Seduced by a Cajun Werewolf

by Seduced By a Cajun Werewolf [MF] (v5. 0) (epub)

  “Who says I'm interested in them? Don’t let your jealousy think for you. What you saw was your cousin giving me the third degree, imbecile.” She pointed her finger at his chest.

  “You are my mate. Mine. Got that, petite?” He grabbed her upper arms.

  You don’t deserve him.

  She focused on Jules words and gathered her courage as she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. He didn’t let go. “So you keep telling me.” Her voice rose.

  “I apparently haven't gotten it through that pretty little head of yours!”

  “Just because we both have the same mark, doesn't mean we're meant to be.”

  Laurent looked as if she'd hit him. Or cut out his heart. And for the second time that night, she felt guilty. This was why Madame had taught her to block out her emotions. They sucked.

  His gaze searched her face and she felt him reading her mind again. “I’ll kill Emil for what he did to you.”

  “He's mine to kill.” She'd never had anyone defend her honor before, or even offer her protection. The mere idea should have been ludicrous. But…it wasn’t.

  “He's yours? So you are in love with him? Indebted to him.” Laurent backed away as if he'd been touching a beggar maid.

  Cayenne bristled.

  “I’ve never been indebted to him. And I certainly never loved him.” Her words hung between them, filling the space. And then, as if it were a rubber band, the tension of the day snapped and he pounced.

  They tumbled backward and landed on the bed. His strong hands ripped at her clothes, and she clawed him right back. His lips came down hard on hers, firm and punishing.

  Pent up emotions surged between them, adding to the white hot lust that had consumed them both since the moment they'd met on that muggy New Orleans street. She tugged at the zipped on her boots and he left her lips long enough to pull them off. Frantic for him, she used her hands and even her feet to push his jeans down over his lean hips. Truth be told, she’d been in lust since the moment she’d laid eyes on him two weeks ago.

  Longer than that really. Since he’d shown up in her dreams. Passionate dreams that left her hot, achy, needy, drenched in sweat.

  Her fingers plucked at the fabric of his shirt. He peeled off her tank top, tugged off her jeans, and made short work of her lingerie. Short seconds later, they both lay naked and panting.

  “Being your lover is going to become very expensive if you keep that up,” she said as he tossed another shredded pair of panties over his shoulder.

  He gave her a naught grin. “I can afford it.”

  With one hand behind her back and the other clamped over her hip, he tossed her further up on the big bed. Her heart skipped a beat as he surveyed her, head cocked to the side. His chest heaved in and out as he sucked in breath after breath and his smile lent a predatory gleam to his eyes.

  She shivered with anticipation as he crawled toward her. How could he look so predatory and vulnerable at the same time? It was the same look he’d given her when he’d first woken up tied to her bed. As if he knew her so intimately, would have her at any cost and was terrified of what the attraction might cost him.

  In that moment she decided there would be no more lies between them. No matter where life took her. Never again.

  Even though she didn’t deserve him, he deserved honesty. And right now, she had to be honest with herself too. Her body was greedy and wanton. Hot, soft, and already wet just looking at him.

  He pushed her legs apart. Her fangs lengthened as she watched the strong muscles ripple under his skin, saw the strong, steady heartbeat pulsing in his neck.

  “Perhaps if I drive you out of your mind with pleasure, you'll never want to leave my bed again.” His smile made her breath catch. He settled between her legs, his hot breath fanning her tender flesh.

  She already didn't want to leave but she couldn't tell him that. Not yet. And she wasn't far from losing her mind, of that she was sure.

  “Are you wet for me, petite?”

  She couldn't hide the evidence staring him in the face, so she bit her lip and nodded.

  “I thought so. You can't deny us this.”

  “No,” she croaked. Not when she wanted him so badly she was afraid she'd never be able to come without him.

  He held her legs apart and dipped his head between her thighs. The first touch of his tongue sent her hips launching off the bed. She moaned as he licked her clit with fast little flutters that tickled her with pleasure.

  He pressed his mouth against her lower lips, kissing, licking, and nibbling until she trembled on the mattress. Her insides, ready for release, quaked and coiled.

  Tension rolled off of him and seeped into her. He wasn't the gentle lover she remembered. In his place was a frenzied, passionate man. The man from her dreams who made love to her as if his life depended on it. A man on a mission.

  He drank from her. Devoured her. She was putty in his hands. And the look in his eyes said he knew it. Her body felt like it was made of gelatin, and it was all his doing.

  She was close. So very close. A few more thrusts of that talented tongue, and she'd—

  He stopped. She cried out, all pride gone, urging him to finish her off.

  “Admit it,” he said thickly. She lifted her head and stared down her body at him. “Admit you're mine.”

  “What?” He wanted to talk at a time like this?

  “My mate. Admit it.”

  “So close...” She stabbed her heels into the comforter and pressed her hips toward him.

  “Not until you admit you’re mine,” he demanded sharply. Sadistic.

  “I admit nothing.” Except that she could never go back to her former life. A life without Laurent. Without his touch. Without his voice. A life where she was nothing more than a hunter. A trained killer. A pawn on someone else’s chess board. But nothing she’d done in this life made her worth loving.

  Could she learn to love? Could she earn his?

  Laurent watched as her head thrashed from side to side. She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. It was a gesture of acceptance. And reluctance. A moment of truth.

  Her orgasm was only a few strokes away, and they both knew it. Right now, he'd bet, she was ready to kill for it. He let his teeth gently scrap over the little nub of flesh that would be her undoing.

  He was determined to win her over. She might not believe in their love, but she couldn't deny their chemistry or how much she wanted him. Her juices flowed for him. Her nipples were hard, little rosy peaks. And her body was taunt like a violin bow. She couldn't deny what her body told her.

  He slid one finger inside her slippery sheath and curled it forward. Her hips came off the bed and pressed that beautiful pink pussy into his waiting mouth. She cried out, obviously feeling the clutches of her orgasm.

  “Admit it. At least to yourself. You're mine. Aren't you?” Something inside him, something dark and dangerous, needed to hear the words tumbling from her lips.

  “Wolf!”

  He straightened his finger and let her flesh slide from between his lips. She was going to have to learn. He wouldn't allow any other men in her life. Nor would he allow her to walk away. From this. From him. She was his. He would never lay in bed at night waiting for her. Wanting her. Dying from the agony of losing her. Somehow he had to make her remember who she had been. What they’d had.

  “What the hell are you waiting for?” she screamed, her voice bouncing off the wooden walls.

  He smiled up at her. “I told you, cheri. I want you to admit you're my mate. Mine.”

  “If I'm yours, then you're mine too, wolf.” She reached between her legs and rubbed her clit furiously. He gave her just enough time to stoke the fire inside her before clamping a hand around her wrist and pulling her fingers away.

  “Of course I'm yours, petite. What do you think I've been telling you?” Tired of this game, he straightened and stood at the end of the bed. Then he grabbed her ankles and pulled her toward him, flipping her
over in the process.

  “Laurent!”

  “Enough with the games, cheri. You want pleasure, and so do I.” He pulled her hips to the edge of the bed and covered her body with his, his front to her back. Sweat rolled down his spine as he pressed his cock against her lush, round ass.

  “You seem to like using that rapier tongue as a weapon, especially where I'm concerned.”

  All the fight left her, and she sagged beneath him.

  “I don't mean to hurt you,” she said, her voice muffled by the bed. Something in her tone, about the way she submitted reminded him of the girl she’d been. She was softening.

  “Then why do you?” He whispered the words against her cheek as he threaded his fingers through hers and enjoyed the feel of her curves snuggled beneath him. He’d enjoy it more once she finally submitted to him in mind and body.

  She sighed. “I'm used to being alone, Laurent. Single. Solitary. Watching my back and protecting myself. I'm not used to wanting anything. Needing anything. Feeling anything.”

  “And I make you want, need, and feel?” If his heart could have exploded, it would have. She answered by shimmying her hips against his, her delectable, soft skin rubbing against his erection.

  He slid his feet between hers and pushed her legs apart. She arched her back, and he knew it was an invitation for him to take her. She was open to him. Open and wet. He tilted his hips until the head of his shaft met the slippery entrance of her sex. Slowly, he pushed inside a fraction of an inch, gritted his teeth, and then pulled out. Over and over he teased her with just the tip and tortured himself.

  “Fuck me already,” she snapped, pushing back against him.

  “Are you sure? Are you ready to admit that I am your mate?” There was a long pause. He wondered if she'd agree with him, just so he'd slide inside her and give them both the release they desired.

  “I will try to be.”

  With a shout, he pressed inside her, stretching her. She moaned beneath him, and he groaned against her neck. She kept that sweet little ass high so he could slide in and out easily. And he did, over and over.

  She was hot and wet, and her channel clenched him, sucking him in. He growled low in his throat. The wolf in him wanted to complete the mating ritual. Her skin was so inviting; it tempted him. Begged for his love bite.

  “Harder,” she cried.

  Trying to ignore the call of the wolf, he turned his head, looked out the window, and thrust harder, faster. Until the bed was moving with them, creaking and scraping the old wooden floor.

  “Yes!” The pleasure in her shout drove him on. He'd never had such a hard time controlling his own release. Maybe it was their position, but he decided it was Cayenne. She was his other half. Her body called to his, demanding he give her everything.

  “So close. Laurent! So close. Don't—stop.”

  “Not…stopping.”

  Faster they climbed, his orgasm only a breath away. Her muscles tightened around him. Swift heat swept over his shoulders. He kept up the pace. Sank into her as deeply as he could. His jaws stretched, and his teeth sharpened against his will. His wolf was taking over. It wanted to mark her. Wanted to complete the bond.

  He licked her shoulder blade, and she shivered beneath him. Unable to stop himself, he closed his teeth over the tender place between her neck and shoulder and held on as she cried out. She thrashed beneath him, and he tightened his arms around her. Moments later, her orgasm claimed her, and her pussy tightened around his cock. Her cries turned to screams of pleasure, and he groaned against her skin as his balls tightened and he let go of his control.

  One final thrust into her spasming channel, and he came with a roar. His cock twitched and pulsed, spurt after spurt spilling inside her.

  Finally, the throbbing subsided.

  She let out an oomph as he collapsed on top of her, his breath ragged. His blood pounded through his veins.

  I will try to be. Her words whispered through his mind. He smiled.

  Drained, he pulled out and collapsed onto the bed. She pushed up further until her head was on the pillow next to him. She looked at him through those dark lashes, her eyes bright and blue.

  Surprise flickered through him when she rolled toward him and kissed his lips. Soft and sweet, it was a tender kiss that said what words could not. He rolled her onto her back.

  “You’ll have to forgive me for my jealousy, cheri.” Cupping her cheek in his hand he stared deep into those eyes that mesmerized him.

  She hooked a hand over his bicep and placed the other over his heart. “Why would you think there was anything between me and Jules?”

  Laurent huffed out a short laugh. “Have you no idea how beautiful you are?” He rained kisses across her forehead, down her nose and then slanted his lips across hers. She returned his kiss, threading her fingers through his hair.

  Old uncertainties, bitter emotions warred inside him, threatening the euphoria. He battled them back and lifted his head. “I’m afraid my jealousy -- it’s a dreadful emotion I’ve dealt with for years -- where you’re concerned. Men used to flock to you. I’m sure they still do.”

  “As I’m sure women flock to you.” She studied him, her eyes flicking back and forth as she took in his face.

  “There’s only ever been one woman for me.”

  Her gaze swerved to his and she stared up at him for a handful of heartbeats. With her arm still wrapped around his shoulders, she pulled herself up. Her eyelids drooped and fluttered closed just as she lifted her mouth to his.

  He swept his tongue against her lips, seeking entrance. She opened immediately and wrapped her other arm around his shoulders. They moved against each other, all fury gone. In its place was a passion that took his breath away.

  “I can't believe you're still hard,” she whispered when he left her mouth to trail kisses down her throat. Their movements against each other were slow and searching. It was a dance...a slow dance.

  “I could make love to you all night, cheri,” his whispered and then proceeded to keep his word.

  Chapter Nine

  Standing in the kitchen just before sunset the next day, Cayenne wondered if she’d ever get used to being awake during the day. Even in the safety of the home it still felt unnatural. Unlike Laurent, she’d slept most of the day away.

  Her gaze wandered over the large, homey space. Like everything else about the Deveraux plantation, no expense was spared it seemed. She had little use for such a room. But Laurent was in a discussion with his brother and had suggested that Amanda could use some help.

  Angelica came through the side door, cargo shorts slung low on her hips and raindrops dotting her pink t-shirt. She smiled at Cayenne and dropped a basket full of leaves on the center island.

  "Herbs," she said as if that explained everything.

  Cayenne felt uncomfortable. She hadn't fed for two days. It had taken all her willpower not to drink from Laurent during this morning’s love making session. Over the years she'd learned to control her urges. To subsist on little blood. But she'd have to drink soon.

  Amanda backed out of the walk-in pantry, humming a tune Cayenne didn't recognize. She stayed frozen just inside the doorway, unsure what to do or say. She wasn't good with people. She killed people. Her promise to try to be his mate was coming back to haunt her in the bright of the day. Laurent was crazy if he expected her to fit in here.

  "Hi there," Amanda said in her sweet southern accent. She deposited an armful of groceries onto the island and leaned down to inhale the fragrance of the herbs. "Come on Cayenne, we won't bite."

  The little southern belle waved Cayenne over.

  "I'm not sure what I'm doing here," Cayenne said and took a step closer. They might not bite. But she did. Not that she would ever bite them. That wouldn't be good manners.

  "Hiding out from a bad ex, it sounds like," Angel said. Cayenne studied the other woman. Warm blond hair. Big expressive yes. A sparkling smile. She very much fit her name.

  "I don't know why La
urent insists we lay low," she said before she could stop herself. It wasn't like her to open up. Certainly not to strangers. But as Amanda smiled up at Angel, Cayenne realized it was hard to stay tight lipped around a woman like her. She seemed so natural and friendly. Feminine and unafraid. Everything the women Cayenne knew were not.

  "It's for your protection I imagine," the southern belle said as she started filling a large copper pot with water.

  Cayenne stepped farther into the room and tried not to let her annoyance show. "I don't need protection. Didn't Laurent tell you what I do for a living?"

  "You assassinate bad people," Angel supplied.

  Cayenne inclined her head in agreement.

  "Is it so wrong that he wants to protect you, Cayenne? He is your mate after all." Amanda glanced at Angel and Cayenne once again saw the longing in their eyes. Though they both shared an unbreakable bond with their men, they didn't have the predestined mark to prove it. They were not immortal. They would grow old and pass on. And Sebastian and Jules would lose them forever.

  Cayenne dropped her gaze to the brick floor and felt an odd stirring in the region of her heart. How sad for them. How awful to know that truth. And even worse, here she was in their kitchen, reminding them of the very thing they could never have and yet, so obviously wanted.

  "I suppose not," she said carefully. She knew that she didn't need Laurent's protection. Laurent probably knew it too. She gathered that he was buying time. Hoping to integrate her with his pack. Waiting for her to remember what they shared. For her to fall in love with him again.

  And that was the problem. She may never remember what they shared. But her body remembered. Her heart remembered. And every night when he filled her dreams she was a little more sure that what he told her was the truth. But even if everything was true, was she capable of love? Was she capable, after all this time and all her training, of opening herself to someone else?

  She watched as the other two women moved harmoniously around the kitchen. It was like a dance they'd performed a hundred times. Chopping vegetables, measuring ingredients, boiling pasta. The scene was terribly cozy.