by Anne Marsh
“I don’t want anything to do with the pack,” I admit. “The hospitality sucks.”
“So why are you here?” He prowls around the island, headed for me. I can’t stop the tide of heat that washes through me, so I focus on the steaks in the grill pan on top of the stove. He ignores that little cue, though, not stopping until his front is pressed against my ass. I can feel every hard inch of him through the shirt, my shorts and the decadent, wicked underwear he’d bought. Wash worn denim rasps against the sensitive skin of my thighs—why am I cooking when I could be pushing him to the floor? Taking advantage of his glorious body? He was the one who said I had to ask—and I’m almost ready to do so.
“I decided to stay,” I say cheerfully and flip the steaks. Yes, color me crazy. The black sear pattern and juicy scent of meat are good things on the dinner front, but my body thinks we should be going all carpe diem on Ware’s ass. Or his front. We’re not picky and he’s all-around gorgeous.
Ware makes a rough sound. “The fuck?”
Maybe he’s wondering about my evident stupidity in staying put when he practically handed me an engraved invitation to leave. He left me cash and the keys to his truck—it’s clear he wanted me gone, and he’s certainly not wrong about the dangers presented by his pack. If there was an eyewitness protection plan for werewolf victims, I should be the next to enroll.
“I don’t have anywhere to go. Job. Apartment. My stuff. Gone.” I tick my personal catastrophes off on my fingers. “All thanks to Big Dog.”
Fat sizzles and pops in the pan, and a bright sting of pain blossoms on my hand. Damn it. I blink back angry tears, because this wasn’t how I’d planned tonight. I was going to wine and dine my wolf, try to get to know him better.
I reach for the sink and cold water, but Ware is already moving. He kills the heat and pulls me away from the stove, lifting me up onto the counter in a smooth, powerful move. My hand stings where the fat burned me, and my eyes burn harder. I don’t want Ware to see me just as someone who needs protecting, as someone fragile.
He’s not waiting for me to decide what I do want, though, because he lifts my hand and examines it. Oh. God. The coolness of the granite beneath my butt sinks through the thin cotton shorts, and I squeeze my legs together, slapping my good hand down on the countertop for balance. Why is this sexy-pose-on-random-kitchen-surfaces thing always so much easier and more fun in books?
He’s not even looking at me.
Instead, Ware’s focused on my hand and the angry patch of pink skin on the back. The island is the kind that has a built-in sink, so it’s easy enough for him to flick on the water and hold my hand underneath the cold stream. The burn’s not so bad—in fact, on a scale of one to ten, it’s a decimal point and not even a one. But from the intense look on his face, you’d think I had third-degree burns and needed a skin graft stat. He doesn’t let go of my hand, either, as he angles me beneath the water.
It’s kind of cute.
When my hand passes the iceberg stage and I lose all feeling, I try to tug free. He looks up, and then he licks the pink skin. Do I taste… good?
“A kiss to make it better?” I suggest, and he growls. Not one of those cute man-sounds, but a full-on, aggressive, belongs-in-the-wild snarl. He’s pissed off about something, and I’ll bet I’m the cause. “Am I in trouble?”
“Honey, you have no idea.”
“So tell me.” I tug again, and this time he lets me pull my hand away.
“The only humans who know about the pack are club members. You have no idea what they’d do to keep that secret.” His fingers flex on my thigh, the rough pads of his fingers tracing a secret pattern over my bare skin.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise quickly, and I mean it. “Who would believe me anyhow? They’d lock me up in the loony bin.”
He fists my hair gently, tugging my head back. “Promises aren’t enough. No one knows about us because it’s not a secret we share.”
“Is everyone in the Breed MC a wolf?” I ask, because holy cow… how is that possible? How can there be almost a hundred werewolves riding Harleys through the streets of Baton Rouge and no one knows?
“Don’t ask questions.” He circles his fingers higher on my thigh.
“Because you can’t tell me the answers?” Shoot. I’m playing with fire here, and yet… I can’t imagine him hurting me. Not on purpose.
“The less you know, the less you get hurt.”
“Then tell me what you can. For instance, you claimed I was your mate. Since we didn’t trot down to the registrar’s office and I never agreed, how does that work?”
He lifts me down from the counter. He must not be in any hurry for my feet to hit the floor, because every inch of me contacts with every inch of him—and Ware has plenty of inches. Made his dick plenty happy, too, because I can feel him through his jeans. We’re supposedly mates and I still haven’t seen him naked—but the scenery promises to be spectacular. I’m reaching for the buttons on his jeans when a short, sharp slap on my ass jolts me forward and out of my fantasy world. The sting in my rear is followed by a slow heat in places that I shouldn’t admit to. Maybe I do have a taste for kink.
“Let’s eat,” he says, grabbing a plate from the stack on the counter as if he doesn’t have a monster erection in his pants. Then he pauses and looks down at what he’s holding. “I own plates?”
He does now—that’s what happens when you leave me alone with a stack of cash. He loads up on meat and potatoes, snagging a beer from the fridge before heading to the couch. I’d made a green salad too, along with mashed potatoes and gravy, but Ware avoids the leafy stuff entirely. Guess it’s too much to expect a wolf to eat vegetables. I follow him over to the couch, as that’s the only place to sit besides on the floor, the chair-less table, or the bed in the other room. I’m not sure how I imagined dinner going, but he actually takes a stab at making conversation in between bites of his steak.
I ask questions about his bike and being in a motorcycle club, and he reciprocates by asking about LBBD—Life Before Big Dog. I tell him about the library and my apartment. It’s kind of like being on the world’s most awkward first date, but he’s trying and I appreciate it. I’ve forgotten what normal feels like, and it’s nice. Ware may be a big, scary bastard, but right now he’s my big, scary bastard.
“So,” he says eventually, when I’ve explained my previous life to his satisfaction, “now we gotta figure out what’s next.”
“I don’t need another wolf in my life,” I tell him, trying to hold back a little shiver when his leg brushes mine. Liar. It’s hard to forget who and what he is. He’s so damned big and sexy.
“Gotcha.” He takes a swig of his beer, completely unoffended. “But we’re temporary mates until the pack calms down enough to realize you’re not a threat.”
Unfortunately, Big Dog had spent a not inconsiderable amount of time explaining to me exactly how werewolf pairing works. Their mate claim makes feudal lords sound downright feminist. Their females are property, claimed, taken. And if the sexy times part appealed to my inner bad girl, my head was smart enough to recognize trouble when it’s sprawled on the couch beside me. The pack’s not the only threat to me.
I have to know. “So what does temporary mean?”
Divorce is not a word I’ve heard used in conjunction with the pack. Ever. They’re more the until-death-do-us-part type, according to Big Dog, and they don’t mean death by natural causes.
Ware sets his beer down and leans back. With his arms stretched along the back of the couch, he looks more big cat than wolf. “Nothing,” he says.
“Just this morning you were all get out of Dodge. Now we’re temporary mates? What is this, the nineteenth century? And a marriage of convenience?”
His jaw tenses. Go, me. I hit a nerve there.
“This morning,” he grits out, “I didn’t know the pack was gonna want to come after you so hard. I didn’t know you’d ignore your invitation to drive out of my life and not come back.
”
Wow. I didn’t expect his rejection to bother me. I mean, I’m supposed to be celebrating his hands-off policy, right? So I hate that his lack of interest hurts so much.
“You really thought I’d steal your truck and drive off with no particular destination in mind?”
Yeah, that sounds like an awesome idea.
I have no idea why I didn’t take him up on the invite.
“Instead you decided to stick around a town with a bunch of wolves who think killing your ass might solve more than one problem?”
Okay. So there’s something worse than Ware’s indifference. I just don’t have the bandwidth or the desire to deal with a murderous pack of werewolves today—or tomorrow, for that matter. I’d like the whole problem to just go away, starting with the man lounging next to me. Could he look any less concerned? I resist the urge to lob a forkful of mashed potatoes in his direction.
“I decided to stick around with you.”
Ware’s thigh bumps mine. He’s definitely in my space now, which makes me wonder just how indifferent he really is. Like, say, if I straddled him and rode him like a cowgirl, how hard would he object?
He curves one big palm around my thigh. I bite back an undignified squeak. Wolfish fantasies are one thing; reality is much more intimate.
He stares at me, as if my words simply don’t compute. “Thought you were done with werewolves?”
So did I.
Since I don’t have an easy answer for his question, I go for the conversation redirect. “Was Big Dog’s medieval attitude typical? Do all werewolf matings end up—”
I wave my beer in the air, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence.
“Spread-eagled, naked, and tied to the bed?” He finishes dryly, and, yeah, that about sums up my relationship with Big Dog if you add mayhem, murder, and arson to the mental list, too.
“How do werewolf pairings work?” Ware and I may be a temporary hook-up because apparently he’s a nice guy who won’t leave me at the mercy of his pack, but it would help if I knew the rules. He’s clearly not jonesing for a long-term relationship, and I’m certainly in no position for one either. I need to get my head on straight after Big Dog’s what-the-fuckery, but I’m sort of crushing on Ware. I can admit that to myself. It’s like when I know my kitchen is out of all things chocolate, but then I find one leftover Godiva hiding out in the back of the pantry. Who knows where it’s been, but it’s here. I’m here. And God, I want to lick him. Consume him.
It’s not like I want to be attracted to him, but I am and I don’t believe in lying about my sexual responses.
“Werewolves are possessive,” he bites out, and I go liquid. I wouldn’t mind being possessed by Ware. Temporarily, of course. “We’re moody motherfuckers, we don’t share our toys, and we like to dominate. We’re also protective of our mates and our territory, which is why Big Dog should never have been allowed to take you in the first place.”
I wonder if he knows that he’s stroking my thigh with his fingers? Or how tempted I am to wriggle a little closer and a little lower? I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with a big, bad, tattooed biker while he eats dinner and knocks back a beer. Just one. Despite the riot of ink on his skin, he’s just as disciplined and restrained when he drinks as he always is. God. What would it take to make him lose control?
Now I just have one question. “Don’t I get a say?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. One of the local packs believes in fated mates, but the rest of us don’t go for that.”
“Finders, fuckers and all that?” I say lightly, but now I definitely think my beer bottle needs to make intimate contact with his skull.
The slow grin on his face as he leans forward and pries the bottle away with his free hand says he knows what I’m thinking, and he finds it downright amusing.
“There are a couple other criteria,” he drawls. Shit. His finger’s moving north, skirting some seriously dangerous territory. “I gotta keep you happy and safe, gotta make you want to be mine. If I can’t do that, I deserve to lose you. As long as you’re my mate, though, I fight for you. I give you whatever you need. You come first.”
Wow. That’s so much better than the to have and to hold line. I stare at Ware, not sure what to say. His eyes burn in his dark face, and there’s no missing the heat. So he’s not indifferent to me after all.
“So what? We have a marriage of convenience until your pack gets their collective heads out of their asses?”
He sort of snarls when he answers. “There’s nothing convenient about this, sweetheart.”
“Well fuck you very much.” Oops. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could call them back. Ware’s not the kind of man you challenge.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he growls, and then he sweeps me off my feet and comes down over me. My back hits the couch, his hips holding my legs apart.
Oh. My. God.
Ware definitely wins this round.
WARE
Marly may be short, but her legs seem to go on for fucking miles, and tracing each sweet inch with my tongue rockets straight to the top of my to do list. Might have to do it twice to satisfy my sweet tooth. She shifts nervously, and my dick proves it can get harder. It strains against my zipper, determined to get inside her.
Fucking her would be a mistake.
I told her she had to ask—and no words are coming out of her pretty mouth now.
Instead, she stares at me with those big brown eyes that make me feel like the center of the universe, but she’s also nervous. Might have something to do with the fact that she’s got another wolf between her legs and she’s sensing history repeating itself.
And sure I want to drive myself into every hole she’s got, want to love her, make her howl my name with pleasure—but I’m not that much of a bastard. She’s gotta be sore and hurting from her stay in the bayou, and killing Big Dog was only a down payment on fixing things.
But if screwing myself deep inside her body isn’t on tonight’s agenda, I can still make her feel good. I catch her thighs with my hands and push them wider. Her sleep shorts aren’t made for that kind of movement, the cotton gaping so I can see the teasing edges of her panties. Some kind of soft blue fabric with lace.
I approve.
“Ware?” She sounds nervous as fuck.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I promise us both. The bed would be better, but I’m not in the mood to wait. Not sure she is either, since I can smell the sweet scent of her arousal. Catching her legs, I draw her shorts down and yank her legs over my shoulders. Time to reenact a few fantasies.
She squeals my name, stiffening.
“Nothing but pleasure,” I promise, and I always keep my promises.
She comes up on her elbows, and I step back for a second, yanking my cut and my shirt off. I fold it all up and tuck it underneath her head as she watches. She’s not trying to get away. She’s not saying no.
“These are real pretty.” I drag my knuckle down her center and she bucks. Groans.
“Don’t move,” I add, giving her pussy a little squeeze.
I slide her panties off and tuck them into my back pocket. They’re gonna smell like her, and I want a trophy. Then I slide my hands beneath her ass, yank her to the edge, and spread her open with my thumbs. She squeals again, clearly not sure about her position. That’s okay. I’m good at convincing.
She’s fucking gorgeous.
I got a good look at her in Big Dog’s cabin, but this is even better, because this is for me. For us. She has the sweetest little pussy I’ve ever seen.
I lick her from bottom to top, swirling my tongue around her clit because it’s the cherry on a really awesome Marly sundae and I can’t get enough. She squirms and gasps like holding still is just not in her vocabulary. That’s fine by me. She’s so wet, she’s soaked. I love the way she can’t hold back as she rides my mouth, little mewls and dirty demands spilling from her pretty lips. I lick and suck, nipping carefully whe
n I sense she’s getting closer. She rewards me with another rough moan, her hands grabbing at my shoulders and head.
She comes when I suck her clit into my mouth and tongue the hard nub with ruthless strokes. She’s gonna give me everything she has, gonna take the pleasure I have for her. She’s greedy, and I love it, her hips shoving off the sofa, her pussy grinding against my face as she angles herself, telling me what she needs without words. I give it to her, shoving three fingers inside her as I work her clit, and her pussy shivers toward an orgasm.
She collapses on the sofa as I pet her down.
My dick’s painfully hard beneath my jeans, and the only thought left in my head is shoving myself inside Marly and taking what I shouldn’t. When I tear my gaze away from the erotic spread on my sofa, there’s a fucking wet spot on the denim where pre-cum leaked through. I could roll on a condom and be deep inside her in seconds. For just a moment, I let myself enjoy that fantasy, and then my knee twinges, protesting, and that’s the wake up call I need. Marly needs to stay safe—and I’m not the best wolf for the job.
I swing her up into my arms, take the stairs, and head for the bedroom. When I drop her onto the mattress, she rolls, making room, her arms reaching for me.
“Go to sleep,” I tell her, turning away. I’m gonna make sure everything is locked up tight and do a quick check of my lair for any trouble. I don’t trust Fang not to come sniffing around, and he’s not the only pack member who might think there’s a better way to solve the Marly issue than voting.
“God, you’re confusing.” Stuff rustles as she settles in, though.
“I’m not safe for you,” I growl and finish my scan of the room. Her pile of abandoned clothes on my floor catches my eye—another pair of tiny, silky panties, jeans, more lace. Yeah. I need to go.
When I get to the door, she fires her parting shot. “Is this like Princess Bride?”
Do I look like I watch movies with the word princess in the title?
