Marked

by Aline Hunter

  Jackson swept past her into his home. She admired his form as he strode by the living room and vanished around the corner. The place definitely belonged to a man. The flooring was dark wood with rugs throughout, the furniture made of black leather. A large plasma television was mounted on the far wall, enormous speakers bolted on each side of the room.

  He reappeared with beer bottles in each hand. She took the one he extended to her, trying to get her hormones under control. He’d said he’d give her answers and explain what was taking place. For some strange reason, she did trust him. Who was she kidding? A part of her recognized him, even if it made no sense whatsoever. Everything that had transpired between them had been real.

  They were dreams but weren’t.

  How in the hell is that even possible?

  He lifted the beer to his lips and she quickly did the same. The tang of the beverage hit her tongue, the flavor strong and somewhat bitter. She forced the drink down and lowered the bottle, staring at Jackson in disbelief. He didn’t stop drinking, his throat constricting with each swallow, until the bottle was empty. She gawked, unable to focus on anything but him. Another wave of heat rushed through her, making her lightheaded.

  “Keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to give you what I promised, Chloe girl.” He lowered his hand and growled, gold eyes sweeping over her. “I’m trying real hard to be a gentleman but you’re testing my control.”

  “I…” She tried to think of something to say, realizing she was alone with this gargantuan man inside his home. He could do anything he wanted and she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Not to mention he was a werewolf.

  Not smart. Not smart at all.

  “I think the best way to go about this is to tell you straight.” He met her gaze. “Give me your hand.”

  She wasn’t sure which he wanted until he reached for her left wrist—the wrist with the birthmark. Before she could stop him he’d shoved her jacket back, revealing the crescent shape.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong but I think you wanted a tattoo right here. Over this mark.”

  Shit. How did he know that?

  “Maybe,” she hedged, scrambling for the right thing to say. “Maybe not.”

  His eyes slitted and he growled, “Don’t lie to me.”

  “So what if I did?” Trying to feign indifference was impossible. The space felt too small with him in front of her. “It’s just a birthmark.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not just a birthmark. It’s the mark all wolves carry when they’re born. This means one of your parents is were,” he said and swept his thumb across the skin.

  She clenched her teeth, trying not to groan. For the first time the mark didn’t burn. If anything his touch alleviated the sting, making the damn thing hum. A shiver ran through her, electric tingles starting where he touched and sweeping up her arm.

  “You don’t have one.” Her eyes drifted over his body. During her dreams, she never saw anything aside from tattoos on his magnificent body.

  “It’s here.” His fingers drifted to the hair behind his ear and he turned his head. Sure enough a small crescent shape was revealed, just below his hairline.

  “This can’t be real.” Her heart raced, panic warring with desire. “There’s no way. I’d know if one of my parents could shift forms and howl at the moon.” She tried to yank her hand away.

  “Apparently not.”

  The amusement in his tone pissed her off. He might find the situation funny but she certainly didn’t. “Listen, Mr. Ego. I would know if—”

  “I thought you were from one of the packs in the area when we started dreamsharing,” he continued as though he didn’t hear. “If you were human you wouldn’t have this. When I saw it, I assumed you knew what you are.” He caressed her birthmark, sending a flash of fire through the erogenous zones of her body. “There was no way to know you’re only half.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She pressed her thighs together, mortified when her sex started to throb. She should be terrified, not ready to fuck like a rabbit. Her nipples hardened into points, the lace of her bra becoming restricting and painful. “And I am human.”

  “You’re half-human, and it’s not necessarily bad.” He lifted his head, his lips curving into a grin. “Just different. It changes the game a bit.”

  “I hate to break it to you.” She considered shaking him. Here she was, off balance and agitated, and he was referring to the situation as a game? “But this isn’t Monopoly. Not even close. Do not pass go. No two hundred dollars for you.”

  “Excuse me.” His wry grin should have made her furious. Not horny. “Bad choice of wording.”

  “How about you tell me the truth?”

  “You’re going through your first moon heat,” he whispered, moving closer, the warmth from his body radiating like a furnace. “That’s why you found me. You knew your time was near. It’s instinctual.”

  Denying his explanation was her only defense, even though a part of her knew it was a barefaced lie. Something was occurring between them. No one had ever made her feel like this, turning everything she knew upside down and inside out.

  “Maybe it’s instinctual for you but it isn’t for me,” she argued. “I didn’t come to find you. I came to get a tattoo. The dreams…our meeting…it’s serendipity.”

  “Listen, sweetness.” He invaded her space, pressing his much larger body against hers. “You can keep lying to yourself but it won’t change what’s destined to happen. You came to me—you chose me.”

  He released her hand and cupped her chin in his palm, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. His touch was gentle, his closeness comforting. It was hell not to squirm, to remain passive in his hold.

  “Did you come to my shop for a particular reason? Or did you feel compelled to come there? Better yet, have you been feeling like yourself lately? Have you noticed changes you can’t explain?”

  How did he expect her to answer those questions when he was so close she could almost taste him? His alluring scent called to her, tempting her to rip off his clothes to view the hard flesh beneath. Her eyes drifted closed as her heart thundered in her chest. She licked her lips, remembering how delicious he’d tasted, how wonderful it had felt when he’d circled his arms around her as their lips met in her dreams. A tidal wave seeped from her pussy, her clit so sensitive she wondered if she’d climax with a simple shift of her legs.

  Pull yourself together. Answer him.

  “I wanted to come to The Wolf’s Den,” she confessed, her voice shaky. “I don’t know why.”

  When she tried to turn her head, he prevented her from doing so. His fingers were firm but gentle against her jaw. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” She forced her lids open, shocked to discover his eyes were no longer gold but almost yellow. “Tell me about your parents.”

  Her parents? The shift in topic disoriented her for a moment. She quickly got her thoughts in order. “My mother died when I was a baby. I never knew my father. Why?”

  “I’m just trying to figure this out.” He took a deep breath and asked, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.” If he was going to ask questions, so was she. “How about you?”

  His sexy, kissable lips formed into a sinful smile. “Old enough.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “The best you’re going to get right now,” he replied, his voice taking on a husky lilt. “Who raised you?”

  God he was arrogant. Even worse? His attitude made her hotter.

  “That hardly seems fair,” she snapped, increasingly annoyed.

  “Answer me.” He wasn’t asking for an answer now, he was demanding one. His fingers tightened on her chin, his irises shifting color from yellow to amber.

  “My grandparents. There. Happy?”

  “Your mother’s parents?”

  She nodded, finding it difficult to inhale. She wanted to remain angry but her entire body betrayed her. Ripples of desire scorched the insid
e of her skin. This was nothing like her dreams, where she’d had some measure of control. If he didn’t move away from her she’d tell him anything he wanted to know or do anything he told her to. Her pride didn’t mean squat, logical thought flying out the window.

  “I should go.” Something inside her rebelled, hating the words, rejecting the possibility. “My family will be worried.”

  “Your grandparents, I presume?” His voice felt as though it swept through her. No one had ever made her as edgy and aroused as this man. Not even close.

  “Yes,” she whispered, clinging to his arms to remain on her feet.

  Sexual need pounded at her, her blood drumming in her ears. In her fantasies she made love. She didn’t go buck wild, wanting to be fucked long and hard.

  Until now.

  “This isn’t like me.” She shook her head, trying to clear mental cobwebs woven with lust. “Something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s the moon heat, and it’s only going to get worse. You’re in the early stages.”

  He had to be joking. This was going to get worse? She was in the early stages?

  “You should probably give me some space. I think I’m coming down with something.” That something being her ravenous libido, with his cock served on a platter as an entrée.

  Damn. When did the room become so warm? Was it this difficult to breathe before?

  Fear hit, rolling like thunder through her. What would happen if she let things progress between them? He obviously wanted her as much as she wanted him. What would the repercussions be if they spent a night together? Would her life ever be the same again?

  “Shh, easy,” he murmured. “Don’t be afraid. You’re safe with me. I’m going to take care of you.”

  She shook her head at his statement. They didn’t know each other—not really. Yes they’d shared dreams—extremely explicit and naughty dreams—but if she wanted to understand what was happening she had to take care of herself. She couldn’t depend on him for anything more than answers.

  Her mind combated the champagne fizzles raging through her body, attempting to give her some semblance of restraint. She tingled in places she didn’t know existed, her nipples and pussy so hypersensitive she couldn’t stand it.

  “I don’t even know you.” Like an annoying parrot, she kept repeating herself.

  Way to go. Charm him with your dizzying intellect.

  She wanted to wince, knowing she probably appeared as silly as she felt.

  “Yes you do. I’d say over the last few weeks we’ve gotten to know each other extremely well.”

  Her nails dug into his chest as her fingers curled. Wasn’t that the rub of it? She did know him. Technically—in her dreams, at least—they’d already gone past second base with a speedy rush for third.

  “Remember the first time we met?” She trembled when his lips feathered over her forehead, the heat of his mouth warming her skin. “You were so nervous and tried to run from me. I thought you knew who and what I was to you. If I’d have known why you were scared I would have handled things differently.”

  Memories assailed her, of the first time she’d met him in the land of dreams. It had been inside a bar. She’d found it odd, since she’d never been to a bar and had only seen them on television. He’d been leaning against a wall, as though he’d been waiting for her. She hadn’t been able see his face. Not that it mattered. She remembered the way her heart had pounded, how panic had set in even though she’d known it was only a dream.

  She’d tried to run only to have her dream shift to another time and place.

  This time she’d found herself in a sunny park. Empty swings had swayed back and forth, a sandbox nearby occupied with rambunctious toddlers and their doting parents. Jackson had been there as well, crouched a few feet away, studying her. He’d seemed so out of place, like a lethal creature in a safe haven parents took their children to play. When he started to stand, she’d jolted awake, but from that moment forward her dreams had never been the same.

  He’d chased her night after night, a sexual game of cat and mouse. When he’d finally caught her—on the dance floor of the bar she’d fled, ironically enough—she’d been a more than willing victim. She recalled dancing in his arms, the rhythm of the music guiding their bodies. There was no fear. It was as if she’d finally found someone who understood her. A man whose arms felt like home. Afterward she craved sleep just to be close to him, to feel his body pressed against hers.

  “It was real, Chloe,” he said, the words rumbling from his chest. “All of it.”

  All of it.

  The first few dreams were somewhat tame—transpiring in places she refused to get totally down and dirty—but during the last one they’d been alone in a bedroom. For the first time they’d removed their clothing, stripping each other bare. Instead of feeling his muscles bulge beneath her fingers, she’d finally seen them. He had been—and still remained—the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. His large body was perfectly proportioned, his skin tan and smooth. She’d gone down on him because she couldn’t resist anymore. The temptation he’d presented had been too powerful to shake. She’d never forget his taste. The way he stretched her lips as he glided in and out of her mouth.

  Her pussy spasmed at the memory, creating more wetness between her legs.

  Damn it.

  Her panties were soaking wet, clinging to swollen vaginal lips.

  “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? It felt so good when you sucked my cock. Your mouth was so hot, baby. I want to look you in the eyes next time. I want to see how turned-on you are when you’re sucking me off.”

  Holy mother.

  In her dreams Jackson had loved to talk dirty. It had taken a few dreams to become accustomed to his explicit sexual vocalizations but she’d managed. A good thing since he apparently enjoyed doing the same thing in reality.

  “I’m thinking about it,” she admitted, caving to her body’s demands since she already had one foot in the door. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

  Or about you and your promise to do the same to me.

  After two nights of waiting for Jackson to appear in her dreams, her curiosity about what it would be like had gotten the better of her. She’d hesitantly touched herself in the shower, imagining it was Jackson’s tongue caressing her clit, his mouth suckling on her flesh. Unfortunately she’d stopped just shy of an orgasm, becoming uncomfortably aware of herself and what she was doing. She’d stopped, feeling embarrassed and uncertain. One foray into masturbation had taken her back several years, to another time and place.

  At seventeen she’d had one sexual encounter—a rushed pairing with an equally awkward boy from her English class. They’d parted ways immediately after, avoiding each other if at all possible. She didn’t know if he was embarrassed by his performance or didn’t want a repeat of hers. Either way it didn’t matter. His touch had felt all wrong, even when she tried to relax and enjoy what they were doing. From that moment forward she wasn’t interested in sex or men.

  Then Jackson had come along and changed everything.

  Each wisp of his fingers against her sensitive skin made her melt inside, creating tendrils of heat that built in her stomach. She lifted her head, meeting his glowing eyes. A simple look from the man made her insides puddle. There was nothing insecure or awkward about Jackson. He knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it.

  And she realized she wanted him to take it from her.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen.” His body brushed hers. She felt the hard length of his erection prod her belly. “I’m going to take you to my room and make you burn. I’m going to make you so hot you’ll think you’re dying from the pleasure of it. This isn’t a dream. You’re going to get all of me, Chloe. All of me.”

  Oh boy.

  She tried to argue when he cut her off, his fingers sliding from her chin and latching on to the hair at her nape. He pulled her head back, maintaining ey
e contact.

  “We’ll sort the details out later. I’m tired of keeping my hands to myself.”

  Then he kissed her, lips soft but demanding, his tongue lashing out to tease the cavern of her mouth. It shouldn’t have been possible to swoon but swoon she did. Her knees buckled, the warmth from his body seeping into hers. His hand drifted down and he palmed her ass, squeezing just hard enough that she groaned. She’d forgotten what a master he was with his fingers, how expertly he put them to use.

  “So sweet and hot,” he growled into her mouth, yanking her forward and rolling his hips, making the world crumble around her. “And all fucking mine.”

  He’d tried to do the right thing. Chloe deserved answers, not the mindless fucking he had in mind. The beautiful female was confused. She was scared. But she was also turned-on. Hell, she’d been turned-on since the moment their skin had collided. Her scent called to him as no other’s had. Tomorrow he could tell her everything she wanted to know. For now he had to calm her fears and show her he would take care of her, regardless of the cost.

  He basked in her taste—sweet as sugar and tempting as sin. Her soft curves molded to him, her rounded ass the perfect size for his hand. She whimpered as he squeezed the giving flesh, his fingers digging into her jeans. Tugging her forward, he thrust his cock against her stomach and rolled his hips. The beast in him wanted to yank down her pants, force her onto her hands and knees and fuck her madly from behind.

  Not yet.

  She yelped when he lifted her and carried her in the direction of the bedroom. He caught the sound in his mouth, growling in pleasure as her surprise turned to hunger. Her lips parted and their tongues danced—touching, teasing and drifting apart. He’d be lucky if he didn’t come with his first taste of her, undone by the sweetness of her pussy as he lapped at her slit. He could smell her—hot, honeyed and primed for the taking.

  They entered his bedroom and he headed for the bed. He carefully lowered her to the mattress, bringing his body over hers, forcing her knees apart so he could slide his hips between her thighs. He could feel the heat of her cunt through his jeans. The scent of her arousal tickled his nose. The white glow from the moon slithered through the curtains and caressed her face, the shadows on the bed a combination of black and gray. Her irises changed color, shifting from grassy green to vibrant emerald in the light.