Big Bad Wolf

by Christine Warren

  Missy wondered if the world would ever shift back onto its axis, because it had been off-kilter since he’d first touched her the night before.

  “I’m not Lupine,” she repeated. “I’m not even a member of the pack. I can’t be a leader of it.”

  Graham swallowed a mouthful of bacon. “Samantha obviously disagrees.”

  “She can’t just decide to do that, can she? I mean—”

  Missy’s protest sputtered to a halt when Graham slid a forkful of fluffy eggs into her open mouth and leveled a stern glance at her.

  “Can we not talk about Samantha, please?” He looked a little impatient, but at least he tried to be polite. “You’re only giving me a weekend to win you over, and this particular conversation is cutting into my time.”

  Missy nodded reluctantly—since she couldn’t do much else with her mouth full—and he withdrew his fork.

  “Good. Now finish your breakfast. We’re going to have a busy day.”

  Graham turned his attention right back to his meal, and Missy tried to pretend she didn’t interpret that comment in an entirely sexual manner. But she still had to cross her legs and press her thighs together to ease the ache her imagination and his husky voice inspired.

  She looked down at her plate and began spreading blackberry jam on her toast, more to keep her hands occupied than because she wanted to eat it. Somehow, the strain of the night had her craving protein, not toast. She forked up a bite of her asparagus and cheddar omelet and tried to behave as if the idea of keeping busy in his bedroom all day had never crossed her mind.

  “What are we planning to do?” She met his gaze with the most casual expression she could muster, but she still ended up blushing at the devilish glint in his eyes.

  “Well, you said we needed to get to know each other better,” he said, polishing off his eggs and digging his fork into a stack of pancakes. “So today, you’re going to show me everything there is to know about you. Then tomorrow, I’ll show you everything there is to know about me. Monday, we can revisit the moving thing. I’ll even help you pack.”

  Missy rolled her eyes and laughed, but she couldn’t quite suppress the little voice inside her that wailed at the injustice of the fact that by Monday he’d be sick of her and moving on to the next woman who caught his attention. That moment of truth was still two days away, and she sure didn’t plan to waste this opportunity brooding about the way it would end. In fact, she didn’t plan to waste a minute sharing all the boring details of her life just so he could get sick of her that much quicker. She planned to milk every drop of enjoyment out of their time together that she possibly could, and that did not mean letting him watch while she did her laundry or finished her grocery shopping. If she only had this one weekend with him, she wanted to spend it touching him. Preferably naked. And, even more preferably, horizontal.

  Then, she’d spend next week holed up in her apartment, crying her way through box after box of tissues.

  “Letting you know everything there is to know about me is not going to take all day,” she said, pushing away her half-eaten meal, hoping the gesture looked more like she was preparing for something and less like her stomach had knotted up so hard she couldn’t swallow. “In fact, I can tell you all about me in just a few short sentences.”

  The voice inside her head shrieked in protest, but Missy ignored it. She ignored her pounding heart, her shaking fingers, and her suddenly dry mouth and prayed for the strength to seize what she knew would be the two best days of her life.

  Okay, she thought, taking a deep, trembling breath. Here goes. Just don’t let me look like an idiot. That’s all I ask.

  Missy leaned back in the vinyl booth and stretched out her legs until she could hook her ankle around his calf and pull him closer. Then she gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile and lowered her not-quite-steady hands to her borrowed shirt, unfastening the first two buttons with slow, teasing motions.

  She saw him still, saw his eyes drop and fix on the pale skin newly bared by the partially unfastened shirt, and she felt a sense of power that made her smile widen.

  “I just turned twenty-seven years old,” she said, slipping her hand into the open placket of the shirt she wore and trailing her fingers along the pale skin from her throat to her modest cleavage and back again. His eyes followed the motion as if they were glued to it. “Only child. Born in Brooklyn, raised in Westchester County. Went to Sarah Lawrence. Degree in early childhood education. Never broken a bone, but once sprained my wrist playing tennis. Haven’t picked up a racket since.”

  She continued speaking, opening another button every few words. By the time she started telling him about her parents and the fact that she was mortally afraid of jellyfish, the dimple of her belly button was just visible in the opening of her shirt. She saw his jaw clench and circled her fingertip around the last remaining button. It and the knot in the shirttails were the only things standing between her and her very first arrest for indecent exposure.

  “Allergic to shellfish, but adore catfish, especially blackened. Favorite musicians include Stevie Ray Vaughan, Sarah McLachlan, and the Indigo Girls.”

  She paid no attention to anyone around her, since none of them paid any attention to her. They lived in Manhattan, which meant one woman in a diner with her shirt hanging open but still covering all her vital parts didn’t make front-page news. In fact, it probably wouldn’t even make a blip on their radar.

  Licking her lips, she rubbed her foot against his leg under the table and slowly, slowly unfastened that last button.

  “I like long walks in the park, breakfast in bed on Sunday mornings, and watching old musicals on DVD. Biggest turn-ons are confident men who know what they want, have a sense of humor, and turn furry once a month.”

  She shifted slightly, baring the center plane of her pale, smooth torso to his avid gaze. A low growl rumbled in his chest and he clutched the tabletop in a white-knuckled grip, but she couldn’t resist pressing just a little further.

  Her eyes on his face, she pushed her shirt aside just far enough for him to see the inside curves of her breasts, then ran her hands between them and down to the fastening of her slacks.

  “Think you know enough about me yet?” she asked, her voice husky and purring and as taunting as her subtle striptease. “Or did you need something else?”

  Her fingers flexed and the top button on her slacks popped open. Almost instantly, Graham’s eyes blazed a vivid, glowing green and his arm shot into the air.

  “Check, please!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They made it back to his house in seven minutes flat, including calculating the waitress’s tip, though Graham didn’t so much calculate as throw her a wad of cash and drag Missy out the door before she could utter another word. After that stunt, she’d better not open her mouth again until she was ready for him to put something in it.

  He managed to refrain from slinging her over his shoulder again only because they were already so close to home. But lest she think he wasn’t impatient for her, he fell on her like an attacking pit bull the minute the front door closed behind them.

  She landed on the entry carpet with a hard thump, and he heard the hiss when the impact managed to knock most of the air out of her lungs. Whatever she had left, he stole from her in a kiss so hot and wet and mind-blowing he almost came just from the feel of her mouth under his. His lips moved against hers, firm and avid, while his tongue plunged deep to tangle with hers. She tasted of coffee and woman and the sweet, wild flavor of Missy, and he wanted to devour her. He swore she tasted even better than she had the night before. Richer. More intense.

  Maybe he was imagining it, but in the interest of accuracy he figured he’d better make sure by conducting a few more tests.

  Taste tests.

  Naked taste tests.

  Growling in anticipation, he closed his hands over the knot holding her shirt closed and ripped it apart. Never mind he’d just reduced his own shirt to dust rags, because the t
reasure that lay under it was a hell of a lot more important to him. His hands clenched into fists as he spread the sides of the shirt and bared her breasts to his hungry gaze. Her nipples beaded even before he touched them, stabbing into the air like little pebbles and making his mouth water. He popped one between his lips quickly, before he started drooling in his enthusiasm.

  She murmured and shifted beneath him, creating a distracting friction against the demanding inhabitant of his jeans. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and he reached down to tug open her zipper. Somehow the black fabric of her trousers disintegrated under his hands. He hadn’t intended to be that rough, but apparently his instincts couldn’t care less about his intentions.

  Missy didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way her breathing sped up and her hands slid from his hair to his shoulders and then down his back. Slim fingers grabbed handfuls of fabric and pulled his shirttails from his waistband. He levered some of his weight off of her, bracing his palms against the Oriental carpet that covered the hardwood floor. He gave her nipple a last, fond lick and began to nuzzle his way across her chest to her other breast.

  He was right—her taste had gotten richer, sweeter, hotter since the night before, but he knew he’d have to taste another few select spots before he could confirm that theory. Her neglected nipple was only next on a very long list.

  Halfway across her chest, when his nose hit that heated patch of flesh between her breasts where her scent had pooled, Graham froze. In that moment all doubts fled and he knew for certain that her scent had gotten stronger. He also knew why.

  Missy was fertile.

  He held himself over her, poised and still and trembling with the effort of restraint. His beast howled in protest, and Graham had to fight to keep it far enough under wraps not to hurt her or rush her or send her screaming from his house in terror. His nostrils flared, and he inhaled deeply, unable to control the need to drink in her fragrance, even though every drop made it more difficult to restrain his impulses. He stood on a precipice, and he knew that if he didn’t pull away from her now, this minute, and get as far out of range of her scent as possible, he would make her pregnant. When that happened, their mate-bond would go from theoretical to irrevocable. After that, it wouldn’t matter what she wanted, because Graham would never be able to let her go.

  Missy whimpered beneath him. Her hands tore at his shirt, but the sturdy material held fast, and her hands had to detour between their bodies to attack his buttons. One after the other, she slid them from their moorings until she could push the shirt off his shoulders and out of her way. Then she bowed her body upward and ran her warm, pink tongue over one of his flat nipples, and Graham knew he’d passed the irrevocable stage of their bond a long, long time ago. She was his, and now he would make sure that never changed.

  With a fierce snarl, he reared back onto his knees, pulling away from her just long enough to rid himself of his clothes, tossing them away and falling on hers. He shredded the fabric with fingers whose tips had sharpened into claws and scattered them across the hall floor. When all of her skin lay bared to him, he crouched back on his heels and licked his lips.

  Missy stared up at him, her eyes glassy and narrowed, her lips parted to make way for panting breaths. “Graham. I want you,” she breathed, reaching up and twining her fingers in the silky-rough pelt of hair on his chest. She tugged, and he grunted at the sharp sting of pulled hair but didn’t move.

  She frowned up at him. “Now,” she said, her voice louder and firmer. “That wasn’t a generalization; it was an invitation. So get moving.”

  His beast leapt forward at that, clearly intent on fucking her senseless, knocking her up, and then howling his triumph to the waxing moon. Fortunately, Graham grabbed it by the throat before it could pounce and wrestled it into temporary submission. If he frightened her now, he risked a lot more than sexual frustration. He risked a lifetime of misery, because an unhappy mate did not bode well for their relationship.

  “Do I have to make it an order?” Her eyes narrowed at his hesitation, and her hand slid down the slowly spreading patch of fur on his chest, down his quivering abdomen until her fingers curled around his shaft and squeezed firmly.

  He nearly did howl at that. Her soft fingers felt so cool and silky wrapped around his heated skin, and when he looked down, he became transfixed by the sight of her small, pale hand against his flushed shaft and the deep brown of the fur he couldn’t keep from spreading.

  His jaw clenched so tightly, he thought it might snap. Desperately he fought for control, fought to keep his beast pinned inside, while it screamed and wailed and struggled for freedom. Graham knew that as surprisingly bold as his mate was turning out to be, she was still too human and too new to be faced with certain reminders of his Lupine nature. He figured he could pick a much better time to change in front of her for the first time than when she had her thighs spread and her hand wrapped around him. Now was not the right moment.

  When her other hand slipped from his chest to his thigh and then darted low to cup him, his beast made another lunge. Graham had to resort to a full-body tackle and to making a certain number of compromises just to keep it in check. His beast agreed to stay beneath the surface of his skin if Graham agreed to give up the internal debate and take Missy now. When her slick, clinging muscles wrapped around him, his beast would content itself with that and stop with the foaming-at-the-mouth bit. It was a truce Graham could definitely get behind.

  Before he could reach for her, Missy’s patience ran out. She dropped her hands, pushed herself up from the floor, and glared straight into his eyes. “Did you break all those land speed records so you could admire my fine eyes, or could we get on with the more interesting stuff?”

  His beast growled, and the smile he gave her felt feral. When his tongue darted out to lick his lips, it rubbed against the edge of his fangs, and he smiled wider.

  “Interesting,” he growled. “Very interesting.”

  Then he lunged.

  He dove for her like a wolf diving for the jugular of its prey. She jerked with the gracelessness of instinct and rolled away. He feigned a pounce and grinned when she scrambled to her knees to eye him warily.

  “What the heck are you doing?” she demanded.

  “You said you liked men who get furry. I’m letting you see my furry side.”

  Her eyes widened, and he watched as her posture shifted from aggressive to wary. He sniffed, testing the air, but he couldn’t smell any of the bitter taint of fear marring her rich, sweet scent.

  In fact, he thought, sniffing again, the vanilla’s stronger. She’s excited.

  The idea made his body tighten—in some places more than in others—and he began to prowl slowly toward her. He kept his eyes on hers and paced closer, carnal intent in every motion. She scooted backward, but the fact that she was still kneeling hampered her movements. He saw how she never took her eyes off him, but he also saw when her muscles began to bunch and tense as she prepared to get to her feet.

  She never made it.

  Before she could even get one sole on the carpet, he leapt and brought her down in a gentle flying tackle. Wrapping his arms around her and hugging her against his chest, he twisted in midair and landed beneath her, absorbing the impact on his shoulders and back. He had her back on the floor before she could even gasp her surprise, but she was gasping the very next minute when he flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her legs apart, and wedged his knees between her spread thighs.

  She reared beneath him, pushing up on her hands and craning her neck around to stare at him with wary eyes. “What are you doing?”

  His answer consisted of a feral grin and his hands gripping her hips, jerking them up off the floor until she knelt on all fours in front of him. Then he leaned over her, blanketing her body with his until he could nip gently at her earlobe, then slide past to nuzzle his cheek against hers. She shivered, and he followed it up with a lick that drew his tongue from her jaw all the way to her hairline.

&
nbsp; “You said you liked me furry,” he repeated, placing his hands over hers and pinning them to the floor when she would have tried to scramble away. “You said you wanted me. Did you change your mind?”

  He closed his teeth around the nape of her neck and held on when a shiver raced down her spine. His tongue darted out to taste the warm skin, and her scent rose to tease him, filling his senses with her sweet, heavy perfume. Every time they touched, her fragrance got stronger, more filled with honey and vanilla and the indescribable richness of her fertility. It told him how much she wanted him, but more than that, it identified her as his mate, because no other woman had ever affected him like this. No Lupine, and certainly no human.

  He’d never experienced a scent like hers, one that told him how ripe she was and how welcome his seed would be inside her womb. The idea of his pup growing beneath the soft curve of her belly stretched his cock to the point of pain, and he knew he needed to be inside her soon.

  “Did you change your mind?” he demanded, scraping his teeth along the sensitive column of her spine. She quaked beneath him, and her head dropped forward in a submissive gesture that made the beast within him roar in triumph. He had to fight not to bite harder, sink his teeth deeper. His beast wanted to mark her pretty skin, and lust had his mind so clouded he could barely remember why that was such a bad idea.

  “No,” she whimpered, snapping him out of his fog with a surge of triumph. “I want you, Graham. Please.”

  Her words whispered faintly, even to his keen senses, but he still heard, and he still snarled in satisfaction.

  “Then take me,” he growled. And thrust.

  She screamed, but the sound didn’t faze him. He barely heard her over the deafening pleasure of feeling her slick heat close tight around him. He grunted when she thrust back against him, savoring the smooth curve of her back as it arched into his blanketing chest. Her hands twisted beneath his, trying to pull free, but he pinned her easily. Holding her still for his ravenous thrusts.