Maverick felt his knees buckle at the sound. His hand shot out, gripping the curtain again for support. At this rate, he’d shred the damn things before the evening was done. “Open your legs wider.”
She spread her knees further, so he could see every illicit detail of her actions. She traced her index and middle fingers around her clit. Her touch was soft, tentative, as if too much too soon would have been overstimulation. He’d guessed as much from their earlier encounter. She was so sensitive.
As her fingers circled, he bit his lower lip, salivating like the wolf that he was at the sight of the glistening moisture that now coated her fingertips. What he wouldn’t give to lap up that wet heat with his tongue. She’d taste like sin as he pleasured her with his mouth.
But her movements were still tentative, nervous.
“Don’t hold back,” he growled. “You’re braver than that.”
She took the bait, rocking her hips forward, her eyes meeting his in challenge as her fingers dipped inside her wet folds, probing as she cried out. Her eyes flashed to her wolf.
“Fuck,” he swore, biting his fist hard enough that even in human form, his wolflike canines nearly pierced his skin. His other hand white-knuckled the curtain, but he could only restrain himself for so long.
Unbuckling his jeans, he gripped the hard length of his cock, pumping and working the head that nearly crested the hem of his open fly. The thick girth rubbed against the material as a bead of moisture coated his tip.
Fuck, she was a delicious sight. Utter perfection.
He watched with total attention as she edged closer. She liked to increase speed and pressure, then slow, denying herself for a brief second so that each return was more blissful and intense. She was getting close. He could see that, but she wasn’t quite there yet. He let out a pleasured groan as her back arched against his burgundy sheets and she pleasured herself harder, faster. But at the sound of his own pleasure, her closed lids shot open, finding him instantly.
The desire that flared in her eyes nearly sent him over the edge. “I want to see you,” she whispered, her gaze falling to his open fly. From the fire in her eyes, she knew exactly what she was doing to him, and she lived for it.
She could bring the most powerful wolf of their kind to heel with a single sentence.
He knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her speak the words aloud. “Say it.”
“I want…” She let out a pleasured moan. “I want to see how hard you are for me.”
He grinned as he slowly shook his head. “Not tonight, warrior.”
Her frustration with him flared again. But the way she pleasured herself—denial, anticipation—was the name of the game, and he intended to draw her pleasure out if she let him.
But to his surprise, he’d made one fatal mistake.
She held the power here.
Not him.
“I’m not sure I can finish without you,” she said. She stuck out her lower lip like some saucy little minx rather than a shy virgin.
This woman was dangerous. Pure fire.
She rocked her hips back and forth, probing her folds and kneading her clit as she pegged him with a sultry, heavy-lidded stare. “I need you, Maverick,” she whispered.
“Sierra,” he growled in warning.
She knew exactly what she was doing, and he wasn’t certain he could bear it.
Not without losing himself.
She wiggled lower on the bed, her breasts swaying with the movement before she bit her lower lip and delivered her final blow. “Please, Packmaster,” she pouted.
“Fuck,” he swore, releasing the length of his cock and prowling toward her.
In one swift move, he gripped her by the hips, pulling her down the length of the bed until her ass was positioned at the edge of the bedframe. He dropped to his knees, burying his face between her legs. Within seconds, his tongue was on her clit, circling and caressing as he ate her.
Christ, she tasted like honey on his tongue. Pure sweetness. She cried out, bucking against him as he held her in place and feasted on her. Her orgasm came hard and fast, shaking her whole body. A flood of delicious moisture coated his tongue as he felt her legs over his shoulders vibrate with the ecstasy of it.
When she finished, he released her. Gently pulling back as he used his tongue to lap the remnants of her pleasure from his trimmed beard.
She let out a long, contented sigh. “I didn’t know I could finish so…” Her voice trailed off as she relaxed into the bed with a satiated moan.
“Quickly?” he offered.
“Thoroughly,” she corrected. “I felt it in every inch of my body.” Her eyes were still heavy lidded, beckoning him. She reached out to touch him. “Thank—”
“Your lesson’s through for tonight,” he said. He tried to sound cold and distant, but it underscored his pain. He couldn’t look at her. Not now. Not when she had that hint of hopeful promise in her eyes.
“Maverick—”
He nearly winced at the sound of his name on her lips. Everything he wanted from her was laced in that single word. Closing his eyes, he kissed her gently, a sweet brush of his lips against hers. Forcing himself to open his eyes, he saw all the hope that lingered there. It killed him. Slowly, he cupped her chin in his hand, gentle and reverent. From the surprise in her eyes, he was more tender than she’d ever expected. “Go home, my beautiful warrior,” he whispered. He brushed his thumb over her jaw before he turned away from her so he didn’t have to see the hurt on her face. He returned to the window. The wind had stopped howling. Instead, a silent layer of snowfall sprinkled over the pastures. Not enough to stick.
Not permanent.
He heard the creak of the mattress as she eased from the bed. The quiet shuffle as she put on her clothes. The silence stretched between them. The twist of the doorknob signaled her exit. He waited for the sound of the latch clicking shut as she walked away.
But it never came.
“Maverick,” she said. Her tone was quiet, softer than he was used to. “About what I said in the stables…”
He shook his head, still refusing to look at her. He knew exactly what she was talking about. “Think nothing of it.” He tried to dismiss her, but she didn’t take the bait.
She waited a long beat before she said, “I don’t think you’re a monster.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She inhaled an audible breath. “Then why did you—?”
“Because I wanted to, Sierra.”
“Oh.” That single word carried more emotion than he wanted it to. “It’s just… A monster doesn’t touch a woman as tenderly as you do.”
On that final word, she left, leaving him alone in the empty guest bedroom, staring out as the dark Montana sky coated the mountains with cold.
Chapter 18
Sierra woke to the sound of someone rifling through her closet. Ears pricked to the slightest movement, she lay still. Slowly, her hand inched toward the blade on her bedside table. A strong hand clamped over hers. Her eyes shot open.
“You missed our morning run.” Cheyenne stood over her, wearing her favorite workout clothes as she tapped the watch on her wrist. “Six a.m. sharp. It’s already almost eight thirty.” Which meant it was well past sunrise, and Cheyenne wasn’t the only invader in her room.
“Told you she’d go for her blade before she smelled it was us.” Dakota sat at the end of the bed, watching as another equally petite she-wolf raided Sierra’s closet.
“Maeve.” Sierra sat up with a smile as the other she-wolf rushed over to pull her into an embrace, a surprisingly tight one. It’d been months since she’d last seen her friend, since Maeve had unexpectedly run off with one of the pack’s sworn enemies, who was an enemy no longer.
“What are you doing here? Is Rogue with you?” Sierra wrinkled her nose in distaste, and Cheyenne fought to
stifle a snarl at the mere mention of his name.
Releasing her, Maeve waved a hand. “Oh, who knows. We live like nomads. You know how he is. He’ll make an appearance when we least expect it, probably at the wedding in a week.”
Sierra’s brows shot up. “The wedding?”
“Your brother already marked her two weeks ago.” Dakota grinned.
Mae’s eyes went wide with surprise. “He did?”
“He did more than that.” Cheyenne leaned over to Sierra, sniffing her in a way that was more wolf than human. “You reek of him. No wonder you missed our run. You already had a workout last night.”
Sierra lifted her arm and sniffed her shoulder in a move that was far from ladylike. She hadn’t had a chance to shower after last night, and even though she’d changed clothes, her skin still smelled of his scent. Hell, she couldn’t smell any more like him if she’d been pregnant with his young, and considering they hadn’t gotten that far, there was no possibility of that. She’d have to wash his scent off. But that wasn’t important now.
“What do you mean the wedding is only a week away?” Sierra snarled, drawing all the attention in the room as she cut Mae off. According to their agreement with the council, she and Maverick only had little more than a week to announce, but they hadn’t discussed the particular date yet.
Her friends fell silent, all of them exchanging concerned glances.
“Maverick and I haven’t talked about a date yet.”
For a moment, the other she-wolves didn’t move, before suddenly her three friends burst out laughing.
“Oh, he’s in for it now.” Dakota cackled.
Mae shook her head. “What is it about alpha males that makes them think they’ll never meet their match in a female?”
Cheyenne shrugged. “You’d think they’d have learned by now.”
Sierra let out an exasperated huff. “What in the world are the three of you talking about?”
Dakota and Mae exchanged glances before Mae spoke. “With most of the pack still here from the ceremony, Maverick announced this morning that the wedding would be next week. The pack is buzzing with excitement…” Her voice trailed off, but Sierra knew what that meant.
The wedding was in a week, and thanks to the fact that her fiancé was the packmaster, he would get his way, despite her not having been so much as consulted.
Her hands clenched into fists. That bastard. This was what he considered friendship? She’d thought they’d made progress last night. She’d thought…
Oh, there would be hell to pay.
Mae clapped her hands together. “Now, you have an appointment with this lovely human bridal store in Seattle in a few hours, and if we’re going to take the pack’s helicopter there, we need to be out on the landing pad in an hour.”
Sierra shook her head. “I will not be going to any bridal store today.”
Mae made a pout face. “Why not?”
Sierra stood, crossing her room before she closed the door, not that closing it or even locking doors seemed to keep any of her packmates out. They’d always been this way—noisy, intrusive, overly involved, unaware of personal space or boundaries—and yet they were her family, which meant she wouldn’t want them any other way.
Sierra leaned her weight against the now-closed door before she met the eyes of her friends one by one. “What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room.”
Thirty minutes later, she’d finished disclosing the details of her and Maverick’s negotiations and encounters, save for the bit with the riding crop and the finer details of the previous evening, for Maeve’s sake.
When she finished, Cheyenne let out a long whistle.
“And the plot thickens,” Dakota said.
“My brother is a thick-headed moron.” Mae scowled as she stamped a foot.
“I can’t say I disagree,” Sierra said.
“So what are you going to do?” Cheyenne asked.
“The only thing a warrior can do,” Dakota answered, a mischievous sparkle in her eye as she cast Sierra a grin only a best friend would understand.
“Wage war,” the two women said in unison.
Cheyenne and Maeve cast them both grins. “I’m in,” Cheyenne said.
Sierra raised a brow. “Maeve?”
Mae shrugged. “Just so long as I get to help bridal shop with you for the wedding, no one is better at annoying my brother than I am.”
* * *
There was a lightness in his chest he hadn’t felt in years. Maverick stood at the entrance of the corral, inhaling a deep drag of cold mountain air. The cool sensation that filled his lungs felt like the first full breath he’d taken for some time, though considering he’d been thrown off the wrong end of a horse more than once in the past hour and had the wind completely knocked out of him, there might have been a reason for it.
“Easy, easy.” The sound of Dean’s voice cautioned from behind him.
Maverick turned away from the blue mountain views in the distance and back toward the paddock. Dean was in the pen with the Beast now as Malcolm watched. As soon as the pack had gotten wind that Maverick’s new horse, who they’d all less than affectionately taken to calling the Beast, was damn near as untrainable as that monster of a mustang Wes called Black Jack, it’d become the latest point of challenge and amusement on the ranch to see who—if anyone—could tame him.
Thus far, Maverick had been bucked off more times than he could count, and that was only once he managed to get close enough to the animal. Most times, he was practically chased out the gate. Hell, not even Wes, who despite his darker nature had a way with horses, had fared well. Now, after he and Malcolm had been run off as if the horse were more bull than steed, it was Dean’s turn to give it a go, not that he appeared to be faring much better.
Dean wasn’t more than two feet inside the gate, his hands lifted in front of him in surrender as he inched toward the Beast. Beast stamped his front leg several times, the heat of his breath clouding his nostrils against the chilled Montana air like he could breathe fire.
“Easy now,” Dean muttered again. He dared inch closer, but that was apparently one inch too close for Beast’s liking.
The mustang charged, sending Dean leaping over the paddock gate within seconds. “Shit,” the cowboy swore.
Maverick cracked an uncharacteristic grin as he chuckled.
“Told you it wasn’t just my grimace that pissed him off.” Malcolm crossed his arms with more than a hint of satisfaction. It was more joy than Maverick had seen the Grey Wolf executioner exhibit recently. As the wolf solely responsible for dealing with any enemies of war and the few unsavory characters the pack maintained as prisoners, Malcolm dealt firsthand with the worst of their kind, and he had the matching disposition to show for it. For their enemies, he was the sure-footed assassin they feared would find them alone in the dark.
The darkness he harbored had only seemed to grow in the past few years—ever since they’d lost Bo, Maverick’s second-in-command before Wes had come along. Since then, Malcolm had never quite been the same.
“Clearly,” Dean shot back. He glanced toward Maverick and frowned at his hint of amusement. “You’re in a good mood for a man whose horse is being a total asshole.”
Maverick grunted in response, refusing to pursue the conversation. He wasn’t about to go into detail about how he’d spent the previous evening. When he’d woken come morning, he’d felt a keen ache in his chest at Sierra’s absence. He hadn’t been aware of what he’d been missing, the connection with another wolf. He hadn’t been with a woman since he’d lost Rose, and even with his late wife, their time together had been amiable yet…different.
Nothing like the constant ache of longing he felt in his chest now, the joy and anticipation of wondering when he’d be alone with her again. He leaned too close to the paddock gate, causing Beast to snap at his hand.
He drew his palm back with a grumbled curse, the snap of the horse’s jaw serving as the reminder he needed.
“I can always return him to the breeder. If he’s this ornery, there was likely something wrong from the start. Maybe a lame mare or an overly aggressive stud.” As the Grey Wolf front-of-house director, it was Dean’s duty to deal with all the various human breeders, suppliers, and nearby ranchers. For all intents and purposes, to human outsiders, he was the face of Wolf Pack Run.
“You think they’d give you a refund?” Malcolm asked.
“Likely so. I make most of them uneasy.” Dean shrugged. “Makes getting my way a cinch.” Them referring to the humans he regularly dealt with.
“Being a wolf will do that,” Maverick grumbled. There was a reason he rarely left the ranch, save for business trips to the subpacks and adjacent shifter clans. In the human world, his wolf set most creatures on edge. As alpha, him more than most.
“Works to our advantage.” Malcolm circled the paddock, watching Beast with narrowed eyes.
“So you want him or not? If he can’t be trained, he’s a money pit in feed and care that ain’t worth the cost.” Dean lifted a brow.
Maverick watched the horse, assessing. Beast raised up on his hind legs in frustration. His dark eyes flashed. He’d had enough of being caged. Maverick understood the feeling.
Shaking his head, he turned away from the animal. “Not yet. Give him more time to settle.”
Dean opened his mouth to suggest otherwise, but the sound of one of the pack’s old pickups drew near, bringing their conversation to a halt.
The truck pulled to a stop outside the stables. The driver’s side door eased open with a loud creak, and Blaze emerged. Instead of the typical Carhartt that most of the packmembers on the ranch sported, Blaze wore a black leather jacket with a Stetson and a T-shirt imprinted with the words Hide your daughters.
Maverick let out a displeased grumble.
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