Fred met him at the door to his house with a fluffy navy-blue robe, but Fabian ignored it for the moment, more intent on barking orders.
“There’s a mess a few miles up the road. I need a cleanup crew sent out right now to help the boys scrub the evidence of the fight.” He didn’t have to say what fight. By now, his men would have found the bodies and the cars and reported in.
“Already being taken care of, milord.”
Of course it was. Fabian didn’t run a sloppy operation. The pack knew what had to be done to keep their secret safe.
A secret that his vixen now knew.
She knows I’m a wolf. What he didn’t know was how she felt about it. Then again, the fact that she didn’t say a word, not even to protest his carrying of her, he imagined meant she was still in a state of shock.
Given the front hall wasn’t exactly the place to ask, with his vixen in his arms, Fabian headed to his office and placed her on the couch. She didn’t move as he stepped away, nor did she look at him. Then again, given a certain part of his anatomy was at eye level, perhaps it had nothing to do with his secret identity and more about the fact that his extreme virility intimidated her.
Modesty wasn’t something he subscribed to.
To put that possibility to rest, he finally accepted the robe from his manservant. She didn’t move at all from her spot on the couch as Fabian slipped his arms into the sleeves and belted it shut.
What was going through her mind?
The good news? She’d not run screaming from him yet.
Better news, she hadn’t flinched when he’d told her to hold on tight when he drove his bike back to the house. Did he enjoy the cheap thrill of having her arms wrapped around him? Totally. The outright snickers and amusement on his men’s faces as he rode past them, stark naked, not as much.
As to the bad news, she had yet to say anything. At all. She just stared. And stared. And stared some more, making him just a tad self-conscious.
It was, frankly, driving him a little crazy.
“Are you going to say anything?”
She cocked her head, lips pressed tightly.
He raked a hand through his hair. “Seriously? I couldn’t get you to shut up before, but now, you find out I’m a Lycan and you are giving me the silent treatment?”
“What should I say?”
“Halle-fucking-lujah. She has a voice.”
“Don’t pull that sarcasm stuff with me. I’m not talking, because what is there to say? I’m obviously having some messed-up dream, and I am not feeding it by acting as if it’s real. I am going to wake up any minute. Probably in my own bed. Knowing my damned name. This”—she swept a hand—“you. Everything that’s happened to me so far isn’t real.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m delusional, because men turning into wolves—”
“And bears. I also know some lions and tigers.”
“—just doesn’t happen. Memory or not, even I know that.”
“Except what you know is wrong.”
“Says you.”
“Knows me. Or would you like me to show you again?”
“Don’t bother. I am going to wake up any second and—”
It took him only a scant moment to reach her and haul her from the couch. He could hear the change in her heart rate. It sped up, but not in fear. He could tell. The smell emanating from her matched the heat rising from her skin.
“What are you doing?” she asked somewhat breathlessly.
“Proving I am real.” He mashed his lips to hers, the contact igniting the passion that seemed to constantly simmer between them.
She started out stiff in his grasp, her body ramrod straight, her lips pressed tightly and unyielding. However, the more he softened his embrace, slipping and sliding, lips nibbling and tasting, the more she softened. Her mouth parted, and their hot breaths mingled.
Her arms wound around his neck and … she yanked his hair and pulled them apart.
“What the hell?” he yelled.
“Just because my dream self has made you into a fabulous kisser doesn’t make this real.”
“Then why stop?” he asked with a grin, a grin because she couldn’t hide the musk of her arousal. She liked his kiss, and that, he would wager, was why she’d stopped.
“Isn’t there some kind of law about getting frisky with animals?”
“I am a Lycan, and those laws don’t apply to my kind.”
“That is seriously arrogant.”
“But true.”
“I can’t believe I’m arguing with a figment of my imagination.”
And he couldn’t believe she was denying reality.
He gave her a sharp slap on the ass.
“Ow!” she yelled. “What was that for?”
“I’m sorry. Did you feel that?”
She glared at him and probably would have harangued him, except there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Brody, one of his main minions, stepped in and spared his vixen only a glance before focusing his attention on Fabian. “We ran the plates on that car with the two guys. Small-time thugs from the next state over. Bears, as you already know, but no clan affiliation.”
“What were these loners doing in my territory?” Other than the obvious part, which involved fucking with the wrong wolf.
He couldn’t help but glance at his vixen. She had moved away from him at the interruption.
A scowl crossed her features. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know who they are or what they want.”
“We know what they want. You. Dead.” Which didn’t please him at all. The mating instinct roared through him full force.
The need to protect her and to smite her enemies, now his enemies, made him more rash than usual.
“I want answers. And I want them yesterday. I want everyone working on this. I want to know exactly who these fuckers were. Who hired them? Where were they staying? What they fucking had for breakfast. I will know who dares attack my woman and me. And when I find out who is behind this, then by hell, if it’s a war they want, then a war they shall fucking have.”
Silence met his words, along with a drop-jawed Brody. “Um, okay, boss.” His minion backed out, head slightly bowed, knowing better than to rile Fabian’s bristling alpha side.
Someone else still in the room didn’t know better.
“Good grief. Is that how you talk to your staff? It’s a wonder they don’t all quit.”
“They can’t quit, because they belong to my pack.”
“Pack? Pack of what? Henchmen gum?”
He whirled on her. “Now is not the time to push me, vixen. I am feeling a touch unbalanced.” More than a little out of control.
But she didn’t heed the warning.
“Unbalanced? Welcome to my world, Fido.”
“Don’t mock me.” He took a step toward her.
“Or else what? You’ll turn me into your chew toy? Give me fleas? How about I find a ball and toss it for a while so you can work off that extra energy?”
“Your taunts are not amusing.”
“They weren’t meant to be. If this isn’t a dream, or nightmare, or major hallucination, then shit in my life has just gotten seriously messed up. While you’re freaking out about people daring to attack you, I’m freaking out because the guy I was making out with last night is a fucking werewolf.” Her face paled, and he could almost predict her exact next words. “Oh shit. Does this mean I’m going to turn furry and howl at the moon, too?”
Stupid legends. They got only part of it right. “No, you’re safe from the virus. It only affects men.”
“No dog collar or Milk-Bone treats for me?”
He grimaced. “No. And for your information, Lycans don’t appreciate dog humor.”
“So what are you going to do about it, Fluffy?”
No missing the daring taunt in her eyes. She did it on purpose to provoke him. Why?
“Why? Why are you doing this? It’s like you want me to lose control. When really”—he moved too quickly for her to evade him and pulled her into his arms—“all you had to do was ask.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She denied, and yet her eyes told another story. Her tongue wetted her lips, and Fabian breathed deeply, the musk of her arousal scenting the air, as did the more coppery scent of her blood.
“You’re hurt.”
He, remarkably, wasn’t. Just because the enemy had a gun didn’t mean they could shoot it worth shit.
Most petty thugs relied on intimidation. Only rarely did they actually fire because bullets meant forensics, forensics meant cops, and no one skirting the law wanted the fuzz sticking their noses into their business.
But Fabian also owed his lack of injury to luck. A jostle of the car at just the right time when the killer had fired the gun. A lack of bullets when face-to-face. The few scratches and contusions he’d incurred had already healed, appearing days old instead of hours.
“I scraped my hands, and knees.” She held the damaged palms aloft, and his anger simmered anew.
He clasped them in his hands and almost yelled for his butler. But really, what could Fred do? The abrasions needed cleaning. That was something Fabian could do himself.
He tugged her toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“We need to wash these out.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not.” Because he was not fine. The beast simmered just below the surface.
An attempt to pull away had him just tightening his grip. “I can take care of it myself. Just point me to the nearest washroom.”
The nearest washroom, though, wouldn’t wipe from her garments and skin the stench of gunfire, fear, and his failure to protect.
Without asking for permission—because it just wasn’t done and because he was sure she’d argue; she did: “Put me down!”—he tossed her over his shoulder. He exited his office and took the stairs in threes, his long stride getting them to the second floor before she could call him every name in the book. Although she did her best. He especially liked her use of “fucktard” and “douchebag.”
“I thought we discussed you not acting high-handed anymore,” she grumbled from her dangling spot down his back.
“No, you discussed. I merely agreed.”
“You mean lied.”
“I meant it at the time.” But old habits died hard.
“I demand you put me down.”
This time he complied before turning his back on her so he could shut the door.
“Hold on a second. Where are we? This isn’t my room.”
Turning back to face her, he let a slow smile stretch his lips. “No. It’s not. It’s my room.” He might have said ours, but he figured that might be pushing it. “The shower is through there,” he said with a hand gesture to his left.
“I don’t need a shower. I’ll just rinse my hands.”
“You will strip and bathe.”
“Oh no I won’t.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, and her expression turned stubborn.
Utterly adorable.
He copied her and arched a brow to raise things a notch. “Oh yes you will, or else.”
“Or else what?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He stalked toward her.
But she didn’t cower before him. She held herself straight, chin tilted. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m pretty sure my answer is ‘don’t you dare.’”
“I know, which is why I’m not asking.” When he was close enough, he darted a hand forward and clasped the fabric of the flannel top she still wore.
She gasped as buttons pinged. Clasping the ends, she hugged the shirt around herself and glared. But, he should note, it wasn’t a peeved glare. Heat smoldered in her gaze, and the tips of her nipples pushed at the fabric.
The undeniable attraction between them simmered. She might not understand the draw of her mate, but she also couldn’t fight the pull. Just like he couldn’t fight it.
Was it only a day ago he’d sworn to never let a woman put a collar around his neck? Funny how things could change so fast.
As he looked at the woman before him, her eyes sparking and her entire body rigid with a feisty spirit that nothing could tame, he couldn’t help but anticipate the future. Things would never be boring with his vixen. And he already knew the passion was worth killing for.
“Take it off.” His order emerged low and gruff.
For a moment, he thought she might argue again. But with a smile that promised evil things, she let go of the shirt, the loose flaps exposing a line of skin and a hint of cleavage. She didn’t shed the top first. No, she was more wicked than that.
Never losing his gaze, she hooked her thumbs into the pants and tugged them over her hips. Once they reached her thighs, they fell without aid. She stepped out of them.
He swallowed.
While the shirt came down fairly low, it gaped, in just the right spot. Gaped enough for him to see the dark curls covering her mound.
“I think I understand how Little Red Riding Hood felt,” she remarked.
“Scared of the Big Bad Wolf?”
“More like wondering if you’ll eat me all up.” Such a sassy retort that matched the naughty shed of her shirt, which left her standing only in all her naked glory.
And she was glorious. Heavy breasts begging for a grab. An indented waist he could grip to hoist her. Creamy thighs perfect for wrapping around his waist.
An ass that begged for teeth marks as it sashayed past him to the bathroom.
He took a moment to breathe, striving for control. His arousal raged much like a wildfire within him. Out of control. Wanting to consume.
She was right to compare him to the Big Bad Wolf. He did want to eat her. And mark her. And claim her.
Do it. Do it now.
Primitive instinct said he shouldn’t wait. However, the more civilized side of him said that perhaps he should take his time and ease her into the concept. Given her strong personality, she might not take well to having him unilaterally make a decision that affected the rest of her life.
Pussy.
It wasn’t even his inner wolf that insulted but himself. What had happened to the man who ruled the city pack with an iron fist? Who was this hesitant coward? She was his woman. His. She would have to accept it. Accept him.
Awoo.
He stripped off the robe before even entering the bathroom. She’d left the door ajar, and he took that as an invitation. She already stood under the steaming shower with her head tilted back. The water made her skin slick and tempting.
She didn’t move as he stepped into the large glass enclosure with her, but she did say, “You know, you could have just said you wanted sex. You didn’t have to pull the I-am-the-boss-hear-me-roar.”
“First off, I don’t like to state the obvious. We both want this.” He crowded close, fitting her against his body, her round buttocks cushioned against his thighs, her head tilted back and leaning into his shoulder. “Second, I don’t roar. I growl.” Head dipped, he nibbled on the smooth column of her exposed throat.
She sighed as he explored the skin, and while the water sluiced away the musk of her passion, he could tell by her body language that she desired him.
He spun her into his arms and claimed her lips. She met him for passion, her tongue restless and eager to explore his mouth. Her arms wound around his neck, drawing him close.
The skin-to-skin contact proved electric. His cock, trapped between their slick bodies, throbbed against her lower belly. The tips of her breasts poked his chest.
So many sensations, each of them fueling his desire. He grabbed her arms and raised them above her head as he pressed her against the glass wall of his shower. She didn’t seem to mind this mastery of her. On the contrary, she regarded him through eyes at half-mast, lips swollen and parted on a breathless, “Yes. Touch me.”
Oh, he’d touch all right. He left the sweetness of her lips for another goal, one interrupted earlier. His lips blazed a trail to her breast, the firm plumpness of them inciting nibbles. The nipple, so erect, begged for a suck. How could he disappoint?
He latched on to the peak, tugging it with his mouth, enjoying the sensation of it and, even more, the cries she emitted as he teased the hard nub.
As he toyed with her luscious breasts, he inserted a hand between her thighs. The slick moisture he found wetting her nether lips had nothing to do with the shower. He sawed a finger back and forth, feeling the quiver of her sex. His own cock hardened in response.
Impatience rode him hard. He so wanted to take his time, to taste her sweet ambrosia, but a need to sink into her demanded satisfaction.
Fabian wasn’t one to give in to demands, and with her, selfishness was not an option. Forget his need. She came first.
And he meant that quite literally.
He dropped to his knees, an unusual position for him. For once, he was the supplicant. Eye level with her sex, he could see the honey on her pink lips. “Put your leg over my shoulder.”
“With pleasure,” she practically purred. At least in this she didn’t argue.
Her thigh rested on him, with the added benefit of exposing her more fully to him. Perfect.
He took a moment to savor her as the water from the shower pounded his back. Inching close, he could smell her arousal.
Taste it. Now.
A flick of his tongue and he groaned. Her flavor exploded in his mouth, and he hungrily went back for more. He lashed her sex with his tongue, dipping between her nether lips and feeling the pulse of her excitement. Her flesh swelled as her pleasure mounted, but he wanted her more than just aroused. He wanted her to come.
His tongue located the swollen nub of her clit, and as he toyed with it he inserted a finger into her tight channel.
“More,” she whispered.
More? As his vixen demanded. In went a second finger, making it even tighter than before. The flesh of her sex quivered around him, and he could feel the mounting tension in her body.
His lips tugged at her pleasure button, stimulating it, and her pants grew harsher. Her fingers dug into his scalp as her hips ground against his face.
“Fabian!” she screamed his name—Mine!—when she came, her glorious climax rocketing through her with a force that made him swell in masculine pleasure.
He’d done this to her, made her cry out in ecstasy.
An ecstasy that wasn’t yet done.
He kept working at her clit, and she practically sobbed as she shuddered. He soon had to leave off fingering her sex to hold her as her knees buckled.
She was ready for him, and he was more than ready for her.
As he stood, he claimed her lips. She panted against his mouth, her breathing ragged and hot. Given the difference in their height, he let his hands span her waist so he could lift her. She understood his plan, and her legs went around his waist while her arms circled his neck.
The shower helped support her, enough that he could spare a hand to grasp his thick shaft. How it throbbed. It ached with need.
The head found the entrance to her molten core. The heated flesh sucked at him, the tight entrance making him strain as he sought to not just pound into her.
Slow. Take it slow. Control yourself.
So hard. And he wasn’t just talking about his cock. Inching his way into her was a form of torture. How tightly her sex gripped him. How wetly her honey bathed him. How perfect it felt.
As to when he was finally fully fitted? He paused and allowed himself a moment to enjoy it.
She didn’t want to wait, though. “Fuck me,” she demanded. “Stop being so gentle and take me.”
Her sex squeezed around him. Holy fuck.
A groan was heard. Him. Her. Maybe both? He couldn’t have said. All he knew was he couldn’t hold back anymore, and she had, after all, demanded.
In this, he was her slave.
He pulled out, only a few inches, and then pushed back in.
Ah.
Out then slam back in.
Oh.
Grind and push as he pumped back and forth.
Her nails dug into his back, and her head went back against the wall as she panted, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Harder he thrust, striving to hit that sweet spot that made her breathing hiccup each time he struck it. Faster he rammed, the edge of his pleasure there.
He gritted his teeth, trying to hold on. Just one more thrust. A few more seconds.
This time her scream was practically silent, the intensity of her orgasm too much. He didn’t waste another second. He buried his face against her neck, sank his teeth into the skin, and bit, hard.
She screamed again, not in pain, but in pleasure, as right on top of her current climax a bigger one hit just in time to welcome his own.
“Mine!” He might have howled the word as he came. He certainly thought it as his seed bathed her womb.
He’d marked her. Claimed her.
Made her his.
Slowly he let her slide down his body, and she shivered, the stimulation of their lovemaking still too fresh.
He held her loosely cradled in his arms and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
The moment was intimate. Special. It humbled even a man like him. There were no real words he could think of that applied at this moment. Other than perhaps, “Thank you.”
To which she replied, “No problem. Mind passing the soap so I can wash off?”
What?