From the Shifters series:

Jaguar Shifters

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Prologue

Adam climbed back through my window, letting his body drop the four feet to the ground. His black jeans and T-shirt blended perfectly with the night that had fallen completely and after being blinded by the bright lights in the house, I could hardly see him.

He turned back around to look at me and he was not smiling. The shadowed bit of his face that I could see held no hope, no anticipation. He stretched his hand back out toward me, and I, leaning out the window toward him, stared at it. His were large hands with strong fingers, rounded joints, and rough places, used to work and pain and grim. Beautiful hands, worn hands.

That hand that he stretched out to me was take-it or leave-it. If I took that hand, and went with him into the woods, I would be forsaking and leaving behind everything I knew: my life, my home, my parents, my friends. Yes, we’d eventually come back, and maybe my family would still love me, but I would be different. I would not be my dad’s biggest baby girl anymore, nor my mother’s sometimes confidant and last minute baby-sitter. I would not be my little brother’s wrestling partner, or my sister’s piano teacher. I might not even recognize myself if I took his outstretched hand.

But I loved him; how could I not take his hand? The thought of his eyes shining rejection and pain—emotions I had seen there many times before because he didn’t belong anywhere—was enough to tilt my heart toward him. Having seen the anguish that was his life and knowing that I could be his home, his shelter, the one who loved and cared for him, how could I not take his hand?

I reached my arm out the window, letting my fingers curl around his. He smiled then, and something close to warmth lit his eyes, even in the darkness. Leaning against him, I climbed out of the window and came to the ground. He circled his arms around me, molding every inch of my front to him, from shins to shoulders.

“I knew you’d follow, Maggie.” He bent his head and pressed his lips to pulled away after only a few seconds and took my hand firmly into his. He raised our hands up so that we could both see our twined fingers and kissed the back of my hand. Then he let our limbs drop and pulled me to the side of the house, where there were no windows and therefore lots of dark shade. We went around the front, where windows in the kitchen and living room illuminated light. Getting to the forest itself would have been easy enough, as it was right in front of us and we need never cross into the light, but my mother stood on the front porch, hands on her hips, watching the gloom outside the circle of house light.

Adam hesitated for a bare few seconds, then ran, still towing me, directly toward the woods. I stumbled behind, hindering him because I could never be as sleek or as fast.

“Maggie, come back here! Come back here now!” I heard my mother yell after me, but by the time the words had reached my ears, they were distorted and I was too far into the woods to be able to see her. “Maggie!” My name echoed through the thick wooded forest, bouncing off the tall trees. Her voice was full of pain and fear, and it tore at me, but I kept running.

We stopped suddenly, breathing labored. He spun around to face me and I faced him and we stared at each other.

Suddenly, the energy of our flight, the disobedience that I’d just committed, caught up with me. But instead of dread filling my veins, it was exhilaration. I was free.

A smile broke out on my face and Adam’s eyes glowed with mine. He laughed, a deep laugh that stirred butterflies in my stomach. I stood on tiptoes and pecked his lips, and then dashed away from him, going deeper into the woods. He chased after me and we hooted and ran, playing and frolicking in the nighttime forest, disturbing all manner of creatures, but we didn’t care. To feel free and know you had chosen your path and to have hope, it was an intoxicating mixture.

When I couldn’t run anymore, my lungs burning too much and my legs too Jello-like, I collapsed, laughing, onto the soft forest floor grass. The excitement of our escape pounded through my body and made me feel invincible. I knew that eventually, when I went back home to face my parents, I might regret running from home, but now, right now, I felt liberated. Soaring high, running fast like the jaguar Adam was and wanted me to be.

Adam fell down beside me, his own laughter fading when his hand touched my shoulder. Sparks flew and the humor left my body to be replaced by intense warmth. His face suddenly grave again, he rolled me gently over onto my back, pushing at my shoulder. I lay there, the ground to my back, him to my front, and stared into his golden eyes. They glowed, both with his other self and with the sudden passion. I’d felt lust for Adam before, but I’d never seen it in his eyes; it was powerful, compelling. It held me immobile so that when he shifted to be above me, his knees resting in the dirt outside my thighs, his elbows at my shoulders, I could only watch him. He moved slowly, deliberately, like a jaguar hunting a mesmerized gazelle. For a second, he held his body up, off of mine, then he sank down to press his weight against me, his mouth teasing my lips with the taunt of a kiss. I could feel a bulge between my legs, not pressing against my core, but barely touching.

“Adam,” I whispered his name and he answered with a kiss. He made me drunk on that kiss with all the passion and fire that flowed through us both. It was satisfying in many ways and I wanted more; the lure of the night called to me then. We were alone, in the forest, his element, his home. He was master here, unnatural though it might be to find a wild big cat in central Kentucky woods. I really was the trapped gazelle. He could do anything he wanted to me, and no one could stop him.

I reached up and took a fist-full of his shirt as he kissed me. I balled it up in my fists at the feel of the kiss, but when my knuckles brushed his skin, I pulled at the shirt. It gathered at his neck, exposing his thin, taunt back to the forest, and he ducked his head, lifting his arms and tossing the scrap of cloth away, then eagerly returning to our kiss. I ran my hands over his skin, feeling the tingle and the fire gather, the sheer pleasure at just touching him. My hands went everywhere, up and down his back, along his sides to his chest where I rubbed his nipples erect, then down to his waist and hips, still hidden in jeans.

His hands found their way under my shirt and they glided slowly up my stomach to my ribs, forcing my shirt up, too. I raised my back and he nearly yanked it off me, pulling it over my head and stripping it down my arms to toss away.

He lay back down, again pressing his weight into me, this time more at my hips, so that we molded together. His hands went across my skin, but I could tell he was nearly instantly irritated with my sports bra.

When his fingers went barely into the bottom of the tight cloth, I gasped and squirmed under him. He pushed his hips harder into mine, preventing some of my movement so that I was trapped for his pleasure. His fingers inched along, almost tormenting slow, so that when he finally cupped my breast, the bra still mostly in place over his hand, I sighed with the relief of it. My nipples puckered instantly, the one into center of his palm, as he squeezed. He groaned, then pulled the bra up to my neck and swiftly did away with it.

Our upper bodies naked, we rubbed against each other, feeling the slide of flesh on flesh and the lust that curled deeper, causing him to grow thicker and harder and me wetter and warmer.

Then he moved his legs so that they were on the inside of mine, forcing, without resistance on my part, my thighs open so that my legs just fell apart in open invitation. He started a slow rhythm, a circular motion, grinding himself against me.

Sweat started beading on our bodies, moisture gathering where we were touching, joined. For a moment, his movements were enough, then I wanted, need, to be totally naked with him and I was not willing to wait anymore.

My hands again found their way to the top of his jeans and this time, roamed around to the front. I cupped his bulge, squeezing like he had squeezed my breasts, only with the material in the way. Our eyes locked and I kind of bit my lip as I reached for the button. He took a sharp breath when it came undone, allowing his growing sex a little more room. I took hold of the zipper and trailed it downward and the bulge jumped out at me, restrained now only by his underwear. I hooked my thumbs into the cloth, against his skin and pulled downward slowly, watching his sex come free. As I worked on sliding the clothing further down, over his bottom and then down his thighs, I leaned up so that the tips of my breasts bushed his chest, but that was the only part of our upper bodies that touched. He backed up to allow me the room I needed to take the jeans and underwear to his knees, then he shook them off the rest of the way.

Totally naked now, he reached for the zipper on my jeans and unzipped it, even as I ran my hands over his bottom, cupping the cheeks in my hands. He wiggled the last of my clothing off, moving with them down my legs until they piled at our feet. Then his hands roved their way back up, stopping to touch the tight little curls between my legs. He ran his hands through them, not touching any of the more sensitive areas, not delving deeper, just brushing past.

Once his hips settled against mine again, and I felt how hot and hard and large he was, the fire of the passion took me. We couldn’t get close enough to each other, our arms wrapped around the other, our legs becoming tangled, mouths melding, frenzied groping, he even licked and suckled my nipples.

The first time was frenzied. The three—or was it four?—after that were slower and filled with sweet torture.

Both of us were virgins that night, and though it was special, promising more of the same in the years to come, the rest of our life was not the same. Even now, we run, we flee; we have nothing but each other to hold on to. Most days, it is enough, but some…some days I need more. But I can never have it.

But this is the life I chose, and the one that I revel in, and I would go through the very fires of hell to keep it and Adam.

Copyrighted © 2008 Arden Ashart