Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  “A hundred ways,” she murmured seductively, reminding him of the conversation they’d had in her office yesterday. “I can show you a hundred different ways how much I want you.”

  She took him in her mouth, and he swore savagely and gripped the back of her head. She sucked him hard and greedily, using her lips and tongue, squeezing his swollen testicles in her hand until she tasted the salt of pre-cum juice. She swallowed and suckled him harder, faster, unbearably aroused by the ragged moans that erupted from his throat. Just when she thought he might explode in her mouth, he sank his hand into her hair and pulled her head back. The intensity of his smoldering gaze sent liquid fire blazing through her.

  He lifted her in his arms, swept the contents of the desk to the floor, then set her down on it. He unhooked the front clasp of her bra and slid the straps off her shoulders, then cupped her breasts in his large hands. He pushed them together, taking both erect nipples into his mouth and suckling them. She gasped and arched her back, flames of ecstasy whipping through her body. She had never hungered for another man the way she did for Marcus.

  “Ease up,” he whispered in her ear. She raised her hips, and he grasped her panties and dragged them slowly off her legs and over her stiletto heels. She watched, her breath trapped in her throat as he rubbed the scrap of red silk over his face, inhaling her scent. When his tongue flicked out to taste the crotch, she nearly climaxed; it was so blatantly erotic. He smiled, slow and sexy, before tucking her panties into his pants pocket, claiming possession.

  “A souvenir,” he murmured. And then he just stood there, drinking his fill of her before whispering huskily, “You are so damn beautiful.”

  Samara felt a shiver of warmth puddle in her groin. She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath as he drew her right leg over his shoulder and began kissing his way slowly down her inner thigh, igniting a trail of fire along her nerve endings. Anticipation coiled inside her, tighter and tighter, until she thought she would die. At the first touch of his mouth on her, she threw back her head, a sharp cry escaping her throat. She moaned and gripped the edge of the desk for support as he licked her clitoris and the slippery folds of her sex, then plunged his tongue deep inside her.

  Samara didn’t last even a minute. Marcus captured her wild cry in his mouth as she came apart in his arms, writhing against him as wetness ran down her upper thighs.

  But that was just the appetizer. The main course had yet to be served.

  Marcus reached inside his pants pocket, removed a condom from his wallet and quickly sheathed himself. Samara spread her thighs wide and he stepped between them, their gazes locked as she wrapped her legs around his waist. In one deep, mind-numbing thrust he filled her, groaning thickly as their bodies found a rhythm. When his hands slid down her back to grasp her bottom, she arched forward. His fingers kneaded her buttocks, lifting her off the desk and holding her tightly against him. He pounded in and out of her, thrusting so hard she felt his testicles slamming heavily against her.

  “Oh God, oh God…” she whimpered over and over again, her nails digging into his back as she clung desperately to him. She’d never known that her body could burn with this kind of savage, unbridled lust.

  Laying her down on the desk, Marcus lifted her legs higher around his torso, giving him a deeper angle of penetration. He felt huge inside her, huge and magnificently hard. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs. She stared at his face above hers—dark, handsome and powerfully sensual. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but tonight he was hers, hers for the taking and pleasuring.

  As an exquisite pressure built inside her, her thighs began to shake uncontrollably. “I’m cumming,” she cried breathlessly. “Ohhh, Marcus…Marcus!”

  Her hips arched off the desk as a blinding orgasm tore through her, rhythmically convulsing her body. The spasms were so intense she thought she would faint. A moment later, Marcus moaned and bucked against her as he came. Her flesh quivered from the impact of his powerful thrusts as he rode her through his release.

  Moments later he collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath, his heart hammering against her own. Samara wrapped her arms around his back and burrowed her face in his neck, inhaling his delicious scent, mingled with the musk of their lovemaking.

  They remained like that for several minutes, his throbbing penis buried inside her, her legs locked around his waist. At length he lifted his head and gazed down into her flushed face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked huskily.

  Her lips curved in a sultry smile. “I’ve never been better. That was quite a closing argument, counselor.”

  A wolfish gleam filled his eyes. “Who said anything about closing?”

  1

  Samara couldn’t recall how many times they made love that night. From the desk they moved to a leather sofa in the corner of the room, panting and rolling around and falling to the floor without missing a beat. She came so many times she lost count.

  Finally, when she was so exhausted she could barely move, she collapsed in a boneless heap against him on the floor. Marcus gathered her in his arms, holding her so close that the sweat from their bodies sealed them together like two spoons dipped in syrup.

  Yawning deeply, she mumbled, “I should probably head home at some point.”

  “Not yet,” Marcus whispered against the nape of her neck. “Sleep first.”

  Samara nodded drowsily, too weak to protest even if she’d wanted to. Which, for the record, she didn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  I’m so glad you finally agreed to have lunch with me,” said Paul Borden, smiling easily at Samara across the linen-covered table in B. Smith’s the next afternoon. The popular Union Station

  restaurant bustled with some of the city’s political movers and shakers, business professionals and midday shoppers. Samara looked across the table at her lunch companion, an attractive light-skinned man with warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners whenever he smiled, which he’d been doing a lot ever since Samara showed up at the restaurant—alone. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that she hadn’t actually agreed to have lunch with him, because Melissa had failed to mention his name when she’d invited Samara to join her and her husband, Gary, for lunch. If Samara had had inkling that Paul Borden would be present, she wouldn’t have accepted Melissa’s invitation. Paul, who worked with Melissa’s husband at a downtown software firm, had been asking Samara out since they first met two years ago. Unwilling to encourage his interest, she’d always politely turned down his advances.

  The fact that both Melissa and Gary had backed out of lunch at the last minute, citing previous appointments they’d conveniently forgotten, set Samara’s back teeth on edge. She couldn’t believe she’d been set up, by two of her closest friends, at that. Heads were going to roll when she returned to the office.

  But since she was there, she might as well enjoy her lunch. The Swamp Thing, a mixed seafood dish over Southern-style greens, was her favorite entrée on the menu. Not that it mattered anyway, since she was hungry enough to eat just about anything. After having sex with Marcus all night long, she’d worked up quite an appetite.

  Maureen SmithThey’d been so caught up in what they were doing last night they hadn’t given dinner a passing thought, feasting on each other instead.

  “Doesn’t it feel good to get out of the office once in a while, to enjoy lunch somewhere other than your desk?” Paul remarked.

  “I don’t mind eating at my desk,” Samara countered mildly. “I get a lot of work done with everyone out of the office at the same time.”

  “Maybe,” Paul said with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, “But what fun is that? Besides, you have cause to celebrate. Melissa tells me that the Institute recently received a large donation which will keep the doors open for business—and keep you guys out of the unemployment line.”

  “Yep, that’s right.”

  Paul’s brown eyes twinkled. “So are you going to reve
al the identity of this mystery benefactor? Melissa’s been pretty tightlipped about it, and Gary won’t betray her confidence no matter how hard I try to pry it out of him.”

  Samara took a sip of water. “Well, the donor has specifically expressed a desire for anonymity,” she explained, “So naturally we intend to honor that wish.”

  Paul shook his head, bemused. “Can’t imagine who wouldn’t want to receive credit for donating such a large sum of money. Guy must be a saint or wanted by the Mafia.”

  Samara was about to respond when she happened to glance across the room just in time to see none other than Marcus Wolf enter the restaurant.

  Her heart lurched traitorously at the sight of him, then did a nosedive when she noticed his companion. A tall, leggy, impossibly gorgeous dark-skinned woman was latched possessively onto his arm, and Samara couldn’t help noting what a striking pair they made. A well-dressed older gentleman followed closely behind, wearing an expression of approval as he smiled at Marcus and the statuesque woman.

  85As if sensing her appraisal from across the room, Marcus’s dark gaze slid in Samara’s direction. She felt an actual jolt as their eyes met and held for what seemed an eternity—but was probably only a few seconds—before she forced herself to look away.

  But Paul had also noticed Marcus’s arrival. “Hey, isn’t that the famous tort attorney who just opened another practice here? The one who was featured in the Post?”

  “Hmm?” Samara feigned only mild interest as she glanced vaguely toward Marcus, careful not to look directly at him. “Yes, I think you’re right, Paul. It is him.”

  “Everyone at the office has been talking about him, saying what great things he’s going to do for the community.” A note of skepticism crept into Paul’s voice. “Time will tell, I guess.”

  “Mmm,” Samara murmured, noncommittal. Suddenly, she had no appetite. All she could think about was Marcus making love to her, bringing her to one mind-blowing orgasm after another.

  Who the hell was that woman on his arm?

  She was not at all prepared when he and his companions suddenly appeared at their table. “Good afternoon, Samara,” Marcus murmured, those dark, piercing eyes fixed on her face.

  “Hello, Marcus,” she managed, forcing herself to sound normal. As if she hadn’t spent the night clawing his back and sobbing his name in the throes of ecstasy. As if she hadn’t snuck out of his office at the crack of dawn wearing no panties beneath her trench coat because he’d refused to relinquish her underwear. “Nice to see you again. I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Paul Borden, this is Marcus Wolf.”

  The two men exchanged cordial greetings. When Marcus introduced his companions, Samara told herself it was not relief she felt upon learning that the beautiful woman at his side was merely a client’s daughter.

  Antoinette Toussaint’s catlike amber gaze narrowed on Samara’s face. “You look familiar,” she said, her sultry voice the stuff of men’s fantasies. “Have we met before?”

  “I don’t think so,” Samara answered coolly.

  “You’re probably thinking about her mother, Asha Dubois,” Paul supplied. “She’s been on every magazine cover you can imagine, and Samara looks just like her.”

  Antoinette snapped her manicured fingers. “That’s it! I knew I wasn’t crazy.” Her full lips curved in the semblance of a smile that was more predatory than congenial. “I used to model for your mother. And then I landed an international assignment that took me overseas for a while. I just returned from Milan, as a matter of fact.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Samara murmured.

  “Oh, it was. Of course, the men over there aren’t nearly as handsome as ours here in the States,” she purred, sliding an intimate look at Marcus. Samara didn’t know how to interpret the lazy smile he gave her in return.

  Antoinette turned back to Samara, her head tilted to one side as she regarded her thoughtfully. “Why don’t you model professionally, Samara?”

  “That’s more my mother’s cup of tea.”

  “I see. And you’re not quite tall enough anyway. What are you—five-five?”

  “Five-seven,” Samara corrected lightly.

  “I hate to interrupt this little tête-à-tête,” Antoinette’s father interjected with a laugh, “but our table is ready, princess, and considering what Marcus’s billable hours are, I’m eager to get this meeting under way.”

  “You took the words right out of my mouth, William,” Marcus drawled humorously. He tipped his head politely to Paul, then Samara. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  “Same to you,” Samara murmured, relieved as the threesome moved off. As she silently exhaled, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d only imagined the flash of anger she’d glimpsed in Marcus’s eyes before he walked away.

  “That Antoinette Toussaint was mighty territorial,” Paul observed, faintly amused as he looked at Samara. “From the way she was acting, you would think the two of you were fighting over Marcus Wolf.”

  Samara forced a lopsided smile. “Crazy, isn’t it?” She glanced quickly at her watch. “We’d better ask for the check. We’ve been here over an hour, and from what Gary tells Melissa, your boss can be real anal about you guys taking long lunches.”

  1

  From across the crowded restaurant, Marcus watched as Samara and Paul Borden rose from their table and prepared to leave. As Samara slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she happened to glance in Marcus’s direction. Awareness punched him in the gut when their eyes connected.

  Without a single word passing between them, Marcus understood that she wanted him to follow her.

  He’d already intended to do just that.

  He waited until she and Borden left before politely excusing himself from his companions and casually strolling after them. Outside the restaurant was an indoor bazaar in which vendors sold exotic imports from around the world. Marcus hung back, waiting with mounting impatience for Samara and her friend to part ways. Borden seemed reluctant to leave her, lingering at her side as she paused to admire some African woodwork and sculptures. After glancing at his watch a few times, he must have finally realized she planned to take a while to browse through the marketplace. His fear of getting in trouble for taking an extended lunch break eventually won out over his desire to prolong his time with her.

  Marcus was surprised by the anger that filled him as Borden leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on Samara’s cheek. As Marcus glared after the man’s departing back, he realized that he was jealous. For the first time in his life, he felt territorial over a woman. When he thought about Samara with Paul Borden, or any other man, something dark and startlingly primitive came over him.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  He walked up behind Samara, bending low to murmur in her ear, “Have a good lunch?”

  She turned and looked at him, her expression carefully neutral. “I did, as a matter of fact.” She paused. “Just as I’m sure you’ll enjoy your lunch with the lovely Ms. Toussaint.”

  Marcus frowned. “Her father is a new client.”

  “I know. Which is why you probably shouldn’t keep him waiting. You know, billable hours and all that.” She picked up a beautifully beaded necklace and took a moment to admire it while the smiling vendor looked on hopefully. After a discreet glance at the price tag, Samara set down the necklace and moved on to the next item.

  “Samara.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. When he said nothing, she arched an expectant brow at him. “What’s up?”

  “Go away with me this weekend.” The minute the words left his mouth, Marcus wondered where they’d come from. He hadn’t planned on asking her something like that…or had he?

  Samara looked as surprised as he felt. “Did you just say what I think you did?”

  “Depends on what you think you heard. I asked you to spend the weekend with me. Is that what you heard?”

  “Yes.” She stared up at him, the trinket she held all but forgotten. Chuc
kling softly, Marcus took it from her hand and set it down, then drew her gently away from the table.

  “I’m going to Atlanta for the weekend to take care of some business at the other office. I want you to come with me.” Realizing how unromantic his invitation sounded, he added, “I’ll only be at the office for a couple of hours. We’ll be together the rest of the time.”

  When she blushed, he knew she was remembering their long night of passion. It was all he’d thought about since she left his office early that morning, looking tousled and sexy as hell in those fetishinducing heels. Knowing she was practically naked beneath her trench coat had made him so hard he almost hadn’t let her go. The idea of having her all to himself for two whole days had his body thrumming with anticipation.

  The only problem was, she still hadn’t given him an answer. “Samara?”

  She bit her bottom lip indecisively. “I don’t know, Marcus. It’s such short notice, and I was planning to spend the weekend catching up on some paperwork.”

  He picked up her hand and used the pad of his thumb to trace an idle pattern in the center of her palm, watching as her sooty lashes fluttered and her lush lips parted on a soundless breath.

  “Please?” he implored, low and husky. “Come.”

  The dark eyes that lifted to his were hazy with desire. “Has any woman ever said no to you, Marcus Wolf?”

  His mouth curved in a slow, teasing grin. “You did, the first time we met. I’m doing everything in my power to convince you it was a terrible lapse in judgment.”

  She laughed, gazing at their joined hands. After another moment, she looked up at him. “I already know it was,” she said softly.

  Just like that, Marcus wanted her again, hard and deep, right against the nearest wall. If he didn’t have a client waiting for him inside the restaurant, he definitely would have tried to coax her into accompanying him back to his apartment. He couldn’t get enough of her, even after their all-night lovemaking marathon. If anything, last night had only made him hunger for more.