Being a banshee is a lifetime Curse - and a magical pain in the ass. It's lonely, oh so lonely...
Ellora's Cavemen: Seasons of Seduction Volume ICome Howling
A Kaminski Family storyEllora's Cave, 2007
ISBN: 9781419910159 and 9781419956232
In the reception area the street door opened, letting in the muted drumming of rain, the steady swish of tires on wet asphalt. A gentle thud as it closed and the noise cut out. Mrs. T's voice rose in inquiry, but Luc could barely hear the soft, liquid murmur of the client's response. A woman.
His cock gave the faintest little twitch. Down, boy. Wistfully, Luc thought of his new sister-in-law's bountiful tits and lush hips. Lucky Gabe. She was a great girl, perfect for his twin. He hoped they'd be incredibly happy.
And that she didn't run screaming when his brother Manifested for her.
He glared at the spreadsheet on Gabe's computer. The orderly lines of numbers sneered right back. Error? What fucking error? He clamped a big-knuckled hand over the mouse and sent the smarmy paper clip to electronic hell.
He had to get this mess straightened out by the time Gabe got back from his honeymoon. His twin had a morbid terror of the IRS and he loved Bogdanovich and Marinelli Employment Agency the way bikers loved their Harleys. It was everything Gabe had worked for and now Luc was screwing it up. For chrissake, how had something as simple as babysitting the agency for a week gotten so complicated?
Luc ran a hand through his thick dark hair and ground out a string of curses. The base of his spine buzzed with familiar heat, his temples ached. Not now, dammit, not now. The curses deepened to a rolling growl. With the ease of long practice, he disciplined his breathing until the urge to Manifest subsided.
He shifted his massive frame, Gabe's fancy office chair creaking with the strain. He wasn't much heavier now than he'd been in college on a football scholarship-working for his own construction company kept him in shape-but he was still too much the linebacker to fit most normal-sized places with any degree of comfort. Absently, he reached down to rub his bad knee.
Though.he'd fit just fine between soft thighs. His lips curved with memory. God, they'd had fun hunting in the dark together, he and Gabe!
The woman's voice rose. "I'd like to see Mr. Bogdanovich."
Luc rocked back so abruptly the wheeled chair slammed into the wall behind him. He barely registered the thump as the back of his skull collided with the building.
What was the name of that old-time movie star his Dad fancied? Lauren Bacall, that was it. This woman sounded like Lauren Bacall after a smoke and whisky binge. Deep and husky, the voice slid sleek fingers into his pants, burrowed into his boxers and cuddled his balls.
"Or is it Ms.? I don't care. What about Marinelli?"
There was a scratchy note to it, as if the woman was hoarse from screaming loud and long, head thrown back, shrieking her pleasure while she rode his stiff cock to a mind-numbing orgasm, then as he flipped her over, gripping her wrists to stop her thrashing, so he could ram every last inch high inside her while she wrapped long legs around his waist and came and came as if the world was ending. No, fuck it, even better, her legs over his shoulders, her heels drumming-
He was halfway to the door of Gabe's office when he regained his senses. Whoa! Not only was he as hard as a freaking rock - on nothing but a couple of banal sentences - he was fully Manifest. Grimly, Luc braced a hand against the door. He didn't need to look in the small mirror hanging behind it to know what he'd see. The flames flickering deep in his pupils, the bumps where the short, curved horns were trying to push though the dark waves at his temples. He winced, reaching into his pants to adjust himself. Not his cock.
Jammed uncomfortably down the left leg of his chinos, the forked end nudged the back of his calf, a reminder of his lack of discipline.
Adrenaline was what did it, every time.
Forehead against the wall, he counted backward from ten, reliving the worst day of his life, willing control to come along with the memory.
The last game of the college season. He'd been on a high, knowing his chances in the NFL draft were better than good. In the last desperate moments of the game, he'd thundered down the field to tackle a wide receiver. The guy had lain there, panting, staring through Luc's facemask, straight into red, glowing eyes. Poor dude had fainted.
There'd been a family conference over that one.
At training the next day, he'd wrenched his knee. It hurt, but no more than his pride, his soul. He'd loved football. Still did.
Luc straightened with a sigh and tucked in his polo shirt. Then he hitched up his pants, opened the door and ambled out into the reception area. "Can I help you?' he rumbled and the woman turned.
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The Amorous Adventures of Alice
Rackety Kate and the Pirates
© 2009 Denise Rossetti
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