Page 14 of A Shot in the Dark (Fated Mates Collection | Triple Threat #1)

H e stalks past me to the bed, peeling off more of my clothing as he draws me along, mesmerized.

“For safety’s sake,” he murmurs, as he makes quick work removing my bra and skirt. Somehow at the same time. The man is a fucking miracle worker.

“Seven days. Nothing more,” he promises, drawing me towards him as he sits on the bed.

“Means nothing. Only so I can get a little rest and meet my other deadlines. Makes my job easier…” He closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering a moment before he opens them again.

“God, you’re hot…” he says, stroking his hands lightly along my sides.

I reach out, touch the sides of his face, the stubble he so often grumbles about, and let one hand drift to his right ear—the one with the tiny notch in it. He rolls his face into my wrist, nipping the tender skin. “You need one imperfection, I guess…”

He growls. “I have plenty...”

I giggle. “I don’t see them,” I insist. “Boots,” I dare as I skim my hands across his broad shoulders and down his arms. So many muscles—I’ve felt them slide against my body dozens of times but to see them…? “You’re beautiful.”

He stiffens at the compliment, nostrils flaring. “You’ve got the praise kink, princess, not me.”

I startle but his hands on my hips keep me close. “I do not ?—“

“You’re smarter than that,” he counters. “Probably one of the smartest people I’ve ever met… Beautiful and brilliant… Top shelf pussy… Grade A fucking… Gold star action…”

Something like a purr builds in me, spiking with my need. Oh, shit. He’s right.

He laughs a heartbeat before dragging me forward so I straddle him. He grabs one of my nipples with his teeth. Suddenly there’s a condom, and he seats me in his lap, rubbing my clit with his thumb and groaning as he enters me. He claims my other nipple and I moan.

“Right like this,” he begins, and when he pauses on the downstroke before uttering “princess,” “pet,” or any of the dozen other descriptors he’s ever applied to me, I say the thing I want to hear most from him—my name.

“Sylva.”

“ Fuck ,” he groans, the word thick and deep, snarling out of him like its own wild thing as his silver eyes focus on mine, pulling me into a spinning galaxy of stars.

“— didn’t— want— to— know— that,” he says, glaring at me as he guides me back and forth in his lap.

“Even faster… Good grrrl. Yeah, just like that…” His nostrils flare when I begin to struggle against him, chasing my climax.

“No.” He gives me a little shake. “Not yet. Unless…” He shifts us backwards on the bed, laying back so I straddle him as he bucks like a stallion beneath me.

“‘less what?” I moan.

He whips the words out like a challenge: “You want to really impress me…and come twice .”

“Yes…”

“Then do it,” he demands, sliding his powerful hands up to cup my breasts, pinching, rubbing, stroking my nipples into pink peaks. “Right now,” he urges. “Do it…” His words are thick as honey and deep as a chasm. “Do it now: Come! ”

As if I have no will of my own, a violent tremble works through me, building to a full body-shaking shudder that rolls my eyes back in my head and loosens my spine as I come.

“What a brilliant girl! We’re not done, though…” He shifts his position and I light up inside, crying out with renewed energy and desire. He grins up at me—so wicked, so exhausting, I want to die but those hips of his, those hands, bring me to life so completely I don’t think I ever will.

A sheen of sweat is building on him and I spread my legs further, taking him deeper so I can bend forward and taste the salt that slicks his skin. “You said you can’t lie to me…” He groans and pushes me back up.

“I caaan’t,” I admit.

“So tell me this…” He grabs my hips, adjusting his angle, surprising me.

Everything feels so good, I wouldn’t be able to imagine a lie if I tried …

“You don’t like me, do you, princess?” Boots mutters, as he shifts his grip again, keeping me off balance by switching his attention, his thumbs rubbing firm circles across my nipples while I ride him. “You just like what I do to you.”

I moan and roll my hips back and forth, taking him into me further before pulling away with a teasing shimmy as I find my rhythm. Beneath me, he shifts his hips, redirecting himself as he bucks up suddenly, stealing my breath.

“Answer me.”

“I love what you do to me,” I whimper, grinding down hard on him.

He grabs my hips and it becomes a battle for control as he changes my speed, our angle, the mathematics and physics of my lust for him, again and again.

“Tell me,” he growls as he shoves me off of him, sending me sprawling across the bed. “Tell me the truth. This could be any dick fucking you and you’d still take it. You’d still want it. Crave it.”

I reach for him but he shoves my hand away.

“Tell me the truth…”

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes. “Yes,” I hiss, unable to stop the word from escaping me, though I fight it as hard as I can.

“And that’s why this has to happen,” he snarls, grabbing me and dragging back towards him. “Your safe word… Tell me you know your safe word.”

“I know my safe word!”

“Do you want to deploy your safe word?”

“No!”

He rolls me over like a rag doll and takes me so fast it feels like he never stopped fucking me.

Fingers slide into the hair at the nape of my neck and I grunt as they tighten into a fist. He presses my head down against the mattress and his knees push mine wider apart.

He slams into me harder and faster than ever before, a beast at my back, as he rubs himself—his abs, his chest, his arms—all over me, sprawling across my back, his bare skin holding a fire to match my own as I cry out at the blistering pace he sets.

Then he drags my head up, his free hand finds my clit and my world begins to spin out of control.

He utters words in a language I don’t recognize—it’s more guttural than German, more fluid than Spanish, more lilting than Gaelic.

It’s nearly musical… A hint of magic trembles in the air, picks up a dash of spice, and a cloying sweetness binds it all together.

I feel the distant sensation of teeth clamping down on my neck on an upstroke as he snarls “Sylva!” into the base of my neck so fiercely it rattles through my skull, my spine, my everything.

I scream.

Boots shudders.

And we come together in every way.

Like a tidal wave finally reaching shore.

I am adrift. Floating in darkness. No sound, no sensation, only an overwhelming sense of calm, of good, of everything being right in the universe. Of everything being one. Boots is beside me, within me, a part of me at both sacred and cellular levels.

We are one.

I have never known such blindingly gorgeous and absolute peace.

This is heaven.

My neck aches at the site of his bite but there is something blissful—magical—about it, the way his mark already calms me.

Usually by now the fire of my need would already be moving back to a slow simmer in my blood; there’s something calming about being here—being now—being with Boots.

Something tingles in the air between us, fierce but sweet at the same time.

It’s almost as if something as bright as starlight, soft as a feather, but sharp as a blade now winds us together in ways I could have never before imagined.

He falls asleep inside me, our limbs tangled together, my head tucked against his chest, listening to the cadence of his heart shifting down from double time to a slow march. His breathing steadies.

Through the thin walls separating us from the two rooms flanking our own comes the sounds of grunting and urgent whispering, of the squeaking of beds and the rising, almost panicked sounds of someone reaching climax. A scream punctuates the air as someone’s good time winds up.

“We offer by-the-hour,” the man at the desk had said.

I believe him.

Boots looks almost peaceful in his sleep—nearly content.

Years fall away, almost every faint line fading from his face.

With all the care I can manage with limbs that feel too loose to work properly, I shift free of him, but remain on my side, one arm curled beneath my head as I watch him sleep.

He looks sweet when he sleeps… A tremble rolls through him.

He flinches. Then he stills. It’s only a passing thing, nothing to worry about.

An oddity of Boots. Part of the mystery of a man who doesn’t want me to get too close, the man I fall asleep beside too readily.

In my dreams I am the wolf again—running, always running, the breeze through my fur a revelation.

A noise causes me to turn suddenly, leaves and dirt flying up from my paws.

Before me shadows shift and other wolves step forward—each one large and powerful and glorious.

Each one somehow connected to me. I sigh out my pleasure and they drift away into the stars, beckoning me to follow.

I wake to a rising need, run my fingers down Boots’ chest and lower, and with a flash of silver eyes his body answers mine.

There’s an effortlessness that now marks each stolen, quiet moment and when I next wake, I find him staring at me like I’m some creature he’s never seen before, something strange and mystical.

“How are you?” he asks, searching my face.

“Starving,” I confess, shooting him a smile. “You too?”

As if in answer, his stomach grumbles and I giggle. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Helluva way to work up an appetite. Better than a run in full combat gear, though,” he says, rolling onto his back.

“I would hope so!”