Werewolf in the North Woods: A Wild About You Novel

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “There’s nowhere to get. Whatever this . . . feeling is between us, we need to ignore it.”

  “I was trying to do that, Roarke, and then you went ballistic because you thought I’d spent the night in this cave with another man.” She gazed at him. “You’re becoming possessive of me. What does that mean?”

  “It means I have to stop being possessive.”

  “But what if it’s something you can’t help? What if it ties into your werewolf nature?”

  He looked away, not happy with the insight that she’d neatly handed him. He was the werewolf in this equation, and yet she, the human in the equation, had come embarrassingly close to the truth. He was naturally territorial, and somehow he’d made her part of his territory, which she most certainly wasn’t. Would never be.

  “Although you have no justification for feeling possessive, I think it’s kind of sweet.”

  He glanced back at her. “I think it’s amazingly stupid. I have a brain, a pretty good one, in fact. I don’t have to be ruled by my instincts.”

  “But nobody’s brain works as well if they’re tired and hungry. And wet. And sore—speaking for myself on that one.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He hesitated. “And I’d like to give you a massage, which would help a lot, but I’m afraid that will lead to exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”

  “Here’s the thing.” She placed a hand on his chest. “I don’t know if it’s possible to avoid it.”

  Warmth from her hand seeped through his damp clothes and made its way to his skin, where it radiated outward. A portion of those warm tendrils went north, and a little bit went east and west, but the majority went straight south. His brain hadn’t been working very well before she touched him. Now it was totally MIA.

  Still, he owed it to both of them to question her statement. He cleared his throat, because his vocal cords weren’t working too well, either. “Anything’s possible. We just have to exercise some willpower.”

  She rubbed her hand over his chest. “We’ll need willpower for what I have in mind, because we don’t have condoms. But I’d like to propose a compromise between total abstinence and total indulgence.”

  His brain cells must have retained a little bit of juice, because he quickly imagined what that suggestion would look like, and he was immediately on board with it.

  “In other words, I’d still get my massage and some relief from sexual frustration.” She slowly unzipped his jacket. “If you don’t need the massage, I can skip that step and go straight for the main event.”

  Oh, yeah.

  “I understand all the reasons why we don’t want to get too involved, but this is more like fooling around in the backseat, minus the car. We’re simply letting off some steam before we become so preoccupied with sex that we can’t accomplish anything.”

  He couldn’t argue with her conclusions. He’d been ready to duel with some imaginary lover who’d shared this cave with her. He was strung so tight that the slightest thing could cause him to let fly with arrows of anger and frustration.

  Slowly she stepped away from him and unzipped her own jacket. “I’d like to get out of these damp clothes, but once I take them off, I’ll need to find a way to get warm.” In a move perfected by women over hundreds of years, she glanced up at him through her lashes. “Would you be willing to help with that?”

  The move was still effective. His cock surged to full arousal mode. He couldn’t agree fast enough. “I’ll lay out the sleeping bags.” Now would be the time to tell her that they didn’t need to worry about condoms and could take it all the way if they wanted to.

  But he decided against saying that. Maybe her method would allow him to satisfy his body—and hers—on a superficial, purely sexual level. Maybe he wouldn’t totally lose himself in the experience and forget that they were completely wrong for each other.

  “I thought you might be willing to consider my compromise.” She peeled off the jacket to reveal a white spandex tank top. Her taut nipples pushed against the stretchy material.

  Lust roared through him, and he wondered if he’d be able to keep this encounter superficial, after all. She wasn’t even naked yet, and already he was shaking.

  “Sleeping bags,” she said gently.

  He swallowed. “Right.” Somehow he managed to turn away from her and head for his backpack. His hands trembled as he pulled out both sleeping bags. He could hear her taking off her clothes, but he dared not look or he’d never get the makeshift bed prepared.

  Still, her movements stirred the air and brought him her tantalizing scent. In this cave there was no escape from the temptation of Abby. If he’d imagined he could sleep here all night and not go to her, he’d been delusional.

  He wasn’t usually clumsy, but he had a hell of a time opening up the sleeping bags and laying one on top of the other. He could still feel the stone underneath and wished they’d brought air mattresses, but it was a little late for that now.

  “Are you ready for me?”

  She had no idea how ready he was. He felt as if he had a rolling pin tucked between his thighs. He gave the top sleeping bag another quick tug and turned, still crouched down next to the makeshift bed.

  Whoa, what an angle. His glance traveled from her bare feet, complete with toenails painted mint green, up her slender calves to her creamy thighs, and . . . his brain stalled. He’d assumed she was a natural redhead, but now he knew for sure.

  That russet triangle covered all the secrets he longed to know about Abby. He allowed his attention to linger there. To his great joy, he discovered that the apex of that downy triangle was a slightly darker red, obviously moistened by the same desire that seared him with its heat.

  Heart beating fast, he lifted his gaze higher, sliding it over her flat belly and upward. The plump underside of her breasts beckoned him to touch, to fondle, and finally to capture each dusky nipple in his mouth.

  “You’re . . . beautiful,” he said. In fact, no woman had ever looked more beautiful to him, and that should have set off alarms in his head. But his natural caution seemed to have left the building—or in this case, the cave.

  Pink tinged her cheeks, and as he noticed that, he also saw that she’d let her hair down. It settled over her shoulders, and even in the dim light from the electric lantern, it provided a glorious blaze of color.

  Reaching up, he offered his hand to guide her down to the only bed he could provide. If he’d had silks and goose down at his disposal, he would have lavished them on her.

  Instead he had two sleeping bags that were known for their ease of transport and their thermal capabilities. He smiled at that last part. He had a feeling neither of them would have to worry about being cold tonight.

  Placing her hand in his, she winced as she dropped to her knees on the sleeping bags spread on the floor of the cave.

  “I wish they were softer,” he murmured.

  “It’s not the bed. It’s my poor muscles. They’re wrecked.”

  How could he have forgotten? Apparently the wonders of her naked body had distracted him from the pain in that beautiful body. She needed his help to ease her suffering, and then . . . then he could ease her more primitive ache.

  With great effort he tamed the lust seething in his veins. “Lie on your stomach,” he said. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Thank you. Here’s some lotion I brought in my pack.” She handed him a slender tube before stretching out on the sleeping bags and pillowing her head on her arms.

  “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not trained in this.” He unscrewed the cap on the lotion and squirted some into his hand.

  “Just imagine I’m a glob of Play-Doh.”

  “A glob of what?”

  “Play-Doh. Don’t tell me you never had any as a kid.”

  “Nope.” He straddled her hips and rubbed the lotion into both hands before leaning down to work on her back muscles.

  “Then you were deprived.” Sh
e moaned softly as he began to knead the muscles beneath her shoulder blades.

  The moan prodded his chained libido to break free. He wanted to make her moan for a different reason. “I take it Play-Doh is some sort of modeling clay for kids.”

  “Exactly. Ah, that feels good, Roarke. Right there. Deeper . . . mmm.”

  “If you want me to finish this, you’ll have to curtail the commentary. It sounds like a woman responding to sex.”

  “Right. So if you didn’t have Play-Doh, what did you have?”

  “Marble.”

  “Marbles? That’s not the same kind of thing. Oh, God, you hit the right spot. That feels so . . . whoops. Sorry. No commentary. Sorry.”

  “Much appreciated.” He battled his urges as he worked his way down her spine to the small of her back, which brought him close to the cutest fanny he’d ever had the privilege of touching. “Are your glutes sore?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Too bad. I wanted to massage them.”

  Her body shook as she laughed. “Maybe later. Tell me about playing with marbles.”

  “Not marbles. Marble, singular. My brother and I were allowed to sculpt in marble when we were kids.”

  “Oh.” She sighed in apparent contentment as he started massaging her thighs. “That’s a step up from sculpting in Play-Doh.”

  “I wasn’t very good at it. I ruined a lot of marble.” He kneaded the backs of her thighs and tried to ignore the way her body quivered in response. Her scent called to him, but he’d promised to give her a massage, and he would by damn go all the way to her toes.

  “They should have given you Play-Doh instead.” Abby sighed again. “But maybe you didn’t need it. You’re very good at this.”

  “You think so?” Without quite realizing how it had happened, he’d begun stroking her inner thighs.

  She must have liked having him do that, because she parted them just enough to give him greater access. But he wasn’t absolutely sure what she wanted. She’d asked for a massage, and he wasn’t finished with that. He hadn’t massaged her calves yet, or her feet.

  Still, that fragrant place kept calling to him, and he began to explore, sliding his fingers between her silky thighs. Ah, there, right there. She was wet and ready for him, whether she wanted to admit that or not. And if he went a little farther . . .

  She groaned.

  “Abby.” He teased her with feathery strokes. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Please, Roarke.” She lifted her hips just enough to give him all the room he needed. “Please.”

  He didn’t have to be asked twice. Pushing deep with his two middle fingers, he stroked her clit with his forefinger. She pushed back against the pressure of his hand, her breath coming in quick little gasps.

  As he stroked her, she moved in time with his rhythm. He could sense her reaching for what she needed, and he increased the pace. She came very quickly, her cries echoing in the small cave as moisture spilled over his fingers.

  He kept them deep inside, absorbing her spasms, continuing to stroke her, making the sensation last. And when she finally sank down onto the sleeping bags, quivering and sighing, he slowly withdrew his hand.

  Bracing himself on his forearms and his knees, he stretched out and settled lightly over her, giving her cover and protection. He kissed the back of her neck and her bare shoulder, but he resisted the urge to nip her soft skin.

  He was flirting with disaster lying with her like this. If she rose to her hands and knees and he did the same, they would be one unzipped fly away from a werewolf binding. But he wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  He would not lose his head over this woman, even though her scent filled him with longing. He would enjoy her, yes. Total denial had proved to be impossible.

  Slowly he raised his hand to his mouth and tasted her sweetness as visions of thrusting into her made his cock throb and his balls ache. He would have to be very, very careful.

  Chapter 11

  So good. Abby lay in a dazed and boneless heap, congratulating herself on a most excellent idea. Endorphins surged through her body and muted the pain from the day’s hike. Roarke had given her pleasure and now he was keeping her relaxed muscles warm by resting lightly against her.

  He must be supporting himself on his knees and forearms, because his full weight would be too much for her to handle, but this was nice, more than nice. She felt cared for, especially when he combed her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck and the curve of her shoulder. When he began to gently nibble, she became aware of several things.

  First of all, she wasn’t quite as satisfied as she’d thought. She’d be more than happy to go another round, although that wouldn’t be very sporting of her. Technically it was Roarke’s turn.

  That brought her to the second item demanding her attention. Roarke’s package rested lightly, but temptingly, between her thighs. As she knew from the blackmail pictures she’d taken in the woods, he was possessed of a very large package.

  She’d promised to unwrap it for him, which she was more than willing to do. But now that his solid length was nestled against her, she’d become greedy. She wanted the full experience that package could provide, and she couldn’t have it.

  Why, oh why, hadn’t she tossed some condoms in her backpack? They wouldn’t have weighed much. In fact, ounce-for-ounce, they’d have delivered far more pleasure than the energy bar she’d tucked in a side pocket.

  Roarke settled more firmly between her thighs as he nuzzled a spot behind her ear.

  Instinctively, she shifted her weight to her knees and lifted her hips to accommodate him.

  Drawing in a sharp breath, he slowly fit himself tight against her, but the soft denim of his jeans kept her from the connection she really wanted. Then he rocked forward, nudging the spot that was already wet and ready for him. She moaned in frustration.

  His breathing quickened. Swearing softly, he nipped her earlobe. Then he pushed forward again, more insistently this time, and the crease of his fly rubbed in an erotic rhythm that made her gasp with pleasure.

  Bracing herself on her forearms, she answered his rhythm as heat pulsed in her veins. “Roarke . . . I want . . .”

  “I know.” Sliding a hand beneath her, he tunneled his fingers through her damp curls.

  No, he didn’t know. She wanted more than an orgasm. She wanted him to remove the denim barrier to ecstasy and connect with her the way a man and woman were designed to do. But that was irresponsible and crazy, so she’d take what she could get.

  Stroking her with a sure touch, he rocked against her, his jeans-clad thighs brushing her backside. “You’re killing me, Abby,” he said in a low, lust-roughened voice.

  She was too far gone to respond. Instead she uttered a soft cry as the first wave of her climax rolled through her. Then her world erupted in an orgasmic flow of light and heat that left her breathless with its power.

  If he could give her this much pleasure with a mere touch, maybe she wouldn’t survive a full dose of Roarke’s loving. But she’d like to try. As she trembled in his strong grip, she longed for what she could not have.

  Gradually her breathing steadied, but Roarke’s had not. She vowed to make good on her promise and give him some relief from what had to be incredible frustration after providing her with two climaxes.

  She took a shaky breath. “Roarke, I—”

  “It’s okay.” Slowly he released her and the air stirred as he moved away. “I need to . . . I need to leave for a little bit.”

  “Leave?” She rolled to her back and sat up. “But it’s pouring out there.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He stood on the far side of the cave, his back to her as he pulled off his hiking boots. Next he removed his jacket, and then his shirt. He was stripping down.

  Her chest grew tight. Sometimes she forgot who and what he was, but it appeared she was about to get a vivid reminder. “Are you going to shift?”

  “Not here.”

  Her immediate tension e
ased a little. Capturing it on film was one thing. Watching from a few feet away was a whole other deal.

  She swallowed. “But why? I thought that you would want me to . . .” She wasn’t sure how to put it into words without embarrassing herself. In some ways they knew each other very well, but in others, not at all.

  He kept his back to her as he shoved his jeans and briefs down. “I did. I still do. But it wouldn’t be wise right now. I’m thinking with my dick.”

  “Oh.” Now that he’d mentioned it, she wouldn’t mind a glimpse of that part of his anatomy. She calculated the chances of that and decided they were pretty good considering he’d have to turn in her direction in order to walk out of the cave.

  “A quick run in the rain will cool me down.” He turned.

  “Stay.” It was the only word that her lust-crazed brain could come up with once she’d seen what she’d be missing if he left. The camera hadn’t done him justice. The light from the electric lantern revealed a magnificently erect penis surrounded by dark blond hair, and his balls, swollen and tight with excitement, begged for her touch.

  He glanced at her, regret in his green eyes. His powerful chest, sprinkled with the same shade of dark blond hair surrounding his cock, heaved in a tortured sigh. “It would be a mistake.” Then he took his gorgeous body out of the circle of light from the lantern.

  “No, it wouldn’t!” she called after him, but he didn’t answer. The bush covering the cave entrance rustled, indicating he’d stepped outside. Grabbing up a sleeping bag, Abby wrapped herself in it as she hurried after him. “Roarke, this is silly! Come back!”

  But he was gone, using the cold rain, she supposed, as a natural version of a cold shower. She could use one, too, after getting a good look at Roarke’s equipment, which she wouldn’t be touching anytime soon.

  Tossing down the sleeping bag, she shoved past wet branches and gasped as the cold rain struck her heated skin. “Roarke?” She pushed her hair out of her face and peered into the darkness.

  Still no answer. She tried to listen for him as rain pelted her head and streamed in rivulets down her body. She shivered in the cold. Something rustled to her left, and she turned in that direction.