by Marsh, Anne
Enemy combatant.
He pinned her against the wall before she could get another word out, his knife at her throat. She curled her fingers around his wrist, stroking the tattoos on his forearm rather than pushing him away. When she gave a little wriggle, cradling his misbehaving dick between her hips, he leaned into her harder, giving her his weight. She was a werewolf and an enemy combatant. So what if he might have cracked the lock on her cage in Vegas?
He pressed her into the wall. She escaped if—and only if—he said so. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here to be your new boss, Calder.” She spoke the words with confidence, tipping her head back and letting her throat graze his blade.
Her time in the Vegas fighting pits had driven her crazy. Pity. Now that he had her up close and personal, he was certain she wasn’t on his island as one of Vikar’s wedding guests. Her barely-there blue mini-dress skimmed the tops of her thighs and the way it plunged in the front made it clear that she was all but buck-ass naked beneath. Little white feathers stuck up along the edges of the vee, brushing the pretty skin of her breasts. There was no accounting for taste, but she was beautiful. On the other hand, her body didn’t precisely melt into his, so she didn’t share the pleasure he felt pressed up against her. Instead, she tensed beneath him, like she truly didn’t know if he’d fuck her or kill her.
Well, shit. How much trouble was she in that she’d come here, not knowing that?
“You’re not in charge here, sweetling.”
“No? And my name is Tyra. Not sweetling or sugar or honey boo.” She made the words a challenge.
He pressed his leg between hers, forcing her legs wide around his. She met his challenge by hooking a foot around his waist. Her foot was cold. He wrapped a hand around the chilly arch and rubbed, drinking in her whimper of appreciation.
“Try again. Why are you really here?”
Her gaze didn’t so much as flicker. She had gold-brown eyes with long lashes. Not a visible hint of deception there, but looks could be deceiving. He’d been tricked once, coming off that battlefield in Africa, and he’d never be anyone’s pawn again. He set his own price, picked his own battles.
“You’re a mercenary and that means you’re for sale.” Her cool gaze flicked over him. “Good. I want to buy you.”
She’d almost mastered the tough girl act.
“Sweetling, you can’t afford me.” Plus, he wasn’t for sale. Not at the moment.
She still looked like a fucking college co-ed. Name a few sexual demands, he figured, and she’d run off with her tail between her legs. He had no idea where she’d spent the last twelve months, but she wasn’t ready for him. Or his brothers.
“Not with money.” She arched up against him. “I was thinking more along the lines of a trade.”
“How badly do you want me?” He growled his questions into her ear. No bars. This time, he could feel every soft brush of her body against his. The only thing hard here was him. Yeah. That was going to be a surprise for his little werewolf.
She arched up against him, her mouth inches from his. “Give me more words, Viking.”
“Would you do anything?” His lips brushed hers, testing the delicate flesh. Twelve months as a werewolf hadn’t hardened her up any.
“You are all in.” This time, he heard the approving note in her voice. Maybe the rumors about Pack life were true. There were rumors of ménage and no-holds-barred group sex. Some people like that a whole lot. He didn’t think he was imagining the shadow in her eyes, however. He didn’t want the act. He wanted the real deal, the real woman, so some things needed to be made real clear between them.
“Answer me.”
“I’ll be yours in bed if you’re mine on the battlefield.”
Blunt enough even for him.
He shook his head. “You’ll be honest with me. If you don’t want me, you say so. You want sex, I’m happy to give it to you. You don’t want me, you tell me to back the fuck off.”
She blinked. Yeah, he’d surprised her. But, Christ, he was a big man and he didn’t want to hurt her. This was about pleasure, not pain. Mostly. Contrary to Viking legends, he didn’t rape and he didn’t go where he wasn’t invited.
Since she’d claimed to be on board with the sex plan, however, he figured he’d do a little testing of his own. He fisted her hair, wrapping the long strands around his hand as he bent her over the snowmobile. Just to test her willingness to obey, he told himself, because before she’d been fierce, without an inch of give in her.
He tugged her panties down, leaving the scrap of fabric twisted around her thighs. “Bend over the seat and raise your ass.”
She turned her head until she could see his face, but she didn’t move from where he’d put her. “Why?”
He didn’t answer her. Couldn’t. Her panties were soaked with her juices. She was dripping for him, glistening with a need that both surprised and pleased him.
“You sure you want to do this, Viking?”
“Hel, yeah.”
He’d never been more sure of anything in his life.
~~~
Calder hooked one big finger in the band of her stolen panties, tugging them lower. The silky fabric dropped lower, rasping erotically over her thighs in a soft, barely there caress. Then he stopped.
Damn him, but she wanted more. She wanted to be completely naked and spread out for his pleasure. If he told her what to do, what she wanted, then it all became so easy. The burn of shame was almost as strong as that of her arousal. She wasn’t supposed to want this, this helpless pleasure where everything good came from his hands. She was supposed to be able to take care of her pleasure herself.
And yet he made it shockingly, deliciously easy to submit.
“Tilt your ass up,” he repeated.
She couldn’t do what he asked, there was no way, and yet the throb in her pussy demanded she give in because he wouldn’t make this easy.
“If you don’t want to play, we’re done here.” He paused and, oh God, he’d do it. He’d walk away and leave her here. She hadn’t realized she’d come here for this, the touching part of things, as much as for her Pack. Her Pack needed her to succeed while she needed Calder.
Obediently, she tilted her butt up, face burning. With her head buried in her arms, face hidden, it was easier. Easier to pretend that she did this because she needed his help and she was paying his price—and not that his sure confidence or the scent of leather and motor oil got her off. He could do it too. Heat pulsed through her at the dirty thoughts tumbling through her head, making her squirm. She could smell her own arousal, which meant he could too.
“You like this. Is it me or is it being helpless?”
Both.
His hand spanked her butt when she didn’t answer, a little, sharp tap that left a cherry mark on her pale skin. Or so she imagined. She gasped, thinking about it, feeling the heated tingle on the surface of her skin, but she also pushed up into his touch. They both knew how much she liked it.
“Naughty girl.” His raspy chuckle filled her ear. “That’s barely a tap and you’re creaming.”
She rocked into his touch, her pussy fitting against his hand like she’d been made for him. She should have been embarrassed. Instead, she felt…excited. Aroused. Her only choice was whether or not she’d play the game with him.
He rewarded her, his fingers sliding up her needy slit to circle her clit.
“Do something.” She’d spent the last twelve months looking for something, for someone to ease the emptiness and uncertainty she felt inside. Now here he was and she was desperate to ease the ache.
“Uh-uh. My rules,” he said roughly. He dragged his fingers down her slit and she moaned. When his fingers landed on her clit in a small, stinging slap, she shrieked, a loud, broken, needy sound because he made her feel so good. She pushed her toes into the ground, lifting her ass in silent demand for more.
He peppered her pussy with more small slaps. A heated bloom of pleasure followed each b
right sting of pain. Staying quiet was impossible, her gasps overlaying the juicy sounds of wetness. She could move away, close her legs. Both were options but the pleasure-pain filled up an empty spot inside her and how could she resist?
There was no one here but them. No Pack. No judging eyes. She opened her legs wider, her thighs straining against the fragile fabric of her panties. She needed more. He made it okay for her to submit, because it was a game and he would take care of her. He wouldn’t hurt her.
“This doesn’t count,” she gasped. “My giving in to you like this.”
When they left this place, she’d still be in charge of her rescue mission, even if she’d handed over her body to her Viking.
“Not a chance,” he countered, his palm pressed against her clit in a hard, possessive touch. “You like this too much. You’re my naughty girl.”
She did, oh she did, and she was.
“Come for me and I’ll give you what you want,” he growled.
“I have to beg you to take me?” She didn’t do words, didn’t submit out loud. But she also didn’t move either.
His harsh breathing filled her ears. He wasn’t unaffected.
“All right,” he said. “You can come.”
She didn’t know if he meant that literally, or if he had something dirtier in mind. But he shoved her panties down all the way, freeing her legs, so she could squeeze him tight. She hated uncertainty. Since Calder dealt only in black and white, they ought to get along just fine.
“Please.” Her plea hung in the air between them. “Hard. Now.”
She couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait and he understood, ramming three fingers inside her. Delicious roughness. Fullness where she needed it. He hooked a finger and rubbed the sensitive skin of her channel. She came with a long moan, clenching his fingers between her thighs. So good, although there was nothing dignified about it. She was sweaty and twisting, coming apart beneath his hands until she was a boneless mess draped across the seat of his snowmobile and already thinking about the next time.
“And I’ll think about the job,” he growled, his fingers still buried deep inside her throbbing pussy.
Oh, thank God. She had him.
3
She wanted to hire him.
She’d come riding his fingers and hollering like a Valkyrie, and Calder didn’t want to talk jobs or prices. Instead, he wanted to be buried balls-deep inside her, doing some yelling of his own. He carefully slid his fingers out of her sweet pussy and took a step back.
Whatever dirty job Tyra had that needed doing wouldn’t be worth any price she could pay. Werewolf politics were brutal and discussion meant beating the shit out of anyone weaker or slower. The Packs also owned a reputation for communal living and nightly orgies and damned if he was going to flaunt the erection that thought gave him. He could all too easily imagine her pretty body being taken by one, two or even three of her pack mates. Mouths on her breasts, her pretty pussy. Fingers taking her, stroking her higher. And…he needed to stop. He’d enjoyed his share of group sex, but what the Packs got up to was something else. There was an unmistakably rough edge to their pleasures. The wolves wouldn’t care if Tyra enjoyed herself or not.
Hel.
He didn’t like the thought of her hurt and bleeding, but it wasn’t his business. He should toss her off his island and go a-Viking as he had planned. Tyra was a wolf shifter. She’d snuck into his territory, begging for trouble. Whatever problems she had were none of his business.
“You like me.” Brown eyes twinkled mischievously up at him as she sat up and grabbed her panties from the ground, daring him to contradict her. The last time he’d seen her, her eyes had been filled with pain and horror. She’d done some growing up since her pit-fighting nights and he didn’t know what to do now, other than get in her face.
“Do not,” he growled, sounding for all the world like a surly two-year-old.
“Girls can tell these things.” She patted him on the arm like he was the Easter bunny and not a seven-foot-tall Viking who outweighed her two to one. The girl had a death wish or at the very least no common sense.
He unscrewed the gas tank cap and grabbed the red plastic can. Five gallons would more than get him where he was going. The familiar scents of gas and WD40 filled the air.
She hopped onto a counter and he tried to pretend that her new position didn’t drive him crazy. She crossed one long leg over another, her ankle kicking at the counter because sitting still wasn’t something she did well. Some things didn’t change. She still smelled impossibly good, like peaches and sunshine, her dark hair falling around her face like she didn’t have a care in the goddamned world. When had she learned to act like that?
When he didn’t say anything, just got on with his business of gas and go, she broke the silence. “You’re efficient. I appreciate that.”
“I’m not yours.” He bit off the word yet. She made him want to break all his rules. While he chewed on that, he checked the oil tank.
“I have a map.” She sounded hopeful, something else that hadn’t changed. She’d been a look on the bright side person. On the other hand, he had been and still was a surly bastard. “We can hit the road and take care of my job.”
“Not interested.” Capping the gas tank, he flicked the key in the ignition to start warming the engine up. Breaking a drive-belt in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t improve his day any. When he pulled the garage door open, a blast of arctic air hit him. A small drift of snow built on the concrete floor.
Tyra made a small sound and tucked her feet beneath her, wincing. Was she broken? She’d propositioned him. She hadn’t mentioned injuries. Had he hurt her when he’d pleasured her? It was the work of a minute to stride over to her and yank her robe away from her body. And, yeah, he enjoyed it, too. He’d never pretended to be civilized.
“Hey.” She batted at him with her hands. “It’s not like we’re dating. One orgasm does not a relationship make, so hands off.”
He ignored her protests, tamped down the lust, and checked her out. Stripes of yellow and purple bruises banded her ribs. Werewolves healed fast. Last night, these had been broken ribs. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do for her now, other than offer her a fucking aspirin. And revenge.
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Who did this to you?”
“Pack,” she admitted and his growl echoed off the walls of the garage. This kind of crap was why the Packs needed to be stamped out of existence. He’d have been happy to live and let live, but then the stupid bastards went and laid hands on someone they should only have dreamed of touching.
“Is this part of your problem?” His voice came out gruff and surly.
“Yeah.” She yanked her robe closed. “You ever consider moving your keep to Bora Bora? Because I’d vote for tropical island over arctic iceberg.”
She was cold. That much he could fix. Carefully, he lifted her down off the counter. Jumping with those ribs was now on the forbidden list.
“Stay,” he snapped and stomped off to the closet. He left her spitting and hissing, because apparently she didn’t like commands any more than he did…except when she was getting her rocks off. Which was too bad for her. If he had to be saddled with a werewolf—this particular werewolf—he planned on giving her lots of commands. Both in bed and out. Still, when he returned two minutes later with an armload of leather and fur, she’d stayed put.
Mostly. She was bent over the snowmobile, fiddling with the gauges. He didn’t know if her backup plan was to steal a ride, but it wasn’t like she could get far on an island. She was a werewolf. They were avaricious thieves, but he liked giving her things.
He thrust the stack of clothes at her. “Here. For you.”
“Presents?” Her face lit up like it was fucking Christmas morning. She ran her fingers over the leather, a look of sensual pleasure softening her face.
“If you freeze, you’re no good to me.”
She nodded. “Got it. Popsicles ar
e past their use by date.” She stroked her fingers over the leather one more time and then shimmied into the clothes. The leather pants and boots were a good fit since she and Pure were the same size. The long-sleeved shirt was too big, but it was his and he liked seeing her in it. The parka he’d found for her had one of those ridiculous fake fur ruffs, which was still an improvement on the mini-dress’s white feathery stuff. She looked feminine and pretty. Okay. Downright fucking gorgeous, if he was honest.
She had pale skin for a werewolf who only shifted into human form during the daylights. The long black hair hung around her face, but the dark curtain couldn’t conceal the purple shadows underneath her eyes. She looked tired. His guilty pleasure back in their pit days had been stroking her hair, her fur. Either or both were the prettiest damn stuff he’d ever touched. He now knew that the tuft of hair between her thighs was every bit as silky soft.
Hel. He was in so much trouble here.
“Get on.” He swung a leg over the snowmobile and slid back a few inches, making room for her in front of him. He wouldn’t ride with her at his back and no way could he give her a machine of her own.
“Are we taking a fieldtrip?”
He tossed her a pair of gloves that were too big, but she’d have to make do. It wasn’t like he could find a Wal-Mart on the outer edges of Greenland. “You’re the one who wanted to hire me.”
He didn’t care if she came with him or not. If she stayed, he could alert the guards to her presence and responsibility fulfilled. She didn’t hesitate, though. Nope. She slid onto the seat in front of him and leaned back against him until the fur trim on her hood tickled his face.
Trusting her would be suicidal. She had no business lurking around his brothers’ keep and he doubted she was a wedding guest—Vikar’s guest list had been heavily vetted and no one had mentioned a werewolf-inclusive wedding. So he’d secure her while he asked his questions. He snapped a cell phone picture of her and texted it to another berserker. Run her.
