Bought by the Puma (Studly Shifters Book 1) (2 page)

Chapter 2: The Interfering Journalist

The man who had bought her was big. Whitney was five-seven so she was nearly on eye-level with a lot of men. This man had to be at least six feet tall. And trim. Very trim. Muscles moved underneath the black sweater and jeans he wore.

If she wasn't being sold to be his slave then Whitney might have considered making a play towards him. But he wasn't a savoury character. And Whitney knew she would have little to no chance of getting away from him. This guy looked like he worked out; trying to overpower him or get the upper hand would be next to impossible.

She was going to have to grit her teeth and bide her time. No way was she going to become another victim.

As soon as her bidder paid for her, he hustled her outside to a non-descript dark sedan, opening the passenger door for her. Whitney was a little thrown by his manners. He didn't seem the type to have manners at all, least of all for someone he had just bought.

She huddled against the door as far away from him as possible. It was hard to hide her opinion of him and even though he tried to have nothing showing in his expression, Whitney thought she saw a tightening of the mouth and a frown of displeasure flittering across his forehead. Why he should be displeasured she had no idea; he had bought her and done something illegal, not her. She wasn't there to be liked.

She was there to be fucked.

A warm tingling started between her thighs and spread up to her belly. Whitney recoiled in horror as her pussy began to throb. This wasn't right. He was her master, essentially.

He was using her for sex and other depraved acts if he so wished. She wasn't supposed to see him as a bed partner. It didn't matter that he was gorgeous. It didn't matter that just looking at him had flames licking at her body. He was a bad guy.

Whitney had to get out of there.

They seemed to drive for hours, finally pulling up outside a log cabin up in the mountains. Her buyer turned off the engine and climbed out, going round to her side and opening the door.

"Come inside. It's warmer in there."

Whitney didn't want to obey. But he now owned her. She had to do as he said. If she did as she was told, then maybe he would let her go. She unbuckled herself and climbed out, wrapping her arms round herself as she followed him up the steps onto the porch. He unlocked the front door and ushered her inside.

Whitney stepped through into an open-plan living room and kitchen. The furniture was mainly brown leather. A set of stairs was off to her right, going up to a bedroom that she could see through a floor-to-ceiling window on the next floor.

Everything looked warm and inviting. It also looked like it hadn't been lived in.

Her buyer put her purse down on the coffee table and beckoned her over, his face expressionless.

"Sit down."

"I prefer to stand."

Whiney swayed as her legs threatened to give out. But she stood her ground. He glared at her.

"Sit down before you fall down." He ordered.

"I'm fine." Whitney reached up behind her for the zipper. "Just get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

"Fuck me and get it over with."

While Whitney's body had decided being fucked by this man didn't sound like a bad idea, Whitney felt sick. She couldn't believe she had ended up in this situation.

She had the zipper halfway down before he was across the room and stopping her hands. He looked down at her, looking pained. He sighed.

"I didn't buy you to make you a sex slave."

Whitney snorted.

"That's not the impression you gave me."

"It was an act for everyone else." He lowered his hands and stepped back. "I bought you to get you out of there."

Whitney stared at him.

"You did?"

He grunted and nodded towards the couch.

"Sit down. I'm going to clean you up."

Not sure what was now going on, Whitney sagged onto the leather, which stuck to the back of her thighs. Her buyer - her rescuer, she revised - entered the kitchen and ducked down for a moment behind the counter. He reappeared a moment later with a first aid kit and came back to join her.

Whitney couldn't help but stare at him. Now that he wasn't any danger to her, she was beginning to agree with her body that he was gorgeous. Dark hair cut close to his head in tight curls, a firm jaw with high cheekbones and a soft-looking mouth.

The only blemish was the scar running across his nose and over one dark eye, breaking his eyebrow. Both of his eyes were unblemished, and pierced Whitney as he sat before he looked away to open the box.

"There were two other girls with me." Whitney twisted her fingers in her lap. "What will happen to them?"

"I made a call as soon as I knew what was going on." Simon selected some antiseptic wipes and some gauze. "The police and FBI will have raided the place by now." He gave her a slight smile. "Don't worry, your friends will be fine."

That gave Whitney some comfort. At least Brittany and Jael would be able to go home in one piece. They would be the lucky ones.

Her rescuer reached for one hand and held it up, turning her palm to the ceiling. With a gentleness that belied his size, he began to gently clean the scrapers on her fingers and palm. Whitney bit back her winces, focusing on the feel of his hand holding her, at how warm and rough it was. It felt nice. Really nice.

"What's your name?"

It took a moment for Whitney to realize that he had asked a question. She swallowed.

"Whitney."

He glanced up at her and held her gaze for a moment before he looked back down at her hand.

"Call me Simon."

Simon. It suited him. Whitney looked at him curiously. Now that she wasn't scared of him, she wanted to know why he had done what he did.

"Why did you get me out of there?" She asked.

"I was at the club when you were taken. I recognized you." Simon focused on her hand. "One minute you were there and the next you were gone."

"The bastards drugged me." Whitney rubbed at her neck as it throbbed. "I don't drink so they had to do it another way." She closed her eyes as her head felt like it was floating away. "I had no idea they would just pick partygoers up like that for the purpose of trafficking them. I thought they were all just runaways."

Simon grunted.

"Well, you've learnt first-hand they can pick out girls who come from good families, who look healthy or just because of the type in demands. A lot of the time, they snatch backpackers and steal their passports so they can't go anywhere if they do manage to escape."

Simon lowered Whitney's hand and put the used wipes into a plastic bag. Then, he selected another wipe and gently dabbed at the scrape on Whitney's knee. Whitney winced at the sharp burn. Simon focused on his task as he spoke.

"At the end of the day, most of the type it doesn't matter who or what they are. While those who are in better condition sell the highest, they'll take whoever matches the client's specifications."

The burn on Whitney's knee eased as she became sharply aware of the heat coming from his hand, which he had placed behind her knee, his fingers brushing against the back of her thigh. She did her best not to squirm as they touched a ticklish spot on her knee.

"What were you doing there?"

Simon paused. Whitney could tell he was mentally coming up with an answer and the reporter in her leapt on that. Something was up and Simon was involved.

Maybe she could get a story out of this. It would be an amazing front-page story.

Finally, Simon answered.

"I had a tip-off that something was happening at that location. I went along and notified the authorities when I found out what was going on." He glanced up and for a moment Whitney thought his eyes had changed. They had been dark a moment before. Now, they seemed to be golden amber. But then the moment had gone and they were dark brown as before. "Then I saw you and I knew I had to get you out of there."

Whitney was flattered. Not many men would think that when they looked at her.

"Are you a police informant?"

Simon didn't answer. He simply stuck a plaster over her scrape and sat back.

"That should do you for a while." He nodded towards a closed door under the stairs. "There's a bathroom through there. Get yourself cleaned up and you can stay here for the night. I'll take you home in the morning."

"What about my clothes?"

When it was mentioned, Whitney knew she would murder to have a shower right now but the thought of parading around naked in front of this man wasn't appealing. He might not like overly curvy women like her and she didn't want to do anything to have him running for the hills.

"Chuck them out the door when you're ready and I'll put them through the wash. There's a robe in the bathroom to wear until they're done."

Whitney stood, wobbling in the heels. She steadied herself and gave Simon a grateful smile, her head still pounding. She needed sleep and a lot of it.

"Thanks."

Simon growled and looked away.

"Don't thank me yet."

#

Simon knew he was close to losing his control. He had spent years on his own and keeping his puma in the background. His control was something he prided himself in.

Barely anyone knew that he was a shifter. Hell, he could count those people on one hand and have some fingers left over. Not even his foster parents knew what he was. Or his girlfriends.

That was how Simon wanted it.

But now, this young woman with gorgeous curves was sending him upside-down, making his puma go wild. It wanted out to bury its fang into her neck to mate with her right now. Simon's cock was in a hardened state and it was uncomfortable. He wanted to mate with her as much as his beast.

If this were any other woman, he would have already fucked her several times over and already asleep with the intention of taking her home in the morning.

But Whitney was his mate and that was solidified in his brain. She needed to be treated better than a simple fuck. Shifters only got one mate in their lifetime and if they chased their mates away, they would never be able to settle down properly.

Simon wasn't planning on letting Whitney out of his sight if he could help it.

But thinking about Whitney naked in the shower, which he could hear running, was driving him crazy. He wanted to join her and bury his cock as deep as he could inside her.

He held off, however, knowing that it would be even sweeter once he had gained her trust and she showed signs of actually liking him. Having sex with someone who didn't like or care for him wasn't very satisfying.

He had put Whitney's clothes into the machine and was checking his emails on his iPad when Whitney came out of the bathroom. Her hair was wet and hanging loose on her shoulders, her face fresh of the makeup that had smudged her skin. The towelling robe Simon had given her fitted her nicely. Even in just a shapeless bathrobe, she looked good.

He really was in trouble.

Simon realized he was staring and turned away, putting the counter between him and Whitney. His erection was pressing against his jeans and was noticeable to him. He didn't want to frighten her; he had just rescued her from a room of sexual sadists. This was not what she needed.

"Your clothes are in the wash." He said gruffly. He reached for the coffee pot. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Please." Whitney approached the counter and slid onto a stool. "Black, no sugar."

Just like him. Simon wondered if that was an omen. He poured out a mug and handed it across, trying not to touch Whitney's hand. If he did and something jumped between them, Simon wasn't sure if he would be able to control himself.

Distraction. That was what he needed. And knowing why his mate had gone into Grattidge's club on her own was a distraction. It put his horny feelings to one side.

"What were you doing in the club alone? I thought women hunted in packs."

"Not this woman. I'm a loner." Whitney cupped her hands round her mug and took a sip. "I don't have many friends."

Simon raised his eyebrows.

"Surely, that's not true."

His mate was a solitary animal like him. He chose that life and preferred it but from Whitney's expression, it had been thrust upon her and she didn't like it.

"I was always known as the fat girl at school." Whitney looked down at the mug on the counter, running her thumb along the rim. "No one wants to be friends with the fat girl."

"You're fat?"

Whitney snorted.

"Don't lie and say you haven't noticed."

Simon tilted his head to the side and pretended to survey her. But he knew what she looked like in his mind; he didn't see fat at all. His cock certainly didn't see fat.

"There's plenty of flesh to hold onto but you're not fat." Simon suddenly felt hot under the collar. "You're a curvy woman. And a decent man would know the difference."

"And you're a decent man?"

Simon almost burst out laughing. He settled for a twitch of the mouth.

"I wouldn't know about decent but I know the difference between curvy and fat. You're certainly not the latter."

The small smile Whitney gave him had Simon resisting the urge to grab her and kiss that smile. But he held himself back, using his hands to flick through his emails on his iPad.

"I was there for a story." Whitney's answer came so suddenly Simon momentarily forgot that he had originally asked her a question. "Bryce Grattidge."

Simon froze.

"You're a journalist?"

"Someone tipped me off and said Bryce would be conducting business in the club tonight." Whitney frowned. She was still looking a little out of it. "Or is it last night? Anyway, I was eager to get the story so I went alone." She rubbed at her forehead. "If I'd known this would happen to me, I would've stayed at home."

"You should have anyway." This was not good at all. His mate was a reporter. That could prove dangerous to the assignment. "Bryce Grattidge is a dangerous man. He could kill you just by snapping his fingers. It's best to stay away from him."

Whitney grunted.

"I didn't get anything, anyway. The last thing I remember before I passed out was the manager telling me Bryce was never coming. It was a ruse to get me there."

Simon grunted. He had suspected as much. The demand for big beautiful women was high, as he had found out going through the forums. Men liked 'lots of meat' on their women. Simon didn't agree with the description but he did agree that bigger women were sexier. His last girlfriend had been curvy but she didn't have the curves Whitney had.

Whitney looked perfect for him. And his puma agreed eagerly.

"You said about me that I have plenty to hold onto."

Simon looked up at the sudden statement. Whitney was staring at him but with a lusty expression in her eyes. She licked her lips.

"When you say that, do you mean when I'm fucking a guy? When I'm riding his long, thick cock?"

Simon blinked. Had he wandered into a fantasy here? Was this real? Then he realized that it was real and Whitney was talking to him like that.

And from the enlarged pupils and the rosy tinge to her cheeks that looked more flushed than she should have there was still some of the drug in her system. They shot her up with something more than a knockout drug and it was affecting Whitney.

He coughed.

"Not all men are as well hung as that but that's what I meant."

"Are you well hung?"

Simon was glad he was leaning against the counter or he would have ended up on the floor.

"Excuse me?"

"You're a big guy." Whitney slipped off the stool and sauntered slowly round the counter. "You must have a big cock."

Simon swallowed. His cock was now rock-hard. He shouldn't be reacting like this; the drugs were making her talk. This wasn't her personally. If it were her true personality, Simon would have been on her in a second. But he held his ground as Whitney came towards him. She ran a hand down his chest, her hand burning through his sweater.

"Come on." She purred, stepping up close, almost pressing against him. "Let me have feel." Her hand went lower towards the waistband of his jeans. "I love big cocks. They make me scream."

Simon knew he wouldn't be able to resist if she touched him. And he wouldn't do that to her; she wasn't in her right mind. He was a bastard but he wasn't going to do that to his mate. She had to come to him willingly.

So he did the only thing he could do. He spun her round, pushing her hands away, and put her in a sleeper hold. It was merely seconds before she slumped to the floor unconscious. Simon felt a stab of guilt but he had no other option how to get her to stop. He brushed his fingers over her hair.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "It had to be done."