Frankie gripped the headboard tight as Trick began to torture her neck with his tongue and teeth, leaving several marks. Not bites that were hard enough to draw blood or scar like a claiming mark, but hard enough to make a statement that she was his. As those possessive hands roamed and explored and squeezed, they also branded her as his just as surely as any bite.
A gasp flew out of her as he suckled on her nipple. Each rhythmic tug seemed to shoot sparks of need straight to her clit. “Trick—” She jolted as he left a suckling bite on the swell of her breast. “I get it! Consider me branded and fuck me!”
“Not done with you yet.” Trick kissed his way from her breast to the vine on her ribs and then trailed his tongue along the tattoo, following it all the way down to her hip. He bit hard, leaving yet another mark, and soothingly laved it with his tongue. He needed her to be all marked up. It galled him to know that she’d been with others. If things had been different, he could have claimed her long ago. He’d have been the only male to ever kiss her, ever touch her, ever sink inside her.
A growl rattled his chest. “No one else should ever have had you.” He curved his hand around her chin, his grip tight. “No one but me will ever again have you, Frankie. No other mouth will taste you. No other cock will fuck you. No other hands will touch you. Why is that?”
She licked her lips. “Because I’m yours.”
Loosening his grip on her chin, he stroked his thumb along her jaw. “That’s right. Mine. And you won’t forget that, will you?”
“You wouldn’t let me.”
Trick smiled. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.” Sliding down her body, he settled himself between her thighs and inhaled deeply. “I swear I could get drunk off your scent.” He swiped his tongue between her slick folds and groaned at her sweet and spicy taste. “Fuck, yeah, I like that.”
Keeping a tight grip on her quivering thighs, Trick pretty much devoured her. Every raspy, gritty moan stroked his cock. Every buck of her hips spurred him on. Every rain of honey on his tongue shoved him that much closer to losing his control.
He’d held back with every one of his past partners. Always held a part of himself in check. With Frankie he didn’t have to hold back a damn thing. He could lose himself in her, give her everything, because she was everything.
Trick carefully dipped his thumb into the tight bud of her ass. “Did you save this for me, baby?” She nodded, and his wolf growled in contentment. Trick gave her pussy a long rewarding lick. “My good girl tastes so good.” He draped himself over her and slammed home just as his hands closed around hers, keeping them locked around the iron rungs. He groaned as her inferno-hot pussy squeezed and rippled around him.
She curved into him. “Move.”
“I’ll keep to my word and not claim you, Frankie, but there’s no going back after this. None.” He needed her to understand and accept it. “Mating bond or not, you’re mine. Are we clear on that?”
“Crystal,” she rasped. “Now fuck me.”
“Oh, I’ll fuck you.” He flexed his cock inside her. “I’ll fuck you until your hot little pussy clamps around my cock and milks me dry. You want to feel my come shoot inside you?” Her pussy rippled again. “Good. Because you’re gonna.” And then he began ramming into her.
Frankie had always liked her sex rough, and she’d never been ashamed of it. This was beyond rough. Each hard punch of his hips was aggressive and ruthless. His cock stretched her until it stung and battered at her womb. Yet this wasn’t just fucking. She knew it. Felt it. Saw it in the dark eyes that stared at her with a gut-twisting naked possessiveness.
She struggled to pull her hands free, wanting to touch him, but his hands kept hers pinned. And she had to admit, a part of her liked it. Liked that all she could do was take the hard pounding he gave her. “Trick, I’m close.”
“I know.” He growled into her ear. “Can you hear your pussy greedily sucking my cock back inside you?” Trick ground his teeth as her pussy heated and fluttered around his dick. “Fucking love that sound.” He slammed harder, faster, pushing her closer to the edge.
Frankie tightened her legs around him. “I’m going to come.”
“You’re going to come for me, Frankie. You’re going to make me come inside you.” He sank his teeth into her neck with a growl. Her spine snapped straight as she screamed, her pussy squeezing and contracting around him. His own release swallowed him whole and, keeping his teeth locked on her neck, he brutally thrust his cock deep and exploded—the white-hot pleasure went on and on and on.
When his brain finally switched back on, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him and keeping his cock snug inside her. A strange kind of peace settled over him, leaving him more sated and content than he’d ever been in his life. And he knew it would be ten times better when he finally claimed her. For now, this was enough.
As she lay over him, boneless, he trailed his fingers over her back. Feeling slight grooves, he lifted his head to see fresh claw marks. He didn’t remember leaving the brands, but he sure as hell liked the look of them. He saw something else there too. Between her shoulder blades was a weeping willow tattoo, its low branches whipping in the breeze. He traced it with his finger as he guessed, “You had this done for your mom.”
“How did you know?” she asked, her voice dreamy.
“She planted a weeping willow tree near your cabin on pack territory. You used to dance around it.”
Propping her chin up on his chest, Frankie frowned. “I don’t remember that. She planted one in Marcia’s flower garden too. Apparently she used to sit under it and read or write in her journal. It was her favorite spot.”
He smoothed his hand over the tattoo on her upper arm. “Why a dream catcher?” She just shrugged. Trick hazarded a guess. “So that you can catch and hold on to your dream of being a sculptor, no matter what others say?”
Her eyes narrowed a little. “I’m not sure I like how well you understand me.”
“Learn to like it.” Bunching her hair in his hand, he kissed her. Tasted. Teased. Savored.
“Speaking of tattoos,” began Frankie, “I like yours.” The tribal tattoo sleeve on his left arm also bled onto the left side of his chest and abs. On the right side of his upper chest was the quote “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” It was a Shakespeare quote, if she remembered rightly. She was just about to ask what had prompted him to choose those tattoos when his thumb breezed over a mark he’d left in the crook of her neck, making her shiver just a little.
“I’ve been wanting to leave my mark on you since first I saw you at the coffeehouse,” he said. “You can’t imagine how hard it was to walk away from you that day. It never gets easier.” And Trick was done with it. “No more nights apart, Frankie. I won’t pressure you to give me what you’re not ready for, but I need something. I need what you can give. And now that you know we’re mates and that this is heading somewhere, I don’t need to tread so carefully around you. You’re not going to be confused or weirded out by me turning up here whenever I want and spending whatever time I can get with you. We’re both busy people, but we can at least spend our nights together. Yeah?”
Frankie swallowed and said softly, “Yeah.”
His face smoothed out and went all lazy with satisfaction. “That’s my girl.” He gave her a light kiss. “Now sleep.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
There was no rational reason why four kids could so easily freak her out, but Frankie found herself fighting the desire to squirm in the armchair as they sat on the rug, staring at her. They weren’t snarling or anything, but their expressions were weirdly blank. It was a good thing that Trick was currently in a meeting with Trey and some other males from the pack, because he’d probably laugh his ass off at her discomfort—then she’d have to hurt him.
Trick’s tongue lapping at her pussy had certainly been a hell of a wake-up call. Just as she’d been on the verge of coming, he’d thrust his cock inside and fucked her hard and deep. He’d also been sure to
leave a very visible brand on her neck. When she’d called him on it, he’d just smiled and said, “But it looks so pretty there.”
It hadn’t been long after their shower this morning that he’d received a call from Trey, summoning him home. Trick had persuaded her to come with him. Honestly, it hadn’t taken a lot of effort on his part. She’d liked her last visit with Iris, and she thought it would be good to see her again.
At the moment, though, Iris was enjoying a visit from some relatives who were part of the Bjorn Pack. Well, honorary relatives. Apparently Clara had been Iris’s best friend since childhood and they considered each other family.
Frankie wasn’t quite ready for a big reunion with others from her old pack, so she’d decided to wait in the living area with Lydia, Taryn, Jaime, and Makenna.
Her wolf was pushing her to track Trick down. It was odd. Now that he’d branded her, her wolf wanted to be around him more. As though the bite had linked them. Not mentally, but metaphorically. Like the wolf had half accepted his claim on her. Maybe. Probably. Frankie couldn’t really make sense of it.
Cuddling a sleeping Sienna, Makenna cleared her throat. “Kids, why don’t you pick a DVD to watch?” At that, they scrambled over to the large rack of DVDs.
Jaime eyed the bite on Frankie’s neck. “That’s quite a brand you have there. Nice and visible.”
“I was clear that his claiming mark better not be so damn obvious,” said Frankie, but she wasn’t holding her breath.
Lydia stilled. “Claiming mark?”
Frankie felt her brow furrow. “He hasn’t told you that we’re mates?”
“He didn’t need to,” said Taryn. “We know him well; we could see that he was incredibly protective and possessive of you. That kind of thing is unusual for Trick.” Her mouth twisted. “He said he’d hold off on telling you, though.”
“He didn’t tell me.” Frankie shrugged. “I guessed.”
Jaime’s brows lifted. “You guessed?”
“It wasn’t really that hard to figure it out,” said Frankie. “My body’s reaction, my wolf’s reaction, the way he settles my nerves, his possessiveness, how much more tactile he is with me than I’ve seen him be with you guys . . . It just made sense that we could be mates. He confirmed that I was right.”
Jaime looked at Taryn. “Don’t you just love the way she put the pieces together and just accepted it? She didn’t stew on it, didn’t worry on it, didn’t leap into a pit of denial. That’s just awesome.”
Taryn nodded in agreement. “I didn’t guess that Trey was my mate, because I’d believed that I lost mine when I was a kid.”
“I’ve had a crush on Dante for as long as I could remember,” began Jaime, “so my strong reaction to him didn’t seem weird or anything to overthink. I was used to it.”
Makenna spoke. “I knew Ryan was right when he said we were mates. I did, but I didn’t want to fully believe it in case I was wrong. The way you put it together reminds me a little of Ryan. He just added the facts, looked at it logically, and decided we were mates.”
Frankie didn’t believe it was logic that had helped her work it out. She had a creative mind and lived in a world full of possibilities, and that made her open to things.
“And you accept his claim on you?” Lydia asked.
“I’m not ready for the bond yet—Trick agrees with me on that—but I do accept that we’re mates,” said Frankie.
Lydia smiled, but then that smile faded as she asked, “Have you told the Newmans yet?”
“No.” And that was not a conversation that Frankie was looking forward to having. She didn’t have the slightest idea how she was going to break it to them that not only would she mate with a wolf, she would move to Phoenix Pack territory one day. They’d see it as abandonment, as her choosing a side, no matter what she said.
“Let’s face it, they’ll probably never accept Trick,” said Lydia. “But he won’t be the only one around here who has problems getting along with their mate’s family.”
“That’s true,” agreed Taryn. She flicked the kids—who were currently arguing over what DVD to watch—a quick glance before lowering her voice to add, “Trey would happily rip out my father’s throat.”
“And I’d eagerly beat the shit out of Dante’s brothers,” said Jaime, her voice just as low.
Makenna’s mouth flattened. “Ryan’s parents are total assholes—I let them know exactly what I thought of them.”
“And we’d all kick Greta’s ass if there wasn’t a risk that her brittle old bones would shatter,” said Taryn, at which the other females nodded firmly.
“Not that one!” shouted Kye, who was trying to snatch a DVD from Savannah. The little girl opened her mouth and screamed in his face. Kye howled at her.
Shaking with repressed laughter, Taryn clapped her hands to get their attention. “Kids, enough.” They hushed, shoulders slumping.
Stifling a smile, Frankie asked, “Don’t they spend their time with Riley?”
“She’s taking a shower, since Dexter got jam in her hair,” explained Makenna.
“Ah.” Frankie started to speak again, but then she noticed that all four kids were staring at her yet again. “Someone make them stop.”
“Have you chosen a DVD?” Taryn asked them. Like that, they turned back to the rack.
Hearing voices in the tunnels, Lydia spoke. “Seems like Iris is done talking with her visitors.”
Moments later, a plump, gray-haired woman walked in with three identical adult males. Spotting Lydia, the woman smiled. “There you are. We have to leave, I’m afraid.” As she caught sight of Frankie, her face lit up. “Oh, you must be Francesca. Iris has just been jabbering on about you.”
Lydia spoke. “Frankie, this is Clara—my godmother and honorary aunt. And these are her sons, Cruz, Eke, and Wendel. If you need to tell the triplets apart, just remember that Cruz is the one with an earring, Eke is the one with shoulder-length hair, and Wendel is the one with the scar on his forehead.”
Frankie forced a smile and said a quick greeting, hoping she was hiding that she was shockingly locked in an inner battle with her wolf. The moment the strangers walked in and the scent of rain, brine, and burned wood hit her nose, the animal had gone crazy. Snarled, growled, and swiped out with her claws. Her wolf wanted to surface and lunge. The scent had set her off—a scent that belonged to all three of them, since the triplets were identical.
Clara clasped her hands together. “You look so much like your mother it’s uncanny. Doesn’t she, boys?”
“It’s good that you’ve reconnected with the family,” said Eke.
Cruz nodded. “We’ve wanted that for a long time.”
“I have one of your sculptures in my cabin,” Wendel told her. “I bought it a few years back. Rosa.”
Eke looked at Wendel and tilted his head. “You mean the clay woman’s head? Her face is beautiful, but it’s rotting in places?”
“That’s the one,” said Wendel. His gaze returned to Frankie as he added, “The eyes—I don’t know how you did it, but whatever angle I stand at, I feel like its eyes are on me. Always feel like it’s looking right at me.”
“Oh, I’ve seen that piece,” said Clara. “I have to say, it scared me. I hope you’ll come for dinner sometime, Francesca. It would be lovely to get to know you.”
Frankie just smiled, thankful that Clara didn’t notice how strained the smile was. Wendel noticed, though. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t comment. Only once the four Bjorn wolves disappeared down the tunnel with Jaime as their escort did Frankie’s wolf settle down.
Taking a centering breath, Frankie rubbed at her chest. Her wolf had never had such a visceral, violent reaction to a scent. Frankie could only conclude that the animal didn’t have good memories of one—if not all three—of the people it belonged to.
“You okay, Frankie?” asked Lydia, concerned.
Frankie blanked her expression. “Sure.”
Lydia didn’t appear convinced, but she
smiled. “Good. How about we go see Iris now?”
“Won’t she be too tired to stand another visit?”
“Clara and the triplets weren’t in there very long, and seeing you will lift her spirits.” As Lydia led Frankie through the tunnels, she said, “I have to be honest with you, Frankie, this may be the last time you’re able to speak with her. She’s weakening fast. I’d give it two days at most before she’s gone.”
In that case Frankie was glad she’d come. “I won’t keep her too long.”
Finally they reached Iris’s room. Lydia entered first. “Hey, Mom. You up to seeing another visitor?” She opened the door wide, revealing Frankie.
Iris beamed. “I was hoping you’d come back.”
Frankie smiled, veiling her shock at just how much Iris had weakened. Her face was pale and haggard, and her voice was weak and hoarse.
“How are you?” Iris asked.
Frankie sat in the armchair near the bed. “Good, thanks.”
“You smell like Trick. Do I detect a romance? Going by the mark on your neck, I certainly should.”
“We’re mates.”
Iris swallowed. “I’m relieved that I was here long enough to see you find him. Now I don’t have to worry about you. Trick’s a good boy. My favorite of the Phoenix boys, but don’t tell the others I said that. He’ll take care of you. And you’ll let him,” she insisted. “Now, you’ve had some time to think since we last spoke. You said you were curious about your father. I have some photo albums I’d like to show you, but there’s no pressure. If you’re not ready for that yet or would rather not see them, that’s fine too.”
Kind of curious, Frankie said, “Show me.”
At Iris’s request, Lydia dug them out of the closet and placed them on the bed. She then perched herself on the side of the mattress.
Iris selected the first album and opened it. “As you can probably tell by the Christmas tree in the corner, this was the first Christmas they spent together. They hadn’t realized they were mates, but I think they may have suspected it. That sack Christopher is carrying was full of gifts for her. The handsome hunk in the background is my Alfie.”
Wild Hunger Page 12
