Thrill of the Night

Thrill of the Night Mina Carter Published: 2011 ISBN: 978-1-936950-03-4

Published by Summerhouse Publishing. Copyright, Mina Carter. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author. Summerhouse Publishing http://summerhousepublishing.com Email [email protected] Editor Marisa Chenery Cover Artist Mina Carter This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Thrill of the Night

There are things that go bump in the night. At one time or another I’d seen and hunted all of them, vampires, shape-shifters, demons and ghouls to name but a few. My lips pursed as I swiped viciously at the tabletop in front of me. These days my weapons were antibacterial cleaner and a wet cloth. The stubborn marks on the surface of the booth table were no match for my mad cleaning skills and within seconds the table—like its companions in the small diner— was as clean as a new pin. Or how I’d always expected a new pin to be that was…if tables were small and metal coloured. Actually, I had no freaking clue what a new pin looked like but if I did, then my tables looked like ‘em. I should introduce myself. I’m Gwen, technically Guinevere, but only my mother ever called me that. There’s another name which goes with that, but it’s not one I like to admit to. At one time I was a hunter, a slayer of anything dark and paranormal, but that was a long time ago. These days I manage Betty’s Diner off the main route into town, and rent a room in the motel at the back. Not much, but for a woman who’d spent her life on the road, it was as tied down as I was comfortable getting. Packing up my trusty spray bottle and cloth, I headed for the counter. It was, as always at this time in the afternoon, a little slow. The evening rush wouldn’t start for a while. Until the cook, Bob, showed up it was just me on duty, in charge of everything

from cleaning to cooking. I shook my head, amused with myself. Real high flyer, wasn’t I? I tucked everything away and hurried to my purse for my book. The benefit of taking the afternoon shift was a chance to catch up on some reading. And as I was at the beginning of what promised to be a satisfyingly steamy scene, I anticipated getting back to it. Fate was not to be so kind. As soon as my fingers latched onto the purse the door opened. Head buried under the counter, I closed my eyes and swore under my breath. Who the feck decided to eat at this bloody time of day? Didn’t they know I had better things to do? Bouncing up from behind the counter like a jack-in-the-box, I plastered a bright smile on my face. Only to have it slide right off again. There, standing in the middle of the diner, was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Dressed in plain denim jeans and a T-shirt, he was a little rugged around the edges. The fuzz of stubble decorated his jaw, and his spiky crop was a little mussed, but all that did was invite feminine fingers to rearrange and put it in some kind of order. All that faded as I clocked his eyes. A combination between blue-green and brown, they speared right through me. A shiver ran down my spine. I’d always had a thing about men with pretty eyes, and this guy had them in spades. My gaze slipped down a straight nose and collided with a pair of sensually full lips. Instantly my imagination fed me an encyclopaedia of erotic images centered around those lips.

All in all, the man was a walking, talking reason to thank God for being female. If he could talk. Since he hadn’t uttered a word yet, the jury was still out on that one. “What can I get you, sweetheart?” Startled out of my usual composure, I slipped a little and my voice bore traces of my real accent, which, since I’d been born in England, was definitely not local. His attention flicked from the menu on the board to me, and he smiled slowly. My ovaries whimpered. Oh, this one was a charmer for sure. “Coffee would be good, thanks, darlin’. Pie, if it’s any good.” I could have gone into rhapsodies over his voice. Low with a rough cut, gritty quality, it hit me right where it counted…yeah, should have mentioned that. I have a thing for male voices. And a good back…good arms…good ass…nice smile. Okay, I admit it there isn’t much on a guy I don’t like. I’m a tart, through and through. I smiled back. Not that there was any likelihood I had a chance with a guy like this, but my feminine pride (and whimpering ovaries) wouldn’t let me at least give it a shot. “Since I didn’t make it, I’d say there was a good chance it’s great. Wanna take a seat for me, handsome? I’ll bring it over.” I waved in the general direction of the diner as a whole. Since we were empty, he had the pick of any seat in the house. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I busied myself slicing pie and making coffee. He walked with a small swagger, and just the right amount of arrogance. The Tshirt clung lovingly to broad shoulders my fingers just ached to explore. I couldn’t help

it. My gaze dropped to his ass. Oh yes, tight as all hell from what I could see in the somewhat loose fit denim. I bit my lip to stop me complaining out loud. Loose fit on a guy built like that? There had to be at least seven federal laws against it, possibly more. Did the guy not realise what a crime against women it was to conceal an ass like that? He chose the booth in the corner, and slid across the seat until his back was to the wall. Good choice, the hunter in me mentally applauded. If the shit hit the fan, he didn’t have to worry about anyone sneaking up behind him, and the window to his left ensured he had an escape route if the situation went to hell in a hand-basket. Gah, there I went again. You’d think after three years of being out the game I’d have settled into civilian life, but nooooo…my brain insisted on feeding me firing arcs and assessing the danger in any situation. On the face of it, that wasn’t a bad idea. But when you found yourself fondling the silver cutlery and demanding to see customer’s teeth to check for fangs? Bad thing. Of course, I had yet to actually stab a paying customer with a fork, so it was all good. Sighing to myself, I gathered everything on a tray and made my way over. Today I wore my sexiest work outfit, which meant I was dressed in the diner’s standard waitressing uniform, a creation that was about as flattering as a bin liner, matched with comfortable shoes. I attempted a sexy saunter as I walked over. All I managed to achieve was slopping the coffee on the tray and almost putting my hip out of joint. Crap, where

were a pair of killer heels when you needed them? Luckily, he hadn’t noticed, his attention on the paper he’d snagged from the next table. “Your coffee and pie. Anything else I can get you?” I asked sweetly. Like me maybe? “No. I’m good. Thanks.” He flicked a glance up and smiled. His look was direct, and for a moment, I had the oddest impression he’d noticed my attempt at sexiness. Heat rose unbidden in my cheeks. I ignored it, even though I felt as if I had a “failed cougar with curves” sticker slapped right on my forehead. I resisted the urge to slam the tray down in pique and carefully unloaded it in front of him. “Cool. Gimme a shout if you need anything.” I skipped the part about being “right over there”, despite the fact my wayward ovaries were damn near tripping over themselves and demanding that I did. The place was a back-road diner with less than twenty tables. If he couldn’t figure out the general direction of the counter then the lone brain cell in his head sure was gonna get lonely. “Enjoy your meal.” *** Five hours after he’d sauntered out of the diner Mr.Tall, gorgeous, and less than chatty was still on my mind. I loved my work…okay, that’s a load of bullshit…my work was boring as hell. The same customers week in, week out…the same routine every night. But it suited me.

Life as a hunter was tough. Always travelling to the job, and sleeping in the car if you couldn’t find a place to stay, or were too damn knackered after killing whatever bogeyman you’d been tracking. I’ve woken up in alleys, ditches, fields, even a church. Mind you, that last one had way more to do with an all night happy hour in Mickey’s bar than anything paranormal, so it didn’t count. After all that? Boring I could handle, even if my soul did ache at times for the freedom of the open road, and the thrill of facing down a vamp armed only with a nail file, a rubber band and a bulldog clip. So my handsome mystery customer had provided hours of entertainment by way of every erotic fantasy my twisted little brain could cook up. And, believe me, I have a great imagination, and a working knowledge of the Kama Sutra. Yeah, admittedly it was the Kindle edition, but hey…it counted. Right now though, my feet hurt more than the lure of any erotic fantasy. After a full shift on the busiest night of the week all I wanted to do was fall across my bed and sleep for a week. Checking the lights were all off, I headed out the door with a grateful sigh. As always, stepping out into the darkness brought all my old instincts to the fore. My heart rate picked it up a notch, driving fresh blood around my body in case I needed to fight or run like hell. Even though this was the sleepy side of sleepyville, my purse was looped over my shoulder, my hand on the hilt of the knife hidden there. Hey, what can I say? Some women carried around a cute cosmetics purse, I carried a Fairbairn-Sykes commando knife.

The walk around back and across the parking lot was distinguished by its sheer uneventfulness. No vamps waited to accost me in the shadows, and no shape-shifters burst from the darkness to drag me off. Hell, even the motel guests were all safe and sound in their rooms, the curtains tightly drawn against the night. Footsteps ringing out against the wooden walkway, I headed toward my room. It was the last on the block, right at the end where the paint had worn off and the maintenance money didn’t quite reach. The shabby exterior didn’t bother me. It was cheap, and cheerful (also known as free) and as a rule the neighbors were quiet. Bloody handprints were uncommon. In fact, as a rule, we didn’t get them. My hand tightened around the knife as I studied the example on the post in front of me. Male handprint, at shoulder height. The edges were smeared and indistinct…enough blood to cause concern for a civilian, but a mere flesh wound for a hunter. I flicked a glance out into the parking lot. A sleek, black car sat there, hunkered down and dangerous looking. I’m not good with cars, monsters are more my thing, but this was one of those old style American ones…all shiny paintwork and chrome. Polished chrome. Obviously owned by a man, I didn’t know any women who got that fanatical about cars. No one bleeding out there, not that I saw, anyway, so I turned my attention to the door next along the row. Bingo. There on the doorjamb was another handprint, and a scuff mark at the bottom. I recognised the signs, saw where he’d leaned and pushed the door open with his boot. Someone was hurting in that room and, if I wasn’t much

mistaken, bleeding onto motel towels until they could get enough cheap alcohol down their neck to start stitching. Walk on by. I should just walk on by. I knew that, you know that, hell the freaking world knew that, but did I walk past that blood-marked door? Did I fuck… Still telling myself this was such a bad idea, I pulled a handful of tissues from my purse and wiped the mark off the post. Wouldn’t fool anything with a good sense of smell, but at least it would stop anything human wigging out and calling the cops. Since I was fairly sure I dealt with a hunter on the other side of the door and not a civilian, the last thing either of us wanted was the cops getting involved. That scenario always ended up bad, and charges of murder weren’t unheard of…an occupational hazard when most of the critters we hunted reverted to human form on death. But, officer, honestly. Ten minutes ago he had teeth out to like…here…and tried to disembowel me, didn’t go down too well when you’d just put a bullet through the sucker’s skull. The handprint on the door got the same swipe-down treatment before I rapped my knuckles against it. My other hand was still buried in my purse, fingers firmly wrapped around the hilt of my knife. Just because I thought it was a hunter in there didn’t mean it was. I’d been wrong before, usually in spectacular fashion. Last time, I’d ended up with a vamp looking for a midnight snack trying to chow down on my neck. Never again. “Hey? You okay in there?”

Anyone watching would think I auditioned for some bad TV cop program the way I hugged the wall at the side of the door. I didn’t care. I’d rather look stupid than get a gutful of lead when a jittery hunter blasted through the door. There was no answer. Okay, that wasn’t good. Perhaps he was in the bathroom taking a piss? I listened out for the sound of flushing, but the only answer was a whole load of silence. After a few seconds, I rapped again. “Hello? Housekeeping,” I called out as I tried the handle, just to be on the safe side. Even an injured hunter would think twice before firing on an unsuspecting maid delivering towels. Sure, unless he was completely out of it and insensible, he’d have me covered, but the actual pulling of the trigger part would be delayed until he was convinced I was something out to eat his brains, or other parts of his anatomy…I suppressed the snigger and pushed the door open wider. I stopped a step into the room. The Colt .45 is rather a distinctive gun, especially when you’re staring down the barrel. I swallowed as my overactive brain fed me the gun’s stats. Being in someone’s sights is never a good feeling, and definitely not when you know exactly what kind of damage the weapon they’re pointing at you can cause. I tore my gaze away from the muzzle to look at the guy holding it. My breath caught on a gasp that sounded way too girly and breathless, even to me. My mystery customer sat on the bed, sans shirt, and wearing a liberal covering of blood from the three ragged claw marks across his shoulder. All question of whether he was a hunter disappeared. I recognised the signs of a were attack. I had a matching set on my left thigh.

Despite the blood, the barrel didn’t waver, and his eyes were clear as we looked at each other in a sort of Mexican standoff. “Would you believe me if I said I really am housekeeping?” He lifted an eyebrow, then motioned to my purse. “Hand out…slowly. Then we’ll see.” Crap, I’d been so intent on ogling the male body in front of me that I’d completely forgotten I still had my hand on the knife in my purse. Letting it go, I pulled my hand out as instructed, making sure to make no sharp movements that would get me some extra ventilation in the old circulatory system. I nodded to his shoulder. “Looks nasty, might want to get it seen to. Don’t want to get something…nasty.” His lips quirked in amusement. “Somehow I don’t think a rabies shot is going to help.” This was it, decision time. I could fess up that I was a former hunter and I knew damn well what he’d gotten up close and personal with, or I could keep my trap shut, clean him up and send him on his way none the wiser. Keeping my mouth shut was the sensible option. “If that were got teeth into you, rabies will be the least of your worries.” I flicked the lock on the door, and dumped my purse on the floor. I wouldn’t need the knife. There was a code of honour amongst hunters. We didn’t hurt our own, not unless they turned into something else, and if that happened, then we put them down without mercy. God help a hunter who turned, because we sure as hell wouldn’t.

Surprise showed in those gorgeous tri-mixed eyes for a second. “You’re a hunter?” “Third generation down the female line,” I replied, ignoring my irritation at the incredulity in his voice. Yeah, so I was obviously older than he was, and I wasn’t built like a stick insect anymore…Well, since I’m not the sort of girl to count the calories in a lettuce leaf, I never had been built like a stick insect…but I had some pride. When I was active, I’d been a damn good hunter. He still looked sceptical as I walked toward the bed. Sighing, I pulled the collar of my shirt aside to reveal the small tattoo that decorated the curve of my shoulder just under the bra strap. “Matching set,” I nodded toward a similar design under the blood on his chest. A chest that would be drool-worthy without the blood decorating it. “Make your mind up. Shoot me, or let me stitch you up. I’m assuming you got it…” Sitting down on the bed, I started to root through the med kit open there. If I didn’t know he was a hunter, this little lot would tip me off for sure. Suture kit, surgical glue…we weren’t talking scraped knees and splinters here. “Where’d you swipe this lot? A paramedic?” His lips quirked again as he put the Colt down on the bedspread next to him and I knew I was right. “Liberated it from a parked ambulance a week or so back. Patient was a heart attack vic, they weren’t gonna be needing it for him…”

He shrugged but I knew what he meant. Hunting wasn’t exactly a paid occupation. Most of us are grifters as well, whether that was for information or money. An unattended ambulance was a prime source of the medical kit we all needed on a regular basis. Some hunters were total SOBs, so that he’d made sure the EMTs wouldn’t need what he’d stolen for their patient said good things about him, and made me like him just that little bit more. “Got a name, handsome?” I asked as I snapped gloves on. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit about AIDs, I’ll probably be dead long before anything like that puts me six feet under, but were infection? Not even going to risk it. “Jasen.” He sucked a breath in and glared at me as I irrigated the wound with swift, efficient movements. “Oh, behave. Anyone would think a werewolf just tried to kill you.” My voice was amused as I set about gluing the gashes in his skin and setting the butterflies in place. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dressed wounds like this. Like I said, life on the road was hard. A hunter without scars was either new to the game, or…um, yeah, new to the game. “Yeah. I’m freaking irresistible, aren’t I?” He chuckled. It was a rich, low rumble that sent a ripple of awareness down my spine. I dropped my head a little, hiding behind the curtain of my hair. There was no way he was going to be interested, and after a were attack, probably wouldn’t welcome knowing how hot I thought he was. Life was a bitch, and then you died.

Fuck it. What did I have to lose? And, besides, I think we already established I’m not the sort of chick to take the sensible option. “Honest answer?” I didn’t look at him as I considered my handiwork. I’ve always been a neat hand with a needle, all that practice stitching up my mother as a kid. I was nine before I realised “needlepoint” mean stitching on fabric. “I wouldn’t kick you outta bed.” Silence barged through the door and filled every available inch of the room. Crap. Heat rose in my cheeks as I studiously avoided looking at him. Awkward silence much? I should have just kept my stupid mouth shut. “Okay, looks as if you’re good to go, handsome. I’ll take these and drop them in the laundry as I go. Saves questions if they don’t know which room they came from,” I said as I turned to grab the blood soaked towels. A large hand closed around my upper arm, the touch gentle despite the inherent strength I felt there. My gaze latched onto it, and despite everything I did, I couldn’t lift my eyes. As hands went it was drool-worthy. Long fingered and strong with the small nicks and scars every hunter collects. “You saying I have a chance of being there in the first place?” His voice was low with a touch of husky that didn’t whisper sweet nothings, it screamed them. I swallowed, trying to free my tongue from where it tried to weld itself to the roof of my mouth. I risked a glance upward and collided with a pair of hazel eyes full of interest and, heaven help me, heat.

“Um…yeah?” I managed, all the while praying. If he was joking, then the earth wouldn’t be able to create a hole big enough to cover my embarrassment. Something the size of China should just about do it. He moved, his free hand snaking out to slide into the mass of dark blonde hair at the nape of my neck. Slowly he pulled me forward. I dropped my grip on the towels like they were hot cakes. “I assumed some lucky guy waited for you to come home.” His lips quirked, gathering all my attention and taking it for a little joyride. “And all I could think was I wanted to knee-cap the bastard. Could barely eat that damn pie thinking about it…thinking about you.” He pulled more until I lost my balance. Hands out I caught myself against his broad chest and sighed in happiness as my fingers contacted solid muscle. Satin over steel. It was such a cliqued, romance book description I couldn’t help smirking. “No knee-capping required.” “Good.” He breathed the words right against my lips and then claimed them. Liquid pleasure coursed through my veins as a shiver chased over every inch of my skin. I’d expected a rough, passion-filled kiss driven by the needs of a male in his prime. What I got was the sensual exploration of the sexual connoisseur as his lips feathered over mine, exploring every curve from the center to the corners and back again. When he got there, he nipped at the fullness of my lower lip, and sucked lightly.

My pussy contracted hard in sheer need. God, if he was this good a kisser, what the hell was he going to be like at other things? A whimper built in my throat as my hands smoothed over the broadness of his shoulders, exploring as I’d wanted to do in the diner earlier. He let go of my lip and laved his tongue over the tiny hurt. The flesh tingled in the wake of the warm brush. His free arm curved around my waist as he rolled me under him on the bed, and tucked me against his lean, hard body. One thing you have to say about hunters, they sure kept themselves in good condition. His tongue brushed along the seam of my lips, demanding entrance. An access I was more than happy to give, relaxing under him with a sigh. My world turned to fire and ice as his hand caressed the curve of my waist in slow strokes, not grabbing or pawing as I was used to. Instead he was gentle, just concentrating on my waist and not straying to my ample tits, or trying to pull my skirt up. His kiss though, that was something else. His tongue slid past my welcoming lips and into the warmness of my mouth. The kiss that had been gentle turned domineering. His tongue danced with mine, brushed and teased, stroking along it and demanding a response. Making sure to avoid his damaged shoulder, my hands explored every inch of the toned male body I could reach. I teased his tongue with mine, never quite letting him get what he demanded and seeing how far I could play the game. My body already hummed with surprised awareness, heat sliding between my thighs to soak my panties. Oh hell, yes. I was more than ready.

He rumbled low in his chest and broke the kiss. His breathing was ragged as he kissed along my jawline, the hand in my hair tilting my head up to give him better access. “Playing dangerous games, darlin’. Sure you wanna go there?” I dug my nails in his back for an answer, scoring his skin lightly. It was a risk, some men didn’t appreciate a woman marking their skin up. But some…it got them hotter than a June bride. I didn’t need to wait long for my answer. He gasped, the sound somewhere between a moan and a groan of need, and nipped at my earlobe. “Witch…you’ll pay for that.” I giggled. Christ help me, I actually giggled. “Oh…I really hope so.” “I presume you have more than one of these?” Blinking, I lifted my head to find him looking at my uniform with an expression of utter disgust on his face. I didn’t blame him. The thing was freaking awful, but the owner liked them so all the girls got to wear the bloody things. “Um, yeah. Three. Why?” “Good.” Before I could ask anything else, he hooked his fingers into the neckline and ripped the thing open. “What the fuck?” I asked loudly. Heat burned on my cheeks as my body clenched low down. I’d always fantasised about a man needing me so much he tore my clothes from my body. Since none of my

previous lovers had shown the slightest inclination to do so, I’d assumed I just wasn’t interesting enough. He took his time looking over the curvy body his actions had revealed. I wasn’t a supermodel by any stretch of the imagination. Three years off the road had put more curves on me than I was comfortable with, especially in the harsh light of a cheap motel room. I squirmed, worried about the stretch marks on my hips, and wished I really had done all those sit ups I’d promised to do at New Year. My underwear was plain, but the white satin and lace made my skin look golden. If there was one thing I was fussy about, it was lingerie. After I quit the job, I was determined to finally own more than a-wear-and-a-spare of underwear. Sleek, sexy, expensive lingerie that made me feel like the sex symbol I most certainly wasn’t, and, unlike smoking or drinking, it wasn’t a damaging habit. His gaze roved over my exposed body, lingered on the deep cleavage created by the confection of satin and lace, then moved down to settle on the scrap of material masquerading as a thong. The look on his face made me glad I’d pushed the boat out and worn the white today. His eyes darkened, a feral look of possession and desire that stole my breath away. I love the look on a man’s face during sex. That you’re all mine and I’m going to do exactly what I want to you alpha male look. Jasen was no exception. His nostrils flared a little and…my gaze flicked downward…Oh yes, there was definitely some action going on in the pants department. From the looks of it, quite a bit of action. “Ssshhh.”

He bent over me, his lips following a trail down the line of my throat. My inner woman preened. Here I was, in my thirties, still rocking the sex chick image and pulling a younger guy. I was surprised as all hell, but there was no way I’d pass down the opportunity now it had presented itself. His hands pushed the remnants of the dress out of the way and his fingertips flirted with my skin. They were everywhere, tiny strokes and caresses that drove me out of my mind. Unable to contain a half sigh, half moan, I arched my back. My head pressed back into the bedcovers, I closed my eyes in bliss. His lips reached my collarbone and the rough brush of his tongue pulled a gasp from my lips. Liquid heat flooded my inner channel as my pussy clenched again, hard. I don’t know where he’d learnt what he was doing, but hell, he was damn good at it. Smoothing my hands over his shoulders, I slid one up his neck to bury my fingers in his hair and hold him to me. His lips carried on along their torturous route down the swell of my breast. Within their satin coverings my nipples beaded tightly, standing proud to rub against the soft material as though they begged for attention. My whole world centered on the path of his lips and their proximity to my nipples under the fabric. I’d never been bothered about having my breasts played with, I don’t know why. Some women raved about it, and romance novels…well, seemed a guy only had to touch a woman’s tits and she had a screaming orgasm. I figured perhaps there was something wrong with me, that they weren’t as sensitive as other women’s. Boy, was I wrong. Right now, those puppies were practically sitting up and begging for attention.

Long, strong fingers ran up the sides of my ribcage and traced the curves of my breasts in the satin bra. A whimper escaped my lips as I held back the need to beg him to peel the fabric back and put me out of my misery. I’d never…never felt like this with a lover before. I didn’t beg, I was always the one in control. Not whips and chains kind of control, but definitely the one calling the shots. He cupped his palm around me for a second. The sensation of warmth so fleeting, I wondered if I’d imagined it. There was no imagining his next touch as he tucked his fingers inside the lace and satin cups to tug them down. The fabric caught on my turgid nipples for a second before the pull became too much and the swollen little buds popped free. I bit my lip as cool air washed over me, followed swiftly by the heat of his breath as his lips hovered a bare inch above my skin. “Beautiful,” he murmured, then leaned down and sucked my nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth. The fire boiling in my veins increased to an inferno as he nibbled and sucked, laving my breasts with attention. Once he was done with one, and I was a whimpering mass of need ready to beg him to fuck me, he turned his attention to the other. My fingers tightened in his hair as his hand smoothed over my stomach. Normally I’d have flinched away, concerned about my less than perfectly flat belly, but when his hand started to smooth south, I found it very hard to care about anything but it’s destination. “You’re gorgeous.” His voice was muffled against my skin as those fingers I was suddenly so interested in started to trace the lace along the top edge of my thong.

“And you’re a tease,” I managed as he dipped those clever fingers under the lace. A chuckle was my only answer. That and a tongue curled wickedly around my nipple as he pushed the lace aside and stroked one of those long fingers along my lower lips. “You’re already wet. You know how hot that makes me?” I knew the words were a question, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get them to make sense between my ears and my brain. He stroked again, this time parting the sensitive folds and searching for my clit. One assured sweep later, he’d located the tiny nub and circled it with the broad pad of a finger. I whimpered, which was about the most sensible answer I was mentally capable of. He flicked his tongue over my nipple and drove me higher with the incessant circling of his finger. With most guys, as soon as they got their hand in my panties it was a quick jerk off and then we were onto the main event. Again Jasen surprised me. Leaving my aching nipples alone, he moved up to claim my lips again in a kiss with noholds-barred. His larger body trembled as he covered me, the muscles in the arm under my neck bunching and releasing as he fought to keep control. He alternated stroking my clit with circling it, never settling into a pattern as he drank—no, feasted was a better word—from my lips. All thoughts of playful resistance were gone now. This was too good, so I let him have exactly what he wanted in the hope he would settle his stroking on my clit into a pattern that would let me come.

He broke away, his breathing ragged, to look down at me. His eyes were dark, full of a dangerous heat that hit me right where it mattered. My ovaries moaned, about to go into spontaneous ovulation I’m sure. He didn’t say anything, just looked deep into my eyes as he slid two fingers deep inside me. “Ughhhhhmmmm.” Yeah, sparking conversationalist, eh? I couldn’t help it. Pleasure wound through me, centered around those fingers deep inside me. There was something very selfassured about a guy who’ll use not one but two fingers straight away like that. He’d known I was ready, that my body could take it. That meant he knew exactly the effect he had on me. He curled his fingers back to press against the sensitive spot tucked just behind my pubic bone. Gotta love long fingers on a man. My eyes started to drift closed in sheer ecstasy, but a small growl of displeasure brought them shooting open again. “I want to see your eyes,” he said huskily. “I want to watch them as I fuck you.” My pussy clenched hard around his fingers, bathing them in the heat of my arousal. No guy had ever said anything like that to me before. No guy had ever wanted to watch, mostly they’d just been interested in getting their cock in, pumping a few times and coming. It was as erotic as hell. Silently I nodded and he smiled. If I hadn’t already been under his spell—what with being spread over the bed like some sort of sacrifice—my tits out and his fingers buried in my pussy, I’d have been his just at that wicked smile.

He kissed me as he slid his fingers free of my needy body. I pouted at the loss, and he chuckled again. I started to plot ways to get him to make the sexy little sound again. Keeping my attention with a deep kiss full of heat and promise he moved, shrugging his jeans off. How he managed it without his lips leaving mine, I didn’t know, but the man deserved a medal for it. Then his body settled over mine. A hard knee pushed my thighs farther apart, leaving me open completely to whatever he wanted to do to me. And there was plenty I wanted him to do to me. I still had my panties on. I started to pull away to tell him about the tiny jewelled clips that released the side straps. Ripping my uniform was one thing, but I wasn’t having him trash good, expensive underwear. He was way ahead of me, though. Those clever fingers of his slid under the clasps and snapped them open one by one. He pulled the fabric free to drop on the floor. His lips left mine, and before I could pout at the loss, he was there. Hand between our bodies, he fitted the broad head of his cock against the arousal-slicked entrance to my body. A quick glance up and he snared my gaze more surely than a farmer lamping rabbits. I was caught, hook, line and sinker. He pushed against me slowly. Already slick and wet, my body parted to accommodate him as he started to enter me. It was a snug fit. I hadn’t touched his cock yet, but he was built on the big side. Certainly big enough to make my eyes widen a little and my pussy ache for more. Yes, I do like a big cock, but we’ve already

established I’m a bit of a tart. Besides, what woman doesn’t like a big cock? Especially when the guy it belongs to really knows how to use it. “God, you’re tight,” he moaned as he pushed again, riding deeper into me with short, sharp thrusts. “Harder. I won’t break.” My demand was issued on short pants. I didn’t want gentle, not now. I wanted a hard fuck and I knew he was more than capable of delivering it. His eyes darkened to near black and he nodded. Then the gloves were off. Grabbing my hands, he lifted them above my head and shoved his cock into me fully. Balls against my ass, he ground his pelvis against mine. Thrills shot through me. Very few men are aware of that move, that they could bring a woman to orgasm by trapping the clit between bodies rather than direct stimulation. Again it looked as though I’d lucked out. He fucked me with powerful thrusts, each time adding a curl of his hips to the end of the stroke. My clit throbbed and my cunt ached. I was getting the fucking of my life and I enjoyed every minute of it. “Look at me,” he snarled as my eyes started to close. They snapped open as he slammed his cock into me again, harder this time, as though in punishment. I gasped as pleasure bubbled in my veins. If that were punishment, though, I was about to become a serial offender. He drove into me again and again, my smaller frame stretched out under his. With my hands pinned above my head he had complete control and I didn’t care. I just wanted him to carry on doing what he was doing.

The chords in his neck stood out, and a tiny muscle in the corner of his jaw pulsed as he moved over me. My world was reduced to just the small motel room, this bed and the man in it with me. Everything else, including my view of the room, was blotted out by his broad shoulders. The room was filled with the soft sounds of sex. The slap of skin against skin, soft feminine gasps and deep, male groans of need. The tension between us rose to fever pitch and all talking, even the small amount we’d been capable of, ceased altogether. I felt the shudder as it ran through his hard body, and the bunching of his muscles as he fought hard for control. As sense of my own feminine power swept through me. He was young, good-looking…he could have had any young bimbo he wanted, but it was me, me, causing the tremble going through him. That thought did it for me. A cry escaped my lips as the hard knot deep within me uncoiled, and then finally burst. Pleasure hit me hard like the onslaught of a tidal wave, and washed all other thoughts away. My body clamped down tight on the thick cock buried deep inside me. Jasen swore in my ear, his voice halting as my pussy milked him without mercy. He thrust into me again as I rode the waves of ecstasy. But his rhythm was broken, uncoordinated as he slammed into my tight sheath with more force than finesse. Once, twice, and on the third thrust, he buried himself balls deep inside me, letting out a hoarse bellow as he came. I murmured in pleasure, feeling his cock pulse and jerk within me. He released his hold on my wrists and I wrapped my arms around him tightly. I stroked his hair,

murmuring sweet nothings. Sure, this was a one-night stand, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be any caring. Did it? We lay entwined, his cock still inside me, for the longest time. I’d begun to wonder if he’d fallen asleep when he finally spoke. “I shouldn’t have done that.” Crap. To say my heart hit the deck was an understatement. Heat crawled over every inch of my skin, and not in a good way, as all my insecurities hit me in the same instant. What was I thinking? I was too old, too fat for any young buck like this to find attractive. He’d probably screwed me for a bet or something. “What the fuck?” I asked sharply. I started to struggle out of his arms, but he held onto me easily, my strength no match for his. “Shhh. I didn’t mean ‘not at all’, just not now.” I went still, wary, as suspicion filled me. “What do you mean ‘not now’?” He looked at me with a rueful grin. “That were? I didn’t get it.” The door crashed open under the weight of a pissed off werewolf as we both rolled from the bed. Butt naked, Jasen went for the Colt on the floor at the same instant my hand closed around the grip of the Glock on the bedside table. We both started firing, bullets tearing into the werewolf framed in the doorway and shredding the cheap wall behind it.

Sneaking a sideways glance at my lover, I smiled. Screw a one-night stand, I’d just found myself the perfect man.

About the Author:

Mina Carter was born and raised in Middle Earth (otherwise known as the Midlands, England). After a slew of careers ranging from logistics to land-surveying she can now be found in the wilds of Leicestershire with her husband and young daughter…the true boss of the family.

Suffering the curse of eternal curiosity Mina never tires of learning new skills which has led to Aromatherapy, Corsetry, Chain-maille making, Welding, Canoeing, Shooting, and pole-dancing to name but a few. A veteran Star Trek RPGer, she’s run both games and groups of games but now finds her home in Bravo Fleet, one of the internet’s oldest Star Trek simm groups.

She juggles being a mum, working full time and writing, tossing another ball in the air with her cover artwork. For Mina, writing time is the wee hours of the morning before anyone wakes up and starts making demands, or any spare minute that can be begged, bought or conned.

Her first stories were penned at age 11, when she used a stationery set meant for Christmas thank you letters to write stories instead. More recently, she wrote for her own amusement and to save on outrageous monthly book bills. Now she’s totally addicted and needs her daily writing fix or heads roll!

http://mina-carter.com