by Anne Marsh
“You should know.” He pressed his face against the skin of her throat, breathing in her scent with each breath he took. He allowed himself a little taste, a quick, soft lap of his tongue. “You belong with us.”
Brown eyes stared at him, making him feel like shit. “I thought you planned to kill me.”
“Never. Any one of us, we’d die, sha, to keep you safe. You remember that.” He got off her, ignoring her surprised look. Yeah. He’d surprised himself too. He’d had her pinned like a good wolf, and yet he’d backed off rather than going for the win. She sat up, tugging at her T-shirt as if covering up two inches of belly would fix everything that had gone wrong.
Cotton wasn’t going to help her out here. Not too much could. Before his wolf put him back on top of her, pressed her hardcore down into that leather, he put some floor space between them. He wasn’t a stay-at-home man. He preferred to be out doing, and he was happier on the bayou than cooped up inside any day.
“So you’re part of a secret paranormal world order, duking it out on the bayou. Let’s say I accept that for a moment. Your state secrets still have nothing to do with me.”
“I told you about the blue moon. About the women that moon finds for us.” He leaned forward. She looked so sad that he wanted to fix things for her. Take her in his arms and promise her everything would work out. He wouldn’t lie to her, either, and that left him searching for what to say because he didn’t see a way out of this one. “You’re a blue-moon bride, sha. There’s your truth, plain and simple.”
“I want to go after Riley,” she said. “Now. No more of this tomorrow crap. I’m done waiting.”
“Landry’s on it.” He knew his brother. Landry wouldn’t rest until he’d rescued Riley. “When you see him again, things are going to be okay.”
“Riley’s going to be okay,” she reiterated stubbornly.
The Pack was a band of territorial bastards. Pack fought to hold what was theirs. Riley belonged to the Pack, so Landry would bring her back.
Mary Jane, on the other hand, was his.
Not having gotten that memo, Mary Jane swung her legs off the couch like she was getting ready to go somewhere, and then sucked in a breath hard, her face flushing. He’d bet, if he looked outside, the clouds had come off the blue moon again, and their hidey-hole was bathed in blue light. She collapsed backwards, hands planted on her forehead like she could keep the heat in—or out—by holding on real tight. She whimpered, and that little sound ripped through him. She hurt with the needing, and that made him want to howl too. Her teeth bit down on her lower lip, puncturing the fragile skin.
“This isn’t sexy.” She glared at him, then buried her face in her hands.
The fear scent pouring off her had his wolf’s hackles rising. That scent was all wrong, an almost chemical stink of blood and metal like a hit of stale air from a newly cracked tomb. He could almost see the memories from tonight jackhammering at her head.
“See?” His voice hardened. “You feel me now? Your pussy is all wet and achin’ and needin’, sha. Your body’s makin’ demands, because your body recognizes the blue moon for what it is. A matin’ call.”
She glared at him, but she didn’t dispute the truth of his words. Hell, he could smell the sweet scent of her arousal. “You’re saying this is your fault.”
His wolf liked her strength, liked how she was all feminine accusation because she wouldn’t give in.
###
She needed to get her head together. Problem was, Mary Jane’s mind was buzzing with memories of Dre’s one-sided takedown of that unknown man, followed by the attack on the Bayou Sweetie and Riley’s disappearance. The info dump she'd just received wasn't helping, either. Her body still rode the adrenaline rush of the fight, of being plunged into a world where dying was apparently an everyday occurrence. How did Dre do this every day, day in, day out?
The motel bathroom had been surprisingly clean, and right now it looked like a safe refuge. She fled back inside the small room, welcoming the healthy dose of reality in the functional tile, the plastic shower curtain and handful of cheap sample-sized bottles. Clean had seemed like the answer earlier, but now she couldn’t stop shaking. She sat on the toilet lid. Her legs were plain done holding her up.
The precise knock on the door wasn’t a sound she'd have associated with the big, silent hunter who'd methodically ripped his way through an army of vamps. That man had been all give-a-fuck. The knock sounded careful. Almost gentlemanly.
She didn’t bother responding, and sure enough he turned the knob and came on in. Flipping the feeble little lock hadn’t been worth the effort. Nothing would keep Dre out.
Reaching around her, Dre hit the water in the tiny shower stall, and heat filled the room.
“Shower,” he said. “That sounds good to me right now. You want to come in, there’s plenty of room. You want to stay put, your call.”
He undressed all matter-of-fact and precise, as if he had no idea what the sight of his clothes coming off did to her. First the shit-kicking boots lined up, left and right. Then the rest of his clothes followed in neat progression as he disrobed and disarmed until he had an arsenal stacked on the counter.
The man was a marvel. She gave up pretending she wasn’t watching him, just sat there exactly like the nervous Nelly she was and stared her fill. He was all rough, male beauty and powerful shoulders. Not perfect, because the fighting had marked him up and left scars on his arms and back. Nothing horrific, those marks were a constant reminder that this man fought every day of his life. He bent to push his pants down his thighs, and she sat there, watching the cut muscles of his abdomen ripple as he moved.
He opened the shower door, and steam billowed out, making the room fuzzy around the edges. Or maybe that was her exhaustion. She definitely should stop staring at his groin. God, even semi-erect he was a big man. His chiseled abs drew her gaze down and down, until her imagination was doing lascivious things her fingers itched to try in real life. Right now with this man.
“You look all you want,” he said, when she dragged her gaze away. He shoved the shower curtain open. “Lookin’ don’ hurt me none, sha.”
Busted.
What did she want? He’d taken charge earlier. She’d expected more of that, not this choice. He wasn’t going to strip off her clothes and carry her into that shower with him, even if her imagination really liked that particular fantasy. If she wanted to join him, she had to take her clothes off and climb on in. So, the question was, once again, what did she want here?
A break. For something good and easy and comforting. She eyed the man standing beneath the stream of hot water. The shower stall had barely enough room for two. He stood there, back to her as he rinsed off with brisk efficiency, dark hair slicked against his skin.
How hard could it be to open a door? She made this move, or nothing happened. Tonight was all her choice. Her call. Quickly, before she could chicken out or overthink things, she slipped off her clothes, dropping them into an untidy pile on the floor. She wasn’t all hospital corners like Dre. She didn’t think he’d recant his invitation because of a little mess, though. Pulling the door open, she stepped in.
Heat and wet hit her. The water streamed down around her, delicious sting against her skin. Washing away the bad things and leaving just her and him in this steam-filled space.
“Come on over here,” he invited, gesturing to the empty spot next to him.
Why not? Why not let him give her what she craved and a chance to forget what happened for a little while?
One small step brought her up next to his big, wet body.
“Okay,” she said. “Now what?”
A sexy little grin tugged at his mouth. This was the playful smile of a male welcoming his lover. Dre wasn’t one for emoting. Landry was the sensual charmer, while Dre, despite his physical resemblance to his twin, was the darker Brother Grimm. This smile, though, lit his eyes and bathed her in warmth. He reached for the soap. “Now, I take care of you, Mary Jane.
Let me see to you, okay, honey?”
He drew her back against his body, taking her weight. When his penis stirred, thick and hard against her lower back, she froze, uncertain. Sex in the shower might be too much, too fast.
“You don’ worry,” he said, shifting his erection away from her. “I’m not pushin’ for nothin’ here, and there’s not a thing you need to do, okay?”
His hands getting busy with the soap mesmerized her. They were all erotic strength as he soaped up the cloth, working up a lather. A warrior’s hands. Watching him, she remembered where those hands had been, what he’d touched. Carefully, he freed her hair from its scrunchie, fingers combing through the long strands. Each careful pass brought another erotic tug, then those big, sure hands were on her scalp, massaging away the day’s tension before moving on to the base of her neck. Smoothing and kneading upwards.
The tension flowed out of her.
###
Eventually, Dre killed the water, reaching for a stack of thick towels and wrapping Mary Jane up good. Cradling her in his damp arms, he carried her out of shower and set her down on a chair. He grabbed two towels to dry himself off roughly. His dick wasn’t interested in the sweet-and-slow plan—or the very real possibility that his Mary Jane was going to fall asleep sitting up—so he tightened the terry around his waist, covering up the evidence. This time was for her. This was about what she needed tonight.
Picking her up, he gently set her on his lap. The gesture wasn’t all that altruistic, if he was being honest with himself. He’d take the sweet, feminine weight of her on him any way he could get it. For long moments, he ran a brush through her hair, carefully working out the tangles from the shower. Her hair was darker from the wet, but the ends were already drying. She’d have made a real pretty wolf, with a dark brown pelt and a hint of gold. Now her hair smelled like his soap, and he liked that, too.
He didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t do tender. Didn’t have any damned practice with the concept, but Mary Jane was no wolf, and he’d handed her one hell of a day.
So, while he thought about how he’d start a future with her with a pack of vamps riding their asses, he worked the dryer. He wasn’t a fucking hairdresser, but he didn’t think falling asleep with a head full of damp would be comfortable. She’d wake up and the pillows would be wet, and some unfamiliar part of him wanted tonight to be perfect for her. Tomorrow would mean more fighting, both the hand-to-hand and the verbal kind. He knew that, was pretty sure she did, too. Any détente they had right now was a temporary truce, but he intended to savor every sweet moment.
Eventually, she started leaning into him. Her eyes were open, too, and a pink flush colored her cheeks.
Christ, he wanted whatever she’d give him tonight. He knew she’d spent some quality time with Landry—he’d smelled his brother all over her when she’d come flying back to the Bayou Sweetie with a pack of vamps riding her ass—but he’d been trying not to think too hard about what that meant. He didn’t begrudge any touching Landry might have done, but damned if he didn’t want his chance, too.
He turned off the hair dryer and cradled her against his chest.
“You and my brother got along real good earlier.” Damn. He didn’t know why he’d picked those words, but they were out there now. Kind of like an elephant in the room. If he put his hands on her, there’d be no hiding what he wanted from her.
She didn’t answer him, just chewed on her lower lip some.
He figured that wasn’t a Hell no, Dre, so he dropped his hand to the towel tucked around her and tugged gently.
“We don’ need this, do we, honey?”
He pulled the edges of the towel apart slowly, giving her time to protest. God, she was truly spectacular. Her body was curvy all right, but toned from working on the boat near year-round. All sun-kissed gold except for the pale lines from her bikini. He bit back the growl building in his throat.
“You have any idea how beautiful you are?”
She swallowed, and he didn’t think that was a yes.
“Kill the lights?” She voiced her question softly but not hesitantly. He saw as well in the dark as he did in the motel’s sixty watts, but he didn’t see the need to tell her that. Whatever made her happy. Reaching out, he flicked the lights off, then came back to explore his treasure.
He placed the heel of his hand on the top of her mound and pressed gently, skimming his fingers over the rounded curve of her belly. A little shudder rippled through her, a low gasp escaping her mouth.
“You promise me somethin’,” he said gruffly, slowly moving his hand down. He didn’t let up the gentle pressure any, showing her he was here and damned if he was going anywhere now. She’d let him in, and he was having this taste of her.
“What?” Her eyes slipped closed, and her body tensed in anticipation. She’d like this. He’d make damn certain of that. If he did nothing else for her tonight, he’d give her pleasure.
“You don’ like what I’m doin’ here, you tell me, honey.” He tucked his palm against her wet entrance.
“Okay.” She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.
“That’s our deal.” He nipped lightly at her ear, and she jumped, giving him the angle he wanted. He got two fingers right at the top of her pussy, catching her clit between them. “You break that deal, and we’ll be havin’ words, you and I. Somethin’ else, too.”
“Okay,” she repeated, and that was his go ahead.
Christ, he loved the sight of her perched on his lap, all needy and unsure. Head turned away from him, she was part shy, part wild. All woman and definitely all his. Fuck yeah.
“I wan’ me another taste of this pretty pussy, okay?” He pressed down, stroking slowly over her clit before teasing her opening with his thumb. She sank onto him with a lush groan and rode his finger for long, wicked minutes.
When he finally popped his finger free, he savored the carnal sound and her greedy little moan. “More?”
Her face burned some, the pretty pink flush spreading to her breasts and lower, but she nodded. She liked what he was doing to her.
“Then ride me some more, sha.”
He lifted her and pulled her slowly onto his dick. Her pussy opened for him, letting him push inside. Up, and then down. By his fourth stroke, she was leaning forward some, moving with him.
“Good?” he asked.
The snug walls of her channel sucked at him, clinging when he drove slowly in. She nodded, her head in clear agreement with her body.
Good enough for him.
He pushed in. Pulled out again.
She started rocking, rubbing herself against his dick. Her slick folds teased him with each erotic movement she made. Christ. She was killing him. Her head fell forward, and he brushed the hair away from her neck, tracing his lips along that vulnerable curve, loving the trust she’d gifted him with.
She sighed and he groaned, filling up the room with their own kind of song. The steam was fading from the mirror, now that he’d killed the hot water, and he could see Mary Jane moving on his dick. Her pussy took him when she sank down, his dick parting her lush folds and pushing up deep inside.
He was a possessive son of a bitch, and she was all his.
He wanted to get his arms around her, take her face-to-face.
Lifting her, he carried her over to the big bed. She didn’t protest much, just sighed and wriggled some, like she was remembering how he’d filled her.
The mattress gave as he came down over her.
“Condom?” she whispered, like she’d only now remembered to play it safe, but her hands were tracing a naughty path down his chest, and he wondered how far she’d let him go. He loved the idea of her making them a family. Still, he obediently snagged a foil packet from his jeans pocket and rolled the latex down.
Tucking himself carefully at her tender opening, he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close. Pushed in slow and careful. Out. And then in again. She circled her legs around his hips and
held him tight.
“Dre?” Her hoarse plea sent him right over the edge.
Dropping his head to hers, he kissed her and kissed her, savoring her sweet taste as he drove in and out of her. Faster and faster, skin slapping at skin in a raw, carnal reminder of how they were connected, until she squeezed him tight, her breath escaping in a little whimper as her nails scored his shoulders.
He said something into her mouth, broken words about love and mine and yours, but she pushed up and then she came for him, the night narrowing to the delicious spasms of her pussy contracting around him, holding him as close as her arms did. Christ. She took him with her. He came hard and fast, hips pounding into hers. Nothing but a thin barrier of latex between them as he poured himself into her.
His.
The door to the connecting room opened, and instinctively he rolled fast, putting himself between her and their company.
Landry.
###
“You started without me,” Landry drawled from the door she hadn’t noticed before. His hair was wet from a recent shower, his jeans only partially buttoned.
Oh my God. Mary Jane shoved frantically at Dre’s chest, trying to scramble away from him. To put some distance between them. She’d come for Landry hours earlier—now she was beneath his brother in a Motel 6. When Riley was missing. What kind of woman did that make her? And, if Landry was back, did that mean he’d done what he’d said he’d do and rescued Riley?
“Riley?” She asked, hearing the fear and anguish in her own voice.
“Taken care of,” he said, watching her with his bedroom eyes. Relief powered through her, followed by desire. He didn’t seem bothered by finding her in bed with his brother. His erection punched at the front of his jeans.
No, his feelings on the subject of sharing her with his brother were perfectly clear. Landry Breaux was all in. The question was, was she?
“I—” Could what? Explain? A few stolen minutes in the bayou didn’t mean she and Landry had any kind of commitment between them. Hell, they hadn’t even had sex.
