by Anne Marsh
She’s wearing one of those pencil skirts I love. The gray fabric hugs her thighs and her ass, stopping teasingly short of her knees. Her legs are bare and she’s wearing a pair of three-inch pumps. The cherry on the sundae, however, is the silky pink blouse with a floppy bow that sits right between her tits. Hello. My brain promptly shut down, stupid fucker.
Blade saunters toward her, and she marches toward him. When she’s inches from him (because that fucking wolf is playing her, and he’s not backing down an inch), she slaps a hand square in the middle of his chest. Hard enough to hurt, too, so better him than me. “Are you the hit squad?”
“Nope,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “You can call me FTD. Get your ass out here, Ware.”
Yeah. That makes her stand on tiptoe to peer over Blade’s shoulder. I don’t like their proximity and I’m already busted, so I drop out her bedroom window and make for her like this is exactly what I planned.
“Happy birthday,” I growl, shoving Blade out of the way. Bastard laughs and heads for his bike with a wave of his hand. Seconds later, I hear the roar of the bike as he tears off down the street.
Marly glares suspiciously at me the whole time. You’d think I was trying to clean her place out. “It’s not my birthday.”
Details. “It was. You want to wait another year to celebrate?”
She sucks in a breath and tries to step around me. Yeah. I’m a wolf, so I don’t budge and that move sends her slamming into me. Not like she’s got a whole lot of momentum going, but I’m feeling way too fucking fragile. How do people talk about their feelings? Is this why Hallmark makes so much goddamned money?
Before she can make a second attempt to avoid me, I throw an arm around her shoulders and turn her around to face her front yard. I’m obviously not big on flowers, but it looks kinda nice. Instead of the neat grass square, she’s got a sea of purple. The flowers cover every inch of available space. The garden center suggested planting them in some kind of pattern, but I’m no artist. Instead, Blade and I got the bulbs marching in neat fucking rows.
“I brought you flowers,” I announce, just in case she’s suddenly gone blind. The grass we cut up and removed is stacked neatly to the side, and it occurs to me that maybe she likes grass. Maybe I should have asked permission or checked out her opinions on spring bulb plantings.
Yeah. As if.
I just want her to be happy. Want to see her smile. Want to make her mine.
“Wow.” Her eyes flit here and there, taking in my flower arrangement, so I tug her up the sidewalk to her front porch. She’s not yelling, but not smiling, either. I’m not sure what I expected, but this isn’t it.
“A lot of flowers,” I add, because I’m a fucking idiot.
And there it is… her lips quirk up. She’s fighting it, but I’ve got a chance.
“I can see that,” she says, and then she laughs. “Oh, my God. My landlord is going to kill me.”
“He’ll have to go through me,” I promise her.
She studies my masterpiece a little more and shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
She’s still smiling, so…
“Is that good?” Because I can do better. I can be whoever, whatever she needs, although I’m kinda hoping she’ll take me as I am.
Love me as I am.
“The pack’s going to give you shit about this,” she announces. Sounds damned pleased about it, too. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s hard to overlook a yard full of hyacinths. This must have cost a fortune.”
“Whatever I have, it’s yours.” I pause, waiting for her to make a suggestion. She just gives her yard another once over, though, and keeps on walking. The view’s definitely better from her porch, so I move with her. I’m kinda hoping she’ll ask for something. A Herculean task like shoveling shit out of the world’s biggest fucking stable, brokering world peace, or prying the heart I’m keeping for her out of my chest so she can hold it in her hands.
She leans down, slipping out of my hold, and traces her fingers over a purple stalk. I need to get inside her head and figure out what she’s thinking. What she needs. She can’t be done with me, can she?
“They’re beautiful,” she says softly. “Thank you.”
Has she moved on? My dumbass self left two weeks ago, and time’s kinda stood still for me ever since, but for her? Yeah. Probably not. Bet she’s found someone smart enough to appreciate her. I try hard not to think about another guy holding her, kissing her. Loving her.
I move on to Stage Two in my plan. “It doesn’t matter to me what the pack thinks.”
She slants me a sidelong glance I can’t read. “Is that true?”
I take. I don’t give. I don’t put it out there, don’t let other people see how I feel. There’s no way the pack misses four thousand fucking flower bulbs, and I’m completely, entirely good with that. I could rent one of those skywriting planes too and advertise it everywhere.
So one word sums it all up.
“Yeah.”
The other word? Marly. She’s my everything, my center, my heart.
“I wish I could believe you.” She sounds wistful. Fuck. This isn’t a fight I can win with my fists.
“I love you,” I growl.
The words kinda hang in the air between us. This is so not part of my plan. I drew the line at spelling out those three words in fucking flower bulbs, but maybe I should have reconsidered. I draw her back against me and bury my face in her hair. Inhale her, hold onto her, lose myself in her.
“Is this another game?” She tugs at my grip, but how am I supposed to let her go? How can I make her feel the way I do? The answer is that I can’t. I can be as much of a partner to her as she’ll let me be. I can be the guy waiting for her when she’s done with work, the one who’s there when she needs something, and who beats the crap out of anyone who hurts her—but I can’t force her to love me. That’s a gift.
“Can we go inside?” See? I’m learning. It’s not like I can’t force my way in—hell, I was standing in her bedroom when she drove up—but it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t ask me. Doesn’t want me.
She’s destroyed me.
She sighs, but then she nods. “I don’t see how talking’s going to help.”
I can’t help but agree with her. “Kisses are better.”
Fuck me. When did my voice get so rough and gravelly? There’s a note of… desperation? Might as well own it.
She reaches in her purse, fishes out a set of keys on a long, pink, sparkly lanyard and then hands me the purse. I take it. I stand there on her front porch, holding her bag, while she unlocks the door. I was just inside. I know there’s no one lurking there waiting to hurt her, but I’m also damned grateful that Blade isn’t watching from the curb. Marly comes first, but the pack loves to give me shit.
Marly gets the door unlocked on her third try and steps inside. I dog her heels in case she’s thinking about ditching me, but she doesn’t stop by the door, so I’m safe enough. Instead, she keeps moving, tossing her purse on the sofa and heading for the kitchen. The sofa is way too small for me and holds a million throw pillows. I’ve seen fewer ticks on a dog. The kitchen is open to the living room, separated by one of those half-wall things.
Marly slams into the kitchen and yanks the fridge door open. She bends down, and I’m really, really enjoying my view. Her ass is gorgeous. She emerges with a beer in her hand.
One beer.
Yeah. I’m still in the doghouse.
Of course, I’d be happy to drink after her. I move into the kitchen. Some day soon I need to teach her self-defense—there’s only one exit from her tiny kitchen, and now I’m between her and it.
“You gonna share?”
She pops the top and shakes her head. “What do you want?”
There’s only one answer to that. “You.”
She takes a long pull on the beer. “You had your chance.”
“I screwed up,” I acknowledge. “I should have put you first, but
instead I pushed you away. We had sex—” really awesome, smoking hot fantasy sex—“but you deserved more than that. I can’t promise I won’t be a bossy bastard, but I’ll listen. I want to change for you. Think you can see your way to forgiving me?”
She shakes her head again (at this rate, she’s getting whiplash) and sets the beer bottle down on the counter. “Why do you always get to be the one in charge?”
“That what you want? To call the shots?”
“You don’t always know what’s best for me.” She slams back more of her beer, and I suspect she’s giving serious consideration to breaking the bottle over my head. Since the flowers aren’t working, I go with Plan B.
I drop to my knees.
“I brought you a present,” I confess.
She blinks down at me and shifts nervously. I’m close enough that her knees bump my shoulders and I can smell her. She smells fucking delicious. I wrap a hand around her ankle and rub my thumb over the soft skin. She feels good. Right.
“Ware—” She inches right as if she can get away from me that easily.
“Look at your present,” I croon and hold out my arm. The pink and black letters scrolling across the inside of my arm spell out Marly. She’s inked into my skin, her name guarding the vein that runs straight to my heart.
MARLY
Ware drags his thumb over the sensitive skin of my ankle, and I want to melt when I need to be strong. But sex with him has always been mind-blowingly dirty—and satisfying. The problems come when we have to get out of bed and face life head-on.
He tilts his gorgeous head back, his eyes searching out mine. “You’ve brought me to my knees,” he confesses.
Ware’s off-limits—and he’s on his knees? He’s the last person I expected to see when I came home today, and I’m still not sure why he’s here. He wants a second chance, but at what?
He’s on his knees.
My head—and my girl parts—are stuck on that. Ware’s never pretended he was anything but dominant, and he’s always been clear that he gives the orders. Kneeling, bending, giving in, compromising… those words simply aren’t part of his everyday vocabulary.
I’m spread wide open like it’s his birthday and I’m the present. And you know what? I’m having a real hard time coming up with any objections. Except he doesn’t move any closer, doesn’t do anything, and soon I’m biting back a greedy moan. He needs to touch me now, damn it.
“Ware?”
“Shhh,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m admiring my view. You have any idea how pretty you look? How good you smell? Open up for me.”
He taps my thigh with his hand. Guess Bossy Ware is back—but that’s okay, because I’m melting for him. I edge my thighs apart, the tight fabric of my professional skirt binding my legs together.
“Take it up for me,” he says roughly, his breath catching. He leans in, wrapping his hands around my thighs, his fingers teasing my skin. It’s hot today, and I went barelegged—there’s nothing between Ware and me. I slowly pull my skirt up until I’m flashing him the lace edging my panties.
“So pretty.” He catches my knees with his rough, callused hands, pushing me wider.
He runs his thumbs up my thighs, massaging the tense muscle, and his touch feels so good. I should stop him, should make it clear that he can’t fuck me and leave me, but I’m caught in the pleasure. He’s touching me, but he’ll do it on his terms. I want to scream at him, kick him out—and wriggle closer, shove his fingers into my pussy and take what I need. Space. That should top my wants list, and yet I inch closer to him. How can he dominate me from his knees? I’m so wet that my panties are soaked.
When I squirm, he pins me in place effortlessly.
Wolf eyes watch me. “Pull your skirt all the way up.”
I do it, too. My heart pounds, my pussy creaming, because he’s utterly, wonderfully, impossibly sexy. We’re playing a game here, and we’re playing by his rules.
And I love it.
His eyes go straight to my panties. They’re more cheerful than sexy, hot pink with white polka dots. I hadn’t planned on showing them to anyone tonight, but Ware’s gaze darkens and he smiles. Slow and knowing. I’m in so much trouble.
“Take your panties off for me.”
Oh. God. Ware’s words are shockingly blunt. Overwhelmingly erotic. His rough command gets me going, too, and we both know I’m going to submit. Obediently, I push the scrap of cotton down my thighs, and he takes them the rest of the way.
“You gonna answer me? Or you want a clue?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. Just presses his mouth against my pussy, and the heat of him sears me. And then he’s lifting me up onto the counter, dragging my legs over his shoulders, and opening me up for his touch. He eats me in one long, wicked bite, licking me from bottom to top with a rough groan.
I grab his head, trying to find my balance, and he nips. I scream with pleasure.
“Let’s try again,” he growls. “Who’s in charge?”
He licks and sucks, and then he fucking pauses. He wants his answer.
“You,” I moan. “Ware.”
“That’s right, sweetheart. You’ve got a thing for the big bad wolf, and he’s gonna see to this pretty pussy of yours.”
He glides his fingers up my slit, taking his time finding my clit. He’s in no rush, even if I am. He touches and strokes like he’s got all the time in the world and I’m not moaning and yanking at his head. I’m not sure what point he’s trying to make, but I’m seconds away from an unbelievable orgasm and I want him to hurry. Instead, he slows down more, his fingers skimming my folds, driving me crazy.
“I’m going to kill you,” I pant, and he laughs.
God. I feel that husky chuckle everywhere. That’s the thing about Ware—he drives me crazy so easily. He circles my clit with one finger, holding me pinned against the counter with his other hand.
“Big bad wolf’s gonna eat you up, baby girl.” He whispers the words against my pussy, rough-soft, and I love it. I love him. Damn him, but I do. I’m going to let him do this to me—and I’m going to beg him for more.
“Ware—”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promises.
“Now,” I demand, and he gives me what I’m asking for. Eases my thighs wider over his shoulders, cups my butt with his big hands, and spreads me over his mouth. I ride his tongue, his lips, hanging on and losing control. He drags his tongue through me, opening me up with one long, slow lick from top to bottom.
Ware Evans. Eating me up like I’m his new favorite flavor.
The pleasure builds fast. My thighs shake and I clench down on him hard, angling my clit against his tongue. God, the man can kiss.
“Tell me I’m forgiven,” he growls. “Tell me I can have a second chance.”
He can have whatever he wants, but I don’t have the words to tell him. I whimper. I groan. He laughs and goes back to work, sucking my clit into his talented mouth.
“You like this,” he asks, lifting his head for a moment. “You okay, Marly?”
His finger discovers a spot that makes me arch.
“Don’t you dare stop.” I’d have to kill him. I’d have to…
He gives me what I need so badly. He eats me up, licking me with devilish skill, until all I can do is ride his mouth and surrender to the orgasm.
“You cheat,” I pant, a long time later.
“Fuck, yeah.” He sounds completely unrepentant. “Gonna keep doing it too until you tell me you love me again,” he growls against my pussy. See? There’s no holding out, not when he knows my weaknesses.
Not when I love him.
I open my mouth to tell him how I’m feeling, but a large palm gently covers my lips. “I gotta tell you something first,” he says.
I nip his finger and he growls. I’d like to skip the true confessions portion of Ware’s agenda and head straight to the happily ever after. Apparently, though, that’s too much to ask. He moves so fast, I almost miss it. My skirt slides back down, I’m panty-less,
and I’m…
His.
He scoops me up in his arms and takes me out to my sofa. Seconds later, he’s holding me on his lap. This is great, but we’re not having sex. We’re not talking about our future, or doing anything.
“You better talk fast,” I warn him. I’m ready for our ride-off-into-the-sunset time. Why does he have to be so sexy—and so sweet? I curl my fingers into his cut and tilt my head back so I can meet his gaze. I need to listen to whatever it is he feels compelled to share.
“The Breed isn’t my first pack.” He rubs one big hand down my back as he says this. Slowly. Can’t tell who he’s trying to distract, but I like it. When I slide my arms around his waist, though, my fingers find the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans. I can’t help jerking away, and he brushes a kiss over the top of my head before sliding the gun out and setting it beside us on the couch.
“We were a small pack,” he continues. He sounds casual, but his body is tense beneath mine. “Mostly just my father, mother, and me. A couple of younger wolves joined us, and we picked up two unattached females. We were up in Northern California, tucked away in the mountains. The first few years, no one bothered us. Didn’t stay that way for long, though. First there was one challenger. Then six months later, a second. After that we were a fucking train station. Nothing but one wolf after another, trying for dear old dad.”
How many werewolves are there? But Ware’s not done.
“He won the first fights. Had to, because it was kill or be killed.”
“You didn’t kill Fang,” I say, trying to make sense of Ware’s story.
He shakes his head, his hand tightening on my back. “Nope. Should have. Would have too, but Jace had shit for Fang to do, so he asked me to hold off on the killing. If you don’t kill your opponent, he just feels free to come back another day, you feel me? Dear old dad knew that and he did what he had to do, but he was pretty beat up. He had injuries that didn’t heal, and eventually he lost. His challenger became our new Alpha. He took everything—the den, the pack, my father’s mate.”
I take a moment, trying to imagine that. “I’m so sorry.”
Ware shrugs impatiently. “My father failed her. He was supposed to protect her—not let her become some other wolf’s property. I’m trying to point out the parallels here. I’ve got a fucked-up leg and way too many challengers. I’m not the kind of wolf you should choose as a mate.”