Paris looks over at me. “Why does he think I would ever do him such a favor as grant permission for him to cross into our territory when he needs to?” I sigh and look out the window shrugging my shoulders.
“I don’t know. I guess he thought he’d try it on.”
“After all the fucking grief that werewolf has caused us. Now he wants me to do him a solid?”
“It’s not that I’m on Conall’s side, but,”
“But?” Paris repeats back at me.
“But,” I say putting a hand up to stop him. “He’s approaching this as a pack member with a concern. So we should view this, as not personal. Besides, it’s likely to eventually become an issue for discussion with other werewolves, if not Conall.”
“Asking for permission to see a pack mate, is about as personal as it gets and given our historical relationship with the requestee that has show absolutely no respect to either of us, I don’t see how I can’t take this personally. Conall has gone out of his way, to make your and my life, as difficult and crazy as can be. That doesn’t build future understanding when I already know his character.” Paris replies putting the Porche into gear as the lights change.
“Wow, you are so corporate sexy when you are talking business.” I say back at him causing a small smile to creep up his face.
“And I’m not even in a suit.” He says with humor, his mood lifting. “Let’s talk about it, when we get back from our honeymoon. No shop talk on our honeymoon, after I make the necessary call to Addison to tell him we’re running away.”
I smile broadly, feeling good. “Okay.”
“Addison.” Paris says looking at the car central console and we wait while the blue tooth dials up his lieutenant phone number.
“My Alpha,” Addison greets Paris with softly.
“Addison, you’re on speaker in the car with me and Bg.” Paris warns him.
“Hi Bg,”
“Hey Addison.”
“What’s happening?” Addison asks us both.
“Bg had a little run in with Gabby Colton earlier today.” And we listen as Addison lets loose a few expletives down the line. “It’s okay, so to speak. No bruises, only tears on Gabby’s side. Which then lead to Tatum Lee perhaps,” Paris says looking at me “Overstepping her mark with Bg a little and upsetting her.”
“She must be feeling content then, in her place in this pack if she too is picking fights with Bg. I’ll have a word to her.”
“Don’t. “ Paris says suddenly. “Speak to Wiatt first, let’s try the softly, softly approach. We need to make sure that Tatum isn’t somehow going to turn into the newer version of Gabby.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s the case,” I state out loud.
“But as a result I’ve picked Bg up. She’s fine, she’s with me and we’ve decided to take some time off to actually have a honeymoon.”
“Starting when?”
“Right now.” Paris says with a grin. Must be good to let go of all the usual work. “We’re heading off now, we’ll be back in a week or so,”
“Maybe,” I play along.
“And you’re in charge until I get back. Think you can handle it?” Paris says out loud.
“Be damn shameful if I couldn’t. Bring me back a souvenir?” Addison replies.
“Will do.” Paris answer him.
“Where you headed anyway?” Addison asks us.
“New Orleans” I say to the voice form the car as Paris looks at me nodding his head in approval.
“Enjoy the honeymoon!” Addison signs off. Paris looks at me and smiles, our plan is working, we’re actually going to do this, shrug of responsibility thing and enjoy some us time.
“I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans.” Paris says to me.
“You’ve never been before now?”
“No.” He smiles looking back at the road and traffic all around us.
“Well, let’s see exactly how easy we can take it in the Big Easy.” I smile, settling into the passenger seat finally.
23
After nearly nineteen hours of driving, and a few toilet breaks we decide to check into a motel in Atlanta for the night. Both of us glad to get out of the confines of the two seater Porche. I don’t even bother to look about the room when I walk in and immediately turn and fall backwards onto the bed. Paris walks over and is smiling down on me. I lift one leg up at him and rest it directly in the middle of his shirt covered chest and apply a little pressure by pressing my boot against him. He looks down at the boot in his chest and down the length of my leg to the hem of my dress.
“Pull your dress up.” I reach for the hem of it and pull the front of it up, exposing my lower half. “You’re wearing panties.” Most of the time I don’t. But when you intend to spend the day with your mother in law, you feel a little more obligated for civility. “I don’t like that. Get rid of them.” He says staying right where he is; I go to move my boot leg off his chest. But he grabs my ankle, through the boot. Running his hand down the length of the boot, to my knee, without actually touching any of my skin. “I didn’t say move your leg. I said get rid of your panties.” He doesn’t want me to take my leg off his chest, but he wants me to remove the piece of clothing I have that requires both my legs to slid it off.
“But I need my both my legs, to slide my panties down.”
“Think of another way.” Paris says at me, gripping my boot. “While you’re at it, loose the dress too.” His voice is husky and his eyes are darkening. His other hand is in his pants pocket. He means for me to tear my panties away from my body. Normally Paris would tear them, he’d either just rip them apart with his big hands or shape shift his fingernails till they were sharp claws and cut them. It’s a fetish of his, one I am happy to indulge him in. He always buys me replacement lingerie, the really, expensive, designer stuff. I hook my fingers into the waist of the underwear and begin to pull it part, looking at him, listening to the stretch and tear of the material until it slackens and tears in my grasp.
“Better.” He says as I dis-regard the small scrap of material that was once my panties by throwing them away. “Now the dress.”
“If I tear the dress, I won’t have any clothing to leave here in tomorrow.” I state at him wondering what his game plan in.
“I don’t want you to tear the dress, just get rid of it. I want to look upon you.” I wriggle around on the bed a little, slipping the dress off me overhead, laying with outstretched before him with my arms overhead in just a bra and boots. Paris rubs his crotch and lets out a satisfied sigh. Slowly he lowers the leg from his chest back to the bed and spreads my legs wide.
“You know what I kept thinking the whole drive down here?” Paris says as he crawls on to the end of the bed, still in his clothes.
“No, what?”
“We really need to have sex in that car.” He moves like a predatory animal, until he is before my already wet pussy. The anticipation of having him is enough to excite me. His hands slide up my body, and I find my breath catching. Such as it is to be loved, and to know I will feel his love soon.
“Can you imagine if we had sex in that car. How much the scent of it would linger inside.” I watch Paris grin and he moves one hand back down to his still clothed cock to readjust it.
“You’d go insane.”
“Maybe you could masturbate against the gear stick for me. Then every time I touched it, I’d be touching you.” Paris says huskily lowering his face down to the neatly trimmed black hair between my legs.
“Perhaps you’d prefer to spread me out on the bonnet and fuck me on it.” I smile keeping up the foreplay.
“Maybe we should test how far those seats will recline and have you bouncing up and down on my cock while I sit in the driver seat.” He undoes his pants and stays low, looking up at me.
“I wonder if I could get you to eat out my pussy while I pressed my boots to the ceiling for grip?” I smirk back at him. This fantasy he likes, he moans deeply as he lowers his face to my wet heat and sn
iffs his nose in me, before moving his mouth onto me, causing me to gasp out loud. One hand is on my body pulling me towards his mouth, the other, is out of sight, but I can tell, he is reaching into his pants and pulling himself. Paris’s fee hand slides back down to rub my clit while he continues to treat himself to eating me out. I’m somewhere between delirious, heady and tired and wriggly. Trying to stay still for him is proving an effort. Every time my hips try to buck up he presses me back down and growls into my pussy. The vibrations sensitizing and building up my sensations even more. I’m going to beg, I need to beg him to let me come. I want to come, but I want more than just coming in his mouth. I want penetration. I want cock. Paris’s thick cock, want it inside me. I feel a guttural sound trapped in my throat and arch my back up. Paris removes his mouth and I flick my head up immediately.
“Tell me you want to come little wolf, and I’ll let you come all over my face.” I drop my head back on the bed.
“God you’re sexy when you’re filthy.” I pant, a line that is normally his. “Please make me come my alpha.”
Paris smiles and dips his head again, and resume indulging in me. He eats me like I’m the treat he’s been starved from all day long. He consumes me slowly and lovingly and takes his time and I my hips buck upwards.
“Please fuck me.” I mutter desperately.
“Say that again.”
“Please fuck me.” I hold his gaze.
Oh he wants to fuck me already. Enough with the drawn out foreplay, he’s been trapped in a confined space with me for hours and unable to touch me. Not a terribly common occurrence for us. Paris likes touching me, little touches, here and there. Hand on the small of the back. A pat on my backside. A kiss on the forehead, his nose running up the side of my neck. Little touches, that let me know I am his and he is mine. The best kind of touches. He pulls his cock out of his pants and I eye it longingly as he stares at me like I am going to be devoured in more ways that one.
“Please fuck me.” I beg softly.
“Louder.”
“Please fuck me.”
“Again.” He says poised and pausing at the ready.
“Please fuck me Paris” I say raising my voice loudly.
He smiles and moves, I feel the tip of him press into me and then he thrusts sharply and begins fucking me, fast. I loose my breath quickly as I take in the sensation of our connection. His cock fills me up and pounds me so all I hear is my wetness and our skin against each other. The trapped growl bubbles up inside me and I pant and let him move me, because he is moving so fast. He lifts my hips and lays my legs out against his shoulders deepening his thrusts. The pleasure in me mounts and I find my mind greying out as all I can do is feel him with me.
Our power surges, together we are amazing, I’ve never had sex this mind-blowing great before. I’ve had good sex, bad sex, great sex, awkward sex and fun sex, but never earth shattering, stop your heart in time, kind of loose your mind sex. Until I met Paris.
Our connection started off like a simmer that wanted to boil. I put it down to him being an alpha and me being naive. But it is definitely more than that. Being werewolves, means in a sense, that we carry a power within us. It’s the magic that helps us to shape shift. Alpha’s I have noticed, tend to have this sense of power, the aura for it, the easy ability to use it. Where as beta wolves do not have this much free flowing power. It’s the thing that makes the two wolf types, so different. And you can’t just go out and get it, or make it. It’s a genetic thing. It comes from werewolf bloodlines, history and heritage. So of course, some werewolves, are more powerful than others. And mostly those wolves tend to be Alpha werewolves. Then there’s me.
Paris is panting and his eyes have changed in a blink, gone are his human dark blue eyes. Mysterious, challenging and intense. Instead I am now looking into the eyes of the werewolf within. Intense, focused, hungry. God it turns me on.
“Please,” I gasp trying to keep my breathing up with our fucking.
There is a reason I beg to come for him. It’s our power. His and mine combined when we’re fucking. It’s incredible, being touched all over by the energy of it. It’s addictive to the senses. And when our power, invisible as it may be, bleeds together, I can tell, feel, when he has grasped control over it. I don’t know how he manages to do it, I haven’t figure out how to think straight through sex with us yet, but he has. Without telling me he was doing it at first. I clued in eventually. And now, he can hold back the power a little, and I can come and it’ll be great, fantastic, sensational sex. Or he can let go of the power and I can be swept up out of my body having multiple damn orgasms whilst visiting heaven in his arms. He likes to tease me with it. Because it can literally heighten everything for us. And Paris D’arenberg loves pleasure. Loves to deliver it to me. Neither of use have ever had any connection like this with any other pack mate.
“Come with me.” He says and then there’s a rush, around us, within me and him and its like worlds are colliding and I need every inch of this heady feeling, and my body can barely contain it.
I cry out and Paris howls, our coming is so powerful, that neither of us can keep our damn mouths shut and not make a sound. It’s also an indicator that we’ve both been holding on to tightly to our power, when it affects us so powerfully. But that is an automatic reaction when under stress for me, I pull in my power, and control and I pack it down. I’ve yet to understand my werewolf power, properly. Paris and I have been exploring it but it seems to flow more freely when my mind is elsewhere and on sex.
24
It takes me a moment to realize, that I’m in an unfamiliar bed and I’ve woken up alone in a dim room, that isn’t our bedroom. I sit up as I remember that Paris and I are on the run from our lives, playing hooky and actually having a honeymoon. This makes me smile. The room door opens and Paris walks back in holding a tray with items on it.
“Good morning Sweetheart.” He says walking over to the bed.
“Morning,” I mutter back scratching my head.
“You’re probably wondering why I didn’t wake you up this morning, in my normal style.” Paris grins sitting down, placing the tray down beside me. I nod my head silently and eye what’s on the tray before me and my nostrils flare.
“Mmmm, smells good.”
“Well, I figured if we started the day off with me making love to you, I would be unlikely to leave this bed or motel for the rest of the day, with the way I’m currently feeling, so it might shock you, that I’m trying to be good here, and keep my hands off you.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “That is…” I pause trying to think of the right word “Not going to happen. I’m going to make it my mission to make you touch me.” I grin back at him. Paris groans back at me shaking his head.
“I’m on my honeymoon mister, and if all I want to do is make love with my husband then that’s what I’m going to do!”
“We’ve still got a few hours of driving to do today. Wouldn’t you rather go to New Orleans, and make love in a decent, nice hotel down there, not a flea bag dive like this?” Paris asks as I start picking up food off the tray. “Hey, Paris where did you take your wife on your honeymoon,” He says having a mock-conversation with no one. “To some cheap ass flea bag motel.” The D’arenberg’s. They come from a rich background, unlike me. And every member of that family is very used to style, money and prestige. But surprisingly, they don’t flaunt it, they don’t really go out of their way to flash brands around or anything like that. But they have a standard, a lifestyle standard to maintain, that Paris is definitely accustomed to. I laugh. He thinks a standard, clean, but unimpressive motel room is slumming it. Poor werewolf boy.
Werewolf Consort Page 11
