Her Scottish Wolf (Howls Romance): Loving World

by Theodora Taylor

  He throttled the bars and said something in his language she was sure translated to, “Let me in, woman.”

  She scrambled to the back of the cage, pressing herself flat against the basement’s brick wall and willing it to absorb her. Her nether regions were still throbbing with need, but her mind knew she had to wait for Rafe to shift back into a human and come claim her.

  What was the Viking doing un-shifted anyway? And out of the clinic’s cage, which doubled as their town’s jail, and which Doc Fischer had assured her he’d be put in before the moon set?

  She soon had the answer to the second question, when he untied the medallion from around his neck and used it to let himself into the cage she’d hope would keep her protected from him.

  The fear inside her gut doubled in size and though she knew it was a long shot, she ran for the door, hoping to get upstairs fast enough to lock him in the basement, which had a deadbolt that wouldn’t be easily surmounted by a necklace.

  But just as she made it to the cage entrance, he grabbed her by the arm and the next thing she knew, she was pinned underneath him. Man, he was fast for a big guy.

  “No!” she cried. “I don’t care what time period you’re from, I’m not going to let you rape me.” She fought to free her hands from between their bodies, so she could go for his eyes. But he adjusted himself, somehow redistributing his weight so she not only couldn’t free her hands, but also couldn’t squirm any part of her body, except the one screaming at her to let him fuck her. Right now.

  She looked up and away from him, refusing to meet his eyes as he forced himself on her. But...

  ...nothing happened. In fact, the next thing she felt was his hand, smoothing back her hair. His breath was hot on her face, but calm, not the ragged affair of someone about to do his worst to a woman.

  Her eyes slowly lowered to meet his, and she found him gazing back at her, his own gray eyes soft with infinite patience, as if he had all the time in the world to wait her out.

  She felt her heartbeat slowing down as she got lost in that gray gaze of his, and soon she became uncomfortably aware of the large piece of male anatomy pressed against her folds. She could feel its heat, even through the cloth of his basketball shorts. Her own heat called out in answer with an urgency that scared her even more than the idea of possibly being forced to mate with him against her will.

  “No, no, no, please,” she whispered, trying to hold on to thoughts of her fiancé, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own and she could feel her hips begin to move against his as if divorced from her better nature.

  And maybe she could have gotten herself under control, forced her body to stay still beneath his despite her state of arousal, but when he covered her mouth with his again, her last shred of decency flew away into the night.

  This kiss felt like coming home, like water on a hot day, like bread fresh from the oven, the start of a perfect meal. She undulated underneath him, and he made a harsh sound, his Old Norse now coming out hard and fast. He lifted up his chest enough to allow her the use of her hands, which she laced into his long hair, pulling him down for more of his drug-like kisses.

  But soon the kisses grew to be too little. She needed him inside her. It hurt so bad that he wasn’t already there, something deep inside her ached in such a painfully sweet way that she soon found herself begging for what she had tried to escape just a few minutes ago.

  “Please, please mate with me,” she said now, hating herself for her loss of control, but feeling she would die if he didn’t—

  He pushed inside of her with no warning, accept for the feel of his hands gripping her sides as he did so. And she cried out against the arc of red-hot pain that shot through her core as he tore through the barrier protecting her virginity.

  He kissed her several times as if to mitigate the pain, saying something in Old Norse between each one, and she found herself feeling grateful for his kisses. They distracted her from the pain below, which soon began to fade.

  His eyes drifted down to her breasts, and he bent his head to kiss one, lathing her nipple with his tongue. He then sucked on it so hard, she could feel a corresponding tug below, as her legs came up to fold around his waist, for reasons she didn’t quite get until she felt him sink into her even deeper.

  They both groaned as he thrust into her again and again, his hard body rolling into the cradle of her thighs. She held on to his forearms, her own hips involuntarily moving into his, seeking relief from the sweet fire burning in her womb. “I need, I need, I need…” she said, not quite able to put a label on it.

  He captured her lips with his again, and rocked into her with a long, slow thrust, causing her to moan when the rub of his chest shot twin bolts of electric pleasure though her nipples.

  Every single inch of her felt swollen with desire, but also tight with need. She couldn’t stop herself from mating with this man, even though he was more or less a stranger to her. When she tried to consider pulling away from her, her body went crazy in protest, thrusting her hips into his even harder as if to punish her for even thinking such a thing.

  But then he pulled out himself.

  “No!” she cried.

  But he made the same sound he used to quiet her down before. At the same time, he easily flipped her on to her stomach, and she barely had time to scramble to her knees, before he was on her again. This time ramming into her from behind in what she recognized as the most primal of mating rituals.

  The man, she realized, had taken her virginity in missionary, so as to lessen the pain of her breaching. But the wolf inside of him would settle for nothing less than a full mounting. All softness disappeared from him then as he fell over her back, his thick erection sliding in and out of her as he grunted above her.

  Whatever shred of humanity had allowed him to take her gently before was gone now, and for Chloe, who couldn’t move beneath his heavy body, it felt like being claimed by some sort of flesh-covered beast.

  Their sex had taken such an intense turn, she should have been scared out of her mind, but something primal in her responded to this position. She could feel the mating knot now at the base of his penis, hard and unforgiving, and pressed against her G-spot in ways that made it impossible to regret what she was doing. She actually felt the inside of her vagina swell around his wolf knot, keeping him locked in place as he rutted her.

  And then came the thing she hadn’t quite known she’d been waiting for…her eyes rolled and her breath caught in her throat as wave after wave of the most intense pleasure she had ever known slammed into her. Then she was breathing again, but he was still moving into her, one large calloused hand covering her breast as his thrusts became faster and faster. And to her astonishment another orgasm began to overtake her.

  White noise filled her head and in the distance, she could hear somebody screaming. Only when the orgasm began to fade away did she realize it was her.

  Her arms collapsed underneath her and she fell to her elbows, unable to hold herself up anymore. Everything on her body felt like quivering jelly, but despite this, her pussy kept clenching around his cock, milking it with hungry wantonness, her wolf not caring who this Viking was or what promises she had made to another.

  And when she felt the hot stream of cum begin to release inside of her, another orgasm began to overtake her, this one ripping through every part of her body as his seed flooded into her hot and strong, spilling into her womb and sending her human over the edge. She screamed and cried, babbling nonsensical words until finally the vise of pleasure began to ebb away, and there was nothing left but her and the Viking on the matted floor of the cage.

  His face was now pressed into the back of her neck and he was making that soothing sound again. “Shhh,” he said. “It is done. We are mated.”

  She trembled underneath him, but she felt her heartbeat once again slowing down as she came back from whatever wild place the mating had sent her. “That was so…” She didn’t have the words.

  “Yea, for m
e, as well.” With more gentleness than she would think a man his size could possess, he arranged their bodies, so they were lying on their sides, with him behind her, still embedded inside her swollen folds.

  Every wolf knew what happened on heat night, that it was called such because after the mating, the wolf and his mate, stayed physically locked in this most intimate embrace “into the night” or thirty to sixty minutes, if you were being completely technical. But still, it was slightly embarrassing to feel herself involuntarily clenching around his thick unit, refusing to let it go until it had milked every drop of cum from him.

  As if reading her thoughts, he rested his hand over her still-swollen breasts. “There is no need to feel embarrassment. You availed yourself well this night, and I am well-pleased.”

  Something prickled inside of her. “Your pleasure wasn’t my main point of concern.”

  “Yet, have you achieved it. You should be happy to have so pleased your mate.” He chuckled and thrust into her in a low-grade, teasing way. Nonetheless it sent a lovely wave of afterglow through her, which indeed, made her forget her embarrassment about holding a man she barely knew in the vise grip of her vagina.

  “We will sleep now. We mayhap have many days of mating ahead of us before we are able to make travel back to the gate,” he told her, with a squeeze of her breast. “By Fenrir, even though I am a king, I find it hard to believe such beauty belongs to me. My fellow wolves will envy me this treasure.”

  She had every intention of letting him know she still had no intention of traveling back in time with him and would never meet his fellow wolves because she would be staying in her own time, thank you very much. But sleep was already dragging her down, so hard she could barely form thoughts, much less words.

  In fact, she didn’t even notice she was talking to him, even though she hadn’t moved her mouth, or that she could now understand every word he said, until right before the blackness enveloped her.

  Chapter 8

  CHLOE woke up feeling like she had been run over by a school bus. But she also woke up alone. She sat up on the cage’s matted floor and looked around. She was definitely alone. And the smell of her own heat was so thick in the air, it obscured anything else that might have been there before.

  Maybe, she thought, it had all been a dream. Maybe she had gone into heat and gone crazy with arousal, conjuring up the Viking who was in actuality still locked in the clinic’s cage. But when she got to her feet she had plenty evidence of what had happened in the throbbing raw and used feeling between her legs.

  And if that wasn’t enough to tip her off that last night had really happened, her wolf ears picked up the sound of someone moving around upstairs. With a sigh, she walked over to the pajamas she’d laid out the night before. She was momentarily frozen in place by guilt however, when she saw that this particular set was covered in white horses with orange manes. The Broncos pajamas had been a Christmas gift from Rafe’s father the year before, and she’d worn them every morning following a full moon since.

  Where was Rafe now? It was only a matter time before he found out…

  Chloe pushed those thoughts out of her head and pulled on the pajamas. She couldn’t think about that now. She was starving, her body felt like one huge sexualized nerve ending, and she had a Viking stomping around her house. She’d deal with the consequences of betraying her fiancé later. Right now she needed food.

  She found the Viking standing stark naked in the kitchen, turning the knob on her stove back and forth, his face crinkled in confusion as the flames switched on and off.

  As unhappy about this situation as she was, for a few seconds she became mesmerized by the sight of his rock-hard body, which didn’t look like it was carrying even an ounce of extra flesh on it.

  But then she cleared her mind with a shake of her head and asked him telepathically, “What are you doing?”

  “This flame doth appear with the turn of a dial. ‘Tis magic?” he asked, continuing to turn the flame on and off.

  “First of all, please stop.” She came to stand beside him, but stopped just short of touching him, which she sensed would be dangerous in the state her body was in. “You are literally playing with fire. Second of all, no, it’s not magic.”

  “Then how is such possible?”

  “Well there’s gas and there’s this thing called a pilot light.” She struggled to come up with an explanation for how her gas stove worked, but realized she didn’t quite know herself. “It’s hard to explain, because the thing about now as opposed to your time is we have a lot of technology we use, but most people couldn’t even begin to tell you how it works.”

  “So then this ‘technology’—this is how you call your magic? The kind of which my own aunt, who is a sorceress, might perform?”

  “Sort of. But instead of sorceresses we have engineers. They understand how these things work, but nobody else does. The truth is we don’t really care as long as we can cook our food.”

  “Things are much the same way in my own time. Most do not care to learn spells or perform rituals themselves, only benefit from them. Still, your engineer-sorceresses must be very powerful indeed if they are able to create dial-heat and also invisible heat for your home.”

  “Yes, I suppose they are,” she said. “But speaking of magic, how is it we can suddenly understand each other? When did you start speaking English?”

  He gave her a confused look. “I would ask the same of you. I thought you were speaking Norse to me. A strange version of it, yea, but a Norse which can be understood by my ears.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m definitely not speaking Norse. And I guess that means you’re not speaking English.”

  “Nay. It would seem our being fated mates would serve as a translator.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re saying our ability to use telepathy is allowing us to talk back and forth despite our language barrier.”

  “Telepathy—this be Greek for talk of the mind’s eye, yea?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Then yea, that be my conclusion.” He patted the stove, as if that subject were thoroughly closed. “Now, you may prepare us a feast so we may break our fast before we mate again.”

  “Um, excuse me?” she said.

  He crooked his head to the side and his eyes hooded. “I can smell the strength of your arousal. You would have me again, and I would have you.”

  “Yeah, but…” Her throat went dry and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. Did he have to point out he could smell her?

  “Are you not trained in the woman’s arts?” he asked. “Have your engineers come up with…” He paused to remember the word. “…‘technology’ by which food may be prepared for you?”

  And that was how Chloe Adams, the woman behind one of the most popular do-it-yourself blogs in the United States, ended up fixing the werewolf who had crossed time and space to get to her a year-old frozen dinner as his first meal in her home.

  Fenris was fascinated by the “technology magic” of the microwave and that it “emitted no heat outside of its cage.”

  But he was confused by the meal itself. “It tastes good, but it does ring false on tongue,” he said, frowning.

  Chloe, who was at the stove, fixing herself an egg scramble and doggedly ignoring the fact that she could feel her heat dripping into panties, answered, “That’s the preservatives you’re tasting, all the chemicals they use to make the food keep for a long time. But don’t worry.”

  She pushed the egg scramble onto a plate, which she set in front of him. “You’ll like this better. It’s made with all organic ingredients.”

  He shifted his fork away from the frozen dinner and dug into the scramble. After the first bite, he nodded, grinning as he chewed. “I should not have accused you of being untrained in the woman’s arts. Your skill does please my stomach greatly.”

  Chloe glowed a bit under the compliment. “Thanks.”

  He scooted back in his chair and patted his lap. “I
would have you share this meal with me.”

  Even after what they’d done last night, Chloe could not help but feel awkward with this request. Yes, they were mated now, but that didn’t eclipse the fact that she still barely knew him, and she was still riddled with guilt about Rafe...

  “Actually, I can make another one for myself. Scrambles are really easy. Too easy, really. I usually put in more effort than this, especially with guests. I’m a little embarrassed, actually—”

  She cut off mid-ramble when his hand snaked around her wrist.

  “I would have us share,” he repeated.

  Before she could deny his request a second time, she found herself tumbling down into his lap, her back landing against his hard chest, her butt firmly nestled into his erection.

  He ate half of the scramble with his arm anchored around her waist, then he handed her the fork and watched her finish off the rest in a silence that almost seemed to crackle with sexual tension. It was all she could do to keep herself still on his lap as she finished their shared breakfast.

  “Tell me,” he said after she took her last bite. “Why have you so much looking glass on your cooking room wall?”

  It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the kitchen wall, which was lined in mirrored tile. “Oh, um, well, it’s kind of hard to explain. What you call the woman’s arts—that’s kind of what I do for a living.”

  “A living?” he asked, confusion in his voice.

  “That’s my job. Do you know job?”

  “Yea, I see, you cook for others. As a servant.”

  “Yes, but not really for others, and definitely not as a servant. Basically, I make up recipes and crafts then I show other people how to do them. For example, this bender chair we’re sitting in. I made that out of peachleaf willow, mainly for the purpose of showing other people how to make the same thing.”

  “You are a tutor then? Like the man who did translate my tongue for you before.”