Wolf's Hunger

by Carina Wilder

  I’d never known normal.

  So Tristan fit right in. I liked how it made me feel to confront a man like him. The embodiment of power and prestige, a man who had everything. Money, looks, a reputation. Not to mention that he was more gorgeous than any human had a right to be.

  But what he didn’t seem to realize was that I was a woman with nothing to lose. Which meant that I might actually have been the more dangerous of the two of us.

  “I heard that this theater was to be torn down. I didn’t want that to happen, so I bought it,” Tristan said, pulling his eyes away and making his way through the set as if he owned it, too. “This is all your handiwork, I take it?” he asked, turning back to face me. “I’d heard that you paint the sets as well as designing them.”

  “How do you know that? How do you know anything about me?” He was trying to flatter me, to charm me. But I wasn’t going to let up. Wasn’t going to make this easy for him. I wanted him to admit that he’d stalked me last night. I wanted him to admit that what he was doing wasn't normal, or even okay.

  Even if I was enjoying it.

  “I asked around about you after our brief meeting last evening,” he said casually. “I found out a few things. Your name, your place of employment.”

  “You want my bra size, too?” I snapped. “You do realize that even if you’re a rich-as-fuck fancy-pants billionaire, you’re not entitled to infiltrate my life, right? I saw you outside of my building last night, Tristan. I know you were there.”

  A strange sort of smile curled his lips. “I’m aware of that,” he said. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you feel violated, Ariana, which, by the way, is precisely why I haven’t touched you since I entered this building.”

  With those words, a hot bullet of rage hit me in the gut. I could feel my face go red as I opened my mouth. “Oh, goodness me!” I said, sarcasm coloring the words. “Thanks ever so much for not helping yourself to my body. You’re such a gentleman, aren’t you?”

  He was so damn cocky. So confident. So entitled. I wanted nothing more than to bring him down a notch or two.

  But I also knew that I was just as guilty as he was.

  I wanted him. Hell, if I’d known where he lived I might have prowled around outside his place last night, too. I probably would have ripped his clothes off right now if he’d given me so much as a dash of hope that I could get away with it.

  My sarcasm must have set him off, though, because he took one enormous stride towards me and stopped, his body so near mine that I had to look up to see his eyes. We’d been this close once before. But this time he wasn’t grabbing me. Wasn’t pulling me in.

  This time, it was some other force that was doing that. Something stronger than either of us.

  His eyes explored my face before moving down again, making me all too aware of how loose my overalls were in the hip area. Suddenly I was glad to have worn the shabby garment and my low-cut, slightly too-tight tank top. There was something sexy about the feeling that my skin was all but exposed under the loose denim, that he could have slipped his fingers down the sides and felt so much bare flesh around the waistband of my small g-string.

  I shouldn't have been pleased about any of this, of course. I should have been pissed off that this man was looking at me like I was ice cream threatening to melt if he didn't lick me.

  Damn him again, for making me need his touch.

  “I want to offer you a job, Ariana,” he said, his tone all business suddenly.

  Wait--What the fuck? A few seconds ago he’d been talking about touching me. Now he was talking about hiring me?

  “What job would that be?” I asked.

  “Head set designer for the newly renovated Venezia. Once it’s ready to go, of course.”

  I let out a bitter laugh. “Well, I’m sure you know I couldn’t possibly accept that position," I told him through my clenched jaw. “You don’t know my work. Besides, there are contracts to sort out, salaries to discuss. Not to mention that I hardly know you. I’d have to decide if I even like you before I commit to working for you. So far the only thing I know is that you propositioned me in a bar a few minutes after meeting me. That’s hardly a great endorsement for a future boss.“

  “In that case, you'll just have to get to know me, won't you? I suspect you’d find that there’s more to me than meets the eye.”

  "I suppose I would,” I said, wondering just what lay beyond his elegant suit and those piercing, daunting eyes of his. There had to be some substance beyond the smooth, unreadable surface of Tristan Wolfe.

  "Fine. Let's start getting to know one another, then. I'd like to take a look at the dressing rooms, see what sort of shape they're in. Would you care to guide me?"

  I hesitated. Maybe it was for a second, maybe an hour. I had no sense anymore of the passage of time. All I knew was that I both dreaded and craved more time alone with Tristan. “Fine," I repeated.

  My luke-warm latte still in hand, I led him towards the backstage area, down a narrow hall into the first dressing room. The whole time I was aware that he was behind me, silent. Too close for comfort, yet not close enough.

  I wasn't naive. I knew full well that there had to be a reason he wanted to get me off the stage and into a more secluded place. One with a door that locked. I knew what he wanted, because it was the same thing that made my core ache with a brutal, relentless throb.

  Maybe I should have refused him. Should have told him to fuck off.

  But I didn't. The truth was, I wanted to be alone with him more than anything in this world. Denying it would have been foolish. It would have been the same as denying myself air or water. Much as the thought terrified me, the truth was that I'd begun to crave him desperately.

  As I moved towards the dressing table, Tristan flicked on a switch, which illuminated a series of round bulbs surrounding the mirror. I stared at his reflection only to see that his eyes had taken on an even more ethereal glow than usual, as though their glacial blue irises had been lit from within.

  He stepped towards me as I watched him, easing up behind me.

  “You’re a very beautiful woman, Ariana,” he said in a satin voice. “Do you know that?”

  I shook my head, unable to respond out loud for fear that my own voice wouldn’t come to me.

  “Well, you are. A sexy one, at that.” In a quick, unexpectedly playful gesture, he reached over my right shoulder and undid the strap on my overalls, which made the right side of the front apron droop down, exposing the curve of my breast under the thin, tight cotton tank top. In another swift move, he slipped his fingers over the peak of my breast, hardening my nipple under his touch.

  I pulled away and spun around to shoot him my fiercest glare.

  "Why did you do that?" I asked.

  "Because I wanted to," he replied, staring at my chest. Slowly he drew his tongue over his upper lip, a move that destroyed me and sent a shockwave of arousal straight to my core.

  Part of me wanted to refasten the strap in punishment. But another part was enjoying the sensation of those magical eyes of his caressing my right breast. I could all but feel him inside me now. He was so close. It would have been so easy to offer myself up for his pleasure.

  But if he got any closer, I told myself, he'd drive me over the brink.

  And not in the good way.

  I pulled back, leaning against the dressing table, my hands wrapping tight around its edge. "Well, you shouldn't do things like that," I said. "It's too familiar."

  "According to whom?" he asked, pulling his icy eyes to mine again. "To society? Or to you?"

  I swallowed hard. I knew the answer. Society would have frowned on it, but as for me, I only wanted more, however politically incorrect and forward he was being. I wanted him to finish the job. I wanted to be naked with this man, to feel his lips drawing in a nipple, his tongue stroking my bud until my body convulsed in ecstasy. I wanted to feel his swollen length deep inside me.

  I'd wanted it since the first second I'd se
en him, and with each moment that passed I became more certain that I'd die without it.

  But I pushed the thoughts and fantasies aside and told myself to stop. Stop wanting. Stop needing.

  You don't need anyone.

  "It doesn't matter," I told him. "Doesn't matter what my reasons are. If I ask you not to touch me, you shouldn't do it. Period."

  "Fine, then," he said, edging towards me. "I won't touch you until you ask me to." He was so close again. I could taste him on the air, that sensual musk of his driving me insane. So, we had a rule now. No touching. Only torment. "If you like, I won't even tell you what I'd do if you took off those overalls of yours and offered me your sweet pussy to lick.”

  “Good,” I breathed, though I didn’t mean it in the least.

  "I won't tell you that I'd taste you. I won't tell you that I'd curl my fingers inside you. That I'd make you come with my tongue, sucking gently on your most sensitive place. And I certainly won't tell you how hard my cock was all night for you, Ariana. I won't tell you that I touched myself last night, fantasizing about those lovely lips of yours sucking me off, and made myself come so hard that it shattered me."

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  "What are you doing to me?" I gasped. I wanted to pull away, but I didn't. I couldn't. His draw was too powerful, his magnetism crippling. I ached for him, body and mind. I wanted him to do everything he'd just told me about, and then more. "Who are you, Tristan?"

  He leaned in so close to my ear that I felt his lips brush my lobe. "I'm your worst nightmare and your best dream, wrapped up into one man."

  He pulled back and stared at me for a long moment, then turned away. “I have to head to my office,” he said, his tone suddenly nonchalant again. “Meet me for lunch tomorrow. Noon. Seventy-Five Fifth Avenue.”

  “That sounded a little too much like a command for my tastes,” I said. “What if I don’t want to meet you?”

  “Then you shouldn’t, of course. But the thing is, you do want to meet me, and we both know it. You feel what’s happened between us as acutely as I do. Although it’s pretty cute that you pretend you don’t.” He looked over his shoulder for a second. “Tomorrow, Ariana.” With that, he stepped out the door and disappeared out of my life once again.

  Damn that man for being right all the time.

  Chapter 6

  When I got home at six p.m., Marcus was sitting in the living room. He was still dressed to the nines, his eyes locked on some distant place that I couldn’t see, like he was staring through the walls at another universe.

  “Penny for your ridiculously deep thoughts, roomie,” I said, chuckling. Normally that would have gotten his attention, if not made him crack a smile. But he didn’t react, didn’t turn my way. The only indication that he’d even heard me came in the moment when his lips began to move.

  “I’m thinking that you’re in deep trouble,” he replied softly. Well, that was a weird thing to say. There was no reason why it should have come out of his mouth, yet he stated it with all the conviction of a man who knew without a shadow of a doubt exactly what he was talking about. “You’re walking into a world that will eat you alive. That man…”

  I looked around, checking to see if someone else was there. I felt like I’d stepped into the middle of a rehearsal for a melodramatic play, and he was in the middle of a scene with someone whose life had just gone all to hell.

  “Are you actually talking to me right now?” I asked. “Or are you on crack? What are you on about?”

  Marcus swung his head around to look at me. Still not a trace of a smile on his face. I’d never seen him so serious, so…concerned. “Do you know who that man was this morning?” he asked. “How powerful?” Before I could answer, he did it for me. “No, of course you don’t. How would you? You’re only human.”

  Again, I thought, that’s a really strange freaking thing to say, Marcus. What did he mean, I was only human? Like he wasn’t?

  “You’re serious,” I said.

  “As a heart attack. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

  “Oh, for shit’s sake. Don’t you do this to me,” I retorted, annoyance fluttering up my chest. “Don’t treat me like I’m some naive child and Tristan Wolfe is a god, descended from the heavens to torment poor little me and toy with my emotions. I’m a big girl, and I can look after myself.”

  “Oh?” he asked. He rose to his feet and walked over to me. I’d never been so aware of his height, the broadness of his shoulders. Marcus could be imposing when he wanted to. “Tell me, then, can you defend yourself against a monster?”

  I let out another laugh. “A monster?” I choked. “He’s hardly that. He’s assertive, I’ll grant you that. He’s intimidating. But he’s no monster. He’s just a guy who’s used to getting his own way. It shouldn’t surprise anyone; he’s probably surrounded by yes-men all day.”

  Marcus shook his head. “You don’t understand. He’s more than just some assertive man. He owns this city. He’s like a mob boss, but far more dangerous. He owns people’s souls.”

  This time, I howled with laughter. This was getting ridiculous. “Um, I’m pretty sure you’re describing Satan, Marcus,” I said. “Tristan is just a guy. He thinks he’s the king of the world because he’s rich and handsome, but trust me, underneath it all, he’s just a dude.” As I said the words, though, I was all too aware of the lie in them. Tristan’s scent, his presence—he was walking eroticism. He was lust and desire. He was pure sexuality. If ever there’s been such a thing as a god, he was it.

  He was definitely more incredible than any man I’ve ever met. The problem was, I couldn’t put my finger on what made him so irresistible.

  He was dangerous, but not for the reasons Marcus thought.

  It was because I could see myself falling hard for him. So hard that it could tear me apart from the inside.

  My housemate looked at me with desperate eyes. “Just stay away from him, Ari, please. Stay far away. The guy will eat you alive, literally. I wish I could explain, I wish I could tell you how I know. Just…trust me.”

  The thought of being eaten alive made me drool in spite of my determination not to succumb to Wolfe’s charms. What Marcus didn’t seem to get was that I wanted him to eat me. I wanted his mouth on every part of me, in fact. My life was already imploding. I may as well enjoy myself in the process.

  “Note taken,” I said. “I’ll be careful, since you insist. Listen, I’m going to take a shower. I’m covered in paint and sawdust. Don’t worry about Wolfe; I’ll probably never see him again.” I cleverly neglected to mention Tristan’s invitation to lunch the following day, of course.

  Or the job offer.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. He’s got his sights on you. He won’t let up until he gets what he wants.”

  “Yeah, well, here’s a fun fact for you: women sometimes reject men. This is the modern age. He can’t just lay claim to me and expect me to submit to his will.”

  “You might be surprised at just how easily he can do that, Ari.”

  With that, Marcus slid back to the couch and I made my way towards my room, grabbed my robe and headed over to the bathroom, relieved to be free of my housemate’s unsettling expression and tone.

  When I’d locked the door behind me, I turned and stared into the mirror at my disheveled self, taking note of the streak of red paint on my right cheek. I wondered if it had been there when Wolfe was with me in the dressing room that morning. I’d been too focused on him to look at myself. Too focused on how aroused he made me.

  Slowly I unclipped my overalls on the right side, just as he’d done, and let the front droop down. I slipped my fingertips over my breast, my nipple already hard under my own touch. A shot of aching pain hit me between the legs, my channel clenching for the man I should never allow myself to have.

  The man who could soon be my boss.

  I undid the left side and let the loose garment drop to my ankles. Suddenly I found
myself standing in nothing but my tank top and my thong, all too aware of the curve of my hips, the thickness of my thighs. A wave of self-consciousness assaulted my mind. What was it that Tristan saw in me, anyhow? I wasn’t exactly a model.

  Just a woman. Brown hair, brown eyes. Olive skin. Nothing special.

  But maybe that was how he liked his toys. Simple, plain, nothing to write home about. That way he could play with them, then chuck them aside without thinking twice. There was no risk of attachment to something so unremarkable as me.

  My eyes slipped over the curve of my breasts in the mirror, and I pulled my tank top down, straps first, along with my bra.

  I’ve always been happy with my breasts. Their size, their shape, my sensitive nipples. I was all too aware at this moment that the tips had gone red because my brain was focused on thoughts of Tristan’s eyes, his voice…those lips that had made brief contact with my ear. The promise of what his mouth would do to my pussy, if I invited him to pleasure me.

  I slipped a hand down the front of my panties, letting out a laugh when I felt how wet I was.

  All because of you, I mouthed in the mirror. All for you, Tristan Wolfe. I so want to give myself to you.

  Even though I’d probably regret the hell out of it.

  Chapter 7

  When I headed back into the living room, there was no sign of Marcus. The door to his bedroom was wide open, and I could only assume that he’d gone out for the evening. He was probably pissed at me. Annoyed that I hadn’t actually promised I’d never see Wolfe again.

  Men were so weird. I couldn’t tell if he was jealous of Tristan, or if he hated him for some other reason. Maybe he was threatened by the Wolfe’s success? Whatever the case, I was baffled by the whole damn thing. Marcus had always been like a brother to me. A protective big brother. I knew he loved me, and I appreciated it. But this strange hatred of Wolfe bordered on psychotic. As far as I could tell, the worst thing Tristan had ever done to him was shake his hand a little too hard.