by Jan Delima
“It wasn’t meant as a challenge,” she said.
A calculating smile tugged at his lips. “Have you ever taken a man, Rosa?” Her deepened frown proved his assumption true. “No? Then by all means, you should be the one to consummate this arrangement, and I’ll be your willing receiver.”
* * *
“Excuse me?” She must not have heard him correctly.
Rosa forced herself to remain calm, not an easy task as he stalked to the sofa like a primed alpha who had just won entitlement rights in a territory his opponent had never chartered. Gloating as he removed his shirt along the way. A tattoo of an owl in flight spanned his entire chest, down his arms and into the sculpted planes of his stomach.
Luc was hard in every place her former husband had been flaccid, and tanned to the color of aged honey. Math’s skin had been a loose, translucent gray.
Was it unfair to compare the two? Probably, but since the other man was dead, what was the harm? Besides, if not for the owl she would have enjoyed the view. Still, she half expected him to demand that she disrobe from the waist down—as Math had preferred—then bend her over the nearest chair, mount her from behind and be done with it. As in the way of wolves, only in their human forms.
However, it seemed this coupling was not to be as easily accomplished—or over with as quickly.
With his jeans still on, but riding loose on his hips, Luc took a seat on the sofa. After a pace of breath his gaze narrowed . . . waiting for her to move?
Oh, right. She was supposed to be taking him, wasn’t she? Sadly, she didn’t quite know how that worked. She’d seen it, of course, but observation and participation were two completely different things.
“I’m not sure what you want me to do,” she told him.
He patted the cushion next to him on the sofa. “Just come and sit and we’ll see where this leads, shall we?”
Sparing him a wary glance, she knew where it would lead if he would just act accordingly. Her current trepidation was his fault for not following normal mating procedures.
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that this was just an inconvenience, over and done with the sooner she cooperated.
“I can make this easier on us both,” she finally offered, bending forward to remove her boots. Kicking them to the side, she straightened and methodically began to take off her trousers—
“Stop!”
Her fingers froze. His command annoyed her but she complied. “Why?”
“Because . . . I don’t want you to undress yet. Let’s just sit awhile first.”
She blinked, trying to acclimate to the mating rituals of a different male. Again, she asked, “Why?” What was the point of just sitting? And while still clothed, no less?
He scowled. “Are you always this obstinate?”
“I can be stubborn,” she admitted. “When something prolongs a goal and has no useful function.”
“This has a function.” His gaze met hers, molten silver and black with impatience. “When I’ve no taste for fucking a woman I haven’t held first.”
“Well, then,” she clipped, unsure how to respond to his penchant for vulgarities given with acts of affection. It was another conundrum that left her on unfamiliar footing, since she was accustomed to the opposite: malice dispensed with excruciating propriety. “That is a different matter altogether, is it not?” She felt a flush begin to crawl up her neck. “I did not realize that is a problem for you.”
“It’s not a problem,” he corrected in a tone that could freeze rocks. “It’s a preference.”
“Oh.” She felt motivated to add, “I thought I was the one who . . . er, would be”—she paused, slipping over that word—“taking you.”
“You will be.” The glint in his gaze suggested he was enjoying her missteps.
Her interactions with Math had never been this unnerving; they had been a chore, no more. Not so with Luc, unfortunately.
Anxiety threatened her composure. “I do not want to do this anymore.” He played an unfair game and her lack of knowledge put her at a disadvantage. “I do not know what you want. I have never had to—”
“Hush, Rosa,” he said in a smooth tone. Worse, he had the audacity to chuckle.
“I find no humor in this situation.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “It disturbs me that you do.”
“You misunderstand.” He attempted to explain, but the smirk that continued to tug at his mouth did not help his cause. “Did you know your speech changes when you’re upset?”
Yes, she silently chastised herself. “I am . . . I’m learning to talk with modern linguistics. Sometimes I revert.” In Avon, she had never risked adapting her speech for that very reason. “It’s something I’m working on.” Taliesin had callously noted her confinement from modern society earlier without consideration for the reason.
“Don’t work on it too much because I think it’s charming.”
“I don’t.” She intended to practice more now.
“My goal wasn’t to upset you, but to make you feel more comfortable. And now I fear I’ve made things worse.” He may not be a Seer but he was dangerously observant.
“I don’t think I’m built for pleasure.” Rosa had warned him once, and did so again to explain her obvious ineptness.
“You’re wrong.” Luc sounded so sure; she wanted to believe him. “I think you’ve been badly neglected.”
“That was a blessing.” She didn’t insult him by denying the obvious. “I’ve never had to actually participate in the act. I was only required to be still . . . in whatever position I was placed.” She felt compelled to repeat, “While our couplings were passionless, Math was never cruel during the process.”
Math had wanted an heir, a son or daughter to carry on his bloodline, and respected the method of conceiving. If he’d known her fertility had been secretly obstructed every time . . .
Well, she shook her head at the thought, happy to still have one attached.
He paused as if weighing the best response, or summoning restraint. A bite of energy danced along her skin, suggesting the latter.
“That’s not how it will work with us.” He grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa. “Come to me, Rosa. Let me give you pleasure. If at any time you want to stop . . . we will.”
Unwilling to disclose more details concerning her less-than-passionate life, and personal fulfillment for that matter, she simply nodded. Walking those few steps, however, was a dreadful experience. She didn’t feel well at all. Her stomach became unsettled and other regions began to throb.
He wrapped the knitted blanket around her and draped it like a shawl. Fisting his hands around the corners, he pulled her forward, like a fish caught in a weir. Before she could guess his intent, she found herself on his lap, cocooned in heat and hot male skin, with her legs dangled over his knees.
“Now, is this so bad?” he taunted while tucking her head under his chin.
“I suppose not.” Pondering where to place her hands, she ended up curling them in her lap, while her shoulder rested in the crook between his arm and chest.
In truth, it was hypnotic sitting on him like this—dangerously so, like the hush before a storm. The rise and fall of his torso as he breathed lulled like a male siren, along with the weight of his arms and the lure of his skin against her cheek. The most exquisite scent of forest and man weaved around her senses. More tempting, underneath it all lay the hint of musk, of potent wolf waiting in the shadows to protect her if the human failed.
All her tension ebbed like a babe in caring arms. Away from Guardians and wrapped in strength; she’d not felt this safe since childhood. How sad that she’d found peace with a virtual stranger. And how easily she could become addicted.
Oh, yes . . . this was dangerous. “How long do we have to stay like this?”
“Shhhh . . .” His thro
at moved as he swallowed while his hands trailed up her thighs and under her sweater, but only to knead the muscles of her lower back.
As if she weren’t becoming a puddle of goo already.
Before long, her eyes grew heavy, drifted closed. Had he been waiting for this moment of surrender, she wondered drowsily, when her guard had dissolved enough to welcome his gentle game? And did she care? For this was far more pleasant than any others she’d been forced to play. It still surprised her, too, that his touch was not repulsive. Her body practically whined for more.
He shifted to the side and moved his shoulder, leaned a bit, and her head rolled back, only to be caught by the soft pressure of his mouth on hers. So tender she didn’t even open her eyes. Were a man’s lips supposed to be this soft? Like with other carnal acts, she had little experience with kissing, sadly enough.
Having known only violence or indifference, her perceptions reeled. Indeed, if this was passion, then she didn’t know how to respond. But she was curious enough to try. She would admit that to herself, and even to him if he asked . . . She was so hungry to know what others whispered about in giggly tones. How many stories had she heard, from Tesni and others, of their forbidden trysts and naughty secrets, only to feel like a bystander to their private joy?
“Open your mouth, Rosa.” The order came on a husky whisper against her lips.
She complied because she wanted to, and his growl of approval made her shiver, which was odd considering . . .
Their cocoon of heat had begun to swelter and she felt moisture gather in embarrassing places. Turning his head to deepen the kiss only made her tremble more. Her insides were a riot of misinformation, a hot, quivery mess of nerves, and she had this distinct urge to rock her pelvis—and how unlike her normal self that was.
More interesting, his tongue entered her mouth and found hers. And she relished it. She actually enjoyed his taste, the sounds that he made, and the way his movements turned aggressive and less coaxing. If her wolf had been feline she would have purred.
His mouth broke from hers, and his breathing became ragged. “Now it’s time to undress you.” His fingers curled around the waistband of her trousers and underwear, tugging them down—and off. His hand tapped her left knee. “Bend this leg.”
She complied only to be rudely readjusted.
“Oh,” she breathed. The position she found herself in was interesting, to say the least, straddling him like a rider would a horse. It made her feel rather well exposed, with her legs tucked on either side of his.
“Wiggle one more time and you’ll be on your back,” he growled softly next to her ear.
She thought about that for a moment, a remarkable feat in view of her current state. “Would that not be for the best?”
He made a sound, a word perhaps, but nothing coherent. Grabbing her bared backside, he pulled her even more forward.
And that was when she felt it—a thick male appendage trapped within the material of his trousers, beyond anything she’d experienced before. How his jeans kept it contained, she had no idea. Her former knowledge hardly compared to this; oftentimes, Math had pumped his organ with his fist just to get a semi-rise.
“Luc . . .” She trembled, heard the desperation in her voice and cringed.
“Be still.” He rested his forehead in her hair. “Please, just be still a moment.”
Swearing that word again, he fumbled with the button of his pants. In the process, his knuckles repeatedly grazed against her in the most intimate of ways.
A tightening gripped her insides, a foreshadowing of pleasure she had yet to achieve by any touch, not even her own. If she’d known it could be like this she would have been more persistent with her personal experiments.
“I do not think I can.” She wished his attentions would return to the closure of his pants. Instead, he lifted his hips while pushing the item down to his knees. He lowered her back onto his lap and she inhaled a sharp breath. To feel warm skin instead of coarse material was disconcerting in the most decadent of ways.
Once again she pondered where to place her hands and settled them on his chest for balance, awed by the reflexing muscles but disliking the inked patterns under her palms. Was it the tattoos that made her suddenly possessive, or the fact that her trepidation had changed to this . . . yearning for something more?
“Are you okay?” he asked as if it hurt him to do so.
I don’t know. She felt exposed, never having been in such an intimate position, face-to-face, much like baring her soul while the taker watched.
“I feel achy,” she said, only because it seemed he required an answer. “I think I would like to mount you now.”
“Rosa . . .” He swore under his breath, then again, “Fuck!”
He really liked that word.
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?” She’d walked in on a coupling pair in much this same position. The logistics weren’t difficult to surmise.
“Yes, but—” His chest rose and fell under her hands. “I wasn’t expecting a narrative.”
“Oh.” Her legs trembled as a pulse of pleasure pierced her core. She flexed them around his hips for relief, but that only made it worse. “Well, may I?”
Eight
Thank the Gods he was half beast, for if he were a mere mortal he might bloody well die of overstimulation.
“Lift your arms.” Grabbing the hem of her sweater, he yanked it over her head. With a quick flick of the clasp, her bra followed and her breasts tumbled out, joyfully freed from imprisonment.
Closing his eyes, he was momentarily overcome by the sight of her. He’d forgotten what it was like to have an aroused woman in his arms.
It had been too long.
“Is something wrong?” She stopped squirming, but now her voice held that note of awkwardness again.
“No,” he lied. Years of abstinence weakened his restraint. Or maybe that was what he needed to believe to ease his guilt.
She inhaled a sharp breath when he opened his eyes once again. He knew what she saw.
“Your wolf has blue eyes,” she said with too much delight. “I cannot wait to see him in full form. After we secure Castell Avon, maybe we can run together.”
A sound erupted from his throat that he himself didn’t recognize. The creature deemed worthy of her admiration postured with contented arrogance. “I’m having a difficult time containing him, so please . . . save your praise for another day.”
He didn’t mention that they would never be running together because of a promise he’d given to another.
She worried her bottom lip, but nodded. His gaze fell, drawn by baser instincts. Her breasts were the most divine things he had ever seen in almost a century of self-imposed deprivation. As if he no longer had the will to steer his own hand, he reached out and thumbed a coral-colored nipple. It puckered immediately under his touch, echoed by a feminine gasp.
Ah, yes . . . this woman had been neglected, and he found great enjoyment righting that wrong. Slowly, he let his hand trail down. Her stomach contracted and her eyes widened.
Not built for pleasure? She all but shook with it.
“I’m going to lift you,” he told her over the gravel in his throat. “Take me in your hand and guide it—”
“Like this?” She complied before he’d had the chance to lift her. Her hands caressed him with gentle curiosity, soft, and light, and teasingly torturous.
He squeezed his palm over hers, halting her exploration. “Not this first time.”
Her bottom lip protruded. “I think I want to go back to your original idea and let me do the taking.”
Was she pouting? He prayed for endurance, like some bloody saint or Buddhist. “That’s what I’m trying to show you.”
Grabbing her by the waist, he lifted her up but the new position put her breast mere inches from his mouth. Nothing, no good in
tentions, or shadows from his past, could have stopped him from lowering his head to taste her nipple in that moment. He groaned like a starved man and, even to his own ears, his voice sounded raw. “Now just ease down and find the rhythm that is most pleasurable for you.”
She was too good of a student, too eager to learn. And Luc realized then the full extent of the deed he’d done this night. The Guardians would come after him, all right, but not for taking Castell Avon. Great men or evil ones, human or wolf—and a few women as well . . . It mattered not. With the look she now held in her gaze, all would gladly fight for the chance to be beneath her.
A possessive growl vibrated through his core. Let them try. If they do, they will learn I don’t share well.
He felt her stretching to accommodate his size, easing down with soft panted breaths until he was completely fisted by tight, pulsating warmth. One hand tangled in his hair, while the other pressed against his abs for balance, or resistance, or just something to help leverage her position better.
She found the rhythm; up, then down. Slow at first, then frantic, rocking to grind forward while taking him deeper each time. She bit her bottom lip in an attempt to stifle her sounds. Her brow furrowed with rising need and . . . uncertainty? She was close to release; he could feel it with each entry, with each gripping of muscle and tremble of her thighs. He reached down and parted her where they joined. Her nub was swollen, painfully erect, like a smaller, yet more beautiful, version of his. He circled it with his thumb a few times because he couldn’t resist—gently, since it was close to peaking.
A whimper fell from her mouth. “What are you doing to me?”
“Easy,” he soothed. “You’re about to come, Rosa.”
“I cannot,” she breathed in half denial and half plea to prove her false.
“Yes, you can.” He leaned forward, pressed his lips under her ear and inhaled her potent scent of vanilla and female wolf rising. It smelled like home. “Tilt your pelvis forward and move faster.”
“Like this?” The cadence she found was primal and desperate.
