Snow's Seduction (A Snow White Werewolf Tale)

by Kristin Miller

  Always have been? In the short time I’ve known him? He’s not making sense, but whatever. I crave the weight of his body as I’ve never hungered for anything in my life. I want him—need him. He tastes like warmth and spice, infused with the creaminess of his beer. Absolutely mouthwatering.

  “Do you hear them out there?” he whispers, his voice so low I can barely hear it. “Do you want to open the door and let them watch what I’m going to do to you?”

  Oh God.

  The idea of having someone watch me make out with someone else has never been exciting before, but now, with Malcolm, I want whatever he wants. Even if that means kicking that door down so the whole estate can see him pleasure me.

  Or maybe that’s the appletinis talking.

  “You do, don’t you?” He wrenches my gown up over my waist, and then his hand is between my legs, his fingers ghosting over my thigh. “Do you want to feel my finger inside you? Stretching you? Pounding in and out of your pussy?”

  Blood lurches through my veins, heavy and laden with desire. I arch back, open up, giving him everything, all of me, as he nibbles on my lower lip. Currents of white-hot electricity scorch my skin and shoot between my legs.

  “Yes.” My voice is a strained whisper, barely audible. “I want…everything.”

  “You’re wet for me.” His voice is a gravelly rasp, and as he sweeps his fingers through my folds, he lets out a sound that’s part whimper, part groan. It’s near silent, meant only for my ears. “You’re bare. I wasn’t expecting…”

  As his voice goes hoarse, he drives a finger inside my heat. I sag against the wall, speared with lust and pleasure, the blackness of the closet pulsing before my eyes. Sucking on my lower lip, he curls his finger inside me, drawing the edge of release closer.

  He plunges his tongue into my mouth, kneads my breast with one hand, and swirls his finger over my clit with the other. I’m a live wire, moving against his hand, widening my stance to give him easier access, biting his lower lip.

  That earns me a low throaty moan of approval.

  So, I do it again. And again. Until he’s moving against me, too, grinding his hips as he plunges his tongue inside my mouth and his finger inside my core. Working me, possessing me, he buries his head in my breasts.

  Between the feel of his mouth and his hand, the orgasm closes in, and then explodes inside me, sending pulses of ecstasy rolling through my entire body. I bite back a scream, bucking and writhing against him until the orgasm releases its grip on me.

  “They missed out on a good show.” He kisses me deep. Hard. “It’s not too late. I’m just getting started.”

  The next moments happen in such a blur, they’re a clusterfuck of rippling sensation. His hands are in my hair, his tongue in my throat, the thick bulge in his pants pressing against my stomach, his mask brushing against my cheek.

  “Malcolm,” I breathe, gripping his shoulders.

  He stops for a moment, shoots me a smile, and then dives back in for another kiss. “Whatever you want to call me, baby, I’m cool with it.”

  His hands are on my ass, kneading my flesh, his face in my hair as he moves his hips against me. God, he’s going to be a great lover.

  “Wait…” The clouds of confusion part in my brain, leaving me confused. “What’d you just say?”

  He smudges a line of kisses down my neck and closes his mouth around my nipple. Closing my eyes, I relish the heat of his touch as his fingers work on my clit again. He’s on his knees before I can think through the thought, tugging on my dress, shoving it up to my hips, and propping my leg over his shoulder. And then his mouth is on my pleasure spot, hot and delicious, and he’s lapping me up.

  “I don’t usually talk with my mouth full,” he teases, licking and swirling his tongue over my clit. I tremble, clutch at his hair, and suppress a moan. “If you want to call me Malcolm…” Another slow drag through my heat. More shudders blooming over my spine. “I’m cool with it.”

  As he consumes me, kisses me open-mouthed, and licks in slow circles, the second orgasm rips through me, setting fire to my skin and burning me with pleasure.

  “I’m confused.” When the orgasm finally subsides, I drag my fingers into his hair and force an all-stop. “Isn’t that the name everyone calls you?”

  “No,” he says slowly, drawing out the word as he meets my eyes from his position at my feet. “I’m Hunter.”

  “Hunter?”

  “As in…” My best friend from childhood who moved away five years ago, right about the time my father died. I cover my mouth with my hand as reality smacks me upside the head. “Hunter?”

  He slinks up my body and coils his arms around my waist. “One and only.”

  “Oh no, no, no.” I cover my mouth with my hand and jerk my gown into its proper place. “You were supposed to be—and we just—and you were—”

  “About to fuck your brains out.”

  Chapter Two

  Snow

  My thoughts are tangled in a post-orgasm web of some kind, and they just won’t come together. At least not in any way that makes sense.

  “What are you doing here?” It’s the only thing I can think to ask.

  “In the closet?” He grins, and those dimples become all-too familiar. No wonder I didn’t recall seeing those in any of Malcolm’s pictures. “Technically I pushed you in here, but you asked if I wanted to go somewhere private.”

  “No.” I put a hand to my head. It’s starting to throb fiercely. “I mean, no one could find you to tell you about this weekend. We heard you were off the map, finalizing a business deal in the Alps or something—it doesn’t even matter. Why would you pretend to be Malcolm? I asked if you were him.”

  The bliss that’d been sailing through my body before has been completely replaced with panic and fear. If Hunter said anything—one word to the wrong person—Malcolm would never give me a second thought.

  “Actually,” Hunter says, replacing strands of loose hair behind my ear, “you said, ‘it’s you’ and I agreed. I thought you knew it was me. That you’d recognized me from before. Besides, you didn’t seem like you cared who it was a few seconds ago. Hell, another couple minutes and you might’ve been shouting the Dali Lama’s name.”

  I smack him in the shoulder. “Don’t bring an innocent religious man into your lies.”

  “I didn’t lie. You mistook me for Malcolm Taylor, apparently. Have to say, after talking with the tool for a few minutes this evening, you made out better with me.”

  “I—” Can’t even argue against what he said. I don’t know Malcolm or how he pleasures the women in his arms, but I know Hunter just took me to heaven twice in the span of thirty minutes. “You were wearing blue…”

  He removes his mask and glances down nonchalantly. “It’s my favorite tux.”

  “An—and the women?”

  He laughs. “What women?”

  “The ones—she said—never mind. I don’t know why I thought you were him. It was my mistake.”

  He takes a giant step back as if I’ve struck him again. “Are you and Malcolm a thing?”

  “No—yes.” Sweat beads on my forehead as embarrassment sets in. “I don’t know yet, but I like him. It’s twisted.”

  “Then don’t let me stop you from straightening it out.”

  Adjusting his pants, Hunter pushes the door open and moves aside as I charge into the kitchen and check for our voyeurs. They’re gone. Snatching up the bottom of my gown, I head toward the door, back to the party.

  “Hey, Snow,” Hunter calls.

  I turn back. He’s leaning against the closet door, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, a satisfied grin on his handsome face.

  “What?”

  “The whole crew will be at the lodge later—all seven of us. You should come by later. It’ll be just like the old days.”

  Just like that, flashes of the past with Hunter and his friends strike me. Midnight bonfires. Sneaking around the estate gardens. Truth or dare as wolves under a ful
l moon. Teenage stuff. Of the group, Hunter and I were always closest. We talked about boyfriends and girlfriends and laughed at the stupid things we did. He saw the real me when everyone else was too scared to get close because I was in line to be the next Alpha. He was my best friend. My only friend, really. He supported me through the grief of losing my mother, and then my father years later. He gave me a shoulder to cry on and arms to hold me when the nights seemed too long to bear. We were friends. Totally platonic. We didn’t come close to jumping out of the no-fuck friend zone. He was always a serial flirt, but it’s in his nature. Seducing women always came as instinctively to him as breathing.

  “If you want to finish what we started in here.” He raps on the door with his elbow. “You know where to find me.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  Yet even as I say the words, I’m tracing the route in my head, from the estate to his lodge. My lips are tingling, my body numb from alcohol and orgasms, and my mind blank as the blankest slate of blanks, so I stick my tongue out at him before pushing through the door and returning to the party.

  “You have to be here somewhere,” I mumble to myself, snatching a champagne flute off the tray of a passing server. “It’s like Where’s Waldo of the werewolf world in here. Where the hell is that blue suit?”

  I weave through the crowd, scanning masks, suits, and women laughing hysterically. The crowd parts, and there he is, out of nowhere. Blue suit—no pinstripes—and a white mask freckled with green spots. He’s got a woman on each arm—gorgeous Jessica Rabbit types—in purple, sparkly gowns with sky-high slits that nearly show their hoo-hahs. Impossibly-perky breasts. Legs for days. Silky red masks and pouts that make me want to pucker up for a kiss.

  Taking a deep breath, I pretend I didn’t emerge from a coat closet with another guy a few moments ago, and traipse over to his side. I channel the vixen I’d been coming down the stairs earlier, smooth and regal.

  The woman on Malcolm’s right arm tugs him close and whispers something in his ear. His gaze slides to mine, and he laughs.

  Couldn’t be laughing at me.

  But it’s hard not to think it.

  “Malcolm Taylor?” I say, blushing as I extend my hand and meet his gaze. “It’s a pleasure to have you visiting our estate this weekend.”

  “Thank you.” A genuine smile lights his handsome face as he shakes my hand. His grip is firm, his hand soft. “Everything’s been wonderful so far.”

  The brunette on his left snuggles up to him, and I will my lip to stop curling.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” My heart pounds as words escape me. It wasn’t this difficult talking to Hunter when I thought he was Malcolm. Why now, when I’m talking to the real deal, does it feel I’m pulling teeth to make small talk? Maybe it’s my nerves. Don’t think. Push through. “If you need anything—if there’s something we—I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask. Anything at all.”

  There. Take that sexual innuendo and suck it.

  “Actually, there is something I’d like to talk to you about privately,” he says, stepping forward to take me by the elbow.

  Now we’re talking.

  I can’t help but smile as he guides me toward the bar. I’ve won. Captured his attention in a room full of beauties. Now, all we have to do is talk for a while, see if we’re compatible, and who knows? Maybe there will be a happily-ever-after in my future. Malcolm Taylor has every quality I’ve ever wanted in a man. And he has the ability to save the estate—the property my father built from the ground up.

  “Listen,” Malcolm says, turning to me before we reach the bar, “I’m so glad you approached me just now.”

  “Oh?”

  Was he waiting for me? Bored with the bimbo squad and counting the minutes until a real woman caught his attention? I’m bursting out of my skin.

  I bat my lashes coyly, but my top lid sticks to my bottom. I have to use my fingers to pull them apart. By the time I meet Malcolm’s gaze again, he’s checking the time on his phone.

  He exhales heavily. “I wanted to ask you—”

  “Yes?” I interrupt, leaping out of my skin.

  Frowning as if he’s confused, Malcolm swipes his fingers over his lips and leans close. He’s going to kiss me. I know it. I turn, trying to rub my cheek on his. But he pulls away and says, “The bathroom in my suite is busted.”

  My expectations went down the toilet with a big, fat whoosh.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My toilet,” he whispers, leaning close once more. “The handle is missing and I can’t flush. I called the customer service number next to the phone in my room, but no one answered. I left a message but haven’t heard back. Who should I talk to about fixing the issue or switching rooms?”

  “This”—I bite back a nervous laugh—“is what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “You work here, don’t you?”

  “Ah, I see why you might think that.” I nod, my gaze lowering to my shoes. Total misunderstanding. And totally humiliating to boot. Blood heats my cheeks and promises to burn them through. “I’m Snow White. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, but when you said our estate—and the way you greeted me, so nervous and sweet—I assumed you were one of the workers.”

  Nervous and sweet.

  Not the seductress my stepmother wanted me to be. Not the one I was with Hunter back there.

  “It’s not a problem. I’ll get the toilet looked after right away.” Disaster. The T-word should never be used on a date. “I think the only thing that might save his awkward situation is a shot. What do you say?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He pats me on the shoulder and smiles. “It’s a great idea, but I don’t think so.”

  I eye his hand where it’s squeezing my shoulder. Something about this scenario is wrong. All wrong. The dynamic is off-kilter. Toilet talk? Calling me sweetheart? And what’s with the childish shoulder pat?

  “I should get back to my dates,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to leave those beauties waiting too long.”

  As he turns and marches away from me, I’m left feeling cold and hollow.

  Those beauties.

  I’m clearly not one of them. Not worth the billionaire’s time. Unless I’m fixing his toilet, that is. My stepmother’s words ring through my ears: You’ll seduce him. Convince him he can’t live without you.

  I won’t be doing either of those things. Not this way. I just blew the only chance I had with him, and I’m standing here, watching him walk away. The guy I’ve been picturing as my future husband.

  “Wait,” I call out, turning him back around. I curl my finger for him to come closer. He narrows his eyes as he marches near. “If you don’t want a drink at the bar, how about I come up to your room with one later?”

  Smooth. The way I should’ve been from the start. I don’t plan on sleeping with the guy, but some alone time to talk without everyone watching would be golden, and a perfect opportunity to get to know him.

  “All right.” His tone is crisp. Tight. “Room 302. Midnight.”

  Butterflies flutter through me as I mentally high-five myself. I’ve done it. Convinced a mogul to let me into his bedroom. Well, as long as he doesn’t plan on asking me to jury-rig his john.

  As he returns to the bimbo squad, he turns and shoots me the brightest grin. At his side, the women smile effortlessly, their locks of silky-smooth hair flowing around their shoulders as they drape their bodies over him like a cloak. I’m not like them—if they’re what Malcolm is looking for, I’m screwed. I may’ve secured an invitation into his private quarters, but I’m no seductress. I can’t move like those vixens. My mouth doesn’t part seductively like that, slow and sensual, and my eyes don’t stay closed in that sexy, heavy-lidded way.

  It’s not in me.

  But I know one irresistible playboy—a guy who gets anything, and anyone he wants—who could help me out with that part.

  Chapter Three

  Hunter
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  Damn, I’ve missed this place.

  It feels good to be back, even if it’s only for the weekend. I’ve had renters in my cabin for the last five years, but somehow it has the same vibe as it did before. It feels like home, warm and filled with so many memories. Back in the day, we partied hard, and this place—situated in the forest outside of the estate’s grounds—was our sanctuary. The land and cabin are mine, and don’t belong to the White family, but Snow visited so regularly, she might as well have lived here. Especially after her parents passed.

  Although I haven’t been back since the day I left, I’ve thought about this weekend for years—the one where Snow turns twenty-five and takes over the pack. I swore to her father I’d return, and give her something on the day she’s declared Alpha.

  I’m not staying long. I can’t. I’m due back in Iceland on Tuesday. The developers are already on site and waiting for me to show up and finalize the details of the new resort in person.

  Once I fulfill this order from my former Alpha, I’m leaving.

  I expected Snow to be at the party tonight, but I never expected her to come at me the way she did. It was sexy as hell, hardening me to steel from the moment she dragged me away from the others.

  I can’t even remember any of the women’s names.

  Strange. Usually I can recall a few.

  But now, with the taste of Snow’s arousal lingering on my tongue, and the memory of her breasts etched on my palms, I can’t think about anything else. Who would’ve guessed that little Snow White was going to be the most beautiful woman at the party?

  Certainly not me.

  She was always the adorable girl from the estate who could make me smile effortlessly. Now, not only does she still have her cute, wide-eyed appeal, but she’s hot as hell. The curve of her hips, the full swell of her breasts, and her silken folds as they opened for me are sex personified.

  I’m barely finished unpacking my things when the front door bursts open and Snow rushes in, her cheeks pale and windblown, her black hair swept back from her face.