by Anne Marsh
He shrugged. “I act on instinct, shug.”
Right. Because he was a wolf. If she hadn’t seen him shift, she would have called them both crazy. People simply didn’t turn into wolves. She was a veterinarian and she knew how biology worked. Jackson, however, was just one impossible thing after another. The bottom line, though, was that any thoughts she might have had of dating him and making him a part of her life were equally impossible. He wasn’t the kind of man a woman kept, any more than she could keep a wolf as a pet.
She jumped to her feet, anxious to put some distance between them. He smelled like the outdoors, a woodsy scent, part pine and sage and something else uniquely Jackson. Nervously, she wondered what she smelled like to him. He was the one with the wolf nose after all.
“There’s no way we’re dating.” There. A strong statement. Her words contained none of the ambivalent, waffle-y, oh-God-he’s-sexy thoughts her girly bits were telegraphing frantically to her brain.
The look on his dark face was positively wicked. “You sure about that, shug?”
No. “Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Shoving away from the counter, he padded toward her. “There’s something you should know about us wolves.”
“What’s that?” When his gaze dropped to her mouth, she realized she’d reverted to her nervous habit of chewing on her lower lip. Darn it. He was a bad influence. She should be deciding between the front door and the one in the back, because an exit plan seemed key right now. Instead, her girly bits demanded Head for his arms, but they didn’t get a vote today. How wet he made her, just standing there, smiling? Well, that was going to be her little secret.
“Our wolves, they can scent real well. There’s not too much they miss.”
He padded closer, his eyes wicked and knowing. Oh, no. She drops her gaze to his thighs. Powerful. Jackson liked to laugh, loved to play, and made a body forget he was a deadly predator. Plus, bare feet shouldn’t be so sexy. Or his honey-colored skin, because the man had clearly spent hours outside in the sun. Was he the same delicious color all over?
She wasn’t finding out, she told herself firmly. Not today. Not ever. Jackson Breaux had had his chance and he’d blown it.
When she stepped left, he moved fluidly with her, matching the angle of her body. He wasn’t touching her—yet, her girly bits insisted—but he’d effectively cut off her access to the back door. So she’d use the front one. She could be flexible. It made her head mad, though, the way he played her. She glared at him—only to make a point, those traitorous parts insisted—and went right. He followed effortlessly with a low chuckle.
“It’s time for you to go.”
“You sure about that, shug?” he asked softly.
One hundred percent certain. She propped her hands on her hips and planted her feet. No more running. This was her office. Her place. He needed to be the one that went. “Out,” she repeated.
“You don’ wan’ to ask me somethin’ else?” The warm laughter crept back in his eyes. He wasn’t laughing at her, but that heat was an invitation to do all sorts of wicked things. With him, to him. God. Her brain just shut down around this man.
Maybe she was fifty percent certain she wanted him gone.
Forty? Her girly bits hoo-yahed in agreement. She gave up on dignity and taking a firm stance and settled for edging toward the door. He paced alongside her. He could grab her, they both knew that. Still, he stayed just a foot or so away from him and those twelve inches of empty air were nowhere near enough. Heat radiated off his body and his loose-limbed, powerful prowl should have sent her running. He was hunting her like the wolf he was.
“What could I possibly have to ask you? Other than to leave?”
“I could do that,” he acknowledged. “I would, too, if I thought that was really what you were wantin’, shug.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
He smiled, slow and sure. “I do. Remember? I got the nose of a wolf and you—you’re excited. You like this game we’re playin’. You come on over here and I’ll show you.”
“I—” He paused when she spoke, propping a hip against her desk and folding his arms over his chest. The pang of disappointment that shot through her was bad, bad news. God. Did she want to be caught? He played with her and she wanted to tease him right back and then climb him like a tree. Oh, yeah. “This has to be a dream,” she argued.
A dream made perfect sense. There was no impossible blue moon, no stubborn, naked, sexy-as-hell Cajun shape shifter treating her like his own personal toy. God knows what her subconscious was trying to tell, but it was okay. She’d figure it out. He moved fast then, faster than she’d thought possible. His arms wrapped around her, trapping her against the table even as she turned and whirled. Too late.
So good.
“Not a dream, shug.” His rough laugh filled her ear, his cock pressed hard against her ass as he pinned her in place. “Although, me? I wouldn’t mind dreamin’ about you.”
He gently flipped his mate around and stretched her out over the desk. Hell, he was a gentleman. He even took the extra ten seconds to scootch her stacks of paperwork out of harm’s way. He was betting she’d be in an extra pissy mood if those files ended up on the floor. He could be reasonable.
His shug wanted him, even if she refused to give him the words. That was okay. He’d been iron hard since he’d caught the scene of her feminine cream. Fuck, yeah, but today was a good day. Despite the fight he’d come too close to losing in the bayou and despite his looming problems with the skin hunters, he was good. Downright jubilant, if he was trotting out the big words. Fate had handed him the perfect mate and right now he wanted to see her. Taste her some. He was a starving man facing down an all-you-can-eat buffet on the Vegas strip,
She stared up at him, all big eyes as he laid her out and got ready to feast. Her eyes had small gold flecks. He wasn’t so desperate yet that he couldn’t take the time to slow down and notice the small things about her. He was no poet and she deserved someone to make her a song about how she looked, with that shadow of surprise and…neediness in her pretty brown eyes. Oui.
Gently, he peeled back the lab coat she clutched around herself. The stiff white cotton screamed new and still smelled like the plastic bag in which it had shipped. Someone, however, had embroidered her name in curlicues above an orange cat face. Cute, although maybe she needed to be replacing the patch with a wolf.
Her hands fell to his wrists, cautiously accepting, and he promised himself that he’d take it nice and slow. He didn’t need to rush because—and fierce joy exploded inside him—they had forever and that meant he had all night, all day to get to know her. He slid his own hands up, tangling his scarred fingers with her capable ones. She wore no rings and the back of her hands were sun-browned, her nails cut short and unpolished. The soft, sweet rush of her breath gusted over his face as he unwrapped his present, sliding the lab coat down to her wrists.
Eden.
He stepped in between her legs, pressing her legs wider with his palms. A flash of uncertainty crossed her beautiful face, but her legs parted obediently, then wrapped loosely around his hips even as her fingers wrapped around his wrists again. Beneath the coat, she wore a faded pink cotton T-shirt sporting a university logo. She’d worked hard to get where she was and he was proud of her. He had no idea how a veterinary practice fit into pack life, but they’d figure it out. He wasn’t asking her to give up her life—just to make a little room for him. Surely, she could do that? Like she’d read his mind or sensed his need, her hands fell away, crumpling the lab coat.
She shifted on the desk’s surface, stiff and unsure. He wished he knew how to tell her she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Since he didn’t have the words, he’d have to show her. Carefully, he slipped his fingers beneath the edge of her T-shirt and rubbed slowly over the warm skin. Followed the delicious curves where she was soft and rounded, until he discovered a small belly ring—that was a surprise. She made a little sound, half-surprise
, half-embarrassment.
“Beautiful,” he growled against her skin.
She didn’t relax much, but he kissed along the soft curve of her belly, breathing her in and savoring the satiny feel of her skin. She’d made herself vulnerable to him. She trusted him to make this good. And he would. He absolutely would. He let his fingers follow his mouth to the button of her jeans.
She rose up off the desk. “Jackson—”
“Uh-huh?” Urging her back down, he slid a finger beneath the edge of the denim until he brushed the edge of her panties. His imagination went crazy imagining. Lacy. A ribbon. Pure white cotton. Anything worked for him. It was the woman wearing the clothes he wanted. He braced himself on his elbows on either side of her face, loving the way her bare feet dug into his back as he pressed closer then started moving down. They both knew where he was headed.
Heaven.
“Is that a yes, Jackson or a back the hell off, Jackson?” Letting go of her now would about kill him. But they had forever, he reminded himself.
Her breath whispered out, but she remained silent. No worries. He tucked his finger beneath the band of her panties, easing toward her heat until he brushed the very top of her mound. No lace, no fancy ribbons—just him and Eden, skin-to-skin.
“You like words,” he whispered roughly. “So you better give them to me now. You wan’ me to stop, shug, and I’ll be stoppin’. I’d like to be givin’ you somethin’ else though.”
“More,” she demanded, her lashes drifting shut, her hands fluttering by her sides before finding his shoulders. He felt the soft prick of her nails against his bare skin all the way to his toes. She had him tied up in knots and he loved it.
Just might love her.
Hell, yeah. He undid her button, the little snick loud in the room. He parted the denim just a little, taking in her bare skin inch by inch. Her panties were a bright cheerful yellow pattern of polka dots on white with yellow trim he’d bet outlined all her best parts. And it must have been Christmas or his birthday because, hot damn, her panties sported a little bow right on top. Hell, yeah.
He ran his fingers over the sensitive skin above her mound and she giggled. “Jackson—”
He definitely loved the way she said his name. “Ticklish?”
“You bet.” Her laughter melted away her tension. She relaxed, giving herself over to his care. He could pick her up, carry her over to that camp bed, but he didn’t want to break the spell. Didn’t want her forgetting who she was with or what they were doing. The bed could come later.
Slowly, he eased her jeans down and off. She blushed again as he ran his hands down her pretty thighs. Tempting Eden was the sweetest thing he’d ever done. Paler marks from her bikini crisscrossed her hips. He’d like to see that suit because he could imagine her swimming naked with him all too easily, her body slippery wet and flush against his.
Grinning, he tugged her toward the edge of the table. Off-balance, she gave a little shriek he’d just bet she hated. His Eden liked being in control. He hid his smile against her skin. He planned on challenging for her control. He’d make her holler for him, he decided. He grabbed her chair, slid her legs over his shoulders and, hell yeah. He had the best view ever of her soft mound covered by the cheerful yellow-and-white panties. The damp nylon clung to her folds. Her wanting this, wanting him, was a powerful turn on.
When he blew lightly on the yellow cotton, she rewarded him with another little shriek. Her hands pushed at his shoulders, like she wasn’t sure whether to pull him close or shove him away. He’d be helping her to make up her mind about that. He gently curled her fingers around the edge of the desk.
“Don’ let go.”
“I don’t do orders.”
“Uh-huh. You do now.”
“Jackson—” His name was pure feminine complaint. She wasn’t angry, though. Not angry, not upset. Just…needy.
“You let go,” he warned as he drew his index finger down the very heart of her, “and I’ll be paddlin’ that sweet ass of yours.”
Her shocked silence proclaimed the truth as her hips lurched up toward him. She didn’t have so much experience, this mate of his. He liked that too, liked being the first to show her all these pleasures. Her panties were damp and she wasn’t horrified or appalled. Not his shug. She was turned on.
She was perfect.
“We’ll try that another night,” he warned. “You like the thought of that? Me, heatin’ up your backside with the palm of my hand? Makin’ you all cherry red and showin’ you jus’ who’s in charge?”
“Are you serious?” She fidgeted, but she didn’t let go of the desk.
He was going to have so much with her. Hell, yeah. “I sure am.”
“Because this is the twenty-first century.” She tightened her grasp on her desk, however. To reward her, he stroked softly over her mound again, savoring her little moan. “You don’t get to be in charge.”
“Shug, I’m the wolf here. I get to do whatever we want.”
“I don’t want that.”
He grinned. She didn’t sound so sure. Nope. She sounded curious.
“Why don’ we try it and see what you like?”
Tucking his fingers beneath the edge of her panties, he savored her heat and the brush of her soft curls. He moved slowly, small strokes that didn’t reach the very center of her where she was sweet and wet. When she relaxed and moaned, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on her through the panties.
She stiffened, like she wasn’t so sure about enjoying his mouth on her on a desk, but he’d be kissing her for the rest of their lives and he had no plans to wait for a bed when he wanted a taste of her. So he kissed her again, stroking closer to her center. Too impatient to wait any longer, he nudged her panties to the side because, yeah, he needed to taste her now. And fuck it…he tore her panties apart. He had a Victoria’s Secret catalog. He’d get her new ones. She gasped, but her heels dug into him hard as she arched up toward him.
He licked her.
“Jackson—” She shrieked his name, rising up off the desk. Oui, he loved making her come apart.
She let go, but they were doing this his way. Tenderly, he placed a soft slap on her mound. Not too much or too hard—his shug was still shy—but just enough to placate the wolf and to tease her with the promise of more.
“What did I tell you to do?” he growled.
“To—” she squirmed and he repeated the little swat. She was juicy wet and so damned perfect.
“Hold on,” she panted.
“You got it.” He waited until she curled her fingers around the desk’s edge before he licked her again, swirling his tongue around her clit. Around again and then back down the soft, silky folds where she was damp and swollen. So sweet. She whimpered, lost and driving her heels into his back. All his. Or he was hers. Oui. That was as much the truth, wasn’t it? He belonged to her. With her. He kissed his way back down to her opening where she was a deep pink like the prettiest flower.
He lifted his head. “You listenin’ to me?”
“Um.” She cleared her throat and he nipped the sensitive skin. Just a little bite so the pleasurable sting of his teeth sent a jolt through her.
She squirmed. “Sure.”
“Liar,” he whispered gently. “The only thing listenin’ to me is your body.”
Chapter Four
He’d ripped off her panties like some kind of Neanderthal.
He had her spread on her own desk and she didn’t care.
Not her. She opened her legs shamelessly wider and rocked against him. She ached and throbbed for him right there he was kissing and licking on her. He was so, so much better than all of her fantasies.
He didn’t ask—just took.
One roughened finger parted her and pressed in. She was liquid and juicy with need. She could feel her face flushing but if he stopped, she’d kill him. That was the truth, plain and simple.
“That’s one.”
How many fingers could she take? He stretched her,
made her feel full. Nothing about Jackson was small.
“Two,” he counted against her sensitive folds, roughly-tender and so very in charge. Oh.
He twisted his fingers, moving deeper as he forced her to take him. In and out he drove, her channel growing slicker and softer as her body welcomed him. Traitor.
“I’m puttin’ my third finger here,” he growled.
A finger slick with her own juices rimmed her ass in a wicked promise. Oh, God. He wasn’t vanilla, was he? Still, she couldn’t deny or hide the bright pulse of pleasure that rippled through her.
“You ever take a man here?” He pressed his finger harder against her and she clenched helplessly.
No. “None of your damned business.”
With a chuckle, he rubbed his fingertip across the tight pucker. Sensation exploded through her. Get closer. Or move away. She didn’t know what she wanted. She clutched his shoulders with her fingers, her nails digging in.
“Nuh-uh. You don’ let go, shug. Not until I tell you.”
“I’m not so good at this taking orders thing, either. Why do you get to be in charge?”
“Because I’ll make it good. Real good,” he coaxed. “All you have to do is trust me some.”
True enough, but some kind of protest was in order. “You just like being in charge.”
“Oui, but you like it too.”
He was right, damn him. Each touch and caress was a tease of good things to come and, no matter what he’d done in the past or would do in their future, right now he effortlessly seduced her. He kissed and she forgave his past transgressions because he was promising pleasure right now and she had a weakness for this man. She knew it and, God, Jackson felt so good. She could get the orgasm she needed from him—that worked for her.
She’d use him. It didn’t have to be more.
Her legs trembled, the table uncomfortably hard beneath her. There was nothing comfortable about this. Not like her oyster bar date, dancing with the man and imagining him kissing her goodnight. No. This was raw and primal. He pumped his fingers into both her holes, finger-fucking her. Pleasure pulsed through her, her body contracting hard around his fingers. Ohgodohgodohgod.
