What A Wolf Dares (Lux Catena Series Book 2)

by Amy Pennza

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. She started to drape an arm over her chest.

  “Non.” Moving slowly, he grasped her wrist in a gentle grip and moved her arm away. “Please don’t hide from me, sweetheart. You’re so fucking beautiful; I just want to stare at you.”

  She blushed, but she let him maneuver her arm back to her thigh. “I’m heavier than I’d like to be. My mother’s always showing me new diets, but nothing seems to work. I’m just not built like other females.”

  She was absolutely correct about that, and she didn’t even realize how perfect she was. Most wolves, male or female, were tall and sinewy, with an athlete’s build. Sophie turned that stereotype on its head. Maybe she wanted a flatter stomach or slimmer thighs, but to him she was just this soft, delicious feast—a living, breathing dessert.

  And, damn, but he had a sweet tooth.

  The logs popped and hissed. He lowered himself to the rug and propped on one elbow. Then he crooked his finger at her. “Come here.”

  She scooted forward on her knees, her breasts swaying. When she was close enough to touch him, she stopped, obviously uncertain.

  When she’d spoken of Asher’s abuse, she said he held her down from behind and bit her shoulders. “When he bit me, he always said he wanted to make sure I could see it.”

  Fucking bastard.

  Remy reached up and cupped her breast again. Immediately, her nipple rose under his touch. “Do you want me, sweetheart?”

  The scent of vanilla swirled around them. “Yes,” she whispered. A sweet blush spread down her neck and chest.

  Then she’d have him. He stretched out on his back, one arm under his head. He gave her breast another stroke, then took her hand and tugged her toward him.

  She understood his prompting because she straddled him, settling her hips over his thighs and bracing her palms against his belly. His cock stood up between them like an arrow, the thick shaft bobbing. As her thighs parted, the heady scent of vanilla flooded his senses.

  What a fucking view. He stared down the length of his body, his gaze on the soft, wet flesh between her legs. Her clit peeped between plump lips, the pink nub standing proud outside its sheath. He lifted his gaze to hers.

  “Can I touch you there? Blink once for yes.” If he didn’t give her an option for “no,” maybe she wouldn’t use it.

  To his everlasting gratitude, she lowered her lashes once.

  He reached between their bodies and traced the lightest circle around her clit.

  She tipped her head back and slid her eyes shut, a groan slipping between her lips.

  Christ, she was wet. His fingers slipped against her clit, her lips. He delved just inside her opening, gathering more, then painted it over her folds.

  She spread wider, until her damp sex touched his thigh.

  His heart pounded, and his cock throbbed. At this rate, he wasn’t going to last more than a few seconds. He spread her juices over his shaft. His balls tightened, and he gritted his teeth.

  Sophie lowered her head and opened her eyes. She seemed to understand his struggle, because she lifted her hips and positioned her entrance over his cock.

  Lust roared through him like a fire that’s just been given a blast of fresh oxygen. Gripping his slippery cock, he bit his lip as she lowered her sex onto the head, feeding him into her inch by inch, her pink lips stretching over his shaft, straining to accommodate him.

  Hot. Damp. More. Hot. Words flickered through his mind like scenes from a movie flashing by in fast forward. The middle of his shaft filled her, stretching her wide, and she groaned again, this time with the slightest glimmer of discomfort.

  In that moment, staying still was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Every instinct urged him to thrust up, to seat himself in her hot clutch. But he clenched his jaw and waited for her to adjust to him.

  After a second, she continued her slow descent. He closed his eyes as heat enveloped his cock, and what felt like a thousand tiny muscles gripped his length.

  When she’d taken him fully inside her, they moaned together. His balls pressed against her ass, tucking between her cheeks.

  Palms on his abdomen, she rocked gently on his shaft.

  Pleasure seized him, rocketing from his cock through his entire body. Her breasts swayed over him, and he reached up and captured her nipples, pinching the hard tips, tugging her forward until she leaned over.

  “That’s it, baby,” he said in her head. “Let me taste you.”

  She gasped and moved her hands to his shoulders, then leaned forward until her breasts dangled. He cupped one plump swell and guided the pink tip into his mouth, sucking hard.

  Sophie jerked, her hands digging painfully into his muscles.

  He teased the peak with his teeth, grazing her. She rewarded him by rocking harder on his shaft. Her position lifted her hips up and down, up and down, coating his cock with her juices. Wet sounds filled the air, punctuated by her soft grunts as she worked her body over him.

  He growled around her breast. “Not going to last much longer, chère.”

  She rocked faster. He released her breast and moved his hands to hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there.

  She sat upright. The change in position drove him deeper inside her, and her eyes widened. “Remy…”

  “I know,” he gritted. Gripping her hips, he bounced her on top of him, sending slapping sounds into the air with every thrust. After a minute, he met each descent with his hips, flexing his ass so he could drive into her.

  Her tits bounced. Her hair flew wild behind her. Sweat slicked her skin, glistening over her chest and belly. The ruddy blush on her breasts deepened, and she sobbed. “Yes…god, yes!”

  He saw the moment she came. She held his gaze, and her mouth opened on a breathless scream. A second later, her pussy squeezed his cock, gripping him like a vise.

  Pleasure gathered like a tight, bustling atom at the base of his cock…then exploded outward, sizzling across every inch of his body. He shouted and slammed her tightly against him, holding her in place while pump after pump of his released flooded her.

  She panted, shivering, her brown gaze on his. Little aftershocks rippled from her sex to his shaft, squeezing and releasing him, draining every last drop.

  Eventually, she slumped, and he caught her. He slipped out of her and rolled them both to their sides facing the fire. His heart thundered against her back. Hers beat so loudly, it was like a drum in the air.

  She let out a deep, contented sigh.

  He tucked her tight against him as his skin cooled. Whatever just happened, it was a helluva lot more than a fling.

  The problem was, did she know that?

  14

  Sophie startled awake, the echo of a sound in her head. It took her a second to remember where she was.

  Oh yeah, she was naked and lying in Remy’s arms on a bearskin rug. Her cheeks heated. The things they’d done…

  His arm draped heavy over her hip, and his fingertips brushed her belly. Behind her, his breaths were slow and even.

  How long had they slept? The fire had dwindled to embers, its orange glow the only source of light in the darkened room.

  Someone knocked on the door, kicking her heart into a furious rhythm. She recognized the knock as the sound that had jerked her out of sleep.

  Remy was instantly awake and standing before the fireplace before she even realized he’d moved.

  She scrambled to her knees and slung one arm across her breasts.

  “Easy,” he said, palms out. “It’s Dom.”

  She darted a look at the door. “How do you know?”

  He tapped his temple.

  Right. Telepath.

  “What time is it?” The blinds were down, but now that she was upright, she could see moonlight streaming around the edges, painting silver streaks on the hardwood floors.

  “I don’t know. Late.” The knocking came again, more forceful this time. Remy went still. He stared at the door with narrowed eye
s, clearly talking to Dom without words. After a second, he swore under his breath.

  “What is it?” She grabbed his sweatshirt and pulled it over her head.

  He walked to the sofa and used his toes to scoop up his jeans and fling them into the air. In quick, efficient movements, he shook them out and put them on, his spine arching in a graceful curve as he bent.

  “Remy?” She looked between him and the door. Her heart pounded harder.

  He didn’t notice, or if he did, he showed no reaction. He just nodded toward her crumpled sweats beside the rug. “Get dressed, and I’ll let him in. He’s got news you need to hear.”

  Oh no. Whatever “news” Dom had for her, it couldn’t be good. Otherwise, Remy would have just come out with it. Her hands shook as she stood and stuffed her legs in the sweats. Dom was going to know what she and Remy had been doing the second they opened the door.

  Remy made a soft, sympathetic sound. “Ah, chère, you’ve put your pants on backwards.” He crossed to her and clasped her upper arms in a gentle grip. A roguish lock of hair brushed his forehead as he lowered his chin and looked in her eyes. “Whatever Dom says, you’re safe here, yes?”

  “Y-yes.” Well, actually, she didn’t necessarily agree. He’d said the last part in a curious lilting way, his accent thicker than usual. Heat radiated off his bare chest, and she had the urge to burrow against it.

  He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and whispered. “Fix your sweats. I’ll go let in the big, bad wolf.”

  She was all thumbs as she shucked her sweats and flipped them around. Remy waited by the door until she was finished, then gave her a nod and opened it.

  Dom stood on the porch, a small duffel bag in one hand.

  “Little late for a social call, isn’t it?” Remy asked, his voice light.

  Dom shouldered past him. “You mean early. It’s almost five in the morning.” He stopped inside the door, as if he’d hit an invisible wall, and his nostrils flared. He glanced at Sophie before looking at Remy and murmuring, “You certainly like to make things complicated, don’t you.”

  Remy shut the door. “No more than you like being dramatic. Did you really need to walk all the way from the Lodge? We’re not Telepaths for nothing.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d hear me with the burnout.” Dom lifted the bag. “Besides, Lizette sent Sophie some clothes.”

  Sophie’s heart leaped. After a full twenty-four hours without a bra, the thought of underwear and real clothes was enough to make her salivate. She cleared her throat. “Please tell her I said thank you.”

  Dom’s expression grew serious. Well, more serious than usual. “You can tell her yourself.” He glanced at Remy, who also looked abruptly serious. “Both of you need to come to the Lodge immediately. Samuel Gregory and Hamish Benton are there.”

  Sophie’s stomach dropped. She raised a hand to her throat. “What? When—”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “You said I had two or three days.”

  Remy came to her. “Dom says Hamish is demanding to see you. He accused Max of holding you prisoner.”

  She let out a humorless laugh. “He’d know about that. I was little more than a prisoner when I lived under his roof.”

  “We need to move quickly,” Dom said. “Gregory and Benton are looking for any excuse to start a war.”

  According to everything she knew about werewolf politics, simply crossing the border without permission was an act of war. She shook her head. “I don’t understand. How did they enter the territory without Max knowing?”

  Dom was grim. “They flew into a small airport outside of Champlain. By the time our patrols intercepted them, they were only ten miles away from Penitentiary Gorge.”

  She was on Max’s side in this, but she had to acknowledge her father’s ingenuity. Almost as a rule, werewolves hated flying. Her mother said it was because their inner beasts disliked being physically separated from the land. Sophie was more inclined to think it had something to do with most wolves being control freaks who couldn’t stand letting someone else be in charge.

  Either way, no pack she knew of bothered to monitor the airports inside their territory. Air travel was part of the human world.

  Dom moved forward and extended the duffel. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re dressed.”

  “But…” She wanted to ask if she had time for a shower. Remy’s scent was all over her, and hers was on him. If she walked into the Lodge this way, every wolf within twenty feet would know she and Remy had slept together.

  Remy came to her rescue, his voice flowing in and out of her mind. “Just wash up in the sink as best you can. You’ve been staying in my cabin. If anyone says anything, we’ll explain it that way.”

  “Are you sure that will work?” She didn’t bother lowering her voice. Even if he couldn’t hear what Remy said to her, Dom probably had a good idea what she meant.

  Remy brushed her cheek. “Right now, we have bigger things to worry about.”

  Her stomach did a nervous flip. Facing her father was daunting enough. But dealing with both him and Hamish? She hadn’t seen much of her father-in-law when she lived in Vermont. Hamish had a habit of touring his territory, dropping in on his wolves for surprise visits, like some feudal lord surveying his lands. Hosting the Alpha was supposed to be an honor, but it sounded more like a nightmare to Sophie—especially with an Alpha like Hamish, who had a reputation for being harsh and quick-tempered.

  “We need to get going,” Dom said. “If it weren’t for Lizette’s influence, Max might have already challenged Gregory to a fight.”

  The thought of her father and Max facing off was enough to get her moving. Samuel Gregory was still a formidable opponent, but he was at least four decades older than Max. A challenge between Alphas only ended one way: with one of them dead. And if her father died, her mother died, too.

  She went to Dom and took the duffel. “I’ll be fast.”

  He nodded. As she hit the stairs, he told Remy, “It would probably help if you put on a shirt.”

  She didn’t hear Remy’s response, which probably meant they switched to mental communication. A little spike of jealousy poked at her. Most wolves dismissed Telepathy as useless, but it was pretty damn convenient at times.

  Like during sex.

  Heat blasted her cheeks as she entered Remy’s bedroom and moved to the bathroom. She flipped on the light, closed the door, and set the duffel on the ground. In the mirror, her reflection was flushed, her hair a tousled mess that made it look like she just rolled around a bed…or a bearskin rug.

  Holy shit, she had sex with Remy Arsenault on a bearskin rug. And not just any kind of sex. The ache between her legs was proof of that. When Remy had stood before her and stripped, her heart had nearly pounded out of her chest. All thought of good or bad, right or wrong, had fled. For the first time in her life, she forgot about being shy. Something about the way Remy looked at her made her think she didn’t have any reason to be.

  Somehow, she’d worked up the courage to tell him what she wanted. In a word, him. He seemed angry when she told him about Max’s warnings, so she made sure he knew she didn’t expect any kind of commitment from him. If she was just one in a long line of lovers, so what? From what she’d heard about him, it was worth it.

  Then a shadow had crossed his face, and he’d turned toward the fire. Doubt had crowded her mind.

  Had she completely misinterpreted his intentions? But that didn’t make sense. Men didn’t strip naked in front of women because they wanted to discuss the weather.

  Her apprehension had been so great, she’d drawn on her Gift without thinking, using enhanced speed to fly from the sofa to the fireplace, where he stood like a pagan god in front of the flames. Her hands had ached to touch him, to stroke down the broad planes of his back and maybe coast over the hard muscles of his ass..

  The man was a work of art. How could he ever want her?

  But then he’d turned…and when she stammered the beginni
ngs of an apology, he made it clear he really did want her.

  Yeah, he’d made it very, very clear.

  She gripped the edge of the sleek, modern sink and leaned toward the mirror. Her lips were swollen. The edge of her jaw was marred by a faint, red rash from Remy’s beard.

  “Crap,” she muttered. She turned on the cold tap and splashed water on her face. There was a stack of washcloths on a floating shelf, and she grabbed one and plopped it in the sink. As it gathered water, she stripped off her clothes, then bent and rummaged through the duffel.

  Thank you, Lizette. In addition to a few basic toiletries, there were three pairs of pants—two buttery soft black yoga pants and a pair of women’s sweatpants. There was also a heather gray tank top, a button-down flannel, and an oversize black sweater. The duffel also held a few sports bras and some panties still in the package. The last didn’t surprise her. In a species that regularly transformed from human to wolf, clothing sometimes got ruined. Most packs kept a stash of new clothing on hand.

  She grabbed the body wash from the shower and scrubbed under her arms and over her breasts, flushing when her nipples tightened from the cold. Remy had seemed to love her breasts, his green eyes lighting up every time he touched them. The size of her chest had always bothered her, but Remy had admired her with a reverence that took her breath away.

  She ran the washcloth between her legs. His eyes hadn’t been green when he studied her there. No, they’d shone wolf blue, the eerie color so vivid it had burned almost as bright as the fire beside them.

  Without warning, he spoke in her mind. “Hurry, love.” She yelped and dropped the washcloth, which landed on the tile with a wet splat.

  Here she was, fantasizing about their night together, when her father and father-in-law were ready to tear Remy’s territory apart. The thought was like a bucket of ice water on her desire. She toweled dry, then used the deodorant and lotion Lizette had provided. The more artificial scents she could slather on her body, the better her chance of smothering any trace of Remy.

  She dressed in yoga pants, the tank top, and the sweater. The clothing was clean, but it held lingering traces of Lizette’s personal scent—honey and something else… Sophie lifted the sweater’s collar to her nose and inhaled. It was something she’d smelled before, only on Remy—a kind of sensory kick, like the first gust of crisp air on a cold day. Come to think of it, she noticed it when she was around Max, too. That they shared a common scent made sense. Remy and Max were from the same territory. Lizette was raised by humans, but her mother had been sister to Remy’s father, who was born on the Hudson Bay in Quebec. What would Remy think if he knew Sophie had researched his family tree long before they met by the cars on her way to Vermont?