North Wolf

by M. A. Everaux

  His expression said he was skeptical. “I’m going to tell Eben you asked. He’ll insist on questioning you,” he warned.

  Her heart plummeted but she didn’t back down. “I’m not lying.”

  He smirked at his book, the hard look in his eyes finally dissipating. “Sure you are, love.”

  She fell asleep with no difficulties, but woke up just a few hours later, starved.

  She tiptoed downstairs, checking carefully to make sure there were no threatening, furry bodies prowling around. When she was sure the coast was clear, she went to the kitchen and started digging.

  Connor had plenty of goodies in his cupboard, along with some stuff that was just gross. Caviar? Goose liver pate? She’d rather carve out her own eyeball. After careful consideration, she went with the chocolate, marshmallows and graham crackers. She hadn’t had a s’more in years, and they were suddenly calling her name.

  She weighed the advantages and disadvantages of both the microwave and the stove as heating options, and settled on the stove so she could have a crispy, golden-brown marshmallow rather than just a melted one.

  In one of the drawers, she found a beat-up fork and stabbed her two marshmallows down on the tines firmly. Connor insisted on using real silver at meals, and she hated to use one of his pretty forks for heating up her marshmallows on the stove, not sure how the silver would react to the gas stove’s flame.

  The first marshmallows went up in flames and became a sticky, charred mess. But the second set didn’t do so badly, although it took a little bit of maneuvering to get all sides properly browned. Getting the marshmallows onto the graham proved equally as tricky, but she managed and only burned her finger once. She added the chocolate and gently pressed down with the other graham.

  She took a bite and moaned in joy. Although it was a slightly juvenile treat, it was terribly good, far better than something as simple as cracker, marshmallow and chocolate had a right to be.

  She was in the middle of roasting the next batch when the front door pushed open. Christian came in, a sleepy smile on his face, followed closely by Eben.

  It took her a second to spot the difference in him. He was relaxed, his movements slow and lazy even, like a cat waking up from a long nap. The whole week he’d nearly hummed with pent-up energy, and now it was gone, leaving just him, lethargic and at ease.

  They both turned toward her at the same time. “Marshmallow’s burning,” Christian blurted.

  She returned her attention back to her roasting marshmallows, only to find them flaming.

  “Damn it!” She pulled them away from the flame of the stove quickly and blew out the fire. A small trail of smoke rose up from the charred lumps, heading right for the smoke alarm. “Shit!”

  Grabbing the nearest towel, she started waving it through the air, biting her lip and praying. Please, please, please, don’t go off! Not like this, not in front of him!

  Christian glanced sadly at the charred marshmallow. “Well, since there’s no chance I’m eating that, I guess I can go to bed. Good luck.” He smiled and winked at Eben before loping off toward the stairs.

  Gwen abandoned her towel, feeling relatively certain she’d made a big enough fool of herself. Plus, the alarms weren’t blaring, which was the only thing going right for her. With her jaw clenched, she cleaned up the mess she’d just made and tried not to feel nervous with Eben watching her so intently. After throwing the other lumpy mess into the trash, she stabbed another set of marshmallows onto her fork and held it over the flames of the stove. She didn’t take her eyes off them for a second.

  “I take it you had a nice time out there.” She pulled the marshmallows up and made sure everything was golden brown before turning off the stove.

  Eben leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, his head tilting as she slid the marshmallows off the tines and onto a graham cracker. Like a chef admiring her work, she gave them a little pat with the top graham, squishing them just slightly before sliding a piece of chocolate in between.

  “You know,” Gwen said as she turned toward him, her s’more in hand, marshmallow oozing out from the crackers. “It’s really your fault the other one burned, which is why I’m not going to give you this one. That’s your punishment.” She took a big bite out of it and chewed thoughtfully. “The marshmallows wouldn’t have burned at all if not for you.” She popped the rest of it in her mouth and dusted off her hands. Excellent.

  “Sweetheart,” he stepped fully into the room and poked at her s’more supplies, “what is it you’re eating?”

  “A s’more.” She chugged down half a glass of milk which she’d had on the counter, handy whenever eating anything with chocolate. When she set the glass aside, he was still looking at the marshmallow and crackers as if he didn’t quite get it. “Please tell me you’ve had one.”

  “I haven’t.”

  Which should have been impossible, except he hadn’t grown up where she had. In fact, he’d lived on the streets until he was nearly an adult, she reminded herself. He’d probably nearly starved more than once and had to steal his clothes. Deprived—that’s what he was.

  Businesslike, Gwen flipped the stove back on and reopened the bag of marshmallows. “This, I can fix.”

  She laid the two marshmallows out on the counter, got the pieces of graham cracker and the wedge of chocolate ready, and put everything down in order. “The proper way to do it is over a campfire or grill. However, a good stove will work in a pinch. Why don’t you come and stand here, and I’ll coach you on the proper way to roast marshmallows.”

  “There’s a proper way?”

  “Of course. You do it wrong and you have melted marshmallow all over.” Her skin prickled as he moved closer. When she saw that he was smiling, her heart sped up. “You’re laughing at me.”

  He dutifully took the fork and marshmallows from her. “I like it when you’re bossy,” he said, his voice all deep and gravelly. “What is it I’m to do with this?”

  “Like you don’t know. Put the marshmallows on the fork. But do it through the ends, so they don’t slip off when they’re melted. Let me tell you, there’s nothing worse than trying to clean scorched marshmallow off the stove burner.”

  “Nothing worse, is there? Then I take it you’ve had the pleasure.”

  “My dad and I,” Gwen said, smiling a little over the memory. “We used to do this at the stove. We had more than one accident.” Seeing Eben had the marshmallows mashed down on the tines of the fork a little more than necessary, she got back to the business of proper roasting. “Now, this is the tricky part. Since you’ve never experienced the absolute perfection of a good s’more, then we’re sort of operating with a disadvantage. You may very well be one of those sick and twisted individuals who actually likes burned marshmallows. I know,” she said, her hands raised, “it sounds impossible, but let me assure you there are people out there who prefer them quite charred. And there are more of them than you’d think.”

  Eben looked at his squashed marshmallows skeptically. “I think you give this too much thought.”

  “Probably, but wait ’til you’ve tried it. Only then can you mock. Now, go ahead and hold that over the flames a little, but not too close or we may as well dig that mess out of the trash and slap that on a cracker.” While she had time, she went to the refrigerator and refilled the glass of milk.

  She came back to the stove to find him staring at her quizzically, his marshmallows not even close to the flames. Slowly, his head lowered toward hers, and Gwen knew he was going to kiss her. She didn’t move a muscle, too entranced watching as he came closer and closer. She closed the last few inches herself, and leaned up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his mouth. Slowly, carefully, she moved against him, letting her tongue come out and dance against the seam of his lips.

  His hand came up and gently cupped her jaw, tilting her head just so as he widened his mouth. When his tongue flicked between her lips, Gwen clutched at him and felt that same familiar heat burst through her
loins.

  After a minute, Eben lifted his head, his tongue licking across her lips at the last second just before he pulled away. Gwen leaned against him, her head resting against his chest as she fought to get her breath. His skin was all warm and smooth against her cheek, the muscle hard but not uncomfortable to lie against. She could even hear his heartbeat just below her ear.

  “Marshmallows,” she reminded him, lifting her head and staring at the stove. “Remember?” She pulled him directly in front of the stove. His discarded fork was sitting on the counter. She grabbed it, shoved it into his hand, and moved his arm an appropriate distance from the flame. “See? Not too close, so it won’t burn to a crisp.”

  He leaned down and kissed her again, quick and hard, and then turned his attention to the marshmallows, his unoccupied arm curling around her waist and keeping her at his side.

  “And how do you know when it’s done?”

  Gwen breathed in his scent and sighed. He smelled lovely—like the outdoors, all piney and manly. “Everything is golden brown. Generally, that means the center is done, as well. But be warned, it doesn’t always work out that way.”

  The silence grew while he finished the marshmallows, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, and Gwen wondered idly why she’d been so nervous the last week. It was easy to be with him like this.

  “Okay,” she said, breaking the quiet. “You’re done. Now you have to slide everything off the fork without burning yourself, yet still manage to get everything on the square of the cracker.”

  Almost so easily it was disgusting, he slid everything off, using the top cracker to direct the flow of the marshmallows. When he had it perfect, he looked up, his eyebrows raised. “Chocolate?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes followed the movements of his hands, scarred and callused from his hours in the forge, as they delicately placed the chocolate on top of the marshmallows. Then he pressed the top cracker down, just as he’d seen her do.

  “Now you eat it,” Gwen said unnecessarily. When he just looked skeptically at the s’more, she sighed. “Eben…”

  It looked positively tiny in his large hands, but he managed to pick it up without breaking either of the crackers. In fact, he didn’t even get any marshmallow on him when he bit into it.

  He chewed thoughtfully, and then popped the rest of it into his mouth. Gwen wordlessly handed him the milk. He drained it in two swallows and handed the glass back. She rinsed it out in the sink and then looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

  “If we had more time, I’d make another.”

  “We have more time.” Gwen looked at the supplies, still out on the counter. The stove was off, but that was easily taken care of.

  “No, we don’t.” He placed his hands on her waist and effortlessly lifted until she was sitting on the counter, her legs pushed apart by his waist. “We have other things to do.” He captured her mouth, pushing his tongue deep into her mouth for a minute before pulling back. “Don’t we?”

  She closed her eyes and gave up the fight, knowing it was useless. “Don’t you ever stop pushing?” she whispered, barely keeping a groan back as he flicked his tongue against her neck.

  “Never,” he breathed, pulling her hips closer to the edge and rubbing against her. “Not when there’s something I want.”

  Gwen tried to blink the fog of desire out of her eyes, but it stayed. Desperately, she said, “I want you to leave me alone.”

  “Liar.” He stepped away and waited.

  She sighed and slid off the counter. “I wasn’t going to do this, you know. But you’re just too pretty to resist.”

  He tugged her forward and linked her fingers with his. “Come on. It’s time for bed, Gwen.”

  Climbing up the stairs, he asked, “Pretty?”

  Chapter Nine

  Her nervousness mounted as they entered the room and she realized what was going to happen. Then the nervousness turned into full-fledged apprehension.

  His jeans were already unsnapped when he closed the door to the bedroom and turned, leaning against it. “You’re scared.”

  “Yes,” she answered, her voice quavering. “Anyone would be.” She twisted her fingers together and tried to look anywhere but at the bed.

  He walked toward her, stopping only when his chest brushed against her robe. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, as he untied the belt at her waist and pushed the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

  His fingers trailed down the front of her pajamas, releasing each button along the way until they hung open. “Take off the bottoms,” he directed.

  She stiffened, not sure if she could. He waited a minute, then slid his hands down and tucked his fingers into the waist. Slowly, he pushed them down until gravity took over and they dropped, puddling at her feet.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his accent thickening slightly. His hands came up and pushed the sides of her top open. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  He leaned in and inhaled her scent, the motion a reminder that he wasn’t human. “You smell divine.” He leaned closer and licked her collar bone.

  “Oh God.” Her head fell back on her shoulders as the desire roared back. His head moved lower, licking and biting at her skin, drifting to her breast, then lower to her nipple. Gently, he lapped at the little point of nerves, finally taking it into his mouth and suckling.

  Gwen trembled, the sensation too much. She thrust her finger into his hair, holding him there even as she said, “I don’t think I can stand anymore.”

  He lifted his head and his eyes had switched, gone to Were. “Then don’t.” He returned to her breast, switching over to the other one and giving it the same attention. His arms closed around her waist, rubbing and massaging until she felt as pliant as a wet noodle.

  “I want you on the bed.”

  Gwen blinked, confused as her brain tried to muddle through the something that was said. “I’m sorry?”

  His wild eyes switched to the bed. “There. Now.”

  His voice was so low and guttural she couldn’t understand him. But the push he gave her was unmistakable. Slowly, she went to the bed, lying down on her back as she watched him.

  He nearly ripped his jeans away, shoving them off his body with a snarl, the movement so violent she was afraid he’d hurt himself. As soon as he was nude, he came for her, each step a predatory movement.

  He crawled onto the bed and leaned over her, his eyes tracing her body. “I want to taste.”

  Her hands gripped the comforter desperately. “Eben?”

  “Hush.” Slowly, he lowered his body to the bed and grasped her by the thigh, pulling gently until she parted her legs. His fingers traced the bruises there for a moment, then he leaned down and licked the dark marks on her skin.

  Gwen closed her eyes as his tongue wove its way up her thigh, tracing patterns only he could see. Oh God!

  Deep inside, low in her stomach, her muscles clenched spasmodically, desperately trying to grasp something, anything. “Eben,” she begged.

  He laughed, the sound low and deep. “How does it feel, Gwen?”

  “It hurts,” she breathed, even though that made little sense to her.

  “Where? Here?” His hand slid up and rested right above her clit, rubbing gently through the crisp curls on the point of her pelvis.

  Her body arched. “OhGodOhGodOhGod…”

  He smiled and let his hand lower to her pussy. “How about here, my beauty? Does it hurt here?” He ran a finger into her folds, spilling her syrupy juices all over until her whole cunt glistened with need.

  “Yes!”

  He leaned up, letting his fingers slip away from her. “I’m going to kiss you now, Gwen love.”

  She mewled, her hips thrusting toward him. He laughed again even as he crushed her mouth beneath his.

  Her hands wandered over his chest, unable to be still. She brushed her fingertips over his nipples, and at his indrawn breath, did it again.

  His mouth suddenly grew more aggressive as a low, vibrating
rumble rose from his chest. His hand dragged hers down his chest, across his stomach, lower, and finally wrapped her fingers around his cock.

  She held him and went perfectly still. His hips thrust against her hand, and getting the idea, she slid her fingers up and down his length, happy with the feeling of so much hard, silky flesh.

  “Like that?” she whispered.

  He grunted and nodded briskly, his eyes closing as she made her hand go faster, up and down. He jerked against her, groaning, and pulled away, breathing heavily. “Enough.”

  Gwen raised herself on her elbow as he moved away. “You’re done?”

  He pressed her shoulders back down to the bed. “Lie down, baby.”

  She watched as he slid down her body, pressing kisses along the way to her shoulders, her breasts, and then her belly. Nervousness again coursed through her as he slid his torso between her legs, pulling them over his shoulders. “Uh, Eben, are you sure—”

  His tongue darted out, passing over her clit repeatedly. Gwen fell back with a moan, her back arching off the bed. He was definitely sure.

  He lapped at her, sucking, licking and occasionally even biting at her pussy. Sometimes quick, sometime so slow she was ready to scream.

  “Do you want more?” he asked, biting the inside of her hip with just the right amount of force. He licked the area after, washing any twinges of pain away with his tongue.

  “I want more,” she breathed.

  He thrust inside her. Deeper than a tongue should have been able to go, and Gwen went crazy. Her body arched. She couldn’t seem to keep still.

  “Come,” he ordered hoarsely, letting his tongue dive deep into her again. “I want your cream on my tongue, down my throat. Come, Gwen.”

  She gave a little scream when his tongue dipped into her cunt, again and again, and couldn’t hold back the small explosion that released deep in her womb.