Doris O'Connor (4 page)

Ink's hands massaged her breasts, teasing the tight buds of her nipples until she panted her excitement into his mouth. Only then did Grisha push into her depth with one firm stroke until his heavy balls hit her pussy.

"Fuck, yeah. Jesus, she's tight, Ink." Grisha gasped the words into her neck and tightened his hold on her hips. He held himself perfectly still inside her, nibbling the sensitive spot under her ear, and she relaxed into the incredible fullness in her ass.

Ink broke the kiss and handed her a condom with one hand.

With the other he stroked feather light circles around her swollen clit, causing Estelle's fingers to shake with the effort it took to sheathe his thick shaft as her body prepared her for his invasion. Ink took over with an animalistic growl, his now yellow eyes scorching her with their intensity.

"Grip my shoulders, and hold on for a wild ride. I don't think either one of us can do this slow."

"I don't want slow." Estelle surprised herself with her panted reply. "Just fuck me, please, Sir."

Something feral and dangerous flashed across Ink's face, and Grisha cursed as Ink drove into her pussy hole. Her muscles closed around him; tears sprang into her eyes, and she screamed. He pulled out only to drive himself deeper. When he pushed in,Grisha retreated.

The two men worked in perfect sync. Every move of those thick cocks inside her sent Estelle's body spiraling out of control. Faster, harder, deeper, she met the men's thrusts with her own, caught between the two bodies, lost in the myriad of sensations assaulting her.

Higher and higher she climbed, every stroke inside her sending her alight, every cell in her body quivering with anticipation, their movements growing more and more frantic, until Grisha released inside her ass with a deep growl.

Ink stilled, the veins in his neck bulging with the effort, his jaw clenched, his eyes glowing in their focused intensity on her.

"Fly, my sweet little sub, now." Grisha flicked her clit, and Ink rammed into her so hard her breasts shook violently, and his cock ground against her cervix. The zing of pain sent her tumbling over the edge, dimly aware of Ink's grunted release and a flash of sharp teeth.

Teeth that grazed her mouth as he pulled her down for an earth-shattering kiss, muffling her scream of release as her orgasm exploded from deep within her.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Estelle cursed as the coffee spilled all over the paperwork she'd spent the best part of the day compiling.

She threw the remaining dregs against the wall and swore some more.

Sam, the mail man, stuck his head in the door of her office and promptly retreated behind the door, like a tortoise into its shell.

Shit!

She was scaring perfectly amenable elderly men now. It just wasn't fair! Estelle glared at her laptop and snapped the lid shut with much more force than necessary. If only she could slam the damn thing against the wall and erase all memories of Ink and the club and that most fantastic night of mind blowing sex and self-discovery as easily as Ink had wiped her online account and cut off all contact.

When she'd woken up deliciously sore in the club the next morning, she had been on her own. Cherie had appeared out of nowhere, with a change of clothes, a cup of coffee, and an anxious smile, refusing to answer any of her questions. She'd ordered her a taxi and sent Estelle home, seemingly on orders from Ink, who was nowhere to be seen. Grisha had at least shown his face briefly, smiled that seductive smile of his, and once he'd been reassured that Estelle was indeed okay, he'd kissed her briefly, paid the driver, and told Estelle to come back only once she knew all her facts. There had been something almost like regret flit over his dark features before he'd hit the roof of the taxi, and the driver had spirited her away.

What facts exactly, Estelle could only imagine. Unless he'd meant her good for nothing boss. Estelle had spent Sunday in a state of fevered anticipation of seeing Ink in the office come Monday morning, wondering how on earth this was going to change their relationship and even if it would. She was all too aware of Grisha's words bouncing around in her consciousness.

"Ink doesn't do relationships."

Maybe his ex-wife had hurt him too badly and he'd sworn off relationships, but surely he would see that Estelle was different. They needed to talk; that was for sure. Of course when she'd turned up in the office, he hadn't been there – or the next day or the day after that.

He had no business trips planned, so she could only assume he was avoiding her specifically. As the days wore on Estelle's confusion and hurt were replaced by anger, especially when she realized he'd cut her online access to him as well. More than once she'd been on the verge of driving to the club and demanding answers. It was only the fact that she valued her job that had stopped her. She wanted to keep her job, damn it; she was good at it, and things would be awkward enough when he did eventually turn up.

She ground her teeth and swiped the coffee-stained paperwork off her desk in one fell swoop. It was grimly satisfying to see the sheets of paper flutter through the air like overgrown snowflakes, and she squelched the sudden impulse to stomp them into the carpet with her heels. Instead she swore again and spun her office chair round, only to freeze on the spot.

"Is there a reason why you're destroying office property, Estelle?"

Nathan Fielding's voice could have cut glass, and Estelle swallowed nervously. Even in the club his voice had never been that icy. Dressed in an immaculately cut slate grey business suit, spectacles back on his nose, Nathan was an unmoving statue of leashed anger. The air almost shimmered around him. His amber eyes seemed to glow, pupils narrowed into cat-like slits, as they raked her body up and down, and his nostrils flared. He growled low in his throat. Estelle suppressed an involuntary shudder as the sound wrapped itself around her senses, and her traitorous body reacted instantly to the sound and smell of him. He smelled different from the club, and somehow the difference, subtle as it was, had her insides tighten with need. She grabbed the sides of her chair to stop herself from reaching out to him, even though every cell of her being screamed at her to do so.
God,
she was doomed.

She clenched her thighs together in a vain effort to hide the evidence of her instant arousal, and Nathan swore. He turned his back on her and stalked to his office with a muttered, "Clear that mess up."

The pictures on the walls rattled with the force with which he slammed his door shut, and the blinds separating the glass walls between them clanged down with a resounding thud.

Estelle shut her mouth with a distinctive pop. Who the fuck did he think he was? Without stopping to examine the wisdom of her actions, Estelle followed him and wrenched the door open. Her heart gave a painful thud in her chest, before it turned into a jack hammer.

He'd shrugged out his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing muscular forearms. A new wave of his scent hit her as he raised his hand to pull his tie over his head, and his eyes locked with hers.

"Have you come to wreck my office, too, Estelle, or is there something you want from me that you haven't already had elsewhere?" He ground the words out through clenched teeth, and Estelle took a step back at the murderous expression on his face. He closed the distance between them, his amber eyes changing to a golden glow with every step he took for two of her retreating ones, until he had her caged against the wall. His large hands settled either side of her face; his muscular thighs branded her legs, and she closed her eyes against his overpowering presence. His warm, coffee laced breath whispered across her face, and she heard him inhale again. The growl that followed trembled through her, and she opened her eyes on his whispered exhale of, "Why?"

"Why what?" She forced the words past her parched throat, and their eyes locked. She straightened her knees and pulled her shoulders back, which brought her breasts in direct contact with his chest, and they both groaned. Her nipples beaded, and her breasts grew heavy, her breathing shallow. Heaven help her, she was seeing things. His eyes narrowed, his scent intensified, and when he groaned again, she could have sworn she saw fangs in his mouth. What the fuck was wrong with her? Did the inability to draw deep breaths into her lungs give you hallucinations? Was she about to pass out?

Somehow she managed to put a shaky hand on his chest, and he leant back slightly, giving her some much needed breathing space.

"I could ask you the same question." She only managed a whispered imitation of her normal voice. His eyes widened, and he grew so still, she couldn't be sure he was still breathing. The air thickened between them, and Estelle forced herself to continue.

"I mean, it was fun and all—" Her voice faltered to stop as he growled in response.
Oh good God, he has fangs, honest to goodness
fangs. He's one of them.

He pushed away from her and prowled the confines of his office like a caged tiger. She flinched at the sound of claws slicing through the wood when he steadied himself against his desk, every muscle in his big body coiled for action.

Estelle nervously calculated the distance between her and the door and instantly dismissed the idea. She would have to get past him first, and if he was what she was rapidly suspecting him to be, then his lightning fast reflexes would stop her long before she could reach for the handle.

Her head hurt as the puzzle pieces clanged together in her brain. The stories weren't stories at all. She should have realized it sooner.

She pushed away from the wall, and Nathan's head swung round. The eyes of his beast were looking at her, and Estelle swallowed against the lump in her throat and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt.

"Wha…" She cleared her throat and tried again. The ghost of a smile kicked up the corners of Nathan's mouth, as she took a deep breath and continued. "What are you? I mean who do you shift into?

You do shift at will, right?"
Please don’t let him be ruled by the moon,
like some sort of monster. Damn it, Gran, why are you always right?

Surprise registered briefly on his face, and some of the awful tension left his big shoulders. His claws retracted; his eyes bled back to amber, and Estelle breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"As you've been fucked any which way by Ink and Grisha I'm sure you know the answer to that, Estelle. And yes, I'm a shifter. Stop looking as though I'm going to eat you."

Heat stained her cheeks at the crude words, even as an image of Ink's tiger swam in front of her. Grisha, too, had a tiger's paw on his ass; she remembered now. The room spun as the truth dawned on her, and warm hands grabbed her arms to steady her.

"Breathe, dammit. Surely it's not that much of a surprise to you. Even ice-cold Ink must have half shifted at one point during your fuck fest. Lord knows your scent has tortured me from the day you started working here." He let her go and took a step back.

"What? What are you on about? Are you that much into the scene that you're convincing yourself you're a different person in the club?" She flinched at his furious growl in response, but the words tumbled out anyhow. "I get it. You don't do relationships. You've had your bit of fun, and that's it. Well, don't worry. I have no intention for anyone to find out that I let the boss tie me up and fuck me until I couldn't see straight, and as for you being a shifter, who the fuck would believe me anyway."

She furiously blinked back the rising tears. No way was she going to cry in front of him. No fucking way. She had to get out of here before she completely went to pieces and humiliated herself even more than she had already. He couldn't make it any clearer that this had just been sex. It was her own stupid fault for
ever
thinking it could possibly mean more.

She tried to stumble past him, but his arm round her waist stopped her progress. He pulled her into his long frame and against her better judgment she couldn't help but lean into his warmth.

Familiar, yet different, the hard contours of his body fit into her curves as though they were made for each other. The thought made her tremble against him, and his hold on her tightened.

"I should paddle your sweet ass for speaking to me like that, Estelle." His deep baritone rumbled through her, and her pussy clenched instantly as she remembered her time on the spanking bench.

His grip grew painful as he sniffed the air, and he swore again.

"Jesus, woman, do you have any idea what knowing that turns you on does to me?" He ground his erection into her ass, and Estelle's breaths grew shallower still. She bit back a moan, and her head fell back on his shoulder. His stubble scraped along her sensitive flesh, and she half turned in his arms and stood on tiptoes to press a kiss to his full lips. He groaned and deepened the kiss, his tongue invading her mouth, branding her with a breathtaking possessiveness that ramped her own arousal up another notch. His hands strayed to her ass, and she wrapped a leg around his waist, shamelessly grinding her wet pussy against the huge bulge in his trousers. She whimpered her need into his mouth when he picked her up and sat her on his desk, sending the files and lamp clattering to the floor.

"Lean back, hold onto the desk, and don't move."

Estelle complied immediately, and his eyes flashed in triumph at her whispered," Yes, Sir."

One hand behind her neck, he kissed her again, whilst the other, ripped her thong off her with one clawed hand. Estelle shivered at the feel of those claws against her inner thigh, and she bit her lip when he scraped across her clitoris with a feather light touch. A surge of moisture coated his fingers, and she held her breath when he brought the digits up to his mouth and licked them clean.

"I love the way you taste, so wet for me. Tell me, were you this wet for my brother?"

An ice cold vise settled on Estelle's chest, and stars swam in front of her eyes. She scrambled off the desk as best she could, not daring to look at him. No, no, no, no. She couldn't have heard him right?

"What?"

He winced at her high-pitched wail of a question and took a step away from her, even as she rounded on him fists raised, ready to pummel him.

"Stop playing games with me. It was you in the club. I know it was you. Damn it, don't just stand there. Tell me the truth, please. Tell me it was you. Please…"

Her voice broke, and the tears fell unheeded as he stood watching her. He shook his head and reached for her, but she drew away.

"Don't touch me. I don't know what sick game you're playing, but it stops now. It had to be you. I never would have—" She stopped herself just in time by stuffing a fist in her mouth. Oh
God,
what must he think of her?

"Estelle, calm down. You're hyperventilating. Sit down." A chair hit the back of her legs, and she sat down heavily, his hands on her shoulders giving her no choice but to do so. She couldn't look at him; she just couldn't, even as he moved his hand and cupped her chin, forcing her to look up.

"I have a twin brother, Estelle. He owns the club, and he calls himself Ink. Are you telling me you thought he was me? Answer me, sweet. I need to know the truth." He growled his annoyance when she shook her head and screwed her eyes shut. "Fuck it, Estelle, tell me. If he made you believe he was me I'll go and tear the bastard limb from limb."

"No, he didn't." Her whispered denial stopped the growling of his beast, and he stilled. The very air seemed to stand still as he waited for her to carry on speaking.

"Tell me what happened." The tone of command brooked no argument, and her submissive side scrambled to respond instantly, even as the rational side of her brain screamed at her to just get the fuck away from him and this whole surreal situation.

"I just assumed it was you, and it made it easier…I wouldn't have…I mean…please don't make me say it."