An erotic paranormal romance short story between a wolf shifter and the curvaceous woman destined to be his mate.
A CENTURY OF WAITING IS ABOUT TO END
Olivia's life is about to change. She has no idea that the impossibly tall, dark-haired stranger watching her at the bar of her favorite club has actually been watching her for weeks.
TWO SOULS DESTINED FOR ONE ANOTHER
Vance knows what he wants and he's not about to wait another moment to claim his woman. By night's end, she'll be bound to the beast.
A contemporary paranormal love story of approximately 6,900 words. It is intended for mature readers only.
EXCERPT:
The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I slowly turned, praying that I was simply being melodramatic. But somehow I knew before even turning that it was him standing there, blocking my exit and watching me with open hunger.
I turned and my heart jumped into my throat. "What are you doing?" I asked, my voice a high-pitched squeak as I flattened against the opposite wall. "This is the l-ladies room."
"You smell like honey and rain," he said, his mouth curving in a sensual line that did weird things to my ability to remain standing. I almost forgot that he was likely a weirdo or psychotic killer but I remembered quickly when he began walking toward me.
"Stop!" I cried, my voice shaking. "Or I'll scream. Get out and leave me alone and we can just forget this ever happened and you won't have to go to jail for being a creeper."
"Forget? And why would I want to do that? It's taken a century to find you...I'm not about to walk away."
"W-what? Are you crazy?" I asked, my mouth trembling. Had he said...a century? Fabulous. I was locked in a dimly light club bathroom with a crazy person. Hadn't my evening been crappy enough already? I looked furtively for something I could use as a weapon but aside from throwing soggy paper towel wads his way, I was screwed. This was how it ended, I thought grimly. Savaged by a nutball in a dirty bathroom. Tears pricked my eyes. "I don't want to die," I whispered as he strode toward me.
At my whispered plea, he simply smiled darkly and pulled me roughly to him. "Who said anything about dying, sweetling?" he murmured, crushing me against the granite of his chest. "Humans," he chuckled with amusement even as I stiffened against him. "Such alarmists." He didn't give me a chance to respond as his head dipped down and suddenly his lips were moving across mine. He smelled of masculinity and raw power; sex and leather. The heady combination was enough to dampen my fear and sharpen my sudden arousal. He pressed me against the bathroom wall that was covered in profane graffiti and I gasped at the shock of his tongue searching for mine. I clung to him as he ground his hardened length against me through the rough denim of my jeans. I wiggled against the delicious pressure, quickly losing all sense of why this was a bad idea, and simply gave in to the intoxicating feel of being ravaged. Yes, ravaged was a good word for what he was doing to me. There was nothing soft or sweet about the way his hands were roaming my body as if memorizing every curve, every valley. I'd never been so consumed by another person in my life. Every boyfriend or casual sexual relationship I'd ever been in or with had always left me wanting for something deeper, more primal. He filled his hands with my breasts and when the fabric of my blouse impeded his questing touch, he growled and simply ripped it from my body.
