When he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, he released her from his lips, drawing to his knees as he undid his belt buckle.
When his pants finally fell around his knees, his erection sprang forth, the hard, rigid length more than ready for her. Her mouth formed a slight O shape at the sight of him, but he didn’t take the time to revel in her appreciation. He was too eager to be inside her.
Wes covered Naomi’s body with his own, the combination of his kiss and the warmth of her skin heating him from the inside out, as if the electricity between them had sparked a fire they were both helpless to extinguish. And he’d be damned if he wanted to.
Easing himself outside her center, he rubbed the tip of his cock over her folds. He gripped her hips, holding her steady as he sheathed himself inside her. She cried out, her walls wrapping around him as if they were made for each other.
“Fuck,” he groaned. She was tight and oh so sweet, and from the heat his tongue had created, she was dripping wet for him.
He thrust inside her, finding a steady, forceful rhythm that had her gripping the width of his shoulder blades, her nails digging into the skin.
“Wes,” she panted.
The sounds of her quick breaths filled with pleasure drew him closer and closer. Her pussy closed around him. His balls tightened with each stroke. As they both inched nearer to the brink, he leaned down, kissing across the delicate skin of her throat, then up to her gorgeous lips. If he had his way, those lips would explore every inch of him by day’s end.
“Come for me, Naomi,” he hissed in her ear, addressing her by her true name.
She came hard and fast, her pussy wrapping him in sweet velvet heat as she shook beneath him until within a few more strokes, his own release quickly followed. He spilled himself inside her, pumping her full with his seed.
When they finished, they both lay there, shaking and gasping in each other’s arms. As they stared up at the sky, reveling in their pleasure, both their bodies burning as bright and hot as the rising sun overhead, he found it hard to form sentences, words…hell, even coherent thought. There was only one thing Wes knew with all certainty: he wanted her again, and he wasn’t certain any number of times he bedded her would ever satiate his craving. She’d woken something in him he’d long thought dead, leaving him feeling ragged and frayed around the edges in a way he couldn’t wrap his head around.
He pushed onto his elbows beside her, propping himself up.
She broke the contact between them, a threat filling her voice. “If you leave now, don’t ever come back here,” she hissed.
He heard the hurt in her voice, felt it sharp and heavy in his chest.
She wasn’t talking about Maverick’s decree. He wasn’t even sure she’d overheard that in the clearing. No, she was looking at him now, her threat leveled solely on him. Because as many times as he’d saved her from near-certain death, in these times, the most intimate ones, he was always the one to walk away. To leave her.
This is only temporary, he reminded himself. Until she’s safe.
Until then, he’d have her as many times as he could before he reclaimed his logic, before reason told him he was digging himself into a deeper hole than he could never pull himself out of, until the dark shadow of his past consumed him again, and he realized the true extent of the damage he’d done.
If that meant only one day of true freedom, so be it. He would enjoy it to its fullest.
“Oh, I’m not leaving.” He couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything. Even if he had to risk his home among the Grey Wolves to do so, he would protect her. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t rest until she was safe. From the Wild Eight. From the vampires. And finally, from himself.
“I swore I would keep you safe until the threat against you and your flock had passed, and now isn’t that time. I’ll leave for good when I’ve secured your safety. In the meantime, I have a plan. But first…” He pulled Naomi toward him, slipping his cock between her legs as he teased her entrance.
She bit her lower lip as he ground against her. “Again?” She grinned, a hint of surprise in her voice.
The scent of her hair caught on the breeze, filling him with hunger.
“I told you we were just getting started.”
He made certain neither of them slept until well past evening.
Chapter 12
“One more time, bud, and you’re outta here,” Naomi grumbled.
She glared at Black Jack. She’d already spent far too long this morning attempting to get a saddle on him to no avail, and now she’d caught him in the act, red-handed—or hooved, as it were. Those black eyes stared back at her with all the innocent surprise of a small child with his fingers caught in the cookie jar, despite the fact that the horse was reared up on his hind legs in a clear attempt to mount and hump the filly she’d been riding only moments earlier. She’d managed to drop her herding stick, again thanks to Black Jack, and had to dismount, which she now recognized for the ploy that it was.
Apparently, the horse fancied himself as much of a stud as his cowboy wolf of a rider did.
When Wes had left this morning to enact his plan to ensure Naomi and her ranch’s safety, he’d left the ornery beast in her care. After Black Jack had refused to take up residence in her stables, she’d had no choice but to bring him out along with one of her workhorses to round up the cattle. Thanks to her little rendezvous with Wes and the Grey Wolves, she was well behind on bringing the cattle in closer from out in the pastures. She needed to keep them close as their ship date to market drew nearer. The closer they were to plenty of feed and water, the less shrinkage when they were taken off their feed and water for a few hours to head to market. Too much excrement shrinkage led to a reduction in weight. Less weight, and her profits would see a significant drop—and the last thing this ranch needed was to lose any profit.
Black Jack lowered onto all fours again, trading his look of innocence for a pissed-off huff. The filly, unaware or maybe just unperturbed by Black Jack’s advances, stood by idly, flicking her tail. Her ears pricked up in interest as she stared off into the distance.
From the look in the horse’s eyes, Naomi knew there was a stranger on her ranch before he’d even called out her name.
“Naomi Evans?” a male voice called out.
She turned to find some young pretty boy with a clean-shaven face and a dress Stetson riding on one of the ranch’s four-wheelers. Per her and Wes’s plan, she’d been expecting him, and she’d instructed her ranch hands to send him out into the pasture where she was working.
The man dismounted the four-wheeler and sauntered toward her with an extended hand. “Quinn Harper.”
She shook his hand, sizing him up. Quinn Harper. A man Wes told her was a hunter for the Execution Underground. As part of his plan to ensure her safety, Wes had instructed her to set up a meeting with Quinn. She knew that Quinn’s group was hell-bent on protecting humanity against supernatural creatures at any cost. Supernatural creatures like Wes himself.
Black Jack snarled behind her, clearly displeased by the hunter’s presence.
She ignored the horse and addressed Quinn. “Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice.”
“So what led you to contact me, Ms. Evans?” Quinn shoved his hands into his pockets and got straight to the point.
One of the nearby herd let out a long, drawn-out moo. The cows ambled around, confused, having been herded by her to this spot only moments earlier.
Naomi turned her attention from the herd back to Quinn. “Well, as I told you on my phone message, I have a vampire problem.” She’d rehearsed this script well with Wes before his departure.
Quinn nodded. “I remember. They’ve been exsanguinating your flock, but that’s not what I mean.”
She grabbed her canteen of water from the filly’s saddle and took a swig, someth
ing to distract herself. “And I’m not sure exactly what you do mean.”
He pegged her with a hard stare that wasn’t the least bit pretty boy. The look screamed accusation and suspicion. “I mean to say, how is it that a human rancher like yourself came into the knowledge that vampires exist?”
She turned away momentarily, eyeing the herd as if she were concerned they were going to make a break for it, which she wasn’t. The question threw her for a loop.
The hunter continued. “It’s my experience that unless you have a loved one who has been killed by a supernatural, my organization doesn’t make a habit of sharing their secrets, let alone their contacts. I know that’s not the case here. We don’t have a file on you, which means someone had to spill to you. So was it another human or one of those monsters?”
Her mouth went dry. She’d never been a very good liar. She downed another sip of water, buying herself a moment of time. Finally, she cleared her throat. “I’m a resourceful rancher, Mr. Harper. When something’s cutting into my profits, I’ll stop at nothing to hunt that something down. I have my ways, and people talk.” She took another long sip from her canteen, though she wasn’t particularly thirsty.
“And who did you talk to, Ms. Evans?”
There was no fooling this guy. Instantly, she regretted having him come here. She knew it was all a part of Wes’s plan. But with the way this hunter pried, if she didn’t watch her words carefully, Quinn would find out everything he could about her, and likely Wes as well. Did the Execution Underground arrest humans for consorting with supernatural creatures? She cursed herself for not asking Wes before they’d parted ways.
Damn if she hadn’t stepped boots deep in shit on this one.
All because she’d had to free that wolf from her trap.
The hunter’s blue-green eyes stared at her, urging her with silent aggression to give up her source.
“I’d prefer not to say.” No point in beating around the bush any longer.
In the background, Black Jack gave a rather satisfied whinny. How a horse could manage to look smug, she’d never know.
Quinn frowned. “A supernatural then.”
She lifted one shoulder in a light shrug as she fiddled with the herding stick in her hands. It was the same shrug she’d given her brother when they were kids and he’d asked where she’d hidden one of his toys when he was being a nuisance, or nowadays when he was trying to run the family ranch his way.
“Suit yourself,” Quinn drawled. “I would have pegged a ranching woman like you as more sensible, not the type to risk her life for some thrills and a quick bang with one of those monsters.”
She stabbed her herding stick into the earth beneath her feet. That was it. “We’re done here,” she said. She turned and clicked her tongue, signaling her filly to come to her side. The horse followed her command. Wes could find another way to get to the Wild Eight that didn’t include her standing in the middle of her pasture with some pretty-faced ass who felt entitled enough to insult her seconds after they’d met. “You don’t know me, and I won’t be insulted. This is my land. See yourself out.”
She moved to mount the filly, but his hand grabbed her wrist. Within seconds, she had the blade stored in her hip holster in hand as she pushed the knife against his side. “If you value your life, you’ll take your hands off me,” she hissed.
His eyes widened. She’d underestimated him. From the strength in his grip, he was more than some pretty boy, but from the surprise on his face, the feeling was now mutual. He released her wrist. “I’m still interested in talking with you, Ms. Evans. Something tells me you have a very interesting story to tell.”
She shook her head. “Don’t patronize me.”
“No offense meant, miss. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
She eyed him with suspicion.
“No sources necessary, Ms. Evans. Just tell me what’s going on with this vampire problem of yours.”
She did. Just as she and Wes had discussed, conveniently leaving out all the parts involving Wes and the Grey Wolves and how she’d been attacked by the Wild Eight. She highlighted how the vampires had been preying on her flock, as if that was the sole problem she faced.
He listened with keen attention, his eyes never leaving her face as she recounted her story. When she was finished, he stepped back and released a hefty sigh as he stared out over the vast land of her pasture. “Sounds like you have yourself a pest problem,” he said.
She frowned. She didn’t appreciate the casualness of his tone, as if vampires threatening her life and her livelihood were no big deal. As if he’d seen worse. He likely had, but that didn’t matter. “I just want my land and my home back, Mr. Harper. I want to be safe as I sleep in my own bed at night.”
He nodded. “Understood. We’ll see what we can—”
“No,” she said. “That’s not good enough.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Ms. Evans? I can’t help you unless you’re truthful.”
“I want the Execution Underground’s full protection for my life and my ranch, and I’m willing to pay.” She pulled the piece of paper from inside her coat pocket, as Wes had told her to do, and held it out in front of him. She felt like a traitorous woman in a mafioso movie, cutting a deal with the mob boss. “Inside you’ll find the location of the Midnight Coyote Saloon. I’ll take you there myself.”
According to Wes, the Midnight Coyote Saloon was a western bar frequented by supernatural clientele only, including some of the worst supernatural baddies around these parts. No humans knew the location, and any human hunter in his right mind would go crazy to get his hands on the clientele in that place.
The cords of Quinn’s throat strained as he swallowed, and his nose flared slightly on the intake of breath. His gaze fell to the paper and remained there. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d do anything for that information. He reached out his hand.
She pulled the paper back. “Not until you promise my protection. Not just against the vampires, but against any supernatural that may come toward me.”
He looked up at her. For once, his eyes weren’t judging. They were soft with human understanding as if he finally realized how serious her situation was. “You have a lot bigger problem than vampires, Ms. Evans.” It was a statement, not a question.
She didn’t confirm or deny it.
“They’re not like you and me, you know. They may look human, sound like humans, but they’re anything but. They’re more aggressive and violent than you can imagine. Most of them don’t have a shred of humanity in them.” His face darkened, and suddenly, those eyes didn’t seem so light and pretty.
She held little doubt he’d seen some horrible things.
When she didn’t respond, he continued. “If I’m going to offer you all the Execution Underground’s protective resources, I’m going to need something more from you.”
She gripped the filly’s reins, the sturdy strength of the leather offering her the support she needed. Suddenly, she was unsure of herself. Wes had insisted that the location of the Midnight Coyote would be more than enough. Depending on what this hunter asked of her, this could be a deal breaker, and then where would that leave her—and Wes, for that matter? He’d already drawn his last straw with Maverick by pursuing this when Maverick had told him to let it go. There was no going back to the Grey Wolves for him now. They were already in too deep.
Quinn returned to the four-wheeler to retrieve a briefcase he’d brought with him. She’d been so focused on the hunter himself that she’d failed to notice it before. He removed what looked like a plain manila envelope—some sort of file, if she wagered a guess. The manila folder stretched thick with paper, practically a book’s worth.
He beckoned her over to the four-wheeler, and she followed, before he dropped the file onto the vehicle’s seat between them.
“I need you to look at a photo and tell me if you recognize this man. Share with me anything you know about him.”
The tension inside her chest lifted. She could do that. How hard could it be? From the information she’d provided, he likely thought she was far more entrenched in the supernatural community than she actually was. The chances were high she wouldn’t even know the individual. “Deal,” she said.
Black Jack snarled. She shot him a disapproving look. The stubborn, ornery horse was far too well matched to his mangy wolf of an owner.
Quinn smiled. “Good. We have a deal then.”
He reached across the off-roader, and they shook hands again. She passed the slip of paper she still held toward him. He stored it in the front pocket of his shirt and flipped open the file on the four-wheeler’s seat. The first image immediately caught her interest.
She didn’t hesitate to point to the image. “He’s been to my ranch before. He told me he was an investor.”
Quinn shook his head. “Criminal is more like it. That’s Donnie White. Werewolf and current packmaster of the Wild Eight.”
A lump lodged itself in her heart. Wes had suspected her of consorting with the Wild Eight when they’d only been desecrating her lands. If he found out she’d nearly done business with their packmaster, she feared he’d turn tail and run in the other direction. To think she’d been standing across from her enemy—an animal—and she’d never had a clue.
Quinn cued up a second photo, and Naomi gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth in an attempt to cover up the sound, but he’d heard it.
“Do you know him?” Quinn leaned halfway across the ATV now, shoving an excited finger toward the image in the file.
Naomi’s heart leaped inside her chest, thumping in a rhythm that echoed in her temple. For a long moment, she couldn’t breathe. She shook her head. “No, I don’t know him,” she lied.
Inside the file, a photo of Wes, blood dripping from his mouth, wolf eyes full of rage, stared back at her. He looked feral, monstrous, inhuman. Everything this hunter thought him to be, and everything she had thought he wasn’t.
Cowboy Wolf Trouble Page 17
