Wolf’s Redemption (The Wolves of Langeais #3)

Chapter Sixteen

Bek’s eyelids fluttered, and cold seeped into her back. She shivered, and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the mattress, her legs clenching around… Her eyes popped open.

Oh, God.

Beneath her cheek was a warm, naked chest. Wrapped around her, keeping her in place, were two muscular arms. Between her legs…

Fuck.

Bek swallowed hard. In the bleak light of pre-dawn, her situation clarified. She was on top of Ulrik. Straddling him. Her body heated and her core clenched. How had this happened? Had he… No, he hadn’t moved. He lay flat on his back as he had when she’d finally succumbed to sleep.

She’d waited for what felt like hours, convinced the minute she closed her eyes he’d try to move closer. He hadn’t. She had. Hell, she’d damn well climbed on top of him. While she’d been sleeping. Freud would have a thing or two to say about that, subliminal messages and all that jazz. She cringed. How embarrassing.

How the hell was she going to extricate herself from this? Before he woke up? The thud of her heart in her chest beat faster than the rhythm of his against her ear. She raised her head a little. The steady rise and fall of his chest continued unbroken. The bird’s-eye view of his naked pecs, the soft brush of chest hair against her chin and his musky scent filling her nose with every breath, only added to the heat pooling between her thighs.

She blinked. Blinked again. The dark copper circle of his nipple lay mere inches from her mouth. She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to shift closer and take a swipe with her tongue, a brief taste. She bit back a moan.

Focus, Bek. On moving. Not on his lickable nipples.

She got her inclinations shakily in hand and opened her eyes, forcing her reluctant gaze past his pecs, up his throat, toward his… She paused, her attention caught on his throat.

Wtf?

No reddened or blistered skin. Any sign of the damage done by the shackles he’d worn was gone. How was that possible? They’d escaped the dungeon barely two days ago. Yet his skin was not smooth. Deep scars crisscrossed his throat. Old scars, long since healed, jagged and bracketed by puncture wounds, as though an animal had tried to tear out his throat. Could this be the reason for his raspy voice?

Incapable of stopping herself, she traced her fingers across the puckered skin. What had happened to him? Scars like these… It was a miracle he wasn’t dead. The man sure lived life on the wild side, just like Spider. Danger swirled around him, and it called her name with an ever-increasing urgency. All the more reason to keep her distance.

As she withdrew her hand, she nudged his arm. It slipped off her and fell hard against the ground. She winced and glanced at his face. Still sleeping. Phew! She placed her hand beside his shoulder and put her body weight onto it and her knee. If she could lever herself up, she could roll off…

Bek froze, her breath catching in her throat. Was that…?

Against the crux of her thighs, long and thick, and growing harder by the moment, was his cock. She raised her gaze to his face. Caramel eyes under heavy lids watched her, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips.

Busted.

Bek tried to get off him, but his arms, like two vices, snaked around her and held her firm. “I didn’t intend… I must’ve… I was asleep, I have no control of…”

His grin widened at her spluttered protests.

“It was cold last night, all right. Now let me up.”

His answer was to hold her firm and grind his hips against the vee of her thighs. Bek gasped, almost releasing a low moan of want, but catching herself in the nick of time. By his self-satisfied smirk, he knew the effect he had on her. She slapped her hand on his chest, intent on giving him a serve, when he rolled his hips again. Her fingers curled in his chest hair, and this time she couldn’t stop the breathy moan from slipping from between her lips. His hands shifted from her waist to her hips, gripping tight, grinding against her again, the inseam of her jeans rubbing against her clit.

Bek wavered. Twelve months in prison, another eight months on parole, and she’d not even looked at a man. She’d contented herself with her own company and battery-powered relief. Here, now, she wanted. Wanted him. Wanted passion with another human being, not some empty release that tamed the sexual need of her body, but not the loneliness of her soul. To have him touch her and slide his hands across her skin. To lose herself in his kisses, wrap herself up in the moment and forget all her troubles.

She leaned over him. Her breasts, heavy with her need, pressed against his chest. Her mouth hovered a breath away from his. Heat flared in his eyes, and dark shapes swirled in their depths, making them seem more dark rum than golden.

Bek swallowed her pride. “You were right. I am asking. Kiss me, Ulrik.”

He crashed his lips to hers. His hand shifted to her head, holding her firm, as though she might retreat from that which she’d demanded of him. Far from backing away, she opened for him, inviting him in. Like an experienced chevalier, he stormed the castle that was her mouth, evading any remaining defenses she may have thought to erect. Bek groaned and slipped her tongue into his mouth, her thighs tightening around his hips.

He hissed and withdrew. Her mewl of disappointment faded as his lips settled on her throat, nipping and sucking his way to the sensitive spot where her neck joined her shoulder. A wave of pleasure washed over her, and she shivered.

His large hand cupped her breast, heat from his palm searing her through the fabric of the dress. Her nipple hardened, and she arched into his hand.

“You have the most amazing breasts.” He squeezed her gently. “I want to see them bare, kiss them, lick them, suck your nipples into my mouth and delve into your bosom with my face.”

Bek threw her head back, her puckered nipples straining against the wool, begging him to do just that. Ulrik squeezed tighter, his face buried in her neck, the scratch of his beard heightening the sensation. He flipped them over and rolled her beneath him, bracketing her shoulders with his arms, and ground his hips against her. Bek locked her ankles around his hips. She was so close. The rub of his cock, the delicious friction and the heavy musk scent surrounding them—it drove her wild. She arched into him, thrusting her hips in rhythm with his.

“Oh, Rebekah, you are all flame and passion, just as I suspected.”

He captured her mouth again, stealing her breath away, and she writhed beneath him. She thrust her tongue into his mouth.

He pulled back. “We should stop.” Regret flashed in his hooded eyes. “The sun is rising.”

He kissed her again, opened mouthed but with no tongue. Bek entwined her fingers in his hair and attempted to pull him closer.

“Rebekah.” He groaned and dived in for another kiss, a brief one, before pulling away. “We must stop. We cannot afford to linger too long here. The guards—”

“I don’t care.” She was too close to the brink. She tightened her hold on his hair, dragging him back to her. “You can’t stop. I need…”

A thrust of his hips, a pinch of fingers at her nipple, muted through her dress, and she tossed her head back.

“Yes. I need that. Please .”

He growled, a deep rumble reverberating through his chest, shooting heat straight to her clit. She’d given into the craving, granted herself permission and proved him right. He couldn’t leave her hanging.

“Please don’t stop.”

Determination flashed in his eyes. “I will take care of you, Rebekah. I will give you what you need.”

He shifted his hips and hiked up her dress, fumbling with the button of her jeans. Once free, he tore at the fabric. Her zipper gave. Then his hand was where she wanted it, slipping beneath her knickers. He sought her clit and rubbed against it. She bucked beneath him, crying out. His fingers slipped lower, sliding through her slick folds.

“So wet for me,” his raspy voice whispered in her ear.

He tugged her jeans down and slid one long finger inside her. Then another. With a sureness that spoke of years of practice, of experience, he found her G-spot. With a hoarse cry she shattered, clinging to him, his hand trapped between their bodies, slipping, sliding, rubbing and wringing out every last spasm of her orgasm.

Bek flopped back and lay limp, eyes closed and her chest heaving, residual spikes of pleasure pulsing through her body.

How am I ever going to move on from that? Top that?

The man not only knew where to find her clit and her G-spot, he also knew what to do with them. A man like that was as rare as rentals with air-conditioning. For all that sex had been good with Spider, it had never been like that . And she hadn’t had sex with Ulrik. Yet.

She opened one eye to look at him.

He stared back at her, an eyebrow cocked. “Are you well sated, Rebekah?” He shifted his fingers inside her and she gasped. “Or do you need me to make you come again?”

He slipped his hand from her jeans, raised his fingers to his nose and inhaled. He licked his fingers. “Or perhaps I should use my mouth.”

Bek sucked in a breath, her body quivering, more than on board with that idea.

Fuck. Imagine what this man could do with his tongue?

He rolled off her and got to his feet. “Alas, now is not the time.”

He buckled his sword around his waist. Another sword, proud and ready for battle, begged for her attention. He ignored it as he sorted their meager belongings. Bek ignored it, too. As much as it was possible to ignore the elephant in the room. Or the forest.

She pulled up her jeans and buttoned them, her broken zipper a reminder of what they had done. What he had done. To her. What she had asked him to do.

She turned away from him, heat flushing her face. Not because he had given her one of the best orgasms in her life. She wasn’t embarrassed about that. Or her need to feel the hands of a man on her. Or even that she’d asked for it. Nor did it bother her that she’d not reciprocated the favor. Too many men in her life had left her unsatisfied. One man would barely tip the scales in balance.

No. Her shame came because she’d let her weakness for dangerous men rule her once again. She’d given in to the attraction between them, when barely moments before, the evidence of his scars had convinced her he was a man to avoid at all costs. Bek turned away from him.

Lord Almighty. Why didn’t anyone warn me being good would be so damn hard?