A reaper who likes to raise hell. A good angel who wants to be bad.
Bring. It. On.
Book 5 Taming the Beast series
Thank heaven for babes who like to raise hell.
Taming the Beast, Book 5
Wynona relishes her job as a reaper. Some jerkwad pisses her off? He’s toast. Any douchebag who mistreats a woman better watch out. Lately, she’s been enjoying it a little too much—and Heaven is not amused.
Wings temporarily clipped, she’s doing time working as an enforcer at From Crud to
Stud. The body count isn’t what she’s used to, but at least the scenery—that is, her celestial parole officer—is tall, dark, and deliciously hot.
Rafael can’t take his eyes off Wynona. No, really. She’s a 24/7, one-on-one job. No matter how hard this angel rides her, she begs for more. Finding a way to bring out her best side is turning out to be the greatest challenge of his career.
She’s sassy and sexy, and she’s brought out a side of him he never knew existed—an inner Dom that is only too willing to follow her down the garden path of unrestrained indulgence. And once they set foot on that slippery slope, there’s no turning back.
Warning: Virtue has met its match. Celebrates bondage, discipline, voyeurism, and crazy good sex in an office setting, fetish club, and everywhere else. The faint of heart are advised to turn back now.
“Wait.” Heather stood. “There’s someone here to see you, Wynona.”
Oh, yeah? Hold on. No one ever willingly approached her except another reaper who had nothing to lose. Just once, she’d like to browbeat a shifter into a treatment room. Take out her frustration on him rather than her own kind. “Who? Or rather what?”
Heather bit her lower lip.
Great. Another reaper. Possibly one she’d dated only to have him dump her so he could tame his beast here and give a mortal woman his best. Louse.
She passed Constance but didn’t get far. Her legs refused to work.
The guy on the sofa pushed to his feet.
His scent washed over her, snatching her breath. If goodness and starshine had an odor, that would be his, the fragrance of an unsullied soul. Definitely not a reaper. Not a mortal either.
All of that should have had her bolting down the hall.
His outstanding looks kept her rooted to the spot. He was a large man, six-three or more, with shoulders that went from here to tomorrow. His broad chest, flat belly, and powerful thighs were the stuff of Greek myths wrapped in fashionable duds straight from GQ. Charcoal-colored pants and a midnight-blue shirt. Both garments draped his form beautifully, including the impressive bulge behind his fly.
Apollo had nothing on this dude.
As far as she could tell, he was hung better than most gods and mortals. In human years, he seemed early to mid-thirties. He’d tied back his long raven hair, though a few silky strands had escaped to graze his forehead and firm jaw.
Her knees went watery.
Dark stubble dusted his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. His complexion was a healthy bronze, eyes lushly lashed, their color a deeper blue than sapphires, his gaze deliciously intense.
Give him cuffs and a whip along with free rein and he’d rock a BDSM chamber any day.
Of course, the goodness rolling off him was a problem. He couldn’t be here for a makeover. There was nowhere to go from perfect, unless…
Could be he wanted to release his beast, the same as Eric had done a few years back. As a direct descendant of Cupid, Eric had wanted to ditch his courtly demeanor and become a bad boy to snag the babes. After he’d met Becca, the half-witch who owned this joint, he’d changed his mind about other women, hooking up with her for life.
A sweet dream Wynona didn’t expect for herself. However, if this guy wanted someone to corrupt him and had heard about her hardcore ways, how could she say no?
She sashayed across the room, stopping close enough for them to kiss. He didn’t back up or take off. Nice. Gave her a chance to indulge.
His full mouth had probably fueled countless female wet dreams, the cleft in his chin was definitely lickable, the interest in his gaze the best of all. He searched her eyes the way a mortal does when wanting to touch another person’s soul.
If she’d had one, she wouldn’t have let him look inside. Being defenseless only led to more sorrow and hurt. No thank you. She’d had an eternity of that crap. “Hey there, I’m Wynona.”
She would have offered to shake his hand, but one touch from a reaper and anyone alive was toast, except for select supernatural beings. Generally, those whose powers were equal to or greater than hers.
She wanted to ask what he was but waited, hoping skin-to-skin contact wouldn’t be verboten for them.
“Wynona.” He inclined his head slightly. A lock of hair fell past his ear and skimmed his cheek.
Her mouth watered.
Indeed he was. A killer name for a sexy man. “And what brings you here tonight, Rafael?”
Good answer. “So you’ve heard of me, huh?”
“Repeatedly and at length.” His cheeks darkened.
She flushed with excitement too. “What kind of makeover did you want?”
“I don’t. That is, none.”
He glanced past her to Heather and Constance. Heather pretended to work again rather than obviously eavesdrop. Constance didn’t budge, all eyes and ears. Stefin, one of the demon enforcers, had joined her.
Wynona glared at him.
He glowered right back, the flames in his eyes blazing.
She turned to Rafael. “None? You mean, as in no taming your beast. So you’re here to free your wayward urges, right?”
His forehead turned red but desire flashed in his eyes. “No. I actually need to rein yours in.”
Her hope soared a thousand percent. “You’re into BDSM too?” She smiled slyly. “You like being a Master?”
Heather made a strangled sound. Constance offered a throaty moan.
Rafael seemed to have stopped breathing. He finally pulled in some air. “I’m your parole officer.”
Wynona went colder than a vamp, then hotter than a menopausal woman. “What? Wait. I know what my parole officer looks like. Little dude with a face only a blind mother could love and a personality on a par with overcooked spaghetti.” Her gesture took in all of Rafael. “Definitely not you.”
“Hold it.” Stefin strode to them, his long blond hair bobbing with each step. “She was in prison like me?”
During his mortal days, he’d been in the Russian mafia.
Rafael wrinkled his nose. Heather sprayed her baby powder scent. The fragrance did little to eliminate the sulfur stench emitted by Stefin and all demons.
Rafael backed away from him. “We’re trying to avoid prison for Wynona. The group sent me here to make certain she behaves.”
Stefin nodded enthusiastically. “What group is that?”
“Supernatural Authority in Charge of Souls, what else?” Wynona curled her upper lip. “SACS for short. They suck, just like you do.” She turned to Rafael. “What happened to the other guy?”
“Got kicked upstairs.”
“Because he made my existence so miserable?”
Stefin wedged himself between her and Rafael. “Tell me how to get rid of her…Wynona.” He made a gagging sound. “I’ll gladly do it for free. I could even pay you for the information. We have leather restraints here, manacles for the problem cases, rope too. Whatever we need. There are countless storage facilities around. We can tie her up and dump her in one of them. As long as we pay the fee, no one will ever know she’s there.”
Constance cleared her throat. “Wynona would.”
Stefin waved dismissively.
Heather tried to frown, not an easy thing for a good fairy. “No one should hurt her or anyone else. Maybe you guys should talk in her office where it’s private.”
“Good idea.” Stefin turned to lead the way.
Constance grabbed his arm. “Not you, Wynona and Rafael. Go on.” She flicked her hand. “We’ll give you guys all the time you need.”
Right. Now she wanted to be friendly.
Wynona tramped down the hall, teeth bared. A were halted just outside a treatment room and ducked back into it.
She would have followed and locked Rafael out if it would have done her any good.
Of all the rotten luck. She’d just gotten her last guy to back off, and now she had a new one to break in or break. Whatever it took. Even if Rafael smelled better than a squeaky-clean soul and was hotter than a romance cover model, he was still the enemy.
She stopped at her office and gestured him inside.
He backed into the snug space, gaze bored into hers, his expression a warning not to pull anything.
Commanding and hot. The whole enchilada.
She shivered and hated herself for it.
After locking the door, she gestured to the only chair in here. “Take it. I’m good.” She sat on her desk, crossed her legs, and leaned forward, giving him an eyeful. Her skintight top plumped her breasts. Unlike other reapers, who used fear to corner their prey, she employed seduction…snug leather outfits, along with her signature scent, a lavender and musk combo. When she hunted, the poor slobs didn’t know what had hit them.
Rafael dropped into his seat. The springs creaked. “About you stealing souls.”
Yes, that. She was supposed to wait for instructions from on high before swiping the things. Trouble was, when creeps crossed her path and made the mistake of hurting innocents or pissed her off, they weren’t long for this earth. “I’ve made a few mistakes.”
He looked heavenward and breathed deeply.
His prominent Adam’s apple was totally kickass the same as his rumbling voice. Each time he spoke, his baritone registered in her belly.
“We’ve heard of more than a few mishaps.” He pulled a smartphone from his pants pocket, reading glasses from his shirt pocket.
The specs made him look even more intelligent and sexier than sin. She gripped the desk so she wouldn’t fall into his lap. Later, maybe. When he loosened up some.
He scrolled down the phone’s display. “Jerome James. Remember him?”
“He was crossing the street in front of this place and dropped to the ground. Gone in a flash. He was twenty-three and in perfect health until that moment.” Rafael peered over his glasses. “Any idea what happened?”
There were green flecks in his eyes. Amazing. “Uh…”
“I’ll need more than that.”
If he was looking for a confession, he was out of luck. An apology wasn’t doable either. She’d been totally justified in taking Jerome down. The day he’d checked out, he’d been unbelievably rude, shoving past, stomping on her toes. Next, he’d knocked against an elderly woman who could barely totter even with a cane. She should have cracked his skull with the thing, but she’d been too busy trying to stay on her swollen feet. He hadn’t notice or cared. Rather than using an iPod with earbuds, he’d carried a boombox, the bass turned thunderously loud. His soul had stunk of entitlement and cruelty, especially to women. He’d asked for it. “Can we bring him back?”
“Already have. Different body.”
No shit. “A woman’s?”
Rafael frowned. “No, a male.”
Too bad. Jerome needed to see things from the other side. “How’s he doing? What’s his address? Phone number? Maybe I should apologize.”
He arched one dark eyebrow.
Luscious bastard. “If he’s having trouble adjusting, I could help him out.” Break his kneecaps too if he was still a jerk.
Rafael glanced at her leather boot, the tip perilously close to his leg. All she had to do was move a little more and she’d be able to touch him.
Perspiration beaded on his forehead. He scooted back. “About what you did to Pete Tremore?”
Another guy who’d lacked manners. Newly turned vamps were the absolute worst. “Never heard of him.”
Rafael’s gaze roamed her thigh. “The report states you dated him for several months.”
Until he dumped her for a mortal. A guy, no less, who had season tickets to all the sports events. Jerk. If she could have taken Pete’s soul, she would have. “I’m free now. Totally unencumbered and ready to roll.”
Rafael stared hard.
She smiled. “Is good cop gone? Are you going to be bad cop now? Mix things up?”
“This is why I waited for you in the reception area rather than coming here.”
“To avoid having this conversation?”
“To see what would happen. When I arrived, I told Heather not to buzz you. I wanted to gauge how long you’d last before losing control. You got through five seconds.” He pointed at her. “You wanted to take my soul out there, admit it.”
Well, hell, she’d wanted to enjoy all of him, especially his mouth and family jewels, until she’d learned who he was. A freaking good angel. Talk about lousy breaks. “Maybe I should call a lawyer. Know any good ones?”
“Do you want to spend your entire existence locked up? You may not like Hell.”
“I hear the BDSM clubs are epic down there.”
“Not for someone in solitary.”
She pushed out her bottom lip. “Would you do that to me?”
He stared at her mouth, hair, boobs, lingering on each part for an indecently long time.
Her pussy creamed.
Someone or something rammed into the wall behind her. The framed business license tapped the plaster. Howls filled the hall along with Stefin’s curses, him bellowing in a thick Russian accent.
Rafael focused on her legs and rack.
Zoe joined the fray, barking orders, her voice as gravelly as someone who’d guzzled acid. Suddenly, everyone chilled. Footfalls and thumps followed. Knowing Stefin, Wynona figured he’d thrown the uncooperative client into a treatment room.
Rafael lifted his face and met her gaze.
Longing raced through her, coupled with a shitload of lust. He was such a beautiful guy, his expression soulful and sweet now. A balm for a lonely reaper who’d known countless rejections, who everyone treated like a leper.
Not that he’d be any different in the long run. As he’d said, he was her parole officer. He’d make her behave with threats of solitary in Hell, rather than whips, crops, cuffs, and chains, playing Alpha to her sub, disciplining her inner beast the way she really needed.
Once she was a good girl, he’d get kicked upstairs and someone else would come down to hassle her. Probably a troll like the last guy.
Crud. She needed to do her thing without interference. Being stuck here was bad enough.
“Look, I know you’re a busy man. Working for the Big Guy must be hell. To make things easier on you, I’ll behave. Promise.” She gave him the Boy Scout salute she’d learned from Pete. “I’ll only take souls I should and even throw in a deep, wet, lingering kiss and a slap on the ass to send them on their way with a smile on their faces. How’s that?”
His eyes had gone blurry when she’d mentioned deep and wet . He stared at her mouth again. She moistened her lips. A scream rang from the next room. Numerous thumps punctuated the sound.
Rafael glanced over, his shirt fluttering with his ragged breaths.
Lucky him. She was having trouble pulling in any air.
“Every day.” He turned back to her.
He pocketed his smartphone and glasses. “I’m going to be here every day.”
That could be a good thing or bad. Cautious, she tried a submissive smile to give him an idea of what she’d like. “Why?”
“To keep you in line. Make certain you don’t steal any more souls. We’re running out of fresh bodies to put them into.”
“Hey, is that my fault? Tell your boss to create more. He’s the man, he can do anything.”
“He already has, putting me in charge of you. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to protect you from yourself.”
“Oh, yeah?” She swung her foot one last time, grazing the side of his thigh. “Who’s going to protect you?”