by Rebecca Main
That’s when I smell it. The sudden spike of her arousal.
I close my eyes with a growl and inhale the scent deeply. A triumphant smirk ensnaring my lips before I can help it. Perhaps the little lamb wasn’t so afraid of the big bad wolf after all? We might dance around each other with carefully laid words and barbs, but a constant heat seemed to be simmering between us nowadays. Quinn could put on her many faces and personalities, but the nose didn’t lie. She was attracted to me in Mexico before the soulmark, just as she was now. But it was more than the soulmark; it was us.
“No pithy retort?” Comes her breathless inquiry. I let my eyes slip open, knowing them to be shaded in gold. The sound of her heart gives off a shudder, her eyes dilating as she gazes up at me.
“Just one,” I whisper before giving in and bringing her lips to mine. We meet with a groan. Tongues and teeth battling for dominance in a fight she cannot dare hope to win. Soon enough her lips fall into the rhythm of my direction. Sliding and caressing mine in the most enticing way. As I pull back her body follows, hands reaching out to pull me nearer. I can’t help the smile that plucks at the corner of my lips. She must sense it for she pulls back with a gasp.
“You ass,” she hisses, eyes blazing with heat. “You disgust me.” She stands abruptly and bolts for the door, but my hand catches her arm.
“I'd say your body tells a different story, darling,” I tell her, standing as well. “There’s something here between us. Like wildfire. You can’t deny it. I feel it too.”
Her gaze flickers uncertainly to me, and the wolf leaps at the opportunity. In mere seconds she is placed up against the wall, fans and old equipment dashed to the side. Our lips meet again, and her fingers dig into my hair. Desperate for a taste. Our hips shift. They push and grind until the pull to have her is almost too much to bear. The wolf howls its victory as I let out a shuddering groan. Then I tear myself away from her lips and drop to my knees.
+++
Quinn
He has my pair of Lucky jeans down to my ankles in three seconds flat. Pulls one leg free to hook over his shoulder and then drives his face between my thighs.
“Jesus Christ,” I moan, bucking against the rough probing. My panties come away with two determined yanks, and I can barely think to scold him for the fever I succumb to. Why was I letting this happen? This was the very definition of unprofessional. And—oh—I couldn’t possibly leave everything I knew behind for—oh God.
My sights set themselves upon the raven-haired man beneath me, and my mouth goes dry. There is something so right and oh so wrong about the sight that greets me. I feel as if I’ve surrendered to some out-of-body experience as I watch myself get tongue-fucked by this rakish devil.
Ryatt pauses to lick up the sides of my thighs and capture the slick heat which escapes his attentions. A finger probes my entrance, then another, his shining blue eyes locking onto mine just as he takes my clit in his mouth. I feel my straightened leg begin to buckle as he begins to suck in earnest.
“Ryatt,” I gasp, hands reaching out to secure purchase around me only to witness a mountain of electronics tumble to the ground with my thrashing. My eyes turn towards the ceiling, even though they beg to watch the rest of the show. I curve into the air, back arching and pelvis inching forward as I lose myself to this inferno of pleasure.
A nip at my thigh drags me back to reality. Ryatt’s hands find my hips and hold me steady until all I can focus on is the thrust of his tongue against me.
“Oh God,” I whimper.
“Not exactly,” he whispers, pulling away with a slick pop. His lips glisten from my arousal, and he marks a determined path upwards with his lip. Helping hands shove my shirt up and over my head as he raises to his feet. Mindless with the release I am denied once more, my hands reach for his belt.
“Quinn—”
There’s a strange quality to his voice. An uneasy plea I note as a warning, but that my hands do not heed. “Shut up,” I breathe, smashing my lips against his. Hands lock around my wrists, halting my progress with his belt. “What?” I ask.
“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing,” he tells me darkly, eyes almost completely golden. I shake off his grasp and grab hold of his length. Ryatt's eyes flutter close with a groan, body trembling with unsuppressed need. With a vicious growl, he kisses me. Our hands work in tandem to finish the job together. A stab of desire hitting me deeply. A sudden ravenous need surging through my body as I hook my leg over his hip. His cock at the entrance of—
“Fuck,” I gasp against his lips at his entering thrust. Our eyes meet. The space between us contracting. “This is just mixing business with pleasure.”
The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them, and Ryatt stills inside of me. “I’ll show you pleasure you won’t ever forget,” he promises darkly before his hips bear down upon me. It draws another strangled cry from my lips as he begins a brutal pace. His hands move to cup my breasts. Roughly palming them through my bra and pinching at the hardened nipples. I whimper at his rough handling. Push my hips back against his to spur him on. There will be bruises. From both hands and lips. And I can't be bothered to care.
“And now I lay my mark for all to see,” he whispers hotly in my ear, hips slamming into me with earnest. My hands claw at his shoulders for purchase, his words like some distant memory in my mind. “By blood, be one.”
A fleeting sensation of pain registers against my shoulder, as my orgasm shudders through me. It bends the back and curls the toes. Makes my moan sound loudly throughout the room. Ryatt’s thrusts end in a havoc spasm, a terrible groan rumbling from his throat.
A nervous tremble steals over me as we untangle ourselves. Ryatt places a soft kiss against my forehead. “Business and pleasure,” I mumble under my breath as I do up my pants, bitterness and sadness swelling inside my chest. I can feel Ryatt's disappointment without even looking at him.
“Something like that,” he mutters in return.
Chapter 9
Quinn
It’s Irina’s look of mild revulsion and snarky comment some hours later that informs me of the significance of our…engagement. I'm a mixture of shame and fury and stalking the house to confront Ryatt. He’s in the bedroom staring bleakly out the window.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes almost immediately, though he doesn’t bother to turn around to face me. He must have heard my Manolo Blahnik sling-backs clicking and clacking throughout the house and my determined approach.
A surge of sadness and regret hit me in the stomach, the force of which almost sends me doubling over. Instead, the foreign feelings somehow dull the rougher edges of my own anger. I stand wordlessly in the doorway, at a loss for what to say. “What you said, that this was just mixing business and pleasure,” Ryatt takes a deep breath, his hands forming tight fists at his side. “It hurt. It hurt me, and I lashed out. I took advantage of the situation and let my wolf get the better of me. I’m sorry.” He finally turns around then, his face contorted in the same agony as mine. “Who told you?” he asks.
“Irina. Something about finally smelling like 'Pack,' even if it meant smelling like you. Plus the bite mark on my neck. You broke the skin.”
He swallows. “I was upset when I did it. I know I shouldn’t have—”
“Of course you shouldn’t have. God! I am so angry at you right now.” My body trembles with it and as Ryatt dares to take a step forward, I go one back. “Don’t! Don’t come near me, do you understand?”
“I’m sorry, Quinn. If I could take it back I would; I would have done it right.”
“You wouldn’t have done anything,” I spit back, “because I wouldn’t have agreed to completing another step of the soulmark!” His face pales. “After we finish with this heist, I’m gone. Fuck this stupid soulmark and your stupid pack of wolves. I make my own decisions from now on, nobody else.”
His eyes fall shut as if he can’t bear to look at me. I feel the same. There is such a torrent of emotion colliding thro
ugh me it’s almost as if I cannot breathe. Tears sting around the corners of my eyes.
“I’ll make this right,” he finally whispers. “I swear to you I’ll make this right.”
“Doubtful,” I respond mournfully. Initiating the sex had been a grave mistake on my part, but Ryatt pressing on with the soulmark? How could I find it in my heart to forgive him?
An old hurt simmers inside me. This lack of control was frighteningly reminiscent of the one I faced in my youth when the most important decisions of my life had been made for me. With everyone thinking they were doing what was best for me. I leave without another word, the old hurt turning into a stone in my belly. With any luck, Big Bear and my other contacts would come through with my exit strategy. And then I’d be gone on the wind by the time our heist was through.
+++
There is no moving past my anger or the constant heartache that seems to plague me. Damn this soulmark and the way it twists my feelings. I have every right to be angry and upset, yet Ryatt’s feelings shadow my every move. I’m wrapped up in feelings of guilt and remorse whenever I come too near, and when I see his crestfallen expression the nearly overwhelming urge to forgive him consumes me.
I give a small groan of frustration. That kept happening. Every time I seemed to be able to pinpoint my anger and move past the fog of Ryatt’s emotions, my heart would give a tug and pull me back down into memories of his touch and his laughter. The marking hadn’t just opened the link between us wider; it had also dredged up feelings for Ryatt I thought nonexistent. Begrudgingly I could admit that there was an attraction between us—chemistry even—though I loathed to say it. I just hadn’t realized that some part of me had enjoyed our connection more than I had been able to recognize. It seemed like a defeat after having spent so long keeping people at arm’s length. Somehow he had wormed his way into my heart with that charming grin and vulgar wit.
But I couldn’t forgive him. Monday went by in silence. I had kept myself neatly tucked away, hammering out the details of my feelings with red-rimmed eyes. Tuesday had passed much in the same fashion, with Ryatt stopping by once in the afternoon to try his hand at apologizing once more, a bouquet of roses and box of chocolates at the ready.
By the looks of him, he had been having about as good of a time sorting through our affairs as I had. Which is why on Wednesday, Zoelle took pity on me and drove me out to spend the day at her grandmother’s.
“You two still aren’t talking?” Zoelle asks as we drive along a tree-lined street.
“Definitely not,” I respond.
Zoelle makes a right, her eyes swinging in my direction as we make the turn. “Xander did the same thing to me.”
“He fucked you then abruptly left the room so you could stand around like some fool wondering what the hell just happened?” Zoelle colors.
“Not exactly,” she hedges. I raise a dubious brow. “We were fooling around in my kitchen, and he seduced me. Kind of. I didn’t even know until a week later that he had marked me. It was only because his mother accidentally let it slip. I was really confused as to why I was feeling so much more from Xander and why he seemed to have this unexplainable ability to call me to heel. Of course, I was equal parts furious and embarrassed, but it ended up being overshadowed by the death of his mom shortly after.”
I stare at her in shock. “That sounds awful.”
“I was in pretty bad shape,” she admits sheepishly. “The current of emotion from the bond hadn’t just widened between us. With the marking, you officially become part of the Pack, and I was feeling their loss too. God, it was such a cluster-fuck.”
“Did you just curse?” Zoelle colors again.
“It’s the best way I know how to describe the situation, okay?” she tells me defensively. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know I get it. That I understand how you feel.”
“I don’t even understand how I feel,” I tell her with a sigh. She passes me a sympathetic glance.
“Pissed off. Uncertain. Upset. And maybe the tiniest ounce of hope?”
“Yes to the first three, and a hard no to the last. Why would I be hopeful?”
Zoelle chews on her bottom lip before answering, “Because despite everything, maybe deep down you like him.”
“No,” I tell her, staring out the window. “It’s just the soulmark. It’s not even real.”
“The soulmark doesn’t just make feelings appear. It amplifies what’s already there in your heart. I’m going to take a wild guess and say you were attracted to Ryatt when you first met him. He’s a good-looking guy. Sometimes he’s even known to be funny. Once the soulmark was sealed it probably latched onto that attraction and boosted it.”
“Being attracted to someone doesn’t mean you have to like them,” I remind her.
“It doesn’t," she agrees tentatively, “but you do like him, don’t you?” I say nothing. “It’s okay if you do. I was reluctant to admit my feelings for Xander when they started coming around. There was also the fact that I was also in another relationship at the time…” she trails off sheepishly.
“What happened with that?”
“I cheated on him,” she whispers mournfully. “If there were anything I would have done differently, it would have been breaking up with Ben earlier. I put it off. I used him as an excuse to try and avoid my growing feelings for Xander. It ended pretty badly between us.”
“You told your ex you cheated on him?” Zoelle nods. I let out a whistle, eyes widening. “You have some balls,” I comment. “I don’t think I would have had the nerve to do it.” More likely than not, I would have dropped him cold without an explanation as to why. I had never been brave in matters of the heart.
“I barely did,” she admits, “but Xander and I just had this moment of understanding. Of acceptance, really. I knew I couldn’t leave Ben hanging like that anymore. What about you? Have you ever been in a similar situation?”
“Have I ever cheated on anyone? I guess I have. I mean, I don’t know for sure. I’ve never really been in a relationship before, but when the job calls for it, I play the role of girlfriend or mistress.” I give a small shrug. “They never really meant anything to me.”
“Did you have sex with them?” she asks, more than an edge of curiosity in her voice.
I give a little grin. “Sometimes,” I tell her honestly. “I never had to if I didn’t want to. But sometimes it was fun to mix business with a little bit of pleasure.” A knot twists in my stomach at the phrase. Too bad mixing business with pleasure had led to such turmoil this time around.
“It probably feels even more confusing if feelings are there clouding the surface though, huh?” I nod slowly, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat.
“Is mind reading one of your witchy talents?” I comment lightly.
She shakes her head, pulling the car to a stop in front of a large house. “Like I said, I understand where you’re coming from. I was in your shoes less than a year ago.” She hops out of the car without another word, leading me silently into the house.
“Zoelle, is that you?” A woman calls out amidst a chorus of laughter down a short hallway.
“Yes!” Zoelle turns to me with a smile. “They’re all harmless, I promise.” She grabs my hand and drags me deeper into the household. My eyes dart wildly around, skimming the picture-lined walls and enjoying the scent of something sweet and chocolatey in the air.
I send a tentative smile to the women gathered in the room, all assembled around a small table near a large expanse of windows. Daylight shines in through the sheer curtains, casting them in a golden light.
“Come sit down,” one woman says, the same one who called out before. I note the two empty seats and set of matching mugs set before them, steam billowing softly from both. A plate of cookies sits in the middle.
“I’m—”
“Quinn Montgomery,” one of the other women supplies serenely. She has long white hair and pale skin that is scarred heavily in patches of pink and red. She smiles widely
at me. “We know all about you.”