Blue Moon Brides: The Complete Series (34 page)

God, she was in such trouble here.

~*~

She was going to be okay.

Dag didn’t know if he was telling himself the words he wanted to hear, or if maybe it was true. Maybe his Riley could spend the better part of a week locked up by a vampire, break out, and come through it with no more than a few wounds on the inside of her wrist.

When the other female was dead as anything.

He ran through the facts in his head one more time while he tied off the gauze, because things weren’t adding up here. She should have been hurt bad, even if her status as a blue moon bride should have protected her some. The vamps needed her alive, in order to bait the Pack, but barely alive would have done the job. Hell, it would have been better for the vamps’ purpose, because nothing riled a wolf shifter faster than hurting one of their females.

He trailed his fingers up her forearm. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean into his touch none, contrary to what his Alpha had promised.

“You find your bride, and she’s goin’ to be wantin’ on you somethin’ fierce.”

His younger self looked at Luc, hoping desperately the older shifter’s words were the truth. Because even then he’d been mostly wolf on his best days, just man enough to know he had damned little to offer any female, so he’d take whatever advantage he could.

“You sure ‘bout that?”

“Uh-huh.” Luc thumped Dag on the back. “Absolutely. When you find her, you better to see to her needs. You treat her right and you love her lots.”

So he’d have to do his own wooing, when he knew nothing about courting. The way her eyes widened, she didn’t appreciate his offer to put a stake in her heart.

“I won’ hurt you,” he promised roughly and she flinched. Yeah. His romance was all rusty.

Her chin came up, though, so she still had her spunk. “I won’t let you.”

“Understood.” He considered his next move, his fingers lightly circling her arm. She hadn’t tried to get away these last few minutes, so maybe he was making progress.

“You heal real fast,” he said.

Her arm jerked in his. “Not really.”

“
Boo
, when a vamp feeds, he isn’t any too careful about where he puts his teeth.”

She cut him off. “Not. Talking. About. It.”

Uh-huh. He inspected her arm again, but the skin was barely scratched, despite her mad dash through the bayou. The wound at her wrist showed no signs of infection—if it had closed up as fast as whatever damage she had to have done tonight, it was no wonder any bacteria had given her a pass. He didn’t want her hurt, but her brand of speed healing left him wondering. Something didn’t add up about his Riley.

She was definitely keeping secrets.

Hell. He was no good at talking. He knew that. As a blue moon mate, she was wasted on him, but he had his orders from Luc, so he’d make her his.  This should have been straightforward. She needed—he provided. When she got injured, he looked out for her. So why didn’t she recognize him as her mate? He could give her pleasure and cubs. He would destroy her enemies, keep her safe from this vamp. And yet that wasn’t enough.

He’d talked when she demanded words. He’d brought her into his den. What else did she want? Maybe, he realized, that was the key right there.
Want.
The wolf perked up, certain he was on the right trail now. 

“Okay,” he agreed, reaching for the hem of her shirt. “No more talkin’. Let me touch you, Riley.”

“May I?” Dag’s dark eyes watched her. Wanting this man’s touch was a mistake. Riley was one hundred percent sure of that.

And yet the next word out of her mouth was one hundred percent permission. “Yeah,” she whispered.

When the cloth glided beneath the hem, the rough-tender rasp of the damp fabric on her inner thigh was exquisite. The pressure Dag exerted was perfect, not too soft, but not quite hard enough to sting. Damned if she didn’t feel a bolt of pleasure four inches away.

So, okay, she was ninety percent asking Nurse Dag here to give her a sponge bath was a dangerous idea.

He rubbed the cloth in a teasing circle. Eighty percent, she thought on a sigh.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said, “this is a really bad idea.”

This was about the sheer pleasure of getting clean. That was her story and she’d stick to it. To make the lie easier to swallow, she closed her eyes. Hell. She was a mess, covered with blood, dirt, and God knew what else. Her week in the vampire’s shack hadn’t been a spa getaway.
Not going there
. Everything was easier with her eyes closed—like pretending she was doing this for herself, that it wasn’t Dag running his big hand over her inner thigh.

Except the darkness magnified the sensations and left her yearning for the soft whisper of the cloth, listening to the in and out of his breathing growing rougher with each caress because he liked this too. He’d asked—and then he’d
done
. Despite not knowing him long—she was fairly certain their acquaintance could be numbered in minutes, not hours—the behavior seemed typical for this man. Dag acted. He used that big body of his and he
did
. He wasn’t a big talker.

Right now, he was perfect.

He carefully folded the T-shirt up, exposing the top of her thighs. The night air hit the damp on her thigh, deliciously cool. He’d take this all the way. He wouldn’t hesitate.

Thank God.

She didn’t want talking. She wanted to forget. Wanted to live a little and just plain feel.

When he ran his thumb over the curve at the top of her thigh, she made a sound, half-moan, half-sigh because he’d discovered a sore spot. He massaged and she could feel herself sinking back, boneless, into his bed. There was a trickle of sexual arousal too, because he had his hands on her and she’d bet he’d be in her if she let him.

“You sure?” His hoarse rumble startled her out of the pleasant stupor.

“About what?” She floated in sea of bliss. Then his other hand joined the first, pushing her thighs wider. Better, she decided. Who knew two hands were even better than one?

“That my touchin’ you is a bad idea. A
really
bad idea,” he clarified. The cloth covered her core.

And he rubbed.

The trickle of desire kicked into a blazing inferno. She wanted more, wanted the cloth gone and his fingers on her and in her. When he slid the cloth to the top of her slit, she pushed up to meet him.

He tucked the T-shirt around her waist. Still decent, she told herself. Still just playing games. With six feet of Cajun werewolf, but that didn’t bother her much. The pulse of pleasure exploded into renewed life.  She shuddered. Yeah. He’d got to her good.

“
Boo
?” He leaned forward, surrounding her with the heat of him.

“Yeah?” Now her voice sounded hoarse.

“I do need one more word from you.” He found her clit with the cloth and pressed.

“Okay.” That was one word, right? Even if it had come out in a needy little pant because his deliberate touch sent heat shooting through her.

“Yes,” he growled. “I need you to tell me
yes
.”

Now, when she wanted him to take charge, he was
asking
her for permission? He’d pushed and he’d chased—literally—warning her every step of the way that he’d be taking.

Having
.

So what was this “May I” and “Yes” bullshit? Right now, she wanted to forget the last week and he was her means to the end. So he could damn well get on with business.

She opened her eyes and leaned forward.

“I don’t give a damn what you need. This is about me,” she snarled. “And what
I
need right now. And I want you to get on with it.”

His thumb rubbed the washcloth over her clit again, rewarding her with a rough burst of sensation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he drawled.

He could take it any way he wanted. When his thumb circled her over the cloth, she settled her hands on his shoulders, yanking him closer. His taking any kind of an order from her was a turn-on.

She was wet. She could both hear and feel slickness as she pushed up to meet his next stroke, her hips bumping against his hand. He wasn’t close enough. She needed more and too damned bad if that made her greedy. She didn’t care. He was here. He’d offered. So she’d
take
.

“More,” she breathed and he laughed.

But he moved his hand away and disappointment lanced through her because the need was still building, damn him, but now her orgasm was farther away than ever. Maybe he didn’t like bossy women. Maybe he didn’t like her.

She was still figuring out her next step when he moved, dropping between her thighs, his shoulders pressing her wide. Oh.
Yes
. She barely stopped the word from coming out. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You sure you’re not a wolf?” he rumbled, resting his chin on her thigh. He pulled the cloth away and tossed it over his shoulder.  She could only imagine his view, pink and wet.  Spread wide open. Well, she refused to make excuses for her need. He’d started this. He could finish her.

“One hundred percent certain.” He had no idea what she really was.

He turned his face into her thigh, rubbing his cheek against the tender skin. Yeah. The bastard was marking her. She’d smell like him for days. Thank God her brothers were up in Baton Rouge because otherwise they’d be lining up to kill him.

“You should know somethin’.”

“Yes?” She gave him the word, fighting to keep still. He was killing her here.

“That too.” He flashed her a quick grin. “You oughta know when you let a wolf into your bed,
boo
, he’s goin’ to eat you up.”

Please
.

“Open up.” His hands pushed on her thighs, cupping her ass to help her. Lifting her onto the shelf of his hands. He was going all the way, going down on her. Oh. God. She’d wanted his intimate kiss, but there was imagining and then there was doing. He licked her and she came apart.

~*~

Pleasuring her was a new emotion for his beast. Dag wanted
to please her, but he damned sure didn’t know how. Not really. She wasn’t an animal, and as much as he couldn’t fix who he was, he knew he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Mine,” he growled against her pussy. He figured she couldn’t hear him over the sexy mewling sounds she was making so he stopped what she was doing. That almost killed him—she was sweet and hot, the taste of her so incredible that if he hadn’t already known she was his mate, he’d have known just by kissing her. He couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else now.

“Dag—” Her hands clutched frantically at his hair, trying to pull him back.

“One minute,
boo
.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she said fiercely, but her hips moved restlessly. “What is it with you and waiting?”

Hell. He didn’t want to wait either—he wanted to be seated deep inside her—but this was important. This was the part that guaranteed he got to keep her.

“You’re mine,” he said, watching her face, his voice full of certainty.

“Dag?” She, on the other hand, didn’t sound sure at all, like she was still fighting his possession, so he licked a slow path down her folds, spearing her opening with his tongue. Reminder, tease, promise—he didn’t care what she called it. She belonged to him, with him, the same way he was all hers and had been from the moment he laid eyes on her.

“Are you my mate?” He was holding his breath, he realized. Not moving, except for his thumb pushing inside her snug channel. She pushed back, sinking down onto his digit.

Her eyes drifted shut. “Now isn’t the time to discuss this.”

He moved his thumb in.

Out.

She gave a lush sigh.

“Are you?” He repeated his question but the sexy little stroke was driving her crazy. “See, I can’t do this if you’re not. That’s how my kind works,
boo
. We got to hear the words.”

She moved, seeking more of his touch. “You’re telling me,” she gritted out, “you need the werewolf equivalent of a shotgun wedding before you can fuck me? That you’re saving yourself for marriage?”

Well, yeah.

He didn’t say those words out loud, just pulled his thumb back and she cursed.

“Okay,” she agreed. “For tonight only, I’ll play along. Yes, Dag, I’m your mate. Tomorrow you can give me a Vegas quickie divorce.”

Telling her werewolves only did forever probably wasn’t his smartest move, he decided. He could tell her tomorrow. Or the day after. Or perhaps he’d never tell her, just spend each day coaxing her to spend one more night in his arms. He liked that idea.

He must have spent too much time thinking and not enough time touching, because her eyes snapped open and she glared at him.

“Hello, mate. Can we move on to the fucking part now?”

~*~

He was killing her.

Absolutely. Killing. Her.

Riley’s body was one big throb of need and Dag Breaux was
still
holding out on her. She wanted him in her
now
.

“You wan’ fuckin’?” He grinned at her and flipped her over. “I can do that.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Then how about now?”

Her heart pounded as he inserted a knee between her thighs and nudged her wider. Pressing her forehead against the bed, she let the soft cotton cool her overheated skin. She was hyperaware of the man behind her, of the delicious sense of exposure with her body opened wide. Now he ran a hand down her spine, holding her still.

“Dag?”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “I’m right here,
boo
.”

That’s what she was afraid of. He brought his other hand up, tracing the dark cleft of her ass. She arched. Into his touch. Away. God, she didn’t know, so she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended nothing mattered other than these stolen minutes. Red sparks of pleasure blossomed behind her eyelids as he repeated the caress.

“Me too,” she whispered into the sheets and she almost thought she heard him say
I know
.

When he dragged the fingers of his right hand through her pussy, she stopped thinking. Just felt. Gasped and moaned and showed him every way she could this was good.

“Sweet,” he said, his voice rough with need. “You like this,
boo
?”

She shouldn’t, but God, she did.

“Yes,” she sighed because they both knew it.

The sweet dark need built in her. She pushed back when he stroked her ass a third time, loving how his rusty chuckle hung in those few, heated inches of space still between them. His knowing dominance of her body was sexy as hell. He touched parts of her no one had ever seen or caressed and she liked it. She arched, held in place only by that strong hand on her lower back. More than liked it.

This time, his thumb, wet with her juices, found her closed rosebud and pushed. His thumb popped through the tight ring. She rocked back into his touch, savoring the sting, part pleasure, part pain, as she let him in.

“Dag—” Damn. His name sounded like a plea. “That’s—”

What? Too much? Just right. His thumb didn’t stop, just moved deeper. No stopping in him.

“
Boo
.” His husky chuckle filled her ear. “I’m goin’ to put more than a finger inside you.

He popped his thumb out, but he wasn’t done with her. One finger. Two. He speared her ass and she took him, lifting her hips to let him go deeper.

She spread her knees wider, her pussy rubbing against the tangled sheets. The cotton’s soft rasp wasn’t enough, but she’d take what she could get. Her breath came in needy pants as her fingers clutched the sheets.

Hell, yeah.

His fingers disappeared, leaving her empty. Oh, God. She knew what was coming. Dreaded it, trembled for it, couldn’t wait for it.

He pressed himself against her rear opening. 

“You ready?” Need thickened his voice.

“Now,” she demanded fiercely.

He pushed. She opened.

The dark pleasure built. Pain. Pleasure. She craved both. The burning sting as he drove in, steady and sure, followed by the liquid relief as he drew back before burying himself in her again. His hips slapped against her ass, his hands braced on either side of her head.