Wolf Kiss (Warrior Wolves Book 1)

by Christine DePetrillo

  Oh, sweet Jesus. Her finger tips were telling her the man had official Abs of Steel. Was the human body even capable of such a phenomenon? She peeled his shirt off. Forget a six-pack. Reardon had more of a twelve-pack. Muscles where Brandy didn’t think muscles were possible.

  “Wow.” The word slipped out.

  Reardon chuckled, the sound raspy and low. “Your approval is appreciated.”

  “I never… I mean… Shit, look at you.” Suddenly the bedside lamp was not even close to enough light to truly appreciate this man’s body. She wanted to go outside, rip one of the floodlights off the house, and use it to illuminate all of Reardon’s gorgeousness.

  “I’ve looked at me,” he said. “All my life. What I’m more interested in right now, fairy lass, is looking at you.”

  He stepped closer, tugged his shirt from her hands, and dropped it on the end of her bed. His hands came to her waist again and he pulled her up against him. His flesh was hot against her body, even through her tank top and shorts. He captured her mouth, sending his heat straight to her core. His lips trailed along her neck to her shoulder where he nudged the strap of her tank top out of the way.

  “You taste better than those brownies.” He grinned as he paused to meet her gaze.

  “I don’t see how that’s possible. Those are damn good brownies. Won awards at the Canville Fair three years in a row.”

  “That’s only because the judges were not allowed to sample you, I presume.”

  “Well, no. I don’t make a habit of holding free tastings for all.”

  “Good. I don’t like to share.”

  At that moment, Brandy couldn’t imagine having anyone else standing shirtless in her bedroom with his hands, his lips on her. She hadn’t wanted anyone. Not like this. Not like Reardon.

  She unzipped his jeans and he pushed them down with his boxer briefs, stepping out of both and leaving them in a pile on the bedroom floor. His legs were as muscled as his torso and arms. If she hadn’t actually touched him, she’d have thought he was a hallucination brought on by the fact she hadn’t had sex in like forever. Men who looked this good didn’t actually exist, did they?

  And it wasn’t that he was perfect because quite a few angry scars marked his body. A jagged, puckered one cut across his left side from under his arm across his ribs. Another one zipped from his waist down his right thigh. Smaller ones slashed his flesh here and there.

  Battle scars. She didn’t ask about them. No need to bring up what had caused those scars. Not now. She had a feeling the stories wouldn’t be pleasant. But what circumstances, what weapons, caused scars like these? They looked as if he’d been cut with a sword.

  Silly. Who fought with swords anymore? How about no one. Maybe Reardon was a mirage after all.

  Brandy flattened her palm against Reardon’s exposed stomach and a small gasp escaped from her throat. Yep, he was real.

  “What is it, lass?” He tipped her chin up so she had to meet his gaze.

  “Just confirming you’re not a mirage.”

  He chuckled softly. “If you are a mirage, I may weep.” He slid the other strap of her tank top off her shoulder. “You are a sight to behold, Brandy.”

  Where had this guy come from? The Irish accent made him unique, but he also talked as if he weren’t from this time. A sight to behold? Men of today didn’t say things like that. She enjoyed hearing it though. Definitely.

  “Want the whole picture?” She ran her index fingers along the waistband of her shorts.

  “Aye. Please.” He sat on the end of her bed, lowered to lean back on his elbows, and lasered his full attention on her hands unbuttoning her shorts.

  All that focus from those green-gold eyes made her giddy with anticipation. And all thumbs. She couldn’t get her damn shorts off fast enough.

  When she finally succeeded in sliding her shorts down her legs, Reardon’s pupils zipped open, creating huge black pools rimmed with an almost glowing amber color.

  Wait a minute.

  Brandy stepped closer so she was standing between Reardon’s knees. “Your eyes…”

  He immediately squeezed them closed and shook his head a little. When he opened his eyes, they were the beautiful green-gold color again.

  “What was that?” She rested her palms on his knees and leaned forward, trying to get a better look at his eyes.

  Reardon cleared his throat, averting her gaze. “What was what, lass?” He reached up and swatted playfully at her hair hanging over him.

  “Your eyes looked as if they were… glowing.” Had she really seen that?

  He let out a little breath. “Must be a trick of the lighting in here. The color of my eyes sometimes reflects light strangely.” He shrugged his left shoulder and sat up, his eyes opened wide. “Do they look normal now?”

  “Yeah.” Brandy wasn’t sure what she’d seen, but something else had caught her attention now. Something large. Hard.

  Ready.

  Reardon followed her gaze down to his arousal. “I’m a little excited by the way you look right now.”

  “Hmm. What should we do about that?”

  “I have some ideas.” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her back with him, draping her body over his then rolling so she was partially tucked under him. “We have to rid you of these first.” He pulled gently on the waistband of her panties—ones that miraculously matched her bra for once.

  She angled herself slightly off the bed, allowing him to remove her panties then her bra. Watching him reverently place the lacey garments at the end of the bed made her chuckle.

  “Very gentle hands even if they are huge.” She caught one and placed it on her stomach. “Massive, actually.”

  He rubbed his palm back and forth, allowing his fingers to graze her breasts. Something sad filtered into his facial features, lowering his dark brows and turning his mouth into a stern line.

  She reached out and cupped his face, making him look at her. “Did I offend you with the massive hands comment? I didn’t mean to upset you. I love big, man hands.”

  He turned his face to press his lips to her fingers. “No offense, lass. I let my mind wander to things these hands have done.”

  “As a soldier, you mean?”

  He nodded then leaned down to kiss a trail from her stomach up between her breasts and along her throat. “I’d rather not talk about that if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem.” Though her heart cracked a little as she wondered what horrors he’d seen. How long had he been on active duty? Had he killed? Had he watched fellow soldiers die? Was he plagued by nightmares? “I’m going to try to put your mind on better things.”

  At that, he smiled. “Much appreciated.”

  She nudged his shoulder until he was on his back and she was atop him. Settling her legs on either side of his waist, she wiggled slightly, eliciting another growl from him. The light caught his eyes again, but she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable so she didn’t mention it. Instead she leaned down, letting her breasts press against his bare chest.

  His arms came around her back and he held her for a quiet moment. The gesture was so sweet and unexpected that it caught her off guard. Did he maybe need to be held? Perhaps no one had held him since he’d returned from active duty.

  Well, now her throat was tight. Who wouldn’t want to welcome back a hero like Reardon?

  Brandy caught his mouth with hers and coaxed him into a deep kiss. One that stoked a fire inside her, sent flames licking to her extremities, made her feel as if lava was bubbling in her core, struggling to break free.

  Reardon’s hands found their way into her hair, his fingers scraping against her skull in a most pleasing way. His body was hard beneath hers, yet fit her contours perfectly. His beard scraped along her flesh as he rolled her to her back and skated his lips over all her parts. When his mouth closed over her breast, she nearly howled.

  Good God, I’ve been alone too long.

  Seriously. She’d been so focused on the sanctuary and rai
sing Dylan that she’d forgotten about the physical pleasures life had to offer. She didn’t regret the time or effort she’d spent on the wolves or her son, but holy shit, she’d denied herself.

  That ended tonight.

  ****

  Reardon had so many things he wanted to say to Brandy as he caressed her magnificent body. He wanted to tell her what an amazing mother she was to Dylan, but in her mind, he’d only spent one night with them. He shouldn’t know she was an amazing mother. He wanted to tell her the wolves at the sanctuary considered her part of their pack, but in her mind, he hadn’t met any of the wolves yet. He shouldn’t know about her pack status. He wanted to tell her thank you for the expert care she and Parker had given to him when his leg had been mangled by that trap, but in her mind, that broken leg belonged to a big, black wolf they’d named Alator. He shouldn’t know how much that trap had hurt or how wonderful she’d been to nurse him back to health.

  Frustrating. Being both a man and a wolf had never been ideal, but right now, it was keeping him from truly giving all of himself to this beautiful fairy lass.

  Enjoy what you can. He was lucky enough to have been invited to dinner. He was beyond lucky to be naked in her bedroom right now. He could put aside the secrets he kept and indulge in what Brandy offered. This one night could be enough.

  “Reardon…”

  The sound of his name from her lips made his wolf fight to get to the surface. Who was he kidding? One night with Brandy would never be enough.

  “Aye, lass?” He propped himself up on one arm to look at her.

  “I can’t wait another moment. Please.” She ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, hooked them on the back of his neck, and pulled him down so his lips were mere centimeters away from hers. “I need you. Now.” Her raspy whisper made his incisors lengthen in his mouth, and he had to mentally talk himself back to fully human.

  She wiggled out from underneath him, and he was about to protest. He didn’t want her to get away from him. His wolf had spotted prey, deliciously sexy prey, and he couldn’t go without having the deepest taste he could get.

  His eyes tracked her as she opened a drawer on a table beside the bed. She pulled a small packet out of the drawer and tore it open to reveal something roundish.

  “I’m on birth control,” she said, “but I like the extra protection. Do you mind?”

  He shook his head, not entirely sure what she was talking about. Birth control? Extra protection?

  When she placed the item against the tip of his arousal and rolled a thin material over his length, he understood. She didn’t wish him to impregnate her. He didn’t wish that either. A banished Celtic werewolf warrior had no business creating offspring in this time, in this place where he didn’t belong. If he did, Flidae would not approve. No telling what she would do as punishment.

  A ripple traveled along Reardon’s spine.

  Brandy took her lovely hands off his arousal and met his gaze. “Everything okay?”

  “It will be. Soon.”

  Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted as if she were having trouble breathing. Her heartbeat filled his ears, and he wondered if it was loud in her own head as well. She’d said she needed him, but was that rapid heartbeat anticipation or… fear?

  Reardon was accustomed to people fearing him. On the battlefield, he brought destruction, often in horribly bloody ways. The success of his army was bred on fear, on being the opponents’ worst nightmares, on sword blades and spear tips. Stories of his brutality traveled far and wide across Europe. Reardon McAlator was the Angel of Death.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked Brandy.

  “Afraid?” Her brows lowered over her beautiful blue eyes. “No. Why would you ask that?”

  He placed his hand over her heart. “Your heart is racing, lass.”

  A lovely smile blossomed on her lips. “Not fear, Reardon. Not at all. I want this. I want you.”

  He should have told her right then that she should fear him. That she should stop what they were about to do immediately. That she should order him from her bedroom, her house, her sanctuary, her life.

  He should have done all those things.

  “I want you too,” he said instead.

  “Let’s work off those brownies then.” She pulled him down to her.

  After a few moments of scorching kisses and teasing caresses, Brandy rolled Reardon to his back, pinned his shoulders down with her hands, and guided herself onto his length. Her center was hot and wet and tight.

  “Oh… lass…” He couldn’t say much more than that because she started moving in steady circles that caused the most amazing sensations to course through him.

  Her sweet bottom writhed against him as she took him deep, deeper, as deep as she could. He’d never felt so completely surrounded, so welcomed, so part of another human. With smooth, slow up and down movements, Brandy brought him to the edge quickly.

  Reardon’s head was always on the battlefield, on the next contract, on the coming payout. When he’d tended to his physical desires with a willing partner, he’d never lost himself. He’d managed to pleasure various lasses while planning his next attack strategy, inventorying his army’s weapons and supplies, orchestrating travel arrangements to follow the fighting. He’d never given his all to a woman. Never had wanted to. Women were diversions. Things a man played with between battles. Things men used to still feel alive after causing so much death.

  It was all different with Brandy.

  The battlefield was a distant memory as was Ireland, his army, his weapons, his fame, his riches, his banishment. He didn’t care about any of those things right now. All he wanted he currently had in his arms.

  Brandy shifted, causing all new sensations to reverberate through him. She arched her back, small gasps escaping from her throat as her motions stimulated her body as well.

  Time to participate. So far he’d taken. It was his duty to also give.

  He put his hands on her breasts, massaging them both until her back arched more, until she settled more firmly on him, until she let loose a moan that set him on fire. He slid one hand up to her cheek and coaxed her down so he could ravage those luscious lips of hers.

  As their mouths explored, Brandy continued her movements and soon Reardon was moving in time with her. Their rhythm was perfectly tuned, a synchronicity he’d never imagined was possible. As part wolf, he was always hyper aware of his surroundings, always on alert, ready to pounce. Right now, however, there was only Brandy. Her body. The sounds she made. The reactions she caused in his body. The heat and energy that flowed between them.

  They climbed higher. Together. When Reardon was about to shatter into tiny pieces, he released himself into Brandy’s warmth. She rode his release and crested over her own wave of pleasure a moment later.

  Slowly, she slid off him—and wasn’t that just as nice? She lowered to lie beside him, her body shaking in the post-haze he certainly felt as well.

  “I repeat, wow.” Her eyes were closed, but a grin turned up her lips.

  Reardon combed his fingers through the hair that cascaded over her neck and pooled at her breasts. The strands slithered and shushed like silky fire, the red of it in stark contrast to her pale flesh. Light from the bedside lamp behind her outlined her naked body in a golden aura.

  Surely, she is a goddess.

  The moment that thought was born in his mind, a slicing pain pierced through this skull. He clamped his eyes closed against the feeling, but it stabbed at him again. Again. Again.

  Humans are not goddesses, wolf. Flidae’s voice echoed in his head. Do not elevate them to such high status.

  Wonderful. He’d angered Flidae once again, but it didn’t change his mind. Brandy was divine.

  Another pain speared into him. This time his entire body went rigid with it and a groan slipped out of his throat. He struggled to breathe for a moment and bolted upright in Brandy’s bed.

  “Reardon?” Brandy sat up too. “What’s wrong? Shit,
are you having a heart attack?” She popped up from the bed. “Where’s my phone? Oh, God, it’s downstairs. Hang on. Shit.” She ran toward the bedroom door.

  “Brandy.” His voice made her skid to a stop on her bare feet.

  “I have to call for help!”

  “No. I’m fine.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Slowly. Testing out his legs. The pain was gone, but his body felt as if someone had jammed a torch into his stomach. The entire bedroom—a room he knew quite well after sleeping in it in wolf form for so many nights—spun around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them again, everything settled back into its place. “I’m all right. Really.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure? You didn’t look all right a few seconds ago.”

  “I promise you, I’m all right.” He would have to remember not to think thoughts that enraged Flidae. She was apparently watching him closer than he’d known. She was inside his damn head.

  He held out his hand to Brandy and she came around to his side of the bed. She took his hand and he tugged her up against him, taking comfort in her still naked body.

  “That was scary. I, uh…” She glanced to the bed where the sheets were in disarray from their lovemaking. “I haven’t done that in a while, and I thought I’d killed you.”

  Reardon let out a laugh and her tensed muscles relaxed against his chest. “I’m harder to kill than that, lass.” If she only knew how others had tried to end him. Tried and failed. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. I don’t know what that was.” Liar. But what could he say? A goddess was torturing him? That wouldn’t do.

  She gave him a tight squeeze then backed up a step to look up at him. Her mouth opened, but when her gaze dropped down, she closed it. She reached down and removed the item she’d rolled onto his length before they’d made love.

  “Are you allergic to latex or something?” She grabbed a tissue from the table beside the bed and curled it around the item before depositing it in a trashcan.

  Reardon didn’t know what latex was so he shrugged noncommittally and reached for his clothes. “I should go.” Because he didn’t have answers to the questions she was sure to keep asking. No answers he could give her anyway. Not tonight.