Bayou Wolves Boxed Set

by Anne Marsh

  Lights spill out of some cabins, while others are dark. Maybe not everyone has made it back from the reception yet. Or maybe the members of Luc’s pack prefer maintaining separate space. I have no idea how these wolves live.

  “Dag’s taking Riley on a honeymoon,” Luc says out of nowhere.

  I have no idea what to say, other than the obvious. “Where did they go?”

  “When he catches up with her?” Amusement colors Luc’s voice. “Tomorrow’s he got plane tickets for a casita on the beach near Tulum.”

  I try—and fail—to imagine werewolves on a beach vacation. I spent several weeks once exploring the wild beaches south of Cancun, reveling in the harsh pounding of the waves on the shore and the crumbling ruins perched above the flat blue of the ocean. It seems about as far removed from werewolf territory as I can imagine.

  Luc kills the motor, angling us toward a small, plantation-style cabin set back from the others.

  “Your place?”

  “Mine,” he agrees, a rough note in his voice, and I don’t think he’s talking about the cabin.

  He ties the boat to the dock. Putting my heels back on seems suicidal, so I let him swing me up onto the dock, curling my feet into the sun-warmed wood. The door opens easily when Luc pushes—no keys necessary this far out into the bayou. He has at least two rooms, a screened-in porch and a bedroom beyond that.

  “Bienvenue.” His rough Cajun accent sends shivers down my spine, making me hyperconscious of his warm palm pressing lightly against the small of my back. Here we are. And… now what? My pulse is a drumbeat of anticipation, the glimpse of the big four-poster bed with mosquito netting making me imagine all sorts of possibilities. Tied up, held down… taken. Okay. So I’ve had a few fantasies. That’s the point of coming here—to see if in-the-flesh Luc measures up to my memories.

  He steps away and lights a row of creamy white candles. The scent of citronella fills the air.

  “I’m goin’ to check on your things.” He points toward a second door. “There’s hot water for a bath if you wan’.”

  The indecision paralyzing me in the middle of his cabin is out of character. I drove my life ruthlessly along the desired path for the past fifteen years. College. Law school. Career. Check, check, and check. Our night in Vegas was a delicious blip in my road trip to financial and emotional security, but even then I knew how that would end. I was in charge. My hotel room, my girls’ night out. This place and this time are Luc’s. I may have agreed to let him take charge, but after I said the words, he did exactly that. The sex better be damn good because I hate, hate, hate feeling this off balance and out of control.

  Hot water does sound good. I think about Luc and the wedding while I pad in the direction he’s pointed. Sure enough, the man has himself a bathroom in the heart of the bayou. I decide not to ask how or why, because I certainly haven’t come here for a lesson in bayou building codes. Instead, I shut the bathroom door behind me—I’m not ready to share some things—and take care of business while I run hot water into the claw-foot tub. Twist my hair up on top of my head and stepped in.

  I’m almost asleep when the door opens, lulled by the steamy air scented with lavender and hyacinth. The hot water has worked out the day’s kinks, and I loll against the hand towel I had rolled up and shoved beneath my neck.

  Opening my eyes is too much work. “You ever considered knocking?”

  “Not really,” he says gruffly. He’s honest. I’ll give him that.

  I crack an eye to stare at him. God, he’s worth looking at. “You think it’s possible to housetrain a werewolf?”

  I drift in a cloud of relaxed arousal, a low-level buzz. See? There’s nothing scary about this. Nothing to worry about. Luc is still fully dressed although he’s barefoot. Since I’m naked, I should work on getting his clothes off him.

  Promises…

  “Time to come out.” He prowls toward the edge of the tub, a towel in his dark hands. He reaches for me, lifting me out with one powerful arm while he works the towel around me with the other. The tameness is an illusion. Cradled against his powerful chest, I can’t help but compare my body with his. Soft to his hard. He’s bigger. Stronger. Although likely not meaner. I’ve earned my reputation in the courtroom.

  He runs a thumb over the corner of my mouth, where the smile tips up my lips. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “You’ve obviously never hired legal help or you’d know my hourly billing rate is far, far higher than a penny.” I slide my arms around his neck, hanging on as he stands. He doesn’t seem to mind my weight, and that right there is grounds for celebration.

  “Uh-huh. I don’ get a discount?”

  He carries me out of the bathroom, abandoning the tub. His bedroom is shadowy and smells like geranium and vanilla. He sits down on the edge of the bed, still holding me.

  “I was thinking about you,” I admit. So much for having a tactical advantage.

  He must like the sound of that because there’s no missing the erection pushing against my backside. My towel and his pants suddenly seem like no barrier at all.

  “Let’s get you dried off,” he says, but he pulls the clips out of my hair first, letting the heavy weight fall down my back, easing the strands through his fingers. Then he runs the towel down my arms, over my breasts. Cotton rasps against my nipples, teasing them into hard points. Then lower down my belly, over the round curve I hate and south. Oh.

  He covers my mouth with his, his tongue taking over. Pushing inside me, exploring and tasting ruthlessly. My body fires right up, on board with his interest, my breasts aching for more of his touch.

  He runs the towel slowly over my mound, exerting a soft, sweet pressure where my attention centers. Wicked.

  More pressure, the cotton pushing in a bare half inch. The erotic friction drives me crazy, heat roaring through my body. I tremble and hold still, then try to push deeper into his touch. More. Less. He makes me feel so much. The air shoots out of my lungs, my breathing a harsh pant.

  “Luc.” I say his name once, then chant it as if it’s a lifeline in the erotic maelstrom.

  “Oui,” he whispers. He might say something else, something more. Lost in the pleasure, I don’t give a damn. He drags the cotton over my clit, giving me more of the sweet friction I crave. His fingers work deeper between my folds, the towel the only barrier between us. Rough-gentle. Perfect.

  He shatters me, holds me close as I come apart for him. Whimper his name and twist my fingers in his shirt because I need him closer still. The pleasure and the white heat swallow me up, and I let it happen because I have zero self-control around this man.

  “Bedtime,” he growls when I surface long moments later.

  Oh, please.

  LUC

  She pushes to her knees, the towel falling away. Christ, I’m a lucky bastard. My Gianna is all sweet curves and full breasts, her creamy skin white and pink.

  “I’m naked,” she says, as if there’s any way I hadn’t noticed. “Join me.”

  I’m so on board with that plan. I fist the hem of my T-shirt, pulling the cotton over my head in one smooth move. Drop the shirt on the floor. Her eyes are all over me. I’ve done a whole lot of living in this body. As a werewolf shifter, I have a built-in immunity from injury, healing supernaturally fast. Hurt me bad enough though, and I scar. Claw marks cover my rib cage from a close encounter with the previous pack Alpha. I walked away. The other male did not.

  “You’ve been busy.” She brushes her fingers over the marks, and heat sears through me.

  “Occupational hazard.” She doesn’t need to know my opponent tried to remove my heart the old-fashioned way, straight through my ribs.

  “Mmmm,” she hums, her fingers finding my belt. I help her undo the leather and pop the button on my jeans. When her fingertips brush the hot, wet tip of my dick, I jerk. Jesus. I won’t last long at all if she keeps that up. Shoving my pants down my legs, I step out.

  Her hands on my hips urge me closer, tugging until my kn
ees bump against the side of the bed and she moves between my legs. She keeps her eyes on me the whole time, watching my face. Her hair falls around her shoulders, over my thighs, in the sexiest damned sight I’ve ever seen.

  “Is it my turn to eat you up?”

  Hell, yeah.

  “Whatever you want, shug.” I’ll happily stand here and let her torture me. Like she’s read my mind, she skims her fingers up and down my shaft. The light touch barely touches my aching flesh, but I feel the connection between us all the way to my core. This is my female—and I’m every bit as much hers as she is mine.

  She slides the aching tip of me into her mouth with an erotic little pop of sound. Her mouth is hot and wet, her tongue rubbing against the head. Once, twice, dragging her tongue over me, tracing the vein until she hits pay dirt where I’m wet. I thread my hands through her hair, hips rolling. I’ve had women take me like this before, but this is different. This is Gianna. Gianna fisting me, opening her mouth up for him.

  She sucks me in deep.

  Her eyes fly to my face, checking to see how she’s doing. Her gaze watching me is an even bigger turn on. Those brown eyes of hers stare at me while she swallows me, moving up and down my shaft as I fuck her mouth.

  Pulling free because Christ, I’m too closing to coming, I reach for one of the candles.

  “You got any idea what I could do with one of these candles?”

  GIANNA

  Luc’s question sucks the air right out of my lungs. There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes that promises so much.

  “Not a clue.” I answer him, breathless from the erotic longing that slams into me. No clue—but I have ideas. Wicked, impossible ideas spurred by his capable hands turning the candle around. When I say yes—because it’s a question of when and not if—he won’t stop. He’s a hunter at heart, and he goes after what he wants until he catches it.

  And he wants me.

  “Lie on your stomach.” His rough order is sexy as hell.

  He’s dangerous.

  He’s a wolf and a predator—and for seven nights, he’s all mine.

  The sheet feels deliciously cool beneath my heated skin when I roll over and gave him my back. He watches me obey, his gaze sliding over my bare skin. Back, butt, thighs—all open to him. I shiver, nipples pebbling where the cotton rubs against them.

  He runs a hand over my butt. “You wan’ me to show you?”

  “Please.” A tremor of need laces my voice. I need to see him, so I tilt my head to the side. He holds a mason jar candle, creamy white, the kind of thing you put on the coffee table to make a room look pretty. It lights up the room with a romantic glow. Rain starts to patter down on the cabin’s tin roof.

  “Did you order that up just for me?”

  He runs a hand down my back, and I arch up into his touch. God, I love his husky laugh. “You know I would have if it was a possibility, shug. But I’ve got my limits.”

  He swings himself over the back of my knees, pressing me down into the mattress. He’s not a small man. The weight and heat of him holds me in place so that there’s no getting away. The flame flattens as he lifts the candle.

  “Turn your hand over. I wan’ to see what your limits are.”

  Obediently, mesmerized by the sensual note in his voice, I place my hand, palm up, by my head.

  He blows the flame out.

  Anticipation consumes me as he tilts the candle. Curiosity. Heat. Oh, God. He tilts the candle, the liquid wax falling in a thin ribbon. Sensation pools in my palm, the shocking warmth burning through my skin, making me melt like the candle itself.

  He rights the candle. “Do you like that?”

  Too much.

  “Do it again,” I demand.

  “So that’s a yes.” His eyes gleam with lust and a wicked heat that burn me more than any candle ever could. He lowers his hand and carefully dips his finger in the hot pool beneath the flame. “Tell me if this is too much.”

  The rough pad of his finger traces my neck, rubbing the hot wax into my skin. Soft and silky, rough and hot. My world explodes with sensations, pleasure coursing through me. I stretch, moaning, rubbing myself against the cool sheets. Pressing up into his heated touch.

  “More,” he says, and it isn’t a question. He knows what I need before I do. He tilts the candle, and heat streaks down my spine. His hands massage the wax against my skin, setting me on fire, and then he follows with the rough scrape of his tongue. The hot, sweet burn sensitizes my skin like no touch has.

  “Luc.” His name tears from my lips. Luc—more? Luc—what? Lost in a sea of pleasure, I have no idea.

  “You wan’ to turn over for me?”

  I roll over, arching up into the hot trail of wax he paints over my stomach. My skin warms everywhere, anticipating the next sweet, burning sting. The candle tilts, the wax runs down, hitting the sensitive slope of my breast, licking a fiery path toward my nipples.

  “More.” Don’t stop. My hungry cry fills the air.

  “Come on then.” He presses my thighs wider, and I know what’s coming. Anticipation licks through me. He doesn’t use the candle. Instead, he rubs a wax-covered finger gently over my clit and I lose myself in the maelstrom of sensations, the flames tearing through my body.

  LUC

  After I blow out the candles, I slip the extra sheet out from beneath Gianna and drop it on the floor. I don’t want anything between us. I didn’t know far she’d let me push her. Wasn’t entirely sure she’d stay with me. I certainly hadn’t expected her curiosity and her hunger to match mine, for her to enjoy the same dark edge I do.

  My mate.

  I don’t want to count up all those wasted years when I could have been loving her, touching her. I let her go and I did my fair sharing of running. That’s over now. I’m not wasting any more time. Standing by her side, watching her back? Oui. That’s a lifetime commitment, and I’m … okay with that. Once mated, wolves are loyal. A wolf may kiss and touch, may love some on other wolves, but those touches are more about companionship and affection. Intimacy and closeness. What I explored with the other females in my pack has nothing to do with this fevered desired burning through me now.

  Gianna waited. I left her hungry for ten years, but no one else dove himself inside that tight pussy or ran his fingers over her satiny skin. I’m a possessive bastard and she owes me nothing… but she chose to give me the sweetest of gifts. Now I have her stretched beneath me, teasing me with possibilities. Seven nights to convince her that her place is right here with me.

  Gently I roll her over, urging her up onto her knees.

  “You finally going to get inside me?” Laughter fills her voice.

  She has no idea.

  “Just makin’ sure this old wolf is what you wan’.”

  “I want you inside me. Now. Less talking, more doing.”

  Lasting for longer than a few minutes will be hell after my ten-year wait.

  Gathering up her hair, I tuck it to the side, exposing the sweet, vulnerable curve of her neck.

  “Last chance.”

  “Stop warning me to run,” she grumbles.

  I can work with that. I push her thighs apart.

  “Tilt that sweet ass of yours up some.”

  She does and I run a hand down her spine, tracing the darker seam of her ass. When my finger rubs the rosy pucker, she stills.

  “Mine,” I say roughly, because I need it to be true. I push through the tight ring of nerves, drinking in her sharp gasp of pleasure. When she sits tomorrow, she’ll feel the sweet burn and think of me.

  “I’m gettin’ in here too.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” she mutters, but she doesn’t say no. Instead, she pushes back, taking my finger deeper, harder. I add a second finger, scissoring them inside her rear channel. Mine.

  I stroke myself roughly, palm slapping up my dick. Jesus. She undoes me. She’s gorgeous and I’ve done nothing to deserve her. I want to hurry up and sink inside her; I want to spin out the moment, because
once I’ve buried myself in her sweet spot, I’ll know exactly what I walked away from ten years ago.

  I made her a deal. Seven nights of sin and pleasure with her wolf, and then she walks free. When I look at her, her fingers twisting my sheets, her body pleading for mine, I know I’ve borrowed a kind of trouble I can’t handle. If she walks away, she takes my heart and soul with her. Without a mate, our kind turn feral, losing ourselves in the wolves. I never understood that kind of desperation, but now… I do.

  Fuck, do I ever.

  I place my hands on her thighs, opening her up, pressing her down into the mattress. She parts sweetly and I tuck my dick against her wet opening. She meets me with a husky moan.

  “You ready, shug?”

  She nods, little shivers racking her. Yeah. She’s good and ready.

  I push in. And in. No stopping, no holding back.

  Taking her, learning her.

  Going all the way.

  Her body gives sweetly around me, lush, slick tissues clinging to my dick. Her surrender pushes me toward the edge and I lose myself in her, the urge riding me to slam into her, to drive us both over the edge hard and fast. I don’t want this over, not so soon. Not yet. Desperate for distraction, I lean forward and nip her ear.

  “You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

  Not poetry, just desperate truth. I’m on fire. She melts all my defenses, gets under my skin.

  When I brace my hands on either side of her head, she threads her fingers through mine. I drink in her pants, the way her breath catches when I move because I’m not alone here. She wants me too, and that makes the night fucking perfect.

  I rock against her, driving in hard and fast. Kissing her wherever I can reach. No more games, just raw sensation. I pull a hand away from hers and shove it beneath her. I’m not leaving her behind, not this time.

  She gasps. “Now would be good.”

  Like I hold the keys to her fucking body. Pride and happiness swell up in me. She trusts me here and now. Trusts me to bring her over that edge, to not leave her wanting. Failing her isn’t an option.