Ellora's Cavemen: Tales from the Temple II (26 page)

“I always think of you.”

“Ah, but today you will be filled. And while Damon and I discuss our plans, I shall remind you to squeeze and concentrate. You will sit next to me and I will rub your clit through your gown. You shall come over and over quietly while we meet. And tonight, when we return, I will remove it and slide myself easily into your tight hole.”

“I can’t keep this inside all day.”

“Yes you can. And you will. If you do not, you will be very lonely tonight.”

His warning was meant to be serious, but Eleanora knew he couldn’t keep his hands off her. In the month they had known each other, they had made love every day, most of the time several times a day.

“Perhaps it is you who shall be lonely,” she teased.

He pressed his hand against her pussy, pushing the item in further, making her quiver with delight. “All day.”

“Yes, master,” she smiled before pulling him into her for a kiss.

Mace thought he’d die if the meeting didn’t end soon. Eleanora sat next to him, her pussy filled with his love toy, her juices spilling out around it every time she came. And she came so many times. Every time, she squeezed his knee with her hands, pressing her nails into his flesh beneath the cloth. Still, he kept a straight face while he continued to massage her clit and push the toy back into place beneath the folds of her gown.

Apparently, Damon had found a woman himself. For the first time, Mace realized he and his brother could work out a peace agreement. When the meeting ended and Mace and Eleanora were alone in the conference room, he turned to her.

“Lift your dress,” he commanded. Her eyes were already glazed over with desire and he could see her tight nipples puckering beneath the fabric.

“But, my king, you said I should not remove this…whatever this is.” Her protest was weak and topped off with a wicked smile.

“You shall not remove it. Perhaps I shall take you while it is still imbedded in your tight hole.” Her eyes widened at the threat. “You can take two, can’t you, love?”

“Surely you’re joking.” She bit her lip as he pulled her into his lap.

“Does this feel like a joke? You’re primed and ready, love. You ever wonder how it would feel to fuck two men at the same time?”

“I can’t.”

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Dragon’s Law: Mace

“You can. And you will.” He raised her up onto the table and pushed his chair back, raising her skirt to reveal her clean-shaven mound. “Your lips are quivering for me, trying to hold on to it.”

“Mace,” she moaned as he dipped his head down to take her clit between his teeth.

“Tell me what you desire, then. Would you like for me to love you gently?”

She was dripping. Her juices coated her ass, her clit, shining like sacred cream in the light. He ran his tongue up and down from her ass to her hard clit, biting along the way. “I don’t think you have it in you.”

“Is that a challenge?” a smile lit up his face. “Lay back.” He pushed her gently all the way back so that her legs were spread wide open for him. Using his tongue and teeth, he forced her to the edge of orgasm again and then let up before she came. He knew her body so well, could play it like a fine instrument. He could make her come at will and stop her from coming as well. Three more times, he brought her to the edge, but refused to push her over.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what?” he teased against her lips.

“Please take me.”

“Ah, but you said you wanted gentle.”

“Anything. Just let me come.”

He inhaled her scent and licked her one last time before pulling the toy out of her swollen lips. “It would be a tight fit if I tried this,” he warned. “Perhaps we should retire to our room. There, I can show you just how gentle I can be.”

“I don’t care. Please.”

He knew this kind of wanting. It was what he felt every time he looked at her. He stood and placed his cock at her opening, his attempts at moving slowly feeling unnatural. Calming his breathing, trying to steady his beating heart, Mace slowly slid his swollen head in, parting her lips, stretching them even further, opening her so wide that her clit turned down to brush against the hilt of his cock as it slipped into her.

He filled her to the hilt, his balls resting against her ass. He smiled when she gasped and clung to him, her nails digging in to his forearms, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her hardened nipples puckering beneath the gauze of her dress.

When he began stroking, he set the rhythm, trying to move slowly, trying to focus on the sensations that swept through his body as he felt every slight spasm of her pussy as it wrapped around him. He had not been one to concentrate before, having spent most of his years only taking. Eleanora had changed him, had made him want to be different, want to be something more.

The slow strokes were maddening, driving him to the edge of somewhere he had never been before. Then, the edge was there and he threatened to slide over as her clit rubbed itself on his cock and his strokes increased, bringing her the release she sought as her nails dug into his shoulders. When her pussy fisted around him, coaxing his cum 155

Alicia Sparks

to pour out, she screamed loudly enough to alert all the guards. No one opened the door, as they all were accustomed to Mace’s love play.

“That’s it, love. Come for me. Scream for me. Let everyone know you are mine.”

Her cries echoed in the room, blending in with the sound of his cock rubbing into her juices, slapping against her inner walls. She shook against him, her own orgasm so intense she threatened to bruise him.

He pulled himself from her body and looked down at the woman who had changed him. Mace wanted to bury himself in her again, to make up to her the abuse he had caused, the betrayal and mistrust of their meeting. His cock sprang to life and easily slipped inside her. She lay back, her arms thrown over her head, her body open for him.

Only when he came did she cling once more to him and whimper against his shoulder.

“I love you,” he managed while gasping to catch his breath.

“I love you, dragon.”

She reached up to stroke his chin, sending another shiver through his body. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“Whatever you wish.”

She clung to him as he carried her up the back stairwell to his—their—chamber.

They only stopped once to ride each other against the wall. He threatened to impale her on his cock and carry her up the stairs the remainder of the way to their room. She only smiled and ground herself into him further. When Mace finally placed her on the bed, he knew she held his heart. He looked down into her face, her eyes wild from their lovemaking and from anticipation.

A new peace was coming. If he could find love, anything was possible. He watched the candlelight flicker, softening her face, and knew his world would never be the same.

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About the author:

Alicia’s interest in romance began as a child when she used to hide out reading her mom’s forbidden romance novels. She remembers very distinctly the first time she ever read Gone with the Wind and was instantly hooked on the concept of the Southern gentlemanly rake. She likes to think that there’s a little bit of Rhett in all of her heroes, whether they be sexy cowboys or dark and brooding rock stars.

Always writing against a soundtrack, Alicia finds inspiration for her cowboys and contemporary heroes from country musicians such as Kenny Chesney. Her love for the gothadelic sounds of Type O Negative has inspired several vampire stories and stories about tragically beautiful musicians. Other inspirations include the music of Saliva, Van Halen, Santana, Blake Shelton, and Prince. (She’s a Gemini. That explains the wide variety of influences!)

Alicia has completed several manuscripts ranging from comedic contemporaries to dark, sexy paranormals and fantastical futuristics.

Her favorite ice cream is Godiva’s dark chocolate truffle. Eaten straight from the container, it is almost—almost—as good as reading erotica!

Alicia welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, Suite 13, Stow OH 44224.

Also by Alicia Sparks:

Better Than Ice Cream

TAMING JACK

Angela Knight

Angela Knight

He’d known the call to report to the Sheriff’s office couldn’t be good, and he was right.

“Jack, this isn’t easy for me to say, but I don’t have a choice,” Sheriff Steve Jones said after Ramsey had settled into the lone chair in front of the big man’s desk. “You’re endangering the case. You’re going to have to back off.”

“What case?” In his frustration, Ramsey forgot any pretense of diplomacy.

“Dammit! It’s been three weeks since Heather was murdered and we don’t have shit.

Not a suspect, not a clue. Nothing.”

The sheriff’s long, homely face hardened. “Watch your tone, Deputy. I’ve been willing to allow you a certain amount of slack under the circumstances, but you’re pushing it. Hard.”

“Sheriff, she was my baby sister.” A barely controlled fury rumbled in his voice.

Ramsey clenched his fists as his mind flashed back to that day three weeks ago when he’d found Heather lying on the floor of her apartment.

Naked, raped and strangled. All her wit and loving spirit gone, sacrificed to a psycho’s sick lust.

She’d been just fifteen when their parents died in a car crash the year Jack was a college senior. He’d put aside his own law school dreams and became a cop so he could support her.

It had been worth it. Heather—bright, pretty Heather—had deserved the best he could give her.

And she’d given him her best right back.

Heather was determined to become a trauma surgeon so she could save people like their parents, and she’d devoted everything to that dream. In college, she worked so hard and so brilliantly, she’d won a medical scholarship to Duke University. Ramsey had been so damn proud of her, he’d cried without shame at her college graduation.

But the week before she was supposed to leave for med school, some sick fuck had extinguished all her bright promise and gutted Jack Ramsey’s soul.

He had nothing left —not for himself, not even for Lark Anderson, the woman he loved and had once planned to marry. Like his dreams for his sister, that plan was ashes now. He knew Lark deserved more than the hollow man he’d become.

Now all that drove him was the search for Heather’s killer. And he didn’t much care what he had to do to find him.

He’d raged through town like an avenging angel, questioning anybody and everybody who might know anything about Heather’s death. And sometimes he hadn’t 160

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been particularly polite in his methods, particularly with certain lowlife thugs of his acquaintance.

Which might be why the Sheriff had finally drawn the line.

Now Jones sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “Jack, for once think like a cop instead of the victim’s big brother. Let’s say all that cowboying around town you’re doing does bear fruit, and you shake loose a lead—or even a confession. You know what the killer’s lawyer will do with that?”

“At least we’d have an arrest,” Ramsey growled.

“Which is no damn good without a conviction.” The sheriff glared at Jack, frustration pouring off him in waves that were almost visible. “And we won’t get one, because the defense will claim you were on a vendetta, that in your grief you arrested an innocent man because you were so hungry to see somebody—anybody—pay. And that argument’s going to sound awfully convincing to a jury, considering you’re not even a detective.”

Jack stiffened. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know my job.”

Jones threw up his big hands in a gesture of disgust. “Oh, for God’s sake, you’re a motorcycle cop, Jack! You’re supposed to catch speeders and write traffic tickets, not solve murders.”

“Sheriff…”

“Look, I know you’re trying to get Heather justice, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

Jones caught him in a hard, level stare. “I’m giving you a direct order, Deputy Ramsey.

Back off. Take your bereavement leave and let us do our jobs. Spend some time with that girl of yours and get your head screwed on straight.” The sheriff’s mouth tightened. “Before you blow your career straight to hell.”

Ramsey stalked outside toward his cycle, his boots ringing on the pavement, his strides long and angry. His sister’s murder was turning into one of the whodunits cops hated, the kind that never got solved.

Now every day that passed put the department further from catching the killer.

And Jones had just forbidden him to do anything to bring the bastard to justice.

He wanted to howl.

Ramsey’s shoulders slumped. Maybe the sheriff was right and it was time to pay Lark a visit. He’d been avoiding her since Heather’s funeral, unwilling to expose his psychic wounds to her pity. All he wanted now was to go to her, talk to her. Maybe…

“Jack Ramsey?”

Impatiently, Ramsey turned to see an elderly woman standing in the parking lot under the light of a street lamp. She was dressed entirely in pink, from the pillbox hat perched on her lavender curls to her neat pink dress, right on down to her pink flats.

Over one arm, she carried a huge pink straw purse that seemed to be moving. Ramsey 161

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shot it a wary glance in time to see a little Yorkshire terrier thrust up its fuzzy black head from the purse’s pink depths.

“You are Jack Ramsey, are you not?” the old woman asked in a reedy voice.

Great. She probably wanted to complain about some neighbor who liked to play his boom box too loud. Controlling his sigh, Ramsey walked over to find out what she wanted. “That’s me. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

Blue eyes met his, astonishingly sharp in that wrinkled face. “It’s what I can do for you, young man.” She reached into the bag and pulled out the Yorkie. Holding the dog out to him, she said, “This is Gav.”

Ramsey looked down at the little animal, which stared back at him with perked ears. “Cute dog. Look, ma’am, if you need help, the desk officer inside can…”