Michele Hauf - Moonlight and Diamonds

“Devouring sounds good to me.”

Stryke made quick work of his fly, unzipping and shrugging out of his jeans. Boxer briefs hugged his erection, but they didn’t stay up for long. Blyss shoved them down his hips and grasped his aching hard-on. The contact felt like fire singeing him in the sweetest way. He hissed.

She coiled her fingers about him and squeezed. Oh, yeah, that was twenty kinds of all right.

Stryke was about to kiss her mouth, but the red lipstick stayed him. She was so pretty, so perfect. She deserved mussing, but he’d do it in another way. Planting the kiss on her neck, he nuzzled there and gently bit down along her shoulder. Her hands busied themselves with his cock and he would come too fast if she kept it up.

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them up by her shoulders. This time, he intended to orchestrate their liaison. No coming for him until she did first. He owed her one. She cooed, her tongue dashing out to lick those teasing red lips. He’d caught her. Now what would he do with her?

Indeed, what to do with this gorgeous bit of glamour that surprised him at every turn and whom he wanted to figure out. And yet, he did not. The surprises were what made her so exciting.

Rocking his hips against hers, he teased at her hot, sticky wetness with his cock. She moaned and murmured, “Yes,” but he was inclined to tease a bit longer.

The dress hugged around her waist. Her thigh-high stockings glided like silk against his legs. She still wore the shoes, and thinking about those spiked heels hardened his cock even more. He wanted to feel her softness and her dangerous sharpness all over his skin.

So when she struggled against his hold on her wrists, he relaxed his grip and allowed her to push at him. He rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him in a smooth movement. Straddling him, she pulled off the dress and tossed it to the floor.

Afternoon sunlight beamed across the bed and her body glowed as if she were a sun goddess. Stryke glided his hands up her stomach. When he cupped her breasts, she tilted her head back, offering her succulent fullness to him. She wiggled, her moistness heating his cock. And with a shift of her hips she managed to take him inside her.

“I don’t have any—” Stryke never had unprotected sex. Werewolves could get mortal women pregnant.

She tutted him. “You didn’t last night either, no?”

Right. She’d said she was on the pill.

“Lover, you are steel between my legs. Mmm...”

He closed his eyes and fell into the exquisite rhythm of her rocking above him, feeding off him, milking him, pairing with him. Bonding—no.

When two werewolves had sex together in werewolf form they bonded for life. It was a serious deal. And while he hoped to someday bond with a werewolf and make a family together, this woman was merely human and he just wanted to have fun with the glamour goddess.

Blyss cupped his hands, still wrapped about her breasts, and squeezed. Murmuring an approving sound, she quickened her pace, up and down, bringing him to climax with expert skill. Stryke’s hips bucked up against her, and when she pressed her hands to his chest and watched him ride out the pleasure, he thought surely she was looking inside him for some secret.

The secret was that he was stymied by her interest in him. But then again, maybe he should stop thinking like a Northwoods hick and accept the Parisian ideal. Whatever that was.

Slipping his fingers between her legs, he found her swollen apex and stroked her until she gripped at his shoulders and tossed back her head. The scent of flowers and salty sweetness and...something so familiar filled his senses as she cried out in pleasure.

Stryke inhaled deeply, testing the scent she gave off and wondering... It was too familiar not to recognize. Was she really? There was no mistaking her feral scent. He knew it from long runs in the woods with his brothers while they were in wolf form and from the rush of adrenaline the wolves got when chasing prey.

As Blyss’s body softened above him, Stryke gripped her by the shoulders. “You’re a werewolf?”

Chapter 4

Blyss pushed out of Stryke’s demanding grasp and shuffled off the bed. She clasped her hands across her breasts, the urge to protect herself heightened by his out-of-the-blue question. And his strangely accusatory tone. Inhaling, she fought to not mentally return to that moment in high school—the moment life had turned against her.

How could he have known?

In all the years she had been taking a pill to suppress her werewolf, never had anyone guessed her truth. Sure, she tended to live and socialize only with humans. Not too often a human was going to make the jump to ask “Could you be a werewolf?” But on occasion she sensed a vampire or other in the crowd—vamps could be so obvious at times. None had ever guessed at her beastly origins.

Yet Stryke knew. In the moment when she had cried out as an orgasm had swept through her, and then he too had come—

Was it possible another werewolf could scent her during an aroused state?

Apparently it was. But not simple arousal, rather climax. It was the first time she had come when with him.

“Blyss? Are you...?”

A frightening truth assaulted Blyss like a blow to the gut. The only way Stryke could possibly guess such a thing about her was if he was also a wolf.

She had just slept with a werewolf.

Oh, mercy, what terrible thing had she done?

“It’s okay.” He moved to the edge of the bed, his hands up to placate. His eyes softened, as did his voice. “I didn’t realize you were my breed. I’m werewolf,” he offered, obviously sensing her distress. “I didn’t realize what you were last night in your office. Usually I can scent another of my kind. Maybe your perfume overwhelmed my senses.”

“I can’t talk about this right now.”

The innate instinct to flee when cornered moved Blyss’s limbs. She excused herself to go to the bathroom and rushed across the hardwood floor. With the door closed behind her, and the cool bathroom tiles beneath her bare feet, she turned on the faucet and splashed her face with tepid water. Her reflection could not overlook that twitch at the corner of her heart that manifested in a frown. Her hair was tousled, her lipstick worn away. Her eye shadow still looked perfect, but...

Nothing was perfect. He knew.

And while she should have laughed off his guess and made a grand and confident exit as stunning as her entrance, she couldn’t simply leave. She had come here for a reason. Her very life depended on securing the black diamond she had planted in Stryke’s suit pocket.

Merde. Stryke Saint-Pierre was a werewolf.

Her heartbeats dropped to her stomach. Blyss pressed her palms to the cool vanity sink, bowing her head. He hadn’t scented her because the pills she took to suppress her werewolf made her virtually human.

“How did he know?” she begged her reflection.

It had to have been the sex. When she had climaxed and her body had released...something had clued him to her heritage. Pheromones or something like that. No man had noticed before because she’d never had sex with a werewolf.

What luck—the one man she had picked out from the crowd to help her should be the very man she needed to stay away from. Wanted to stay away from. But now could not.

Not until she found what she’d come for.

She straightened and nodded firmly at the mirror. She would go out there, dress, and she had to check the closet for the suit he’d worn last night. How to do that without raising suspicion? And how to avoid the werewolf questions?

She wanted to run away from it all. As she had so many years ago when her fellow classmates had stared at her with horror.

“You can do this. You have to do this.” She winced. Could Stryke possibly help her? No. She had a plan. She would stick to it. “He must never know what kind of trouble I’m in.”