He was barefoot, dressed in a snug pair of faded blue jeans and a thick brown sweater with a Cleveland Browns logo in the center. Rich black hair fell in thick strands to his shoulders, framing a face with full, sensual lips, a straight nose and a squared jaw shadowed with a slathering of equally dark stubble that made her heart skip a beat. His beautiful mouth curved in amusement when she did a double take and she quickly averted her eyes, knowing he’d caught her staring.
Busted.
“What happened? How did I get here?” she asked and licked her lips before bringing the bottom one between her teeth. It sounded like he groaned but she wasn’t willing to glance up to be sure.
“How much do you remember?”
He doesn’t know you’re aware of what he is, she reminded herself. Keep it that way.
“Two men tried to mug me. When I fought one of them decked me. I don’t remember anything after that.” She found the courage to meet his eyes and anything else she wanted to say died in her throat. His irises were a pure vibrant gold. There was no way he could pass for human, not with peepers like those.
Oh god.
She tore her eyes away and recalled all the reasons she couldn’t allow herself to fantasize about those lips, those eyes or what was sure to be a perfectly toned and sculpted body beneath his clothes. Yet even as she tried she felt her body respond, nipples going hard and panties becoming moist.
And he could smell her arousal.
Damn, damn, damn!
Stop thinking impure thoughts. You cannot have him. He’s from a different species that likes to bite, control and dominate.
“Who are you?” She choked out the question.
He approached oh so slowly and sweet Mary Jane if his body didn’t ripple with the movement. He knelt inches from her and reached out. His fingers were wide and thick, the tips blunt but slightly rounded, the nails trimmed short. Her eyes went wide when he slid his fingers behind her ear and palmed her jaw. Electricity accompanied his touch, sharp bristles of pleasure that zinged through her skin, traveled down her spine and went directly to her sex.
Gasping softly, she kept her eyes locked on to his mouth as he neared. The distance between them vanished and that glorious face of his came closer, then closer still. He smelled of soap and water—fresh, clean and undeniably male. When his lips stopped scant millimeters from her own, she detected the tantalizing aromas of coffee and sugar.
“Diskant.” He breathed his name against her mouth, so close she could taste him.
Diskant? The name struck a chord of recognition but the memory was hazy.
Lifting her gaze was foolhardy and dangerous but she did so anyway. Beautiful pools of shimmering gold stared back. The hand at her jaw drifted down, traveling along the length of her throat and past her collarbone. It was such a gentle touch, fingers barely skimming the surface of the skin. Goose bumps followed the path he created, a winding trail of prickling heat that shot all the way to her bones.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, never breaking the eye contact.
“B-beautiful?”
“Your eyes,” he answered. “So blue.”
Air escaped her lungs in a quiet sigh and her lids slid closed when his lips brushed against hers, side to side, left to right. The gesture was so innocent, so intimate. Her mouth opened in welcome and he accepted the invitation like a gentleman. His tongue slid past her lips, allowing her to taste him for the first time. The sweetness of hazelnut and sugar coated her tongue. She moaned, lifted her left hand and wrapped her fingers loosely around his wrist.
His tongue flicked against hers, teasing and taunting. She responded, mirroring the laps until the tips of their tongues touched, pulled away and met once more. It was a treacherous game of cat and mouse. He baited her, offering her his tongue before moving away, forcing her to chase and follow. Each pass fueled the fire in her veins and increased the pulsating heat wetting the skin between her legs.
When she felt him initiate more, delving deeper and tasting her completely, she was eager to give him what he desired. Her lips parted and she allowed him to take control, to dominate her mouth. He explored each and every crevice, tracing her lips before tasting her deeply. His teeth captured the tip of her tongue when she tried to follow his lead. He sucked the tiny nub, flicking his own tongue across the surface in agonizingly slow circles.
Her pussy throbbed, hammering inside and out while her clit pulsed. It was a miserable ache, one that caused her to writhe against the blankets and sheets. Never before had she wanted a man so terribly. With her ex-fiancé, Martin, she’d made love slowly, cautiously. But now she wanted to be reckless and wild, uninhibited and free.
As if sensing her thoughts, Diskant pulled away and pressed that clever mouth against the corner of her lips, then her jaw, neck and the hollow of her throat. The gentle fingers he placed on her collarbone went down until her breast rested in his palm. His thumb came over the thin lace covering the nipple and rotated, around and around, driving her mad as he stroked her.
“Christ, you smell good,” he rasped against the delicate curve of her shoulder. “I want to taste every single inch of your skin, starting at your mouth and working my way down.”
Her only response was an amiable whimper of consent and agreement. Even if it was dangerous, and even though she knew better, she wanted the same thing.
Abruptly Diskant’s head lifted and his fingers stilled. Her body screamed at the loss of his touch, demanding that she reach out and bring him back to her. The rim of her nipple prickled where he maintained contact, and the wet path he created with his lips and tongue was white hot yet impossibly cool.
A voice called out from below, the sound muffled. “D!”
“Shit.” He rose in a quick motion that belied his size. “I didn’t expect anyone for another hour.”
Ava stared up at him dumbly, thoroughly aroused and achy. Her body clamored for release, her insides literally quivering for it. He turned and walked from the small space as if she wasn’t sitting in a laughable heap where he left her. Anger followed the curt dismissal and allowed her to focus on the matter at hand rather than her raging hormones.
She became fully cognizant of her surroundings, taking in as much as she could see. She was in a closet, partially clothed, in an unknown location. The hound from hell was still standing guard outside the door, his large brown eyes attentive. The sound of a nearby door being slammed was immediately followed by the distinct click of a lock being turned. Diskant reappeared in moments with an annoyed scowl on his face.
“I’m sorry.” His expression changed when he peered down at her. “It’s my turn to host game day.”
Diskant glanced at a few sweaters hanging on either side of the closet as if he were grappling with something. Then he turned his full attention to her and his gold irises flared yellow. Some kind of decision was made in those short seconds because there was a flash of possessiveness in his stare that wasn’t there before.
“Put this on.” He pulled his sweatshirt over his head, baring a tanned, chiseled torso and washboard abs, and tossed it in her direction. “Don’t take that off, no matter what you do. I have to go downstairs and tell everyone I’ll be indisposed. While I’m down there I’ll grab you something to eat and get your clothes out of the dryer, all right?”
Her heart slammed into her throat and her stomach did a sickening flip-flop that made her queasy and lightheaded. She said a silent prayer of thanks that Diskant was too busy choosing another shirt from the closet to pay her any attention. It was difficult enough to institute the exercises she used at the bar to keep fear at bay, taking deep breaths through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. The sleeve marking—much like a tattoo—that ran from his shoulder to his wrist told her what kind of shifter she had nearly fallen into the sack with, and it wasn’t good. Not good at all.