The Wolf's Concubine

by Erin St. Charles

  “Well, maybe to you it’s not a big deal. For someone with no experience with clothing, other than to go to the store and buy it, what you just did was akin to voodoo,” he stated, truly in awe of her abilities.

  She laughed, her face lighting up with pleasure. She walked over to the sewing machine, his eyes watching the undulating motions of her hips. She turned to face him, then crooked a finger at him.

  “Come here.”

  His cock began an eager rise to attention and like a puppet on a string, he went, all the while willing his hardening dick to knock it off. When they were mere inches apart, she smiled, her dark eyes sparkling.

  “Hands up,” she purred, a smile curving her mouth.

  “Huh?” he questioned, startled. The look in her eyes made his penis get even harder. With the way things were going, he could probably pound nails.

  “Put your hands up. I need to reach around you.”

  She had a sly look on her face. Phelan thought this was the weirdest hug in the world, but hell, he’d take it. He put his hands up. She was so close now he could feel her body heat, smell her intensifying, intoxicating scent. He had never been with a woman so adept at keeping him on his toes.

  “I surrender,” he joked. “You can have your way with me, just be gentle.”

  She rolled her eyes and gave a slight shake of her head. Then she reached around him, lightly brushing his torso with her perky tits as she moved and his entire body nearly seized in the attempt to keep from bursting into orgasmic flames. If his dick got any harder, he was positive he’d be able to split more logs with it. Her feathery soft touch sent shivers over his skin. He moaned helplessly.

  “Okay, I changed my mind,” he said, his voice thick with sexual need. “You don’t have to be gentle. In fact, please be rough.”

  She let out a sound that resembled a half snort, half chortle. A snortle. She was snortling at him. When he finally got her into bed, she would pay for all this teasing she was putting him through.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter,” she admonished. He looked down at her and watched her draw a tape measure from his back to his front, by way of his armpits. He blinked, confused.

  “Is this some kind of bondage I don’t know about?” he wondered aloud.

  Another snortle.

  “Fool, I’m measuring you for t-shirts, to replace your ratty ones. Which don’t even fit you, by the way.”

  She turned the tape sideways, this time measuring from his collarbone to his t-shirt hem, her fingers brushing his erection. She seemed to have no idea what effect she had on him. Or maybe she knew and enjoyed it. He decided to press his luck, and told her so.

  “If you want to keep putting your hand there, I’m telling you right now, I can't be held responsible for what might happen.”

  Another snortle. He really loved the way she laughed. It was the kind of sound that came from someone who only laughed reluctantly, if at all. He lowered his hands to his sides.

  “Like I said, keep your mind out of the gutter. And did I say you could put your arms down?” Her clear brown eyes smiled at him.

  He raised his hands again.

  “Let’s get something clear. You are not the one in charge here,” he said.

  She stretched the tape out vertically again, from his shoulder to the hem of his t-shirt, her hand ever-so-slightly grazing his jeans-covered junk. His dick liked her that close, it thumped against his zipper, anticipating more of her touch. She looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow.

  “You sure about that?” The sly expression in her eyes was back.

  “Miss Black, I didn’t know you could be this sassy.”

  She made no response to his comment, much to his disappointment.

  She finished measuring him and stepped back, wrapping up the measuring tape. “I’m finished. I don’t need you anymore.”

  Her eyes were sly again, teasing, on the verge of smiling at him again.

  “You sure?” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her his most seductive, wolfish smirk. He had used this smile to great effect in the past whenever he wanted to charm his way into a woman’s panties. But Lola would be hip to his game, so his normal approach would get him nowhere. Still, it was worth a try.

  “I think I need new jeans,” he said, talking to her back as she turned away from him and dug through the box of fabric.

  “Huh? Jeans?” she asked, distracted. She pulled out a pile of folded lengths of fabric, then sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through them. He sat on the floor across from her and started sorting with her. She gave him a suspicious look and carried on sorting and folding.

  “Yes, jeans. And I think you’re going to going to have to measure me. Including my inseam,” he said, his voice deep with meaning.

  “You have a one-track mind,” she pointed out tartly as she moved one folded bundle of fabric to the side.

  “Maybe because you’re the one conducting the train,” he flirted.

  She smiled and bit her lower lip, glancing up at him. His eyes followed the motion and she blushed.

  “I saw you earlier, when you were in your truck.” She gave him an inquisitive head tilt. “Who were you talking to?”

  Hmm, she disarmed him with all the flirting, and then went in for the kill. Talk about a soft-touch interrogation. He approved. “My cousin. Bubba.”

  Her gaze grew sharp, her interest obviously piqued. “Scarface. Anything new on the case?”

  His eyes narrowed on her, trying to parse the meaning of “Scarface.” She must have given Bubba a nickname.

  “No,” he said, watching her for a reaction. “Nothing new to report. We’re here for the next few days, at least.”

  He felt a little bad about his not-so-little white lie, but he didn’t see how it could be helped. He needed more time with her, to convince her that they belonged together.

  She nodded in acknowledgement and let out a little sigh.

  “So, let's talk about Scarface. Why did you call Bubba that?" he asked, intensely curious.

  "I’ve never been good with names," she said as she arranged fabric bundles and put them back in the box. "So, I give people nicknames."

  "Why?" he asked, enthralled with this insight into her mind.

  A smile played around her mouth. "Giving people nicknames sometimes helps me remember names.”

  "You have nicknames for everyone in my crew?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes," she said, glancing at him with a mischievous grin.

  “What do you call Mac?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  “Officer Grumpy,” she told him.

  He snickered. The name fit a grumpy minotaur. “Don’t ever call him that to his face.”

  “I don’t see it coming up,” she said, nodding sagely, her eyes dancing with amusement.

  She went about spreading out more fabric, this time a deep blue t-shirt fabric. She drew a chalk outline of a t-shirt, using one of Phelan’s old ones as a guide.

  “How about Auntie?” he asked, his eyes following her movements.

  She shrugged. “Shoeless Bell. Here, fold this. I'm done with it.”

  “I wondered about that, too,” he said, pulling the indicated fabric and folding it as she cut into the blue fabric. “Who goes without shoes in October?”

  “Right? I mean, this is Texas. But seriously.” She shook her head.

  “Yeah, I’ve never met her before, but she seemed a little…”

  Nosier than even a wolf shifter? Too crunchy for a town full of meat-eaters?

  “Inappropriately handsy,” she said. A sharp edge crept into Lola’s tone.

  This is an interesting reaction, he thought, watching her closely. She seems almost…

  “Are you jealous?” he asked, hoping the answer was “yes.”

  She scoffed and rose to her feet, the fabric in hand as she headed for the sewing machine. She plopped her cute little butt in the seat and looked up at him with a withering expression.

  “Hardly,�
�� she said, lining up the fabric on the machine.

  “You sure seem like you–” he pushed.

  The rest of his response was drowned out as she fired up the machine and started running the fabric through it. If she was jealous, then his charm offensive was starting to work. He stood there watching her sew, rubbing his chin, and contemplating what to say next.

  Suddenly, she stopped the machine and met his gaze.

  “Even you had a nickname.”

  “I do?” He frowned at this revelation.

  “You did. Before I got to know you and could remember your name,” she said brightly, firing up the machine again.

  Now this was interesting.

  “What’s my nickname?”

  “I remember your name well enough,” she told him. She paused in her sewing and tilted her head back to look at him. “You don’t need a nickname anymore.”

  With a cheeky grin, she turned back to the machine, the motor whirling as she started sewing again.

  He strode over to the kitchen, opened the cooler, and pulled out another bottle of water. He paused, then grabbed a second one. The machine stopped and he glanced over to find her staring at him. He held up the bottle for her to see and cocked his eyebrow in a silent question. She nodded and he cracked the seal on the water and walked toward her.

  She got up and met him halfway. They stood about six inches apart, face to face. He watched her lips purse around the opening of the bottle, her throat working as she swallowed the water. She turned away from him and began to pick up the scraps of fabric that littered the great room floor. He had to fight to keep his body from following hers. He had to avoid looking at her firm ass as she bent over, lest he, in a fit of lust and driven by the mating urge, bend her over the nearest available surface, strip off her leggings, and–

  “I think you gave me a nickname.” His mouth started flapping on its own, as if his brain had sensibly wrested control over his body before his libido caused him to make a fool of himself.

  “It’s not important,” she said. “I remember your name now.”

  Yeah, but he wanted to know what her nickname for him was. He really wanted to know.

  “Is it Lamb Chop?” he said, recalling the pet names they had called each other earlier in the day for the benefit of the Perdition townsfolk.

  She turned on him and looked up, hands on her hips. “It’s getting late, isn’t it? Don’t we need to get ready for the carnival?”

  She was trying to distract him. And he had to admit, when she turned her heart-shaped ass at him, he was definitely distracted.

  “I want to know what you call me,” he said, still following her as she threw away some of the smaller fabric scraps in the kitchen trash.

  “I’m getting ready to go.” She headed for the bathroom, slipping into the tiny room and closing the door before he could stop her.

  “Snookums?” he yelled at the bathroom door.

  “Nope!” she stated from behind the closed door.

  “Honey?” he asked.

  “No way!” she exclaimed.

  “Little Cobra?”

  Silence on the other side of the door.

  He grinned, even though he knew she couldn’t see him.

  “Big Cobra.” This he said as a statement, not a question.

  Silence at first, then he heard the shuffling sounds of her adjusting her clothing.

  She called out her response, sounding peeved. “You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

  His grin grew wider. He was going to win this girl over. It was just a matter of time.

  Chapter 24

  “Big Country?” Phelan said with a cocky smile as he tried to guess her nickname for him.

  “No,” Lola answered, hiding her smile. Close...ish, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

  Headed to the carnival on a sort-of date with her fake fiancé had her more excited than she had a right to be, and she wanted to prolong the pleasure. Playing games with him, having him try to guess the nickname, was all part of the fun. She knew she didn’t belong to this town, or to this man. But for that night, she had decided to set her cynicism aside and live in the moment.

  Phelan was an attentive fake fiancé, respectful of her boundaries, aside from making her share a bed with him and humping her in their sleep, and didn’t press her for more. However, he had also made it clear he’d be open to more. Something she was surprised to find herself in agreement with. The kisses they engaged in for show made her heart pound in her chest and moisture flood her panties. She found herself wishing they had an excuse to put on another kissing show.

  She’d only be in town for a few more days and she was starting to think she should make the most of the time she had with him. He was a nice guy, well hung, and clearly into her. Her mind drifted to how his member had looked the night of the attack, and how it had perked up when she’d shown her interest. She let her thoughts linger for a bit on the memory. She could definitely do worse. A faint smile played across her lips at the thought.

  “Don’t you think so?” Phelan asked, snapping her out of her lewd thoughts.

  He had his eyes on her.

  “About what?” She blinked at him in confusion. How long had her mind wandered?

  He frowned. “I don’t think you’re paying much attention to me. Where is your mind, I wonder?”

  His eyes swept over her face, the blue hue bright and intense. They then slowly moved over her body in the manner of a man mentally undressing a woman. His expression told her that he knew exactly what she had been thinking.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What?” she asked again, feeling her irritation spark.

  His smug expression matched the self-satisfied emotions she picked up through their empathic connection.

  His lips twitched, then he made a show of shifting in his seat and blatantly adjusting his junk in his jeans. He gave her a smoldering eye-fuck.

  “You’re really too cocky for your own good,” she told him primly. “And keep your eyes on the road.” She folded her arms over her chest and nodded at the road ahead of them.

  He continued to look straight at her. He took his hands off the wheel and held them up for her to see. The car continued to drive on its own and she frowned in confusion.

  At her puzzled look, he smiled and said, “My agency requires our vehicles to have automatic capabilities. This truck can drive itself.”

  “Then why bother to drive?”

  He turned his eyes to the road again.

  “I like the control of driving,” he said, giving her a lingering look. “But never mind that. What were you just thinking about?”

  She shifted in her seat, involuntarily clamping her thighs together.

  “Nothing,” she squeaked, suspecting he could tell she’d been thinking about his dick.

  He gave her a knowing, arrogant glance that confirmed her suspicion.

  “Another thing you should know about wolves is we have a keen sense of smell.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. You are super cocky.”

  He chuckled, then flashed a shit-eating grin. “Yes, darlin’, I’m definitely cocky.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she grumped at him. “Didn’t I wake up this morning with you humping me? In your sleep?”

  This was the most direct they had been about the electric undercurrent of attraction between them.

  “I’ve thought about it, you know," he said in a pondering tone. "I think you triggered me.”

  “Me? I was asleep!” she protested with irritation. This dude really did take the cake.

  “Your mind was asleep, as was mine,” he went on. “But your body was awake and sending out signals. To me.”

  “I just figured it had been a while for you…” she trailed off and looked away, avoiding direct eye contact.

  “I think it’s more than that,” he told her, his face suddenly going soft and tender. “We have a connection. I feel it, and I think you feel it, too.”

  Lola
wasn’t sure how to respond. Apparently, as much as she wanted this man, he wanted her, too. Aside from his physical beauty, he was also funny, protective, and smart. She could fool around with him for a few days, then return to Dallas and continue on with her life. But she didn’t need to make it easy for him.

  As if reading her mind, he took one of her hands in his, brushed her knuckles with his lips, then placed their hands together on his thigh. His thumb continued to brush gently over her hand. Goosebumps rose on her skin and her lady business swelled instantly to the point of being uncomfortable. When she tried to pull her hand away, his fingers tightened to hold her still. Apparently, her hand was already where he wanted it to be.

  Physical intimacy between the two of them was starting to feel inevitable, but the emotional connection added something to the mix Lola wasn’t prepared for. Something she wasn’t sure she could control. Still, she’d be leaving in the next few days, far too short a time for an emotional entanglement to occur. She relaxed and allowed him to continue holding her hand as they bumped along the gravel road.

  “What’s up with you and Chief Dennis?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  Phelan’s fingers tightened around hers.

  “What do you mean?” he bit out between clenched teeth.

  Apparently, this was a sensitive subject for him.

  “Clearly, there’s no love lost between the two of you,” she stated, watching his reaction closely. A muscle jumped in his jaw and he kept his eyes on the road. His relaxed demeanor vanished at the mention of the chief’s name.

  He glanced at her, gave her hand another squeeze, then sighed.

  “He was always an asshole, even when we were kids,” he started. “Always picking fights he couldn’t finish, throwing his weight around because his dad—great guy, by the way—was our alpha. He resented my family the most, it seemed.”

  She gave him a silent nod, then probed further. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

  “He was always picking fights, usually with kids who were smaller than him. You know that scar Bubba has? Dennis and a few of his buddies did that when Bubba ‘stole’ Dennis’s girlfriend. They used a silver knife so that Bubba would always carry the scar.”