“Let go, Nick. I know you’re holding back.”
It seemed he wasn’t the only one who was tapping into the bond. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’d never hurt me. You’ve lost control lots of times, but you’ve never once hurt me, and you won’t do it now. Let go.”
Groaning, he began frantically pumping his hips, taking what he wanted and giving her what she needed. Every thrust was a brand, a reminder that she was his. Her noises drove him crazy and spurred him on until his pace was frenzied and relentless, offering her no mercy, ensuring she never forgot this, never forgot how good it felt.
“Nick, I need to come.”
“Then come.” As her body tightened and rippled around him, pure rapture tore through Nick—a pleasure/pain that went on and on—and he exploded inside her.
Shaya screamed his name as a blistering, white-hot fire tore through her mind, body, and soul—bowing her back and sending tremor after tremor ripping through her, obliterating every thought she had in her mind except for one: She loved the bastard.
“I’m not a bastard,” Nick practically slurred as they sank onto the mattress, still joined.
She hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud. “Sure you’re not, Beavis,” she panted.
He growled and nipped her shoulder, rolling them onto their sides. “I’m not stupid.”
“No, you’re just slow. And it’s such a shame too.”
“If I’m Beavis, you’re Butt-Head.”
She snorted. “You wouldn’t call me that.”
Smiling, he licked one of the marks he’d left on her nape. “Sure I would, Butt-Head.”
Indignant, Shaya shuffled over so that his cock slipped out of her. “The fact you think you can get away with that just proves that you’re dumb.” Then she dashed for the shower. Of course he followed her, and of course he made her come with his mouth again. Having stripped off the shredded bed sheets, they eventually collapsed on the bed, still naked.
“I can’t believe you’ve already ruined the brand-new sheets. You need to learn better self-control,” he teased.
“I refer back to my earlier comment—you’re a bastard.”
Chuckling, Nick moved onto his side and pulled her to him. “Yeah, well, you still love me.”
She could sense his utter surprise. “You should have known I love you. You’ve heard what they say: ‘Love sucks; true love swallows.’ As I recall, I’ve always taken every last drop.”
He groaned. “Now I’m getting hard again.”
“Sorry, stud, but we can’t do anything about it until we’ve decided something important.”
“What’s that?” he asked, licking at his claiming mark. He couldn’t think of anything more important than making her come all over again—it was his favorite thing to do.
“What are we going to name the pack? It needs a name.”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. Any ideas?”
“Well…when Taryn, Caleb, Joey—that’s the kid that Taryn thought was her true mate and died when he was nine—and I were little, we used to pretend we were a special ops team.”
“Special ops team?” He chuckled.
“Taryn and I weren’t girly as kids. Anyway, we used to call our team ‘Mercury Ops.’ I think that would be good for a pack name.”
“The Mercury Ops Pack?” he echoed with distaste.
She slapped his arm. “No. The Mercury Pack. It would mean a lot to me. And to Taryn. And to Caleb. And to Joey, whose soul may haunt you forever if you say no.” She fixed a pitiful look on her face. “Please?”
“Oh, I do love to hear you beg, Shay.”
“I’ve already run it by Derren and the others; they all like it.”
He narrowed his eyes as he realized something. “And here I thought they were working on you, but you’ve been working with them, haven’t you?”
She shrugged unapologetically. “Your wolf will always feel like something’s missing if he doesn’t do what he was born to do. That’s not good with me. So…the Mercury Pack—yes or no?”
“If I say no?”
“I’ll harass you until you say yes.” When a strange glint entered that dusky-green gaze, Shaya automatically became wary.
“I’ll tell you what: I’ll say yes if you agree to something.”
That didn’t sound good. “What is it you want?”
“I want you to drop this fantasy you have of me dressing like a sailor.”
“Oh, but—”
He rolled onto his back, holding up a hand to cut her off. “No, no, I am not dressing like a fucking sailor.”
She pouted. “Oh, come on! After the first few times, it won’t even feel kinky anymore.”
“No.”
“But you’d look so—”
“No.”
“Can’t you at least think—?”
“No.”
She growled and gave him the sulkiest pout ever. “Trey does it for Taryn.”
Nick felt his face scrunch up. “Jeez, Shay, I so did not need to know that.” The image came unbidden to his mind, and Nick feared it might just pop into his head whenever he was around the Alpha male in the future.
Her voice turned sultry. “If you do it, I may reconsider the pole dancing scenario you had in mind.”
A short pause. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have to firstly say thank you to my husband and children for being my inspiration and for their patience with me when I’m in “cave mode.” I’d also like to thank my sisters for pulling me out of the cave occasionally to make sure I give myself the breaks I need.
A massive thanks to everyone at Montlake Romance for their help, support, and time—especially to my editor, JoVon Sotak, and also to Jessica Poore for answering my many questions.
And of course a humungous thank-you to everyone who has taken time out of their lives to read my book. If for any reason you would like to contact me, please feel free to e-mail me at
[email protected].
Website: www.suzannewright.co.uk
Blog: www.suzannewrightsblog.blogspot.co.uk
Twitter: twitter.com/suz_wright
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Suzanne-Wright/1392617144284756
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Steven Wright, 2012
Author Suzanne Wright, a native of England, can’t remember a time when she wasn’t creating characters and telling their tales. Even as a child, she loved writing poems, plays, and stories; as an adult, Wright has published five novels: From Rags, Here Be Sexist Vampires, and The Bite That Binds from the Deep In Your Veins series, and two books in the Phoenix Pack series, Feral Sins and Wicked Cravings. Wright, who lives in Liverpool with her husband and two children, freely admits that she hates housecleaning and can’t cook but that she always shares chocolate.
Suzanne Wright, Carnal Secrets
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