Gone with the Wolf

by Kristin Miller

  “Everything you feel will be heightened.” He flicked a tightly budded nipple with his tongue, relishing the throaty moan that escaped Emelia’s lips.

  “It’s like I’m waking up,” she said, breathless. She splayed her legs wider over his lap. Until the heat from her center radiated through Drake’s pants. “Like I’m feeling things for the first time. I can sense your hunger.”

  “I can feel yours, too. It’s like a craving that’s clawing its way through me.” The words came out as a string of growls, rough and bumpy. He dragged his hands over her back and tugged on the ends of her hair. “I’ll feed your hunger if you’ll let me.”

  “Don’t make me beg for it.”

  She caught Drake’s lips and slanted her mouth to deepen the kiss, heating his body to dangerous levels. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. His erection throbbed fiercely, hardening to the point of pain. He kneaded her hips and guided them in a slow, grinding rhythm over his lap. The friction only increased his desire to push inside her.

  “I’ve hungered for you since the first moment I saw you,” he said as she arched up, rolling her hips over him like a skilled rider.

  She was glorious above him, powerful and somehow majestic with her hair falling over her shoulders and her breasts gently bouncing in his face. Soft amber light from the candles on the dresser flickered over Emelia’s tan skin, giving her a radiant glow.

  He needed more taste, more feel, more of her hips grinding against him…without the clothes. As Drake possessed her mouth, Emelia ripped his shirt down the middle. Their mouths collided. Buttons flew. She jerked the shirt off his shoulders and groaned into him, leaning down until her breasts smashed against his chest.

  Skin to flaming hot skin. Finally.

  Drake quivered with the strength of his need. The raw seduction of her kiss. The way her body spoke to him in a way he’d never thought possible. His heart raced with hers. His breathing hitched with every one of her breathless moans. As warmth pooled between her legs, his shaft swelled and bucked, aching to feel her muscles clench around him.

  Emelia was his.

  He’d known it the second he touched her in the wine cellar. If it were up to him, and him alone, he would bond with Emelia, claim her as his Luminary, and welcome her like a queen into his pack.

  Their lives would be linked. They’d never be apart. Damn the consequences.

  But it wasn’t only up to him. Emelia had a choice. Just because she was going to transition into a werewolf didn’t mean she had to bond with him for the rest of her life. And most women wanted children, didn’t they? How would she react when she found out that she would never be able to carry his child to full term?

  One step at a time, he reminded himself. One step at a time.

  “Emelia,” he breathed.

  “Yes?” She nipped at his earlobe.

  “You have a choice in this.”

  She hesitated, propping her hands on the back of the couch on either side of his head.

  “Oh, you want me to beg? Is that it?”

  “No.” I want you to stay with me forever. “I want you to know you have a choice.”

  “My choice is you.” She smothered a kiss on his lips. “Right here.” And another. Hotter. Deeper. “Right now. Take me, Drake.” She stroked his shaft through his pants. “Take me before I burst.”

  A teasing spirit flittered through him. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Looping one of his arms behind her back, Drake grabbed hold of Emelia’s waist and flipped her over in one swift move. She gasped as her head hit the couch cushions and her legs fell apart. Drake kneeled on the floor. Spread her legs apart farther and dove between them. Hooking a finger beneath her damp panties, he gave them a hard yank and tore them in two.

  “Hope those weren’t your favorite pair.” He planted a kiss on her center and dragged his tongue through her wet slit.

  “No.” She blew out a ragged breath, and curled her hips to meet his mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” he said playfully, stopping to meet her heavy-lidded gaze. “Did you say something?”

  He flicked her engorged nub with his tongue and watched her thighs tremble.

  “Don’t you dare stop.” Grasping fistfuls of his hair, Emelia shoved his face back down into position.

  No talking, then. Fine by him.

  With a devious spark flaring inside him, Drake shot out his tongue and raked it across her flesh. She tasted better than he could’ve imagined—sugary sweet. Downright delicious. He teased her pleasure spot, biting and nipping. Responding to each of her body’s subtle vibrations. As she began to tremble, Drake palmed her rear and lifted her hips against him. He slipped a finger inside her core, giving her the pressure she craved, while dragging his tongue through her slick folds. When her orgasm hit, she cried out his name and rocked against his mouth, driving him to the edge of his own release.

  “You taste sweeter than wine,” he said, wedging his hips between her legs. “I’m going to take you now.”

  Her kiss-plumped lips pulled into a smile. “Do you always make an announcement before you come?”

  “In my pack, it’s customary when the level of respect for your woman matches your desire.” He planted an openmouthed kiss on her lips that buzzed through his chest. “I’ve only said those words to you.”

  “I see.” Her smile widened, lighting the room. “Well? I’m waiting.”

  He kicked off his shoes and stripped out of his pants, all the while holding her gaze. As he settled his hips between hers once more, she sat upright and scooted to the very edge of the couch. She grasped his shaft, inhaling sharply when he twitched in her hand. Throbbing as every ounce of blood swelled him tighter than he’d ever been, Drake let his head fall back and his hips push forward.

  “You’re huge,” she said, as she stroked him harder, clenching her fist around the long, thick length of him. “Are all werewolves—”

  “No, baby,” he interrupted, sweeping his fingers through her center. “Just me.” He licked her succulent juices off his fingers and groaned. He pushed forward, until the head of his erection poised at her drenched core. “You’re so wet. So perfect.”

  “Do you have protection?” she asked quietly, her chest heaving with labored breaths.

  “No.” Why would he carry around a condom? Diseases didn’t pass from werewolves to humans, and she’d have to be a werewolf in heat to get pregnant. But he couldn’t get into any of that. Not yet. “Do you?”

  She nodded and pointed to the foot of the bed where her purse had been laid. “In the inside zipper pocket.”

  Drake fished through her purse and found the condom. “So tell me, sweet, innocent Emelia,” he teased, tearing through the foil wrapper. “Were you planning to seduce me after the gala?”

  With heavy-lidded eyes, Emelia watched as Drake put on the condom and approached her squirming legs. “I didn’t think it’d hurt to be prepared.”

  “What a good girl you are.”

  As Drake wedged himself between Emelia’s legs, his veins flooded with heat. She scooted closer to the edge of the couch and lay back, propping her head on the pillows behind her.

  “Good?” she said, letting out a shallow hiss of air as the thick head of his erection brushed over her slit. “Don’t you want me to be naughty?”

  Holding on to a weakening thread of control, Drake maneuvered slowly, inching himself inside her. When he finally sheathed himself to the hilt, he groaned, clenching his teeth until he thought they would shatter. He had to go gently if he didn’t want to hurt her, but it went against every pounding desire he had. Emelia groaned with him, moving her hips in a rhythm that stroked him from the inside out. She was so tight. A perfect fit.

  “I want you,” he mumbled, his jaw going rigid. “I want you in every way.”

  As she began to writhe in her own rising pleasure, Drake reached out, splayed his hands over her stomach and massaged her breasts. He continued his path up her body, stroking his hands up her silky-smooth ch
est and looping them behind her neck. Gently, he grasped the back of her neck and tilted her head so that she could look in his eyes when he came. God, how he wished he could capture this moment. She was breathtaking. Glorious. Heart-stopping.

  “Emie. My Emie.” His voice strained hoarse. He was surprised he could speak at all. “Come for me again.”

  “Now?” she asked, pushing against the pillows, bucking against him. “You want it now?”

  He was drawn so tight, his body clenched with raging need.

  “I’m begging.” Drake could feel her inner muscles begin to clench. He hardened into a giant knot, on the verge of climax. What scared him was the reaction that shot through him: the desperate urge to bond with her.

  Drake clamped down the primal need, determined to give Emelia the choice first. Being with him physically, matching him like no other could, didn’t mean she wanted to enter into the human equivalent of marriage with him.

  “Come back,” she breathed, her mouth falling open as she gasped for air.

  Drake thrust into her harder. With all the force he had. “I didn’t go anywhere. Come for me, baby.”

  With a resounding push, Emelia crumbled, her inner muscles flexing and releasing, pulsing as the orgasm milked its way through her. Drake continued to thrust, so achingly close to reaching his own jagged peak of release. The world shook before his eyes. Emelia sat up and kissed him, plunging her tongue into his mouth in time with his thrusts.

  The pressure building inside Drake became too hot, too great. He exploded, releasing his seed in deliciously sharp spasms that had him crying out her name.

  Emelia was his woman. Bonded or not.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You didn’t have to do this all for me,” Emelia said, staring at Drake from her stool across the granite island. “I could’ve eaten the pizza. It would’ve been fine.”

  They’d made love three times since she woke from her transition slumber, and while her cheeks had flushed a delicious shade of pink, her skin was paler than it’d been before. Emelia needed to eat a good, solid meal to rejuvenate her system. He would be damned to serve her cold pizza.

  “I told you it’s no problem.” Drake stirred the tomato sauce and turned down the boiling water on the back burner. “I like to cook.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t come from a Good Husbands catalog or something?”

  He gazed at her over his shoulder and watched wonder spark deep in her eyes. “They have such a thing?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She smiled, adjusting his T-shirt over her shoulders. “But if they did, I’m sure you’d grace the cover.”

  Drake couldn’t ignore the pride whipping through him—instead of dressing in the clothes Raul had picked up from Emelia’s apartment, she’d chosen to slip back into his shirt. He dropped the spaghetti into the pot and focused on shoving them into the bubbling water so she wouldn’t see the glow emanating from within him.

  “Why don’t you have a chef?” she asked.

  “I tried that once,” he said, precisely measuring out garlic, pepper, and Italian seasoning, then dumping them into the sauce. “But the one I hired cooked new-age health food that had no flavor. He insisted I eat healthier to elongate my life. He was an idiot.”

  The sauce began to bubble, so he clamped the lid down, poured a glass of wine, and handed it to Emelia. Would it always be this way if she became his Luminary and stayed by his side? They could make love all evening, steal down to the kitchen to cook up a midnight snack, then go back to bed and fuck until morning. Drake had given up the thought of bonding with someone—he’d grown accustomed to living on his own. But if Emelia stayed with him he wouldn’t have to turn on the television over dinner to create noise so the house wouldn’t feel as vacant. He wouldn’t have to read in bed until he fell asleep so the night wouldn’t seem so cavernous. Emelia would be there every step of the way with her spunky wit, effortless beauty, and challenging mind. It could be good, Drake realized. It could be great.

  “That brings up a good point,” she said. “How old are you?”

  “How old do you think I am?” Drake sipped on his own wine as he stirred the noodles.

  “Thirty?”

  “Not far off.” He shrugged. “I’m three hundred.”

  Emelia choked. “Three hundred years old?”

  “Give or take a few decades.”

  “But wait, at the Vanguard Gala the host said Serephina was born in the late eighteen hundreds. I’m no Einstein when it comes to math, but I think there’s a missing century in there somewhere.”

  Drake leaned over the counter, amazed at Emelia’s memory. “When we moved to San Francisco, my mother falsified her birth certificate so she could become more involved in the city council. If anybody dug around, they would find the truth.”

  “I see.” Emelia sipped on her wine. “So at the ripe age of three hundred, are you an old or young wolf?”

  “The average werewolf lives a thousand years. If they can find their life mate.”

  “Oh.” Emelia’s breathing slowed—Drake could sense it, hear it. “And if they don’t find their mate?”

  Drake went back to manning dinner. “A mateless werewolf will live maybe three-quarters of that, between six and eight hundred years. It’s not an exact science. Some werewolves are stronger and heartier, so they’ll naturally live longer than their weaker packmates. But my father believed that werewolves, like men, need women to balance and support them. He believed that men are weaker and incomplete without a woman at their side.”

  Emelia’s arms suddenly slipped around Drake’s waist. “I think your father is brilliant.”

  “He was brilliant,” Drake corrected, leaning into her. “My father passed away some time ago.”

  Drake hadn’t heard Emelia approach, but he breathed deep as she laid her head against his back and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. He’d left his shirt upstairs and had dressed in nothing but plaid pajama pants that hung low on his waist. As Emelia’s fingers slowly danced over his abs, teasing him with the promise of traipsing lower, Drake was glad he’d left his shirt upstairs.

  Emelia went up on tiptoe and smudged a kiss on Drake’s shoulder, sending starbursts of shivers exploding down his spine. Fantasies of taking Emelia on the counter, the floor, the table, shot through his mind like comets.

  “You’re going to burn the sauce,” she whispered.

  “Damn it.” The sauce had splattered on the lid and seeped onto the burner, making a giant mess. Part of Drake wanted to leave the spill, let the spaghetti burn, so that he could ravish Emelia again and again. How was it possible that she had become a welcome distraction in every part of his life, in just a few short weeks? “Let’s eat.”

  They ate on the table poised between the kitchen and living room. Drake couldn’t bear the royal-like formality of the dining room. Not with Emelia. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t…fit. He didn’t want ten empty chairs between them as they sat on opposite heads of the table. He wanted Emelia close. Beside him. Where he could rub her thigh beneath the table between bites if the urge struck him.

  Through dinner, Emelia had a million questions about the transition and what to expect, and Drake answered every one honestly, with as much clarity as he could. And every time he had the impulse to rub her thigh, he did. Although Emelia smiled and seemed to tremble at his touch, her sapphire eyes remained guarded. Even as she pulled her hand away, she hesitated as if removing her hand from his went against her deepest wishes.

  What was holding her back from getting close to him outside of the bedroom? Could she not feel how deep their connection had rooted?

  “Some of what happened at the gala is still a blur,” Emelia said, finishing up the last of the spaghetti, “but I remember your brother saying something about ruling the pack.”

  Lost in thought, Drake clinked his fork against his plate. “Why would he mention that to you?”

  “I think he said something about using me to get all of
it…the pack and the estate.”

  “Shit.” Dropping his fork, Drake leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, as if he needed to brace himself against hurricane force gusts of wind. “He was going to hold you ransom for everything. Son of a bitch. He must’ve been the one to send that goon to attack you in the parking lot…I should never have underestimated him.”

  Emelia blanched. “Your brother sent that guy?”

  “Not guy, Emelia. Werewolf.”

  “Shit is right.” She guzzled her glass of wine and poured another.

  “I should’ve told you, but I wanted to ease you into my world. I didn’t even know if you’d want to be a part of it. Guess there’s no choice anymore.”

  “Why me? I mean, why do I matter, anyway?” Emelia’s neck flushed red, showing the signs of a pre-transition temper flare. “Why does your brother care who I am or bother sending some guy to attack me? Until two months ago, I was just a bartender. I’m nobody in your world.”

  “No, you’re more than that.” Drake took her hand and squeezed when she tried to pull away. Her skin was scorching hot. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Something I’ve been waiting to say until the right moment.”

  “You know, I’m barely on board with the werewolf thing. I’m already prepared to invest in Nair to take care of the nasty hair problem I’ll have. Do you know how many hours it’d take to wax a wolf? I Googled it!” She nodded quickly, prompting him to answer, but left him no time to do so. “Like ten hours, Drake, ten! Now you’re springing another surprise on me? If you say I’m gonna sprout three heads or become the next Godzilla, I might have you kill me now.”

  “You’re my Luminary,” he said, throat drying, heart drumming. “You’re the one I’m destined to be with, the one who makes my life whole and complete. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for my entire life. But the same thing that makes you my heart’s greatest blessing makes you Silas’s greatest threat. I guess I didn’t realize how bad he wanted to be Alpha until now.”

  “Hold the phone.” Emelia licked her lips slowly, her gaze homing in on the hard angles of Drake’s face. “If you’re with me, you get control over the whole pack? Like a private army, all to yourself?”