by Christa Wick
My knees began to bend with a slow rigor, forcing me to lean over the sink, my hand between my thighs and my bare ass up in the air.
Maybe just a little rub…
And another…
“…bloody—”
A fist hit the door, the old wood rattling. Joshua’s voice buzzed in my head as he shouldered his way into the bathroom. Dropping the washcloth, I scrambled to pull the shirt back down as I replayed what he had said.
You bloody well are not doing that to yourself…
His growl vibrated inside me, my clit dancing with each syllable. My vision blurred as he pinned me to the wall, his alpha energy pushing at me. It took me off guard. My head drooped to one side as I felt his power slowly seep into my body, unwinding its silken threads through my tight muscles despite my attempts to deflect it.
He was stronger than I realized, maybe stronger than anyone realized. Other males had tried to push their energy at me, testing to see if they could slide into my pants. Braeden and Taron had tried unsuccessfully to discipline me with a push of their alpha energy.
For all my beta-ness, I was too damn bullheaded to give in. I had a sort of shield I could throw up.
Now?
Now I wanted to give in. Fuck how I wanted to give in.
But I was Clover Hughes. And Joshua was a cat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, blocking his energy.
The words were meant to be glib, but my cheeks turned pink with the lie and my voice warbled.
“Don’t you?” he taunted, grabbing my hand—THE HAND—and pulling it up to his face.
He ran his nose from my wrist, up my palm then along my fingers. Staring at me with those blue eyes of his, he sucked two of the fingers into his mouth.
Through the denim jeans, his cock pushed at me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
He smelled so good, my heat twisting his scent, my body betraying me. If only I had a few more seconds before he pushed his way in, I would have climaxed and he wouldn’t be affecting me like this.
"You think so?" Joshua smirked.
Oh, God, did I say that out loud?
"Let's put that theory to the test, catnip.”
Releasing my hand, Joshua slid his way down the curve of my stomach and up under the hem of the night shirt. With a purr rumbling in his throat, he softly stroked between my thighs, loosening my stance with the tender ministrations. I opened to him. His index finger ran a smooth line along the edges of my clit then slid to where I was so wet I was dripping for him. Coating two fingers in my juices, Joshua returned to the swollen head of my clit, attacking the hard kernel buried under its hood with firm, circular caresses.
My eyes rolled back. My breathing went wonky. I grabbed his shoulders, squeezing and pressing at his thick muscles.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he purred, sinking down to his knees.
Tell him twice? What had I told him even once?
My lips parted with a gasp.
Oh…that…and that…yes, definitely that…told him good, I did…
He fingered more juice from my pussy, painting all along its spine, that deep baritone of his vibrating in his throat and chest. His tongue, flat and raspy, began to slide against me, his fingers returning to tease the edge of my core, the thumb gently testing the opening’s elasticity. With very muscle in my body jumping with need, I widened my stance and felt his thick thumb slid in.
I curled the fingers of one hand in his hair. The other hand hiked up my t-shirt, where I clutched the fabric between my heavy breasts. Erratic breathing, hips pushing at his face, a moan vibrating in my throat, I stopped trying not to feel what Reeves was doing.
Two fat fingers replaced the thumb. His licking turned feral. His teeth raked along the spine of my clit. His lips pinched my labia, then back he went to the slow, sensuous licking that was driving me closer and closer to release.
I moaned, tightening against him, my hips going wild. I had touched myself before, mostly quick sessions when I was miraculously alone. All I’d ever had was my own hand, a town like Night Falls too full of people nosing into everyone else’s business for me to consider ordering something through the mail. And no way in hell was I walking into the Sleaze Factory in Buckley, the nearest sizable town two hours away.
So there I stood with Reeves’ face pressed against my pussy, never having received so much as a kiss from him—or any other male.
Not that I was complaining. I didn’t have a brain cell to complain with as a third finger fought its way into my tight, clenching pussy. My climax shook me like a rag doll. A sparking, jerking sizzle ran up my clit to pinch and bite at my nipples.
Joshua didn’t ease off the clutch. He thrust deeper, fingers twisting and curling inside me, his tongue flicking mercilessly beneath the hood of my clit, pulverizing the hidden pearl until a primal howl tore from my throat, my entire body locked in a spasm of ecstasy.
Slowly, he licked away all the tremors and tears, the insistent languorous press of his tongue first easing then exciting the fury of my response. My grip on his hair tightened in entreaty, but I didn’t know what I was asking him for.
“I don’t care what wolves you’ve been running with, baby girl.” He looked up, his gaze boring into me as he spoke. “Cats are always better at licking up all the cream.”
I wouldn’t know about that—any of that.
His lips grazed against the fur covering my mound. “Tell me, catnip, do you want more?”
My mouth puckered. The muscles of my throat constricted with the same chaotic twists that knotted deep and thick inside my pussy. He wanted me to admit that I wanted—maybe even needed—him. I did, both want and need. My muscles ached from the anticipation that tingled along my nerve endings, but I couldn’t admit it. I had been as invisible to him as I tried to make him invisible to me.
No attraction between us, no comity—just a thin veil of detente.
Until now.
He gave me one of those slow blinks and then he took a thick, sweet lick against me, his tongue warm and curling. I pushed at him with my hips, answering without saying the words.
My response wasn’t good enough. Joshua sucked at my flesh, small marks appearing and disappearing between heartbeats. His hands massaged my tense thighs, but he didn’t touch me where I most needed him to.
“Do you want more?” he repeated.
Trembling, I answered.
“Yes.”
His gaze slowly hardened. The muscles inside my chest mimicking his response. His mouth stopped teasing, his hands dropped away. My heart began to freeze over, the chill spreading out to my flesh.
His mouth flattened then turned downward. He stood up. My shirt dropped back into place.
I stared at him, my gaze watering from questions I was too proud to ask.
Had I just been played? Was I fool? Was his leading me on like this payback for how I had reacted to him in the past?
“I…have…to…go,” he said, retreating, the back of his fingers wiping at a mouth that seconds before had been wet with my cream.
I blinked, the build-up of my tears threatening to spill. I turned away, refusing to look at him any longer. With a dip of my head I sent my hair falling across my face, hiding the quiver of my bottom lip and the scrunch of a watery gaze.
“Clover—”
“You have to go, you have to go,” I answered dully, reclaiming a sliver of pride when my voice came out steady.
“I’ll be back,” he started.
I waived a dismissive hand and he fell silent.
“Of course you will.”
There was a barn to mend and paint, doors to rehang on stalls, and a dozen other tasks before animals could be brought back onto the homestead. Of course, he would be back.
Feeling a flicker of his alpha energy, I turned to stone, driving it out—rejecting him.
Reeves walked woodenly out of the house. A few minutes later, his bike purred to life.
Hear
ing the crunch of gravel beneath its tires, I shook my head and cursed him.
“Damn cats. Either ripping your heart out…or breaking it.”
Chapter 8
Joshua
Sitting calmly in a recliner, the footrest up and a pillow propped behind his head, Braeden Hughes studied me through a half-lidded gaze as I prowled across his living room.
For years, we had locked horns. Now he was the pack leader and president of the Woodsmen Motorcycle Club. I was his second in command—by default, he was my boss.
Only, I wasn’t there on club or pack business.
“If you want to try to tear my guts out, let's get it over with,” I snarled, stopping to glare at my future mate’s brother.
In the kitchen, Paisley slammed the tea kettle onto the stove top. “There will be no tearing of anyone’s guts, let’s be clear on that!”
“Figure of speech, babe,” Braeden called, a grin flicking across his face before he returned his attention to me.
“Seriously? You’ve got nothing to say?” I resumed pacing, each step a self-admonition of having left Clover all hot and needy to seek out her brother’s approval.
But, as far as I had gone, going the rest of the way would be too much. The pack had been through more turmoil in the last eight months than it could gracefully bear. At this point, a serious clash between the top two shifters in the pack might tear apart the sanctuary that had been built in Night Falls. There were too many younglings that would be endangered if families started peeling away.
As much as I wanted the she-wolf, as long as I had wanted her, I needed to slow down and do this right.
“You knew I was up there,” I went on when Braeden remained silent and scrutinizing. “You had to know she was in heat.”
“This is none of my business unless you do something she says ‘no’ to.” Pausing, Braeden cocked a brow, his voice dropping several dozen decibels in warning. “You didn’t, did you?”
I stopped cold and looked at him with a steady gaze despite all the feelings stacking up inside my chest. Guilt, indignation, worry that Braeden or Clover or both of them would deny my claim.
“Consent wasn’t an issue,” I answered after a few seconds of my throat straining to get the words out.
“Well, then,” Braeden laughed. “As I said, not my business.”
In the kitchen, Paisley’s phone rang. She answered with a whispered greeting.
The caller whispered back.
“Shifters, love,” Braeden reminded her as he lowered the footrest on his chair. “Even over the phone, I can hear my sister’s voice.”
The same was true for me. I heard every word of Clover’s urgent response to Paisley.
Go sit in your truck with the door shut.
Paisley looked at her husband, who shrugged.
I opened my mouth—
“You don’t get a vote,” Braeden growled. “Not yet, at least.”
I returned to pacing, obsessively counting each step so I wouldn’t claw the paint off the walls while Paisley was outside talking to my future mate. Hell, there was no future about it. She had already surrendered to me. She was my mate, even if I had pissed her off in leaving.
One hundred steps, two hundred, three-freaking-hundred…
At step number three hundred and seventy-five, Paisley returned, her skin unnaturally pale. She placed her phone on the counter then stood in the doorway between the two rooms, her face sagging and her arms wrapped around her torso.
“She’s headed to Buckley—for different paint.”
Braeden reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his thumbs stabbing at the screen.
Surprising me, Clover answered.
“Come home now,” Braeden ordered. “You are not driving two hours away from Night Falls while you’re in heat.”
I stood frozen except for the twitch of my ears.
Her voice drifted from Braeden’s phone in a dull monotone.
No. It’s late. I’m getting a room for the night. Maybe a couple of nights.
It was nowhere near late.
I started toward the recliner, gaze locked on the phone in Braeden’s hand. He sent a pulse of his alpha energy to repel me. Deflecting the burst of power, I snatched the phone from him.
“Clover, I know—”
“What are you doing at my house?” she hissed.
“I came—”
“Scratch that, cat,” she sniped. “I don’t care where you are or why.”
The call went dead.
I stared at it for a few seconds.
She was hurt. I got why. But leaving the safety of Night Falls was dangerous—bullheaded. It was completely unacceptable. She should be with me. I would keep her safe while she was in heat and find inventive ways to ease her hurt fury.
I tossed the phone back to Braeden.
He had a death stare fixed on me. After a few seconds, my nose twitched. It was a sheepish twitch but entirely unrelated to the fact a wolf shifter was staring at me like he had forgotten all about his wife’s house rule against disemboweling guests.
Nope. I was a little embarrassed over what I was about to admit.
“I…uh…might have put an app on her phone at your wedding reception. One that reveals her location while the phone is on.”
Braeden’s mouth fell open.
“You know,” I went on, floundering for a justification. “Just for while you were on your honeymoon since it was my job to make sure she was safe. Not an easy task given how she has always hated me.”
It really was why I had installed the app when I snatched her phone away from her at the reception. I had one-hundred-percent expected non-compliance with the ground rules I had laid out.
But the little she-wolf had dutifully stayed at home.
Alone, I hoped.
“She doesn’t hate you,” Paisley whispered.
She hadn’t moved from the doorway. She hadn’t moved at all, except maybe to wrap her arms more tightly around herself.
Confident I understood Clover’s feelings on this matter better than Paisley, I ignored her attempt to make me feel better and kept my focus on Braeden.
“Buckley is two hours away,” he growled, getting to his feet and standing chest-to-chest with me. “You’ve got three hours to find her or every damn Woodsman will be scouring that cesspool of a city. I don’t care if there are no shifters in Buckley. Clover can’t be alone after sunset!”
I nodded. I would find her and safely deliver her home. I couldn’t have the other Woodsmen out looking for her. Not while she was in heat.
Not while she was mine.
I blew past the seventy mile an hour speed limit sign outside Buckley at ninety miles. I took the exit only a little slower, the big bike dipping side to side on the turns, my knee flying an inch above the ground each time. Straightening the bike, I merged into traffic, weaved between lanes, and drove through intersections when the light was yellow.
Once on red.
Two miles past the exit, I pulled into the parking lot of a Walmart and turned the tracking app on.
Cannot locate device.
I refreshed the app, the same message mocking me but in a different color.
Clover could have her phone turned off, or she could be inside some place big enough that she didn’t have a signal. I looked at the massive store meant to serve a thirty mile radius of “blink and you miss it” towns and homesteads. There was a big box hardware store on the other side of Buckley, but this was the closet store for paint coming from Night Falls. There was also a fabric and craft section.
If my sweet little mate was as pissed off as she had sounded, she was probably standing in the scrapbook section picking out material for an omnibus edition of how much I sucked.
My mate…
The words washed over me, putting a wobble in my wheels as I drove my bike up and down the parking lanes in search of her Jeep, my nose up in the air for any hint of Clover’s scent. Catching a tease of her presence, I followed
her sweet fragrance around the side of the building and smiled.
She had parked as out of sight as she could, almost back where the trucks delivered their loads.
Chewing at my bottom lip, I calculated the odds of her not backing over my bike if I parked directly behind her Jeep to corral her from leaving.
“Yeah,” I laughed and found another parking spot. She would definitely throw the Jeep into 4WD and crush the bike, not only because she was pissed but because she had a tactical mind. On foot, I would have a harder time following her.
With the bike parked, I jogged into the store, my nose leading the way. I sniffed her trail through the paint section, my keen sense of smell leading me to the very color cards she had considered and replaced. The food section came next—the milk freezer and the cookie aisle.
Thin Mint Oreos…
Turning a corner in the craft section, I caught Clover with her head up, neck locked, and her gaze wide as she sensed my presence.
She swung her cart, angling it sideways to block the aisle.
I smiled. She wasn’t the only one with a tactical mind.
“You can’t make a scene, catnip,” I warned. “You know that.”
Anger flamed across her beautiful face, then it turned to ashes. I was right. Shifters couldn’t afford to go to jail, not even for a few hours. Either one of us attracting police attention could put Night Falls on the government’s radar, especially if things went from bad to nuclear meltdown—like one of us shifting on camera.
She leaned across the cart, her expression and voice leaden.
“I’m not going back until…” Her hand chopped the air in front of her lower stomach. “Until this is over. Maybe not even then.”
I shrugged. “Night Falls is just a place, catnip. If you don’t want to return, we’ll find someplace else to raise our cubs.”
Her lips parted. The dark red locks of hair bounced as she shook her head.
“There is no ‘we’ or ‘our,’ you moron.”