“Better be careful, Farm Boy. You did hear about where I come from, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah. Baddest-ass familiar in the land, right?” Derrick pulled her toward the door, grabbing a jacket from a hook that had managed to stay standing and wrapping it around her.
Zipping the jacket, she giggled. “That’s right, and don’t you forget it. Don’t make me cast a spell on you, buddy.”
Derrick wiggled his eyebrows as he pulled her out the door and helped her over the huge gaps in the floor. “I think that’s already happened, Pussycat.”
As she followed Derrick along the hall, down several flights of stairs and out of her prison, hope swelled in her. The rise of it was strange, new, and warm.
So warm.
Chapter Eighteen
Martine walked hand and hand with Derrick, pushing their way through the snow after an incredible dinner with their family, both of them trying to behave as though neither were in any rush to leave and get back to Derrick’s.
The moon, high in the velvety black of the sky, shone with buttery brilliance.
It was death-sex night.
And both of them had promised to relish tonight. To savor each moment as a reminder of how hard they’d fought to get here.
Until they hit Derrick’s steps and he pulled her close, brushing his cold lips against hers for a kiss. One of many they’d shared over the course of the past week. Usually—okay, almost always—it turned into a hot make-out session where one of them had to remind the other they were still getting to know each other, and they’d made a deal.
Their bodies were plenty acquainted. It had been time for their minds to become acquainted.
Derrick had stuck to the deal. He’d sent her texts that did indeed make her smile, so wide and so girlishly, she had to hide her face from anyone else who happened to be in the room.
In those texts, he’d invite her out to dinner or for a picnic lunch in the barn he and Max used to play in when they were children. They talked for hours over wine and the grilled brie-and-tomato sandwiches she made. They played pool at his bar. Sometimes with Morris and sometimes with Max and JC.
They laughed—so much, her stomach hurt. She shared her fears about leaving Manhattan behind. About her father and what he would do if he ever found out where Dianna was.
And Derrick soothed her, promised her as they walked the fields or shifted and took a midnight run that no one would ever harm her or her mother. That no matter what it took, he’d always be there, always keep her safe.
The more time they spent together, the more Martine became aware that Derrick had become a part of her life—a part of it she looked forward to, enjoyed, needed in order to complete her life package.
She wanted this man who everyone called impatient but she called adorable. She wanted to try forever on—slowly, carefully…but if she’d never been sure of anything else, she was sure she wanted to see Derrick every day. Hear his voice. Hold his hand while they watched TV.
Fall deeper in love with…
Then there was her mother, still broken but determined to reconnect with Martine. They sat up at Faith’s into the wee hours of the morning just talking or watching old black-and-white movies together, finding each other again with an ease she didn’t consider at all alarming. Rather, she’d found comfort in her mother’s cinnamon-scented presence, in her hand as she guided Martine and this craft she possessed but had never used.
Some of it was exhilarating, and some of it was damn scary, but she was absorbing it like a sponge because she was learning to appreciate her gift instead of hate it, and when the time came that she was given her mark, she’d be worthy.
Dianna and Faith had forged a friendship, too, while they baked cookies or made dinner, laughed about how Escobar had taken the news that he was now a mere mortal, took long walks in town, found common ground in their desire to see their children happy and healthy.
All of that had led up to this night. One Martine had waited for like she was waiting for her first prom date.
The full moon and the mate.
“So, here we are,” Derrick said, husky and low against her ear, brushing her hair away from it to nibble on the lobe.
She snuggled into him, curving her hands over his waist. “It’s death-sex-or-die night,” she teased, melting against him when he molded her lower body to his.
“Which brings me to my question.”
“No. I will not watch one more episode of Ice Road Truckers with you,” she said with a giggle.
“Why won’t you love Ice Road Truckers?” he asked between kisses.
She shrugged her shoulders, letting him pull her inside. “Why won’t you love The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?”
“Because it’s not filmed on ice?”
Martine’s head fell back on her shoulders when she laughed. “Fine. You keep your truckers and I’ll keep my backstabbers.”
As he peeled off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor, he kicked the door shut with his foot before setting her away from him, his beautiful eyes serious. “You know what I want to know, Pussycat. It was part of the deal.”
Her pulse raced in tune with her heart as she looked up at him and smiled, hot tears pushing at the corners of her eyes. “I think you know the answer to that, Farm Boy.”
“Then say it. So I can hear it. So it’s out in the universe and you can’t take it back.”
Her breath caught in her throat as the most amazing man she’d ever met waited for an answer.
Taking his hand, she pressed it to her cheek. “Yes.”
Derrick grinned, dragging his T-shirt over his head. “Good. Now, clothes? Off. All of them. It’s been all I could do not to devour you all week long. One more make-out session in that barn and I was going to have to start showering in some damn ice.”
Kicking off her boots, Martine pulled her sweater over her head and had her jeans off in record time. Completely naked, she held her hand out to him. “Then follow me to the death-sex chamber, where lives are saved with just one mating.”
Derrick barked a laugh behind her, following until they rounded the corner to his bedroom where she stopped short, catching her breath.
“Oh,” she breathed, turning to look up at him. “Did you…?”
There were candles in every shape and size scattered everywhere, leaving the smell of mint and pear in the air, two of her favorite scents. The room glowed soft amber, the flickering light making shapes on the walls.
And butterflies—paper butterflies glided in circles, floating on red and gold wings, soaring high then darting back into formation.
Derrick caught one of the paper butterflies mid-air in his hand and gave it to her. “Well, your mother made them fly with her hocus-pocus, but I cut them out.” He held up a bandaged finger. “See?”
Her knees melted, her heart clenched. “For me?”
Derrick slipped his arms around her waist from behind and nuzzled her neck. “Your mom said when you were little you loved them. I thought it would bring back a happy memory. I want you to have happy memories, Martine. I know there aren’t many, but we’ll make some now. Lots of them. You, me, your mom, my family, our family.”
Tears slipped down her face when she turned in his arms. No one had ever done something like this for her before. She’d never let anyone cherish her enough to allow for it.
But that would all change tonight.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Derrick’s hands cupped Martine’s breasts and she purred, arching as his solid chest warmed her.
Her arms wound around his neck as he walked her toward the bed. His cock, stiff and hot, pressed against her thigh when he pushed her down, falling on top of her, letting their bodies touch for the first time in well over a week.
Martine hummed her satisfaction as their flesh met, sighing when Derrick’s hand, broad and hard, slid between her thighs, dipping into her already wet flesh. A ripple of pleasure shuddered over her sensitive sk
in, on fire with his touch, desperate with pent-up need.
His lips found her ear, nibbling it, rimming the shell with his tongue. “Christ, I missed you.”
Martine arched, letting her hips roll against the pleasure his hand wrought. “I missed you, too. So, so much.”
His thumb found her clit and began to roll it gently to a swollen nub, sending pulses of heat throughout her body. Martine’s hands found his hair and she clenched it, gripping the thick locks as he spread her wet flesh wider and his mouth found hers.
Suckling her tongue, he kissed her, deepening it with each stroke of his hand, stealing her breath, creating a storm of fire in her veins.
Tearing his lips from hers, Derrick wrapped her hair around his wrist and pulled her head back to expose her neck. He seared a path of tongue and lips over the long column and ended at her nipple, letting his hot breath linger before placing his mouth over it and inhaling.
Martine squirmed against him, pressing her breast farther into his mouth as he took long licks of her nipple. With trembling fingers, she reached between them, finding his cock and gripping it with a fevered caress, stroking it so he rocked into the tunnel her fist created.
She cried out when he left her breast to drop wet kisses along her belly, over her hip and her inner thigh until he was on the floor and between her legs.
Derrick pulled her forward roughly, slipping his hands beneath her ass, holding her to his mouth. Her legs clenched around his neck as his tongue tasted her. Her senses exploded when he took the first long stroke of her. Wet and hot, it glided over her aching flesh with a rush that left her almost screaming.
She trembled beneath his tongue, arched into it, ground against it as he placed it flat over her clit then swirled it over the swollen bud.
Dragging a finger between the cheeks of her ass, Derrick found her slick passage and inserted a finger, pushing and pulling in forceful strokes until her hips bucked, her hands clutching at his head as she rode his tongue.
Her release was swift, sharply sweet, tightening every muscle in her body until she was rigid with pleasure, heaving from the intensity, clenching her thighs together as her orgasm roared through her.
Derrick eased her back down to earth with gentle hands, smoothing them over her legs before standing to gaze down at her. His eyes were dark, full of hot need as his hands roamed up her rib cage, cupped her breasts, brushed long strands of her hair from her face.
He trailed a slow finger between her legs, slipping into the wet warmth, then back over her belly, along her throat until he reached her mouth. He leaned over her then, pressing his body to hers as she wrapped her legs around his lean waist. Martine licked his finger, taking in Derrick’s heated gaze as she suckled him.
He kissed her then, matching her hungry need, outlining her lips with his tongue, and she clung to him, digging her hands into his hair, lifting her lower body. Reaching between them, Derrick slipped between the folds of her flesh, letting his cock spread her, tease her clit before driving into her.
Martine jolted and almost instantly he stilled inside her, as though he were afraid to hurt her, but she held his face in her hands and locked eyes with him. “I love you inside me, Derrick. You won’t hurt me. Don’t hold back. Please,” she whispered before taking his lips again.
Derrick bracketed her head with his arms as he pulled back and drove into her slick heat, but still he held back. She sensed it. Smelled it.
Martine kissed his cheek, his forehead, and coaxed him by saying, “You won’t hurt me, Derrick. I promise.” She raised her hips again, moving away and rolling them back up to meet his, insisting he drive into her.
His cock stretched her, filled her when he finally let go and thrust upward. Her eyes slid closed and her neck arched as she took the harsh thrusts with a long, throaty moan, encouraging him to drive deeper.
Derrick growled, low and eerily feral as his hips moved to match Martine’s thrusts. The clap of their flesh pushing her to an edge she’d yet to stand at.
An army of chills skittered up her spine, and the heat pooling in her belly exploded. When he lifted her thigh in the crook of his elbow, she reared up, reaching to wind her arms around his neck as she came.
Derrick tensed, his cock pumping into her harder with each stroke until he, too, let go with a howl while she watched the muscles of his neck work, while she watched his abs flex and her hands kneaded his ass.
He fell forward on her, pushing her deeper into the bed, tucking her to him and kissing her lips.
Martine sighed against him, reveling in his scent, luxuriating in his tightly chorded muscles and hard planes, and then she smiled.
Derrick rose on his elbows and gazed down at her as she ran her palms over his chest, still unable to believe they were going to give this thing a shot. That this amazing man wanted to give things a shot with someone like her.
Someone who had a pretty crappy relationship track record.
“So, death-sex mission complete,” she cooed up at him with a giggle.
“And well done, too, Ms. Brooks.”
“Curtsy.”
“So, what’s next? Do I have to keep sending you flowers?”
She made a mock frowny face at him. “Were you just doing that to get me into bed?”
“Um, yeah,” he joked, nipping her lower lip.
“I get it. That was the only reason I willingly watched Ice Road Truckers with you. Otherwise, I’d rather have my eyeballs sporked out.”
“Courtship is hard, huh?”
“The hardest week of my life,” she admitted. “But one of the absolute best, too. Have I said thank you yet?”
“For?”
Martine cupped his hard jaw. “For saving me. For giving my mother somewhere to go until she can figure things out. For your family. For this,” she said, kissing him. For showing her that she didn’t have to be afraid of who she was anymore. For letting her find her own way.
“No thanks necessary.”
“So now what, Farm Boy? Where do we go from here?”
“We keep doing what we were doing this week and we never stop doing it. There are a million more things I want to know about you, Martine. I say we just keep right on discovering until we’re old and gray. You in?” He held up a fist for her to bump.
Martine’s heart clenched, and her throat tightened when she knocked fists with him. “I’m in. All in.”
Always.
“Then it’s a deal. Now, since we’ve successfully kept me from death, I say we eat in celebration. I’m starving,” he moaned as he slipped from the bed and held out his hand.
“But we just ate dinner,” she teased.
Derrick wiggled his eyebrows. “Yep, and then I worked up an appetite again. Plus, wine. Need I say more?”
“I think I like the way you think, Adams.”
Pulling her up into his arms, he grinned that delicious grin. “I like you, Pussycat.”
She liked him, too. So, so much.
Hand in hand they headed to the kitchen, their soft footsteps moving in time.
Derrick headed toward the fridge, while Martine went straight to the pantry, loving how in sync they were when they cooked together. She grabbed some onions and potatoes while he pulled out eggs from the fridge.
A knock at the door made them both freeze and eye each other over the kitchen island. “It’s probably someone from my nosy family, checking to see if I survived the mate.” Waving a finger at her, he said, “You might not be thanking me for them in the not-so-near future.”
She giggled, pulling her jeans and sweater on while Derrick drew his jeans over his muscled thighs.
Martine grabbed the handle and pulled the door open to find not one of Derrick’s family members, but instead an incredibly handsome older man with hair as dark as Derrick’s, graying at the temples.
He cleared his throat, his eyes tired and his face worn under the bright orb of the full moon. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude, but is Derrick here?”
&nb
sp; Derrick was behind her instantly, the huff of his breath echoing in her ears, his fingers wrapping possessively around her waist.
Martine craned her neck to look back at him, finding Derrick’s eyes were no longer warm and gentle, but hard, icy chips of blue. “Well, look who decided to finally come home. What the hell are you doing here?”
She frowned, confused, feeling the instant tension in his big body. “Derrick? Who is this?”
The man extended his wide hand, browned from the sun, his eyes shadowed and sad. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me not to introduce myself. I’m Brock Adams. Derrick’s father…”
The End
(For now…)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dakota Cassidy is the nationally bestselling author of over thirty books. She lives in the gorgeous state of Oregon with her real life hero and her dogs, and she loves hearing from readers!
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I hope you’ll join me again for Faith and Brock Adams’ story! If you enjoyed reading Wolf Mates Book 2: What’s New Pussycat?, I’d so appreciate it if you’d help others enjoy this book, too.
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What's New, Pussycat? (Wolf Mates Book 2) Page 20