Every day I vowed never, ever to look at him and take for granted what he was. What we had. What I had.
But if I was to keep that vow, I had to keep the promise to myself and tell him about Krane. I needed to come clean, to be as open with my lover as I wanted him to be with me.
“What are you thinking about, sexy Ariana?” Tristan asked quietly, his fingers raking gently through my hair.
“You,” I said. “My life. Oh, and how much I want to do this…” Slowly I drew my body upwards and navigated my thighs around his waist. My fingers guided his swollen length inside me as I moaned with the pleasure of being torn in two by his thickness. The torture inflicted by his size was an addiction that I never wanted to get used to.
“Someone’s a hungry girl,” he said almost absently, grabbing my hips and shutting his sleepy eyes.
“Yes. Someone is very hungry, and she wants to eat as much as she can,” I said softly, a sudden flash of fear slipping a shadow over my heart. “Before her meal disappears forever.”
Chapter 7
The next night, Tristan surprised me by having one of his drivers pick us up in front of Wolfe Tower in a limousine. Considering that the alpha was richer than God, he and I spent very little time in cars like this one. Tristan craved control far too much to let someone else take the wheel on a regular basis. If he’d had his pilot’s license, no doubt he would have flown us all over the world himself. Then again, piloting would mean no blowjobs in the back of his private jet. No love-making on the king-sized bed that occupied the back of the cabin.
And if he’d driven us to the ball, it would have meant that he wouldn’t be free to lift my skirt and get his face between my legs. So I was delighted to realize that he’d left the responsibility to someone else.
“This is fancy,” I said, eyeing the inside of the car, which was lined with olive wood paneling, silvery leather and elegant, dark gray carpeting. “New limo?”
“Old,” Tristan told me, “it’s been refurbished.”
“Well, I suppose it’ll do,” I fake-sighed, as if it was just barely adequate for the likes of me.
“Get in, little miss diva,” Tristan chuckled, taking my hand and opening the door.
I managed to climb in without destroying my gorgeous layers of silk or falling on my face, so over all, I felt triumphant. Tristan got in after me and seated himself a few feet away on the long cushioned bench, his gaze easing its way over my body. He was dressed in a perfectly-tailored tuxedo, a dark red handkerchief tucked neatly into his breast pocket. Not surprisingly, he looked like a billion dollars.
He also looked like he might be pondering some very, very dirty thoughts.
“Are you really going to sit so far away from me?” I asked. “I must say, I’m disappointed, Mr. Wolfe.”
“I wanted to have a look at you,” he replied.
I was glad to hear it. I’d spent over an hour in a stylist’s chair, getting my hair crafted into some sort of up-do that probably involved about a trillion bobby pins. I’d gotten a fresh manicure and pedicure. I was all to pleased to be able to tell myself that I’d spent my money well.
Of course, Tristan probably didn’t give a crap that my nails looked amazing. The expression on his face told me everything I needed to know. He was undressing me with his mind—which was very much focused on my décolletage at the moment.
I would have been lying to say that I wasn’t eyeing him with just as much urgency. His bow tie—the real kind, not a cheap clip-on—lay undone around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt open. He looked like an advertisement for some kind of men’s cologne that makes ladies’ panties melt clean off.
“I have to tell you, I’ve always associated tuxedos with high school proms,” I said. “I’m not used to drooling like a sex-starved idiot when I seeing a grown man wearing one.”
“My tux has nothing on that dress,” he replied, his eyes sliding up from my breasts, which still felt a little like they were considering bursting out for an unwelcome, sudden appearance.
“I’m slightly wishing I’d brought a scarf with me,” I said, pressing my hands to my chest as if to tuck the girls in. “I’m not sure I want everyone staring at my gazongas.”
“Ah, but your gazongas are such a good ice-breaker,” said Tristan. “By that, I mean you could literally use those rock-hard nipples of yours to shatter ice. Or you could give them to me to suck on. I’d be happy either way.”
“You’re sure I look okay?” I asked, laughing at his unwavering obsession. “I feel pretty naked.”
He nodded. “You look so far beyond okay that it’s not even funny. If it makes you feel any better, I want to fuck you here and now. As we speak, my cock is trying to shred its way through the front of these goddamned restrictive pants.”
I’d almost forgotten that he’d also agreed to go commando to this ball. A jolt of erotic energy flooded me at the thought that he wasn’t wearing his usual boxers tonight. All I’d have to do to get to his hard-on was unzip that fly…
“I’m sure that everyone who sees you tonight will want to fuck you, too,” he added, “but I get the pleasure of knowing they can’t have you, because you’re mine.”
“You’re really okay with the fact that I’ll draw stares from other men?” I asked. “It doesn’t bother you?”
A shake of his head. “Under some circumstances it might. But this is no ordinary ball, Ariana. Its guests won’t be dressed conservatively. Shifters don’t have the hangups that humans do, and neither do Valkyries. Centuries of oppression have taught us to relish pleasure when we can get it. Sometimes that means enjoying the sight of a little flesh. Sometimes it means more.”
“Is that why you’re so good at giving me pleasure, then?” I asked, shooting him a suggestive smile and pulling my knees apart invitingly.
“It’s why I love spending time between your legs, if that’s what you’re asking.” He slipped off his seat and eased over to me in a crouch, pushing my layers of skirt upwards. His eyes locked on mine and he slid a searching hand between my legs. “You’re very wet, Miss Clarke,” he said, letting out the sort of sigh that I’d come to crave as he closed his eyes. “Your pussy wants attention. I’m beginning to think you really will be the death of me.”
“Death by sex is the best death,” I replied, pushing my hips forward, encouraging him to keep going. There was something so sexy about feeling his fingers hidden under flitting layers of red, massaging me as I writhed against the sensation. I loved how he always wanted to touch, to bring me pleasure. I loved that he lived for these moments.
“I really don’t have a problem with other men looking at you, you know,” he told me, opening his eyes again and staring into mine as he pushed two fingers inside.
“You don’t?” I asked, my voice choked despite my attempts to control it.
He shook his head. “No. I’m not jealous. I know perfectly well that you’re mine.”
I wondered how he’d feel about the way his brother had looked at me in the subway station. “For someone who’s not jealous, you’re very protective,” I said.
“The two things are completely different.” He eased his fingers out and ran them gently over my slit before thrusting them back inside me, drawing out a moan of pleasure. “I protect you because I don’t want to lose you. But I’m not particularly afraid of losing you to another man.”
“Cocky little wolf,” I breathed. “You’re very confident, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” With that, he pressed his thumb into my clit, eliciting a quiet yelp. He was destroying me all over again. “Are you saying I shouldn’t be confident? Are you saying you’d rather have some other man’s hand doing this to you?”
“If you keep doing that to me, you’ll never have to worry that I’d so much as look at another man,” I replied.
“Good. Then I’ll have to keep doing this…and more.”
He fixed me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, his lips sealed in a determined grin, and massaged
slow circles, dipping his fingers inside me occasionally. I found my hand reaching for the door’s handle and gripping hard, my eyes closing as I bathed in the pleasure of his touch.
As he stroked with his right hand, Tristan slipped his left under the silk that was tightly covering my right breast and stroked his fingertip over my nipple. “I really do love this dress,” he said. “I may ask you to wear it to bed at night, just so I have an excuse to find my way inside it.”
“I love it too,” I replied, my voice parched with erotic tension. “It’s…”
My body convulsed then, a silent burst of pleasure overtaking me as Tristan let out a low, quiet growl.
“That’s it,” he said. “Come for me, sweet thing.”
Silently I shuddered over and over again, the sensation of falling and floating at once surging through my mind.
This existence was a dream; it had to be. Each time I thought my need for Tristan’s touch had been fulfilled, I wanted it all over again. He was the gift that kept on giving. The man who kept on turning me on, even when I thought I was spent.
He was a miracle.
And he was all mine.
When he’d finished, he pulled his hands away, licking the fingers that had been so good to me. “You taste like all the best things in the world,” he said. “Wine, chocolate, mango…and Ariana.”
“Sweet talker.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Well, thank you,” I said, opening my eyes. I thought about reaching for him. Unzipping his pants, making him come in my mouth. But apparently he was reading my mind.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s hold off. I have plans for us tonight, and I want to feel desperate when the time comes.”
We spent the rest of the drive talking, our hands clasped together. Tristan asked me questions about my plans for the new season at the theater. About the set designers, about who would work on costumes, whether we’d assembled our cast for each play.
I realized over time that he wasn’t saying anything about himself.
“You know, I still don’t really know what it is that you do,” I told him. I let out a chuckle. “It feels really weird to say that, after everything we’ve done together.”
“If you must know, I do everything,” he replied. “I buy property and sell it. I build things. I own companies. I’m a walking diversified portfolio. You name it, I have a finger in it.”
“You had a finger in me a little while ago.”
“Three, actually.”
“Well, I guess your lame and vague explanation will have to do for now,” I told him. “But one of these days, I want more than just the bare minimum.”
“I’ll give you everything that I can,” he said, kissing me. “When the time comes, I’ll give you the world.”
* * *
When the driver pulled into our destination, an enormous white house with black shutters nestled in the Hamptons, Tristan asked, “Do you have your mask with you?”
“I’d almost forgotten,” I said, reaching for the tote bag I’d brought with me. I pulled out a half-mask coated in feathers of red and violet shades, like those of an exotic bird.
“I think it’s from some old production of the Magic Flute that the theater put on before I ever worked there,” I said, holding it up.
“It’s perfect,” he said. He reached over for his own mask—a finely-designed wolf’s face, which was coated in fine fur of various hues of gray and black. I hadn’t spent much time in his presence when he was in his animal form, but from what I could recall, the mask came stunningly close to replicating his wolf’s features.
“That’s…uncanny,” I said. I’d all but forgotten how beautiful the creature was. “Did you pose for the designer?”
“Something like that,” he said, slipping the mask over his head. From behind the fur, his shining eyes stood out like two indigo lights. An excited thrill traced its way over my nerve endings to be reminded how amazing, how unreal, my lover really was. He was casting a spell over me just as he had the first time I’d ever seen him. To think how much I had yet to learn about him. How many secrets lay hidden behind those extraordinary eyes.
“Put yours on,” he commanded, and I did, slipping it over my eyes, pulling the elastic behind my head, careful not to destroy my intricately twisted hairstyle.
Tristan stared at me, eyes narrowing behind his disguise. “Those colors suit you very well, Ariana,” he said. “They match the fire in your soul.”
I felt myself flush, suddenly daunted in the presence of the great wolf leader of New York. “I can’t say I ever thought of myself as someone with a flaming soul,” I replied, letting out a self-conscious laugh. It was odd to hear Tristan speak so dramatically of my nature. I knew perfectly well that he valued me as a companion—that I represented some kind of respite from a dark past fraught with memories he’d like to abolish from his mind—but he seldom sang my praises like this.
“You’re a complicated woman,” he said softly. “More complicated than you know. You have a fighter inside you—you did even before Kara gave you her blood.”
“I’m not sure about that,” I replied. “I’m just a simple, small-town girl.”
A small-town girl in love with a mysterious, big-city shifter. A man who insisted on remaining an utter enigma to me, despite the fact that I’d spent countless hours in his arms and his bed, his cock buried deep inside me.
Chapter 8
The driver let us out at the entrance to the mansion. It looked like an old, elegant country estate house, complete with a sloping slate roof and floor-to-ceiling windows to rival those on any French chateau.
“You haven’t told me who actually owns this place,” I said as Tristan took my hand and helped me out of the car. “It’s not yours, is it? Because if it is, I’m about to get seriously pissed off that you’ve never told me about it.”
He shook his head with a soft, muffled chuckle. “It belongs to an old friend,” he replied. “She lives here alone, believe it or not. She has for some time.”
“I see. So, you’re not going to tell me more than that?”
He shook his head. “I think it’s better for you to meet her than have me try to explain her to you. She’s a little…different…from most people. Even from her own kind.”
“I’ve got news for you, Wolfe,” I said, pulling in tight to his side and tucking my arm into his as we made our way towards the front door. “Everyone you’ve ever introduced me to is a little different. No, make that a lot different.”
“Yes, well, let’s just say that Estella is extra special. She has her quirks. I should warn you, women tend not to like her very much.”
The slightest twinge of jealousy pierced my armor as his words met my ears. I’d never heard him mention someone called Estella. Suddenly I couldn’t help but wonder how close she and Tristan were. Was she beautiful, like Kara? More beautiful, even? How long had they known one another? Was she a shifter? Was she ancient and experienced, like him?
I braced myself for what could end up being a very long night, reminding myself silently that I had nothing to worry about.
Tristan was here with me.
Right?
I couldn’t help the pangs of jealousy that attacked me on occasion. The less my lover opened up about himself, about his feelings, about his past, the harder it was for me to let my guard down and trust him. I knew nothing about his past other than what I’d read in newspaper articles, and I’d learned quickly not to take gossip columns seriously. They loved to speculate about his romantic life, but they never seemed to get a single detail right.
All I had to go on was my faith in Tristan’s feelings for me. But it wasn’t easy to convince myself to relax and enjoy the ride. Something—trouble, danger, intrigue—always seemed to be lurking just beneath the fragile surface of our relationship. Nothing was ever simple with us. For some reason, every major event in our lives together had been laced with emotional peril.
The best I could
hope for tonight was a drama-free evening.
But even that seemed unlikely.
Sighing, I reminded myself that Tristan had lived for over two centuries. He was acquainted with some of the most beautiful people I’d ever met, many of them female. I knew in my heart that he had to have been intimate with at least some of them. My lover wasn’t a saint, after all. But he was mine.
At least for a little while.
Still, a deep internal warning told me to brace myself to meet the owner of this estate. If this massive, imposing place was occupied by a single female, something about her had to be a little off. The dwelling was big enough to house twenty people comfortably. I couldn’t imagine living in it on my own, unless I was hiding something…or seriously eccentric.
We made our way inside only to be greeted by the sight of a couple of hundred people or more, milling around a pure white, sunken living room with ceilings that must have been thirty feet from the floor. The space was fitted with enormous crystal chandeliers, white furnishings and a white marble floor. The sound of a live band resonated in the distance, pumping out happy jazz tunes from some unseen locale.
The scene before us was like something out of a modern version of The Great Gatsby. Masked, elegant party-goers moved about, some engaged in lively conversation, others dancing to light swing tunes. Most of the women were dressed in gravity-defying white gowns, some of which just barely covered them enough to be legal. One eye-catching dress was transparent enough for me to be able to describe the specific trim pattern of its wearer’s tiny patch of pubic hair; another guest wore a gown whose bodice plunged so low that I could see hints of each nipple poking out above. The men, who were apparently more inclined towards conservative attire, wore tuxedos like Tristan’s. Some were white, some black, which gave the scene before us a clean, monochromatic flare.
Alpha’s Hunger Box Set: Books 1-3 Page 21