His She-wolf

by Amy Redwood

  “Turn around,” he said, his hand gripping my shoulder. “Look at me.”

  “I want it like this,” I said, rubbing my ass against his groin. “Do me from behind.”

  Arms wrapped around my middle, his palms covered my breasts and then his lips touched the side of my neck. “This is officially the last time I allow you to tell me how you want it.” He kneaded my breasts until my nipples puckered. “The next time, you’ll do as I say. Deal?”

  If there ever would be a next time… “Deal.”

  His erection rested thick and hot against the crack of my ass. His hands slid down my stomach, cupped my mound. My moan drowned out his hoarse groan as he found me swollen, ready. His mouth brushed my spine as he dropped to his knees. Tracing a finger between my butt cheeks, he said, “It’s hard to stay angry at you when your ass has the cutest freckles I’ve ever seen.”

  He kissed me there. Silly little kisses that made my heart ache because I’d been prepared for harsh words from him, harsh touches. I wasn’t prepared that he was gentle, still took his time, still went to his knees to kiss me.

  And even in our first rose-colored, sex-crazed weeks, Tim had never mentioned once that I had freckles anywhere. Who did Seth think he was, noticing something Tim hadn’t? “Damn you, Seth,” I pressed through my teeth. “It’s not what I wanted.”

  “What is it you want, wolf girl?” he asked, straightening again.

  “Stop calling me that.” Closing my fingers around his erection, I swallowed a moan as I pumped him, his cock jerking against my palm. “I want this.”

  His hand slapped against the wall next to my head, making me jump, giving me pleasure knowing I was able to shake him enough so he needed to brace himself.

  “Whatever you want,” he said, “I will do for you tonight.”

  I wished he would just take me, without asking, without waiting for my approval, in whatever way he wanted. I lifted my arms above my head, crossed my wrists. “Tell me you tied my hands.” For a breathless moment, I feared he would laugh, would reject my wish for play pretend, then his hand wrapped around my crossed wrists, pinned me to the tiles.

  “Your hands are tied,” he whispered against my neck, increasing the pressure on my wrists just a notch to make his point. “Don’t fight it or I’ll have to punish you.”

  Chills erupted over my skin, eyes fluttered shut. “Yes,” I whispered, savoring his last words, which had shot straight to my pussy. “Spank me if I don’t behave.”

  He nibbled at my shoulder with his teeth, just enough to hurt, just enough to bring pleasure. “Anything else I can do for you,” he murmured, catching my earlobe between his teeth.

  “Put your fingers between my legs, touch me, tell me how it feels,” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs, and tensed as he slipped his right hand between my legs while holding my wrists against the wall with his other.

  “Swollen,” he said roughly, and then pushed a finger inside me, “and hot, wet.” He slipped out of my pussy and rimmed my ass. When he pushed his finger inside, he choked out, “Christ, you are so tight.”

  “Please,” I moaned, bucking against him when he worked his finger in and out of my ass then slipped another finger inside my pussy. In and out, he moved, excruciatingly slow, almost detached. “Please stop,” I begged, and drew in a disappointed breath when he did just that.

  “What else do you want?” he asked, his fingers trailing up the side of my rib cage, tickling me.

  “I want your cock in my mouth,” I said, wondering how it would feel if he held me by the nape of my neck and ordered me to suck his cock.

  “Your hands are tied,” he said, amusement ringing from his voice. “Sorry, you can’t turn around or kneel before me.” He increased the pressure but I wriggled one hand free only to yell out in pain as he spanked me with his flat hand so hard on the ass that stars danced before my eyes. “Behave, wolf girl,” he said roughly, sending my pussy into a spasm of contractions as the pain grew into sharp pleasure.

  “Please,” I moaned, moving my hips against him, seeking his touch, not caring if he spanked or stroked, anything, but I needed the release. As if sensing my condition, his fingers found my clit, working me in lazy circles. “Faster,” I breathed, “do it faster.” This time, I knew what I wanted when I wriggled my hand free.

  Pain spread from my ass to my pussy as his hand landed on my ass, the smacking sound making me aware how loud my own breathing had become. “Do it again,” I said, craving the heat his spanking created, the high the pain left me in as it slipped into arousal. I crossed my wrists again over my head, hearing him swear under his breath.

  “Don’t scream like you are one breath away from getting off…” he said behind me, and clamped his hands around my hips. His cock slipped between my legs, rubbing over my pussy, prodding against my clit.

  “Now,” I said. “I want you inside me now.”

  He pushed inside, pushed all the way in. I pumped against him, seeking the stretch and feeling of intrusion his cock created in my pussy. The heat. He adjusted his stance behind me, tilted my hips. He began to fuck me in earnest, all play forgotten. Long, hard strokes hammered me toward climax, and when my hand slipped between my legs, he didn’t stop me. He clamped his hand over mine, following the strokes I gave myself, as if trying to learn how I stroked my clit.

  “Now,” he whispered when my hands fell away.

  My orgasm hit me in violent shivers and I screamed out, bucking against him.

  He shuddered, his cock jerking inside my pussy as he spilled his come. When he didn’t stop stroking my clit, I tried to wrangle free but he held me in front of him, working my sensitized flesh until another climax erupted, shocking in its intensity. When my knees gave way, he caught me round the middle.

  “I want to lie down, I think,” I said, barely noticing how he hauled me into bed, still wet from the shower. Curling up on the bed, I heard him moving through the room and it dawned on me he might be thinking about leaving. “Stay, please,” I heard myself say, voice small. “Stay the entire night.”

  “I can’t, Candace. I have to—” He stopped, drawing in a hard breath. The mattress gave way as he slid on top of the bed. His arm wrapped around my chest as he pulled me against him. “Forget it. Sleep,” he murmured against the nape of my neck.

  “Only if you promise not to sneak away if I do,” I said, feeling his mouth twist to a smile against my skin.

  “Sleep, wolf girl. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

  “Liar,” I whispered, but he stroked my back and pulled the sheets up, his body warmth enveloping me until I sighed with contentment and gave in to the illusion he would be staying, and protect me—from myself.

  Chapter Nine

  I woke with a start. Reassuring myself he was next to me, I reached to my side.

  The bed sheet was cool underneath my palm, not even a trace of him lingered. And nothing felt remotely fine.

  So much for promises. Sitting up, tears stung in the back of my eyes. The black notebook was propped up on my nightstand, a handwritten note stuck to the cover.

  I picked up the note, read it. Read it again. And again because it wasn’t making any sense. Underneath a phone number, he had scrawled, Call Simon Parker and tell him everything. You can trust him.

  P.S. Don’t burn down the house.

  P.P.S. You look cute asleep.

  The note fluttered from my fingers as I got out of bed.

  Stepping in front of the dresser mirror, I pulled my hair away from my face into a small ponytail and secured it with an elastic. My dark eyes seemed huge and I critically observed the dark circles, the fine net of wrinkles etched into the skin underneath my eyes.

  I took Tim’s picture into my hands, looked at his smiling face. “Goodbye,” I said, kissing the cool, glass frame. I wrapped the picture in an old t-shirt of mine and stored it in the box where I kept our other pictures. Then I taped the lid shut. I’d never forget him, but I had moved on without ever intending to
. It wasn’t fair to me, not fair to his memory if I ignored that I had fallen for another man.

  And it didn’t matter that Seth had left me, taking with him all the warmth and joy I’d felt when I had fallen asleep in his arms. He’d left me alone to deal with my confused feelings, with the budding hope he was also feeling a connection that went beyond sex.

  And he’d left me alone to deal with the book.

  Simon Parker, I thought. The name was familiar… The DEA guy from the website. Quickly I booted my computer and loaded the bookmarked site. Seth stared at me from the mugshot, looking sexy. Why in all hell did he want me to call the guy who was hot on his heels? And why did I still want to protect him? But I wanted answers and they were just a phone call away.

  I picked up the note from the floor, grabbed my cell phone, punched the string of numbers before I changed my mind. Drumming my fingertips on the closed book, I heard a brisk, “Parker, how can I help?”

  “This is Candace Walker,” I rushed out. “And I have information about Seth Chase and about a certain notebook. In fact,” I closed my fingers around the worn leather binding, “I’m holding the book in my hand.”

  Dead silence greeted me on the other line then I heard something clatter in the background as if a chair had toppled over. I allowed myself a small smile, wondering if they had started tracking my phone to locate me, like they did in the movies. Then I heard someone let out a long breath. “Ms. Walker, please call me Simon, and do exactly as I say. Don’t move away from your phone, stay on the line and tell me again what you hold in your hand.”

  Despite everything, I laughed. “Simon,” I said, “call me Candace. I am in the possession of Mr. Fuentes’ notebook.”

  “If this is the case,” he answered, “I will be your best friend for the rest of your life.”

  * * * * *

  Exactly sixteen minutes later, I opened the door for Simon Parker and two SWAT teams.

  They swarmed my place without regard for my personal space, without showing me a search warrant, without even sparing me a glance, except for one wiry man dressed in dark slacks and a crisp gray shirt with rolled-up cuffs.

  It had been easy spotting Simon, who was the only one not wearing black or carrying a gun and because he greeted me with the words, “The book.”

  “Why the National Guard?” I replied, but gave him what he asked for.

  He carefully leafed through it, and it was as if a weight dropped from his shoulders, the sharp furrows on his forehead suddenly smooth. He barked out a genuine-sounding laugh—which lasted about three seconds—then he yelled at someone named Drake and dropped the book inside a plastic bag. The SWAT team filed out of my shop and apartment in the same efficient way they had streamed into it.

  “Very well,” Simon said, “and now we have time to chat.”

  “You’re not going to arrest me?” I asked, only half joking.

  Simon shrugged. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” he said, taking me by the elbow, throwing a glance around. “Anywhere where we can sit?”

  I nodded to the staircase. “Upstairs,” I said, and began climbing the stairs.

  He followed, his footsteps sounding hollow. Deep unease settled over me and it wasn’t easy to shake off the notion I was somehow guilty as sin. Last night flashed in front of my eyes. I had killed two men. Tell him everything, I thought, thinking about Seth’s note. Was he insane?

  “Sorry for the mess,” I said. “I think I’d like to have a tea, if you don’t mind. Want some too?” I vanished into the kitchen, heart racing.

  When I came back, I settled down on the bed with a hot mug in my hand while Simon sat at my desk, his face again inscrutable and no trace was left from his previous joy. I must have imagined it.

  “What happened here?” he asked. “A fight?”

  I followed his gaze, noting the torn-up bed, the ropes, torn clothes on the floor.

  Seth trusted this hard man whose features weren’t unpleasant, far from it, but everything about Simon Parker screamed that he saw the world in black and white, good and bad, guilty and innocent. I somehow doubted that he allowed for gray areas.

  “Why would Seth ask me to tell you everything?” I asked quietly.

  “I have no idea, Candace,” he replied. “I didn’t even know you knew him. But why don’t you start at the beginning and stop with when you gave me the call?”

  “Off the record?”

  “Sure,” he said, kicking off his shoes as if to show me he wasn’t on duty.

  “How long have you known Seth?” I asked, wondering how many had fallen for this shoes-off-see-I’m-off-duty trick.

  “I’ve known Seth since I married into his family.”

  When I stared at him for too long, my mind still trying to compute his remark, he said, “Seth was the best man at my wedding. I’m married to his sister and he is my daughter’s godfather.

  “Whatever you have to tell me,” he said, leaning forward, “it will stay in this room.”

  “Seth told me to trust you.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  And in a leap of faith, I did just that.

  * * * * *

  An hour and a half later, I got up from the bed to tip my cold tea into the sink. Stretching my legs, muscles stiff, I felt utterly exhausted.

  Making myself a fresh tea, more to give myself something to do than anything else, I tried to collect my thoughts. Simon had declined every offer for food or drink, and still sat with his crossed legs at my desk. Now he stood and proved that he was only human too when he stretched his arms, joints popping.

  “Bottom line, Candace, the streets are safer tonight because of you.”

  “What happens next?” I asked, taking a sip of tea and burning my tongue.

  “I’ll write my report, the Scribe will get a life sentence once he’s back on his feet, and my wife is scheduled to leave the hospital in two days. As far as I am concerned, life is good.”

  I shared a smile with him, seeing the stars in his eyes as he mentioned his wife. For a man like him, I thought, it must have ripped his heart apart that the killer sent for him had found a cruel new mark in his wife Gabrielle.

  “In your report, how big a role will I play,” I said, and added, “or Seth?”

  He gave a sigh. “Candace, you turned in the notebook. You are at the front and center of it. Seth, however, won’t be.” There was a hard edge in his voice.

  “But Seth was just the first at the scene when Gabrielle was shot,” I said, trying to catch his eye. “You never honestly believed he shot his own sister?”

  He made an impatient gesture. “Of course not, but he had inside information he wasn’t sharing. Then he vanished completely. I had to put him on our wanted list.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” he said. “If you hadn’t told me what happened inside the hotel, I’d have never guessed. The security tapes are gone and will stay gone knowing Seth. I wish he hadn’t taken things into his own hands.”

  “But he was successful,” I said quietly. “Without him, you wouldn’t have the notebook.”

  “You forget who I am working for. I am perfectly aware of my brother-in-law’s questionable past, and it is only for the benefit of my wife that I overlook,” he nearly choked on the word, “his past. But allowing him to take justice into his own hands is not something I will allow. Not if I already had undercover agents and informants drawing the net tighter and tighter.”

  “But your wife was shot,” I whispered, trying to understand his cold logic when Seth’s actions had proven to be successful—if a tad on the unlawful side. “If it had been one of my loved ones…” I didn’t finish the sentence because I believed in an eye for an eye.

  “And this is why I represent the law, and not you or Seth,” he said coolly, making me swallow and hope I’d never be on his Most Wanted list.

  To his credit, he hadn’t even blinked when I’d told him I’d shot the first guy and then st
uttered to a stop to explain the death of the second. “It appears,” he’d said, “that you were in a state of severe shock and acted at all times in self-defense. It is not uncommon to hear cases of victims who suffer some kind of blackout.”

  “Well, it’s not that I’m having amnesia,” I said, the thought sitting wrong, “it’s more the way how—”

  He held up his hand. “I was at the hotel yesterday. I saw the crime scene, saw pictures. And I was at the second crime scene. One guy was shot in the chest, another died of a broken neck including,” he lowered his voice, “severe teeth marks as if a dog had him by the throat.”

  “A dog,” I repeated flatly.

  He raised his brow. “I am not here to judge, condemn or condone, but to find the truth. However, you were just at the wrong time at the wrong place and acted at all times in self-defense, and you promptly contacted the appropriate channels.”

  “Yes,” I said, perking up because it sounded like I was off the hook. “I did.”

  “Rest assured, I will do everything to protect you from further investigations. You are a rare breed of woman, Ms. Walker.”

  That was when I knew that he knew. I balled my hands, feeling sweat coat my palms. “You know—”

  “And this is why,” he interrupted, “my report will make mention of your severe shock resulting in partial memory loss.”

  I nodded, accepting that while he knew, he didn’t want to be told. “If Mr. Fuentes isn’t the respected businessman I thought him to be, why was he offering me a business deal? Was it all a scam?”

  “He probably scoped you out beforehand, looking for skeletons in your closet.” He shook his head. “He did have a solid reputation in some circles. He laundered drug money by investing in legit businesses like yours. He liked to surround himself with rather special people, not unlike yourself,” he said, raising his eyebrow. “If you had signed the contract, you would have been in his pocket. Add to that the threat of spilling personal information about you. If he had blackmailed you, trying to employ your unique skills, what would you have done?”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, sick to my stomach.