Charlotte

by Mima

  He raised one brow. “If my lady pleases . . .”

  The lady pleased. She wanted, she dared. Her mouth fell open on a downward swoop. She pushed her lips over his round head, turned her neck and got him into her throat. He was so warm! His scent rolled over her own, male, private, and then she laid her tongue alongside him and sucked, drawing up. He tasted strange and delicious.

  Looking up at him through her lashes, she watched in satisfaction as his head tossed back, golden hair brushing his shoulders, shirt framing his bowed chest, arms braced behind him.

  Wicked Charlotte, man-eater. Gleefully, she sank back down over the soft skin, straining to tighten her lips around every dent and ridge. There was so much to feel, to explore, for such a small area. Relatively small. Infinitely interesting. Her own rhythm developed smoothly, her hips following in anticipation.

  Hands skimming up his body, she played with his twitching abs, his flexing pecs. Guttural sounds tore from her throat, like a wolf worrying her prey. She got him deeper, tasted him, darted her teeth into the rigid muscle.

  Finally she pulled free, jaw aching, to lick long, hard swipes at his tip. She pulled her tee off, unhooked her bra, dropped her skirt, slip, and tattered panties. Her sandals laced at the ankles, so they stayed as she shoved his shirt off his shoulders until it trapped his arms.

  His eyes were mere slits, but she could see him riveted on her breasts, pulling heavy now without support. She picked up her skirt, fished in the pocket, and took out a condom. She ripped it open and rolled it on him with only one readjustment of the latex. Studying the powerful male body stretched out and waiting for her, she pinched her nipples in disbelief.

  Ivor tossed his chin to her in a male summons worthy of royalty.

  She wanted to answer, but she didn’t know how. Did she straddle him? Did she lie down on the chaise beside him? Deciding not to embarrass herself with any pretension of ability, she admitted the truth. “I’mavirgin,” she blurted.

  He froze. She bit her lip. She hadn’t thought it would be a problem for any guy in this era.

  “You are unclaimed? I did not feel a barrier.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never even had a boyfriend. This was the first time anyone has ever touched me down there.”

  His gaze narrowed, then his form misted with werewolf speed she couldn’t follow.

  The world spun and her knees stung. Her palms snapped with the bite of wood. Then pain ripped air out of her lungs while her body cramped, locking belatedly hard against the intrusion stuck inside her.

  They both took a moment for one breath. Her brain processed he’d come into her from behind, was inside her, her virginity gone in a stinging instant. He’d taken it, harsh, too quick . . . Her disappointment scratched off in her head when his hands claimed her breasts next.

  His hands curled, gripped her breasts, crushed them, bruised the nipples with alternating hard pulls. A soft cry whimpered out of her from the echoing hurt. His hands slid down her ribs to her hips. He knelt behind her, knees pressing out alongside hers. Warmth seeped from where he hovered over her back. One of his hands landed on the deck next to hers, fingers reaching twice her length. His other hand curved over her belly and across her bald mound.

  As boldly as he’d slammed her to the ground and invaded her core, his fingers slid into the hood of her clit. Writhing fingertips stirred through the small space, pressing and rubbing. Her pain vanished. Her interior loosened its hard clench, but the interesting thing inside her called for exploration, and she tightened again. Would she be able to find pleasure in this?

  Ivor swore behind her in a language she didn’t recognize. His fingers plucked at her sizzling nub. She bucked under him. He kept swearing, body rigid, heat pouring over her until it was almost tangible. She squeezed her inner muscles as hard as she could.

  He froze again, groaned into a growl, and then began to thrust. Only her ass kept him from driving to her throat. His hips slapped against her cheeks, sending her breasts swaying hard. Nothing in her life had ever felt so good.

  His fingers smashed her clit flat, grinding her in circles while his hips worked without much rhythm at all. Fast and frantic, the pleasure roared past like the blue line metro had missed its stop. Her braid tickled her spine, her nails bit at the wood, her breasts chafed against the floor, and her whole body shook with the force of him moving in her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and saw a rainbow. It rose up out of the depths of her belly where his tip shoved tight, arched through her, and touched down again where his fingers held her clit. It was perfect. She was showered in gold.

  He snarled, burying his face in her neck. His body swung and smacked into hers for a few more breaths, then he crushed her with his weight. Her arms gave out, elbows grinding into the floor. He fell silent. Then a long, deep, masculine groan traveled from his chest through her back into her. His hips jerked. He sighed.

  She blinked, body in shock. Satisfied, alive. And ready for more. He lifted his weight, then backed out of her gently. With her skirt, he wiped her thighs and folds. She gasped, shimmying away. Sitting on her ass among wrinkled clothes, out among the poor protection of some scattered chaises where anyone could see her, Charlotte had shagged a werewolf. He tossed the condom aside and used her skirt to wipe himself, too.

  “I take it virgins do it for you,” Charlotte quipped, breathless.

  He lifted his chin imperiously. “Your virginity did it for me.”

  He stood, pulled her to her feet. Being dressed by Ivor made her feel shy. Tossing his shirt over one shoulder, he angled out his elbow to her the way he had at the start of the night. “Walk with me?”

  She nodded. Nude but majestic, he walked her inside, and into a narrower corridor. When he held the door open to a bedroom with a private balcony, she didn’t even hesitate.

  He tossed his shirt on the bed and stood looking at her. “Give your body to me tonight. You can trust me with it.”

  Licking her lips, she thought again about how he’d so roughly taken her virginity, but from passion, not violence. She’d had an orgasm unlike anything she’d ever known, and there was no doubt he could teach her more. She nodded, aching to feel him inside her again.

  He swooped and picked her up Rhett Butler–style. Carrying her onto the balcony, he propped her ass on the outer railing, which put her at the perfect height for his erection.

  In the time it took for another condom to be donned, he was in her again. This was the opposite of being crushed and covered from behind. With open space and moonlight sizzling around her, he took her slow and steady, endlessly thrusting through three orgasms. She began to savor the slight differences in each.

  “Now you’re ready,” he growled.

  She rocked, balancing loosely on the round wooden railing, unafraid . . . or uncaring if she fell. She shuddered from the echo of her last soft orgasm, and from sexual dread at what he’d considered some sort of preparation. But she didn’t disagree.

  With her arms up, gathering her hair at her nape to luxuriate in letting it fall, all she could do was concede to this man’s prowess. “Yes, I’m ready.” She wanted more, she wanted to learn everything.

  His teeth dragged down her arm from shoulder to wrist. “Shower or bed?”

  She stared, still drowsy and melted. He was giving her a choice in where he took her next. A shower would be . . . wow. But the bed . . . in a bed, relaxed and comfortable, she could end up being owned.

  When he looked up from nibbling on her knuckles, his eyes were so blue, such a painful sharp blue. His voice was low, a mere rumble, ominous. “Shower or bed?”

  By the time he left her to call for breakfast, she could barely move. She had bruises in the shape of his mouth, his teeth, and his hands all over her, but not a one was painful. Becoming spotlessly clean and smelling like expensive man certainly was a comfort after a night like that. Collapsing onto the b
alcony’s patio chair and watching the water turn a bright morning blue was the perfect end to the night.

  With breakfast came a slim, square box the size of a dinner plate. As he fed her bites of fresh fruit and crunched through bacon, she carefully sifted through the layers of silver tissue. Inside was a pile of string. She held it up, going from puzzled to delighted.

  “I’ve never had fancy underwear before!”

  She hopped up and worked out how it fit. The scrap of red macramé went between her legs and up her cheeks, tying with carved shells at her hips. The bra was lined with thin nude mesh that didn’t do much to hide her nipples in the cleverly knotted triangles of fabric that did nothing to contain her breasts. A halter tied behind her neck, with long spiraling cords hanging clear past her very bare ass.

  “I love it. Thank you so much, Ivor.” Feeling a little starry-eyed, she blushed. “For everything. It was a wonderful night.”

  Ivor had finished the huge omelet and platter of home fries. He set the silver aside and patted his mouth with the linen. “It doesn’t have to end. We have a week’s cruise before us. Spend the day with me. Today we land at the ship’s private island, and the fantasticals have a second, even more private island. Mermaid Haven is paradise.”

  Laughing, she nodded. “I’ll have to go to my room for some things.”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s not safe for you to leave this deck until you learn our laws. Besides”—he gestured at her chest—“that’s not underwear. It’s a bikini.”

  She gaped at herself. “I can’t . . .” The thought trailed off. Why couldn’t she wear it in public? There would be thinner, more toned bodies than hers. There would be tan, fit, lean women. But her ivory curves were what had kept Ivor satisfied all night long. They were nothing to be ashamed of.

  She thought of the black, boring, skirted one-piece she had planned on never wearing at any pool. Looking in the mirror on the back of the door, the one Ivor had taught her to enjoy, she checked out her ass. Yup. Pretty wide, very bare, and not entirely smooth. It also sported a giant oval hickey.

  Looking back at Ivor, she asked cheekily, “Are you one of those Europeans who wear those itty bitty Speedos?”

  He held out his arms. “I’m one of those Europeans who wear nothing at all.”

  She jumped into his hold, knowing completely that he was able to catch her.

  Within two hours, she curled her toes into silky warm sand in the shushing shallows of a tropical beach. The island was tiny, a hump of land with a handful of palm trees and some artful beach grass. A dock jutted out from a pile of rocks. Otherwise, it was a short walk to circle the whole place.

  They circled it twice, darting out to swim on a sandbar in the warm gentle waves, comparing shells along the dry bands of detritus left from high tide. Deciding to wait until the crowd had thinned from the line to play with the water vehicles on the dock, she led Ivor into the swaying shade where hammocks were strung. Not many people had come out, and while there were some couples drowsing nearby, Charlotte didn’t feel particularly shy.

  Ivor sat in the hammock and steadied it while Charlotte clambered up on top of him. They managed to lie back with some control, their bed rocking hypnotically. His hand went straight into her suit, zinging her clit with his electric touch.

  “Did you see the way the men all stare? You’re gorgeous.”

  “Perhaps they’re just shocked at how much flesh is on display.”

  His nail scraped her swollen bud. “True. Your breasts are fairly enormous.”

  Laughing, she slapped at him.

  “Hello, sir.”

  Charlotte jerked in shock at the close voice. Isabella stood beside their hammock, looking perfect in a black leather bikini. There was a thin, pale scar on the side of her belly.

  Isabella stared at Ivor with huge blinking puppy eyes that rang false. “I’m here to show you my submission, as pack law requires.”

  Ivor stretched. “Of course. Get up here, then.”

  Isabella mounted the hammock with ease, renewing the rocking. Charlotte stared at the woman from less than a foot away, stunned.

  “Thank you, sir.” Isabella snuggled against him and began to lick his shoulder. One of her dark legs tossed across his, brushing against Charlotte’s own ghostly leg.

  Ivor’s hand reached farther down into Charlotte’s channel. Two fingers sank deep. Tilting his head, he kissed her slack lips.

  “Wh-wh-wh—”

  “It’s all right, Foxfire. We’ll just use her for a bit, then send her off.”

  “What?”

  He put another finger inside her. Isabella’s hand went into his black boxer-style suit. Charlotte’s eyes bulged out of her head. Ivor tipped her chin and kissed her hard. She could feel Isabella’s fluid stroking even more when Ivor began to thrust his hips up in time. The woman made little mewling sounds as she licked at his skin, and Charlotte could smell coconut lotion, which she despised. Then her man, through no skill of Charlotte’s, groaned.

  Charlotte struggled to sit up, setting the hammock dipping wildly. “What the fuck is going on!”

  Ivor frowned at her, his fingers sliding free of her body. Isabella never paused her hand job.

  Charlotte smacked at his shoulder. “Answer me!”

  “This is part of last night’s drama. Isabella lost and so she must serve me. I told her to come and help pleasure us. It is the price of submission when a pack member starts a fight they can’t win.” He actually had one arm draped around the bitch, pulling her in close where she could rub against him. “I am a wolf. You were shown this quite clearly last night, so I’m not sure why you’re so upset.”

  “Violent fights, shedding fur, chasing me down for sex, super stamina, all that is part of the wolf. But sharing you during sex?”

  He raised one arrogant blond brow. “Very wolf.”

  She huffed, outraged. “Get rid of her.”

  He traced damp circles on her thigh. “She’ll make you feel good, too.”

  A feminine hand slid out of his shorts and over to her thigh, thumb rubbing at her hip in a sensuous sweep. Charlotte stared at how incredible the mocha skin looked against her paleness, aligned beside Ivor’s wheat-hued tan. Isabella flicked the shell at her hip. The clasp popped open. Her long fingers rubbed softly at the indentation the macramé had left on her skin. All while continuing to suck at Ivor’s collarbone.

  The woman’s lashes were downcast, but was there a smiling curl at the edge of her lips? Ivor’s face was blank, his lids drowsy, but his blue gaze glittered. His erection strained the thin black cloth, and her clit hummed. After last night, her body was primed for sex, was still ravenous to discover more pleasures. Ivor hadn’t led her wrong yet, but the woman’s presence was so irritating.

  Charlotte swallowed hard and loudly, stomach knotted, heart pounding. Was she going to stay and try this shocking threesome? Or was she setting some boundaries?

  The wet, slapping skin of the fucking couple next to her was like a taunt. She had the opportunity to take pleasure for herself, and she was still delaying for other people. What the Elder’s potion had set free in her, she didn’t know. Letting the power she’d gathered spin away, she zeroed in on Ryder. Yearning.

  She walked forward, stepping over limbs as needed. People on the far side of the room still flexed, gyrating to the music with primal beauty. Some of them watched the coupling she’d started, but most of them just continued to dance.

  Reaching past the sylphs’ thin arms, her fingers landed on Ryder’s ribs. “Look at me.”

  His head turned, his black eyes shining with an overlay of red.

  She couldn’t get to him. “Get away from him.”

  The sylphs turned on her, but she was ready for them this time. “Go fuck yourselves,” she said merrily.

  The women’s tawny eyes flared wide. Their petite bodies conv
erged on each other, jostling her a bit as they clawed and moaned and tore at their gold-sequined dresses.

  Taking Ryder’s hand, she drew him away, threading through a group of dancers who’d taken advantage of the open space, and past a couple fucking wildly on the floor.

  Charlotte came to a dark corner of the dance floor, where the mirrored wall met with a colorfully tiled one, and two metal benches stood empty.

  Pulling Ryder down onto the bench beside her, she laughed. Across the room, the Elder had returned to her booth, although the two matrons continued to watch her. Charlotte frowned. Putting one hand to the center of her chest, she pressed on the ache. They called to her, those two. They were different . . .

  Her skin itched. The room spun less when she sat. So she lay down, draping her forearm over her eyes, in the hope the dizziness would stop. It did! But now that odd hunger nipped harder. There was something she wanted.

  The metal was cold on her back. Without the flashing lights and strobe, the music swelled. Someone picked up her feet and worked the ribbons of her sandals. When the shoe was removed, he rubbed her feet, pressing into the arches, cupping her heels, bending her toes. She sighed, relaxing. The pressure inside her faded.

  “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  Ryder swung her leg wide and set it on the far side of the bench so she had one leg on each side. Then he lifted her other foot and took her shoe off, rubbing that one into bliss, too. When the big hands tugged at her waist, it was easy to lift her hips, let her slip and panties be taken off.

  Then her thighs were nudged wider, and warm air blew across her bare labia. She lifted her hips again.

  The first lick was short, a soothing press of tongue to her thigh. It was firm and not too wet. The second was softer, the barest touch, a bit higher. The third touch was a drift of lips over the throbbing artery exposed by her spread position. She shoved her hips high, going up on her tiptoes.