An Outlaw for the Psychic Soul by @SSaraDaniel #freeread #prequel #shortstory

An Outlaw for the Psychic Soul
Prequel Short Story to Solace for the Psychic Soul
(Part of the Mid-Winter Healing Anthology)
By Sara Daniel
© 2017
Three years ago
The bloodline seer’s laser drilled a point of heat between Monica’s shoulder blades. Whoever the hell the seer was, he or she was going to blow Monica’s unassuming, girl-next-door cover.
Ditching her baseball cap and pulling on a jacket, she continued along the crowded sidewalk. She could lose eighty percent of her tails with those two simple changes. Most people fixated on the hat or clothing, not the actual person.
The gait and boots from her peripheral vision suggested her pursuer was male, although she’d yet to glimpse his face. He continued to trail her, proving he wasn’t a novice.  Just her luck that she’d taken her psychic suit in for cleaning, leaving her without her most-powerful weapon.
Whether he’d randomly picked her from the crowd or had intentionally targeted her, his seer power would have told him she was an unmated orgasmic psychic. No doubt he thought he’d hit the bounty hunting jackpot. Veering off the crowded sidewalk down an alley, she let him salivate over how easily he’d take her down.
The guy continued past her. If he was as good as her first impression led her to believe, he’d turn down the next alley then thread between the tight city buildings, intercepting and gagging her in less than thirty seconds.
Twenty-four seconds later, he charged at her, his palm going straight for her mouth. Monica channeled his forward momentum and flipped him over her shoulder. Laying him flat on his back on the broken pavement, she thrust her knee in his groin before the wind reentered his lungs.
He grunted.
She gouged again. From here on out, she called the shots and had no qualms about unmanning him permanently.
“Fu—” His curse faded to a moan.
Satisfied he was solely focused on the searing pain between his legs, she eased up. He rolled into a fetal position, clutching himself. She grabbed his shoulder and dragged him to the light pole at the side of the alley. Pulling her handcuffs from her vest, she snapped them around his left wrist. She yanked his right hand from his groin and pulled it behind the light pole, cuffing it with the left, so he sat with his back to the pole.
From behind, she patted him down, removing a stun gun and a knife from his person. After she messaged the police, she rounded the pole to face him head-on.
“You troublemaking asshole! You just caused me a shit ton of paperwork.” She glared at him. His face was scruffy with a two or three day beard. His striking bright blue eyes were still dilated with pain and shock from the twin hits to the pavement and the groin.
Something deep inside her clicked.
Oh no. Fuck, no. She stumbled. Not her soulmate. She was government spy, damn it. One of the good guys. She took down guys like him for a living. What she did not do was mate with them.
“I’d hate to cause you any trouble, Sweetheart. Why don’t you just unlock these cuffs and send me on my way? I won’t bother you again, and you won’t have to waste your time with unnecessary paperwork.”
“Bothering me in the first place was your mistake.” The way he truly bothered her had nothing to do with the fact that he’d tried to abduct her.
“I just tripped over my own feet, and you happened to be right there when I tried to catch myself. I apologize if you thought I was trying something inappropriate.”
“Save it for your lawyer and the judge, creep.” How dare her soul pick a criminal.
“The name’s Dex, sweetheart. Dex Seer. And I’m free on Friday if you want to go out.”
She’d dated a lot of sleazy guys in the ongoing effort to track down enemy information and make the world a safer place. But soulmate or not, she wouldn’t go out with this one. “You’re going to be in jail on Friday night.”
“Saturday then.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled out her phone and entered his name into the government database.
“Holy shit.” She scrolled through the list of stuff he was wanted for—kidnapping, aiding and abetting the enemy, breaking and entering. If she hadn’t stopped him, he would handed her over to the government’s enemies for a price that would have matched her yearly salary. “You might want to consider using a fake name with your pickup lines. Dex Seer is wanted for a crap ton of stuff. If you’re angling to walk free from our scuffle by using a ‘he said-she said’ defense, you better start worrying about all the other charges the government can make stick.”
A flash of worry crossed his face. Then he aimed an ‘aw-shucks’ smile at her. “If you’re not ready to trust me, we can arrange a neutral meeting ground for our date on Saturday sweetheart.”
“The name’s Smic. Monica Smic. I’m your worst nightmare, not your sweetheart.”

###
“Saturday night. Neutral meeting place. I knew you couldn’t say no to me, Smic.” Despite wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, Dex grinned as he sauntered into the stark, gray booth.
Monica scowled at him through the glass. Although his seer scan would have told him she was an unmated orgasmic psychic, he didn’t know her soul had picked him as its mate. And as she didn’t intend to complete their mating, he’d never know that part. But her soul would forever crave his closeness. “Why are you involved in so much shitty, shady stuff?”
“Who says I am?”
“I’m not here to get a confession out of you or cut you a deal.” She just wanted to understand how her soul could have picked him. The guy sold his seer services to good guys and bad guys alike and offered his bounty hunting services to known criminals. But he lived with his mother and sister in a low-crime, working-class neighborhood and fixed his elderly neighbors’ leaky pipes and broken locks at no charge. Any assurance that his good side overrode his criminal background would ease her internal tug-of-war.
“Ah, so you came for a conjugal visit.” He smirked. “How do we get on the same side of this glass wall?”
Clearly, any redeeming qualities didn’t extend to his smart-ass personality. Regardless of his occasional brush with decency, he was still a criminal, and she’d dedicated her life to ridding the world of crime.
“Coming here was a mistake.” Standing, she signaled to the jail guard.
“Wait.” Dex’s smug expression disappeared, replaced by panic. “I need your help to get out of here. My sister depends on me to get the medicine she needs.”
“Maybe you should have asked for my help in the alley, instead of attacking me.”
“Look, it wasn’t anything personal against you. Her medicine’s expensive.” He shrugged away the guard’s hand.
“The government has programs for people who can’t afford their medications. Your sister should look into them.” She leaned toward the speaker imbedded in the glass separating them. “Abducting people is not an acceptable answer to any problem.” She waved at the guard to take him away.
Dex glared at her. “Those programs don’t do shit when the medication is no longer produced or available for sale.”
The guard tugged him toward the door.
“My sister will go blind without this medicine,” Dex yelled, still holding her gaze.
A second guard joined the first, and they dragged him through the doorway.
“Her name is Lucy. She’s only thirteen years old. If she goes blind, it will be on your conscience, Smic. If you won’t help me, then help Lucy. Please.” He kept yelling, his voice fading down the corridor.
Monica marched out of the jail. She wouldn’t help the asshole who’d tried to kidnap her and sell her to her government’s enemies. Dex was a manipulator, a player, and a criminal.
She slumped against the wall outside the building. His sister was an innocent child, the type of person she’d dedicate her life to protecting.
If Lucy really would go blind without the medicine, then Monica would make sure she got it. But she had no intention of letting Dex know she’d lifted a finger to help him.

 

Now read the rest of the story. Find out what happens when Dex and Monica are reunited three years later in Solace for the Psychic Soul, part of the Wiccan Haus MID-WINTER HEALING anthology.

Dex Seer has spent his life on the wrong side of the law, working for anyone who will pay him enough to afford the medicine his sister needs to keep from going blind. But the medicine no longer exists. In desperation, he books a stay at the Wiccan Haus to heal his sister. With a sexy government spy following him through the portal, he stands to lose everything he’s spent his life protecting.

After too many years reading the evil, sadistic thoughts of her government’s enemies, Monica Smic is exhausted and cynical. Worse, her soul discovered its mate in a lawless bounty hunter, and staying away from him is destroying her from the inside out. When she passes out on the job, her boss forces her to take a week off at the Wiccan Haus to get her act together.

Despite their mutual distrust, the more time Dex and Monica spend in each other’s company, the more their battered souls find solace in the other’s. But Dex’s first loyalty is to his sister, and Monica’s is to her government. On the Winter Solstice, they will either heal each other or lose everything in winter’s fiercest storm.

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Coming Soon — A Prime Chronicles Short Story

MM_TPC_PrimeClaiming_300x400Because I have wonderful Prime Chronicles fans who convinced me that I needed to continue to write in this scifi romance world, I have written my first Prime Chronicles short story, Prime Claiming.

This is the story of Cheri Stafford, Bria’s research assistant, and Lt. Zaek Magga, a computer engineer who works with Iolyn. For those of you who have read Prime Imperative, you will know what I am talking about since this long scene takes place in between Chapters 14 and 15, on the Galanti as it is en route to Cejuru Prime.

For those of you new to the series, the story has enough back story to bring y’all up to speed.

This story depicts their final mating dance and takes place three days after Cheri ran back to the lab to checkout the Prime warrior who was thought to be mating with her.  He is, of course, but he doesn’t move forward fast enough for Cheri who has waited her entire life to find the “one.”

What happens when Cheri forces the issue?  A Prime claiming.

The e-book is in final editing stages and then will go to the formatter. I am self-publishing this story for Kindle, Nook, and  iBooks (after they return from Christmas hiatus).  The price will be $2.99 for  a 13,000+ word story.  I hope to upload after Christmas, but I am relying on the kindness of my editor and my formatter to make time for me during a busy holiday season and for Amazon and B&N to turn it around quickly.  I will make an announcement on my FB pages, Twitter, and my web site once any of the links are live.

Blurb (unedited, working version):

Like all Prime males, Lieutenant Zaek Magga has one wish in life—to find his mate. He never expected her to be Terran.

Research assistant Cheri Stafford is excited about traveling to Cejuru Prime as part of the team that will work on the Prime race’s population growth issues. She wasn’t looking for a man.

When Zaek realizes he’s bonding with Cheri, he’s excited, but cautious. His little Terran, while she might understand the biological aspects of the bonding process between a Prime male and a non-Prime female, has no clue about the reality. So, he decides to take it slow.

After observing the other Prime bond couples and how aggressively sexual the mating process is, Cheri is worried about why Zaek is holding her at arm’s length. They’re mating, and he hasn’t even kissed her properly.

When Cheri presses Zaek on the issue—the result is a hot Prime claiming.

Here’s a short Excerpt (not a final edit!):

Galactic Alliance Star Ship Galanti en route to Cejuru Prime
Crew Dining Room

“You want more?”

The husky baritone had her quivering with sexual awareness. Her already swollen and wet pussy got wetter and achier. Her clit throbbed in time with her escalated heart rate.

The man was effin’ lethal.

With a less than steady hand, Cheri Stafford scraped up the last crumbs of the super-rich chocolate cake with double-fudge frosting. Chocolate, one of her addictions, was a less than adequate substitute for what her body desperately craved—her newest addiction, Lieutenant Zaek Magga, a computer engineer and ruggedly handsome Prime warrior.

“Cheri—” Zaek eyed her with amused indulgence from his seat—way on the other side of the table. And hadn’t his choosing to sit on the other side of the table shaken her confidence in his desire for her?

Her brand-spanking-new, pheromone-enhanced empathic sense indicated his calm and humoring expression was all an act. Underneath the facade, he was a hot-and-bothered, nearly-crazed-with-lust Prime male in an active gemat-gemate mating cycle with her. The cycle had been initiated with a neurochemical attraction and then an empathic bonding; it would end with a mind-body-spirit connection after they had sex for the first time. The only difference between a Prime-on-Prime mating and a Prime-on-non-Prime mating was when the bond mark appeared—a Prime-on-Prime couple marked at the beginning of the cycle; the Prime-on-non-Prime, after the sexual culmination.

Since Cheri was Terran, their mating cycle had to be confirmed by medical testing―and it had been, on the same day Iolyn Caradoc told her Zaek was attracted to her. Prior to that pivotal moment, a mere three days ago, she’d been an ordinary research assistant for the Galactic Alliance Astrobiological Research Lab and Zaek, just another hunky Prime soldier helping set up her friend and boss Bria Martin-Caradoc’s research lab on the Galanti. Now, they were part of a new era of Prime integration with other hominids in the galaxy.

What had amazed her and everyone else was the speed of their bonding—less than three days—especially considering Cheri only had a small amount of Prime DNA.

The answer to how much Prime DNA a non-Prime female had to have to incite a gemat-gemate bond?—Not much.

Cheri still couldn’t believe this was happening, especially since Zaek hadn’t acted as sexually aggressive as the other Prime males who’d found mates among the Galanti crew. In fact, he hadn’t made any moves on her at all―she didn’t count the brief, chaste goodnight kisses at her quarters’ door.

Staring at his starkly handsome face, she licked the last of her dessert off her lips and imagined licking him all over his body. “Yummy.”

Her not-quite-yet gemat emitted a low, rumbling, buzz-saw purr which told her he’d sensed her desire and was close to losing control.

Good. Most of her control had left the ship three days ago—and what was left had eroded more with each day he hadn’t claimed her. What the fuck is his problem?

Adora—” Zaek’s voice held a hint of steel.

While he might call her his adored one, she’d learned very quickly the man didn’t like to be ignored, which was why she was pushing him. Something had to give in this ridiculous sexual stand-off, and she was just the gal to light the match to ignite the inferno inside him.

“Yes?” She stopped scraping the plate and wondered if it would be bad form to lick the last remnants of frosting off the shiny surface. She licked her lips again since it seemed to get a rise out of him.

Zaek stiffened and emitted a growl that scraped over her already raw and bleeding nerves.

Her lips twisted with satisfaction. That growl was filled with temper and frustration. Time to add even more fuel to the smoldering embers of his tightly reined lust.

“Yes, I want more,” she muttered in a low tone that carried to him and no further. After all, they were sitting in the crowded crew’s dining area. Too many nosy gazes had already turned their way; there was no need to give the busy-bodies anything else to gossip about. “But not fricking dessert.”

********

Will there be more Prime Chronicles books in the future?  Yes.  I have a novella planned for Damon (Bria Martin-Caradoc’s adopted brother) and Susa (the former sex surrogate for the Caradoc family).

Their novella will kick-off what I plan to be a trilogy centered on other Prime/non-Prime matings and the tracking down of the Prime medical researcher who was the architect of the toxin that harmed the reproductive abilities of Prime women. While we found out who had instigated such a fiendish plot on his home planet (no spoilers here, you have to read the first three books to find out who and why) at the end of Prime Imperative, the lead researcher who aided the main Prime traitor and the doctors who aided and abetted the process were yet to be found and prosecuted.

After that trilogy is complete, we’ll see.  I also will be alternating writing Prime books with my SSI books since I have to keep all my fans happy. 🙂 Right now, I am busy at work on Storm Warning (bk 4), Tweeter Walsh’s story, in my SSI series. Tweeter’s book will be a long one, maybe Cold Day in Hell long.

 

 

You’re Invited!

It’s almost wedding time at the ranch, and you are all invited! White Collar Wedding is now available for preorder for only $0.99!

Wedding Invitation

Exclusively for Kindle and Kindle Unlimited, White Collar Wedding is a 7,700 word bonus short story from the Shadow Maverick Ranch series. You asked for it – here it is! 🙂

 

ParkerKincade_WhiteCollarWedding_HR

 

You’ve been cordially invited to the wedding of Gavin Mathis and Lauren Delgado.

What’s a cowboy to do when his bride-to-be cancels the honeymoon?

He takes matters into his own hands…

 

 

“A delightfully sexy addition to the Shadow Maverick Ranch series. Can’t wait to see what’s up next for Parker Kincade’s hunky cowboys.” — Monette Michaels, author of the Security Specialists International and Prime Chronicles series

RSVP (preorder) NOW, exclusively at AMAZON. ONLY $0.99!

Spread the word … and I’ll see you at the wedding!

Lucky’s: Devlin by Parker Kincade

DEVLIN

by Parker Kincade

“Face it, cousin. You lost.”

Devlin glanced up from his cards. “Hand’s not over yet.” He tossed a few gold coins, adding to the large pile in the center of the table. “Call.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Rory said.

Beside him, Flanagan snickered. “He’s right, Dev. Admit defeat. I call.” He added his coins to the middle.

“They have a point,” Brogan agreed. “Call.” More gold.

Not to be outdone, Brogan’s twin, Bronaugh, chimed in as he tossed his cards down. “I’m out. It’s over, Devlin. Time’s up.”

“Shut up. All of you.” Devlin glared around the table at his cousins, allowing his irritation to show. “She’s an emotionless shrew. Not even Aonghus himself could seduce that woman.”

“As if the Irish love god would care about one tiny fae,” Rory said.

“Don’t think I didn’t consider calling on him, but I’ve never had a taste for cheating. Unlike some people.” Devlin looked pointedly at the twins.

“We don’t cheat,” Bronaugh argued.

“Manipulation isn’t cheating,” Brogan joked. “It’s creative.”

Devlin shook his head. Someday, those two were going to get into big trouble. He hoped he was around to see it.

For the last six months, he’d been consumed with this damned bet—seduce the fae known as Keira or do his cousins bidding for a month. Did they forget Devlin had been charmed with an allure women couldn’t resist? It was like a fucking pheromone that oozed from his skin. He could tone it down, but turning it off was impossible until he took a mate. And if he decided to turn it on thick … well … women didn’t stand a chance. There was no way he could lose.

And then he’d met Keira. Once.

He’d found her deep in the Amazonian rain forest, bathing in a hidden pool. Her hair floated on the water as she’d moved and swayed in a slow seductive dance that had made him hard. He’d settled on the edge of the pool, mesmerized by the tune she hummed. She was tall, her body curved in all the right places. The tattoos that banded her biceps shimmered, familial tattoos much like his own. Her muscles were well defined, indicating strength. He wouldn’t have to worry about hurting her if he took her rough. Knew instinctively she’d like it that way.

He’d held his breath, waiting for her to turn … and when she did his whole body felt the movement.

She was breathtaking. With eyes the color of fire and her breasts … sweet fuck, her breasts. Pert and round, her nipples barely visible through the hair that tumbled over them. But, not so hidden he didn’t see them pearl when she’d noticed him.

Keira had approached him slowly, as if she’d been as entranced as he was. He’d sat, motionless, his purpose momentarily forgotten as she caressed a finger over his lips.

They’d both jerked with the contact, and her curse burned his ears.

And then she’d run. And kept on running until he’d exhausted himself with the chase. All over the damn planet he’d followed. Each time he caught up with her ended the same way. She’d calmly demand he leave her alone and then vanish again, leaving him perplexed and pissed off. He chased her until, finally, his time had run out and he came home.

He’d failed, but damn, admitting defeat meant he’d be at the mercy of his cousins, a position he didn’t relish. He hadn’t lost a bet to them since they were kids, and, gods be damned, if they sent him to the fire pits to collect another Caorthannach egg, he’d kick all their asses. The shit that thing spit had melted the hair right off his legs. Along with some skin.

He tossed his cards, face up, on the table. “I may have lost the bet, but I’m about to take your money. Ace high flush, fuckers. Beat that.”

Groans filled the room, and Devlin took great satisfaction in raking the gold to his side of the table.

Rory sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “We’ve discussed it and have come up with a fitting task for you.”

“Let’s hear it.” Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. He could only hope.

“You’re going on a trip.” Flanagan sounded way too happy for Devlin’s liking.

“And just where am I going?” His voice was cautious, wary.

“Where better for a leprechaun to go than Lucky’s?” Rory howled with laughter. “Get ready to shake your shillelagh, Dev. For the next month, you’re one of Lucky’s Charms. It’s all arranged.”

Devlin relaxed and gave them a wicked grin. Oh, he knew the place. “What? That’s the best you could come up with? You want me to strip for a month? Not much of a   challenge—” He broke off, narrowing his eyes at them. “Wait. Why? What’s the catch?” There was always a catch.

Rory laughed. “The rules were set. You lost. No questions asked.”

Devlin sighed, unable to believe his luck. “Well, cousins … it looks like I’m headed to New York.”

*

New York City

Four weeks later

Midnight.

As the outside world slept, in here, they were just getting started. Music pumped in time with the racing heartbeats, the smell of sweat and liquor heavy in the air. Time had no meaning in this place. The only things that mattered were that the booze kept flowing and the men kept shaking their dicks at the ever-growing crowd. Two things guaranteed at Lucky’s Bar and Strip Club.

His last dance complete, Devlin changed into leather pants, leaving his chest bare. Dancing in a G-string on stage was one thing, parading around the bar in one was another. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He might be done shaking his ass on stage, but his bet demanded he remain until closing. That meant he was still on the clock and available to any horny female who wanted some private time with him.

The last few weeks had been unremarkable. His cousins’ ulterior motive had yet to present itself. Hell, he’d had fun.

Now, with two hours left on his bet, he was on edge. Waiting for the shoe to drop.

He propped himself up at the end of the bar. “Hey Colm, can I get a whiskey?”

“Sure thing, Dev.” Colm poured a generous amount of the amber liquid in a tumbler and slid the glass in front of him. He’d barely taken the first sip when the smell of cheap cologne filled his nose. There was only one man around that smelled like second-rate Old Spice. Padraig “Lucky” O’Reilly was a piss poor excuse for an Irishman if Devlin had ever seen one. He had a hard time believing the overweight, balding man standing beside him owned this place. It made him want to gag to think Lucky had actually been a stripper, back in the day. By the way he looked now, that had to have been a hundred years ago. Devlin was grateful he hadn’t been around for that.

“Good crowd, tonight, eh?” Lucky’s grin more a leer as he shoved a fat, round cigar between his lips.

Devlin shrugged, uninterested in the portly little man that actually believed he’d employed him. If Lucky knew the truth, he’d swallow his shamrocks.

“You should stay on here. The ladies like you.”

Devlin snorted with disgust as Lucky waggled his overgrown eyebrows. “I’m done when we close tonight. It’s time for me to go home.”

“I’d make it worth your while.”

“I doubt that.”

Fucking humans. Blissfully unaware of their own ignorance.

This asshole was offering him money. As if he didn’t have piles of gold stacked in the vault underneath his home, on his private island in the Muir Éireann. As the only son to King Bres, ruler of the leprechauns, Devlin’s only financial worry was how he’d make room for more.

He snorted at the ridiculous image humans had of his kind. At six-foot four, his dark hair and gray eyes were a far cry from the tiny golden-haired men of human lore. And you wouldn’t catch him dead in a green suit and goofy-looking hat. His skin wasn’t fair or freckled, but tanned and tattooed. The intricate designs that banded his wrists delineated his heritage, an indication of his royal blood and warrior spirit.

While leprechauns were indeed male, that’s where the truths ended. Rainbows didn’t house pots of gold in their roots, but the rain that caused them gave Devlin strength as the ground soaked up its healing tonic. He was nature’s champion, creating balance in a world destined to destroy itself.

He could drink as much alcohol as he wanted without getting drunk. He could move with the speed of lightning when necessary, but he’d never run from a fight. He was possessive and would do anything for those he loved.

And apparently, he wasn’t a half bad stripper, either.

At least the guys here were cool. His kind thrived on camaraderie, and in truth, he missed his poker nights with his asshole cousins. As much as he looked forward to taking more of their gold when he got home, he’d enjoyed the playful banter of the strip club. He wasn’t much for human males, but for these guys, he’d make an exception.

“Give me another month. Come on, what do you say?” A beefy palm reached out, and Devlin ignored it, signaling to Colm for a refill.

“No.”

Lucky frowned and dropped his hand just as a strange sensation surged across Devlin’s tattooed wrists.

What the fuck?

His magic might not be as strong in the human realm, but it was still powerful enough to wipe this strip joint off the map … along with every city within a thousand mile radius.

Devlin’s gaze scanned the crowd, searching for what had triggered the sudden surge to his power. Lights flashed and the music blared to life once again as the next guy prepared to take the stage. Devlin darted his eyes away. The only dick he wanted to see tonight was his own. Preferably as it sank into the heat of a certain … fuck.

Dammit, he enjoyed women. All women. Their luscious curves, soft and warm. He loved the sweet sounds of release that escaped from their pouty lips as he rode them, drove them over the edge while he found his own release. Human, shifter, fae … hell, he’d even done a vampire or two. But, he hadn’t done any riding of late, his mind too preoccupied with the only woman to ever deny him. Preoccupied, hell. He was fucking obsessed.

Keira.

Even her name had the power to make him rock hard. Her amber eyes blazed in his memory and fueled his arousal each night as he jacked himself off. He was certain her allure was grounded in the fact she’d rejected him. A new and unpleasant experience. One he didn’t care to have again.

Devlin drained his glass. She posed a challenge. That was all. Nothing more.

At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

Another surge to his power pulled his gaze to the entrance. His lungs seized as liquor spewed from his lips. Standing in the doorway, looking entirely too edible in her skintight jeans, was the woman who’d haunted his dreams.

What the hell was she doing here? Was she looking for him?

The way she glanced around the bar, he doubted it. She appeared to be whispering to the guy manning the door, whose name Devlin couldn’t remember. The guy waved her through, and she handed over a wad of cash before he directed her toward the stairs on the left. The guy turned and signaled Liam, Lucky’s newest charm, to come over.

Damn, with that amount of cash, she’d either be in a private room the rest of the night, or Liam was about to receive a very large tip.

Keira’s ass wiggled as she shifted from one foot to the other, hesitating briefly at the bottom of the stairs. Nervous, was she? She should be.

Of course, Devlin had no intention of letting Liam touch her. Aside from the fact that it was Liam’s first night and he looked a little nervous, there was no way another man would get his hands on Keira. Not tonight anyway. Tonight, she was all his. He’d have her … oh yes, he’d have her, all right.

And then he’d be able to get her out of his head once and for all.

Devlin abandoned his drink and went to head off Liam. Disguised for his act, Liam was dressed in a cape and domino mask, a getup that would make the women around here crazy. They loved a man of mystery. He wondered if that’s why Keira had asked for him.

The thought sent a surge of unexpected jealousy through his veins, which he promptly shut down. He had nothing to be jealous about, for gods’ sake.

Devlin stopped Liam at the door with a grin. “Liam, buddy, I have a proposition for you.”

Liam’s eyes went wide behind the mask he wore, and Devlin laughed.

“Nothing like that, man. Relax. I want this private dance. You can keep the money, but turn around and walk away.”

Devlin felt Liam’s relief. “Thanks, Dev. I’m a little wound up preparing for my first stage dance. I won’t take the money, though.”

“I don’t need it, trust me. And it’ll be worth every penny if you let me go up. I take full responsibility, I promise.” Not that Keira would complain. But she would scream. He’d make sure about that.

Liam clasped his shoulder and squeezed. “She’s all yours. Good luck.”

Luck. He took the stairs two at a time and rounded the corner at the top. He reached out with his power, sensing the room she was in. He approached the door and whispered a few ancient words to block her from disappearing on him again. He’d make his own luck tonight.

He entered the room. The door closed behind him with a soft snick. He turned the lock, further securing her—them—in.

“Hello, Keira.”

She spun around to face him, her surprised expression quickly turned to panic. “What are you doing here?”

Her voice was like sweet honey for his taste buds, smooth as silk, seductive. He closed his eyes for a moment and savored the sound. Blood filled his cock, causing it to bulge against his leather pants. “Hmm. Does it matter? I’m more interested in what you are doing here.” He circled around her, surrounding her with his scent.

Her nostrils flared, and she waved her hand around the room. “You son of a bitch. Did you gate this room?”

“I did.” It was a spell only he could break. “We have things to discuss. Like what you’re doing here.”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I must say, I’m surprised. I thought you weren’t interested in this kind of thing.”

“Who do you think you are? You don’t even know me. You think I’m not interested in men … in sex? Just because I didn’t—I don’t—want you? Obviously, you were mistaken.”

This woman infuriated him. He glanced at her lacy tank top. Her nipples were hard. His mouth watered at the memory of their shape, their color.

Didn’t want him, his ass. He could smell her arousal, her need. She wanted him all right. And he would prove it.

“Obviously.” Devlin walked her back until she fell onto the couch. “You paid for a lap dance—”

“Not from you.”

“Ah, sweet Keira. But, it’s me you get.” He leaned over her and braced his palms against the back of the couch, caging her in. She smelled so fucking good. A mixture of sweet honeysuckle and rich red wine. He wanted her scent all over his body. In his mouth, on his skin. He wanted to roll in it until no amount of showering or soap would rid him of it. He put his mouth against her ear, felt her tremble. “What’s it going to be, mo pheata?”

“I’m not your pet. In fact, I’m not your anything. Can’t you take a hint?”

He grabbed her hands before she could push him away. He bit back a groan at the contact, her soft skin an assault to his senses. “If you are so unaffected by me, then you won’t mind letting me do my job. You paid for a dance, a dance you will have.”

He’d laid down the gauntlet. She couldn’t refuse him once money had changed hands. All the fae, his race included, were bound by honor, commitment. Once their word had been given—in the form of words, a handshake, or money—it could not be broken. It was the reason he’d spent the last month in New York, stripping for strangers, unable to fuck anything but his own hand—both because of this woman.

She wouldn’t deny him again.

Her chest expanded as he straddled her hips, keeping his weight from pressing her into the couch. “We have a no touching rule.” He clasped her wrists and pulled them over her head. He conjured a set of handcuffs, attached to the floor by a chain behind the couch, and shackled her in one quick movement.

Keira’s back arched as she pulled on the restraints, giving him a fantastic view of her breasts. “You seriously think these are going to hold me?” The cuffs disappeared, and she brought her hands back down to her lap, careful not to touch him. “Not.”

Devlin couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. “So, there will be touching then.” He shrugged. “You won’t hear any complaints from me, baby.”

Her brow furrowed as she realized her error. “Tricky fucking leprechauns,” she mumbled. “Untrustworthy bastards, the lot of you.”

“Now, now. I offered to restrain you. You made the decision to take them off, thereby forfeiting the ‘no touching’ scenario.” He frowned at her expression. “Really, Keira. Am I so horrible?” He trailed a finger down the side of her face, mesmerized as her delicate lashes brushed against her cheeks. “I’m a generous lover. I’d make it good for you.” Even as he said the words, they turned to ash in his mouth. Why did the idea of a night with her suddenly seem like not enough?

Keira pushed him so hard he toppled back, barely catching himself before he fell on his ass.

“Why?”

“Why would I make it good for you?”

“No, why do you keep pursuing me?”

Devlin opened his mouth to answer, only to realize he had no idea what to say. At first, it had been about the bet. His cousins had challenged him, and he’d accepted. Now, all he knew was he wanted to be inside her. To feel her heat surround him and hear her sigh his name. She’d never uttered his name, he’d realized. He’d do anything to hear it pass her lips now.

“Don’t you feel it?” Her soft lilt was tinged with a touch of sadness.

“Feel what?” The inferno that raged through his balls? The need to lose himself in her. Hell, yeah, he felt it.

Keira surged to her feet, squaring off with him so fiercely his cock hardened further. “This.” She slapped her palms flat to his chest and, gods help him, he almost came. Power surged through him, electrifying his veins. His skin hummed with pleasure. He shifted, uncomfortable in his pants. He pressed a palm to his erection, fighting like hell to ward off the brewing orgasm.

Keira kept a hand on him and moved the other between her legs, mirroring his movements. Devlin jerked as the bands around his wrists vibrated, as if preparing to jump from his skin. He threw his head back on a moan.

It can’t be.

But, the proof was right in front of him, inside him. Keira was the light to his dark, the soft to his hard. The fire and passion in her spirit matched his own. She was the one made just for him.

His mate.

Keira was his fucking mate.

Devlin grabbed her wrists and jerked her hands together in front of him. “Is this why you ran?” When she remained silent, he shook her with a gentleness he didn’t feel. “Answer me.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re after? I’ll not be tied to a man who doesn’t want me. Let me go!” She struggled, but was no match for him.

“Gods be damned, Keira. I haven’t been able to think about anyone else. You’re in my thoughts, in my dreams. I chased you because I couldn’t fucking help myself. From the moment you touched me that day at the pool, I was lost to you. I didn’t understand … I didn’t realize…” Devlin searched her face, unable to voice what was going on in his mind. He’d never felt more whole, more complete than right now. Standing in a private dance room of a strip club, he’d finally figured it out.

“I want you, Keira. Whatever you think about me, never doubt that.” He took a deep breath and eased his grip. “If you want to go, I’ll remove the gate. I’ll release you from your obligation to stay. But know this, if you go, I’ll not follow. Your choice will be made.” He felt the weight of his promise crash over him. If she took him up on his offer to leave, he was sure it would kill him. Their race could live without their mates, but they’d never find comfort or happiness in the arms of another. Sexual release, yes. But even those brief moments would be tainted with sadness and loss.

The tension in the air was tangible as they stared each other down. Keira studied him, as if she could read his heart through his expression. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but she shook her head, the movement so slight he almost missed it. “I don’t want to go.”

“Mine,” Devlin growled before slamming his mouth to hers. He wasn’t gentle. He pushed his tongue against her lips and demanded entrance. She opened, offering him her mouth, her tongue, and he took full advantage. She leaned into him as her flavor melted over his tongue. She tasted as she smelled—like tender honeysuckle. He’d never get enough.

His need to get inside her overwhelmed him. He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. This room was not the ideal spot for them to consummate their relationship, but it was all they had. He couldn’t wait, and by the way she panted against him, neither could she.

“I need to see you, Keira.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He gripped the hem of her shirt and peeled it from her body. He growled in approval at her lack of bra and bent to suck a nipple between his lips.

Keira moaned and pushed her fingers through his hair, holding his head in place. He sucked, nibbled, and teased her tight bud, then moved on to the other, giving it the same attention. “Devlin.”

He froze, pulled back to look her in the eyes. “Say it again,” he demanded.

He hissed as her nails scored down his chest, his stomach. She popped the button of his pants, reached inside, and wrapped her fingers around his length. “Devlin.”

Fuck the preliminaries. They had a lifetime to explore each other. And explore they would. He’d know every inch of her skin, every place she loved to be touched, licked. He’d spend hours feasting, devouring her. Later.

He popped the button of her jeans and, as much as it killed him, removed her hand from his pants. She kicked off her shoes and quickly pulled her jeans down her legs. He watched her strip, as he followed suit, and within seconds, they were both naked.

Devlin was on fire, his power surged, creating a current that flowed between them. He’d never felt anything like it.

He fisted his length, his hand stroking of its own accord. “Last chance to change your mind, Keira.”

She went to her knees in front of him and licked the tip of his cock. “Last chance, Devlin,” she said before she wrapped her mouth around him. Her lips stretched, pulled tightly around his wide girth.

“I’ve dreamed of your mouth on me. Fuck, that’s so good.” Her tongue swirled, teased his sensitive flesh. She braced her hands against his thighs and sucked him deep, holding him in her throat until he thought he’d lose his mind. Her hum vibrated through his balls, and he jerked from her. “I’m not coming in your mouth the first time.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “We’ll save that for later.”

Keira looked up at him and blinked, a look of pure innocence on her face as she wiped a finger across her swollen lips. “I knew you’d be delicious.”

The woman was driving him insane. “You thought about how I’d taste?” His words came out on a groan.

“You aren’t the only one who’s dreamed of this, Devlin. I avoided you in life, but in my dreams … every night you’d fuck me.”

He was about to make her dreams a reality.

“Come here.” She squealed as he helped her up and spun her around, pushing her playfully to the couch. She leaned forward, bending over and presenting him her beautifully curved ass. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Devlin swatted an ass cheek with his palm. She gasped and threw him a heated glance over her shoulder.

Interesting.

“You won’t run from me again. Ever.” He brought his palm down on the other cheek and she jerked forward, then moaned and pressed back into his hand. “I think you like that.” He dipped his hand between her legs and found her wet folds. He slid two fingers into her, then a third. Stretching, preparing her. “I think you like that a lot.”

“Devlin. Please. Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He removed his fingers and brought them to his lips. His first taste of her rocked him. Addicted him for life.

She turned and eased back, laying herself across the soft, black velvet of the couch. The perfect backdrop for her fair skin and golden hair.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” He reached down and caressed the lines of her tattoo, knowing soon, it would adorn his arm. By consummating their union, they connected not only their lives, but also the lives of their families. They would retain their own family markings on the right, but their left markings would move, transferring to the other. From this day forward, everyone who saw Keira would know she was taken. She would belong to him as he belonged to her.

He moved his body over hers; his knees pushed her legs as wide as the couch would allow. His cock nudged her entrance; her wet heat filled him with a surge of lust. “Look at me, Keira.”

Her gaze was one of unbridled need. She arched her hips, tried to force him to move.

“You’re mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” she panted.

He drove his hips forward, her slick channel opening around him. She was tight, so tight he was afraid to move lest he end this before they started.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed his hips between her knees. “Slow and easy later. Fuck me, Devlin,” she demanded.

Devlin lost what little control he’d held and pounded into her soft flesh. Sweat covered their bodies, the scent of sex heavy in the air. Keira’s hips thrashed under him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her moans grew louder with each stroke.

He threw a spell over the room, cloaking it from the outside world. “Scream as loud as you want, sweetheart. No one will hear you.” He slowed his pace and leaned back to press his thumb to her clit. “Come for me, Keira. Let me feel your pleasure.”

Her fingers dug into his biceps; the bite of pain raced to his groin. Her scream rang in his ears as she broke apart around him, her pussy clenched tight around his cock. His head fell back as her release flowed through their connection, turned her pleasure into his. The tattoo at his wrist vibrated as his balls drew up tight. The powerful sensation sent him spiraling. He shouted as his orgasm tore through him. He shook, every molecule in his body shifting as he filled her sweet body with his essence.

Her soft sigh drew his attention. Reluctantly, he eased out of her. Stretching out beside her, he pulled her close. “Are you all right?”

She held her wrist up, showing him his mark. “Hmm, that was amazing. Guess you’re stuck with me now, huh?”

He turned his arm and inspected his new ink with wonder. His mate. His life.

“Never stuck, love. I’m proud to wear your mark. Always.” He kissed the top of her head, content and satisfied. “So, you never told me what you were doing here tonight.”

She looked at him, her expression twisted in annoyance. “I lost a bet. I didn’t know you were here, and, once I regain some brain function, you can explain all about what you’re doing here. As for me, I was sent here to get a lap dance. Which I still haven’t gotten, by the way. I’ll need you to pay up.”

Laughter burst from his chest. “A debt I’ll happily pay. Anytime, baby.” Devlin was happy to know his mate shared his competitive spirit. He’d look forward to challenging her, as well as devising delicious ways to make her pay up. But he was curious. “Who’d you lose a bet to, mo pheata?”

She shook her head and snickered, leaning over to nip his lip. She gave him a wicked grin. “Your cousins.”

Lucky’s: Seamus by Vanessa North

SEAMUS

by Vanessa North

“Shameless! Get your ass on stage.” Lucky growls at me as I come out of the restroom. Fuck. I thought I’d have more time between dances, and I’m still a little out of breath from the big group number. I nod and shake the aforementioned body part in his general direction as I hurry toward the stage, checking my g-string to make sure everything’s tucked in place. Last thing I need is another fine. Although … it had totally been worth it. I grin at the memory of the “wardrobe malfunction” which led to the last citation. Lucky had, of course, taken it from my check, but I’d made mad tips that night, more than enough to cover the fine.

Look, I love dancing, right? And it pays the bills okay. My not-very-posh address doesn’t quite provoke the same sneers it used to, but it ain’t rent controlled, and the tips are better when the ladies get a peek at the package. Of course, I’m not thinking about—or with—my package when I step out on stage and the music starts.

It’s magic. Electricity in the veins. A power-surge straight to all the pleasure centers in my brain. Exhilaration. Some of the guys do this just for the money. Others, I don’t know what they get out of it. They have day jobs and shit, the kind of thing my mom and dad used to hound me to do with my life. Fuck, I just love the rush I get from performing. I came to New York to act, right? My drama degree from that little liberal arts college in North Carolina got me exactly zero auditions—ginger guys with freckles aren’t in high demand on Broadway.

But these women in the audience could give exactly zero fucks what color hair I have when I wrap my body around the pole and give them the show they came here to see. The applause, the whistles…yeah, this is why I do it. I’m sweating a bit tonight as the song ends and I walk into the audience to flirt and see if I can score a table dance or even a private dance. The ladies are grinning and having a good time, and this blonde with a gorgeous smile is tucking a tip into my g-string when I see him.

Tall, dark, and drop-dead. He’s staring right at me, the kind of stare that gives me the good shivers. He’s got curly-textured hair, just a touch too long…the kind you want to bury your hands in and tug while he … fuck. I realize blondie’s hand is still on my g-string right about the time it could potentially become a problem. I carefully remove her hand and waggle a finger.

“No touching, gorgeous.” I wink and she gives me a pretty pout, but her hand stays away. They know the rules; Lucky goes over them every night at the beginning of the show.

I linger for a moment until I’m sure no one at the table is going to ask for a private show, and then I move along. I glance up to see the guy has disappeared. Oh well. I continue to work the room, the sound of feminine giggles no longer as thrilling as it was a moment before. I try to get a glimpse at the bar—all surreptitious-like because I don’t want the women to lose the fantasy by seeing me check out a guy—but can’t quite make out any faces over that way.

So, it’s with great regret I start making my way back toward the stage. Then I hear his voice.

“How much for a private dance?”

That voice! A rumbly baritone, too good to be true, almost-come-in-my-pants-like-a-teenager good. I spin around and there he is. Up close, I notice things. Like his eyes, they’re so dark, almost black, in the low light. And his smile is slightly crooked in a totally un-ironic born-this-way tilt. His chin has this perfect little cleft in the middle, and that hair is just as tempting up close as it was from far away. He’s wearing designer jeans fitting him perfectly, and a little bit of dark chest hair shows above the V-neck of his close-fitting T-shirt. And he smells amazing. Five-alarm-fire-in-my-pants amazing.

There’s no way to hide an erection when you’re wearing a green sequined g-string.

“Fifty.” I try to keep my voice flirty, and it comes out all breathless and giddy, and I don’t fucking care. Not only is there a hot gay guy in the club who doesn’t actually fucking work at the club, but he’s asking me, Seamus, né James, for a private dance. Hell, I’d do it for free just for the novelty of it—my nickname ain’t “Shameless” for nothing—but of course I’m not going to do that. He nods and I lead him to the front, where he pays at the bottom of the stairwell. I let my ass sway a bit as I take him upstairs to a private room. Might as well give him a preview.

Some guys get nervous about private dances, but I love them. The trick is to know your audience. The grabby girls, you have to be a little firm with—remind them of the rules up front. No touching. The shy girls—whose friends almost always pay for the dances—would never touch you anyway, so you ham it up a bit, make them laugh, even as they blush to the roots of their hair. I almost never get private dance requests from guys, but the principles are the same.

“What’s your name, sugar?” I ask him, and he smiles. Confident-like. I don’t think he’s going to be the grabby type, but he isn’t shy either. It would be easier to judge if I didn’t suddenly really, really wish he were the grabby type. The kind who would use his hand to pin me down to the mattress while he…

“Alex.” The deep baritone voice shocks me again as he interrupts my little reverie.

“Nice to meet you Alex.” I grin, because yes, it is absolutely nice to meet him. “So the rules are simple. One song, no touching. Any special requests as far as the song goes?”

He looks down then, and I see it, a little smidge of nervousness. He isn’t as confident as he seemed. He’s vulnerable. He swallows as he looks up and meets my eyes again, his little half-smile quirking his lips up on one side.

“What’s the longest one you got?”

Nothing could have prepared me for the shockwave of lust that hits me. Let me tell you a secret—all a real performer, born to be on stage, really wants, more than anything in the world, is to be desired. Wanted. That’s why we do it. Well, that’s why I do it. Can’t speak for the hacks, you know?

He wants the longest song I’ve got.

Oh, to be wanted! It’s really the greatest aphrodisiac there is, and this man wants me. I don’t care if he can tell I’m hard. I want him to know. I want him to be as tormented by lust as I am. I want to give him a dance he’ll never forget.

I smile, showing some teeth, as I move over to the music controls and select a song. It’s not actually the longest song I’ve got. I mean, really, there is no fucking way to make “Alice’s Restaurant” sexy, believe me, I’ve tried. If anyone could inject that song with some sexuality, it would be the queer kid from the mountains of North Carolina. But even all I got can’t make that song sexy.

I choose a song with some edge, not industrial exactly, but heading that way, with a driving bass line and some honest-to-goodness hardcore drums. The song is about seven minutes long, which is plenty for a private dance. I’d never choose a song like this for a woman. It’s too aggressive, too rough, not playful enough. But for a man—no, for this man—it’s perfect.

When I turn back to my audience-of-one, he’s made himself comfortable on the couch. He’s not all sprawled out or anything, but his legs are spread slightly, and he’s leaning back more than forward. I take a deep breath and start to move, letting the innate aggression of the music fill me, make me cocky. Like I’m not cocky enough? When we make eye contact, I’m riveted. The connection is instant, intense. I step forward; his head goes back. I bite my lip; he licks his. I put a hand on my lower back and swivel my hips forward; he drops a hand across the bulge in the front of his jeans.

An invisible tether runs from his bulge straight to my hips, and some invisible force tugs me closer. At this point, I’m beyond aware of Alex. He’s not just sharing the room with me; he’s under my skin, prickling along every nerve. I shudder, and suddenly, that motion propels me forward. I need to be close enough to smell him.

He spreads his legs a little wider and smiles invitingly at me. At the next heavy drum beat, I slap a hand down on the back of the couch, right behind his shoulder, and I grind down, my cock mere centimeters from his. I never break eye contact, even when his eyes drift closed and he groans, a raw, heavy sound. My other hand hits the sofa, and his eyes snap open, his hands gripping his thighs when he meets my gaze.

The delicious tension in his body is the greatest compliment a man could ever give me.

I lean close to his shoulder and breathe his scent from the shadowy corner where his neck meets his shoulder. Ooh, yeah. He rolls his head to the side in response, and I see, actually see his hips arch up out of the corner of my eye. I know it’s going to happen a second before it does, but that whisper of touch of his cock up against mine is shocking anyway.

I shudder again.

The power has slipped from me to him, even though he doesn’t try to touch me again, I feel stripped bare, as if the joke of a g-string keeping me legal is gone. It’s good—it’s so good to be naked in front of this man, even if the naked is a metaphor and not actual naked, it’s…So. Damned. Good.

“Alex…” I groan, and this time, I’m the one who breaks the rules, I’m the one who thrusts against him, and it’s his breath all sharp and shuddery in my ear.

“Seamus,” he whispers back. My name on his lips is like gravy over biscuits. It’s warm and comfortable and probably hell for my heart, but I don’t care.

For a long moment, I close my eyes and let the music flood my limbs. When he turns his head and his lips brush my forearm, I let him have that. When one of my hands brushes his cheek as I straighten, he lets me have that. Before either of us is ready, I realize the song is drawing to a close, and I start to back off. I see the frustration in his eyes, know it’s mirrored in my own, and I’m breathless under the intensity of it all.

I know I need to take him back downstairs. I know…and yet…

In our little room, the silence following the end of the song would be oppressive, except the sounds from downstairs fill in the void. He stands and approaches me, and I feel suddenly vulnerable.

He presses a tip into my hand. A tip I don’t even look at, because I can’t pry my eyes away from the half-twist perfection of his smile. The contact of his palm to mine is electric. Once more, I find myself caught in an involuntary shudder.

“How late do you work? Can I buy you a drink later?” he murmurs.

“I’ll be here until two.” I turn my head to the side, unable to meet his gaze, though I hear the huff of frustration in his chest.

“Do you get a break?”

I meet his eyes then, and see the warmth there. Oh, that’s good, so good. I bask in it for a minute, then I’m on, performer-me, Shameless Seamus—not James, the given-name-me I eschewed the day I exited the train in Penn Station with a duffel and a debit card. Tonight? I really want to be James.

“Not if I spend half the night flirting with you I don’t.” I wink. Then Seamus disappears and James emerges, totally unexpectedly, leaving me raw. “Maybe. I understand if you have to go. But if I can get a break, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

He smiles again, black eyes glittering in the low lights that flicker once—a warning it’s time to get back downstairs.

“I’ll wait, if you don’t,” he murmurs.

I can’t believe he’s for real, and he’s conjuring James up out of nowhere.

Let’s get one thing straight. I adore being Seamus. Seamus is the superstar in a sequin-studded g-string. Seamus gets the applause and it’s a helluva life.

But Seamus can’t be vulnerable to guys like Alex, and when I look at him, I don’t just see the swagger and the crooked smile. I see the guy who looked at his feet and asked for the longest song I got.

And I want that guy like whoa.

****

I don’t get that break.

It’s the way these things go on Friday nights. Bachelorette parties, girls’ night outs, the end of the evening at the gay bars. It’s all just a bit too much, and it’s quarter after two by the time I manage to cash out and push through the employee door onto the street.

“James.”

The voice is gruff, but I recognize it down to my toes. Alex. I turn, see him waiting, that crooked smile hovering just there. He knows my real name, and I don’t really care, because something huge and gooey is swelling in my chest.

“You waited.”

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, but you disappeared about an hour ago. I thought…”

“I called my roommate. I live close…I don’t want to assume anything…” He looks at his feet then, and I remember the moment when I asked him about the song. What’s the longest one you’ve got?

“It could have been ‘Alice’s Restaurant,’” I blurt out. “Eighteen minutes thirty-four seconds, but hell, I wanted it to be sexy.”

The smile on his face then cracks way past sexy and well on the way to dear…

“You coulda made ‘Alice’s Restaurant’ sexy. If anyone could.”

I don’t know who reaches first but yeah, it’s nice to hold someone like this after all the strutting and posturing on stage. I like to be touched, and if that makes me shameless, I’m down with that. I pull him back with me to the wall of the building. I let him be the aggressor this time, let him push me back and tilt my head so I’m looking at him. I don’t want to recognize the emotion in his eyes, crowding out the hunger. His lips quirk on one side and he sweeps a finger across my nose.

“Freckles,” he whispers, as if they’re a miracle, but the real miracle is what I feel pressing up against me when he crowds even a bit closer. Fuck, is this guy ever going to kiss me? I rock my hips forward, desperate for some more contact.

“Don’t be greedy.” He chuckles, tilting my chin up. When his lips finally close over mine, I’m so far and away beyond greedy. He’s got both hands on my face and he’s controlling everything and I want to push back, to take him in, to own this thing between us. He won’t fucking let me do anything but take it, and it’s good, so good. The whisper of his lips on mine, the gentle way he uses his thumbs to put a little pressure on my jaw, opening me wider. His tongue sliding against mine is divine, and the little catch in his breath before he groans into my mouth…

“You live close?” I pull back and then bury my face in the warmth of his neck. He nods, and I feel his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows. I turn my head, trace it with my tongue. Then he’s tilting my face and kissing me again, but this time he lets me own some of the kiss, and I give as good as I take.

I don’t hear the door opening next to us, but the wolf whistles and catcalls from my fellow dancers aren’t to be ignored. I blush, because, yeah, I’m not on stage and this is so damned personal. Now we’re all laughing because Devlin hoots something sounding suspiciously like “Go get it, Shameless!”

I lift my head from where I’m giggling into Alex’s shoulder and I wave and give a little bow to my friends, who are wandering off into the wee hours of a New York morning.

I lace my fingers through Alex’s and let him lead me away. We pause on a street corner to kiss again—I can’t get enough of him. When we finally stumble up the steps to his apartment, and he’s fumbling in his pocket for his keys and kissing my neck, his stubble abrading the soft skin there, I remember…

“Fuck, you have a roommate.”

“He’s not coming home tonight,” he mutters against my neck and then he fucking bites me, and I think I might come in my pants. It’s almost a laugh when he continues, “Remind me to thank him tomorrow.”

He produces the key and grins, and we’re inside. Thank hell.

“God, James.” He groans and maneuvers me back against the door, rocking our hips together. His erection presses against mine through our clothes. Why the fuck are we still wearing clothes?

“How do you know I’m James?” I murmur as I attack his belt buckle.

“One of the other dancers told me.”

“They aren’t supposed to do that.” I don’t fucking care at this point because I’ve got the belt off and it’s hitting the floor. I think the only word to use for what I do next is dive.

I dive into his pants and my knees hit the floor right about the time I get his cock free and it touches the side of my face. Oh, hell. We both groan at the contact and I look up to see black eyes glittering down at me. I’m Shameless, I’m Seamus, and I’m James, all three as I take him in my mouth, let his wide crown stretch my lips as I taste his salt and musk.

He scrabbles backward. His shoulders brace against a wall, and I’m with him, following him on my knees. I’ve got one hand wrapped around him and one in my own pants, fisted hard around the base of my cock—I don’t want to come just from sucking him off. The sounds he makes as he thrusts forward, nearly gagging me, are delicious and exciting.

“Bed.” He pulls my hair hard as he says it, and hauls me off his cock.

I snarl my disappointment even as I let him drag me to my feet and push me across the room to the doorway leading to what has to be a bedroom. We haven’t turned on any lights so I can’t see anything, but I don’t care, just get me in bed now.

Alex pushes me down on the bed, drags my shirt off and tugs my pants down my legs. He’s totally manhandling me and I love it. I grin up at him in the dark, and he starts laughing.

“You wear the g-string home?” He snaps the side of it against my hip.

“Yeah, fucker. I was in a hurry to get out the door tonight.” I grab his hands and tug him onto the bed with me, pulling his own shirt off him and dragging him close. He’s got the perfect amount of hair on his chest. I have to wax mine for the job, but I love the way he feels against me, the coarse hair abrading my chest. He reaches up to pinch one of my nipples and God that feels good.

I’m frotting up against him now, desperate to get some friction on my cock. He slaps my thigh with one hand.

“Slow down,” he grunts.

I hear a drawer opening. I hear a rustling meaning he’s grabbing a condom and lube, and I try to still my hips.

“Please tell me you’ll top,” I whisper, surprising myself how much I want it.

“God, yes.” He kisses me again, gentle this time, almost reverent.

I feel a slick finger against my opening and I sigh and relax into his kiss as he touches me, readies me. The darkness around us feels warm and intimate. He’s just so gentle and sweet as he works a second finger inside. This side of him is different, and I do get greedy then, greedy for the bossy guy who pulled my hair, the guy who—

Oh, sweet fucking fuck.

He does this thing, then, which I should have been prepared for, right? It’s not like this is my first time or anything. But when he slides his fingers across my prostate, I can’t help it, I groan and push back into his hand. I’m so fucking ready.

“Fuck me, please, just fucking do it.” I beg.

Yeah, he’s got me begging and I blush when I do. I guess I really am shameless. Thank God he doesn’t make me ask again, he just rolls me to my back, slicks lube over his condom-covered dick, and presses inside so slowly I could scream. Still, even slow, it’s just right because he’s making me feel every inch. When he’s all the way inside me, I let out a shaky breath and he kisses me, hard and deep and sweet.

He looks in my eyes as he fucks me. Every few thrusts I have to turn my head and close them tight because it’s too much, so much more than I can take, to see all his emotion. Some guys can just fuck, and it’s like combing their hair or tying their shoelaces. It’s just a thing they do and it doesn’t have to be anything.

Alex isn’t one of those guys. He’s staring into my soul while he fucks me, and it’s everything.

Every time I turn my head, he brings me back, makes me see the intensity in his expression, the heat and the longing and the…oh God.

I gasp, reaching for my cock. I’m right there. I slide my hand over the sensitive head and tug twice. Then I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, because I’m coming, and I’m shouting, and I hear his shout tangled up with mine.

I drag my eyes open to see him shudder and gasp, and it’s so fucking pretty I could cry. I reach up and finally, finally get my hands in his curly hair, and pull him down for a kiss.

After a night of dancing, and then this, my body is wrung out. I’ve overdrawn my energy supply. Still, when he rolls off me and throws away the condom, I ask…

“Where did you really go, when you left the club?”

He snorts and then flops down on the bed and kisses me again before he answers. “I told you, I called my roommate. I left you three messages, fucker.”

I laugh then, because he always teases me about leaving my phone at home, and sure enough, it’s there next to the bed.

“What did the messages say?”

“Lucky threw my ass out, said I was distracting you, and he didn’t care if I bought a private dance, he wasn’t going to have you mooning over me the whole night.”

“You were distracting me. This pretending to be a stranger thing was hot.”

“‘Alice’s Restaurant?’” He giggles into my shoulder. “Fuck, Jamie, I almost lost it.”

“Next time you come to the club, buy another private dance and I’ll make it happen.” God, I’m fucking crazy over this guy, so I tell him. “I love you.”

He makes a happy, breathy noise. “Love you too, Shameless.”