Taken by the Pack (5 page)

Just might love her.

Hell, yeah. He undid her button, the little snick loud in the room. He parted the denim just a little, taking in her bare skin inch by inch. Her panties were a bright cheerful yellow pattern of polka dots on white with yellow trim he’d bet outlined all her best parts. And it must have been Christmas or his birthday because, hot damn, her panties sported a little bow right on top. Hell,
yeah
.

He ran his fingers over the sensitive skin above her mound and she giggled. “Jackson—”

He definitely loved the way she said his name. “Ticklish?”

“You bet.” Her laughter melted away her tension. She relaxed, giving herself over to his care. He could pick her up, carry her over to that camp bed, but he didn’t want to break the spell. Didn’t want her forgetting who she was with or what they were doing. The bed could come later.

Slowly, he eased her jeans down and off. She blushed again as he ran his hands down her pretty thighs. Tempting Eden was the sweetest thing he’d ever done. Paler marks from her bikini crisscrossed her hips. He’d like to see that suit because he could imagine her swimming naked with him all too easily, her body slippery wet and flush against his.

Grinning, he tugged her toward the edge of the table. Off-balance, she gave a little shriek he’d just bet she hated. His Eden liked being in control. He hid his smile against her skin. He planned on challenging for her control. He’d make her holler for him, he decided. He grabbed her chair, slid her legs over his shoulders and, hell
yeah
. He had the best view ever of her soft mound covered by the cheerful yellow-and-white panties. The damp nylon clung to her folds. Her wanting this, wanting him, was a powerful turn on.

When he blew lightly on the yellow cotton, she rewarded him with another little shriek. Her hands pushed at his shoulders, like she wasn’t sure whether to pull him close or shove him away. He’d be helping her to make up her mind about that. He gently curled her fingers around the edge of the desk.

“Don’ let go.”

“I don’t do orders.”

“Uh-huh. You do now.”

“Jackson—” His name was pure feminine complaint. She wasn’t angry, though. Not angry, not upset. Just…
needy
.

“You let go,” he warned as he drew his index finger down the very heart of her, “and I’ll be paddlin’ that sweet ass of yours.”

Her shocked silence proclaimed the truth as her hips lurched up toward him. She didn’t have so much experience, this mate of his. He liked that too, liked being the first to show her all these pleasures. Her panties were damp and she wasn’t horrified or appalled. Not his
shug
. She was turned on.

She was perfect.

“We’ll try that another night,” he warned. “You like the thought of that? Me, heatin’ up your backside with the palm of my hand? Makin’ you all cherry red and showin’ you jus’ who’s in charge?”

“Are you serious?” She fidgeted, but she didn’t let go of the desk.

He was going to have so much with her.
Hell, yeah.
“I sure am.”

“Because this is the twenty-first century.” She tightened her grasp on her desk, however. To reward her, he stroked softly over her mound again, savoring her little moan. “You don’t get to be in charge.”

“
Shug
, I’m the wolf here. I get to do whatever we want.”

“I don’t want that.”

He grinned. She didn’t sound so sure. Nope. She sounded curious.

“Why don’ we try it and see what you like?”

Tucking his fingers beneath the edge of her panties, he savored her heat and the brush of her soft curls. He moved slowly, small strokes that didn’t reach the very center of her where she was sweet and wet. When she relaxed and moaned, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on her through the panties.

She stiffened, like she wasn’t so sure about enjoying his mouth on her on a desk, but he’d be kissing her for the rest of their lives and he had no plans to wait for a bed when he wanted a taste of her. So he kissed her again, stroking closer to her center. Too impatient to wait any longer, he nudged her panties to the side because, yeah, he needed to taste her now. And fuck it…he tore her panties apart. He had a Victoria’s Secret catalog. He’d get her new ones. She gasped, but her heels dug into him hard as she arched up toward him.

He licked her.

“Jackson—” She shrieked his name, rising up off the desk.
Oui
, he loved making her come apart.

She let go, but they were doing this his way. Tenderly, he placed a soft slap on her mound. Not too much or too hard—his
shug
was still shy—but just enough to placate the wolf and to tease her with the promise of more.

“What did I tell you to do?” he growled.

“To—” she squirmed and he repeated the little swat. She was juicy wet and so damned perfect.

“Hold on,” she panted.

“You got it.” He waited until she curled her fingers around the desk’s edge before he licked her again, swirling his tongue around her clit. Around again and then back down the soft, silky folds where she was damp and swollen. So sweet. She whimpered, lost and driving her heels into his back. All
his
. Or he was hers.
Oui
. That was as much the truth, wasn’t it? He belonged to her. With her. He kissed his way back down to her opening where she was a deep pink like the prettiest flower.

He lifted his head. “You listenin’ to me?”

“Um.” She cleared her throat and he nipped the sensitive skin. Just a little bite so the pleasurable sting of his teeth sent a jolt through her.

She squirmed. “Sure.”

“Liar,” he whispered gently. “The only thing listenin’ to me is your body.”

He’d ripped off her panties like some kind of Neanderthal.

He had her spread on her own desk and she didn’t care.

Not her. She opened her legs shamelessly wider and rocked against him. She ached and throbbed for him right there he was kissing and licking on her. He was so, so much better than all of her fantasies.

He didn’t ask—just
took
.

One roughened finger parted her and pressed in. She was liquid and juicy with need. She could feel her face flushing but if he stopped, she’d kill him. That was the truth, plain and simple.

“That’s one.”

How many fingers could she take? He stretched her, made her feel full. Nothing about Jackson was small.

“Two,” he counted against her sensitive folds, roughly-tender and so very in charge.
Oh.

He twisted his fingers, moving deeper as he forced her to take him. In and out he drove, her channel growing slicker and softer as her body welcomed him.
Traitor.

“I’m puttin’ my third finger here,” he growled.

A finger slick with her own juices rimmed her ass in a wicked promise. Oh, God. He wasn’t vanilla, was he? Still, she couldn’t deny or hide the bright pulse of pleasure that rippled through her.

“You ever take a man here?” He pressed his finger harder against her and she clenched helplessly.

No.
“None of your damned business.”

With a chuckle, he rubbed his fingertip across the tight pucker. Sensation exploded through her.
Get closer.
Or
move away
. She didn’t know what she wanted. She clutched his shoulders with her fingers, her nails digging in.

“Nuh-uh. You don’ let go,
shug.
Not until I tell you.”

“I’m not so good at this taking orders thing, either. Why do you get to be in charge?”

“Because I’ll make it good. Real good,” he coaxed. “All you have to do is trust me some.”

True enough, but some kind of protest was in order. “You just like being in charge.”

“
Oui
, but you like it too.”

He was right, damn him. Each touch and caress was a tease of good things to come and, no matter what he’d done in the past or would do in their future, right now he effortlessly seduced her. He kissed and she forgave his past transgressions because he was promising pleasure right now and she had a weakness for this man. She knew it and, God, Jackson felt so good. She could get the orgasm she needed from him—that worked for her.

She’d use him. It didn’t have to be more.

Her legs trembled, the table uncomfortably hard beneath her. There was
nothing
comfortable about this. Not like her oyster bar date, dancing with the man and imagining him kissing her goodnight. No. This was raw and primal. He pumped his fingers into both her holes, finger-fucking her. Pleasure pulsed through her, her body contracting hard around his fingers.
Ohgodohgodohgod.

Eden’s cry almost drowned out the hard knock on the door as Jackson’s protective instincts kicked in hard. Loving on her here hadn’t been his smartest idea. There was a chance that the vampires had managed to track him out of the bayou—and then he would have lead them to the one female he would die to protect.

He surged up, covering her with his body as he assessed the potential threat. It had been one hell of a night. The unexpected visitor could be the fucking meter reader or the milkman, but he wasn’t taking chances. He braced himself on his elbows, her head caged between his arms. She made a noise of protest. He wasn’t sure if she wanted out or because the move had pressed his cock against her. Too bad. She stayed safe.

“You expectin’ company?” Through the glass front doors, the outline of a big man in uniform on the other side was clearly visible. His little mate twisted her head, eyeballing the guy, then she tried to jerk away from him, a bright red flush spreading over her body. The color was cute, but he didn’t scent alarm from her, only embarrassment. Whoever it was, she knew him and he was no vampire.

“It’s Cruz. Oh, my God. I’m naked. We’re naked.”

He debated the reasons why the local sheriff would have paid her a visit, replaying her recent phone call in his head. Maybe the guy was just a good Samaritan, checking up on a female business owner who was alone at dark o’clock. Or maybe he wanted something more, because Jackson was damned certain that
he
wouldn’t be satisfied with a hi-how-are-you and the occasional meet and greet around time. He wasn’t aware that he was growling until she slapped him on the chest.

“Let me up,” she hissed.

Yeah. He should do that.

“We’re naked,” she pointed out, as if he’d somehow missed that fact.

He wasn’t naked, or not entirely. He’d kept his pants on. Still, he moved back because she’d asked him to. She bolted upright like prey startled in the forest, wriggling away and grabbing for her clothes. Her face was flushed, both from coming and from embarrassment, and her hair was mussed, her lips swollen.
Oui
, the man knocking at her door would know exactly what Eden had been up to.

“You don’ need to answer,
boo.
” He leaned against the edge of her desk. The desk where he’d
had
her.
His
mate.

“I absolutely do. I called him. Maybe he’ll come on in if I don’t answer and…”

She babbled when she was embarrassed and that discovery charmed him. The Pack had no problem with casual nudity. Or sex. At home, if one of his brothers had shown up and he was having sex, the other male would have joined in.

“And what?”

“He’ll
see
us.” Eden dressed rapidly, her face flushed, the guilt written there for the good sheriff to see.

“Uh-huh. And this seein’ is a problem?” He didn’t care who saw them. In fact, the
seeing
was probably going to happen on a regular basis now that his Pack had started mating. They had always shared, he and his pack mates, and the memories were mighty fine. Apparently, some things were going to change, however.

She stared at him like he’d dropped in from another planet. “Uh, yeah. I work in this town. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I see a beautiful woman,
boo
.” He cupped her jaw with his hand. “You don’ need this job. I’ll take care of you.”

The irritated look on her face warned him that he’d managed—
again
—to say the wrong thing. For a man who’d charmed half the bayou, he’d apparently lost his touch with this woman. She yanked on her T-shirt, skipping the bra. The soft fabric skimmed her curves, her nipples tightening when the cotton rubbed the sensitive tips. Then she lost her battle to keep silent.

“Newsflash. This is a modern century, bayou boy. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“You sure?” He wrapped a hand around her hip, curling his fingertips over her skin. He couldn’t imagine not touching her. “I like takin’ care of you.”

“I have a job. I’m damn good at it too.” She glared at his injured side and the pink scar. He knew that too. Wolves healed fast, but he’d been badly injured. She’d saved his life, in more ways than one. Even without the injury, if he hadn’t found her, he would have lost himself more and more inside his wolf. Eventually, he would have stopped shifting back to the man and would have become the beast. He loved being a wolf, loved the freedom to run and to hunt, but this…thing…he and Eden had wasn’t something he wanted to lose. She’d brought him back from that edge when she’d patched him up and she didn’t know it. She’d made him
more
and for that alone he wanted to treat her like his queen. It was just too fucking bad he didn’t know how to tell her that, hence his desire to
show
.

“You’re my mate.” The words shot out of his mouth and he immediately wanted to kick himself. He knew how to sweet talk a woman. He looked at Eden, got his hands on her, though, and he couldn’t be strategic. She wasn’t a battle to be won or an enemy to take down. She was Eden.

She was
his
.

“You say the sweetest things.” The artificial sweetness in her voice conveyed ten different shades of
fuck off
. She’d changed in the last few years. Going off to school, becoming a veterinarian, and starting her own practice—
oui
, she was stronger for it. His wolf liked the new strength in her. She’d make a hell of a wolf, if she could shift. Her gaze met his, her spine straight. She propped her hands on her hips, bringing his gaze right back to her sweet spot.

“It’s the truth.” He shrugged. She could believe him or not. Fate was a delicious bitch some nights and the blue moon had chosen Eden for him. He’d take her.

Love her if she let him.

Which was apparently
not
happening now. Instead, as the sheriff repeated his insistent rat-a-tat on Eden’s front door, she slapped a T-shirt into his hands. “Get dressed, lover boy.”

“You don’ believe me.” He made no move to take the shirt. Had he noticed her eyes that night when they’d dated? Her eyes were brown with a pretty little ring of gold. Her long lashes had a naughty tip to the ends.
Oui
. Now he understood all too well what had happened to his brothers when they’d met their mates. This small bit of a woman had him wrapped around her fingers—and other places, as well—and he couldn’t even bring himself to mind. Instead, he looked at her and all he wanted to do was smile.

“Your track record speaks for itself,” she said.

“Because we had one bad date?” He’d enjoyed himself, but she’d made her displeasure clear.

Her incredulous look was plenty of answer. She sucked in an indignant breath and her T-shirt tightened over her breasts.
Oui,
he shouldn’t have been looking there. The T-shirt retreated from his hands and then slapped against his chest. This time she let go and he closed his fingers over the fabric.

“I thought we were on a date. We had oysters and a couple of beers. Then you
left
. You didn’t explain. You just went—and you never came back or called. So, yeah, that was strike one.”

She leaned toward him, all her attention focused on him and not on the man banging on her front door. She was angry, without a hint of sweet now, but he loved the way her eyes danced. He didn’t want to tame her, but there were so many ways to take the edge off her anger. Games to play with her. Sometimes, she’d need to listen to him. To obey. His world was more often brutal than not, and the Pack’s hierarchy existed for a reason. He’d bet with every ounce of his being, however, that those times when he demanded her obedience would grate. His Eden didn’t like not being in charge. He grinned.

He pushed just a little harder. How far would she let him go? “So I got two more chances before I’m out.”

“You wish.” She whirled and headed for the door. He considered pulling her back until her ass was snug against his dick. A new knock, firmer than the first ones, warned him that his play time was over. Cruz tried the door.
Oui,
he didn’t like that guy.

Eden strode away from Jackson. He irritated her, made her blood boil with his sexist statements and…made her wet. Darn it. She could feel him watching her as she made her way toward the door. She had no idea what he wanted, other than the obvious. A guy like Jackson could have plenty of girls. She had no idea what he saw in her. She definitely didn’t play the kinds of sexual games she’d bet he was used to. She liked her sex vanilla and she was just fine with that. Some people were more Cheetos than five star gourmet, and she knew which category she fell into.

“You don’ have to open that door,” he called. His rough, low voice was sexy as hell. She wasn’t listening to him. She really, really wasn’t. This whole night had been impossibly weird and she figured that maybe
normal
would walk in the door with Cruz.

“My door. My rules.” She didn’t need to spend five more minutes in Jackson’s company to know that, if she gave him an inch, he’d take a mile. Sure, he’d kiss her senseless, love on her some, but she’d pay a price. She didn’t need or want that kind of complication in her life.

Okay. So she
wanted
that kind of complication, but she wasn’t giving into temptation. It was that Cheetos thing again. She knew where the corner store was and she could afford a lifetime supple of chips. Five-star cuisine, on the other hand, wasn’t happening to her on a nightly basis. Jackson and his brand of loving was too fine, too exotic. If she got a taste for him, she’d be spoiled for the Cheetos kind of man the bayou usually dished up.

“We’re goin’ to be discussin’ that.” Clothing rustled as he spoke. Maybe, please God, the man was getting dressed. He was positively lethal naked. Each step she took reminded her of what he’d done to her body. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, he’d gone down on her, with a lethal skill she wanted more of. She’d taken two lovers while she’d been at university and neither of them had come close to Jackson’s skill. Having
that
interrupted by sheriff banging on her door was definitely not her first choice. She was swollen and sensitive where Jackson had kissed her. All she needed was ten seconds—
five
—alone with her fingers. Her vibrator. Hell, the damned banana from yesterday’s lunch even looked like a possibility.