AVAILABLE: Monday, October 10th
[Siren Classic BDSM: Erotic Romance, Consensual BDSM, Contemporary, Interracial Romantic, Suspense Romance, Bondage, Spanking, Sex Toys, MF, HEA]
Owner of a trendy clothing boutique chain, Ramara Waters knows her impulsive streak will one day get her into trouble.
Primal Dom on the hunt for a sub equal to the task, Felix Andersen recognizes trouble when he sees it in Ramara and is up for the challenge.
A chance encounter with Felix at one of Ramara’s favorite haunts hurls her animal instincts into overdrive. But when the predator in Felix snares her wily sub, Ramara realizes she has met her match and does the only sensible thing she can do. She vamooses.
Unwilling to lose hope, Felix reunites with Ramara at another art exhibition months later. His determination to possess her, directly clashes with Ramara’s need for autonomy and privacy.
Ramara has never met a man as dogged as Felix and knows if she stays around him long enough, she will submit. But how can she run away again when what he’s offering her is everything she’s ever wanted?
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Ramara sipped wine from her goblet and furtively took in her surroundings over the rim, looking for Ax.
She told herself she wasn’t worried about bumping into him. That he wasn’t why she hadn’t attended her usual events or why she had stayed away from her favorite arty haunts and shows the past few months.
If Mel hadn’t offered her the ticket to this sought-after opening, however, and Ramara hadn’t been concerned about lightning striking twice, would she have come tonight?
“Talk you into what?” Mel asked, innocently batting her eyes.
“A blind date.”
“But it’s not a date.”
“Oh sure. Just a night out with friends.”
“Correct.” Mel nodded and gulped her wine. “One of whom you’ve never met before.”
Right. Lars’s brother. Felix Andersen.
Inwardly, Ramara groaned. Felix. Blind date. Could it get any worse than a “Felix,” other than him having a “nice personality”? Although, how bad could he be if he was related to Lars? Ramara had briefly met Lars when Edge and Mel had dragged him and Iceland out to celebrate the opening of Ramara’s latest store in Harlem, and if looks ran in the family, then this Felix probably didn’t resemble Quasimodo . Not that Ramara was as shallow to worry about looks or anything, but after Ax, all other males paled in comparison, probably even the as-yet-unseen Felix Andersen.
“Does Felix know about this night out with friends?”
“Don’t air quote me, boss lady.”
Ramara chuckled. No matter how many times Mel teased her about being the “boss lady,” the description always felt new, filling her with almost as much pride as when she’d graduated from business school with her MBA way ahead of her five-year plan.
She knew Miss Faye would have been just as proud now as she was then and wished her mentor, benefactor but most important, her friend could have seen her successfully fulfill her dreams of opening a clothing boutique chain.
“So, does he know I’m here with you?” Ramara insisted.
“That would be a no.”
“You’re going to love him. Trust me.”
“Famous last words,” Ramara grumbled.
Mel gave her a one-armed hug. “Oh, don’t be such a grouch.”
Ramara laughed. She couldn’t stay grumpy around Mel, even if she tried. For one, Mel’s optimism and youthful energy were infectious. For another, she and Mel were kindred spirits.
Mel didn’t know it, but she and Ramara shared a lot in common. Ramara knew it, however, because she performed a thorough background check on anyone with whom she affiliated—professionally or personally.
She couldn’t be too careful, and she trusted few. For these reasons, she kept the people she allowed into her circle of friends to a minimum.
Despite all this, Ramara was glad she had decided to come and hang out even if this Felix turned out to be a dud with a nice personality. She’d liked Mel from the first moment they’d met at that fashion expo when she had fallen in love with the younger woman’s designs. Her fondness had only grown every day since. Tonight, however, was the first time they had hung out together socially.
“Oh, cool, he’s coming over now.”
Ramara braced herself, automatically straightening her shoulders even more than normal and taking a deep breath before she turned around to meet this Felix guy and froze.
“Mel, glad you could make it.”
“Sorry about Edge and Lars and Iceland.”
Ramara tuned out after “Felix” greeted Mel with a hug, and the two of them chatted about some Out of the Darkness event in San Francisco and an architectural conference in Philadelphia that had kept the aforementioned trio away from tonight’s event.
This was Lars’s brother?
Perhaps she needed to expand the parameters of her background checks.
“Felix Andersen, I’d like you to meet my friend and owner of—”
“Ramara Waters, it’s nice to meet you.”
Her wolf—she had decided that’s what his animal was because that’s how he acted, all alpha and fierce and shit—was standing right in front of her! Looking unassuming and safe as he proffered a hand like it was his first time meeting her.
Rather than make a scene and be rude by not taking his hand, or rather than ask him why he had felt the need to give her a fake name, she put her hand in his, fully expecting the jolt of energy when their skin connected.
Dammit. She was hoping the chemistry had been a fluke, a onetime thing she could chalk up to an exciting adventure and scratch off her bucket list.
Sexual encounter in a semi-public venue with a hot stranger? Check!
“Nice to meet you, Felix.”
“Axel’s my middle name.”
Mel must have caught the undercurrents as much as Ramara tried to hide them and asked, “You two know each other?”
“No,” Ramara said at the same time Ax—she would forever think of him by this name, especially since it suited him much better than Felix—said, “Yes.”
Mel looked at them and nodded. “All righty then. I’m going to leave you two to it.”
Ax caught her arm as she turned to follow Mel. “Not so fast, little Miss Houdini.”
She paused and turned to him, planting her free hand on her hip, head almost doing a 180-degree turn on her shoulders as she glared at him. “You’re calling me an escape artist?”
“I’m not the one who disappeared without a trace.”
“I’m not the one who gave a fake name.”
“You didn’t give me any name.”
“Are we having our first fight?”
Ax chuckled. “Be honest, what did you think of when you heard the name Felix?”
“Is that why you lied about your name?”
“I didn’t lie. Axel is one of my names.”
“Semantics, Pinocchio. Or should I call you Bourne?” And she had been worried about having to explain her gun? Ha! What was Ax hiding?
“I only have one identity. Felix Axel Andersen.”
“Let me see your license.” Ramara wiggled her fingers at him in a gimme gesture.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Is there any reason I should?”
He stared at her, and in that moment, Ramara wanted to trust him implicitly, believe in his innate goodness, and that fairy tales came true. But that sort of optimism had been drummed out of her a long time ago—by circumstances, by people who were supposed to protect and love her but hadn’t.
Ramara stopped at an alcove just around the corner, a section out of sight but with a bird’s eye view of the main installation and patrons in the gallery. Something told Ramara her pursuer would approve of her choice—a place where they could see but not easily be seen.
When he finally reached her, she wasn’t surprised that he had kept up and knew exactly where she was. She knew there was no hiding from him. She didn’t want to hide from him.
He approached, circled her a few times before finally stopping just an inch in front of her. He bent his head—which was no mean feat at his height—to drag his Grecian nose down and across her throat, his breath a barely there whisper against her sensitized skin as he sniffed her.
Her entire body went on high alert, had been tingling since she’d first spotted him.
Ramara sighed and arched her neck, inviting more contact right before he backed her toward the brick wall and pressed his body against hers.
Sandwiched between two immoveable forces, she gasped, not from pain, but from the shock of utmost pleasure, welcoming his unapologetic aggressiveness with tacit approval.
Ramara closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his hard chest and abs competing with the rough scrape of stucco against her back.
She thrust her pelvis, eager to feel his hard cock against her pussy, and moaning in frustration as she fell just short. When she would have reached for his hips to draw him closer, he caught her by the wrists and trapped her arms against her sides.
He hadn’t said a word yet, and his silence was an aphrodisiac awakening everything inside her that was animal, feminine, and submissive.
As much as she wanted to say the p-word, she refused to beg, not verbally. Her body was another matter, subtly writhing beneath him, throat clamping against a rising groan.
He nuzzled her neck, nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath. He released her wrists long enough to run his hands down her sides, teasing the edges of her breasts with his fingertips before he finally reached the bottom of her LBD. He paused and drew back to stare at her. Not to ask for permission, oh no, but to silently tell her this was going to happen, and she would like it.
Ramara’s nipples tightened as she imagined the sound of his commanding, deep voice. She returned his intense gaze, breath quickening, so transfixed by his jewel-bright eyes she barely noticed when he reached his hand under her dress.
He leaned back in, cupping her pussy with a possessiveness that seared right through the delicate material of her thong. She visualized him ripping it off as he took her down to the ground, somewhere in a forest, their animals roughhousing.
Ramara caught her breath. Something instinctual kept her hands at her sides, however, preventing her from burrowing her fingers in his lush blond waves, such a flawless burnished shade with sunlit highlights, she wondered if it came out of a bottle.
Clairol’s Beach Bum Blonde.
Ramara barely had time to laugh at her own joke before he pushed her thong to the side and thrust first one, then a second finger inside her wet cunt.
This time she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his biceps and dug in her nails as she lifted one leg to curve around his thigh.
He bent his head to lick her neck, firmly nipping his way along the column of her throat before sliding his tongue in her ear.
She shuddered as he circled the outer shell, his tongue mimicking the motion of his thumb rubbing and teasing her swollen clit.
He pumped his fingers inside her, and when she circled her hips, enticing him to thrust deeper, he caught a handful of her shoulder-length locks at the base of her skull with his free hand and forcefully tugged.
Ramara came hard, pussy throbbing and creaming his fingers as she purred and buried her face against his chest, biting his pecs through his shirt. She inhaled deep, reveling in the subtle citrus-woodsy scent of him—cologne, shower gel, shampoo, or maybe all the above—and the decadent texture of his clothes.
God, he felt and smelled like paradise!
She raised her head as he removed his fingers from her pussy, and only then did she remember her habit of carrying a .22 in a thigh holster, a practice she had only recently broken, especially at events like these where she more than likely wouldn’t need it.
Had she been wearing it tonight, however, she could only imagine there would have been questions, questions she wouldn’t have been prepared to answer other than to lie. Undercover FBI agent had worked well in the past, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t work with this guy.
She must have known she was going to meet someone like him tonight. Someone who would woo her in all the right ways and make her drop her guard. At least for tonight.
He traced her lips, scrutinizing her as she followed his fingers’ path with the tip of her tongue, tasting herself.
Rather than lean forward to taste her pussy juices from her lips, he put his fingers in his mouth, one by one, to lick and sample her essence.
Ramara’s entire body trembled at the brazen act, scalp tingling from where he still gripped her locks with his other hand.
If he didn’t release her soon, she was going to come again even though she didn’t have much more left to give.
What could this man do to her behind closed doors, in the privacy of a bedroom, she wondered. Or better yet, a padded playroom where they could wrestle each other until their heart’s content, or in the forest where he could chase and take her down properly?
When he was done licking his fingers, he rubbed and patted her thigh before guiding her leg back to the floor and helping her straighten her underwear and dress.
More like doing all the work himself since Ramara had released the death grip she’d had on his biceps only to drop her arms to her sides. She leaned back against the wall, boneless with satisfaction, content to just watch him through hooded lids.
He smoothed his palms down the front of his shirt and tie, calmly neatening his appearance as if he hadn’t just had his fingers in her pussy and brought her to a shattering climax. Then he smiled. “Ax.”