What A Wolf Dares (Lux Catena Series Book 2)

by Amy Pennza

  His reflection appeared in the glass as he entered the room and came up behind her. He snatched her against him and nuzzled the side of her neck. “Let’s skip dinner. I just want to eat you.”

  Desire shot straight to her sex. Did he mean that literally?

  “And I do mean eat you,” he said in her ear.

  Yes. Yes, he did.

  She drew in a shaky breath. “But then all of Gretchen’s hard work will go to waste.”

  He pulled back. “And my dinner.”

  “And your dinner.”

  “Fine.” He turned her and pulled her toward the dining room. “But I’m saving you for dessert.”

  He served her shrimp risotto in a buttery sauce that melted in her mouth. There was also some kind of soft, flaky bread, steamed vegetables, and a chilled white wine that perfectly complemented the meal’s flavors.

  When she couldn’t take another bite, she pushed her plate back. “Once again, I’ve eaten too much of your food.”

  He sipped his wine. “I like a woman who eats, chère. It’s sexy.”

  There he went again, being wonderful. “Just about every female I know wants to be thinner.”

  “Men don’t want a skeleton.” His gaze lingered where her breasts spilled over the top of her dress. “Trust me.”

  The wine was going to her head, because her cheeks were hot. “Well, as my mother always says, ‘Sophie may be shy, but her appetite isn’t.’”

  Remy put his glass down. “There’s nothing wrong with your appetite.” His gaze dropped to her cleavage again. “There’s nothing wrong with any part of you.”

  And to think she’d worried he didn’t want her. He’d spent just about every moment since proving it to her. She toyed with the napkin by her plate. “Thank you for tonight. For the dress.” She flicked a glance up. “For dinner.”

  “I was worried you might not like shrimp. But try arguing with Vic.”

  She smiled. “He was really nice.”

  “He told me shrimp is an aphrodisiac.” Remy wiped his mouth with a white cloth napkin. “I probably shouldn’t tell you the other things he said.”

  “Really?” She laughed. “Was he speaking Italian?”

  “Mostly. He likes to think he can get by in French. I usually just nod and buy whatever he allows me to leave with.”

  Now she was really laughing. “That seems like an inefficient way to run a business.”

  Remy watched her laugh, an arrested look on his face. After a second, he shook his head. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  She lowered her gaze. The way he looked at her… Like he couldn’t get enough. “I feel beautiful with you.”

  “Go to Europe with me,” he said suddenly.

  She froze. “What?”

  He stood and rounded the table, kneeling at her side like a knight pledging his heart to a lady. “We’ll leave our packs. Go rogue. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Remy—”

  “Your father can’t find us there.”

  “We’ll be hunted. He could send people after us.”

  Remy’s eyes were intense. “Then we’ll just have to stay one step ahead of them.”

  Her throat was tight. “Forever? You want to live like that? You said yourself that Europe is a lawless place.”

  “It’s better than the alternative.”

  Her heart pounded. Could they really run away like that? When she planned it before, she’d been alone. “What about Max and Lizette? Just because we leave doesn’t mean my father and Hamish will drop everything and go home. They could still attack New York. In fact, I can almost guarantee it.”

  He surged to his feet and extended his hand, his face determined. “Mate me, then. The vow, the bite, the whole thing.”

  She stared at him, helpless.

  “Mate me.” His eyes were wolf blue. “I’ll take care of you, Sophie. Our kid might be a Telepath, but who gives a shit? I don’t think you care about that.”

  “I don’t.” She said it as forcefully as she could, hoping he’d scent the sincerity in her words. “But that won’t solve anything, Remy. My father would just kill me, and then you’d die, too.”

  He cursed and turned away, his fists clenched at his sides.

  She looked at the table, at the beautiful dinner he’d prepared. Was this all they had? Just a stolen night in a New York City penthouse? Because eventually—no, soon—she had to take off this dress and wipe the makeup off her face. She had to get in a car, return to the Lodge, and tell Max she was ready to be Asher’s wife.

  Her father had ticked two options off his fingers, but there was really only one: mate Asher or watch Remy die.

  She stood and walked past Remy, past the living room and the hallway leading to the bedrooms. She stopped at the big patio slider and tugged it open. Crisp November air filled the penthouse, chilling her skin and tugging at her hair.

  She went to the balcony and looked over the city. Far below, humans went about their business, totally oblivious to the life-and-death drama playing out above them. Not for the first time, a sense of longing built in her chest as she watched them. What would it be like to live as one of them? With no pack rules or mating rituals? If a human fell out of love with their spouse, they just…picked another. She knew it wasn’t as simple as that, but it was a hell of a lot less complicated than the lux catena.

  Remy came up behind her, his body radiating heat.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair.

  She gripped the balcony. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I shouldn’t have pressured you like that. You’re right. Your father won’t back down.”

  She started to turn, but he pressed harder against her.

  “Not just yet.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Don’t let this end just yet.”

  Cars glided up and down the streets below, maneuvering in and out of traffic in a dance that looked elegant from this high up.

  “I would have loved showing you Paris, though,” he said.

  She closed her eyes. “You’ve been to Paris?” She used to have a poster of the Eiffel Tower on her bedroom wall.

  He scoffed in her ear, then bit the tender skin of her earlobe. “‘Course I have. What kind of Frenchman would I be if I hadn’t?”

  A groan built in her chest. It was too cold to stand out here, but he kept her warm. Lemon, peppermint, and a bracing rush of cold and snow swirled around her. She tilted her head to give him better access to her neck.

  He took full advantage, running his lips along her vein. “I want you,” he said against her skin, touching the tip of his tongue to her pulse. “Here. Now.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Here?”

  “Mmmm. I can’t think of a better place.”

  She curled her hands over the balcony railing. The barrier itself was made of glass panels. Anyone in a neighboring penthouse would be able to see them. The people on the ground would only need to look up.

  “Just say yes, Sophie.” He echoed the words he’d said to her months ago, when he coaxed her into talking to him on the way to Vermont. Then, he’d followed it with “what’s so dangerous about talking in a car?” Nothing. But she couldn’t say the same about having sex on an open balcony in the middle of New York City.

  He pushed her hair over one shoulder and put his hands on the zipper at her back.

  Far below, traffic rumbled. Someone hailed a cab and got in. She should say no. He’d stop the moment the word left her lips. Did she want to?

  No. Not even a little bit. She let out a long, acquiescent sigh. Whatever he was about to do to her, she wanted it with all her heart.

  He eased the zipper down. Cool air hit her back and teased at the top of her ass.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he said, appreciation thick in his voice. “You’re not wearing underwear again.”

  “Gretchen didn’t bring any.” Maybe by design. Sophie wouldn’t put anything past that woman.

  He kissed her bare shoulder. “Then I
owe her a bigger tip.”

  Desire built low in her belly and spread like a warm river to her sex. She leaned her hips against the glass.

  He smoothed the dress down her arms, grasping and lifting her hands so she could slip out of the sleeves. The fabric caught on her hips. He pushed it down, and the dress fell heavy to the ground.

  Now she wore nothing but the push-up bra, stilettos, stockings, and a black garter belt.

  “Doux Jésus,” Remy muttered. He didn’t give her any time to adjust to baring her sex to the world. He ran a finger up her spine to her bra clasp and popped it with a deft flick of his fingers. Her breasts bounced free of the cups. She lifted her hands again, and he tugged the bra off and tossed it to the side.

  Someone in a bright red winter coat emerged from a building below and walked along the sidewalk. If they looked up, they’d see her nude on the balcony, her breasts swaying above the glass. They’d see a fully clothed man and an expensive penthouse at her back. Her cheeks heated. What would they think of such a sight? They might assume she was an escort, the kind of woman who regularly stripped naked for powerful men.

  “Spread your legs a little, mamour,” Remy whispered, combining the endearment into a single, sexy word.

  He called her his love. She didn’t need to know French to understand that much. She widened her stance and received another deep growl for her efforts.

  Warm fingers stroked her sex from behind, spreading her juices over her lips. More warmth flooded her cheeks.

  “Wet for me already,” he said. He lifted his fingers to her breasts and, one by one, painted the tips with her cream.

  She sucked in a shuddering breath. The cold air blew over the moisture on her nipples and teased at the heat building between her legs.

  He lingered over one breast, plucking her nipple to a hard point, before moving to the other and giving it the same treatment. Then he trailed his hand down to her spread sex, tracing her lips with light, feathery touches.

  Her clit throbbed. Uncaring if she looked wanton, she leaned forward, thrusting her sex toward him. Touch me there.

  He dipped inside her, swirling around her opening but avoiding her clit. He spread more moisture over her lips, even running his fingers through her private curls.

  But he never neared her clit.

  Frustration mounted. She tightened her grip on the railing. Cold wind buffeted her, and her nipples tightened. Dammit, she needed friction!

  He slid a long finger inside her. Immediately, her inner muscles clamped down, and he groaned. She trained her gaze on a yellow cab making its way down the street, its headlights two glowing orbs. Did the driver see her? Could the passengers inside see the man behind her, his finger buried to the knuckle in her sex? She waited for someone to honk, or for a passerby to stop on the street and gawk up at them.

  If it happened, she couldn’t even say if she’d ask Remy to stop.

  He pumped in and out. With every pass, pressure built. She rotated her hips, eager for a touch, any touch, on her clit. The sound of her wetness was loud on the balcony, the cold air carrying it far beyond the penthouse. He added another finger, forcing a grunt from her lips. She shoved her hips back, splaying her sex. He’d touch her clit now. He had to!

  But he didn’t. Instead, he spread his fingers, stretching her inside—widening her for what was yet to come. He pumped her again, pistoning in and out. If she had been wearing panties, they would have been soaked by now. Her mouth fell open, and her breath came in pants. Her breasts jiggled. Every few seconds, one of her nipples bumped the railing, sending ripples of pleasure down her chest to her sex.

  Pleasure built and built. She chased the edge, never quite grasping it. She lifted her ass, desperate to feel his fingers on her clit. He added a third finger and kept pumping. Now she was stuffed, her sex straining to accommodate him. She spread a little wider. The extra pressure carried her a bit closer to the edge, but not close enough. The wave crested just out of her reach, then built again…higher and higher.

  His pant legs brushed her ankles, reminding her of his fully clothed state. His hand landed heavy next to hers as he braced one arm against the railing. With his other hand, he continued a steady, stroking rhythm. In and out. In and out. He worked her over and over again, never so much as brushing the aching point of her arousal.

  She curled one fist against the railing and slammed it down.

  “What is it, chère?” His voice held an edge of amusement. He knew what he was doing. It was infuriating.

  She turned her head. “If you don’t touch—”

  He pinched her clit.

  Shock waves blasted across her sex. Her knees loosened, and for a second, she saw stars. “Oh…my…” She choked on the last word.

  Then he rolled it between his fingers, slipping around the tight nub again and again and again. The city lights blurred. No, her vision blurred. Something inside her broke loose and flew over the balcony, soaring higher and higher until it reached the sky and exploded into a million pieces. She threw her head back against his chest and sobbed her release for the whole world to hear.

  Dimly, she registered a rustling sound. There was the clink of a belt, then the rasp of a zipper.

  “Okay, chère?” Remy murmured over the top of her head.

  She nodded. It was the best she could do, since she no longer possessed the power of speech.

  He entered her in one solid thrust, the motion rocking her onto her toes and lifting the spikes of her stilettos into the air. Her sex clenched all around him, aftershocks from her orgasm rippling up and down his shaft.

  “Be lucky to last five seconds,” he muttered. Then he let out a string of guttural French she had no hope of translating.

  Lodged firmly inside her, he braced both hands on the outside of hers. He dropped his face to her sweaty neck and inhaled. Then he dragged one fang along her vein, raising goosebumps on her arms. “You like this, don’t you? Showing yourself to anyone who cares to watch?”

  Heaven help her, she did. If someone six months ago had asked her if she’d ever have sex on a balcony in the busiest city in the world, she would have laughed in their face—or slapped it. Now, she rotated her hips, seating Remy’s cock more deeply inside her.

  He sucked in a breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He stretched the last word out on a hiss as he withdrew and then plunged back inside.

  She moaned and clutched at the railing.

  He gave her a few more deep, lingering thrusts before setting a faster, more aggressive pace. His soft grunts punctuated each jab, and his balls slapped lightly against her damp curls. He moved his hands to her waist, his fingers pressing the garter belt into her skin.

  “Spread as wide as you can, chère,” he instructed. “Offer yourself to me.”

  She moved her feet apart and leaned forward until her upper ribs touched the railing. Her tits hung over the edge. With each thrust, they slapped against the outside of the glass. If someone in the apartment below wandered onto their own balcony and looked up, they’d see a pair of breasts jiggling furiously in the air. The thought sent another wave of release spiraling through her.

  Above her, Remy growled. “Feel you getting wetter. You’re almost too slippery for me.” He gripped her hips, holding her still while he pummeled her sex.

  There was nothing to do but cling to the railing while he pumped her, drawing more moisture with every thrust.

  The cool air teased her sex and the insides of her thighs, where her juices had smeared as he stroked her to orgasm. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  His breath hitched, and his thrusts became less coordinated. His fingers dug into her. Just when she thought he was about to come, he reached around her front. He used one hand to pull the mound of her sex up, stretching it taut. With the other, he rubbed a fast circle around her clit.

  The building shook. Or maybe she shook. They both shook as he jerked her against him and pumped jet after jet into her, his shout of victory rocketing off the balcony and
tumbling into the world below.

  Another release grabbed her and tossed her into an inky black sea. She rolled in the waves, grasping at something to keep her on the surface.

  Her hands closed around strong arms, then she moved one up to the hot face pressed close to hers.

  Remy’s breath fluttered against her cheek as he held both of them up.

  Her heart pounded hard enough to beat out of her chest. She cupped his jaw as she fluttered back to earth.

  He kissed her temple. “Sophie—”

  An angry buzz flooded the balcony. Her eyes flew open. His phone.

  Oh god. Someone had seen them. A tenant in the next building or some person down on the street had spotted them and called the police.

  He slipped out of her. She whirled and hurried to the living room, nearly tripping over the metal strip that separated the balcony from the marble.

  “Careful,” Remy barked behind her. A second later, the buzzing stopped, and he said, “Dom. What is it?”

  She grabbed a blanket off the back of a sofa and wrapped it around her, relief surging through her veins.

  Remy stepped into the living room, his clothing back in place and his phone pressed to his ear. As he neared, she heard Dom say, “We’ve got a problem.”

  Her relief evaporated. What now? What could be worse than the shitstorm that already awaited them back home?

  “I’m listening,” Remy said.

  “Asher Benton has challenged you. He wants to fight you one on one.”

  Sophie’s stomach dropped. Remy could never accept. No Telepath could take on a Finder. It wasn’t even a contest.

  “Tell him I formally accept.”

  She jerked. What? she mouthed. No!

  Dom sighed. “I thought you might.”

  She waved a hand at Remy. No, she mouthed again.

  He shook his head at her. “When?” he asked Dom.

  “Tomorrow, at the Lodge.” Dom’s voice was dry. “He says it’s a matter of honor.”