by Kyle, Celia
She gingerly stepped out of the harness, one hand grasping Warren’s taut bicep for leverage. Yeah…leverage. He dropped the harness to the platform and gripped her shoulders, turning her into a yearning pile of mush as she stared into his eyes—what she could see of them, anyway.
“Persia, we didn’t build this spectacular treehouse just so you could sit in jail. If you get arrested, you have to know I’ll come after you, even if that means I get arrested too. That would leave the forest vulnerable. No one would be left to defend it from the bulldozers your dad is itching to bring in here.”
The urge to stand on her tiptoes and lay one on those luscious lips nearly overpowered her. Clearing the lust from her throat, she sidestepped him to put some much-needed space between them.
Then she smiled. “You keep surprising me, Warren.”
There was plenty of light to see his sexy grin. “Good. Hope that never ends.” Then he clapped his hands, dug around in his boxes of supplies and turned back to offer her a can. “Beer? After today, I know I need one.”
“No,” Persia glanced back to where the last bits of red glowed in the campers’ fire pits. “Eh, screw it. Gimme.”
She snatched the beer from his hand and sat on her sleeping bag, back against the tree. As the ice-cold IPA slid down her throat, she groaned with relief. A shot of tequila might have flooded her with warmth more quickly, but nothing beat a good beer at the end of a long day. Beer and chips weren’t the only things Warren had hauled up to the platform, which she discovered when he passed her half a turkey sandwich.
“Wow, you really came prepared.” She accepted the sandwich gratefully.
“What can I say? I’m a Boy Scout.” He dug around again in his stores and whipped out a faded, tattered Free Tibet! flag.
“Is that my—”
He grinned. “Yup! Thought you might like a touch of home.”
As they munched and drank their beers, another complication popped into Persia’s head. “What am I going to do tomorrow? I need to file that injunction first thing. If I don’t, we won’t have a chance in hell of beating my father.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. It’s not like this is the Ritz. Pretty sure you’ll be awake at the crack of dawn. I’ll call Zeke so someone can distract any deputies still on stake-out and I’ll stay here. No problem. But you’ll want to get your sweet ass back up this tree ASAP, just in case.”
Persia took a long draught of the bitter ale and winced. Not at the taste, but at what still lay ahead of her. “I just can’t stand the thought of that asshole winning again.”
She felt Warren’s eyes on her, studying her. “Mind my asking what’s up with your relationship with him? I don’t mean to be blunt, but it seems sorta fucked up.”
Persia snorted at his observation. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Where to start? She drained her beer and when she handed him the empty, it was instantly replaced with a fresh one. A few sips later, she finally had the nerve to continue.
“Honestly, it’s not really all that complicated. Sitting here in this tree, I see my life as two parts. The first half was when I was young and naive. Happy. Convinced my father could do no wrong, that he truly meant all the bullshit he spouted about doing good. Throughout my childhood, he encouraged me to be ambitious, to put all my energy and focus into my future. Looking back, a solid work ethic is the one positive thing he taught me. Of course, he couldn’t have known all my hard work would turn around to bite him in the ass.”
“And your mom?”
Persia sighed and drained her second beer just so she could talk about her mother. “She’s… around. Well, not really.” She sighed again, giving him an amused grimace. “It’s a whole deal. My dad’s talent is working hard. My mom’s is playing hard.”
Warren waited patiently as she figured out the best way to explain her twisted family dynamic. No one on this planet she was trying to save could ever accuse her of having a hard life. She’d grown up white, straight and more privileged than most. So many people had it so much worse than she could ever imagine. But, as the saying went, everyone had shit to deal with.
“We were never close, my mom and me. She always maintained a solid distance from me, both literally and figuratively. While Daddy worked his ass off, Mother traveled. It’s her passion. I think she only had me because Daddy expected offspring. After I was born, that was it for her. She took off on cruises, yoga retreats, European tours, you name it. For my sixteenth birthday, she flew me to Paris to go shopping and I hated every minute. If it’s not obvious, haute couture wasn’t made for my body type.”
Warren’s gaze traveled the length of her body, turning her insides to hot mush. “Looks pretty perfect to me,” he mumbled, barely loudly enough for her to hear.
“Anyway.” Her brain struggled to keep them on track while her body reminded her they were alone… in a forest… in a tree… with sleeping bags, chips and beer. “Mother likes luxury and Daddy… well, I guess he likes keeping her busy elsewhere.”
“So, were you close to your father growing up?”
“More than with Mother, but it was almost like a business relationship. From my birth, I was always Daddy’s Little Girl. He spoiled me some, I won’t lie, but mostly he taught me to follow in his footsteps. I think he was hoping I’d become a mini version of him.”
Warren choked on his beer and then chuckled, wiping his face dry. “Yeah, that didn’t work out so well for him. Did it? You’re nothing like him.”
Her heart warmed at that. “Thanks for that, but even I know we have similarities. But I’ll be honest, there was a time when my deepest desire was to be just like him. During Part One of my life. Part Two started when I learned the truth.”
Warren sat up a bit. “About what?”
“About him. My father. About what his actual business model looks like. During my youth, he’d been involved with all of these environmental agencies. If you can believe it, he pushed me to go into environmental law. As far as I knew, he was an esteemed philanthropist, the kind of wealthy man who uses his money for good causes. I held him on such a pedestal, he could have touched the sun.”
“What happened?”
“I’d just been hired as a junior associate at a well-respected environmental firm. My job was basically to stuff thousands of pages of documents into file folders in these massive shelves that moved with a push of a button. It was deathly boring, and the hours were grueling, but I loved it. I was on my way! One night, a bunch of us younger staff members went to happy hour at a nearby bar. When I broke off to hit the bathroom, this woman followed me and started chatting. Turns out she was a reporter, and I was completely unprepared for the bombshell she dropped on me. She told me, not so politely, about my father’s strong-arming tactics, how he only pretends to be environmentally conscious to keep the tree huggers off his back, that basically he was the exact kind of guy I wanted to fight against. At first, I thought she was just trying to pick a fight or something, but she had documentation and eyewitness accounts to back up her claims.”
“Damn, some happy hour that turned out to be.”
Even during a hard talk, Warren somehow managed to lighten her mood. “After that, my world flipped upside down. It all became clear. My father wanted me to be an environmental lawyer to help him, not the planet. He’d used his influence to get me the job, so the first thing I did was quit. The people there seemed dedicated to saving the planet, but I couldn’t allow my future to be tainted like that. Before he officially cut me off, I stopped taking his money. I used my last paycheck from the firm to buy Betty, and I’ve spent the last few years being a thorn in his side. And that’s pretty much my tale of woe. Are you crying yet?”
He chuckled and took her empty from her fingers. “I can definitely understand why you choose to use a different name.”
“Once I started making noise about him, it became hard to win people’s trust after they learned I’m the child of the monster we’re all trying to stop.�
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Warren’s thick, warm fingers found her empty hand and clasped it gently. “For what it’s worth, I trust you. One thousand percent, no matter what anyone else thinks. You’re a good person with a good heart.”
That heart picked up its pace in her chest at his touch and kind words. Not to mention the gleam of adoration in his eyes—although that could have simply been the moon peeking through the canopy.
“Thank you,” she whispered, barely able to choke out the words past the emotions consuming her. “That means… a lot.”
She’d never had an ally like Warren, and it felt nice. It felt even nicer that Warren was her ally, not some random guy she’d met at a protest. Which, of course, he was. Yet… he wasn’t. The confusing feelings needed to stop. She needed to focus, and not on herself. It was time to turn the tables and put the focus on him.
“Enough about me.” She couldn’t manage to pull her hand from his. It felt too nice. “What about you? What’s your family like? Please tell me it’s not as dysfunctional as mine.”
“Not even close. Pretty normal, really. Parents who loved us, a great sister, a tight-knit community, and friends I can truly depend on. I’d risk my life for any one of them, and I know in my soul the feeling is mutual. I may just look like a poor, dumb redneck, but in my personal opinion, I’m the privileged one here.”
Persia burst out laughing, sliding a few inches closer to him as her body shuddered. “I would have to agree with you there, Warren. I have no clue how that feels. The protesters I recruit come and go like the wind, so I don’t even have what I would consider to be real friends. I wonder if I’ll ever find a place that feels like home.”
Silence drew out between them so long she glanced over to him. The darkness did nothing to hide the intensity in his gaze.
“Maybe you already have.”
Her brain screamed for her to tell him to lay off the hard sell, but her mouth wouldn’t obey. All it wanted to do was press against those lips she’d daydreamed of. In that moment, it truly hit her that she liked Warren. A lot. Too much, even. And the dream of finally belonging somewhere—and with him to boot—was too tempting to ignore. For all his mysterious ways and his quiet, country boy persona, Warren was starting to feel…safe. Whenever they were together, it felt as if that was exactly where every decision in her life had led her. Like she belonged. Like she was home.
Chapter Thirteen
A blast of crisp, autumn air woke Warren with a start. It was still dark out, too dark to see anything except the pale moonlight glittering through the canopy. Instincts had him sniffing the air, but nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention. Except one thing.
Persia.
Finally coming awake and fully into his human senses, he slowly turned his head to find Persia’s back pressed up against his front, spooning him. Blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, he was happily surprised to find himself staring at the back of her head, her red curls splayed over her shoulder and his left arm, the same one on which her head rested. His right arm twitched, wanting to pull her tighter, but he didn’t want to wake her.
He wanted this moment to last forever.
The way her chest rose and fell under his arm, the faint smell of her shampoo under her more powerful and intoxicating personal scent, how her body fit so perfectly against his, despite the thick fabric of two sleeping bags between them. Dammit, he knew he should have zipped their bags together to make one giant sleeping bag!
Of course, she wouldn’t have put up with that, not last night, when she’d already been irritated with him. Honestly, he was surprised she hadn’t rolled him off the edge of the platform in his sleep. Good thing he’d built that railing.
Persia stirred, her ass pressing up against the spot that really didn’t need to be any more alert than it already was, yet he silently begged for more. He could have remained like that for the rest of the night, his cock thrumming against the sleeping bag, but she hadn’t finished moving in her sleep. Rolling around inside her bag, she snuggled up to his warmth, facing him, and then sighed peacefully.
In that moment, Warren knew joy. The simple joy of holding his mate, breathing her in, reveling in every inch of her without even touching her flesh. Whatever he might have felt about Chloe in the past was nothing compared to how he felt with Persia so close. Zeke and Val could scoff all they wanted, but he knew. He knew.
For no reason in particular—or maybe because somewhere deep in her unconscious, she felt their bond too—Persia’s eyes fluttered open. Even in the dark, he could make out the difference between her blue eye and her brown eye, and both stared at him with such profound vulnerability, his breath stopped in his chest. She’d never looked so open, so trusting.
Unguarded Persia.
A stray red curl drifted onto her cheek and Warren felt it was his duty to brush it back into place with his finger. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even stop staring up at him with that sweet expression, and he found the rest of his fingers cupping her cheek gently as his thumb brushed across her lips. Instead of pulling away or telling him to “slow his roll,” Persia allowed her eyelids to fall shut and released a whisper of a sigh. That was all the invitation Warren needed.
Warren ran his fingers through her hair, far enough to fist the glorious strands. He tugged her head back to expose the long line of her neck and she drew in a sharp breath, mouth falling open with her gasp.
He lowered his head and caressed her with his lips, peppering her with kisses and savoring her breathy sigh. He licked and tasted her, taunting them both when he gently worried her skin between his teeth. That earned him a sharp squeak and his heart raced with her obvious enjoyment.
He cupped her breast with his free hand, her nipple stiff under the thin fabric that separated them. She stroked him, her palm sliding across his chest and fingers curling to drag her nails over his taut muscles. Desire consumed him, the knowledge that she wanted him driving his need even higher. He breathed deeply and savored the scent of her arousal, the sweet musk luring his beast to the surface—encouraging and tormenting him.
Right about then he was grateful they hadn’t zipped their sleeping bags together—the fabric acting as a barrier to keep them apart. He still needed to tell her the truth about werewolves before he gave her the claiming bite. It was a plain and simple fact and now wasn’t the time for that conversation. But that didn’t mean he had to stop. As long as he didn’t fuck her—claim her—he’d be fine. Right?
He brought his lips to hers, capturing her mouth as he sought to drive her mad with kisses. She inhaled and tensed with the first kiss but melted a moment later and arched into his touch. She pushed to get closer and he savored her nearness. Their shared passion increased, kisses going from slow and lazy to harsh and aggressive—his tongue invading her mouth and taking what he craved. She pressed against him and they practically fought for power, the meeting of their mouths and shared touches growing more and more aggressive.
Persia released him and reached down, sliding along his front as far as she could within his sleeping bag. They struggled with the thick fabric, finding themselves at an awkward angle neither of them were willing to abandon. She seemed to know what she was after and she was going to get it. Her fingers brushed Warren’s thick shaft and then quickly wrapped around his length.
He stiffened further at her touch, the feel of her squeezing him. She explored his dick, from thick base to the bulging tip and back again. He felt as if his body showed off for her, thicker and warmer than usual, responding to her with more sensitivity.
Warren returned the favor without hesitation. He stretched his arm down into her bag, surrounded by her warmth until he reached her thighs. He stroked her and she changed position, opening her legs to give him a better angle—more space. He brushed her pussy and warm breath fanned his face when she released a delighted sigh. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. And he wasn’t about to let the sleeping bag remain in his way. Even if that meant losing her tou
ch.
He scooted forward and urged Persia to turn, firm yet gentle dominance that she submitted to without hesitation. She wasn’t a pushover by any stretch of the imagination. Knowing that he had earned her trust to let him move her suffused him with pride.
With one hand he cupped her breast and squeezed, brushing a thumb over the hard point of her nipple. She shivered with his touch and he transferred his gentle grip to her other breast, doing the same thing. He grinded his cock against her ass, spooning her with his heated body and rubbing his need against the mounds of her ass. He listened to every soft, breathy moan and groan, the sounds coming more frequently the longer he teased her. When the scent of her arousal nearly tossed him past the edge of his control, he gave himself permission to reach down.
He dipped his fingers beneath the waist of her panties, finding her folds slick and warm with her need. He let out a soft murmur, reveling in the feel of her, and she gasped when he teased her clit. He repeated the stroke, enjoying her pleasure. He could be domineering, but he didn’t want to torment Persia. He wanted to give her something she’d remember.
He stroked her pussy, teasing her slit with sensuous strokes as he familiarized himself with the landscape of her folds. He slipped a finger into her sheath and curled it ever so slightly. She shuddered in his caress—one hand going to her breast while the other clung to the sleeping bag and held tightly. A second, thick finger joined the first and he massaged her pussy, stroke after stroke.
He withdrew and brought his fingers to her clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and so very responsive to his touch. He made small circles with his fingers and she squirmed against him, pushing her ass snugly against his groin. When she whimpered and shuddered once again, he knew he’d found the golden spot. He grew more aggressive, rubbing her with a steady, unrelenting rhythm that had her panting and mewling for more.
He knew she grew closer to release, could sense her rising pleasure and that she rode the edge of orgasm. He could smell it on the air. Practically taste the clouds of bliss. His fingers grew wetter by the moment and Warren wished he’d already had the werewolf talk with her. He wanted to slide into her wet, willing pussy. Sink deeply and fill her with his—