You’re perfect,
I wanted to add.
Perfect for me
. But I didn’t. I never
did.
Instead, I just
rolled with her. Slid her atop me. Gripped her hips and urged her
down until her lips parted in a quiet gasp. “Now,” I said, rolling
my hips. “Remind me whose birthday it is again.”
“I don’t think
you need reminding at all,” she said, but she still leaned over me
and reached under the pillow for the second wrapper.
My family would
just have to forgive me when I showed up late.
Aside from Mr B and
the kidlets, my biggest thanks for Enticed goes to my street team,
The Hollerers.
My writer buddy
Keri Lake strongly hinted at (more like demanded) a saucy short
story for Ethan, and as soon as it got mentioned in my street team,
and Terri Rochenski jumped on board with the demands, I'd pretty
much got a mob after me for Ethan's hot tale. And your love for
this little story is my reasoning for going ahead and publishing
it.
So, to everyone
in my street team, thank you! Not just to the ones who shouted out
for this to happen, but to all of you who constantly help to spread
the word about my books, who cheer me on in my writing, who enjoyed
my stories enough to even be a part of my team—my heart swells with
gratitude.
A personal
thank you to my beta readers for this one: Renée Vossen, Keri Lake,
Terri Rochenski, Wendy Eaves Seagondollar, Ambur Hostyn, Rachel
Bennett, Maghon Thomas, Jennifer Runkle, Sandra Richardson.
I also owe a
big thanks to Aimee Laine. I sent her Enticed to read for fun. She
sent it back edited. She's also the reason the coverart doesn't
look like a mishmash of random images with jagged lines. Thanks
heaps, Aimee, for taking the idea inside my head and bringing it to
life.
Finally to
Carla. Just because. ;)
J.A. Belfield lives in Solihull, England, with the
best husband in the world, aka Mr B, a couple of back-chatting but
pretty cool kids, a pooch she treats likes the baby of the house,
and a scrawny cat that drives her insane.
Although best known for
her Holloway Pack series: DARKNESS & LIGHT (July 2011, J.
Taylor Publishing), INSTINCT (February2012, J. Taylor Publishing),
ETERNAL (July 2012, J. Taylor Publishing), BLUE MOON (December
2012, J. Taylor Publishing), RESONANCE (April 2013, J. Taylor
Publishing), CAGED (August 2013, J. Taylor Publishing), and
UNNATURAL (April 2014, J. Taylor Publishing), amongst other titles,
she is currently trawling her way through a New Adult Post
Apocalyptic and would LOVE to try her hand at YA. Maybe she
will.
J.A. Belfield also
writes children’s picture books under the pen name
Jenna Lyn Field
.