by Moira Rogers
His head dipped to hers again, just as he twisted his hand and stroked her with his thumb.
“Oh!” Firm lips muffled her gasp, but he took advantage of her parted lips and kissed her again, his tongue stroking over hers in time with the irresistible movement of his fingers and the dizzying press of his thumb.
He whispered her name against her mouth and probed deeper, his hand rocking more firmly. Restless squirming found a focus as his fingers brushed the perfect spot, a magical touch that curled her toes and tightened her fingers until she knew she was yanking at his hair in her desperation. “There, right there, don’t stop—oh please don’t ever stop—”
Seamus ducked his head and closed his teeth on her neck with a harsh growl.
Light exploded through the room—or maybe just behind her eyelids, though she couldn’t remember squeezing her eyes shut. Every frantic sensation in her body pulled in tight, centering for one endless moment on the quick, almost rough circling of his thumb. In the next heartbeat it broke free, and she cried out, caught in the trembling grip of pleasure that rushed to the tips of her fingers and toes, only to retreat and do it again, and again, until nothing existed but joy and him.
His desperate groan vibrated against her throat, and he murmured encouraging words. “See? Good, Joan, so good.”
“Yes…” She gasped in a breath and shifted her grip to his shoulders, nails scraping against his skin as she tried to bring him atop her. “Now. Take me now. I need you now.”
He surged over her, his arms shaking as he braced himself above her and settled his hips on hers. “Careful.”
She felt nothing but his bare skin against hers, and it was a mark of how lost she was that she couldn’t remember him removing their pants. Later she might wonder, but now she followed instinct—human instinct, this time—and hooked her legs over his hips. “I’m strong enough to take you. Don’t ever think I’m not.”
“I know.” He moved closer, the hard head of his erection almost pressing into her. “You’re strong, and you’re fierce. You’re mine.”
Joan dug her heels into his lower back, not fighting the growl that rose from deep in her chest, and swept the rest of her manners away with it. “Do you want me to say it? Do you want me to beg you to—to fuck me?”
Seamus drew in a sharp breath and bit her, his teeth scoring her lip. “Don’t talk dirty when a man’s trying to take it slow, love.”
“If you don’t like the things I’m saying, I suppose you should find a way to make me stop.”
“Maybe I should.” He kissed her and pushed forward, entering her slowly.
Too slowly.
Discomfort was inevitable and unimportant. Nothing compared to the daily pain of shifting to a wolf, or even the recent sting of sacrificing blood for magic. Joan dug her teeth into his lower lip and rocked up, so hungry for the hot, intimate press of his body inside hers that she needed all of him.
Finally, he drove forward, burying his body completely into hers, and froze. “Jesus Christ.”
“See?” The word trembled, in spite of her attempt to sound as if the world wasn’t spinning out of her grasp. “You’re mine.”
His arms flexed and shook as he levered his body up a little and looked down at her with shadowed eyes. “Tell me you’re all right.”
Pain was already a distant dream. Having his lean body stretched over hers could have been a dream, the very best kind. She touched his shoulders, smoothed her fingers along his sweat-dampened skin and nearly moaned at the tension trembling in his muscles as he fought to hold back.
No more holding back. Not for her, and not for him. “I won’t be all right until I’m yours.”
“You are mine, Joan.” He pulled away and thrust into her again, the movement bordering on desperate. “You—Joan—”
“Seamus.” The pleasure of his movements built that perfect tension again, and she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, riding the slow spiral instead of reaching for it. He’d bring her relief, bring her release, and all she had to do was trust him. She didn’t even have to struggle to find his rhythm; every deep, steady thrust brought her hips up, awkwardly at first, but that awkwardness didn’t last long after instinct kicked in.
Wild instinct. Not fully wolf or fully human, but both and neither. It was primal, ancient, whispering that this was life; the hot sweaty press of bodies, the heady pleasure and the warmth that kindled inside her and had nothing to do with the way her body tightened around him. Life wasn’t money and manners, polite society and prim behavior. It was the way he murmured her name, hoarse with need but tender, the way his body strained into her, hungry and feral but leashed by gentle protectiveness.
Sex. Dirty, guilty glorious sex, and that something more that had come to life when he’d whispered, Let me love you.
He took her mouth again, his tongue plunging between her lips in a sensual echo of the joining of their bodies. Then he shifted his hips, angled them so that his next thrust shredded any ability to think, until she was oblivious to anything but the sensation of their bodies. Hers, straining upward, wild and needy; his, hard and hot inside her, rubbing against some quiet spot that made her blood pulse in her ears as she panted the first syllable of his name over and over, too breathless and lost to do more until tension boiled over and she cried out.
It was better than the first time. A hundred times better, a thousand times better, and she clutched at his shoulders until she was sure she’d drawn blood, clinging to the only solid thing left in a world shaking with pleasure.
A second later, his smooth rhythm faltered. Seamus dropped his face to her neck and bit her, muffling his groan as he jerked against her. His hands slid down her body, holding her tight. “Joan.”
Her throat throbbed under his teeth. Her skin tingled. She wrapped her arms and legs around his body, holding him tight against her, and sucked in a trembling breath. “Let’s do it again.”
His chuckle was low, and it tugged at something deep inside her. “You won’t be saying that in the morning. Give yourself some time.”
Joan laughed too, and it felt joyful. Free. She held up her hand, the one she’d used to activate the wards. A hint of blood smeared her palm, but the thin cut had knit shut, showing only a tiny fading scar. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve never taken a virgin werewolf to bed before. We heal quickly, you know.”
“I was accounting for that.” He rolled carefully to his side and drew her back into his arms. “If you were human, I’d have said you needed a few days.”
“If you say so.” Truth be told, with peaceful languor settling in, moving seemed like a terribly unappealing proposition, something to be reserved for the imminent arrival of invaders. Unless… “You could always distract me by offering to draw a bath. The tub is big enough for you to join me, if you wanted.”
Seamus laughed. “And how is that supposed to give you respite from my masculine attentions?”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, pleased with the idea that he’d carry her scent as a warning to other females. No one else could take what she’d claimed. “I would think a dangerous criminal like yourself would have all sorts of interesting words.”
“Interesting, yes. Appropriate? Not so much.”
Joan closed her eyes. “I’m tired of appropriate. I’ve been appropriate all of my life. I’d like to try being something else for a while.”
He grasped her hand and wove their fingers together. “Some of us get along just fine without being appropriate, I suppose.”
“It was all I had.” With his arms around her, it felt safe to whisper the things she’d never told anyone, not even Simone. “The men of the pack hated me for not submitting. Everything was cruelty and violence and savage and inhuman. And sometimes I thought—I thought if I just clung hard enough, that maybe I could make a place for wolves who were still human.”
His voice and touch softened. “It’s not about still being human, Joan. I
t’s about not being selfish, not thinking that being stronger means you get everything you want, even if you have to take it.”
“I know that now.” She turned and pressed her cheek to his chest, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. “I still want to make a place. A place where wolves can be…what they are. What we are.”
At first, Seamus didn’t speak. Then he sighed. “The island. We bought it from Guy’s grandfather so we could set up there, have a place to—to lie low after all the smuggling. Figure out what we wanted to do.”
She felt the first tentative thread of uncertainty. “And you didn’t make plans to support so many.”
“No,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be done. It’d be a hard first winter, but if we made it through…”
“Most of my people are used to hard winters.” All of them, in fact, except for her. Human status had held sway in the pack—those with means could escape mistreatment, after all, if only by fleeing. “I sent money with them. Cash and bonds, and a little gold. Enough to help buy supplies.”
“That’s the thing. We’ve got plenty of money, but you can’t just buy things like shelter, not out there. We’ll all have to work.”
“Then we’ll work. We’ll learn what we need to do. Even the weakest of us is as strong as any human man.”
“The physical labor might be the least of it, sweetheart.”
“I don’t understand.”
Seamus kissed the top of her head. “It’ll be isolated, and my men aren’t like the ones your people are used to. There’s not a weak one in the bunch, and that might be difficult to deal with.”
Joan considered that just long enough to understand what Seamus couldn’t. Edwin, for all his many, many vices, hadn’t numbered unwilling women among them. Young, perhaps. Ripe for debauching. But never unwilling.
Even her newly formed resolution to ignore society’s strictures couldn’t overcome panic at the idea of being trapped on an island with a dozen earthy young women hungry for wicked men and a gang of former bootleggers who would surely seem like saviors straight out of a fairy tale. Left unchecked, all the women would be pregnant by spring.
She very nearly whimpered. “I think they’ll get used to it more quickly than you think.”
He choked on something that sounded like a laugh. Maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as she’d thought. “Yes, they’ll grow used to it very quickly, I should say.”
Beyond her own discomfort, there were practical concerns. “I’ll have to make it clear to them that this winter will be a trial. And perhaps you can impress upon your men the importance of being…careful. Most of my girls have never been treated with any sort of gentleness or respect by a strong male wolf. It’s very heady.”
“I’ll tell the men to keep their hands to themselves.”
“Or, if they can’t, at least…” Judging by the heat in her cheeks, she was blushing furiously enough to be glowing. “I’m fairly certain there are…alternatives. Ways people can enjoy themselves without worrying about pregnancy.”
Now he was undoubtedly laughing. “Yes, sweet Joan. There are ways.” His voice dropped. “I’ll show you a few.”
She turned her head and bit his chest with just enough force to leave a mark. “You’ll have to. I can’t take the risk either. I have too much work to do.”
He groaned and held her mouth close to his skin. “Right. We’ll have to be more careful, then.”
Be more careful. She soothed the mark she’d left with her tongue and bit him again, thrilling at the noise he made. A day ago she’d left her people behind, convinced she was walking to her own death. Even when Seamus had joined her, she hadn’t really believed. She’d even considered taking him that night, in the woods on the ground, rutting with him like an animal because nothing mattered anymore.
Now it mattered. There was a future past the next week, if only they could get there. She moaned and lifted her head, sliding up his body to brush her lips over his. “I’m being careful. Do you understand?”
His body went rigid under hers. “Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about more than making love?”
“Just…understand.” She dropped her forehead to rest against his. “You give me hope. I fought and fought and there was no end in sight, no reason to think I’d ever be doing anything but fighting. Just knowing there’s something past fighting…”
Seamus pulled her up and sat, easing her legs to one side so he could settle her in his lap. “There’s something past the fighting,” he told her softly, his breath blowing against the damp hair at her temple. “There’s me. Us.”
It was almost a promise, a reckless one, considering what lay ahead. Joan didn’t care. She curled more closely against him, resting her cheek on his shoulder as she marveled at the peace she felt, even in the face of everything yet to come. “Lots and lots of long, shared baths?”
“Keeping each other warm all winter long.”
“You are quite warm. I suppose that makes you useful to have about.”
He laughed. “Who needs a coal heater when you have a naked werewolf?”
“That’s the conclusion I’m afraid everyone will come to soon enough.”
His laughter subsided into a smile, but it held an edge. “My men will listen to what I say, or they’ll answer to me. That includes making sure no one is hurt by the consequences because they couldn’t keep their pants on.”
The danger, the reckless confidence… Both were intoxicating, even as they stirred the need to test her strength against his own. “I know. We’ll make it work.”
“Yes.” He tilted his head to hers. “Bath?”
“Bath.” She needed to enjoy the luxurious tub while she could. Edwin would arrive soon enough, primed for a fight. He might have even enlisted the Boston alpha’s assistance through the power of money and shared antipathy. Battle and bloodshed lay in her future…but not tonight.
Tonight she had Seamus. And hope.
Joan seemed surprised that he could cook, and Seamus took a moment to enjoy the relief that lit her face. There wasn’t a damn thing about her that wasn’t beautiful, and she was his.
The instinctive reaction she evoked should have scared the hell out of him, but the fact was that he liked her—a lot. It wouldn’t take much for that attraction to blossom into more. All they needed was a little time.
Seamus set the skillet on the counter and pulled a knife from the drawer. “Want to learn how, or do you want to save the lessons for this winter?”
“This winter,” she said without hesitation. “I’m a terrible cook. I think I might be able to learn to bake, with a patient teacher. Mary makes the most amazing pies.”
“Then you’ll have to talk to Mary about that. I can’t bake for sh—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “At all. I can’t bake at all.”
Joan pursed her lips as if trying not to laugh. “Asking your men to keep their hands to themselves seems trying enough. I can overlook the occasional coarse language. You might recall I recently had a lapse of my own.”
Even the memory heated his body. Joan, bucking under him, begging him to fuck her. “I recall very well.”
“I thought as much.” Pink tinged her cheeks as she looked back down at the list she’d been compiling. “I think I have everyone. If the alpha is holding Gavin and Adam and the others, it will be at Edwin’s house. It’s far enough out of the city to be discreet and has a fair bit of land attached. I think most of the pack’s activities are based there now, though more out of necessity than choice. Edwin has the money, so he has the power.”
A sad fact of human nature that had lately been exerting itself over werewolf nature more often than not. “And how does the alpha feel about that?”
“Bitter.” She traced absent little whirling doodles along the edge of the paper without looking up. “I think…I think without me, they would have fought it out by now. But what the three of us stood for here—it was a threat to both of them, so they’ve been uneasy al
lies.”
But they could work with that bitterness, perhaps even use it to remove Edwin from the alpha’s reluctant graces. “I understand.”
Her foot bounced under the table, proof of the restless energy that burned inside her. “It all comes back to the money. I think if Samuel could figure out a way to legally take Edwin’s assets, he’d already be dead. But Edwin’s not stupid. And he has a good lawyer.”
Perhaps the alpha needed to consider working outside the law. “Their argument is theirs,” he reminded her.
“Their argument is useful,” she countered. “If I could just figure out how.”
Seamus barely managed not to smile. She was sneakier than she gave herself credit for being, and he liked it. “I think you’ve got a bit of a rogue bottled up in you too, sweet Joan.”
She finally looked up, and her eyes glinted with amusement. “Women have been using men’s vices against them since men discovered vice.”
“Mm-hmm.” He cracked two more eggs into the bowl. “And what did they use against them before that?”
“Why would they need to? Men were angels. Now I’m thinking they might have been a bit boring too.”
“Men have never been angels, sweetheart.”
“I suppose not.” Her pen scratched against the paper again, more idle doodles. “I’ll enjoy learning about your vices, as long as I’m numbered among them.”
His greatest vice, and he proved it by not being able to stop himself from crossing to the table to slide his fingers through her hair. “Tell me something.”
She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “Anything.”
He nuzzled her cheek and relished the scent of her. “What are your vices?”
“I don’t know.” The pen clicked against the table and her hands smoothed along his cheeks. “I never allowed myself to have any, except pride. That’s not a very fun one.”
“Mmm, I’m partial to lust, myself.”
Her lips found his ear, warm breath skating against him as she spoke. “You inspire lust in me.”
“Better than wrath.” He bent his head licked her earlobe gently.