Inking the Wolf: A wolf shifter paranormal romance (Wolves of Crookshollow Book 3)

by Steffanie Holmes

  “There we are.” He grinned, yanking the boning over my head and tossing the corset to the floor. Beads skittered across the floorboards. “Hello there.”

  I grabbed my tiny tits and pushed them up and together. “Sorry it’s a bit disappointing. This is the only way I actually get any cleavage.”

  “Don’t ever say this body is disappointing.” Robbie’s fingers stroked my skin. I dropped my hands, and he cupped my breasts, his fingers brushing over my nipples. A shiver of delight raced through my body. I loved having my nipples touched and licked and sucked, a fact most of my female conquests relished. So many guys just gave them a cursory squeeze and then went straight for the grand finale.

  Not Robbie. He bent his head down, his tongue darting over the tip of my nipple. I gasped as his warm mouth slid over me, and shivers of fire darted under my skin. I watched his tongue swirling around the tip, driving the ache inside me to new heights.

  Robbie licked and sucked until I thrashed my head about from the sheer pleasure of it. The ache had grown into a full-scale inferno, pounding against my skin, desperate for release. He moved to the other nipple, driving me closer and closer to the edge.

  “God, you’re good at this,” I moaned, my hands cupping his head, forcing him to keep up his ministrations.

  “I have spent several nights down at the pub listening to you complain about how girls do this so well and guys suck.” Robbie glanced up at me, grinning that beautiful, wicked grin. “I’ve picked up a few things.”

  “It’s not fair. I’m a talkative drunk. You know all about what I like, but I don’t know anything about what you like.”

  “I like you.” Robbie’s hand cupped my thigh. “I like you in this garter.”

  “Oh, yes?” I grinned back.

  “Yeah. But I think I’d like it even better if you took it off.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Emphasis on the word you. After that corset, I’m not touching any woman’s undergarments ever again.”

  Grinning, I bent down and unclipped the garter clips, rolling my stockings down my legs. I felt like a pin-up model, coquettishly undressing for a photoshoot. First one stocking slid down my leg, then the second. It caught on my toe, so I snapped it back, flinging it onto the floor to join the rest of my clothes.

  Next, I unclipped the hooks holding on the garter and slid that over my hips. I reached down to remove my g-string. Robbie’s hands closed over mine.

  “This one, I’ve got a handle on.” He grinned as he tugged it off, his fingers brushing against my most sensitive skin. I moaned, fire rolling over me, nearly ready to burst.

  Completely naked now, I leaned back on the tiny bed, my gaze flicking over the low ceiling. Beneath me, the music from the party boomed, shaking the floor with a steady rhythm.

  I can’t believe the first shag in my new house is going to be in the attic, with Robbie.

  My thoughts might’ve continued in that vein, had Robbie not bent between my legs and placed his tongue against my clit.

  Oh wow oh wow oh wow.

  Usually men were so … probing. They either came in too hard or too soft, tongues like little jackhammers trying to drill out an orgasm in record time. That was why I usually preferred woman – their soft fingers so silky inside you, their wet tongues knowing exactly how you liked it. Maybe I’d just never had good head from a guy before, because it’s never been like this.

  Robbie’s stubble brushed against my thigh as his tongue drew down the length of me. I thrust my hips toward him, begging for more. But he held back, taking his time, making slow circles around my clit and driving me crazy with lust. He reached up with one hand and pinched my nipple, the sharp pain only increasing my pleasure.

  He slipped one finger inside me, pressing it against me as he increased his pace, licking faster now. The fire rose from my stomach, the pressure building.

  Robbie pressed his tongue against me, rolling it … I don’t know. I don’t know what he was doing, but it was so sharp and hard and hot and amazing and the fire became an ocean of flames rolling over me in waves and I lost myself in the inferno and the room disappeared and the house disappeared and all there was left was my convulsing body and Robbie’s unrelenting tongue.

  I think I screamed. I might have sworn. I don’t know, because I was gone.

  Slowly, the fire dulled, and I came back. I was still lying on my back, the ancient sheets balled up beneath me. Robbie had crawled up beside me, his fingers dancing a line across my chest. His eyes regarded me with a mixture of awe and unrelenting lust.

  “Good?” he whispered against my ear.

  “Mmmmmm.” As soon as I could move my legs again, I grabbed his shoulders, shoved him back, and climbed on top. My body shook from residual energy of my orgasm, but I managed to balance over him. Robbie’s eyes grew wide again as I eased myself down on his cock. It felt so good, thick and long, filling me completely.

  Robbie grabbed my shoulder and dragged me against his chest, his tongue fighting against mine as he thrust his hips up, driving himself even deeper inside me. Good. I was done being slow. I wanted the wild passion that danced in his eyes.

  I rocked backwards, grinding my hips against Robbie’s, driving him as deep inside me as I could get. Robbie gripped my thighs, his eyes narrowing in concentration, pounding against me in a steady rhythm.

  “Why so serious?” I gasped through our kiss.

  “I don’t want to be disappointing.”

  I snorted. “This has been about as far from disappointing as you can get. Disappointing has left the building. Now, smile, you fool, and fuck me like the animal you are.”

  Robbie obeyed, his lips drawing back in a wide, gorgeous smile that lit up his whole face as he pounded against me with fresh vigour. I kissed him again, then tossed my head back as I rode him like an animal. He dragged his fingers down my back, drawing lines of fire across my skin.

  Everything blurred into a flurry of limbs and fingers and kisses and endless, unrelenting pleasure. At some point, Robbie flipped me over, dragging my hips back against him as he pounded me from behind. I gripped the brass bed end and howled as I came again, contracting around that glorious cock as Robbie’s teeth bit down against my neck.

  He drove himself deep into me, his muscled torso tightened as he neared his own release. As I felt his cock shudder, the ache inside me grew again, the fire roaring as it threatened to overwhelm me once more.

  Robbie’s whole body clenched, his teeth clamped down on my neck. The pain seared through my skin, tipping me over the edge. We came together, a whirlwind of limbs and teeth and pleasure, our bodies crashing against each other as the inferno devoured us both.

  As the heat subsided, I lay back against Robbie’s chest, my head swimming, my body warm with the flush of three incredible orgasms. Music shook the floor beneath us. Downstairs, the party of the year was going on without us.

  As Robbie draped his arm across my chest, pulling me closer and kissing the top of my head, I realised I didn’t care a single bit.

  14

  Robbie

  Wow.

  All the nights I’d lain awake, my dick in my hands, imagining what it would be like being with Bianca … my wildest dreams were nothing compared with the reality. My body still buzzed from the heat of our mating.

  Bianca’s head rested on my chest, wisps of her pixie hair trailing across my skin. Her chest rose and fell, a perfect rhythm. Through the grimy attic window, pale moonlight streamed across the bed, illuminating her skin with an eerie glow. I rubbed my finger over the wound on the side of her neck, the mark that said she was mine.

  She’s mine.

  Even though exhaustion clung to my body, and from the sounds of the dying party below it must be the early hours of the morning, I couldn’t sleep. I could only count the knots in the wooden planks along the wall, and replay scenes from before. Bianca’s lips on mine, Bianca’s tiny, pert breasts, her nipples hardening under my touch. Her tongue sliding along my cock …
the way her mouth opened when she came …

  Damn, now I was hard. I’d never be able to sleep.

  Bianca let out a tiny snort, her eyelids fluttering before settling still. Her arm weighed down on my chest. I groaned as a cramp seared along my arm.

  Bianca wasn’t a morning person, especially after a night of partying. She’d sleep for most of the day. Meanwhile, this cramp wouldn’t get any better, and my stomach was starting to rumble. I’d been too nervous to eat before the wedding, and too agitated to enjoy all the amazing food at the party.

  As gently as I could, I dragged my arm out from under Bianca. She moaned a little, settling back into the pillow as though I’d never been there. I rolled off the tiny bed and grabbed a clean set of clothes from my rucksack in the corner. I backed out of the room, half certain that when I returned she’d disappear, like a mirage.

  I padded downstairs, trying to avoid the creaking steps, but pretty much every wooden board in this old house creaked. A Dutch artist collapsed at the foot of the attic stairs lifted his head and glared at me. Half a cupcake was stuck to his forehead.

  I picked my way across the first floor landing, trying to avoid disturbing the overturned bottles, glittery costume remnants, streamers, and tangled, collapsed bodies. From the balustrade of the main staircase, Bianca’s cat Macavity glared at me, as if to say, “Look at the chaos you have wrought.”

  “If only you knew, Mac.” I patted his head. Macavity shot me a disgusted look, and bounded down the stairs toward the kitchen.

  I gripped the balustrade and started down the stairs. My fingers dragged through something sticky. Fuck, I don’t even want to know what that is. I yanked my hand away, fumbling my way down to the entrance hall and through the sitting room. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows, casting eerie pools of light across the mess.

  People slumped in every available chair and corner, bodies twisted in various contortions. Bottles and plates lay strewn across every surface. Several cupcakes were stuck to the wall by crusted icing, forming a giant anarchist’s A.

  I set about cleaning up, dumping all the empty bottles into the recycling bins, and carrying the glasses and plates into the kitchen to be picked up later by the rental company. In the centre of the ballroom, I found my torn shirt and kilt. There were lipstick marks all over it, and someone had stolen my sporran and boxers. I glanced around at the collapsed party guests, wondering which one of them had nicked them. Artists were weird.

  I went into the kitchen with arms full of dishes, and turned the coffee machine on. I’d never been much of a coffee drinker – there wasn’t exactly a good place to plug in a machine in the Aberdeen woods – but ever since I’d started hanging out with Bianca, she’d been trying to convert me. While the beans roasted, I rummaged around in the fridge to find the milk. Belinda had left some trays of savouries and cheesecake bites in there. Breakfast of kings. I stuffed a few in my mouth and gathered up a plate to take up to Bianca.

  I picked my way back through the darkened house, resisting the urge to whistle a tune. I’d never been this happy in my entire life. As I stepped onto the first floor landing, a muffled voice called something out to me. I whirled around, but couldn’t see anyone conscious. It took me a moment to realise I was hearing a voice coming through one of the bedroom doors. Serenity Jones’ room.

  I waded through the filth on the floor and stood against the door, trying to keep my breathing shallow so I wouldn’t make a sound. I pressed my ear against the door and listened, although I could only pick up a few snatches of conversation.

  “… a pretty wild night … yes, debauchery aplenty, and you wouldn’t believe… a werewolf … don’t worry … going to expose … much know the truth … yes, I’ve got pictures … emailing them through now.”

  Great. That’s just wonderful. She’s already calling in her story. In a matter of hours, photographs of the world’s first werewolf would be circulating across the globe.

  Should I do something? Now was my chance to make good on the stupid mistake I’d made. I could leap in there, teeth bared, and threaten her into silence. My hand closed around the door handle.

  No. That was what my father would have done, solved the problem with intimidation and violence. What if she refused to stop the story? I’d have to hurt her. I stared down at my hand, watching my fingers curl into a fist.

  I stepped back, determination setting in. I’d find a way to make this right, somehow, and I’d do it my way, without threats or violence or breaking any laws.

  Talk to Caleb. He’ll already have a solution. Apologise and hope like hell he doesn’t kick you out.

  I turned away from Serenity’s door. A stream of moonlight stretched from the window at the end of the hallway, illuminating a long rectangle, ending on one of the gilded portraits on the opposite wall. I stopped and stared at the image. It was of a young girl – she couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen when it was painted. She sat in one of the high-backed chairs in the downstairs library, her hand resting on a closed volume in her lap. The artist had taken great pains to render the folds of fabric and elaborate embroidery of her dress, and the enormous choker and ring that adorned her body.

  Moonlight glinted off the girl’s eyes. They held me mesmerised – deep pools of icy blue that beckoned me closer, that seemed to follow me as I took a step across the landing. They were Bianca’s eyes.

  Her face was Bianca’s, too – the pointed chin, high cheekbones, tiny, bow-shaped lips. I knew without a doubt I was looking at one of Bianca’s ancestors and—

  Holy shit.

  The realisation hit me with the force of a freight train, stunning me so much I nearly dropped the tray.

  The ring. The girl was wearing the Benedict Ring. It was right there on her hand – the twin snakes coiled around a large, blood-red stone. I couldn’t believe it – I’d walked past this portrait dozens of times while heading back and forth from the attic. I’d spent a month trawling through the papers in The Prim’s attic, and all the time, evidence of the ring was right in front of my face.

  I stared at the calligraphy in the frame’s nameplate – Silvia Sinclair, 1835. It’s the same girl who wrote the scrapbook we discovered in the attic. My heart thundered against my chest. I stepped over a Sicilian acrobat slumped against the wall to peer at the ring, wishing I could reach inside the painting and pluck it from her fingers.

  Spurned on by the discovery, I dropped the tray on the sideboard and flicked on the light. “Hey, what gives?” the acrobat grumbled from below my feet. The German by the stairs groaned and pulled the corner of the rug over his head.

  I scanned the other portraits in the hall with fresh eyes. I located the ring in five more, all dated before Silvia’s. Two women wore the rosary Bianca’s dad had shown me as well. In all the paintings dated after Silvia’s, the rosary was present in some, but the ring was nowhere to be seen.

  For weeks I’d been straining my eyes on old documents, desperately hoping I’d find some clue as to the whereabouts of the ring. Now I had a date for the last true sighting of the ring. Silvia was the last person in the family to wear it.

  But where had it gone? If it was such a family heirloom, why had it disappeared? With its tiny rooms filled with nooks and crannies, Primrose House was the perfect place to hide something small, something you didn’t want anyone to know you had.

  The ring … it could be somewhere in Bianca’s house.

  15

  Bianca

  I awoke to the smell of smoked salmon quiche wafting under my nose, which is a very unnerving smell to wake up to while trying to pull myself into the real world with a pounding headache and quivering stomach.

  “Rise and shine,” a deep voice said from behind me. “I brought you the perfect hangover cure.”

  Hangover … at the sound of the word, the pain in my body registered. My head throbbed, and my stomach churned with nausea. My eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my skull.

  I rolled over, my
bleary eyelids flickering open, revealing a shaft of blinding light shining directly on my face.

  “Uuuurgh.” Who is banging my temples with a mallet? I’ll kill them, after I kill myself …

  A shadow moved in front of the light. My eyes blurred, then started to adjust. Robbie came into view, standing in front of the window, from which that blasted sun was going about its morning torture. He held out a tray upon which balanced a plate piled high with leftover party food: the aforementioned offensive salmon quiche, meatballs with spicy peanut dipping sauce, stuffed peppers with goat’s cheese filling, and several cheesecake bites and mini cupcakes. Beside it sat a pot of steaming tea … the perfect gentleman.

  In his other hand, he held a bottle of Powerade.

  I took the tray and the Powerade gratefully, my fingers struggling to pull off the plastic cap. As I shuffled into a sitting position, my foot hooked around my corset, which was lying across the end of the bed where we’d tossed it the previous night. Black beads skittered across the sheets as I balanced the tray on my knees. Robbie knelt down to pick up the corset. He placed it on the wooden stool under the window.

  Owwwww, my head …

  I sipped the Powerade, clutching my stomach as it squirmed in protest. Robbie stepped back into the doorway, his face sympathetic. “Sorry it’s so early. I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d bring you some snacks for when you woke up. I was just gonna drop them and leave—”

  I waved a hand as I took another swig of Powerade. My stomach churned. “Stay. Quiche it up with me.”

  “You sure?” He looked hopefully at the corner of the bed. I patted the spot next to me, and held out the plate.

  “Of course. Just beware that I am in no mood for any of the usual morning-after shenanigans.”

  “No deep conversations or tickle wars. Got it.” He slumped down next to me, facing the window.