Wolf Rock Shifters Books 1-5: Five BBW Paranormal Romance Standalone Novels (60 page)

“
C
ome here
,” he growled, taking her hands insistently in his. “I need your mouth on mine.”

Estée rose, her wet hair sticking in strands to her flesh, threatening to conceal too much of her face as he pulled it back, his fingers twining it into a ponytail as their lips met again.

Dascha let the hair go and slid his hands along her sides, moaning as they eased outwards with the curve of her hips.

“Good God, woman,” he said. “Is there anything about you that’s not edible?”

“I hope not,” she said, her fingers digging into his chest under the Alpha’s scratches. He’d been marked, but not by her. Now it was her turn to claim him.

But it seemed that he had other plans. Dascha twisted her sideways, thrusting her back against the wall, and bent to grasp her left breast in the palm of his hand, sucking hard on the prominent nipple that urged to be worshiped and tended.

The spray from the shower couldn’t begin to match the heat between her legs, her core clenching, wanting so badly to invite him in. She lifted a thigh, hooking it over his hip, offering her pussy to his beautiful, thick erection, welcoming him.

“Not yet,” he said. He tended for a moment to her other nipple as his hands pressed her round breasts together, marvelling at their white perfection.

He slid down onto his knees before her, lifting her, slipping her back up along the shower’s wall, his muscles bulging as he did so. Following his lead she hooked her legs over his shoulders as he dove in, mouth first, to her sweet pussy.

“Oh. Wow,” she said, wanting to laugh and to cry out at the same time. This man—his strength, his sexiness—were mind-blowing. “I’ve wanted you so much, Dascha. So much that I could taste it. But this is so much better than what I’d imagined…”

She watched him; the lips, pinching hers gently, the tongue, lashing in tender strokes, punishing her nerves for responding to him so enthusiastically. A moment later he was looking up at her, his fingers kneading her clit as he asked, “How does this feel, Tiger?”

“Mmm,” she replied, a hand in his hair. “Is there a word that means ‘better than perfect?’”

The fingers migrated, finding her opening as he inhaled deeply, his eyes still locked on hers. He eased two fingers inside her, watching her squirm as he extracted them, sucking her juices off before penetrating her again.

“You see this? This is where I’ll be soon,” he said. “My cock is going to slip inside you. You’re going to take all of me. Every. Single. Inch.” With each word, another hard thrust of his fingers, as she moaned in response, her body responding by coming ever closer to its inevitable fate. And then, accelerating towards her ecstasy, his tongue was on her again, flicking, softly gliding over her as his fingers pulsed in and out rhythmically.

“Do you want me to come for you?” she asked, threatening. “Is that what you want? Do you want my hot pussy to come in your face?”

“Yeah.” More licks, faster now, the tip of his tongue extended so that she could watch the show. He knew how turned on she was to see him pleasure her. In that moment he could read her mind.

“I’m going to come so hard, if you keep doing that…Oh God, how do you know my body so fucking well?”

But he didn’t reply; he simply continued to fuck her with his thick fingers, his tongue relentless on her bud. In a moment she would explode for him; her pussy would squeeze so hard that his knuckles hurt, and he wanted that. So, so badly.

“Sweet thing,” she moaned, her arms crossing over her body as she tried to control herself. But she couldn’t begin to do so; she was gone to another place, her mind a fireworks display, out of control, a vast array of colour and light.

And Dascha felt it: her walls, pressing, holding his fingers inside as they pulsed around him. He sank them in deep, deep, pressing into her as he sucked tenderly on her clit, her channel pulsing like a heartbeat, squeezing him, holding him there.

He eased his fingers out, licking them clean once again, and stood, staring into her eyes.

“Trust me?” he said. She nodded, silent, mind blown.

He took her hips in his hands and turned her around so that she faced one end of the shower, her own hands pressed to the tiles. She leaned forwards as his hands came around her, palming her breasts, his fingers massaging their softness, easing their way around her nipples.

And then his mouth was on her again, face buried in her mound as his hands pushed her thighs apart. She still shook from the orgasm, her pussy still flinching under his touch in the most delicious way.

A moment later she felt it: the thick, round head of his gorgeous cock, slipping along her opening as though to ask, “Am I welcome here?” In response she further separated her feet, bending in offering. She was all his, asking him for what she’d wanted for only a day, and yet for so, so long.

With one swift thrust he sheathed himself inside her, deep, deep, her pussy eating him up as she yelled out in an expression of pure approval. He was huge; thick, long, perfect, filling her utterly. She tried to squeeze him, but felt as though he had her at his mercy, split in half, unable to gain the strength. It was only when he pulled himself free that she could control her muscles, set herself up to welcome him again.

He pierced her once more, one hand on the back of her neck as the water continued to pour down their bodies, one hand on her hip, pulling her backwards, locking himself once more inside her.

“I’ve wanted you since before we met,” he murmured into her ear. “To do this, to be inside you. I didn’t know who you were—only that you made my cock ache for you. My blood flow. You made me hard, Estée, without a word. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” she said. “I wanted you the moment I ran into you in that alley in Paris.”

Again he thrust and both cried out. “I never want to let you go,” she moaned.

“Then I won’t go…never,” he said, sliding out once more and then plunging inside her opening. “But I will
come
for you…again, and again, and again.”

“God, yes. Come for me, sweet thing,” she said, her hand reaching back, wrapping itself around his shaft before pulling it away again so that he could enter her once again. “Fuck me hard, Dascha. Pound me.”

He obliged, accelerating his thrusts, slamming his hips against her greedy flesh again and again as she called his name, crying out, begging for more. Never stop, she said. Never.

But at last it was too much. With one final blow he was in and she felt the wash of heat fill her, felt his wince, his sweet agony as his body collapsed against hers, his every inch now hers, offered up for the taking.

His forearms were around her waist in a gesture of affection, of intimacy, of protection.

She was finally wearing him: he was now her armour, in every sense of the word.

D
ascha awoke at dawn
, Estée breathing deeply, contentedly, in the bed next to him, the sheets just barely draped over her luscious body. He took in the sight as one would take in the most delicious piece of chocolate on earth, savouring each inch in the dim light as he sat up, preparing himself for the day ahead.

He wouldn’t say good-bye. By now, it wasn’t possible to do so; one look from her, one word, and he would crawl back into bed to make love all day. He would never be able to leave her side; the addiction was already powerful, the scent of the previous night permeating the room around him.

There was no doubt in his mind: she was his now. He was hers. Her devoted, spellbound, destroyed mate.

For a moment he wondered about purchasing his own fake passport, a new identity to share with her so that they could disappear to another corner of the earth. But it would never work. Soon, word would be out that a pack member from Wolf Rock had been seen with her, and it would put his friends at risk, not to mention his home town. They were already too prominently featured on the map of the shifter world; they deserved a little peace and quiet, and for the town to revert to a quiet one and to shed the aura of the tourist trap that it had somehow become.

And so, selflessly he rose from the bed, his back to her as he picked up his clothing. He reached a hand into her satchel before leaving the room to shower.

He would not look at her again until it was all over. And he knew that meant that he may never see her again, and the thought was too icy cold, a dagger of frost in his gut. He’d promised never to leave her and now he was doing just that.

His heart seemed to weaken with each drop of water washing her scent off of him, as though the cleanness were denying her existence, her importance. But he was not going to give Grendel or anyone associated with that bastard the pleasure of smelling the tigress on his flesh.

In the foggy glass of the mirror when he’d finished, he turned and smiled as he beheld the claw marks in his back; a diagonal line left by Estée, marking him as her own—as if she needed any physical proof that he belonged entirely to her.

In the kitchen he found some juice and a few pastries, one of which he devoured.

He also found a pen and paper:

He left without allowing himself time to rethink the decision, her package clutched in his hand as it had so often been in hers, now a symbol of his feelings for this miraculous woman who had shifted him more than his genes ever could. She had made him into a better man over the course of days; something that he had not been able to do in decades.

As he closed the apartment door behind him, he reminded himself what he was walking away from. But he also reminded himself why he needed to. She was too precious to lose, too important to her family and friends. And if he disappeared off the face of the earth, the world would not come to a grinding halt. At the very least, he would die protecting someone better than himself.

D
ascha made
his way on foot to the train station, which he’d seen on his drives with Colin. London, in stark contrast with Wolf Rock, had a detailed transit system, constructed for those who by necessity lived outside of the city’s core. Perfect for shifters who had an aversion to heavily-populated areas.

He had borrowed Colin’s computer to map the location of Grendel’s office, which wasn’t difficult to find; the guy advertised his wealth all over the place, inviting others to look at the fabulous piece of architecture that was his home away from home. Clearly, he felt no risk or threat from the outside. Which meant that he no doubt kept his army of thug shifters close at hand, creating a wall between himself and anyone wishing to harm him.

But Dascha had no intention of a physical attack, much as he would have loved to punch the man so hard in the testicles that he spoke like a kindergarten student for the rest of his life. He simply wanted to return the trinket that the man so desperately wanted, and to ask him to forget what Estée and what she had done. It was simple, really. First, though, he needed to run one quick errand which would take him slightly out of his way.

It was his insurance policy; his best chance of finishing the day alive.

When at last he reached the station near Grendel’s office, he made his way up the two flights of stairs to ground level, looking around at the innocent humans who were unaware of the wolf in their midst, not thinking for an instant that a man was present who, in a few minutes, might lie dead in a pool of his own blood. And he envied them their indifference.

The office tower was only a few blocks away and Dascha made his way there in long, determined strides, telling himself that the outcome would be positive, whether his heart were still beating at the end of the day or not. Estée would be free.

In the foyer, as expected, he was met with a large security desk, behind which sat a vast man—no doubt another bear—who looked at him as though he’d just eaten the guy’s young.

“Can I ‘elp you?” the guard asked, his accent comically Cockney.

“I need to see the big cheese,” said Dascha.

The guard at first looked stoic, but quickly broke into a boisterous laugh. “Oh, really? A fucking wolf thinks he can see the boss, does he?”

“Tell him I have something he wants, from a pussy cat. He’ll want to see me.” Dascha’s patience was already wearing thin as he wondered what it was like to wrestle a grizzly.

“Fine.” The guard picked up a phone and hit a button, a moment later mumbling indiscernible words into the receiver.

“He’ll see you,” he said. “Floor twenty-three.”

“Thank you ever so much.” Dascha bowed as patronizingly as he could and stepped by towards the elevators, bracing himself.

The ride up seemed to last for days, despite the impressive speed of the steel box that carried him. His wolf, sensing danger, thrashed inside him, wondering why it was contained rather than bursting out.

“Steady,” he muttered. “Hold on. I don’t need you quite yet.”

He stepped out as the doors opened. The twenty-third floor was made up, it seemed, of a narrow hallway flanked by glass walls, revealing laboratories in which men and women in white coats were working with microscopes and computers, vials and test tubes set up in orderly rows along their own shelves.

At one end of the hallway was a large set of symmetrical wooden doors, a receptionist seated just outside at a desk.

As Dascha approached she looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re the wolf,” she said. Her eyes were yellow, the mark of a bird shifter. No doubt some consort of the boss’s.

“I am,” he said.

“Go on in.”

He opened the solid door, stepping inside a vast room, filled with shelves coated in books and collected artifacts from around the world. Like the Alpha Naxx, this guy liked to flaunt his wares. But at least he’d most likely paid for them with his own money.

Straight ahead, a man sat staring at Dascha from behind a desk, his Italian silk suit dark grey, as was his hair. As Dascha approached him he saw that the man’s eyes were light, streaks of gold, brown and orange highlighting their irises; a cat, no doubt. This guy wasn’t a bear, anyhow. And he certainly wasn’t a wolf.

Grendel stood, his height impressive; he was taller than Dascha by a few inches, and broad, though his waist was thin. Definitely a cat.

“You are Dascha,” he said. “The man who’s been looking after the tigress.”

“You know about that.”

“Of course I do. But then, you knew that already, didn’t you? You took down Naxx yesterday. As I understand it, in a most humiliating way.”

“He humiliated himself. That guy’s no Alpha. He got lucky once, and it was time someone took him out.”

“Well, good for you. I love to see justice done.” Grendel stepped out from behind the desk and moved around to its front, leaning back on the edge and casually crossing one leg over the other. “Please,” he said. “Sit.”

Dascha pulled up a leather chair and seated himself, easing back into it, attempting to appear as comfortable as the man he faced.

“I am told that you have something I’d like,” said Grendel.

“I do, yes.” Dascha reached into his jacket pocket and extracted the jade tiger, still wrapped in white cotton. He unpeeled it and held it up.

“Ah,” said the other man. “And here I was hoping for another tiger entirely. Still, one takes what one can get.”

“Estée is not yours. And by the way, you will retract your statements accusing her of any crime.”

“And you are speaking as though you’re in a position to negotiate with me. Don’t get me wrong—it’s quite charming.”

“So you’re saying,” said Dascha, rising from the chair, “That you’ll simply take the cat from me, and then pursue Estée for sport?”

“I’m saying that I’ll take the cat,” he concurred, reaching his hand out, palm up.

“What will you give me in return?”

“I may allow you to walk out of here with a head.”

“And Estée?”

Grendel went silent. “I had hoped to see her, but I suppose I don’t need her,” he said. “I’ll consider calling off the dogs. No offense meant in using that particular expression.”

“None taken. Now, if you’d make the call, I’ll be on my way.”

“Of course,” replied Grendel. “I wouldn’t want it done any other way. Give me a moment to ring the police inspector. I must, of course, hold up my end of the deal.”

Grendel picked up the phone and dialled a number which he apparently knew by heart.

“Inspector,” he said when someone had replied.

“Speaker phone,” growled Dascha.

Grendel glared at him and hit a button.

“Yes, this is Inspector Duggan. What is it, Grendel?” asked an impatient voice on the other end. “We’ve got a lot going on down here.”

“I would like to inform you that Estée Malcolm is not, in fact, the killer of our man. Another employee has stepped forward and confessed.”

“I see. You do realize that we’ll need to arrest this alleged murderer. And that you’ve been a royal pain in the arse.”

“I aim to please. Yes, I will hand him over to you, of course. My men will bring him in.”

“Well, that wasn’t part of the deal,” said Dascha, baffled as to the sort of man who could betray one of his own so easily.

“I should think it would make you more confident.” He turned to one of his men. “Find Conrad,” he said, waving the man off. “He’s been rather shady lately, and I never liked him anyway. Turn him over to Scotland Yard. But tell him you’re taking him for coffee or something. We don’t want him running.”

All told, this was as good a deal as Dascha had dared hope for, and so he handed the cat to Grendel and turned to leave. “It was nice meeting you. Enjoy your pussy.”

“And you.”

The walk to the door was approximately one hundred feet. Dascha’s heart must have beaten at least a thousand times before he’d made it halfway.

“One moment,” called the voice behind him.

Dascha froze as two large men moved to place themselves in front of the door, arms across their chests. He turned to look back at Grendel.

“Where is it?” asked the businessman, his tone strained.

“Where’s what?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The flash drive. Where the hell is it?”