Shadows: The Time To Hunt And Play Is Over.
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(Shadows is a military romance, and can be read as a standalone.)
All my life when I have been told I couldn’t do something; I have fought to prove them wrong.
When I have been told I have to comply, mold, kneel to authority, it has been a struggle.
Men like me don’t kneel to anyone, it is not in us to submit and if we give off the false pretense that we are, you can bet your ass it’s for our betterment or something bigger than us as an individual.
Sweet, sexy, Mary Ward, my Little Lamb, has been deemed off limits to me.
For months, I have caged my desire and fought back the need to capture my prey. I have watched her fight her own desire, mask her confusion, and listen to the words she says yet doesn’t mean trying to keep me away.
I have studied her. I know who she is and what she is running from.
I know what makes her the way she is, and I will show her how to leave behind the false protection of the flock she surrounds herself with and surrender to the wolf waiting patiently in the Shadows.
The time to hunt, and play is over.
I will dominate her and break her down. I will to slaughter the lamb and she will never submit to anyone, but me.
In my head, I am screaming, I won’t! Inside, I’m screaming, I can’t! I know this is wrong, so wrong.
“You’re trembling,” he says in a thick, deep voice as he kisses and licks down my neck. “Tell me to stop, Little Lamb.” He strokes his tongue back up to my ear then taunts, “Tell me to stop.”
I know I should stop this, but I can’t. I don’t want him to stop, and it’s wrong, but it feels so right. As much as I know my relationship with Joe will never hold the passion you see in a movie or read in a book, it is safe.
Shadows is anything but safe.
Lieutenant Shadows, whose name is a complete contradiction to this larger than life man. The man whose presence and persona mock the name he was born with leaves tomorrow for an unknown amount of time, to an undisclosed location. I may never see him again. I may not feel the electricity or energy he causes to surge through my body, wreaking havoc on my emotions and me physically. I am not sure if I am afraid of that feeling or crave it.
I close my eyes tightly, my chest aching at the thought. It has only been months that I have known him, yet the thought of him not being here, being near, kills me. I need an answer, dammit. I need it so badly, and I don’t know why.
“Don’t stop,” I say.
(Too Hot for TV)
He reaches over with the bullet in his hand and places it between my legs, not yet touching my most intimate parts.
“Tell me,” he demands as he reaches between his legs and grips his cock. He strokes himself up then down, up then down.
“I hate this. I hate stroking myself when I lie in bed at night, imagining you lying next to me, unable to take any more of my cock. I imagine your pussy bruised,” he groans out, continuing his slow, harsh strokes up and down. “I tried so fucking hard not to fuck you for months now. I’ve fucked other women while thinking about how tight your pussy would feel wrapped around my cock as I slaughtered you. I thought of you, Mary. Now tell me when you used this.” He stops and turns it on, holding it against my inner thigh.
I gasp, and his strokes become faster.
The look in his eyes tells me he won’t accept anything except the honest answer. My denials thus far have been lies, ones he has seen through.
The vibrating bullet moves up as he pushes his hand up my leg. He pulls my knee toward him, spreading me as he moves it slowly up until it lands exactly where it affects me the most.
My back arches, and I bite my lower lip, stifling a cry. Then I try to close my legs, not knowing if I am trying to stop him or capture his hand.
“That’s it, Little Lamb. Show me how you want it,” he instructs, his nostrils flaring as he strokes himself faster and faster. My hips buck, and he hisses, “Fuck, yes. Get it, girl.”
“You,” I begin, trying to form a sentence while on the verge of an orgasm. “You …”
I stop trying when he applies more pressure, and I can’t stand to hold back any longer.
I cry out my release, digging my feet into the mattress and pushing up, trying to escape, but he won’t let me. He holds me in place and applies even more pressure, but this time, he moves it all around my clit, and I can’t get away. I don’t want to get away.
“Fuck yes, Little Lamb. Fuck. Yes.” He watches me with hunger and awe.
I close my eyes and arch into his touch when the next wave of pleasure rocks my body with a force that nearly batters me.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” I cry. Each yes is a higher pitch until my body literally shakes.
Needing an anchor, needing to know that what I am feeling is real and not just in my head, I seek the truth in his eyes. Only then do I realize he is no longer stroking himself
(Sweeter than Honey)
“I don’t want you fucking weak, Mary. I want your strength. I couldn’t keep her safe, and it fucking kills me, but it doesn’t consume me anymore. The darkness, you can hide.” I half-laugh. “I live the life I do because I can’t and won’t hide it. As far as picking someone who thinks I can fix them to spend my life with, fuck that. People don’t fix other people; they fix themselves. You and I, Mary, we are survivors. I don’t want someone who isn’t going to eventually become strong enough to be my partner.”
“Eventually become? So you view me as weak.” She crosses her arms in front of her.
“Weaker than me? Fuck yes, I do. Once you survive the slaughter—”
“That’s sick, you know!” she yells at me.
My control has officially dissipated.
“Goddammit!” I storm toward her, grab her, pull her against me, and put my mouth on her ear. “Once you have given up your delusions of being safe behind your bullshit walls—which, I will point out, Little Lamb, leaves you vulnerable, aka, the slaughter—you rebuild yourself, knowing you’re safe. Knowing you’re desired. Knowing the only man you put up a fight against is the one you need to cave to.
“No one. No. One. Will feed your desires, let you fall apart, and stand back and watch you rebuild yourself, drawing from your own unbelievable strength in the safety you’ll find here and the knowledge that, when I get home—when I come home to you—we will be fucking good, so fucking good together.”
I pull back and look in her eyes. “I see you, Mary. I showed you me. Now let’s find us together.”
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