Moon Dance

by Angela Knight

  She smiled up at him, eying it. “Is that a rocket launcher in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

  Lucas grinned. “I think the actual quote was ‘pistol.’ ”

  Elena gave him a lusty smile and her best Bogie drawl. “ ‘That ain’t exactly a snub-nose, schweetheart.’ ”

  “You sure about that? Maybe you need a closer look.” He reached for the waistband of his trunks.

  She caught her breath in anticipation.

  Lucas slid them down slowly, a wicked half-smile quirking his lips. The head of his shaft appeared over the lowering waistband, fat as a plum, then the thick shaft with its long, veined underside. Finally his balls, full and tight with arousal in their nest of dark curls.

  He bent with surprising male grace and pushed the wet trunks the rest of the way off, then kicked them aside. Straightening to his full height, he caught his erect cock in one hand. Long as his fingers were, it was a handful even for him. Setting his big feet apart, he angled the curving shaft upward, stroking its length as he cupped his balls in the other hand, displaying himself shamelessly. “What do you think?”

  “I think modesty is not your best thing.” Her voice sounded embarrassingly hoarse.

  He laughed. “Honey, I’m an Alpha. We don’t do modest.”

  Elena blinked, watching a gleaming droplet roll from one tiny male nipple, down the sculpted ridges of his ribs to the top of one strong thigh. “What do you do?”

  “Whatever we can get away with.” He stepped closer and sat down on the edge of the chaise. Bracing a strong arm on the cushioned back, he leaned down toward her mouth. “Speaking of which . . .”

  Elena reached for the kiss eagerly, hungry to taste him again. She hadn’t been mistaken about that mouth. His lips really did feel like satin, and his tongue stroked between hers with a connoisseur’s skill. Still kissing her lazily, he cupped one breast, caressing her, teasing her already hard nipple until it began to ache again.

  The Burning Moon driving her in concert with her own curiosity, Elena started touching him. Her fingers traced the great slabs of muscle covering his chest, her nails tracing through the cloud of dark, soft hair that covered them. Circling his tongue with hers, she followed the silken trail downward, over the intriguing ridges of his belly. Down to his cock, jutting urgently against her hip. She wrapped her fingers around it and was delighted to note her thumb and index finger didn’t quite meet. Dreamily, she gave him a slow stroke, back and forth. He growled against her mouth, the sound feral.

  By the time he pulled away, they were both breathing hard.

  For a long moment, they stared into one another’s eyes, feeling the raw need pulse between them. The moment was so intense, she felt driven to crack the tension with a joke. “Definitely a rocket launcher.”

  Lucas’s laughter boomed as he pulled away and knelt at the foot of the chaise. “Wench! Just for that . . .” Grabbing her hips, he hauled her ruthlessly right to the edge, then spread her wide, his palms warm on her thighs. She caught her breath, startled and delighted, as he buried his face right between her legs.

  The first stroke of his tongue felt as if it would blow the top off her head. She arched, gasping. “Lucas!”

  “Yes?” Another wicked, teasing stroke. He spread her with two fingers and lifted his head, tilting it to one side as he studied her. “Pretty little puss.” Lucas gave her another long, slow lap, then swirled the tip of his tongue around her clit. Fire spiraled in its luxurious wake.

  Elena squirmed. Panted. Remembered the feeling of that promising cock filling her hand.

  She wanted it in her. Every inch, filling her all the way up. “Lucaaas!” Tossing her head on the cushion, she groaned in need.

  “Mmmmmm?” He was making all kinds of extravagant, wet noises now as he teased her juicing flesh. Every time he flicked her clit with his tongue, a little pop of flame darted up her spine.

  “Would you please quit teasing me and fuck?” She blinked at her own voice. It was an octave lower than it should be, all but rumbling with her Burning Moon.

  “Getting a little impatient, darling?” Something entered her, and she jolted, belatedly realizing he’d slid a finger between her desperately wet lips.

  “God, yes!” She pumped her hips, grinding down on that promising digit. Big as it was, though, she wanted something a whole lot larger. “Dammit, Lucas, you’re making me insane!”

  He reached up her body and found one nipple. Gave it a teasing twist. “You might consider begging.”

  Elena panted and wrapped both hands in his hair. “I thought you were a nice man!”

  His chuckle was just slightly sinister. “You thought wrong.”

  “Lucas, dammit!” She transferred one hand from his hair to a brawny shoulder and dug in her fingers.

  He jerked. “Hey, watch the claws!”

  “Now!” It was an outright Burning Moon growl. She realized distantly she was one deep breath from Turning.

  “Well, if you insist.”

  And he pounced.

  There was no other word for it. He simply bounded from the foot of the chaise and landed on top of her with a low, dark growl of his own. Rearing up, he grabbed her under one knee, jerked her thighs wide, and aimed that thick, upcurving cock with the other.

  Elena lifted her head to watch hungrily as the round head brushed her sensitive lips, then nosed its way inside. Bracing himself on one muscled arm, he rolled his hips.

  And drove that thick cock deep in one hard thrust.

  It filled her completely in a delicious rush. Though Elena was tight, she was also very wet, and the powerful surge of his hips pushed him in to the balls.

  She yowled.

  He felt incredible. Thick, hard—almost too much so—each thrust shooting an explosion of pleasure into her ravenous body. With a wordless cry of need, she wrapped both legs around his working backside and coiled her arms around his shoulders.

  Teeth clenched with effort, she started grinding up at him, desperate to shoot them both to the peak she could feel just out of reach.

  • • •

  God, she felt incredible. Those slick inner muscles of hers milked his cock with every thrust. He panted like a wolf, hunching against her, half wild with feral hunger.

  She stared up at him, her green eyes glittering and savage in the moonlight, her lips pulled back from her teeth. Teeth that, unless he was mistaken, had lengthened into fangs.

  Lucas was just as close to Turning himself. His fingernails were damn near claws, and he had to hold her carefully to avoid puncturing that delicate skin.

  He wanted to slow it down some more, but Elena wouldn’t let him, rolling her body fiercely against his, her sex so slick and hot as it gripped him.

  Muscles began to pulse deep in her core, rippling along the length of his shaft. Lucas gritted his teeth and fought to hold on, but she felt too wet and tight and good. Her beautiful eyes went dazed and vague, and she threw her head back, sending all that red hair spilling over the cushion. “Lucas,” she gasped, and screamed. “Luuuuucaaas!”

  The sound of his name combined with the luscious feel of her sex and the warm, wet satin of her straining body. His back jerked into a bow as fire boiled up out of his balls and down his shaft in sweet, burning pulses of pleasure. He bellowed, coming, pouring himself into her.

  Giving her everything he had.

  So they writhed together, sweating flesh and straining effort, and pleasure so great it was blinding.

  Until at last it was over, and they collapsed into one another’s arms, panting and wet. He drew her closer and lay his head against her pretty breast, listening to the slowing thunder of her heart.

  His arms were trembling. He could feel the muscles in her thighs jerking where her legs were wrapped around his waist. And his softened cock was still
clasped in her sex.

  “Man.” Lucas groaned.

  “Umm. Yeah.” She unwrapped one of her arms from his shoulders. It fell to the cushion. With a sense of satisfaction, he realized her hand was shaking.

  Good. At least he wasn’t the only one.

  Carefully, reluctantly, he withdrew from her. He frowned. He was actually a little sore. She’d feel it even more. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “God, no.”

  With an effort, Lucas levered himself off the chaise and braced his legs. His knees were shaking. He laughed. “Damn, girl, I think you killed me.”

  She blinked up at him slowly, her cameo face bathed in moonlight. “Murder-suicide, maybe.” Groaning, she sat up, drawing his attention with the sway and bounce of her lovely breasts.

  “Want to wash off in the tub?”

  “Nope.” She swung those long, lovely legs over and stood up. “I want all that lovely sperm just where it is.”

  Lucas laughed and walked over to the railing, where he’d left two thick towels hanging. “Well, this is a first. Normally the last thing I want is to get my partner pregnant.” He handed her one, then took the other for himself.

  Slowly, she started drying herself off. Despite her denials, she moved as if she were a little sore. Looping his towel around his neck, he took hers from her unresisting hands and began toweling her off.

  Elena stood still in the circle of his arms, her eyes drifting closed as she let him minister to her. The top of her head barely came to his shoulder.

  That observation triggered another wash of protectiveness. He wrapped the big towel around her like a child, then used his own to work on her hair.

  When he finished with her, she watched sleepily as he dried himself off. Resting one hand on the small of her back, he urged her toward the door. “Come on, Elena. Time for bed.”

  With a wordless murmur, she went where he directed.

  CHAPTER 7

  Lucas found Elena a brand-new toothbrush still in its package—a souvenir of a recent trip to the dentist—and let her borrow a brush and a hair dryer.

  His generosity was rewarded when she bent at the waist and flipped her red hair over her head to give it a brisk brushing. The sight of her pretty breasts bouncing with the motion was almost enough to rouse his sated cock.

  Once they’d cleaned themselves up for bed, he led the way to his bedroom. The bed was a massive four-poster he’d found in a secondhand shop, a big pine monster he’d bought solely because it was long enough to accommodate his six-foot-five-inch frame.

  He watched her check out the picture on his bedside table. It was the only photograph he had of him and his mother, a stiff Christmas shot taken twenty years before at Kmart. He’d been a sullen twelve, while Sue Rollings looked far too thin and far too old for her age. Her closed-lip smile was intended to hide her crooked, cigarette-stained teeth. Her hair lay in a straight, gleaming black curtain around her shoulders. It had been her one beauty, her one vanity.

  His mother had been a victim for every man she met. If Sue had been in Elena’s shoes, it would never even have occurred to her to fight Stephen at all. She certainly wouldn’t have taken a chance on running all the way across the state to ask for help from a cop she didn’t even know.

  Elena’s long, elegant fingers touched the cheap metal frame. “Is this you and your mother?”

  “Yeah. Not exactly blue-bloods, are we?”

  She gave him a sudden wicked grin. “Personally I prefer my blood red.” Standing on tip-toe, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down for a kiss that curled his toes. By the time she let him up for air again, his cock was twitching with interest. She gave her upper lip a flirtatious flick of the tongue. “And hot.”

  “You’re definitely good at heating mine.” He blew out a breath.

  “I do try.” With a light laugh, Elena turned and slid between the covers. She turned onto her back, all that glorious hair of hers spilling over his pillow like a river of copper and flame. Green eyes met his. “Come to bed.”

  He joined her under the comforter. By rights, he should be wiped out after all that sex, yet he felt oddly keyed-up. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Waiting for her to realize she really was too good for him.

  After all, she drove a Ferrari and was a descendent of a warrior king. He’d grown up in a trailer park, alternately beaten and ignored by a series of part-time fathers.

  Compelled for no reason he could name, Lucas said, “Stephen was right, y’know. I am a mongrel.”

  “Stephen was, as always, full of shit.” She rolled over against his side, sliding a long, slender arm around his chest. Her head came to rest on the hollow between his shoulder and the swell of his right pec, spilling a wealth of silken hair across his side. “Good night, Lucas.”

  Damn, she felt good there.

  Ten minutes later, he followed her into sleep.

  • • •

  Elena woke early, as she always did.

  She found herself lying half across a warm, sculpted, hair-dusted chest, which rose and fell in sleep. Lifting her head, she stared down into Lucas’s strong face with its regal nose and arrogant chin. Black lashes lay on his high cheekbones like dark feathered fans.

  Her right hand, draped over her waist, brushed the head of his erection. She lifted her head to enjoy the view. He’d kicked off the covers during the night, so now he lay gloriously revealed. Big as the bed was, his shoulders still seemed to take up most of the mattress. His tanned skin looked golden in the sunlight pouring in through the half-opened curtains, and his legs were long and powerful.

  Careful not to wake him, she traced her nails through the ruff of hair on his chest. You’re a dangerous man, Lucas.

  All her life, she’d dreamed of a man like him. Then again, she supposed every red-blooded woman in America had dreamed of a man like Lucas Rollings—body by God, face of an archangel, a protective streak a mile wide. Who wouldn’t want somebody like that by her side?

  But there was more to him than great abs and an Alpha male growl. She remembered the vulnerability in his eyes when he’d described his abusive childhood. He’d gone out of his way to assuage her guilt and convince her he admired her for her battle against Stephen and her father.

  When she thought about it, that little confession of his was pretty unusual all by itself. Most Alphas would rather eat glass than admit they’d ever been anybody’s victim. It ran against the whole persona.

  Lucas was definitely not your typical Alpha. Which was a good thing, because she’d had more than enough typical Alpha behavior in her life. The last thing she wanted was another male giving orders. She thought she could trust Lucas on that front.

  Yet despite his flashes of tenderness, he had a definite edge. She wouldn’t want to piss him off, that was for damn sure. He’d never lay a hand on her in anger, but she strongly expected he had a tongue that could make a girl limp.

  Elena grinned wickedly. Come to think of it, his tongue had already left her pretty limp. The man had a seriously talented mouth.

  Speaking of which, he was probably going to be hungry when he woke up. The least she could do was cook him a nice breakfast.

  She rolled out of bed, hoping he had something edible in that big refrigerator of his.

  • • •

  Lucas woke to the smell of frying bacon—and even better, the scent of fresh coffee. His mouth began to water, and his stomach growled.

  After pausing just long enough to dig out a pair of jeans and drag them up over his hips, he headed for the kitchen.

  Elena stood at the stove wearing only one of his T-shirts and a pair of panties. She looked up from the cast-iron skillet full of scrambled eggs, a smile curving that full-lipped mouth. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

  “Good m
orning to you, too.” He eyed the center island, where a pile of bacon steamed on top of a plate covered with paper towels. Selecting a strip, he found it crisp and perfect. He looked at her and munched. “This is really good. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

  Elena smiled as she started transferring the eggs onto another plate. “My mother loved to cook. It always outraged Dad—he kept asking why we had a chef when Mom insisted on cooking all the time—but it made her happy. I learned from her.”

  On the opposite side of the kitchen, bread popped from the toaster. Lucas went to collect the slices and toast a couple more. “So what’s on the agenda today?” Opening the jar of jelly she’d put on the counter, he gave her a hopeful grin. “More sex?”

  She grinned back at him. “After a quick trip to the mall. I literally don’t have a thing to wear except what I got here in.”

  “You really don’t need clothes. I like you just fine naked.”

  “Nice try, but no cigar. We’re going shopping.”

  “And then more sex?”

  “You really have no shame, do you?”

  “Hey, I’m a guy.” A thought made him sober. “I wonder if last night’s activities . . .” He broke off, suddenly imagining a little girl with Elena’s flaming hair and leaf-green eyes. The image sent a surprising shaft of yearning through him.

  You’re just the sperm donor, dumbass.

  She cocked her head, considering the question. “No, I’m not pregnant yet.” A smile teased the corners of her mouth. “Maybe later.”

  “Wait—you can tell?”

  “Yeah, my scent hasn’t changed. And it would, within a couple of hours of getting pregnant.” She carried the plate of eggs to the table and sat down. “It’s part of Merlin’s spell. Which is a good thing, because otherwise none of us would ever carry a child to term. Shifting causes miscarriages.”

  “Ouch. We’ll just have to make sure you don’t shift, then.”

  Elena gave him a teasing grin. “Well, not right after sex, anyway.”