by Anne Marsh
Her eyes drifted shut. “Now isn’t the time to discuss this.”
He moved his thumb in.
Out.
She gave a lush sigh.
“Are you?” He repeated his question but the sexy little stroke was driving her crazy. “See, I can’t do this if you’re not. That’s how my kind works, boo. We got to hear the words.”
She moved, seeking more of his touch. “You’re telling me,” she gritted out, “you need the werewolf equivalent of a shotgun wedding before you can fuck me? That you’re saving yourself for marriage?”
Well, yeah.
He didn’t say those words out loud, just pulled his thumb back and she cursed.
“Okay,” she agreed. “For tonight only, I’ll play along. Yes, Dag, I’m your mate. Tomorrow you can give me a Vegas quickie divorce.”
Telling her werewolves only did forever probably wasn’t his smartest move, he decided. He could tell her tomorrow. Or the day after. Or perhaps he’d never tell her, just spend each day coaxing her to spend one more night in his arms. He liked that idea.
He must have spent too much time thinking and not enough time touching, because her eyes snapped open and she glared at him.
“Hello, mate. Can we move on to the fucking part now?”
###
He was killing her.
Absolutely. Killing. Her.
Riley’s body was one big throb of need and Dag Breaux was still holding out on her. She wanted him in her now.
“You wan’ fuckin’?” He grinned at her and flipped her over. “I can do that.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Then how about now?”
Her heart pounded as he inserted a knee between her thighs and nudged her wider. Pressing her forehead against the bed, she let the soft cotton cool her overheated skin. She was hyperaware of the man behind her, of the delicious sense of exposure with her body opened wide. Now he ran a hand down her spine, holding her still.
“Dag?”
“Shhh,” he whispered. “I’m right here, boo.”
That’s what she was afraid of. He brought his other hand up, tracing the dark cleft of her ass. She arched. Into his touch. Away. God, she didn’t know, so she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended nothing mattered other than these stolen minutes. Red sparks of pleasure blossomed behind her eyelids as he repeated the caress.
“Me too,” she whispered into the sheets and she almost thought she heard him say I know.
When he dragged the fingers of his right hand through her pussy, she stopped thinking. Just felt. Gasped and moaned and showed him every way she could this was good.
“Sweet,” he said, his voice rough with need. “You like this, boo?”
She shouldn’t, but God, she did.
“Yes,” she sighed because they both knew it.
The sweet dark need built in her. She pushed back when he stroked her ass a third time, loving how his rusty chuckle hung in those few, heated inches of space still between them. His knowing dominance of her body was sexy as hell. He touched parts of her no one had ever seen or caressed and she liked it. She arched, held in place only by that strong hand on her lower back. More than liked it.
This time, his thumb, wet with her juices, found her closed rosebud and pushed. His thumb popped through the tight ring. She rocked back into his touch, savoring the sting, part pleasure, part pain, as she let him in.
“Dag—” Damn. His name sounded like a plea. “That’s—”
What? Too much? Just right. His thumb didn’t stop, just moved deeper. No stopping in him.
“Boo.” His husky chuckle filled her ear. “I’m goin’ to put more than a finger inside you.
He popped his thumb out, but he wasn’t done with her. One finger. Two. He speared her ass and she took him, lifting her hips to let him go deeper.
She spread her knees wider, her pussy rubbing against the tangled sheets. The cotton’s soft rasp wasn’t enough, but she’d take what she could get. Her breath came in needy pants as her fingers clutched the sheets.
Hell, yeah.
His fingers disappeared, leaving her empty. Oh, God. She knew what was coming. Dreaded it, trembled for it, couldn’t wait for it.
He pressed himself against her rear opening.
“You ready?” Need thickened his voice.
“Now,” she demanded fiercely.
He pushed. She opened.
The dark pleasure built. Pain. Pleasure. She craved both. The burning sting as he drove in, steady and sure, followed by the liquid relief as he drew back before burying himself in her again. His hips slapped against her ass, his hands braced on either side of her head.
The washcloth found her clit again. He stroked her, the rough fabric teasing her plump clit, and she came. Silently, fiercely, her eyes squeezed shut as every muscle in her body clenched, pulling him close as a second skin.
She sank down into the bed and he followed, pouring himself into her.
His teeth nipped her shoulder, holding her in place.
“Mine,” he growled and she lay beneath him, boneless with sexual relief and drifting towards sleep, too sated to protest. “My Riley.”
For now.
Maybe…
###
“Don’t want to sleep.” Riley slurred the words, from exhaustion or coming so hard, Dag didn’t know. She’d melted into his arms and he wanted to howl his own pleasure to the bayou. He’d touched her. She’d come for him. He sucked in a breath, inhaling her scent.
On him.
She was his mate and, just this once, things were working the way they should. She’d needed and he’d provided, more proof he could do this. Carefully, he worked his arms around her. Maybe he wasn’t a complete fuckup after all. She could roll over if she wanted. Might put her arms around him even and hold on.
She didn’t take immediate advantage, although he caught her sleepy mumble as she buried her face into his pillow. He pretended to himself it was his name on her kiss-wet lips, but it might have been just “fuck off.” His princess had a potty mouth and she definitely didn’t beat around the bush any.
He liked that about her.
She’d spent a week tied up by a vampire, being used as a one-stop buffet. She’d watched her friend Ameline die, unable to do anything to prevent the death. But somehow she’d found the strength to fashion a makeshift weapon and then she’d gutted the bastard when he’d come back for her. She had a spine of steel, but right now she was tired.
Hell, he was tired imagining what she’d gone through.
Not content with stealing the center of the bed, she flopped onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, hair mussed around her face. Carefully, because he wasn’t holding his breath at all, he leaned over her and smoothed a few of the errant strands back. The soft locks curled around his fingers and clung. She was so very pretty and he was a lucky, lucky bastard.
“Again?” she mumbled and damned if he wasn’t smiling.
“Not yet, boo,” he whispered, even though his dick liked the idea plenty. He was ironhard and the thought of sliding inside her slick channel was sweet temptation. He wouldn’t last long, even this second time around. But she was tired.
And he’d already done his best to wear her out.
“Morning,” she said and he didn’t know if it was a promise or a greeting.
To give his erection time to subside—because she needed to sleep—he got up and adjusted the mosquito netting around the bed. Insects had never bothered him—another side bennie of being a wolf—but he’d heard the bayou’s human residents complain about the area’s resident mosquito population. Most people used nets and smudge pots to keep the ravenous hordes at bay. Hopefully, the net would be enough for now. He could always sit up for a while—an hour or six—and keep watch.
Yeah. That wouldn’t be a hardship. Drawing his hand down her spine, he pulled her T-shirt over her ass. The view was spectacular, but he figured she definitely wouldn’t appreciate mosquito bites there.
Net and clothing adjusted, the only thing left was himself. Carefully, he laid back down next to her, making sure he didn’t make the bed shake or the springs protest. Of course, their recent bout of wall-banging sex had probably been heard all the way to Port Leon, but she’d been awake then and now she was all but asleep. Her comfort came first.
The bed wasn’t large, making the night’s sleeping arrangements a close fit. Plus, she was definitely a bed hog. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist. He’d have to buy a really big bed for his cabin in the Pack’s compound. One of those California kings, so she could sprawl all she wanted to.
“Dag?” She whispered his name. Who else would be holding her now?
“Right here,” he muttered gruffly.
“Good,” she said and then drifted off.
Good…
He put his other arm around her because he liked holding her and she didn’t seem to mind. As he shut his eyes, because he needed some sleep if he was going to fight vampires for her tomorrow, he wondered if waking up with her would be as good as going to sleep with her.
Chapter Six
Riley woke up with Dag curled around her.
Hell.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not really, but he’d pushed her to sexual heights she’d never scaled before and then he’d tempted her farther. To sleep. With him.
Some light still remained inside the room, but the bayou outside the window was late afternoon sleepy. The sun was going down fast, the golden rays retreating over the canopy. She’d missed her easy chance to make it back to town and she didn’t need Dag’s 4-1-1 to know the vampire would be waking up. It would come for her as soon as she didn’t have the protection of daylight.
She looked down at the sun-bronzed arm wrapped around her middle. He hadn’t even bothered to shuck her shirt off. Just pushed the cotton up and yanked it back down when he was done. She should have minded. Instead, most of her—especially the southern parts—felt good. Too late she realized he didn’t have to have full-on, frontal sex with her to get under her skin.
She’d just have to get him out.
Or off.
Or anything other than here.
She tried to slide free, but the rusty chuckle in her ear warned she was busted. “Goin’ somewhere, boo?”
His fingers stroked and she told herself she wasn’t pressing into his touch. Because that would have meant admitting she wanted this male. Instead, she ignored his question.
“Man.” She made a face. “I’d kill for chocolate and a beignet right now.”
“I’ve got coffee,” he said gruffly. “You wan’ to make it? Because my brothers claim the only thing I brew is mud.”
“Really?” She had a hard time imagining him failing at coffee making. He might suck at talking and relationships, but anything to do with his hands? He’d be all over that.
He shrugged. “You wan’ to find out for yourself, be my guest.”
When he put it that way, she’d volunteer. Dag’s coffee pot setup was a French press he dragged over to the chair by the bed. He seemed more like a coffee pot over a fire guy, but she wasn’t complaining. She scooped in the grounds from the battered can he held out to her, inhaling the rich aroma because just possibly she was a caffeine addict. Watching the water drip through the press was strangely companionable, but she needed to get this show on the road. The pit stop was over.
“Coffee’s great,” she said, waving the Power Bar he’d gifted her with towards the press, “but after our cup of joe, I’m going home.”
“You’re goin’ to have company.”
Being afraid sucked. “You really think that vamp is going to eat me up.”
He looked at her. “Or worse.”
She didn’t need to know what constituted worse in his mind. “I’ll take my chances out there.”
“It’s still not safe.” He reached for the press, pouring the coffee into two battered mugs.
“‘Yes, Riley.’ Try adding those words to your vocabulary. We had a deal. One pit stop and then back on the road.”
He didn’t answer her, just handed her a mug that she took, because coffee was coffee. He was a Breaux, which made him stubborn as hell. He wouldn’t hurt her, although he’d do whatever he believed was the right thing to do. She knew his type. She didn’t need to like his plan, but he’d make sure she followed it every step of the way. At least, that was his intention. Too bad for him she didn’t take orders, didn’t accept having her life run for her, however well-meaning the direction.
Or sexy. He took a sip of coffee, closing his eyes as the rich, bitter brew hit his tongue, and her nipples pebbled beneath the T-shirt. God, he had no business looking so sexy. He was downright lethal to her peace of mind.
When he opened his eyes, he’d clearly hit on an approach. “You wan’ to die?”
Of course not. Like most of the people she knew, she was firmly in the do not go gentle into that good night camp. “Leaving now doesn’t have to mean dying.”
He nodded slowly. “So you can walk out of the bayou and head back to Port Leon—fifteen miles from here, boo, in case you’re countin’—dodging vampires all the way to hole up safely in town before sundown?”
She nodded and he smiled. The slow, hot grin lit up his face, making her want to lean in and kiss the smile away before she put it back. No one should be allowed to have a smile that lethal.
“Not possible,” he said. “And so not happenin’ on my watch, boo.”
His caveman insistence on making all the decisions was getting on her nerves.
“Reconsider,” she snapped.
“I like havin’ you in one piece.” Setting his mug down on the chair, he reached out and cupped her breast, going straight for the goodies. His casual touch felt good—another secret she’d keep—and added one more problem to the list she was building. He was sex on a stick, but there was no seduction in him. He hadn’t even kissed her on the mouth yet. Everywhere else, yeah.
“And that’s another thing.” She wasn’t going to sound breathless, she told herself, even as his big, coffee-warm hand cupped her through the T-shirt, the cotton no barrier at all. She had nowhere to go, either, even if she’d wanted to move. She had the headboard at her back and six feet of Cajun at her front.
“I’m listenin’,” he said, his eyes holding hers.
He thumbed her nipple, dragging the rough pad of his thumb over the tip. There was nothing exotic about the touch but she felt the stroke clear to her toes.
“We did all that stuff last night,” she said, finally disciplining herself enough to swat at his hand. He didn’t move, making his own kind of point.
“You liked that stuff.” He pointed out the truth calmly.
Yeah. She had. She stared at his hand for a moment and her nipples tightened further. This had to stop, or they’d be right back in bed. She wasn’t averse to sleeping with Dag Breaux—okay, she was damned eager to get him between the sheets again—but giving in now wouldn’t get her any closer to town.
She looked at him.
Then covered his hand with hers and nudged his fingers off her breast. She wouldn’t give in to this desire again. Not until they had more than a few things clear.
“You—sort of—had sex with me,” she said.
“Yeah.” He dropped his hand onto his knee, leaning forward. “I sure did. I’m also plannin’ on doin’ it again real soon.”
“You are?” Her words came out more croak than smooth assurance and a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again.
“Try and stop me.”
“No,” she said and he jerked back.
“No?” His fingers flexed on his thighs, but he definitely didn’t move. Maybe he did know the meaning of the word after all.
“You didn’t kiss me.” The words flew out of her mouth. “We did stuff and it was great—amazing, really—but you never kissed me. Now I’m wondering why.”
“I can fix that,” he growled.
�
��Sure.” She wondered if she was babbling. “But why didn’t it occur to you kiss me last night? Why didn’t you want to?”
He shook his head. The way his eyes glowed, she wondered if he’d shift right there on her. “I’m more wolf than not, boo.”
“Is that an excuse?”
He ran a finger down her thigh. “It’s the truth. If you wan’ a particular kind of lover, you’re goin’ to be disappointed.”
She’d bet Dag Breaux didn’t disappoint, not unless a woman was crazy enough to want love from this man. Fortunately, she wasn’t foolish.
“You need work,” she declared.
“Clarify,” he said roughly.
“With your technique.” She waved a hand. “What you do, you do well. It’s what you’re not doing that concerns me. Were you planning on a repeat performance?”
She held her breath.
He froze again. “You sayin’ I’m lackin’ somethin’ in bed, boo?”
The safe answer was a resounding no. Unfortunately for Dag Breaux, he’d kidnapped the wrong woman. She preferred the truth. “Yep,” she said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You should get a book. Read up some. People write entire books on kissing and intimacy.”
“I had my mouth all over your pussy.” His eyes glowed as he stared at her. “You came, boo. You came screamin’ my name and ridin’ my mouth. They got directions for that in your book? Oui, maybe I’m lackin’ in practice.” He stood up swiftly and her body clenched in anticipation—God, why was she baiting him—but all he did was cross swiftly to the sink and set his coffee cup by the side. “But I’m thinkin’ maybe you like things a little rough.”
“You’re out of your mind,” she snapped, but she couldn’t help but notice that wasn’t a no coming out of her mouth. Because, yeah, she’d enjoyed the way Dag Breaux touched her. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word gentle, but he definitely knew all about pleasure.
“Mmm-hmmmm,” he said, clearly disagreeing with her.
“You think I liked that?”
He shot her a look.
“Fine,” she said, but his mouth cut off her next words with a quick, hard kiss. His tongue tangled with hers as they battled for supremacy.