“Ellen,” he said harshly, not bothering to hide the wolf in his tone, not trying to fight the possessive frenzy that moved through him. She met his eyes with trepidation, and he didn’t care that he’d lost so much control she was wary of him. “We need to talk. Upstairs.”
With a reluctant nod, she slipped out of the jacket she was wearing and handed it to Anthony. Then she smiled at him. Clint damn near lost his mind.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He didn’t want to read any innuendo to that, knew she hadn’t let another man touch her, but Anthony’s scent was all over her. His wolf clawed the cage of his mind, desperate to be free.
“Now, Ellen.” He followed the order with a low growl.
She narrowed her eyes as she passed him at the bottom of the stairs and went up. He smelled fear on her, but more than enough anger to compensate. When she reached the landing and disappeared down the hall, he turned to face the four Hunters standing in the foyer.
“She’s mine. Don’t interfere again, Anthony.”
The were shrugged. “Quit making me.”
Clint didn’t respond to that, just followed her upstairs. He was done waiting, done fighting. He was claiming what was his. She was packing when he entered, and somehow he resisted the urge to roar.
He took the bag from her hands and tossed it on top of the desk. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away from you,” she answered tartly.
“Wrong answer.” He moved closer, caught Anthony’s scent, and smiled just this side of feral. “Shower first. Then we’ll talk.”
She made an exasperated sound. “I’m sick of talking about this, Clint. Just go away.”
He stared into her eyes, wondering if she really meant that. For once, he didn’t see anything soft in her gaze, and it made his heart twist. He turned her around and nudged her toward the bathroom. “We’re talking when you’re done.”
But she turned back. “Say what you have to say and get it over with, okay? I’m not interested in dragging this out.”
Something in him snapped. She’d been fighting his fighting the mating instinct for years, and now she wanted to resist him when he was giving in? He wrapped one hand around her nape and pulled her close. “When I take you, Ellen,” he whispered harshly, “when I make you mine, it will not be with Anthony’s scent on you.”
Regret filled her eyes, and she set her hands on his chest, pushing until he let her go. “I don’t want a man who’s only giving into the instinct for a woman he doesn’t really want. Just leave. Go home. And we’ll learn to live with it. We’ve done it this long.”
“Too bad. I’m sick of fighting it. I don’t even want to fight it anymore. And as for not wanting you, get that idea out of your head. I want you so much I can’t breathe for it.” He took a deep breath, trying to control the beast in him, trying to stay in control long enough to say the things that needed to be said first.
Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. It broke something in him, but before he could reach for her, she collected herself, picked up a small bag, and walked toward the bathroom door. She paused at the entrance to turn and glare at him. “If this is some kind of trick to get me all sweet and pliable again and you back out, I swear to god, I’ll hurt you Clint Osborn. I’m done letting you lead me around like some lovesick teenager.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, and minutes after the door slammed shut, he heard the water come on.
He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining her naked under the spray. He wanted to join her, but if he did, the things that needed to be said first wouldn’t be.
But what the hell was he going to say? You’re mine, I’m claiming you, and the hell with any regrets you have afterwards? Was he really prepared to tell her everything, all the secrets that would make her turn away from him when he’d finally touched her, tasted her, been inside her? He didn’t think he would survive that rejection, so he made a decision. The wrong one, he acknowledged, but he couldn’t make himself care enough to stop.
Stripping quickly, he walked into the bathroom. The shower was on, but she wasn’t in it. With her hands braced on the edge of the counter, she leaned forward, head hung low. She didn’t turn to him when he entered, but she was aware of his presence. Her spine stiffened, and he tried to ignore his jealousy as he approached and still smelled Anthony on her skin. She stood and faced him when he trailed his knuckles down her back.
“You’re supposed to be in the shower,” he said softly.
Her expression turned mutinous. “I don’t follow orders well. Remember?”
Hell yes, he remembered. It was one facet of her personality that had driven him crazy for years. Rather than argue, he picked her up and carried her into the shower. She had it set scalding hot, and he quickly turned it down some before it burned her delicate skin. Then he took the washcloth and soap. Starting with her right foot, he cleaned her. Up one long leg and down the other, ignoring the soft curls between her thighs that drew him like a moth to a flame. He was hard as a pike before he was done with her first calf.
He stood, soaped up her torso, paying particular attention to her nipples until they were hard, irresistible points. He caught one in his mouth, and she arched her back, moving closer to him. Groaning, he released it with a pop and circled her, cleaning her back and neck. He handed her the cloth to do her face while he reached for the shampoo and held her as she tilted her hair back into the spray.
She took the bottle from him and finished the job herself, while he retrieved the washcloth. Starting with her ass, he continued to clean her, lingering over the rounded flesh he found so fascinating. When she leaned her head back to rinse the shampoo, he moved to her pussy. First, he inserted an exploratory finger, then used the cloth to gently clean her. They were both panting when he spun her around to rinse off the soap.
She leaned back as he moved into position behind her, as if she sensed him moving into place and knew he wouldn’t let her fall. He gathered her hair in one fist and swept it all to one side, over her shoulder. As she let the warm water pound into her chest, he bent lower, kissed that tantalizing curve in her neck.
He felt her hold her breath, and anticipation sang through his blood. Finally. She would be his. Forever. Irrevocably. His incisors lengthened, but he sucked at her skin first. Enjoyed the smooth texture and sweet taste of her before sinking his teeth in.
Skin broke under the pressure, and her blood was in his mouth, mixing with the enzymes in his saliva. The bond between them snapped firmly into place. Strong and resolute. Unbreakable. He lapped at the tiny drops of blood, then spun her around, no longer able to ignore his throbbing cock.
Picking her up, he braced her back against the wall and thrust into her as her legs wrapped around his waist. She was tight, but wet and welcoming. He was rough, a little wild. A lot demanding. He needed to feel her cunt clenching his cock. Needed to feel her body’s surrender to his dominance.
And she gave him what he needed.
Ellen knew what he wanted from her, felt it through the bond. Submission. Complete devotion. He’d always had it, but seeing her with Anthony, with Anthony’s scent on her, however innocent it may have been, seemed to have pushed him into finally letting go. His possessive instincts didn’t scare her. She welcomed it, welcomed every part of this wolf she loved. She was flying high, and when two of his fingers closed over one of her nipples and squeezed, she came in one fiery burst and clung to him as he rammed into her. His roar of release was buried in her shoulder, but she heard it, felt it as his cum pulsed into her. Smiling, she let him carry her out of the shower, dry her off, and finally lay her carefully on the bed.
He pressed his lips to hers for a quick kiss then stepped to the dresser. Curious, she propped herself up on her elbows and arched an eyebrow when he opened one of the top drawers. The curiosity quickly turned to mortification when he came back to bed with the vibrating egg.
“Oh, my god. I can’t believe you found that,” she whispered, a hot blus
h spreading up her neck.
He grinned and flipped the switch. “Interesting little gadget.”
She lay back and covered her face with her hands, wishing she’d wake up from this embarrassing scene. She nearly jumped out of her skin, then twisted toward him, when he set the vibrating egg against her nipple. He sucked the other one into his mouth, and she had to fight against coming, wanting to drag it out, hold out as long as possible, knowing it would be that much more intense.
He must have sensed her fight. “Let go, baby. I’m not going to be done for a long, long time.”
The egg left her nipple, gliding a slow, buzzing path down her ribcage. She held her breath, fisting her hands in the sheets, when it passed over the curls hiding her sex. Exploded when it grazed her clit.
He moved down her body, leaving a trail of biting kisses, until he was between her thighs. The toy returned to her clit, held there while his tongue pushed inside her pussy. Stroked in and out. He made her come over and over again. Until she was weak from it. Until she begged him to fuck her.
Clint was held in the grip of the mate bond, determined to touch her, taste her. Own a piece of her soul no matter what he had to do to get it. When she started begging, he turned the toy off and tossed it aside, but he didn’t hurry his pace.
He lapped at her again, her juices like cream on his tongue, before beginning a leisurely journey up her body. Over her flat belly, dipping into her navel, showering time and attention on her perfect breasts. She was crying her need, tugging at his hair, before he moved on.
When he thrust into her, feeling as if he was coming home after a long, extended trip, she gave a relieved sigh and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her heels dug into his back as she urged him to move, urged him to go deeper. But he denied her, holding her gaze as he kept his strokes short, shallow, slow.
A tear slid slowly over her cheek, and he licked it up. He knew he wasn’t hurting her. She was hot and slick around him, her pussy clenching him with each thrust and withdrawal. It was a tear of frustration, he felt it through the bond, that he wouldn’t fuck her harder, give her what she needed to come.
The need to give her what she wanted almost overwhelmed him, but he held back. Determined to drag the pleasure out as long as he could for both of them. Determined to make up for all their lost years. It was an apology, a begging for forgiveness, this slow torture.
And he should have known his mate, his Ellen of all women, would never put up with it. Staring into his eyes, she boldly put her hands on her breasts. Squeezed her nipples. Her eyes clouded, and her cunt squeezed him, milking him as she came.
He didn’t stand a chance, watching her pleasure herself, and he gave her what she wanted. The slow tormenting strokes gone, he increased his thrusts. Fast. Hard. He moved his hand to her pussy, found and rubbed her clit, determined she would come one more time. She did almost the moment he touched her, so sensitized to his touch now he suspected the lightest graze would have accomplished it.
No longer able to hold back, he thrust into her one last time, his semen filling her as he shouted her name. The orgasm was so intense it left him drained, depleted of all his energy. He rolled over, pulled her up under his arm, and was instantly asleep.
But not for long. He grumbled a couple of hours later when she got up, his wolf protesting when she left the safety of his arms. When she dressed and approached the door, he sat up and voiced the objection.
“Where are you going?”
She gave him a sexy grin over her shoulder. “I didn’t eat dinner tonight. I’m starving.”
Ellen sucked in a deep breath as his eyes grew hooded, his arousal obvious in his thickening cock. He stood and approached her with that wolf-like grace that always made her blood rush. The way the man moved should be illegal. He stopped before her and bent his head to her neck. One long, hot lick.
“I’m starving, too. I think I’ll have more of you.”
Rumbling, her stomach chose that moment to protest her lack of food.
He laughed softly and stepped away to pull on his jeans. “Right. Food.”
She was hyper-conscious of him at her back as they went to the kitchen. It was as if she could feel his gaze on her, caressing her body. The sensation made her giddy. If this was what it was like to be wanted by Clint Osborn, she hoped it never ended.
In the kitchen, her stomach reminded her again why she’d dragged them out of bed, and she went straight to the refrigerator. When she bent to rifle through the leftovers, he was right behind her, hands on her hips and pulling her ass close to grind against his erection. Her pussy filled with liquid heat at the contact, at the promise of his touch.
He released her, and she turned around to watch him strip off his jeans. He grinned at her arched eyebrow and opened the back door.
“I need to run off some excess energy.”
She held her breath. She hadn’t seen Clint in wolf form in years. She longed for him to shift, to see him as a wolf and run her hands through his fur. Stroke the animal that was so much a part of him. He was across the room in a blur of movement, his hand cupping her cheek.
“You accept this part of me.” There was wonder in his tone, but that didn’t make sense. She’d grown up with werewolves. Why wouldn’t she accept it?
“I always have,” she replied softly.
He watched her a moment, serious, before nodding. “What’s for dinner?”
She shrugged. Who could think of food right now? “Spaghetti maybe. Whatever I can scrounge up.”
He kissed her, humming against her lips, bringing her body to screaming life. “Yummy,” he said when he let her go, and she knew he wasn’t talking about food. “I won’t be gone long.”
He moved away a couple of feet, his body became a blur, and then the wolf stood before her. Smiling, she knelt in front of him, ran her hands through the thick, black fur that covered his sleek body. The wolf gave her face a long, wet lick, and laughing, she stood, watching as he left. He waited on the back step until she shut the door behind him. She didn’t lock it. He wouldn’t go far, and she knew he’d never let anyone close enough to hurt her.
She went into the large pantry and found the ingredients she wanted. There was one last jar of homemade spaghetti sauce, and she quickly browned a pound of ground beef to add to it. The mixture was simmering a few minutes later when she dropped the pasta into boiling water. Ten minutes later, she set two plates on the table just as Clint returned. They ate in a silence that felt heavy, loaded with possibilities and sensual promise.
He didn’t speak until he stood at her side, helping clean up the dishes. “Do you want to stay here? Or return to the Appalachian Pack?”
Her heart ached, and she shook her head. “Too many bad memories there. And…” She hesitated, not sure how to explain the home she’d found among the Hunters. “I do good here. I have purpose here.”
He nodded. “I’ll speak to Anthony. I’m sure he won’t mind having another hand available.”
She looked at him, knew her eyes had grown wide with worry, but didn’t try to hide it. “You don’t mean to go back on active Hunter status, do you?”
“No. Not unless it’s necessary, but we’ve always had that understanding.”
She nodded. It was very uncommon, but sometimes the Hunters called someone back. Someone with special skills or particular contacts. He was still watching her, but his expression had changed. Away from business. Back to the carnal.
“I want to take you under the moonlight.” He moved closer, until his erection pressed against her hip. “It’s almost full tonight.”
“The others,” she whispered.
“Will stay away from our balcony.”
She nodded, unable to deny him anything, and almost ran up the steps. He was right behind her, helping her undress, opening the French doors that led outside. The air rushing inside was cold, but she didn’t feel it. Moonlight poured in, and she watched him stare at her, struggle to control his breathing, while he slowly removed
his jeans.
She backed out of the doors, loving the way he followed her, stalked her. Loving the way his eyes went wolf when she was outside, bathed in the moon’s glow.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, reaching her, reaching for her. He nipped her neck. Growled. “Mine.”
If it were possible, she would have melted into a puddle of need at his feet. “Then take me,” she whispered, goaded.
There was a lounge chair covered by a soft cushion on one end of the balcony, and he lay down on it, wrapped his hand around his jutting cock, and beckoned her to join him. Impossible to resist. She sauntered to him and straddled his hips, came crying his name as she sank slowly onto him.
He let her ride out the tremors, and when they subsided, he gripped her hips. Lifted her slowly up. Pushed her slowly back down. Torment. Wonderful, stunning torment. Gradually, the pace increased, his guiding hands ensuring a steady, hard rhythm. The pleasure wound higher and higher. The craving wound tighter and fiercer.
He came first, and the seed pulsing into her womb, the primal claiming, was all it took to push her off the ledge of sanity she’d been clinging to. His mouth fused to hers, catching her cries. Catching her as she fell and holding her up, gathering her close. She clung to him as if he was her lifeline, the only thing still holding her to the earth.
A long time later, she lifted her head from where it rested on his chest. She hadn’t even noticed the cold before, but now she shivered. He sat up, standing easily with her in his arms, and went back inside. He took her to bed and proceeded to make her forget her own name.
Chapter Five
Clint awoke alone, hard and wanting his mate, but he was smiling as he stretched his arms over his head. He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and jerked up. Hell. Eight o’clock. He never slept this late. After hurrying through a shower, he dressed and went downstairs to find food and Ellen. He grinned. Not necessarily in that order.
He ignored the niggling doubt, the worry that she would reject him later. He had her now, and he’d do whatever he had to do to keep her.
Claiming the Moon Page 3