Beast in My Bed
Beast in My Bed
Ellora's CaveISBN: 9781419905834(ebook) [buy]
Shapeshifter (werewolf) / Interracial / Romantic Comedy
Short story
Going out with friends to party on Halloween, Sophia knew that's when all the freaks come out. However, she never thought she'd fall into bed with one of them. She should've suspected something was amiss when Greg suddenly instructed her to strap him to the bed. But her lust was in control, and there's nothing wrong with a change from the norm.
And boy, did Greg change.
Experience should have taught Sophia a lesson. But when a man can ease the fire in your body and answer the call of your heart, maybe change is a good thing.
Reviews for BEAST IN MY BED
"5 out of 5 Big Bad Wolves...Beast In My Bed is an entertaining, well-written story. The characters are interesting and real and more important, believable. Ms. LaCroix makes one think they might just like something big, furry and sexually talented in their bed. While the sex is hot and frequent, Sophia and Greg's emotions play a huge role in making this story a great read." ~ GottaWrite Network
"4 Cups...Hot sex abounds in this book! Greg and Sophia are extremely appealing characters with believable personalities. The interaction between them is fascinating. Ms. LaCroix is a talented author with a very creative imagination. If you like werewolves and the paranormal then try out this terrific tale at the first opportunity!" ~ CoffeeTime Romance
"5 Hearts...Delicious! I really liked the little debate on “sex honey”. Excellent! Authors are constantly debating what terms are appropriate in particular situations and silly, funny or otherwise, this was especially fitting! Liked the fact that Sophia realized, after her initial fright, that her feelings were involved and didn’t pussyfoot around with the idea; bravo, a woman who knows what she wants and when to take a chance offered. And on the subject of Greg--what a sumptuous beast. A man willing to take on the possibility of rejection just on the chance that this special woman might accept him as he is…wonderful. Put this baby right on your ToBeBought list." ~ The Romance Studio
EXCERPT FROM BEAST IN MY BED
The man was a beast.
“The Big Bad Wolf is going to taste Little Red tonight,” he said against my ear as he began to lead me across the dance floor.
In a few minutes we were outside and he called for his limo. I had stopped by my table on the way out to tell the girls I was going home with the wolfman, and he’d given me the hotel address to pass on—freely, which made me feel a bit better, less nervous.
Inside the limo, which smelled lightly of his cologne, he held me to his side. It wasn’t dominating, more like cherishing. I liked it.
The night was turning out to be everything I could hope for. But it wasn’t exactly perfect. If he were fucking me right now, then it would be perfect. Yeah, I’m not afraid to admit it to myself. It’s the saying-it-out-loud part that’s the problem.
Maybe if I laid my hand on his cock…
Boo-ya! Can we say el grande? I couldn’t help cheering (even if just in my head) for the cannon-sized penis beneath my hand. Holy crap, did they make jock-straps big enough to hold that monster? Damn.
Taking the hint—or the blatant gesture—he began to touch me. I was on edge already, waiting for his hands to glide across my skin. He placed a hand upon my thigh and felt his way upward. I was glad I wore thigh-high nylons for easy access to my pussy—which at this point was red hot and scorching for relief. As his hand brushed the wet crotch of my panties, I yelped and bucked in his arms.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he moaned as he lowered himself to the floor of the limo. With his head between my knees, I cursed the fact I’d worn panties. But he remedied that problem with one swipe of his hand. They tore off me in a worthless scrap of lace.
Impressive.
He began to nibble the inside of my thigh. Slowly, he traced the top of one of my thigh-highs with his fingers. I gasped as he pulled at the lacey edge, lowering it so his lips could kiss my uncovered flesh.
His tongue gently licked at my skin and I dipped my fingers into his thick black hair, urging him to quicken his pace, to get to my weeping center. I wanted his mouth on my clit something fierce. I understand the allure of drawing out the moment and all, but fuck, I didn’t want to wait. Hell, I have a hard time holding off my orgasm when I use my bullet, never mind a gorgeous guy’s face between my legs.
Then, as if reading my mind (or perhaps it was the less-than-gentle tugging on his hair), he paused over my pussy. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my mound, and when he spread my labia wide with his fingers I sank into the seat, letting myself surrender to the moment. As my clit rose from beneath its hood, I sighed.
He moaned in response and lowered his mouth over the small nubbin. He didn’t seduce me into surrender, slow and languid. No, he went for the gold. The suction upon my clit was fierce, a pleasurable pain. A quick swipe of his tongue over my flesh and I cried out. My hips had a life of their own, bucking like a wild, untamed bronco.
He devoured me. Breaking his mouth’s hold on my clit, he nibbled and teased, then moved on to my entrance. There’s nothing like a skilled tongue. And this guy was a pro. He drank the juices that seeped from my body, lapping at my sweet-smelling sex honey.
Sex honey? I know, kinda corny. But what else do you call the juice that runs out of you like a mini flood? I mean, men go wild over the taste, and some women too. Cum seems dirty, bringing to mind a sticky substance that gets all over the bed, leaving someone to sleep in a wet spot. Love juice just seems…silly. So what do I call something that Greg’s lapping up as if it were his last meal?
Sex honey.
Yeah, baby, suck it up.
And he did.
He kept me on the edge of ecstasy, denying the completion I wanted so desperately. Damn it. Fucking man could read my reactions—every pant, every moan. I wanted so much to just…combust! I was ready for my body to self-ignite. But Greg wasn’t going to let it happen. He learned my language, the sexual movements that clued an impending climax, reading me like a torrid romance that leaves you panting. And he knew when to stop to leave me just this side of unfulfilled. Damn him.
Five minutes later we were at his hotel. Quite frankly, I would have been happy to stay in the limo with Greg’s face at my crotch, but he wanted to go up to his room. If it meant I was going to get more, I was willing to leave my spot on the seat. It had gotten a bit damp anyway.
His denial of my climax left my frustration level at an all-time high. He was toying with me, and it just made me want him more.
His hotel was just off the Avenue of the Americas, where only the best hotels are found. And The Michelangelo Hotel was one of them. Impressive.
I have to tell you, it’s thrilling to walk through the lobby of a ritzy hotel without panties on. I felt like every person who happened to glance my way knew I was one wisp of a skirt away from being naked. That was all I needed, a little breeze to allow everyone a glimpse at my thatch. Images of Marilyn Monroe standing over the street vent flashed through my mind. Of course, my Little Red Riding Hood costume was much shorter. Heck, if I bent over to get a sip from the drinking fountain I could cause some real havoc.
But Greg didn’t waste time getting to the elevator. When the doors closed and we were alone, I was relieved I had made it inside without flashing everyone in the lobby.
However, once inside the closed quarters of the elevator, my nerves began to scream at me. I was wondering if all this was such a good idea. Sure, I was attracted, my hormones were in overdrive and when Greg touched me, I wanted to explode.
So what was the problem?
Something just felt off. Not overly so, but in the quiet of the elevator, I felt uneasiness wash over me. What the hell was I doing, going off with a stranger to his hotel room? It was starting to seem like the makings of a poorly directed slasher film. And I was the first dumb beauty to get bumped off.
“What is it?” he asked at my silence.
“I’m…well…” What the hell was I worried about? He went down on me in the limo like a pro, and I wanted more. However, I couldn’t shake the little doubts plaguing me. What did I know about this guy that made me trust him enough to go off with him after a dance?
As if reading my mind, he said, “I want you to know, I don’t pick up women regularly in bars. In fact, I don’t pick up many women at all.”
Yeah right. Is that a piece of bullshit men are taught to say? I just made a small sound of disbelief. More like a grunt.
“It’s true. I don’t feel the urge to…that is, I only need…”
What was he trying to say? “Look,” I started. “It’s okay. We all need a bit of bootie now and then.”
“It isn’t so much that.”
“What is it then?”
When he remained silent, alarms went off in my head. Was he hiding something?
And why am I still going through with this, ignoring my uneasiness?
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. He strode out and I found myself following him out of the elevator. It didn’t seem to matter to my body that my head was screaming in doubt. My pussy was panting, begging for more. My mind lost out to my far louder sex drive.
If I had only listened to my brain instead of my libido, I might have been spared the bizarre episode later.
