“So you’re going for round two of keeping your hands off me all day until we hit New Orleans?”
Paris lets out a heavy sigh. “Yes.”
“Hmm.” I murmur chewing on a pancake. “And here I was hoping we’d take a rest break at some picnic spot along the way and you’d fuck me up against that Porche of yours.”
Paris groans deeply. “Don’t tease me. I’m trying to give you a proper honeymoon here. Not, me just hounding you for sex.”
“First off,” I say swallowing my pancake. “You do not hound me for sex. Secondly, I understand the physical needs of both of us in this relationship, due to our werewolf natures. And I accept them and embrace those needs, especially with you.” I smile back at him. “And thirdly, when you say you’re going to keep your hands off me, it actually denies me the right to have my way with you too. So you’re denying me something I want,” I say picking up the glass of juice “Very much.”
Paris picks up the coffee and looks over the top of it back at me. “You’re going to do your best to throw me off mission aren’t you?”
“Uh huh.”
“I had to marry the most uncontrollable werewolf.” He mutters sipping his coffee. “She will not be tamed.” We hold each other’s eye gaze. “Which is just as well, I’d hate for you to loose your wildness.” Paris says back at me. I smile back at him and slip out of the bed.
“Good, cause I have no intention of being tame around you.” I state standing beside the bed and stretching my hands over head. Paris’s eyes scan over my naked form and I can see the inner turmoil play across his handsome face. “You know, denying you’re alpha nature, suppressing it,” I start walking towards the bathroom. “Is a very bad thing to do.” I look back over my shoulder at him and he’s already standing beside the bed, the coffee disregarded.
“Yeah it is a bad thing to do isn’t it?” He repeats back at me checking out my ass and legs.
“Maybe you could start that new rule for the day after I’ve had a shower?” I turn back around and walk into the bathroom. Knowing I will be joined by my alpha shortly.
25
We make record time in getting to New Orleans. “Mom phoned ahead and arranged everything for us. With were we’re staying.” Paris says to me as he slows down driving into the French quarter of New Orleans. Paris pulls up at our hotel and it’s a hundred times better just from the outset, than our motel stop over from the night before.
“Careful, I’ll begin to like being spoilt.” I murmur as he keeps the car running and opens the driver side door chuckling as he steps out. He walks around to my side and opens the car door, offering me his hand as I too step out. Before tossing the car keys across the bonnet at the valet.
“You really must learn to enjoy the good things in life. Like a D’arenberg.” Paris says taking my hand as we walk into the hotel lobby. From the outside it looks like a boutique hotel, but the interior makes me think that’s very deceptive and it’s quite modern, and luxurious. Bright colors on the walls and big paintings.
“You’re mother has figured out my style.” We head over to the reception desk to check in.
“Mr and Mrs D’arenberg, you’ve been expected, welcome to the Vieux Carré, New Orleans, we do hope you enjoy your stay with us.” The receptionist says to both of us before we’ve even said we’re checking in.
My nostrils flare and I pick up her scent immediately. She is wearing what is called a natural deodorant, that has no alcohol or parebens in it. And as a result it leaves her werewolf scent available to be picked up upon, easily. Not masking a scent, is a good sign. And I figure in my happy state, I dropped a bit of caution that I’d normally have anywhere new and foreign to me, if she scented us before we hit the reception desk, then it would mean, she is either especially skilled or an alpha werewolf.
I haven’t met many female alpha werewolves in my time. Other than my older sister, Marion D’arenberg and Gabby Colton. And if she’s an alpha werewolf, I wonder why she is working on a reception desk in a hotel. That part doesn’t make sense to me. Sure packs work differently all over the country, but it’s near impossible in my opinion that you’d ever see an alpha werewolf wasting so much skill in such a menial job like a receptionist. My suspicion is aroused and I realized, I haven’t tuned in to the conversation Paris and the receptionist have been having as swipe cards are handed over to Paris.
“Thank you.” Paris finishes up and taking my hand again, we walk towards the elevators.
“I think we have enough time to hit the shops.” Paris says pressing the elevator button. “We’ll go down to Magazine street, get some fresh clothes, and you’ll buy up on lingerie and then dinner, how does that sound?”
I frown. “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned.” Paris glances at me.
“Problem?” The elevator dings and the doors open. Paris waits for me to enter first.
Stepping in I say “Well if we’re going to do all that, why are we even going up to our room, I mean, we don’t have any luggage. We could just leave now.” It’s a short ride to the second floor, where we again step out into the floor.
“We could.” Paris agrees as he finds out room and slips the security card into the door. “Or I could make love to you first.” He says opening the door and waiting back. I go to step forward and he pulls me back.
“What?”
Paris lifts me up into his arms. “Carrying over the threshold.” He grins as he turns us sideways and walks into the room with me in his arms, laughing. Kicking the door behind him with one foot. Life is good and the suspicion I had downstairs flitters out of my head as my husband carries me to the bed in our room and lays me down.
“So traditional, who knew.” I murmur back at him as he leans above me and dips his head, to run the tip of his nose along my neck, from shoulder to ear.
“Some things are worth doing right.” Paris murmurs as he starts kissing my collar bone and unzipping my dress at the same time. He slips my dress from me with ease and pulls my breasts from the bra, licking the nipples and grazing his teeth over them. “There is something I would like to do.”
“What’s that?”
“How’s the view from the balcony?” He grins back at me. As nice as the hotel room is, and clean and modern, its still a confining space and we’ve been in enough confined space for the last twenty two hours. Paris pushes back off the bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and undoing his pants, nodding a head at me, to go check out the balcony, stark naked save for my boots. I get off the bed and walk over to the room to floor glass door and slide it open, it’s warm outside and our balcony overlooks the French Quarter.
“We’ve got a great view” I say back over my shoulder at him.
A view down the full length of the street, but we’re still far enough back from the action, that I don’t have to be completely self conscious about being looked upon for my nakedness. Paris comes up behind me, the body heat radiating from him warms me without him even touching me.
“Put your hands on the railing.” Paris says lightly directing my legs into a wider, stance with his leg.
I do as I’m told, and look back over my shoulder at him and he catches my lips against his and kisses me hard and passionately, the same time as he thrusts quickly into me. Pulling our lips apart to gasp for air. Our love making is not ferocious like it was at the motel, it’s more controlled and leisurely. Paris thrusts deep and slowly and I feel every inch of him inside me, exciting me. He slips a hand between us and teases my clit with his fingers.
“My alpha.” I mutter looking back at him.
“Come at will B.” He says back at me increasing the rhythm of our love making. In other words I don’t have to beg for permission to come for him. He just wants to take his time and create waves of pleasure in me and watch me loose my control. Which in all honestly, when we’re loving like this, isn’t at all hard to do. I feel like for all the work on control, that Paris has done with me, I still have on a sliver of it, compared to him. Paris is a
master of control and controlling. His hands slip up to my naked breasts and he pinches my nipples, kissing my neck.
“Feel that air hitting your skin, my cock pulsing inside you,”
“Oh god stop talking like that,” I say breathlessly.
“My balls slapping your ass, the smell of your sex, scenting the air around us. Making me harder that I thought was possible.”
“or I’m likely to shift when I come.” I pant as he picks up the pace of his thrusting.
“No shifting B, not yet.” Paris whispers in my ear before planting a kiss on it. “Have to get you to the shops to buy that lingerie for me.” He says licking the shell of my ear and increasing the friction on my clit.
I groan and grip the railing. “Why do you fight coming for me B?” I can’t find the words to answer him, and then he does that thing, with our power, that I once again haven’t realized he’s been doing. He thrusts hard and deep and lets go of his grip on our power and it blankets us, washing over us as he fucks me faster with the sensation of it.
My body is molten hot and at a precipice of bliss, I rise up in my boots, onto my toes and Paris holds onto one breast as he works fast to race the power to his own orgasm. Paris comes hard and fast inside me, too late, I come after him, my orgasm rocks me. I need more than the railing to support me. and he wraps an arm around my waist to stop me bending too far over the railing, as his cock continues to throb, spurting him inside me as I clench and grip and throb around him. And just when I feel a familiar flutter, that would normally lead on to the start of a shape shift, A cool curtain of power, washes over me. The alpha ability known as influence. Paris, stopping my shift from happening.
It’s only when we start to pull apart, after his seed is spent, my breathing is coming under control and he slips out of me, softly, that I return to the world around us and feel heat hit my cheeks when I see, a shadowy figure in a window, in what looks like another hotel room, adjacent to ours, move behind a curtain. I turn around and Paris, kisses my lips, slipping is tongue deep in my throat caressing me as he pulls me in close to him, and again picks me up into his arms, carrying me back into our room.
26
Surprisingly, we end up leaving our hotel room. Now that we have ourselves under control, so to speak. The bar we chosen to have some night caps in is full of people, music is playing and the atmosphere is a happy, jovial one. Paris puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me to the bar with him.
“Hi, one beer and one white wine,” He says to the bar tender. I turn around to look around us at the scenery. It’s just a regular night in New Orleans, no special occasion, no festival is happening, and yet there is so much happiness in this room. I wonder why everyone’s able to be so happy. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking. Paris hands me my drink as they are served up to the bar.
“Thank you,” I smile up at him.
“No, thank you,” He replies back at me with a smirk handing over cash to the bar attendant. We’ve already done some shopping and he made me spend up big on lingerie. We both know how that’s going to end up, probably all of it torn before the end of our sweet honeymoon.
“Whatever makes you happy, husband.” I reply raising my wine glass to him.
“Lovely wife.” He says back at me chinking his glass with mine. Maybe New Orleans is working it’s magic already, I feel like smiling so hard, that it never comes off my face. I’m not sure I ever pictured myself married or thinking that far ahead. I certainly never pictured myself with someone as amazing as Paris D’arenberg. And our relationship, is something that I would never have guessed could be. If anything, Paris probably should’ve been paired with my sister Bodil. Alpha to alpha, two uniting packs and all that political bullshit. But Paris is more of a rebel than most of his previous pack counterparts. And it turns out, beneath all the little girl exterior I give off, I’m actually an agitator hence, rebel too.
“What are you thinking?” Paris asks me sipping his beer. “You’ve got this seriously wicked glint in your eyes right now.”
I laugh lightly and duck my head before looking back up at him. “Just thinking about us and how we came to be. Pretty cool actually.”
“You mean Seattle?” My eyes widen as I remember, being rescued and whisked away from a fight, by Paris.
“Which time?” He asks as I sip my wine while we continue to stand at the bar, me resting with my back against it, leaning back on my elbows, and Paris standing to the side of me, close and buffering me from those waiting to get to the bar. “When was it you think we came to be? Before New York or that night I got pissed about seeing Conall drag you into those nightclub toilets, or when you broke up with him?” He asks curiously.
“Hmmm,” I think about it. “I need to think about this. When was it for you?” I ask turning the tables on him. “Seattle, or lunar week?”
“Hmmm,” He responds back with a closed mouth smile. And we both laugh, enjoying one another’s company. I take another mouthful of wine and start to look around us again. It’s very comfortable in this bar. “At the house in Brooklyn, I think that’s when things shifted and we both knew.”
I nod my head. “I would agree with your assessment.” We chink drinks again and I look around the room before us and I can feel my happiness slip from my face as my eyes land on a familiar looking site, on the far side of the room. One I was most definitely not expecting to see, on my honeymoon and most definitely not in New Orleans, considering he lives in New York.
“What’s wrong?” Paris asks and I wonder if I should tell him or just get us out of there before we’re spotted by the other party. The other party that will no doubt, piss Paris off and ruin our otherwise lovely little evening out. He starts to turn around as I reach for him. “Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He growls in a low voice of anger, spotting Booker Parish across the far side of the room. He turns back around to me “What the fuck is he doing down here?” Ever since Booker hit me, he claims in accident, in a club back in Manhattan, and I hit the ground. Paris has all but abandoned his friendship with Booker Parish, the lycan he met, before he met me. All because of me.
My eyes go wide “How would I know?” I blurt out back at him. “I didn’t invite him, hell I didn’t even tell him about the pack run, although, he did, uh, find out about it and call me to say he’d”
“What?” Paris looks at me and then reigns back in his initial anger and takes a few deep breaths. “When did he call you and why didn’t you tell me?”
“Yesterday, he called before you picked me up. I think He found out through Hooper because of Thane doing the run.” Paris is face is hard and looks very unhappy now. And I wonder if it bothers him that one of my brothers is dating Booker’s younger brother. I don’t think it does, except when these type of communications and interactions crop up.
“So,” Paris says leaning into me “Does he still play his part of the good pack lycan, or does he want what he’s always wanted and still can’t have?” I suck in a breath. That’s a very perceptive view point, I thought I’d always been quite skillfully subtle in my conversation about Booker with Paris. “Alright, you know what, I’m going to go over there and find out what the hell he’s doing down here.”
“Paris, just don’t.” I say grabbing his arm tightly. “Just, you know, stay with me. Keep it about us, and ignore him. And maybe he won’t even,” I can’t finish the sentence because my eyes are tracking Booker Parish as he weaves through the crowd, looking at me, heading straight for us. “He’s on his way over.” I mutter in a low voice. Paris picks up his beer and takes large gulps and I feel uneasy. This is not going to go down well. Just like that, Booker Parish has ruined the start to our evening.
Booker Parish. Six foot three, as big as Paris, brown eyes and dark hair, he’s not wearing his usual uniform of dark colors and leather jacket. It’s quite a change of pace for Booker. I’ve never really thought he was into fashion to care about it beyond functionality. But now he cuts quite a figure in the bar. He’s wear
ing a short sleeved white shirt with a bird in flight on the body of it. So out of character for what I know about Booker. And he’s wearing beige color long shorts, that are three quarter lengths down his legs. It’s like a holiday uniform. And a new thought occurs to me. What if he like us, bought a change of clothes when he arrived in New Orleans after a long car ride.
Werewolf Consort Page 12
