No you’re not. I reply telepathically.
“Paris and I were just talking,” Susanne starts at me, asserting her authority quickly as Paris continues to grin at me. What is supposed to happen is I’m supposed to be polite and take the queue to go away. But that’s not what’s going to happen here. Not in the mood I’m in and well, let’s face it, not ever.
Am I allowed to bare claws? I ask jokingly. Half joking.
“I’m more of a doer.” I state at Paris paying the bar attendant who puts our drinks down before us. “Action-girl.” I state picking up my glass of wine and holding it up to him as Susanne looks on visibly upset.
No.
“Action girl huh?” He says cheekily. “Do you do all your own stunts?”
I smile widely at him. “Well there’s usually a partner involved.” I say back at him.
Partner? He says clearly objecting to my terminology.
“Hey!” Susanne says at us. We both ignore her.
“Just one?” He asks me curiously.
Currently.
I sip my wine. “Sometimes two.” I state back at him, holding his gaze.
“I’ve never done a threesome before,” Susanne try’s to wedge her way into our brazenly flirtatious conversation. “But I could be up for that.” Paris look back at her then. I feel like I should end her misery so she can focus on someone she can land. Help her out even.
Not a chance in hell. I state at him firmly in my head.
“I don’t have sex with other women.” I state at Paris. “That’s a hard limit for me.” I say back at him and he nods his head. I’ve probably never told him that, but then the fact that he’s never tried to bring up a girl on girl threesome with me, tells me he probably already knew that. He knows me very well.
Was not even entertaining the idea sweetheart, just passing time till you came back in here. He says back at me very reassuringly.
“I don’t need two women.” Paris says back at me. “Just the right woman.”
Good answer!
“What?” Susanne proclaims loudly.
I lean back against the bar, on my elbows, with my chest out, my wine glass sitting next to my shoulder. Paris’s eyes run over my breasts. And still Susanne hangs around somehow outraged and not getting it. But Paris is now all about me, pleasantries and passing time till I got back in the bar are over. He slides his hands around my waist and tugs me along the bar top, narrowly missing the wine glass, till I am before him. I stretch out my arms across the wooden edge of the bar. Opening myself up to him, dropping my head back, so my hair spills onto the bar top and over the other edge. I can see the male bar attendant watching us in fascination from the corner of my eye.
“What are you doing?” Susanne’s voice prattling on.
Paris’s hands slide up my front and he cups my clothed breasts and pulls my nipples through the flimsy material of my top till they are taunt and outlined. Other than Susanne protesting and gawking and opening and closing her mouth, we haven’t been told off by anyone else in the bar. It’s possible a few people are actually watching us. Either way, we don’t really care. This is about sending a message. This is about dominance. This is about our happiness. This is about my honeymoon.
Yes. Is all he says at me. Like it’s all he needs to see to know I am still his after my Booker intervention conversation.
“Very nice.” Paris mutters back at me and I pull back upright to a more standing position before him. He lowers his hands to my hips. He looks down at my cut off denim skirt and quirks an eyebrow at me.
Whatever makes you happy my Alpha. I tell him telepathically and with my whole being in his hands.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Susanne’s voice says as I open my leg stance for him and I reach for my wine at the same time.
Paris slides his hands down over my hips and onto the tops of my bare legs. “I don’t know who you think you are coming in here,” Susanne says still standing there, having her burst of outrage and somehow thinking this will change anything in her favor.
Little wolf, you make me happy. Please don’t forget that. Paris says with solemn meaning.
“Susanne meet my wife.” Paris says out loud sliding one bare hand up the inside of my thigh and under my skirt, while he turns to look at Susanne and hold her eye contact. Except her eye contact is on where his hand is under my skirt. Which is blocked from all other people who aren’t in our immediate, intimate vicinity. Although I think the bar attendant is leaning over the bar to watch. I let out a little moan into my glass as he thrusts two thick fingers inside me.
Susanne’s mouth is gaping. “Wife?” She asks.
Pack mate. My pack mate. My wolf.
“Bride, actually.” Paris replies finger fucking me urgently. Needing to lay claim to me as his. We are still going to have to talk about Booker after this, but not right now. Not when he is asserting his claim, and dominance on me. Not when I am letting him be what he needs to be. What I want him to be for me.
Oh god, I’m so turned on right now. I tell him secretly.
“Come at will B,” He mutters softly when he hears me gasp and knows I am not far off reaching orgasm.
My mouth drops open and I jerk forward as the orgasm roars to life in me and I plant my hands heavily on his shoulders. Paris’s mouth captures mine quickly and muffles any sound of me crying out in pleasure in the bar. We pull apart when I stop moaning in his mouth and he slips his fingers out and we end up panting and staring at one another for what seems like an eternity.
There’s a bit of movement to the side of me and we both look over, Susanne has gone and the bar attendant is placing another drink for each of us on top of the bar.
“On the house.” He says back at us.
We’re giggling like a couple of love-struck teenagers as we walk back to the hotel.
“That was, hot.” Paris says back at me. “Considering where we were, in some non-bar.”
“Yeah, although I think there were some,”
“Other assorted types in there?” Paris says finishing off my sentence as we walk into the hotel lobby.
“Yeah, you picked up on that too?” He’s got his arm around my shoulders and we’re crossing the lobby entrance when the receptionist calls out to us.
“I think they came in a little later, like when you were out in the alley.” He says and I wonder if it’s a hint I’m supposed to start talking about Booker. I’d rather not mention the lycan again, tonight. Or for that matter at all whilst on my honeymoon.
“Mr and Mrs D’arenberg?” Paris stops us and turns towards the receptionist. “A message was left for you.” She says holding out what looks like a black envelope. We walk over and I reach for the envelope and take it off her. I look at the receptionist and she seems a bit anxious isn’t the right word, neither is nervous. But whatever is, it makes me think this is why her scent is now coming through to me, because she might actually be sweating a little. Curious.
“Thank you.” I state and we continue on to the elevator. “Shall I do the honor?” I ask him wagging the black envelope.
“Not before we talk about Booker.” He says back at me pushing a button for the elevator.
I sigh heavily. “Do we have to?”
“Well let’s see, we can talk about what happened with Booker and be clear on where we both stand on this matter. Or we can let it hang over our heads all night and therefore our entire honeymoon, like a dark little cloud following us around.” The elevator dings and the doors open, Paris gestures fro me to step in.
“Wow, you’ve come along way haven’t you? Being the grown up one of us two wanting to talk about this ugly mess for the sake of our relationship.” The elevator doors close and we stand beside each other facing the door.
“I have my moments.” Paris smirks back at me. “Tell me about Booker.” He says giving me an opening to start proceedings.
“He basically followed me here to declare his undying love for me and that I should have married him not you
.” I state as the doors open again and we step out into the lobby. Paris looks at me to see if I’m kidding.
“You’re serious?”
“I’m just that irresistible.” I reply as we walk to our room.
“That mother-fucking, interfering, lycan,” Paris swears. “I’m going to ban his ass from Manhattan.”
“And how exactly are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know.” Paris grumbles.
“I told him I didn’t love him and that as far as I’m concerned our friendship, the one between me and him, is now over.” Paris stops to look at me stunned. “I thought that was about as clear as I could get.”
“Harsh.”
“Says the werewolf who is no longer friends with the afore mentioned mother-fucking, interfering, lycan himself.” I fire back at him. “And wants to ban him from stepping a paw in Manhattan.”
“True.” We start walking again, down the corridor.
“And I also threatened to have him ex communicated from the Breukelen werewolf pack if he didn’t stop interfering in my life, our life together, and our honeymoon.” I tell Paris as we reach our hotel room door. Paris uses the room key card to let us in.
“You meant business huh?” He opens the door for me to walk through.
“I mean to settle this thing he’s built up in his head over all these years. I’m your wolf, not his.” I state as Paris closes the door behind us and slips his hands around my waist.
“Two words I will never tire of hearing.” He says leaning down to kiss me. “My wolf.”
“Not that you’re possessive or anything.” I joke back at him. “My alpha.”
“Another two words I love hearing.” He says planting light kisses along the side of my face and along my neck as I angle my head. “Open the damn envelope.” He says running his nose along my neckline. Meaning he wants to know what the message says before we start making love.
I tear open the envelope, roughly and pull out the card inside and raise my eyebrows. It’s a cream colored card with a gold boarder, that links to a werewolf howling at a moon. I flip the card over and Paris pulls in close.
“It’s an invitation.” I state back at him.
“To what?” He asks kissing my collar bone and pulling at my top for more access to my skin. His hands beginning to lift at the hem of my top.
“To a moon dance.”
27
The moon dance, is being hosted by Laurent Masson. Someone neither Paris or I know and it is being held during the Waxing Gibbous moon, dress code, formal. We both presumed that Laurent was a local werewolf pack leader who had somehow heard of us being in town. But we knew better than to take candy from a stranger. So Paris had Addison get some wolves to do some digging on our behalf and see what information they could come up with on Laurent. We didn’t even know if Laurent was a male or female. Human, werewolf or other.
I on the other hand think I will try getting some information closer to our location. But the receptionist who had greeted us and told us of our invitation, is no longer on duty. So now I have absolutely nothing to go on. Unfortunately the two outfits that Paris and had bought the day before are not formal enough for a formal dance. If that’s what a moon dance even is. Dancing in the werewolf culture, means something else entirely. It did used to mean to move your body in a rhythmic fashion. So the two meanings shared that in common, but not much else.
Paris is standing around in the store with his cell phone to his ear, while I look at appropriate formal wear. “What do you think I should go for?” I asked him, holding up a short Holston Heritage dress with capped sleeves, v neckline. “Girl next door sub.”
“My favorite.” Paris husks at me and my usual look.
I lift up the other dress of the rack, a floor length black gown that is plain around the top, sleeveless, hugs the hips and then runs two hip length, front splits up it. “Or totally Dom know what I’m doing kind of vibe?” I ask Paris as he keeps listening to whatever is being said on the phone.
Paris breaks into a smile at my second choice. Break my back and my heart in that thing would you? He said nodding towards the floor length dress. Which is really all the encouragement I need to know exactly how I want to be perceived at this moon dance. I’ve already seen the shoes.
“Hope you’re prepared for some account shopping pain.” I smiled back at him sweetly.
Diamonds? He asked telepathically while talking into the phone.
“Probably.” I said out loud as I got the sales assistant to track down my shoes of choice. Alexander McQueen winged heels. Totally gorgeous in an over top outrageous and egotistical way. Perfect for making a statement of any kind. The metal shoes came in two colorings, and once I am sure the silver ones, do not smell like silver, I agree to them. They have a twisted gothic heel base for the shoe. Somewhere between a scull and just melted metal. The foot covering is elegantly appliqued wings joined by a strap that also leads its way around the ankle.
“Can you hold for a minute?” Paris said into the phone and looked over at me. I looked at him, waiting for him to tell me about Laurent Masson. “Tell me you’re getting those shoes please.”
I smirk back at him. Second sexual fetish of Paris’s. The first is he likes ripping my lingerie off me literally and the second is he likes doing things to me in seriously sexy high heels. “Of course my alpha.” I husk back at him, to which I received a look that said just calling him that, was tempting my luck in a you deserve to be spanked over my knee kind of way. Given the invitation design and the time the dance was being held, we both doubted we were going to a formal, community dance sort of event. And after I get my outfit together, Paris will find the appropriate trappings to get him something matching.
“Need jewelry now.” I say as I pay for the outfit and we move on to the jewelry section where Paris wraps up the phone call.
“So, Jules tells me that Laurent Masson is either a werewolf pack leader down here in the French quarter or runs the paranormal scene down here, can’t get a definitive answer. And get this,” Paris says pausing. Paris holds up another set of earrings and studies them. “I think you should wear something dangly, after all you’re going to be totally rocking this bondage look I think you’re getting together.”
My eyebrows arch up in surprise. Bondage you say? So we’re both perfectly clear the moon dance is going to be our kinds, kind of dancing huh?
Total sex fest. Paris replies telepathically looking at male jewelry. Can’t hardly wait he laughs back at me. I laugh too. It’ll be like being back in the New York scene. We’ll practically be at home.
28
I stare at myself in the wall length mirror. Not bad really. Even I wouldn’t say that the girl underneath all the black and leather, and eyeliner, French braided black hair into a stylish ponytail with blue lipstick was a sexual submissive. Not that it matters, I suppose. Because the only werewolf I will be having sex with is my alpha. And he won’t do anything I’m not prepared for or can’t handle. He values our relationship more than sex. And I trust him, whole heartedly.
“Absolutely stunning B,” He says coming up behind me. I look up at Paris in the mirror.
“I always feel out of my depth at these types of dances.” I say back at him.
“But you always fit right in and you fit perfectly with me.” Paris says pressing his front to my back. “I will never let anything happen to you.” He whispers into my ear. “And absolutely no one else, I mean no one else, gets to touch you without my permission. Even to shake your hand.” Paris reaffirms for me.
Werewolf Consort Page 14