Losing It: A Collection of VCards Page 2

“I’m incredibly happy to see you.”

  “Yet I’m still wearing my pants.”

  He laughed, though it came out as more of a thundering rumble from his chest. “I just don’t want to hurt you. If I lose control, if I shift forms, I could—”

  “Good God, man. Take off my clothes before I hurl you out of this cave.”

  A short bark of a laugh escaped him. His princess had given him an order he would happily obey.

  In one fluid motion, he swept his hand under her knees and lifted her into his arms. She yelped and chuckled. He knelt and set her on the ground, one hand behind her head. She leaned into him, eyes narrowing. A brilliant smile broke across her face.

  He straddled her and pressed his mouth to her lips, pushing her against the cave floor. Its smooth surface, worn flat from his years of pacing his secret fortress in worry, would serve now as a makeshift bed. At least all those years of isolated frustration did some good.

  Kara’s fingers lifted the hem of his shirt. Her hands glided up his sides, her cool skin leaving a chill as the fabric raced toward his shoulders. The cloth sailed over his head and hooked on his chin. He laughed and tried to pull it off but lost sight of her for a few seconds. She grinned and hooked her hands on either side of his neck, holding him close.

  Once free of his shirt, he grabbed hers and pulled it over her head. An emerald green bra blocked his view of her breasts and pressed them together. He kissed the line between them, and the lilac curl of her perfume filled his nose.

  It didn’t occur to him to tease her any more. Instead, he fumbled with the button holding her pants together. It fought him, only popping open when he gave it a rough yank. He grabbed the laces below it, tugging at each line until it came loose. She toyed with his pants button, apparently pausing to savor his touch as he fought to free her from her clothes.

  After another few seconds, he broke the final lace free and tugged her pant leg. Her green panties peeked above the linen. He slid them off her smooth legs, his eyes lingering on the curves of her thighs. The pants caught on her knees, distracted as he was with admiring her. She giggled.

  She reached for his pants, and he forced himself to allow it. He wanted to rip them off himself, since he could probably do it faster, but she seemed determined in the assist. He busied himself with kisses on her neck, aware of every movement of her hands. She undid the button and set to work on his laces, eyes fluttering with his every kiss.

  Braeden sank into her touch, losing himself to the brush of her skin on his, to the growing warmth sizzling along his body. He could almost sense the steam that would pummel from his pores in his natural form—the one he’d hated his whole life. His body ached to turn to its natural state, but he quelled the impulse to relinquish his control to the darkness within.

  Water crashed outside, the falls thundering louder with each passing moan. He heard a few of his own gasps mixed with Kara’s, but he slowly lost all sensation except for the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. At some point, his pants finally slid down his legs.

  His hand reached around to her bra latch. He pinched it and slid his fingers apart, unable to unhook it until the third try. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to look at her fully naked body. Not yet. Instead, he closed his eyes and set his nose in her hair, breathing deep as he slid the bra off her arms.

  She set her hands on his shoulders and kissed his bare chest. His fingers traced the mark her bra had left on her body, gliding one hand over the lace indent as he explored her. Soft skin dipped beneath his hand, filling it. A pang of nerves fluttered in his gut. Did she like it when he did this? Should he shift his hand? Maybe he shouldn’t hold her like that.

  His boxers restrained him. He yanked them off and set his knees between her legs. With one arm on either side of her head, he opened his eyes to see the most stunning purple irises he’d ever experienced.

  “Ready, handsome?” she asked.

  “You sure you still want this, beautiful?”

  She grinned. In answer, she grabbed his naked hips and pulled them toward hers. Heat pooled in his groin. Instinct and desire urged him forward. He happily obliged.

  Inch by inch, he pushed his way inside her. She moaned and arched her back, dragging her nails along his sides. Small bubbles of pain blossomed on his back as her fingers dug in, but he grinned with pleasure and pushed deeper.

  Once in, he paused to savor the victory. The only girl he’d ever wanted lay beneath him, gave herself to him fully. A flurry of desire crashed with the nerves in his stomach. He leaned into her hair and smiled as he cradled her face. He’d never felt this connected to anyone before. And for it to be her, of all people—his heart raced with joy and disbelief. He would cherish her, please her, and give her everything she ever wanted.

  She wrapped her legs around his torso and ran her hands up his back, eyes closed. “I’ve wanted you to do this for ages.”

  His voice failed him. All his attention, all his focus and control centered on keeping his human form and savoring every sensation. He could do only those two things.

  A muscle popped in his arm from the strain of keeping his olive-skinned form, but waves of pleasure rippled through his groin and down his legs. It seemed the joy would silence his inner demon for a while longer.

  He rocked against her. Her breath crashed against his chest. He leaned into her, setting his forehead against hers as he curved his body into hers again and again.

  But in the intensity of her legs twisting beneath his, he let his mind wander from its primary duty of keeping his natural form in check. His control slipped.

  A shiver raced down his spine. He froze. Another dagger of dread clung to his lower back like ice, rooting him in place. He remained inside her, but grimaced as he fought to maintain his control. A pocket of steam erupted along his shoulders, shooting into the air as he trod the thin line between his adopted and natural forms.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, breathless.

  Her voice chipped at the darkness. He shuddered, his restraint returning as swiftly as he lost it.

  He managed to nod. He couldn’t speak, or he would shift.

  Her thin hands held his face. He opened his eyes to see hers inches away. They drew him in, calming his nerves. The icy dread dissolved, slowly leaking into the fiery warmth of her body.

  He kissed her, pressing her back against the cave floor. He grabbed her waist and curved into her, hard as ever with every thrust. She moaned again and smiled, face beaming. She pushed against his chest, nails dragging over his pecs as he ravaged her.

  The waterfall kept them company, disguising their moans with pummeling water. Sunlight blurred across her skin. With each of her happy gasps, he cared less and less how long they spent in the cave. He ached to please her, to hear her scream with pleasure even though he never wanted it to end.

  She dug her fingertips into his hips and tightened her thighs, back arcing. Her lips parted, eyes closed, and she moaned. His groin throbbed, begging to release even as he realized he could no longer contain himself. He leaned on his elbow, his other hand on her waist, and sighed as a wave of pleasure crashed through his torso.

  He lay on top of her, suddenly aware of a breeze as it cooled the sweat on his back. A chill raced through him as he regained his composure.

  She panted underneath him, taking heavy breaths as she fought to speak. “You made me come your first time? How is that possible?”

  He shrugged and leaned his head against her breasts, grinning in triumph. He snuggled against her, weaving his arms around her body as he held her close. Whatever chaos awaited them beyond the cave could wait a while longer. For tonight, he would completely enjoy Kara and the peace she brought him.

  He’d never known love before her. And now, he would never have to live his life without it.

  About S. M. Boyce

  S. M. Boyce is a lifelong writer with a knack for finding adventure and magic.

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  UNREQUITED DEATH

  By Tamara Rose Blodgett

  From The Death Series, book six

  Caleb Hart

  The Js were cool. John apologized for punching Jonesy and of course, Jonesy thought it was cool that John would. So that ended that. With guys, you could duke it out and still be friends later.

  I think with girls the knife was still twisting at the twenty-five year class reunion.

  John and Tiff just sort of fell together after that. It was a slow-burn romance. Like an ember that glowed, the wind had picked up and it burnt brighter, hotter as the days toward our graduation wore on.

  Terran the Tender, that’s what Jonesy and I called John behind his back. Not like a dis, more like a surprise. He’d taken on Tiff single-handedly and become her champion.

  That kitten had teeth.

  And claws.

  Now Tiff smiled. She chewed gum. Not with the vigor of before but she wasn’t going to be the same.

  About two weeks later I came up to her and she didn’t flinch. I told her about my Mom’s self-defense classes and I didn’t get the smart ass retort I was expecting.

  “Okay, thanks… Caleb,” she said with just the edge of shyness to her words and John smiled at me.

  John cupped her chin, looking deeply into her eyes. “I’ll take you.”

  “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

  Mission accomplished, I thought, walking off to meet my girl at the end of the hall. Her eyes met mine and I saw the pride.

  A guy couldn’t hide a thing from an Empath girlfriend.

  That was okay, I thought, it had its upside.

  Boy, did it.

  Tiff & John, graduation night

  “Breathe, Tiff,” John said, one hand palming the wheel, the other on her knee, his finger flirting with the hem of her skirt.

  Tiff did, slowly and deeply, the Carson Experience at John’s parent’s reception was still with her like an aftertaste. Tiff looked at John. “I didn’t think I could pull it off.”

  John nodded, not much for talking but knowing that something was expected as a response. Tiff made him feel klutzy in his responses. The whole attack by Carson against Tiff made it doubly worse. He wasn’t reactive like Jonesy, but his normal control fled him when it came to Tiffany.

  He didn’t hold the short leash of death like Caleb.

  John knew he was crack-the-whip smart, he was also a Null. But none of that shit mattered for Tiff. It was a huge responsibility.

  It’s what he wanted.

  He carefully formulated his response.

  “Say something, Terran,” Tiff said.

  John smiled. She still called him by his last name when she was irritated with him. Tiff was so bossy.

  John kinda liked it. They were such a contrast, but somehow fit so well.

  “You did.” He flicked his eyes to hers then back at the black ribbon of road ahead of them. He turned the corners that wound closer to the Weller house.

  “What?” Tiff asked, studying his expression.

  John clenched his hands. “I’ve never wanted to kill someone so badly in my life,” he admitted without rancor or guilt.

  Tiff snorted. “Yeah, well, after I did my Brain Counting that Nightingale taught me to do… I was pissed enough I wanted to pull his pathetic pecker out and run it up and down his zipper like an accordion.”

  John’s eyebrows lifted.

  Tiff contemplated then, “About five or six hundred times.”

  John guffawed. “Really?” he asked slowly.

  “Really,” Tiff responded definitively. “Of course, I’d have to touch it.” She shuddered.

  “You’d have to find it,” John added, playing the game, making it light.

  Tiff grinned at him, her happiness was palpable and he grabbed it midair, like a species threatened with extinction, greedy for the rarity of her pleasure.

  The moment passed and John pulled up in front of the Weller house.

  “You don’t have to walk me to the door every time, John,” Tiff said, her small hand on the door handle.

  “I know,” he said quietly, pulsing off the engine.

  Tiff watched the sun slant through the window and cut through his hair, making it look ablaze.

  She had a disturbing premonition.

  John saw her face and frowned. “What?”

  Tiff stared at him a beat longer then shook it off. “Nothing,” she said, feeling kinda lame.

  John and Tiff walked to the front door and she opened it. Inside there were toys strewn everywhere. John saw Legos all over and instantly grimaced at the feet mutilator those were.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow for class.”

  Tiff nodded. It still made her feel uptight to go to the self-defense classes. But she was three months in and her instructor claimed she was a natural.

  She hated the ultimate precept: that girls should aim for getting away. Not fighting. The focus of the class was about disarming and gaining time to get help.

  Tiff was more than a runner.

  She was a fighter.

  It was a deep-seated need to defend her own person. That Carson had beaten and sexually assaulted her lay like a raw and open wound on the very fabric of who Tiff was.

  She didn’t say those things to John when he referenced chaperoning her tomorrow.

  Tiff’s eyes did. It caused worry to bloom instantly inside John, who had more intuition than he gave himself credit for.

  He knew that she wanted a go at Carson.

  John was afraid for himself.

  They’d better dump him in jail and throw away the pulsekey if that fucker touched Tiff.

  Because John knew he’d kill him if he touched her.

  Slowly, if time allowed.

  They didn’t speak their thoughts to each other in that still moment of time outside the chaos of her house.

  Instead, John bent and put his lips on Tiff’s, palming both sides of her small face as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He ended the kiss buried in that fragrant soft spot that all girls held between their neck and shoulder, tickling her.

  Tiff pulled away with a small smile and put her hand on the side of his face, feeling a light golden red stubble there.

  “I love ya, John Terran,” she said with a husky catch.

  He blinked slowly, tears that burned his eyes staying put by the barest margin.

  John managed to nod as he turned away, swiping at his eyes.

  Tiffany Weller so had him.

  He’d told her a hundred times he loved her.

  Tiff had told him once.

  It clicked her position into his heart with a clanging finality that echoed long after he left her stoop.

  *

  He quickly trotted down her steps, walking toward his car.

  “Terran,” Tiff calle
d after him softly.

  He turned, the light catching him in the eye as the red ball of the sunset sunk like an ember in the inferno of the horizon.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, standing mid-way between her front door and his car, only the sidewalk lay between them.

  “Pulse me.”

  John thought he saw a twinkle in her eye and was sure she caught sight of his bemused expression.

  “Tonight,” she elaborated and his confusion deepened.

  Tiff pressed a fingertip to her lips, and John became instantly aware that with a house full of brothers, there were ears everywhere.

  He nodded and walked away.

  John had a feeling about what might be up. He squelched the hope before it had a chance to sprout. It wouldn’t be a flower, but a weed.

  There’s no way that Tiff could be ready.

  But the image of her face, like the cat that swallowed the canary, followed him all the way home.

  Tiff

  I milled around my room, tripping over my brother’s toys and shit. “Ouch!” I said, grabbing a gouged toe. God, it drew blood, I thought, looking down at my big toe.

  I sighed.

  I had kicked off my sky-high pumps the instant John was out of sight and now I was paying with the toys-as-weapons fun. I scoop up Legos, superhero figurines and the occasional marble. Vintage. They didn’t make glass ones anymore but they’re hell on the arch of my feet.

  I lowered myself to the narrow bed I use, stuffed against the wall of my closet-sized bedroom. With five brothers, I was lucky as the only girl to have my own room. My parents were probably thrilled as shit that I’d be out of here come college time. The Wellers grew up and got out. Yup.

  I glanced at my dark pulse. I took several deep breaths. Thoughts of John crowding inside my skull.

  Lots of firsts tonight. First time all duded up.

  Of course, it was graduation. I could at least pretend to give a shit. I snorted to myself.

  My eyes roamed to my pulse again.

  First time standing up to Dickless since The Incident.

  I did it. I fucking did it. I was so scared but I faced him, antagonized him in such a way as to call him out in front of witnesses.

  I feel safer now.

  So why is my stomach climbing up my throat?

  I know. I’ll admit it to myself.