Charlotte

by Mima

  Black Rascal was closer, so it seemed easier to slide off the stool and take two tottery steps in his direction.

  “Hey, darling. I’m Ryder.” He tipped the bottle back and took two deep swallows. It showed off his throat and chest. All that honed skin was what made her thirsty, not the wine.

  When he lowered the bottle, his tongue swept a crimson droplet from the corner of his lips. Her tongue unwittingly copied his movement. He grinned and held out the bottle.

  She lifted her slushie. “I’ve got a drink, thanks.”

  He smiled. “More of a dessert to me. But I’m all for sweet things.” His gaze swept down her folded form.

  Where she perched on the edge of the foam seat didn’t display her curves to advantage, but she still saw appreciation in his eyes. She swallowed. “I’m Charlotte.”

  He rolled farther onto his side, propping his head on one hand. Setting the bottle on the top of his thigh, he angled it out toward her. “What are you doing out here alone, Charlotte?” His wrist rotated around the tip of the bottle.

  Her face went scarlet at the suggestive motion. She knew it by the heat that stormed her throat. Curse her pale skin: she’d be like a lobster for a few minutes now. Hold to the moonlight.

  “I’ve been looking for you.” The flirtatious words came out shy instead of confident, but she was still shocked at herself. Burying her face in her drink, she took several fast swallows, hoping to both cool herself down and suck up some courage.

  Fine handmade leather shoes entered her vision, topped by perfect silky gray suit pants. “Good evening, Ryder.”

  “Go the fuck away, Ivor. I’d assume you were all busy under your pack by now.”

  “I wanted to introduce myself.” He turned to her, ignoring Ryder’s blasé rudeness. “I am Ivor, and I am at your service if you develop a finer”—his gaze shifted dismissively to Ryder and back to her, pinning her with a sapphire stare—“thirst.”

  She sucked so hard on her straw it bottomed out, and a loud, rude slurp filled the air. She coughed, choking on the ice. He was more magnificent up close, large enough to make her big bones feel feminine, and so masculine, despite his metrosexual polish. His voice was European, with an incredible accent.

  “Th-th-th—” She swallowed. “Nice to meet you.” She offered her hand. “I’m Charlotte.”

  He took it in both of his. His hands were firm and warm, smooth but strong. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  “Merde. The bluntness of a cross-eyed Doberman will not sway the mademoiselle from her right and proper decision.” Ryder’s hand suddenly was beneath her shirt at the back, a thumb brushing her spine with a light, cool touch that traveled up every single vertebra like a firework.

  Ivor raised one golden brow, keeping his deep blue gaze on her. “The lady need not be limited to pompous pants and cheap wine.”

  “I’d rather have pompous than pretentious.” Ryder swirled his bottle.

  The men froze, exchanged matching arrogant looks, and grinned. Charlotte relaxed. They knew each other, and while clearly rivals, there was some slight amusement there, too.

  She licked her lips. Cleared her throat. Her hand was still held by Ivor the Viking’s, and Ryder the Rascal’s thumb was probing at her back. She tried to remember being touched by two men at the same time and couldn’t.

  Her blush was so ferocious a fire hydrant wouldn’t put it out. She tugged gently to reclaim her hand from Ivor’s grip. “Perhaps we’ll see each other later in the cruise.” She cringed inside, to so boldly invite him while she sat with another man. “But I think I’m sharing a drink with Ryder right now.”

  “Your drink appears finished?” he questioned, cocking his head in a way that made him look so charming.

  Ryder’s thumb dipped below the waistband of her skirt and toyed with the dimple of her tailbone. She didn’t want this to stop, but at the same time, she seemed to be on an out-of-control ride that rattled her worse than Coney Island’s Cyclone. Did she dare ask for another drink from Ivor? Or should she stick with her decision to visit the rascal instead and send the golden giant on his way?

  Delay with the two gorgeous men? Or focus on the one?

  “If I take you to my bed, I will master you.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Tonight I’m yours, master.” Taking a deep, deep breath of the late-night ocean air, she said, “I have just discovered passion, but I’m not sure I know what sex is.”

  Ivor carried her into the dark bedroom, only the one safety light by the tiny closet glowing. She settled onto the cool sheets. He touched her lips, traced them, then slid his finger deep into her mouth. Removing it, he painted a circle around one nipple. “You may speak one command.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know how. And I don’t want to do that to you.”

  “Gather the moonlight in your center. Picture it there, glowing white, or perhaps silver like your eyes.” He lay down beside her, one arm propping up his head. “Then picture it rising to your mouth, coating your words. Tell me about a fantasy, and I will not fight your compulsion.”

  “You’d trust me to do this?” She turned, her foot gently caressing his calf.

  “I do. I trust you to speak your own truth, not some manipulative command to try to embarrass me.”

  Tenderness mixed with a rush of anticipation. He said he’d master her . . . then gave her this power. Her wolf was a good man. She considered the options that flitted through her head. Give me the sex you’ve given Isabella. That would surely be ferocious. Make love to me. That was both unfair and scary. Kiss me, hold me, give me solidly normal missionary sex. How trite of her when she had this amazing . . . opportunity. Teach me how to give good head. Not personal enough. This man, and this moment, was special. She wanted to be worthy of his trust. What was it she could have with Ivor right now? Something she might never have again?

  Breathing deep and steady, she imagined her power the way he’d told her. She drew her finger down his blade of a nose, over his full lips, off his stubborn chin, and down his strong neck. Past the hollow of his Adam’s apple and detouring to one nipple, she pressed it, pulling her power up her throat and into her mouth. Was it her imagination or did her mouth actually flex, as if holding something large and alive?

  “Take me the way you need to.” Power uncurled from her mouth, flowed into the room. His hand grabbed hers, holding it tight to his chest as he went rigid. One harsh breath rasped in and out of his throat, and then he was between her legs, pushing her onto her back.

  Resting her hands above her head, she luxuriated on the cool sheets. He was inside her, pushing hard, and at first she thought Ivor’s sexual need was as trite as her own missionary thoughts.

  She was naïve.

  In moments he straddled her hips and held her breasts around his cock as he thrust against her chest. Then he’d flipped her knees up onto his shoulders, sliding into her again as her hips were lifted, allowing for penetration so deep she couldn’t think. Just as she began to think she might lose her mind in a position that meant her clit had no touch, her legs were down, she was flipped onto her belly and up on her knees.

  It was much more comfortable in the bed. He covered her back, thrusting in long, driving strokes that set her mind to strobing like lights in the dance club. She reached under her to feel for her clit but found his heavy, swinging balls instead. Cupping them made him freeze.

  The growl that went through the room made all the fine hairs on her body pop to attention. It wasn’t a man’s growl. It was an unearthly, animalistic warning.

  She was flipped onto her back again. Six, ten, fourteen long strokes later, he ravaged her breasts with his teeth and plucking fingers. An aching need drew tight in her belly. Her body gathered, preparing to launch . . . The room spun, and he was at her ass again, up on his knees, hammering into her with a staccato urgency. When she tried to reach for her clit, he sn
atched her arm and held it to the small of her back.

  “Charlotte,” he rasped between heaving breaths. “You didn’t compel me to be a lover. You ordered me to serve myself. So relax and quit thinking of your own pleasure.” His hips hit her so hard the sound of slapping bodies filled the room.

  Even though her clit howled for attention, every muscle in her body relaxed. The moan that came from her then was the sigh of utter peace. She oozed all over the bed, her ass held up by his grip on her hips. She thought she heard him sob.

  He flipped her, and there was no trace of emotion on his face. His lips were drawn back, his nostrils flared, and his eyes . . . wild. The pattern went on. He turned all the lights on in the cabin with a barked command, then turned them all off. He dumped the ice bucket all over her belly before lying down on top of her, then swept the melting lumps all away. He used his teeth on her breasts, then the next time only his breath. She floated, trusting his strength and his desire. She served him, and in return he showed her the depths of male need. It was glorious. Minutes passed in a blur, then stretched into detailed slow motion. She was nothing but skin.

  He gathered her upright along his front, held her there while lodged in her from behind. He worked her slowly, then used such brute strength she feared she’d lose consciousness. He clasped her throat during one session, then later covered her eyes. The pleasure rose and fell, her skin raw from rippling sensation, every nuance of his flexing muscles guiding her understanding of his escalating need. Their bodies were so perfectly matched. Her softness, his muscle. They were like some sort of melted unity of desire, the taking perfectly matched to the giving.

  She was sprawled across the mattress, the sheets bunched, twisted beneath her. He crawled up from eating deeply between her legs and worked to push his swollen erection into her more-swollen channel. Their gazes locked as he thrust and drove and lunged until he’d sheathed all of himself once more.

  His lashes swept down. A bead of sweat slid off his jaw. Her own pleasure bulged inside her stuffed body, fluttering her heart. His hips insisted on gaining one more centimeter. . . . She watched the orgasm transform him.

  When Ivor came, claws grew across her shoulders where Ivor’s hands pinned her with hot strength. His body rigid, a guttural, rising moan of agony ripped from his throat. His muscles so tight under such pressure she feared the straining veins tracing his arms might burst. His eyes glowed with a wild sheen, and his teeth lengthened into jagged fangs. He was terrifying.

  Charlotte came. It was long, hard, holding her body strung tight on a razor wire. She was the woman under this moment. The pleasure swamped her, rolled her mind, whirled the room.

  They collapsed together. When he finally caught his breath, he crawled to get water, held her so she could drink. Then he curled around her, and they watched the dawn lighten the sky while the drapes blew gently. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I will never forget this gift.”

  Had it been a gift? She considered the rising lemon and peach of the morning. She thought it had been ignorance but considered herself blessed. Not many women experienced the full force of a werewolf lover. Snuggling tighter under his chin, she drowsed.

  “Get your hands off of him. I wasn’t done yet.” Charlotte cursed the wetness that flooded her eyes. She blinked like crazy to keep it away. “I’m not a wolf and I don’t share.” She shoved the woman’s hand off her hip and fumbled to close the shell clasp. Damn Ivor. She was having flashbacks to schoolyard bullies.

  Isabella lifted her head, while Ivor lay very still.

  Charlotte rolled out of the hammock and stormed around the palm tree. Grabbing one side, she yanked down on the rope until Isabella flailed at Ivor, at too steep an angle. “I said hands off.”

  The woman clung to him like a monkey.

  Something dark and ugly rose up out of Charlotte. She grabbed Isabella by her pretty black hair and yanked, dragging her from the hammock. Ivor sat up in the swinging bed, blue eyes dark and slitted, big jaw locked.

  She danced back to avoid him. Isabella rolled and bounded to her feet. Nothing on her body jiggled. “Well, well, look who has some baby claws.”

  In a blurring rush, the woman slammed Charlotte with two hands, sending her sprawling on her ass into the gritty sand and scrub. She gasped at the sting.

  “Not good enough, ghost.”

  “Isabella, that’s enough.” Ivor stood, one hand on her shoulder. “Don’t touch her again.” He stepped past her and leaned down to Charlotte, offering his hand. “Are you hurt?”

  “What? You wanted to see how dominant she could get. Well, we barely got started. Let’s see where she goes.” Isabella crossed her arms and canted one hip.

  Charlotte stood with Ivor’s help, brushing shell bits from her stinging cheeks. She continued to blink the tears from her eyes. Then the woman’s words filtered through. She knocked away Ivor’s softly stroking hand. “What does she mean?”

  Ivor lowered his chin and looked at Isabella, who pouted. “I don’t see any blood, just some red scrapes. Perhaps we’ll get some ice from the snack stand.”

  Charlotte stepped back. Breathing hard, she asked quietly, “Isabella, was this some sort of a test?”

  “Sure. His. Do you think I’d settle for sharing some guy’s attention with the likes of you just for fun?”

  Ivor pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “What is she talking about?” Charlotte crossed her arms, feeling an undressed fool.

  “I’m sorry. I rushed you, I know. But last night was amazing, Foxfire. I wanted to see how you reacted with the pack.”

  Charlotte chewed on air for a minute. “So you chose her to represent the pack? You asked her to make me jealous? Did it please you to watch girls fight over your arrogant stupidhead?”

  Ivor snarled at Isabella. “Go.”

  She crouched. “Oh, I don’t think so. You wanted to see if she claimed you, and she did. But I’m not going to stand for some pasty, soft, so-new-she’s-bloody moon fairy to think she’s hot shit in the pack.”

  Isabella sprang. Charlotte stumbled back with a gasp. Ivor snatched the angry woman out of the air and threw her against a nearby palm so hard a coconut fell and bounced in a spray of sand.

  Isabella merely laughed. “If you want her to stand by your side, she’s going to have to do her own wet work. Otherwise, she’s nothing but a concubine.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She knows nothing of our world, let alone the pack. Back off, Isabella.” He paced toward her, shoulders high, hands in fists. “I told you not to lay a hand on her again. Since breaking your spine wasn’t enough to teach you humility, I’ll be sure to enhance your damage this time.”

  Isabella pointed a long dagger finger at him, rigid. “You stupid fuck. What do you think you’re doing, asking her to face me for skin rights, then stopping a strength match? You’ve lost your marbles along with your hide. You don’t have any right to protect her, after letting her toss me from your side.”

  Charlotte sputtered. “He didn’t let me do anything. You put your hands where they weren’t wanted and I stopped them.”

  Isabella’s big brown eyes bulged in fury. She lunged. Ivor knocked her down with a roundhouse hammer fist. Blood burst across Isabella’s face. Her cheek sagged, cut wide open.

  He knelt with one knee on her chest. “Leave now if you want to walk for the remainder of this cruise, or so help me, I will chain you at my feet and drag your broken carcass behind me for the next six days.”

  She snarled, but it faded into a mutter. He stood. She raced away, in not quite a straight line, to the thatched snack bar hut. Charlotte and Ivor stood in the shade, cleared of all couples now, and watched her hunch on a bar stool over a fat bottle of Red Stripe.

  After long moments, she said, “Thank you for helping me. She could have killed me.”

  Ivor stayed silent but for a soft sigh.

&n
bsp; She pivoted to face his profile. She’d kissed every inch of his face last night. “However, she was right. What the hell were you thinking setting us against each other?”

  He turned to face her as well. “I was thinking that you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. Being with you is so easy, so natural. I wanted you to be more, too soon. I’m sorry.”

  “So this was to prove something to the wolves in general?”

  He shrugged. “It is too soon for you to move with such confidence. You are both right to be angry with me.”

  She waved her hands wildly. “I don’t even know how to work my own power, let alone know how to stop a werewolf!”

  Turning in total frustration, she stomped out into the sun, following the path that led up the small hill. She stood in the hot sand, digging her feet down until she got to the damper, cooler layer. The grass whispered and waved around her in sympathetic agitation.

  He followed her up. “Can I be a stupidhead and still take you to dinner tonight?”

  “An arrogant stupidhead.” The horizon was a glittering line of deep azure, with a bright cerulean edge along the beach, like his eyes. Her tears finally spilled over. “I trusted you.”

  “I would not have let things go too far.”

  Whirling on him, she struggled against the urge to strike out. “That was too far! She had her hands on me. You were trying to get her to touch my . . .” She gestured at her hips. “Junk.”

  He stared at her a moment, blinked, then burst out laughing. It was a deep, rich, easy laugh, the same that had lured her into the ballroom the night before.

  “Well, that’s just not right.” Charlotte worried at the string on one hip. It wasn’t fair that he could drain her anger so easily.

  “Ivor.” Isabella was back, like a blob of gum on your favorite sandals. “I need to talk to you. A perimeter alert has been tripped.”