by Anne Marsh
“Take it off,” he said. “I’m not one for bein’ tied up, boo. You wan’ to play those kinds of games, you picked the wrong mate.”
She reached up and unfastened the collar. Smoothed her fingers over the red marks because the man was so much larger than the wolf. “You didn’t like it? Not at all?”
“Hand it over.”
Parts of her—southern parts—tightened in anticipation at the dark demand in his voice. But she did as he asked. God. He was playing another one of his games, but she didn’t know the rules of this one. Only that he’d never hurt her—and she’d enjoy every minute.
“That wasn’t nice,” he said and she couldn’t bite back her smile. Yeah. Definitely pissed off over the leash.
“Nope,” she agreed, “but you don’t like me because I’m nice, Dag.”
He didn’t disagree with her.
“You put a leash and collar on me,” he pointed out. He shifted closer until his legs pressed against hers, skin on skin. He was naked. She was close enough. No way she missed—or failed to appreciate—the erection poking up between them.
“You don’t feel mad.”
He thought for a moment. “I’m not mad,” he said eventually.
“Good.” She leaned up and nipped his jaw where a dark shadow of stubble roughened his skin. Fought back a little shiver because just that small touch felt good.
“But I always get even,” he warned. His hand tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb rubbing over her jaw. Damned if she knew whether the caress was intentional or habit on his part.
“You don’t like to play?”
“How much do you know about wolves?”
“Not much.” Her high school biology days were long behind her and she’d been too busy butting heads with Dag—and enjoying his brand of sensual dominance—to run any science experiments. He was territorial. Protective. And really, really lethal, both in bed and out.
“Wolves like to play.” That was apparently all the warning he figured she needed, because he opened the shed door and scooped her up into his arms in one smooth move. If she shrieked, that was hardly her fault, was it?
“Uh-uh,” he said quietly. “You don’ wan’ those other women hearing do you, boo?”
That would be far more explaining than she wanted to do, even if Ellie didn’t go for the gun she liked to carry. Whatever Dag wanted, whatever lesson he wanted to teach her, she could go along with it for now. Or that’s what she told herself. They’d have a little fun and this would be over.
Out front, the van’s motor gunned to life. Her girls were on their way to safety.
He sat her on the workbench and kicked the door shut. The place was more of a dumping ground for their outdoor odds-and-ends. There was barely room for the pair of them among the stacks of pots and shovels. When she steadied herself, her hand landed on bag of dirt and she had a ringside view of assorted power tools. Someone had added a pair of ruffled curtains to the tiny windows, but the glass was more decorative than not. The place was no romantic rendezvous or a five-star Hilton.
He smoothed his hands up her thighs, pressing her legs apart until he could step into the space he’d made.
Her breath caught. “Dag—”
“Shhhh,” he whispered gruffly, “We’re discussin’ this leash business.”
They were? She’d thought they were going to have sex.
###
Riley tilted her head back against the wall, watching him. Her eyes twinkled, the corners of her mouth turning up provocatively. Her ponytail slid away from her throat, revealing the small bite mark he’d placed there last night. She hadn’t hidden the mark. Hell, no. She’d pulled her hair back and put it on display.
He heated right up, knowing she wasn’t ashamed of his marking, but it didn’t mean she got away with murder. He pressed the leash against the side of her throat and the pulse pounding there. Deliberately, he leaned into her, fisting her ponytail.
“Super scary,” she whispered, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and lay a kiss on him. It was one hell of a kiss too. Her mouth snared his, warm and certain. Licking and pressing, teasing before moving in for the kill. Her tongue took his mouth thoroughly until each breath he drew was full of her, the scent and the taste of her surrounding him. Leather and some earthier, richer aroma, gasoline and grease, the scents reminding him he’d cornered her in a toolshed when she deserved silk sheets, candles, and the penthouse suite at the St. Regis.
He had no idea why she wanted him. Wanted this.
But he did too. Badly. The heat between them was blazing out of control and the only surprise was he didn’t spontaneously combust. She ran her hands over his scalp, her nails pricking erotically as she controlled their kiss, holding his head close to hers.
Yeah. She’d picked the wrong wolf if she wanted to be in charge.
He dragged the leash down the side of her throat, reminding her. She arched into his rough caress, squirming a little. Yeah. She was needy and he was grateful.
Her fingers speared through his short hair, cupping his head. Her eyes closed, but he kept his open. Watching her was almost the best part because her body did all the speaking her mouth wouldn’t. From the pink flush on her cheekbones to the needy grip of her fingers, her chest rising and falling faster and quicker... She was speaking his language all right.
The shadow between her breasts where the lacy cups of her bra parted tempted him and he dipped the leash into the valley, tracing the too-tempting space. She shivered, clutching him harder while she muttered his name like an incantation. He’d put his dick there someday soon, push in and out of that slick channel while her soft flesh pillowing him. He’d mark this part of her too.
When he tore his mouth away from hers, she protested.
“No,” she demanded. “Come back.”
“You’re not the one givin’ orders now,” he said almost tenderly. He set the leash down on the tabletop beside her where she could feel the leather’s tickle against her bare skin. Reached for the hem of her tank top and dragged it up over her head.
“Oh, good. We’re getting naked.” A smile quirked her kiss-swollen lips.
Once the shirt cleared her head, he tossed it behind him. She didn’t protest, so he moved on to step two in his plan, flicking open her bra so her breasts spilled free.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, knowing he sounded gruff. Had he told her before? He didn’t know and that shamed him. Her pale skin crowned with those rosy tips that made his mouth water. Fortunately, he was on a look and touch plan here, so he ran a finger down her pretty, pretty skin. When he grazed the tip, she moaned.
“Better.”
Uh-huh. He stepped back. “Lose the shorts.”
Her eyes darkened and her tongue darted out, moistening her lips. She did what he demanded. Didn’t hesitate, just dropped her fingers to the button, popped it free and unzipped. Then she lifted her ass. “Pull,” she demanded.
He didn’t need a second invitation. He tugged the shorts down and was rewarded with the sexiest little pair of panties he’d ever laid eyes on. The silky fabric was robin’s egg blue with a little bow playing X-marks-the-spot. She must have had clothes stashed here, because he would have remembered these.
“Pretty,” he rumbled. He ran a finger down the lacy panel, from the top of her mound to the bottom of her slit.
She dropped back on her elbows, shuddering. “Dag.”
Her name on his lips was half-moan, half-demand. Nope—she sure didn’t like saying please, not one little bit.
Getting closer was suddenly his life’s mission. He stepped back in, her legs bumping his arms, the edge of the workbench biting into his thighs. He drew her hands to the edge and gave her an order.
“You hold on now.”
“Or?”
Always challenging him—classic Riley. Instead of answering her, he picked up the leash. Her eyes followed his hands. Yeah. He had her wondering now.
Leaning over her, he st
roked the leather down the valley between her breasts. “I’m goin’ to put myself there.”
The fantasy sounded even better spoken out loud. He teased her belly button, rimming the sweet little indentation and drinking in her small gasps.
“I’m not doin’ much of anythin’ here, boo. You usin’ your imagination?”
Knowing what she was thinking would be good. Then he could give her what she wanted. When he moved lower, slowly slipping the leash over the top of her mound, she arched up and let go of the table.
“Uh-uh,” he said, tapping her clit gently with the leather.
She shrieked and grabbed for him.
“You better be quiet,” he said tenderly, restoring her hands to the table’s edge. “You don’ wan’ none of those girls of yours comin’ out here now, do you?”
He tapped her clit again, soaking in her cries. Good thing her girls were gone because otherwise they’d hear her clear back at the house. Bracing one hand beside her, he moved the leash downwards. Over her pussy and the pretty fabric. Again and again he stroked her with the leash, first soft and then harder.
Her hips rose and fell to meet him, her hands white-knuckling on the table. When he tucked the leash against her opening, pushing the soaked fabric against her, her eyes fluttered shut.
“You like these panties much?”
She gave a desperate shake of her head. “You go right ahead,” she gasped, so he snapped the pretty little ribbons holding the sides together. Like unwrapping the best of Christmas presents, he thought, taking in the soft folds glistening and pink with the warmest of welcome for him. She was so damned perfect.
When he parted her with the leash, she met him halfway, the leash’s tip disappearing inside her wet slit.
“You got a dark side too.” He could hear the savage satisfaction in his own voice. How much could she take? Would she go all the way with him? There was only one way to find out.
Leaning forward, he sucked her clit into his mouth, working the leash gently in. Just an inch and then back out again. He licked her mercilessly, working her with his tongue. She gasped and moaned, the earthy sounds music to his ears. He was finally getting something right here. She bucked and tensed, the muscles in her thighs all but vibrating as he took her higher and she let him.
###
When Dag finally stood up and notched his dick against her opening, Riley was more than ready. He made her scream and she was sadly aware he could make her beg.
“We still got time,” he muttered. “Hours until sunset.”
Thank God. She gripped his shoulders and yanked him close. He had to finish what he’d started and she’d take every minute he could give. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she welcomed his slow, inward thrust.
He started a careful, measured in-and-out but the pace picked up fast. He groaned and he was right there with her, the heat and desire getting the best of him. His hips pounded hers, his skin slick with sweat. Her ass banged against the table with each stroke but his hands cupped her, taking the brunt of his thrusts.
This was raw, possessive sex and that was fine with her. Dag Breaux was a wicked temptation she couldn’t resist and he made her see stars even in broad daylight. So she wanted him one more time before the vamp came, even if that was possibly the most self-indulgent, stupid thing she’d ever done. Didn’t matter. She was doing—he was doing her—and it was the perfect ending to a shit week in the bayou. She’d been kidnapped, rescued, dragged through an underwater escape tunnel, and then run enough miles to qualify for a half-marathon. The universe owed her this.
“Tell me again everything’s going to be fine.”
“Just fine,” he groaned as he buried himself in her.
He moved faster and, since he was good and distracted now, she reached up and kissed him. Dag didn’t like kissing, but right now she was getting her way. She rubbed her lips over his, then pushed inside. Licked and tasted every inch of him, breathing into his mouth and taking him deep into hers. She loved kissing him. So she tightened her grip on his neck—just in case he had any thoughts of leaving—and kissed him and kissed him.
His hands bracing her, taking their weight as he drove into her and she rose up to meet him. Harder and faster, longer and rougher, proving there were plenty of ways to fill up the remaining hours until sunset.
Chapter Twelve
What seemed like hours later but had to be far less, Dag eased himself out of her body and took a step back. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he looked down at her.
“Pack is comin’ for you,” he said.
Just once, she wanted pillow talk. Compliments or even a request for “More please”—either would work for her. Instead, the man wanted to talk battle plans.
She leaned back on her elbows so she could see his face. The conversation probably would have been easier if she wasn’t naked, her pussy still throbbing with the most delicious aftershocks ever. “Excuse me?”
“We’re goin’ to hide you in the bayou. I’ll be back for you when I’ve taken care of the vamp.” He stepped away and flung open the door. The man had positively no shame. He clearly had every intention of stroll outside bare-ass naked.
Granted, he had a spectacular ass, but there was a time and a place for everything—and her brothers could be showing up any minute now. They certainly wouldn’t appreciate the view the way she did.
Since there was no point wasting her breath arguing with Mr. Alpha Male, she settled for a one word answer. “No.”
He swung around in the doorway, his eyes raking her. “The vamps, they track real well, but it’s going to take time to pick up any trail. Your girls are goin’ to be fine unless and until they decide to start walkin’ around outside. So now we get you to safety.”
“They’re not going to hide forever.”
“Sure, boo. Just long enough for me to take care of this vamp problem.”
She dragged on her shorts and tank top. Her panties were beyond salvaging, so commando it was. Her panty-less state just made it clear how damp she was and she didn’t need that reminder, so she stormed out after him. He didn’t get it. He didn’t tell her where to go or how to live her life, no matter how hot he was.
Hell.
She skidded to a stop outside.
Cruz was sprawled on the bottom step of the porch. Worse, her brother had seen the two of them exit the toolshed and his nose flared as he examined them. He knew. Her head swiveled, looking for Dag. Busted by her brother.
“Shug, we need to talk.” Cruz tilted his head back and examined her. He looked the same, from the worn blue jeans and shit-kicker boots to the faded gray cotton T-shirt. She’d never been sure the man possessed any other clothes.
He shrugged, sitting up and leaning forward. His T-shirt pulled tight over powerful shoulders and that easy power had always been part of the problem. It was too easy for him to take charge.
He frowned. “I smell wolf.”
“Yeah.” She swallowed. “About that.”
She wasn’t sure what to say next, but Dag sauntered around the corner and his arrival was definitely more “show” than “tell.” If she hadn’t been busted before, she was now, because Dag had clearly been to retrieve his clothes. He’d slipped his jeans on, but he was still reaching for the buttons. A dark arrow of hair disappeared into the open vee and the T-shirt tossed over his shoulder spelled out anything that Cruz hadn’t figured out for himself.
When he spotted Cruz, he growled. “You called him?”
His eyes glowed yellow, watching the other man. Cruz, not being a fool, didn’t move.
No, instead, Cruz looked at her. “Riley? You got somethin’ to tell me?”
She probably should warn Dag that Cruz’s lazy sprawl was deceptive.
“Dag, Cruz. Cruz, Dag. Cruz is my eldest brother.”
Dag looked frustrated. At least one of them wasn’t embarrassed at being caught going at it in a toolshed. “Shit, boo. I probably shouldn’t be killin’ him.”
Cruz fl
owed to his feet. Time to intervene
She stepped between them, but Dag was close enough behind her for her to feel. “Can we save it for the vamps?” she asked.
Cruz swore as Dag’s hands cupped her shoulders. “This is your shifter problem?”
###
After making the introductions, Riley backed the hell off. The testosterone was thick enough to choke a gal. So she paced the edge of the safe house’s living room, waiting for nightfall, while her brothers and Dag did their best to hammer out a battle plan rather than each other. The arrival of Luc, Jackson and Landry had farther complicated matters and Riley figured there would be blows sooner rather than later.
She hadn’t known Dag’s Pack planned on lending an assist. Unfortunately, putting her brothers and Dag’s Pack in the same small room was proving to be hell on both the furnishings and the nerves. Luc and Cruz had shut down the minor skirmishes that had blown up, but Riley didn’t see how everyone was going to work together.
She might be tense and worried—but she was also fucking determined. That counted for something because this stopped right now, right here. She glanced around the room. Both Joneses and Pack seemed equally focused. They had one hour until sunset.
Dag laid his hands flat on his thighs and leaned forward. “I wan’ you boys manning the perimeter,” he said, eying Cruz and Eli. “I don’ know what your experience is with hand-to hand, but—”
She pushed away from the wall and made for the center of the room.
He was taking charge. Again.
“This is my house,” she interrupted.
“Sure, boo,” he acknowledged. “But I was thinkin’ you didn’t have much experience fightin’ vamps.”
For an instant, the memories threatened to overwhelm her. The shack in the bayou. The vamp and Ameline’s blood splashed across the walls and the floor. She wasn’t going to forget, but she didn’t need to relive either. Not right now. She shoved the images back into their mental box.
“I’ve got experience,” she pointed out.
Cruz and Eli said nothing, just watched, their heads swinging between her and Dag like they were ringside at a tennis match. She couldn’t see Luc, however, because he was behind her, which made her nervous. She turned to make another circuit of the room and Dag reached out a hand, swinging her to a halt. His leg pressed against hers.
