Faery Folk, 2
When Monique O'Shea, visiting professor from America, is mugged outside a sketchy Irish pub, she has no clue that the handsome guard who comes to her aid is more than he seems.
Sergeant Larkin Fáelad of the An Garda Síochána, is a wolf shifter, one of a long line dating back to the 12th century. Their attraction is swift and when he brings her home to his flat he doesn't expect to become a wolf while she sleeps. When she catches a glimpse of him in wolf form, she's rattled yet when he invites her down to his cottage in Kilkenny, Monique goes.
The truth comes out when two burglars break into the cottage and she sees Larkin as full wolf. She's so shocked she faints but must face the reality. Once she does, they both must decide what happens next for the lone wolf of Kilkenny.
Excerpt:
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she mumbled, her hands slowing.
“Aye, ye should,” Larkin told her. He wasn’t stopping now, no matter what. “Do ye have protection?”
“Birth control, I’m on birth control from back home,” she gasped. “I don’t even know you, not really.”
“Ye know me enough to find out more.” No worries, then, and no need to sheath his dick with a condom. With her top gone, he undid her bra and tossed it aside. Larkin buried his face against her breasts, then he nibbled at her nipples, his teeth sharp and slow at the task. Her breasts were warm as his mouth moved over them. Beneath his hands her slender body offered a feast, and he was a hungry man.
Her nipples had perked after he’d mouthed them. Larkin lowered one hand to her mound, then inserted a single finger. Her pussy was wet and that made his cock, already tight and proud, come to full attention. He could take her here and now, in a hurry and rush, or he could bring her to his bed and take his time.
“Bedroom,” he told her. “Let’s find me bed.”
“Larkin...”
“I can’t wait, woman. Now.”
He scooped her off her feet and into his arms, then carried her into the small room where he slept. With restraint he hadn’t known he possessed, he set her on her feet then stripped the remainder of her clothing away. His trousers were undone so he shucked them with speed. Monique gasped when she noticed he wore nothing beneath them, then stepped out of the silken panties she wore. His lad stood fully erect and he needed release sooner rather than later.
Larkin grasped her, kissed her with his tongue diving deep into her mouth, his hands fondling her mound, and pushed her back onto the bed. “Open to me, love,” he told her. “Spread for me.”
With her short, tousled blonde hair in disarray, she did what he asked. Monique lay back on his bed, still made, and scissored her legs wide open. Her perfume, something rich and sweet, wafted over him in a cloud as he knelt on the bed. From that position, he entered her with one abrupt thrust that went deep. She moaned and so did he as his tool plunged into her like a knife into a scabbard. Larkin fit like tailor-made trousers or the proper size boot to a foot. Her pussy clenched and constricted around him, as delightful as a warm bath, yet more. As he ratcheted up and down within, each stroke sent spirals of erotic pleasure through him.
She clawed at him, whimpering with enthusiasm which sent him over the edge. Larkin let his body lead and his mind take a rear seat. He became fully man and increased both speed and depth. If sex was thunder, then he was lightning. Larkin became Cuchulainn’s spear. He was Finn McCool’s sword. In this moment he was as much warrior like his ancestor Laignech Fáelad as he was lover.
“Now,” he told her. “Now. Let’s ride this rocket to the fecking stars.”
The orgasm built like a wave far out on the sea and increased as they shuddered together, helpless with erotic wonder. Then it swamped them, struck hard and fast. It carried them to the highest level of pure pleasure, a physical delight that destroyed both even as it renewed. This was power and light and heat. Larkin gloried in it.
After, once he’d secured the locks on the only door out of the flat, he did what he never did—he crawled into bed beside Monique. He folded her into his arms and slept, her still nude body soft and warm against his. It carried a risk and he knew it well. Although his inherited ability, if one could call it that, to shift into a man-sized wolf at will was one he usually controlled, after good sex he’d learned he couldn’t always. It had happened more than once.
It's a cracking good read, even better than the author's first about the Puca! I love the Irish words and genuine expressions used by Larkin. Hot and sexy but with a story that held my interest. If there's more to the series, I'll be looking out for the next!
