Nic's desire crashed against him in waves, like an ocean gone mad. He didn't know how much longer he could wait; Sam was stretched out nude before him like a banquet. Growling again, he crouched between her knees, spreading her legs wider as he leaned down and took her in his mouth. Her spicy, wild scent drove him crazy. She tasted of warm honey and musk.
Nic gobbled, licked and sucked, and Sam realized she had landed smack-dab in the middle of paradise. Her nerves were screaming with pleasure. As wave after wave of ecstasy washed through her, moaning and writhing she called out his name over and over. Finally she erupted in a climax that had her crying.
Sliding up to kiss her, Nic said, "Remember, sweetheart?"
She nodded. "It's all coming back to me now. I'm a fool to have made us wait this long." She sighed.
He didn't agree or disagree; he simply parted her thighs and eased himself between them. His enormous length filled her in one thrust, and raw, primal sensations took over them both.
"Welcome home, peter," she whispered throatily.
"Oh, Sam, you feel so good, so hot, so sweet…" Nic gasped, his breaths short.
Kissing his neck, Sam urged him on. She was ready for the wild ride to come.
Sucking her nipple into his mouth, Nic laved it with his tongue, while he set up a hard-driving rhythm. His sex filled her over and over, reaching ever deeper into her wet and throbbing core.
He groaned.
She moaned.
His hand on her hips tightened as her fingers clutched his buttocks, digging in. Nic felt like he was king of the world, his emotions in wild flux. This female made him hunger like no other. She made him wild with need, and when he was inside her he was happier than he had ever been in his whole life and more fulfilled. He kept up the pace, losing himself in this paradise he had almost lost.
Sam cried out. The sound echoed in the room, and Nic saw her eyes flare. She bucked against him, soaring higher and higher into the heavens of pleasure. Her expression was like a ghost ascending who had finally found its way home after a long and empty time on earth.
"Oh, baby," she panted in violent pleasure. The world began to shimmer and fade. It was only she and Nic, together, soaring through the skies, their heartbeats matching, their movements in perfect accord.
Nic covered her mouth in a fierce kiss. His hard thrusts incited her into another long, heartrending climax, one of both emotional and physical impact. She came violently as Nic shouted her name, and his own release was so explosive that it went on and on and on.
He tenderly kissed her, rolling over, taking her with him. After a few moments of postcoital bliss, he remarked smugly, "I guess you've forgiven me."
"What gives you that impression?" she replied.
His eyes roamed her body. A smirk graced his handsome face, and he kissed her forehead. Sam loved every minute of it.
"So, I'm a sucker for a fast-running, sexy-biting, sweet-talking werewolf," she admitted.
"I take that as forgiveness."
"Smart man."
Wrinkling her nose, Sam lay her head on his chest and said, "I'm not a one-night stand, anymore—or even an hour-and-a-half lean."
"You never were, Sam." Staring into her gorgeous blues, he asked, "Do you believe me yet?"
"Yes." Nic was her wild thing. He made her heart sing, was a wild man in the bed, beside the bed, or under it. She loved him for his intensity as well as his kindness. This wolfman also got her jokes, and that was saying a lot.
Nic was the best man ever. He was one werewolf in a million, and she respected him for his business abilities, his humor and his intelligence, and she'd begun to understand his arrogance and chauvinism. She was crazy for his thick wavy black hair, the twinkle in his gray eyes and the way he looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—even when she was having her worst hair day. And that meant something to a woman in a business where being too feminine got a girl killed.
"Forgiven and forgotten?" Nic questioned, running his fingers through the strands of her hair.
"Forgotten? Don't press your luck, buster."
Nic snorted. Sam was so wonderfully stubborn, he wanted to roar in approval since she was now his and his alone. "Don't press it? But I want to—again and again and again." He pushed his body against her.
She giggled. "Well, I might allow that. And I might consider forgetting all the bad stuff if you let me groom you when you're in wolf form."
Lifting his head, he studied the pinkish blush on her soft skin. "You're not bothered by my turning furry and clawed, are you?"
"Nope. We Paranormalbusters must take it all in stride. All in a night's work. Just another unnatural occurrence in another ordinary day."
Nic laughed and hugged her close. "What a lucky wolf I am. A human woman who doesn't mind my ancestry, and who only wants to groom me. Sure, Sam. Anytime."
"And you won't mind me putting a red bow in your hair?" she asked slyly.
Dropping his head back to the pillow, he gave her a whack on the butt. "Grooming, yes. Ribbons, no."
"Can't blame a girl for trying," she giggled.
Pulling her up so that they were turned face to face, he tenderly ran his fingers over her lips and nose. "You've bewitched me, Sam. All you have to do is laugh, breathe or wiggle your nose, and I want you." The feelings were fresh and new and frightening, but they were also exhilarating and erotic.
She kissed him. "And all you have to do is enter a room and I go all mushy inside." She was crazy about Nic, and he was crazy about her. Maybe they could merge their businesses and, even better, maybe they could merge their lives!
"You drive me crazy. I hunger for you so much that I doubt I'll ever get enough."
"Yeah, and you're better than a Hershey's bar," Sam admitted, half teasing, half not.
"The height of compliments. Now who's sweet-talking?"
Sam giggled.
"What's so funny?"
"When I opened the door tonight, I thought you were going to pounce on me."
"That's what wolves do when they're starving. And I was ravenous," Nic admitted. He nuzzled her ear.
"Well; I liked it. You know, Nicolas Petroff Strakhov, you can be a real jerk at times, but you're an irresistible jerk." Sam kissed his chest.
"And I think you've broken Pete. He's limp from all the hard work he just did," he teased. Glancing down at his flaccid flesh he made a face of mock sorrow.
Grinning evilly, Sam slid down his body. It was time to behead the Czar. Beginning a conversation with Pete, she praised and lavished him with kisses and sucking until he was Great again. It was indeed just what the weary, headstrong fellow had needed to rise to the occasion.
Sliding back up, she asked Nic pertly, "How's everyone down there now?"
"Perfect, just like you," Nic growled. And flipping her over on her hands and knees, he put his head of state back in the Kremlin. He was home.
Transported again to paradise, Sam laughed. Who would have thought she'd love it doggie style?
Nic at Night and Nic in the Morning
Sam awoke and glanced out the window of the hotel. It was still night, though the sky was beginning to gray. She felt fantastic wrapped in Nic's arms, her back pressed against his hard body. The light from the bathroom revealed the bedsheet had slipped down to their hips, and as she glanced down at her breasts, she saw two prominent hickeys. She grinned. If she was going to lie down with werewolves, she was going to get bit.
Eight million stories in the Big Apple, and now hers was one of them. The Russian werewolf in New York with the American Parnormalbuster from Vermont; it would make a great movie of the week on the Ghost Network.