Marcus Theodoric Treagar is a sabretooth with a curse that has him traveling through time, leaving a trail of dead bodies. Not only that, but as soon as he falls in love, he is wrenched away from that period and returned to 16th century Venice. To save the last remaining piece of his heart, he refuses to become involved again. Until Paisley Halleran. As the daughter of the shifter chronicler, Paisley Halleran knows that magick and the paranormal abound in Woodland Creek. With her adopted brother, Virgil Rowtag, they fight for every shifter’s rights in the area. When Paisley comes face to face with Marcus, who has been arrested for a murder he does not remember committing, she believes he is innocent. Marcus, on the other hand, knows he has finally found the woman truly meant for him. However, not everything is cut and dried. Paisley unearths tragic secrets and lies that link her to Marcus. Not only will it show her whether Marcus is truly innocent or guilty of the murders in Woodland Creek, it will also spell the difference between staying with Marcus because she wants to, or letting him go because she has no choice.
Sexcerpt from Treagar’s Redemption:
Marcus placed open mouth kisses against the pulse that beat erratically at the hollow of her neck, teasing, nipping before trailing his tongue along her collarbone down to her cleavage. He moved his head to suck and lick one tight nipple, and then the other that almost made her come before he rose up and dragged her jeans and panties off her.
Paisley couldn’t breathe. Her lungs seemed to want to burst with the excitement that coursed through her veins. Anticipation coated her at the sight of the carnal greed on Marcus’ face as though she was going to be eaten alive. He gave a satisfied groan when he looked at the wetness between her legs, wetness Paisley could feel sliding down the center of her ass cheeks. Her gaze followed Marcus as he retreated from the bed and stood in front of her. He was a powerful force, his aura of dominance slamming against her. Her eyes followed the flat surface and valleys of his well-built frame and her face grew hot at the sight of his arousal twitching. He looked at her, his hunger palpable, sexy, dangerous.
It was something she craved.
He grinned at her. “Like what you see, cara?”
Her eyes lifted to his. She smiled. “Yes.”
“Then it’s yours, but first I need to eat.”
Disappointment bit at the heels of Paisley’s desire. “Sure.” She eased up to turn a trifle, embarrassed that she was nearly spread-eagle on the bed. “Let me get your food tray.”
Marcus’ hands suddenly gripped her ankles. “No, cara. What’s on the tray is not what I will eat. I want what’s between your legs. Voglio il tua figa.”
“I want your wet pussy.”
“Oh.” Paisley’s breathing intensified when Marcus kneeled on the floor and pulled her to the edge of the bed. He spread her legs and placed them on his shoulders, then nipped her inner thighs gently before his tongue swiped at her.
“Ohhh…” Her eyes closed in ecstasy, every nerve ending in her skin hyper aware of Marcus’ mouth. His growls and the sounds his tongue and mouth made as he swiped from her hood to her crack brought her to dizzying heights of bliss. More of her liquid heat flowed to sustain him and she cried out when Marcus used his thumb to swirl her clit, while his tongue licked her opening. Then Marcus replaced his tongue with two fingers inside her and took her nub inside his mouth, grazing his teeth gently against it.
Paisley fisted the sheets, her body rising and falling against his expert fingers and mouth. As she felt her climax about to crest, she pressed her mound closer, her hands releasing the blanket to hold on to Marcus’ head, urging him deeper. Her body was as tight as a bowstring.
“So delicious, cara.” He growled against her clit, causing Paisley to arch her back. The combination of pleasure at Marcus eating her like the most delectable fruit and the soreness of her arm did little to stop her impending orgasm. Suddenly, Marcus let go of her clit and removed his fingers from inside her. He licked his fingers with gusto, his tongue licking every bit of cream from her. Paisley had no chance to ask why he stopped when she gasped to watch him delve back between her legs
“I have a long tongue, cara. A very long tongue and I’ve not put it to full use.” Marcus nipped at her inner thigh, trailing his tongue against her skin to let her feel the truth. “Have you been fucked by a long tongue?”
Isobelle Cate is a woman who wears different masks. Mother-writer, wife-professional, scholar-novelist. Currently living in Manchester, she has been drawn to the little known, the secret stories, about the people and the nations: the English, the Irish, the Scots, the Welsh, and those who are now part of these nations whatever their origins. Her vision and passion are fuelled by her interest and background in history and paradoxically, shaped by growing up in a clan steeped in lore, loyalty, and legend. Isobelle is intrigued by forces that simmer beneath the surface of these cultures, the hidden passions, unsaid desires, and yearnings unfulfilled.