Taming the Wolf

by Maureen Smith

  Pouting, Samara stood and pulled off the sweater, tossing it impatiently aside. “If I catch a cold because I’m sitting around in your air-conditioned penthouse with no clothes on…”

  The words died on her lips at the look on Marcus’s face. He was staring at her satin-covered breasts with blatant hunger. Even as her knees wobbled traitorously in response, she knew she’d just found her ace in the hole. It was so simple she wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it earlier. She should have lobbied to remove the sweater the first time she lost, then used her partial nudity as a way to distract him from the game. After all, poker was as much a mental game as one of skill and chance. If one had difficulty concentrating on the game…

  Ah, strategy was such a beautiful thing.

  Smiling demurely, she lowered herself back down into the chair, causing her breasts to bounce just a little as she sat. She made an exaggerated show of leaning way across the table to retrieve the cards so that she could deal the next hand. She noted, with triumph, the way his dark eyes fastened on the swell of her cleavage. She half expected him to lick his lips he was so riveted.

  Men were so predictable.

  Her ploy worked. Marcus lost the next hand.

  “Guess you’ll have to lose your other boot,” Samara said blithely. He’d lost one boot when she won the first hand, not knowing it would be her last taste of victory.

  But instead of toeing off his boot, Marcus removed his gray pullover, the muscles in his wide chest bunching and rippling with the fluid movement. Samara’s stomach flipped over, and her mouth went dry. All that glorious mahogany skin. The flat, dark nipples she loved to suck every time they made love. The taut, beautifully sculpted abdomen she braced her palms against as she straddled him, climbing toward one climax after another.

  “W-What are you doing?” she managed hoarsely. “You’re supposed to remove your boot, not your shirt.” No way was he going to turn the tables on her with the distraction game!

  “I never said you could tell me which articles of clothing to remove. Besides,” he said, smiling rakishly, “Isn’t the whole point of strip poker to get your opponent ‘stripped’ down to the last stitch of clothing?”

  Samara swallowed with difficulty. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to,” Marcus said, his voice husky with promise. He looked so incredibly male and virile that she had to drag her gaze away from him.

  Despite the fact that she kept her eyes carefully trained on her cards, she lost the next hand. Without saying a word, Marcus leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs, watching her expectantly.

  Suppressing her frustration, Samara rose to her feet and unsnapped her jeans. Holding his gaze, she slid the tight denim slowly, provocatively, over her waist and down her legs. She even rotated her hips for good measure and was rewarded when Marcus’s eyes grew hooded, darkening with desire.

  “Come here,” he said huskily.

  His words sent hot shivers through her whole body. She shook her head, a naughty smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She stepped carefully out of her jeans and kicked them aside, along with the remaining lone sock she wore. “We’re not finished with our game yet.”

  “Yes we are. You lost.”

  “Is that right? Then I suppose I owe you some type of reward.”

  “There’s only one thing I want right now, Samara,” Marcus said in a voice roughened with need, “and it has nothing whatsoever to do with poker.”

  “Mmmm,” she purred. “I wonder what that could be.”

  Despite her teasing tone, it was with a combination of nerves and anticipation that she stood trembling before him. He sat silently with his hands clenched at his sides, and she could tell how much of a struggle it was for him not to pounce on her. The knowledge filled her with immense feminine power.

  He ran his eyes over her body as if it were his first time seeing her. Samara just stood there, erect nipples pressing painfully against her satin bra, allowing him to drink his fill of her.

  “You are so beautiful,” he finally murmured.

  Her legs quivered. “You’ll say anything to get what you want,” she tried to joke, but her voice was too throaty, too tight with arousal to successfully deliver the line.

  With a muffled groan, Marcus leaned forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, burying his face against her belly and rubbing back and forth. Her eyes closed and her head tipped back as his hands roamed up her spine to unclasp her bra, sliding the straps from her shoulders and sending the scrap of lace to the floor. She felt only a moment of cool air upon her exposed flesh before his large hand gently covered one breast, his warm mouth enveloping the other. He licked the left nipple, circling the tight point with his tongue before catching it between his teeth and applying delicate pressure. At the same time, his other hand teased and tormented her nipple until she thought she would explode.

  “No, wait,” she gasped, stepping quickly out of his embrace.

  Marcus swore raggedly under his breath. “Please don’t make me beg.”

  “Shhh.” Samara laid a finger to his lips. “I’m not going to make you beg. Just sit back and relax.”

  Chest heaving, Marcus watched as she knelt between his legs. She ran her hand invitingly down his chest before leaning forward and placing her lips to his heated flesh. His breath quickened as she rained hot kisses all over him.

  Next she reached for the zipper of his jeans, and he sucked in air sharply as her fingers slipped inside and grasped his hardened penis, freeing him. Holding his gaze, she took him deep into her mouth. She laved and suckled him until he flung his head back against the chair, groaning in sheer ecstasy.

  “Samara, I don’t think I can take much more.”

  Filled with pleasure at the raw need in his voice, Samara straightened from her kneeling position and smoothly straddled his lap.

  “Wait,” Marcus whispered hoarsely. He dug into his pocket for his wallet, his fingers somewhat clumsy as he withdrew a condom. Samara took it from him and raised herself above him so that she could tug his jeans and briefs off. He lifted his hips, helping to facilitate the swift removal.

  He groaned as she sheathed him with the condom, smoothing it over his engorged shaft with deliberate slowness. Then, as he stared in helpless fascination, she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, leisurely dragging the black satin off her hips and over her legs before tossing it aside.

  As she climbed into his lap again, he lifted his head to receive her kiss, letting her explore his mouth with deep, languid strokes of her tongue that made him moan. She took his throbbing penis in her hand and guided it into her body. As he entered her, she inhaled sharply and bit her lip to keep from screaming at the exquisite pleasure of it. They both closed their eyes and sighed deeply as she continued lowering herself until he filled her completely. His hands came up, grasping her hips as he prepared to begin thrusting into her.

  But Samara had other plans. After taking just a few moments to savor the sensation of him embedded inside her, she raised herself up until he almost slipped from her body. Then, slowly undulating her hips, she lowered herself again, never taking him completely into her.

  Marcus went insane with lust as she repeated the motion again and again. With a low, guttural oath, he arched and dug his fingers into her buttocks, trying to hold her in place so that he could bury himself deep inside her. But Samara resisted his desperate attempts and raised herself once again. She captured his agonized groans in her mouth, telling him in sultry whispers to be patient.

  But as she felt her own body begin to convulse around him, she wondered how much longer she could keep up the slow, maddening pace. Especially when she wanted nothing more than to have him deep inside her, thrusting and possessing her.

  She lowered herself a little more, then clenched her inner muscles as she rose up one final time. They both moaned at the deeply erotic sensation. Marcus slipped his fingers beneath her buttocks until they f
ound what they were searching for and plunged inside. Samara paused in mid-stroke, shocked into crying out as he caressed her wet vagina.

  Arching against him in surrender, she pushed her breasts into his face, wanting to be filled with him until she soared into blissful oblivion. His mouth covered one erect nipple, suckling greedily and nearly sending her over the edge. She arched again to take him all the way into her body and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, shaking violently with need. She began moving on him, faster and faster, until they were both breathless, until their bodies slapped noisily together over the sound of John Legend crooning softly in the background.

  “I’m…almost there,” she gasped. She threw back her head and panted Marcus’s name until the last of his restraint snapped.

  Grabbing her hips, he thrust deep and hard, devouring her, literally screwing her brains out. She cried out wildly as she erupted, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder to absorb the violent shudder that swept through her.

  Marcus controlled his own urges and slowly rebuilt her desire, stroke by stroke, until she climaxed once again, rhythmic cries tearing from her throat. Only then did he let himself go, gripping her back tightly and moaning with his own explosive release. They clung to each other as their racing heartbeats gradually steadied and their ragged breaths quieted.

  Marcus held her in place, stroking a hand down her slick back. His lips brushed her cheek and grazed her moist mouth, kissing her slow and deep. When they at last parted, they could do no more than lean their damp foreheads against each other’s.

  “Samara.”

  “Yes, Marcus?”

  He chuckled softly. “I haven’t even asked yet.”

  “Asked what?”

  He ran his fingers down the smooth column of her spine. “Will you marry me?”

  Samara stiffened for a moment before lifting shocked eyes to his face. “What?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “Will you marry me?”

  Tears rushed to her eyes. “Oh my God! Are you serious?”

  “As serious as I’ll ever be. I’m in love with you, Samara. I want you to be my wife.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. A tear slipped from her eye, followed by another and another, until she was openly weeping.

  Marcus attempted humor. “You’re crying. That can’t be a good thing.”

  She laughed softly through her tears. “Of course I’ll marry you, Marcus. I love you so much, and I wasn’t sure whether you felt the same.”

  Marcus leaned forward and caught her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. “Does this feel like I don’t feel the same?” he whispered against her mouth. He kissed her again and again like he couldn’t get enough. “Does this?”

  “Oh, Marcus.” Samara’s arms tightened around his neck. He tenderly kissed away her tears, one by one, before reclaiming her mouth. They held each other tightly, their heartbeats pounding in unison.

  As the kiss intensified, Marcus rose from the chair with her legs still wrapped around his waist. “Let’s finish this in the bedroom,” he growled, already striding purposefully down the corridor.

  He kicked the bedroom door shut behind them, and minutes later their exultant cries penetrated the walls as they loved each other long into the night.

  1

  When Samara awoke the next morning, the first thing she remembered was Marcus’s marriage proposal. In the pale light of day, she didn’t know which was more shocking to her: the proposal itself, or her swift response. She could hardly believe she’d accepted—and yet she knew no other response would have been possible.

  She was hopelessly in love with Marcus. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

  “What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?”

  Samara looked over and found Marcus awake and watching her quietly. The room’s predawn shadows enhanced the faint growth of stubble along his jaw, making him look roguishly sexy.

  “Good morning,” she murmured.

  “Mmm. It is, isn’t it?” he drawled, his voice a deep, husky rumble she felt in the pit of her stomach.

  As he raised himself up on one elbow to gaze down at her, Samara felt her breath catch in her throat. In his eyes she could easily become lost, carried away in those infinite pools of onyx. And in that instant she realized the enormity of her situation. It was dangerous to have allowed herself to fall so hard for Marcus. She’d spent years avoiding serious relationships in order to protect herself from heartache. In less than two weeks, Marcus Wolf had infiltrated her ironclad defenses and invaded her heart.

  And there was no turning back.

  Almost tentatively, Samara reached up and cradled his lean cheek in her hand. Her eyes searched his. “Marcus, about last night…” she trailed off uncertainly.

  Marcus turned his head and kissed the center of her palm, his expression serious. “The answer is yes. I meant to propose to you last night, and I don’t regret it this morning.” His solemn gaze traced her features. “Do you regret accepting?”

  Samara shook her head against the pillow. “No.”

  He smiled, then bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips. Hope bloomed in Samara’s chest. Maybe it was finally time to let go of her fears. Maybe everything would be all right from now on.

  She curved a hand around Marcus’s neck, holding him closer as she deepened the kiss. He murmured his approval against her mouth. Before she could draw another breath, he swept her into his arms, swung his long legs from the bed and carried her into the adjoining bathroom.

  She had only a glimpse of gleaming brass faucets and black marble tile before steam enveloped them inside the glass shower stall. She stared up at Marcus as he stood before her, naked and fully aroused, water sluicing down his powerful body. Her throat went dry as desire flooded her, a pulsing ache between her legs.

  Dark eyes smoldering, Marcus lifted a bar of soap and began lathering his hands instead of a washcloth. Samara swallowed with difficulty as he slowly massaged the froth of bubbles into her shoulders.

  “You know,” she managed huskily, “I can wash myself.”

  His eyes flickered with a devilish glint. “Of course you can.”

  She gasped as deliciously callused hands covered her sensitive breasts and slathered soap onto the swollen mounds. “As a matter of fact,” she continued thickly, “I’ve been washing myself for a long time now. And I think—” Her voice broke as his slippery hands made their way down her torso. She quivered uncontrollably when he caressed her thighs.

  “Marcus…”

  “Shhh. Just relax.” He knelt and focused his attention on the curve of her calves, then the delicate arch of her feet. Samara closed her eyes as his hands glided up her legs once again. He paused for a moment, and Samara swore she could feel the heat of his gaze scorching her wet flesh. She held herself rigid until his hand reached her feminine triangle. He massaged soap into the silken tuft of hair before one finger slipped beyond and began caressing her intimately. Samara moaned and grasped his shoulders.

  Before she could recover from the erotic ministrations, he drew his head toward her body. His finger was replaced by the warm stroke of his tongue.

  Samara cried out sharply and threw back her head. Need pounded furiously through her. Her legs parted of their own accord, allowing him greater access. She cradled the back of his head as his wet tongue probed deep inside her. Her moans of ecstasy escalated, piercing the steamy shower stall. Marcus’s expert tongue glided over the swollen folds of flesh, back and forth, in and out, suckling lavishly, until Samara could take no more. She screamed his name as her body began convulsing.

  Marcus caught her in his arms as he straightened from his kneeling position. Flesh met flesh as his mouth took hot possession of hers, sharing her taste with her. He pressed his firm erection against her stomach and deepened the carnal kiss until it grew wild and fiery, their tongues mating frantically. He backed Samara against the shower wall and gripped her hips, lifting her from the floor. She clun
g to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  Marcus groaned softly as he entered her. Samara arched her back, and he plunged deeper within her, their bodies moving in perfect unison as they quickly found their rhythm. Warm water caressed their limbs, adding to the sheer sensuality of their coupling. Marcus cupped her buttocks as he thrust harder and faster, his smoldering gaze boring into hers.

  “Talk to me,” he huskily commanded above the shower’s roar and their mingled moans. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m good,” came her breathless reply. He increased the tempo and she groaned. “Better than good.”

  She was on the verge of shattering when Marcus rocked his hips one final time and stiffened against her, his grip tightening on her buttocks. Their loud cries blended as they climaxed together in a violent rush.

  Minutes later a weakened Samara emerged from the steamy bathroom and collapsed on the bed while Marcus finished showering. She was completely exhausted from their lovemaking marathon, and it was barely six in the morning. She couldn’t imagine returning to her house to get dressed for work. For the first time in a long time, work was the last thing on her mind.

  She sat up as Marcus stepped from the bathroom with a bath towel draped around his waist and strode across the large room to the walk-in closet. As she watched, he opened the doors to reveal an enormous closet filled with an arsenal of business suits. All of them were Italian and professionally pressed, lining the cavernous closet with military precision.

  Samara whistled softly through her teeth. “So that’s where your fortune is going.” Marcus merely grinned at her over his shoulder.

  She lay down again and snuggled deeper into the downy softness of the cotton bath towel she was wrapped in. The towel was so big it hung well past her knees. She sighed languidly. “I don’t think I can move, Marcus. You might come home this evening and find me in the exact same position.”

  Marcus chuckled, eyeing her in the huge bed with her damp hair spread across the pillow. “I’d have no objections to that. Matter of fact,” he drawled wickedly, approaching the bed, “It would make it a lot easier to pick up where we left off.”