by Sela Carsen
“Lean back again,” he ordered and she did, her eyes still wolf-like, her breasts heaving in anticipation, still glistening with moisture where he’d licked the one, the other with faint red marks around the engorged tip.
He wrapped her legs around him loosely and finally put his hands on the prize.
Melting, hot, wet sex. Sticky, slippery cream. All for him. He aimed for the glistening, swollen gates of heaven and slid all the way in on one smooth glide. Tight muscles contracted against him, squeezing hard, then undulating away.
She whimpered again and he looked up, away from the thatch of dark curls where they met and mingled in a stormy eye of lust. She was watching the way they came together, too, and she was on the verge of losing control, on the edge of bucking his commands.
“No,” he said, fighting for his courtroom voice. She sucked in a breath and looked up, then tightened her legs against him, pulling him in tight.
“I want…” she began.
“You want what I want. Only that.” Conn leaned in and sucked in her earring, running his tongue over her ear, then slid out of her hot sex, even though it nearly killed him. “Stand up.”
She slid off the counter and stood before him, a goddess in her own right. A goddess who would bend to his will.
“Turn around.”
Another scent wave of sex surrounded them as she moved slowly. Now she was facing the mirror where he could watch every ripple of desire that crossed her lovely face.
And he could see her lovely, lovely ass. He paused for a moment to admire its perfection and caught her smile in the mirror at the edge of his vision.
“Enjoy the view?” she asked, an echo of their first kiss.
“Prettiest thing I’ve seen all day.” He used his knee to nudge her thighs apart so she was in a wide-legged stance, one that begged to be taken. “But it’s early yet.”
She chuckled, low and slightly hoarse. He put one hand on her shoulder and let it trail lightly down her spine, curving over the splendid slope of her cheeks before delving back into the center of her body. She arched, thrusting herself back at him, eager to be taken.
Not yet. He wanted her trembling. Shaking. His.
He bent over her, putting his lips at the top of her spine and kissing his way down each little bump, each little dip. Where her hips swelled, he squeezed, reveling in the feminine softness of her ass. A nibble was all he needed. A little nip and bite of her sweet flesh.
Blair squeaked and he chuckled. Maybe another little mouthful. Each bite took him closer to his goal.
She was open to him, his penetration having spread the walls of her body, and all he needed was to pull up a seat and feast. With his thumbs, he parted her outer lips and pressed his own to the hooded bud at the top. Then with small licks and stabs of his tongue, he took his mouth where his cock had already ventured, deep inside her, a softer mimicry of his invasion. He left no part of her sex untouched, returning to stroke her clit with his tongue until she was flooded with her juices, running down her thigh like the ripest peach. Only when he was sure she hung on the very edge of orgasm did he stand. With short, shallow strokes, going deeper each time, he kept them both at the edge of control. They caught a rhythm easily, as if they were already familiar with each other’s bodies, established lovers, not exploring new territory.
He reached under her body and stroked across her firm belly, questing up until he caught her breasts his palms. He already knew they were sensitive and he pushed his advantage, kneading the soft flesh, interspersing his gentle touch with flicks over the nipples that made her gasp.
He pulled her up against him, lifting her onto the tips of her toes, her arms holding tightly to his as he changed the angle and pushed upward. His shallow thrusts hit a spot inside her that made her eyes glaze over while she shuddered convulsively in his arms.
He lowered her back until she could lean again on the vanity with shaky arms. This time when he skimmed her belly, he went lower until he cupped her mound, stroking again at the center of her passion. Longer and harder he drove inside her, in time with his feather light touches on her clit. He was driven not only to satisfy her, but to imprint himself on her. To brand himself into her memory as the only man she would ever crave—at least as much as he craved her.
He met her eyes in the mirror, watched them waver between blue and gold and when he felt the contractions inside her milking his cock, he quit fighting the urge to come that had been swamping him since he kissed her yesterday.
He surrendered to the waves, to the building storm, and burst free, clutching her to him, absorbing her shudders so they moved together until the tremors eased, leaving only tiny little aftershocks that made him feel like he was cracking into small pieces.
Her head fell back against his shoulder as they sank to their knees. He kept her on his lap until his spent cock finally slid from her body. First blue balls, now he was pounded raw. His dick was never going to be the same with her around.
It was worth it.
Chapter Seven
If she was human, she’d be walking funny for days, Blair thought, staring blindly up at the ceiling. It would still be worth it.
Never had she been taken with such animal ferocity. Never had she had anyone take charge of her and her pleasure. She could get used to him being the boss in the bedroom. Sometimes. She meant to smile at her stray thought, but her lips only twitched. She was spent.
Her head fell to the side and she spotted the one thing that might bring a little life back to her limbs.
“Shower,” she croaked and crawled off Conn’s prone body. The bathtub was an old, heavy, cast iron relic with claw feet and external pipes, surrounded by a flimsy shower curtain on a circular rail.
She reached up and cranked the water on, listening to the gurgle and rattle of pipes and the hissing sound of the water heater as it came to life. “You know, if you take this tub and move it to the guest bath—because you don’t want to discard a gorgeous vintage item like this—then you could tile yourself an amazing, huge shower in here. You’ve got plenty of room.”
Conn, who was still kneeling on the floor, cracked one eye open and peered at her. “How are you thinking? All my higher brain function is…pfft. Gone. Possibly forever.”
Blair stuck a hand under the water. Ahhh, warmth.
“Come sit in the tub with me. It’ll come back.” She got in and leaned against the back of the tub, letting the water fall on her, reviving her with its heavy spray.
He crawled over and climbed into the bathtub, propping himself against the opposite rim. “I don’t think helping you shower is going to get blood flowing back to my brain, if you know what I mean.”
She looked at the length of his hairy legs tangled with hers. He had to be as worn out as she was, but his sex was trying valiantly to rise to the occasion. “Wow. I’m impressed. How old are you, anyway?”
“Thirty-two. You make me feel like a teenager.”
“Aww, you’re sweet.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
It was funny, she thought. They’d been through so much in such a short time that they hadn’t had the chance to get to know the little things about each other. “I’m twenty-six. My birthday’s next month.”
Conn reached up one long arm for the soap and lathered it up between his hands before leaning forward.
“Are you going to be here next month so I can wish you a happy birthday?”
“I think I can be convinced.” He wouldn’t have to work too hard. She already knew he was the one for her. She would be wherever he was until he realized the same thing.
He took her hand and spread creamy bubbles up her arm to her shoulder, then over her collarbone and down the other arm. She scooted closer. “You missed a spot.”
“I’m just getting started.”
They met for a kiss under the showerhead, drinking each other in. The soap and water made each touch a sensual glide of skin over skin. She washed him, going over his back while she rubbed
her breasts against his chest, raising a lather. Her hands slipped over his hips and strong abs down to his rising staff.
Blair reached under to cup and massage his balls while he leaned back with a groan. As much as she loved being taken, there were times when a woman had to stand up for herself. Sure, steady strokes of her hand brought him standing to attention.
“Blair,” he moaned. “Have mercy.”
She laughed. “Mercy? Is that what you showed me?” She crouched between his knees. “Sorry, hon. There’s no one named Mercy here.”
The spray pounded against her back as she bent to lick the very tip of his cock, enjoying the twitch and jerk of his body. But she wasn’t in the mood to tease, so when she sucked down half his length, he arched, throwing his head back. And she was relentless. She sucked as if she meant to draw the life right out of him. In fact, she nearly did, stopping short of having him come in her mouth.
She fished around outside the tub and didn’t have to lean too far out to snag the end of the roll of condoms.
“This time you want what I want,” she said, but her actions belied her tough words. She sheathed him, then let him pull her onto his lap. Blair slowly impaled herself, loving the tenderness of his intrusion. She was so tight, and he was so close that little movement was needed to amplify the sensation of being filled to the brim.
Gently this time, he held her close and kissed her breasts, giving them sweet and loving attention while she rocked back and forth. This experience was soft around the edges. Steam rose around them, insulating them from the harsh world that awaited them outside the walls of the house. Slowly, she tensed as the first wave of her orgasm washed over her. Not the tsunami of the first one, but a gentle crest, followed by more, higher and higher, but never completely out of control.
Conn rose with her, muscles tightening as he thrust into her, then stopped. She felt thick around him, sensitive to each pulse of his body as he burst inside her. As if someone let their strings relax, they both collapsed into the bottom of the tub.
Sated and spotless.
Half an hour later, they were sitting at the kitchen table blowing on their coffee. Blair wore Conn’s sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, and she was tall and athletic enough to make it sexy-boyfriend wear, rather than I-have-four-children-under-the-age-of-six-and-this-is-as-good-as-it-gets wear. It was possible he was biased in her favor, though.
But there was the matter of the wolf to get past first. There were no good openings to this conversation. He stared into his coffee cup and blinked when steam wafted into his eyes.
“So. I don’t know if you knew this or not, but, uh, I think you broke skin last night.”
She frowned, not understanding. “Sorry?”
“You snapped at me when I was looking at your injury.” Conn held out his hand so she could see the faint red line where her fang had barely grazed the first layer of the epidermis.
“Oh.” She frowned. Then, “Oh! I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” She reached for his hand and he let her take it.
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Am I going to start howling at the moon now?”
She smiled, but he wasn’t comforted. “Oh, I see. No, you’re not going to turn fuzzy in the moonlight, I promise.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you can’t be Changed by a bite. Being a werewolf is a family trait. You’re either born into the family, or you’re not.”
“What? There’s a lupine Cosa Nostra or something?”
She laughed and he felt his spirits lift slightly.
“It’s more like ‘on tra’ which means ‘our thing’ in Breton.”
“You speak Breton?”
“Not really, but we’re all descended from a Breton knight named Melion. He was the first werewolf. Debra’s got a couple of old stories about him, if you want to read them.”
Conn let out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good. But what about you?”
“What about me?” She tensed slightly, but he pressed on.
“Can you change when you want to? Does it happen every full moon? Are you ever going to eat my face off?” He wanted it to sound light, but knew he didn’t quite pull it off. She winced and heaved a deep sigh.
“Yes, I can Change whenever I want. No, see previous answer. And no, I will never eat your face off. Even if I’ve had a horribly bad day at work, I’m PMSing and the moon is full, I will never eat off your face, tear out your heart or claw out your guts.”
His brows rose. “Okay. That’s actually more information than I was going for, but I’ll take it.” He switched their hands around so he was holding hers. “I’m sorry, Blair. It’s just…I’ve never dated a werewolf before.”
A reluctant laugh welled out of her. “It’s okay. I’ve never told a human what I am before, so it’s new territory for both of us.”
He leaned forward and kissed her quickly. Then kissed her slowly. They parted on a smile.
“So, what’s on the To Do list for today?” she asked.
“Let’s see. I need to replace the window in my back door. Check the roof on the front porch because I think it’s starting to sag. Consider moving a three ton cast iron tub so I can tile my bathroom for a two-person shower.” He winked at her. “Oh, and find out who broke into my house and shot my girl with a goddamn nail gun.”
“I can help with the last one. It was Aubrey.”
“Aubrey Cotesworth?”
“Why? You know anyone else with such a ridiculous name?”
He snorted. “You realize my full name is Conn Harriot Lucas, right?”
“Dear Lord. What’s the etiquette here? Should I apologize or sympathize?”
“Doesn’t matter. How do you know it was Aubrey?”
“Have you ever smelled the man? He reeks of nasty cologne. Trust me. I’m good with scents.” She tapped the side of her nose and he realized that, yeah, werewolves probably had pretty extraordinary senses of smell.
“What am I supposed to do? He broke into my house, shot you—”
“He was aiming at you.”
“I wish he’d hit me, then.” He would have given anything to take away her pain. The memory of her bleeding on his floor in gushing floods made him shudder. “I don’t even know what he was doing in here. Was he trying to steal something or just destroy things?”
“Let’s go ask him,” she said, and the smile on her face made him wonder if maybe she wouldn’t eat Aubrey’s face off. Then he tried to convince himself that was not sexy.
His car was still in front of her house, which made for an awkward few moments when they went to retrieve both his wheels and clean clothes for Blair.
Mrs. Moreau, or as she’d introduced herself, Tammy, looked over her daughter with a raised brow, then offered him coffee while he waited for her to change.
“So what do you do, Conn?” she asked. Mr. Moreau stood behind him, arms crossed. Saying nothing.
“I’m a lawyer in the insurance industry.”
“So you don’t live here.”
“I’m considering a move. Nothing definite yet.” He was gifted with words. Concise. Definitive. So why was he waffling around these people?
“Moving into that house? It hardly looks comfortable.”
“You’d be surprised, ma’am.”
“And if you moved to Culford, what would you do? Is there much call for insurance lawyers here?”
“No, ma’am, but I can practice a more general type of law here. Or Columbia’s not too far away if I want to work with a firm.”
“So you’re good at your work?”
“I believe so, ma’am.” He nearly smiled. This wasn’t too bad.
“Do you know what we are?” Any semblance of friendliness slipped away from her manner.
“Yes, ma’am.” The smile he held in reserve was gone now.
“Do you think you can live with that? Keep our secret?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He felt like a bug pinned on a board. Or a sheep surrounded by wolves, which w
as a better metaphor. The bug was already dead. The sheep had time to contemplate getting ripped to shreds.
“Can you keep her safe?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Your best wasn’t good enough last night, from what I hear.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and Mr. Moreau growled, low and menacing. Conn swallowed. “She’s not indestructible. She can be hurt.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know and I’d do everything in my power to stop it.” His words were a vow. Never again would Blair shed blood on his behalf. Not if he could do anything about it.
“You’re setting out to fix it now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And once this is taken care of, what do you plan to do with my daughter?”
“I…I…” Well, this was embarrassing. He hadn’t thought so far ahead yet. Keep her safe. Keep her close. What did that lead to?
“You don’t sound too clear. Do you have plans for my daughter?” He felt the larger weight of Mr. Moreau behind him. The man was no giant, but he cast a big shadow.
“I…”
Blair chose that moment to come out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans again, but dark and slim. Her form-fitting black T-shirt showed off the deceptively subtle muscles in her arms. Black boots laced halfway up her shins, and with her hair loose and flowing in waves over her shoulders, she looked sexy and slightly sinister. Powerful.
Conn had known all along her occasional submissiveness was a game for both of them, but it wasn’t until this moment that he truly realized she could have knocked him on his ass any time she chose. It was stirring and slightly humbling. In any case, he was proud to be the one to whom she chose to submit—when she felt like it.
He stood when she came into the room.
“Mom, have you been bothering him?”
“Of course not, honey. Maddox tells me you were hurt last night.”
“It was no big deal. I wish Debra hadn’t hiked all the way out there, though. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. A little achy today, but no contractions.”