The Wolf (Billionaire Vikings Book 2)

by S. M. Maddox

  “What’ll it be, tonight?” A low, deep, sexy as voice asked me.

  I looked up, the brim of my hat dramatically lifting like Kate Winslet’s in that first scene in Titanic. Though it wasn’t as dramatic because of the sucky lighting, but whatever. Holy hellfire. I want him for Christmas. Scratch that, all of the Christmases and birthdays I have left on this earth.

  The man before me was no ordinary man, if he was a man at all. At least 6’5”, with short, wavy, dark hair, he towered over me, casting a shadow on the whole end of the bar. He wore a tight, and I mean tight, white V-neck undershirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination concerning how ripped he was underneath. A brief image of ripping it off between my teeth flashed through my mind.

  The sleeves barely covered his massive biceps, revealing tattoos around each one. They were a line of ancient writing I wasn’t familiar with, though some of them reminded me of the Bluetooth symbol. And then there was his face.

  Dear sweet mercy, his face. Perfectly chiseled everything, jawbones, nose, lips. Dark, seductive eyes that would make you cream yourself from just knowing he looked in your general direction. He’s immortal, he has to be. There’s no living man that can have this much going on all at once. It’s not humanly possible. He’s got to be a god of some sort.

  You know that list? You know, that list? The one every couple makes of celebrities they’re allowed to fuck if ever presented the opportunity? My list consists of only two. #1, Henry Cavill. First and forever. Even back in his skinny, un-ripped days he was still clearly a sex god among men.

  #2, Zachary Levi, because there is nothing hotter than the sexiest nerd alive, who’s also genuinely a good person and sings Broadway. And now that he’s got his salt-and-pepper hair going? Mmmmmmm with a capital M. That’s my list. The End.

  Now, imagine Henry Cavill standing in front of you, but more ripped, as if that were even possible now. And, did I mention? Right. In. Fucking. Front. Of. You.

  That sound you just heard? That was your ovaries exploding. You’re welcome.

  I felt the heat rising all over my body. Oh yessssss, he is the one.

  “You. In a private room.” My inner angel and demon electrified. Damn Jess, don’t be subtle or anything. Shut up Jess, we came here on a mission. We’re getting our life back, starting with him.

  “Sorry babe, not on the menu.” His eyebrow arched for just a split second, and I took a breath. I knew what his next words were going to be before he spoke them. Everyone always asked me the same thing. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  I ignored his question. “I thought everything was on the menu?”

  “The regular bartender called out. Not that I wouldn’t love to entertain you, but I can’t leave the station tonight.”

  He set a glass of water down on the cocktail napkin. “Let me know if you decide on something.” My mouth fell open as he walked away. His perfect, fabric-stretching ass was as cut as the rest of him. Instinctually, I knew I’d chip a tooth if I bit it. And indeed, I did want to bite it. I wanted to nibble every inch of him until he growled in ecstasy. Goosebumps covered my arms beneath my coat, responding to my less than lady-like thoughts of him.

  I cleared my throat, signaling him to turn around.

  “Decide on something?”

  “Whiskey on rocks. And you, tied to a table.”

  He grinned, and even in the shadows I saw a brief flame flicker behind his mercury blue eyes.

  “I’m not-“

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time. But see, here’s the thing. I’ve got one night, tonight. Tomorrow I start over, and I want to work out some of my aggression before that happens. This place has a reputation. I’m a paying customer. You look like my wet dreams come to life, so I will not leaving until I get what I came here for.”

  My inner Jessie’s high fived. Yeah girl, stand your ground You tell him what’s up!

  He leaned forward on the bar in front of me, his arms supporting him like rippled pillars. My heart quickened as his mouth came within inches of my own.

  “I’m all yours in four hours.” His thumb traced over my eager lips as he tauntingly whispered, “If you can wait that long.”

  My body shuddered at his touch, his voice, his atmosphere. “Deal.”

  Chapter Five

  Jessie

  I sat there and watched him. I watched the way he moved, the way he walked, the way he smiled and the way he poured drinks. The ease with which he talked to guests, charmed them as if he’d known them his whole life. I also noticed they all seemed just a little bit cautious when they talked to him. Not fearful, but there was something I couldn’t pinpoint. I’d been the only one who’d outright approached him all night, for anything more than drinks. Surely these women weren’t all blind?

  Every so often, he’d throw a glance my way, trying to figure me out. Trying to decide where he knew me from.

  All the while I sat there, staring at him as a secretive sexy seductress. My back was rigid, stiff straight. Legs crossed, with my lowest heel hooked over the barstool step for support. My coat was still buttoned up like a dress. The man had no idea of all of the fun I was concealing below it.

  He kept my water full, and attentively kept my whiskey in supply for the first two hours. After all the shit I’d been through, Jack D. and I had become lovers and my blood now had quite a high tolerance for him before I ever even started feeling flushed. By my count, I’d had about five total by the time my mystery man landed a plate of mini sliders and a Coke, sans Jack, in front of me, about an hour before showtime.

  “You need to eat something to start soaking all of that up, or neither of us will have much fun.”

  “I can hold my liquor quite well, not that it’s any of your concern. I didn’t ask you to babysit me, only to let me fuck you.”

  He licked his lips, “I can promise you, you won’t want to forget the night we’re about to have.”

  Thirty minutes before closing, he announced last call and started cleaning up. A knot in my stomach formed as that feeling returned. I excused myself to the bathroom to freshen up.

  “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe,” I chanted to myself over and over in the mirror. Deep breaths, Jessie. You were distracted for the last few hours and nothing happened. Nobody followed you. You’re safe. You’re safe.

  I straightened my hat and smoothed my coat out before I walked out of the bathroom. I was in there longer than I’d thought, because there was no one in the club when I emerged. The music had been turned off, and the lights had been brightened, presumably for the staff to clean up easier. I didn’t seen a soul in sight. I slowly crept out, the fear washing over me anew.

  I walked closer to the bar just as my man exited from the kitchen, a dishtowel draped over his shoulder.

  “It’s just me and you now, babe. I’m all yours.”

  “Where is everyone else?”

  “They went home. Are you alright?”

  I could feel my cheeks blushing beneath my hat, my nerves on edge from my imagined scenario.

  “And the bouncer? For security?”

  “Gone. Doors are locked, cameras are turned on, alarms are set. It’s like Fort Knox in here now, babe. I, uh, I told the manager I’d lock up when we were done. You’re safe here.”

  My head snapped up to look at him.

  “Yeah. I figured out how I knew you. You’re that reporter who-“

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to fuck you senseless,” I walked forward and slapped his handsome face, not hard but hard enough to make him shut the hell up. The flame I’d seen in his eyes blazed again, smoldering me in my tracks. He liked it a little rough. He liked it a lot.

  I took my hat off, my honey red chignon unravelling and flowing down my shoulders.

  “Get a knife,” I commanded him. Dammit. The one thing I’d left home without.

  He skillfully reached behind the bar to grab a paring knife and handed it to me. I
held it up to his throat, as I forced him to walk backwards.

  In my experience, most men might get scared if you held a knife to their throats.

  Not him. He seemed almost delighted at the danger. Interesting. I like it.

  Our eyes never left each other’s gaze as we walked, knife to throat, until he backed into one of the chaise lounges. I moved the knife slowly down his neck, catching it in the collar of his thin white t-shirt. I then sliced downwards, ripping the threads and exposing the rippling, hard torso underneath.

  “What ab-“

  I punched him this time, drawing a drop of blood to his perfect lips. “Do not talk.” His eyes widened in surprise, and then darkened in pleasure as he licked away the blood.

  I ran my tongue up his abs, tracing the defined lines of each one. He was too delicious of a man not to want to lick. He tasted like salt, sex and pure masculinity. I felt him shudder under my tongue as he watched me with delight. I unbuttoned his pants, and undid his zipper, moving the knife down. He grabbed my hand, forcefully and hard, reminding me that I wasn’t really in control.

  “Not the pants. They’re expensive.”

  I dropped the knife beside me and rose up, slapping him for the second time, even harder. “I thought I said no talking.”

  I pulled his pants down, in one piece, and shoved him hard onto the chaise lounge. He was about three times bigger than I was, but he let me command him easily. I picked up the knife again and cut off his dark blue boxers, exposing the kind of man I knew he was.

  Rock hard, giant, powerful thighs lay open and relaxed for me on the lounge, and a good nine inches of raw, thick, male power was already excited to see me. I hadn’t even tried yet. Oh yes, I can work with this.

  I took the dish towel and tied his wrists together, wedging them behind his head. The way he was smiling at me let me know he was as amused as he was turned on. Showtime.

  The lounge was wide enough that I could stand with my legs on either side of his waist, so I did. I climbed up and stood over him, slowly unbuttoning each button of my coat. The more of my leather dress he started seeing, the more aroused he got, as if it were possible. I tossed the coat off, and slowly started rotating my hips in what I thought was a seductive dancing motion.

  “Are you a stripper or a dominatrix?”

  I hopped down, straddling him and slapped him twice, hard. “I said no talking. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Reaching down to grab his shredded shirt, I proceeded to ball up the sleeve and shove it in his mouth. I picked up the knife, tracing his ab muscles with the blade.

  We were both ready to go as I slowly unzipped my dress, letting it fall behind me. Now, the only thing I was wearing were my thigh-high heels, and the only thing he was wearing was the dishtowel around his wrists and the shirt shoved in his mouth.

  His eyes went wide as he started breathing harder from watching me. I ran my hands up and down his body, a pure work of masculine art. I twisted his chest hairs around my fingers, pulling them to make him wince and feel pain. I sliced a few off with the knife, not that he seemed to care. He watched me like a wolf watches from the shadows, silent and deadly and waiting to kill.

  He was glistening with excitement, and I could feel how drenched I was. I eased down, taking him inch by inch. He growled a low, guttural moan through the shirt as I took all of him in. I was so wet that my body accommodated him quickly, and I started panting as his thickness filled and stretched me wickedly, sinfully.

  I slowly started rocking up and down, one hand flat on his chest and the other pressing a knife to his carotid artery. He groaned in approval as his hands flinched and his fingers grabbed the air behind his head, begging to be set free to touch me. As I rocked faster and faster, I leaned down to kiss his chest, to taste him some more. His strong legs came up behind me, supporting my back as I pounded harder and harder, riding him with all my might.

  I whimpered as I felt myself coming. The closer I got, the closer I felt to tears. Tears for everything I’d been through, for everything I’d wanted and been denied. For how good it felt to be naked and unjudged by the sex god between my legs right now, and how close I’d been at being completely unhinged just a few months before. I screamed as electric impulses raced through my body.

  He growled and sat upright, breaking free of the dish towel as his massive, warm hands came up to cup my breasts. They grabbed me, expertly pinching my nipples to bring on the good kind of pain that made me come harder. He spit the t-shirt out and raised up to suck and bite my nipples hard as his hands moved down to guide my hips.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling the power of his muscles all around me.

  And then I lost it.

  I forgot where I was, and that I was with a stranger.

  I leaned down and kissed him.

  For a brief second, our bodies paused in time from the shock. Rule Number One for Meaningless Sex - You never kiss. Ever. Our lips froze together, unsure of the new situation we were in.

  And then he kissed me back. His lips were soft at first, then possessive. He tasted like vanilla and mint, like hope and future and passion. Our tongues danced with each other as I rode him harder and harder, coming with him for the second time.

  He flipped our positions in a lightning quick motion on the chaise lounge, wrapping my legs around his hips and he drove into me again and again. This time he was in control. And my, oh my, he was a possessive man. He held my hands above my head with one hand, while the other one rubbed my clit faster and faster.

  All the gates were open, all of the boundaries nonexistent. Our lips didn’t let go of each other, each kiss devouring and tackling the previous one with a force and fury I’d never known in all my life. I came in record time, tears flowing freely down my face. I didn’t even bother to hide them. I felt elated, and hungry again for life in that moment.

  The bartender collapsed on top of me, as I clung to his broad shoulders for dear life, enjoying the surging tremors my body was experiencing.

  My skin tingled as his breaths warmed my neck, our bodies bonded together with sweat and sex. When my breathing had slowed back to a normal pace, I turned my head to look at him. He was staring down at me with the most dazzling eyes I’d ever seen on any person. They were dark blue with flecks of silver, like a frozen lake in January. Another single tear rolled down my face. Dammit.

  He wiped it away before gently kissing my forehead. “Are you ok?”

  Right then I heard a loud noise, like a gunshot. My whole body jumped in his arms.

  “It’s ok, it was just a car backfiring. You’re safe here, I promise.”

  I wrapped my hands around his biceps, feeling the rigid muscles beneath my fingers. Oh, how I could wake up every morning to a man like this. Someone who protected me and kept me safe. If only I’d had that before, how different my life would’ve been.

  He raised up on both hands, looking down at my naked body. He traced the line from my belly button to my ribs, where the bright pink scar brightly showed its ugly, lumpy self freely, unhidden from the shadows of our bodies.

  “Is this from that night?”

  I slapped his hand away and shot up, quickly putting my dress back on. I pulled a wad of cash out of my purse and handed it to him.

  “I don’t want that.”

  “And I don’t want a pity fuck. We’re done here. Take it.”

  “I said I don’t want your cash.”

  I raised my hand to slap him one last time, for good measure. He caught my hand, mid-air.

  “Woman, if you slap me one more time, so help me I will fuck you so hard I’ll break your hips.”

  “Is that a promise?” I threw the money up in the air, making it rain my last $500 immediately around us. “Unlock the fucking door. The night is over. Thank you for your… services.” I spun on my thigh-high heel and walked to the front foyer. I did not take a business card. We’re done here.

  Chapter Six

  Roland

  You know those days when you wake up, and eve
rything is just dark? Your mood, the room, the air, the overall feeling of life, like something imminent is lurking over you? I’d had that weight in my chest all weekend.

  My mother died in my arms on a Monday. She had been diagnosed with lung cancer the previous year after she’d started complaining that her back was hurting, of all things. They ran tests and saw that she had tumors which had started in her lungs and travelled throughout the rest of her body. She wasn’t even a smoker. Neither was my dad. None of us were. No second hand shit anywhere. She was just dealt a bad hand.

  Two years tops, that’s what they gave her. I barely understood what it even meant.

  I was twelve. My baby brother, Thor, was five years old. He was in pre-school that day. My dad had flown out the night before for a business trip. My brother Magnus, seven years my senior, was away at college.

  We had a live-in nurse for Mom, but I’d stayed home with her that day because she’d been running a fever all weekend. The nurse was down in the kitchen with the chef, making chicken noodle soup from a generations old recipe. She said if anything would cure my mom, it would be that. The secret was in the bone marrow.

  I was sitting beside Mom, holding her hand and watching The Young and the Restless, her favorite. She squeezed my hand as she launched into another coughing fit. I’ll never forget that moment.

  I relive it constantly in my mind, those last few, precious minutes I had with her. When she squeezed my hand, I barely felt it. I instinctually knew it was all the strength she had, but it was just a tap to me.

  “Rolly,” she whispered through her strained voice, “Rolly, will you raise my bed so I can see?”

  “Sure Mom, no problem,” I replied as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and gently added another pillow behind her back. She was tiny and frail. She’d practically withered away before our eyes. Dad wanted her to be at home, to be as comfortable as she possibly could be, surrounded by all her men.

  I still had one arm wrapped around her as I reached for the remote control to raise her hospital bed, when I froze.