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

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Bek woke as they rode beneath a castle gate. Secure and warm in Ulrik’s arms, she’d succumbed to sleep not long after they’d left the other knights.

“Not far now, Rebekah,” rasped Ulrik into her hair. “We are almost there.”

Almost where? Did she care? The heat from his body soaked through her dress, and his muscular arms and thighs bracketed her. He’d come for her. With his head held high and his sword drawn and bloody, he’d strode through the crowd, streaks of red splashed across his coat and droplets of it clinging to his beard. He’d been every bit the medieval Thor she’d first encountered in that cell. What a man. Her heart had pounded in rhythm with her clit.

Then he’d thrown down his sword and fallen to his knees. ‘ My life for hers, ’ he’d said, and her heart had cracked wide open.

How could I ever have thought he was like Spider?

Yes, he gave off bad-boy biker vibes. He’s a medieval knight. What did I expect? He could be violent, savage even, and he had a problem with authority, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Spider was callous and self-serving, Ulrik had a streak of honor flowing through his veins wider than the Thames. He wasn’t perfect. He’d made his mistakes in the past. As had she. But within that muscular chest of his, beneath all that overt sexual arrogance, beat a good heart. And, God help her, she wanted to believe it beat for her.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as they cantered past a row of mud huts. Tendrils of smoke floated from the pitched straw roofs, and flickering light escaped around the edges of closed shutters. Perched at the top of the hill, backlit by the rising moon, loomed another castle, a keep, dominating the surrounding landscape. A stronghold against this archaic world.

There was so much she still didn’t know. Things she didn’t understand. She might not have understood all their words, but she’d understood enough. And she could read body language and tone of voice. There was trouble brewing. Back at Langeais Keep, listening to Ulrik talk with the other knights, she’d gotten the gist of it. This Godfrey guy was missing. Probably the one who’d betrayed them. She wouldn’t like to be him when they caught up with him. Not with the way the big, growly twin had gotten all up in Lance’s face.

Ulrik reined in at the keep and dismounted, and men appeared to lead the horses away. He tucked her hand in his and led her inside the forbidding building, into an immense room with a crackling fire and an enormous table. She barely had a moment to acknowledge Kathryn, rushing to greet Aimon. Or Erin’s relief at seeing Gaharet. An older woman, in a flour-dusted apron with the most enormous bosom, whisked her and Ulrik away, up a flight of stairs, along a corridor and into a bedroom.

The door clicked behind them, and they were alone. Finally. She ignored the room, all her attention fixed on the big warrior. The man who’d been willing to die for her.

Ulrik stood unmoving by the door, watching her, his fists clenching and unclenching, uncertainty simmering in his eyes. They’d been through a lot since their time at the pond, and there was still a lot that needed to be said. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Right now, with the memory of her gallant knight storming to her rescue, the last thing she wanted to do was talk.

Bek took a hesitant step toward him. He sucked in a breath, then he was on her, smashing his mouth to hers. His big hands roamed her body, seeking access to her skin. He wasn’t the only impatient one.

“Fuck, why do you knights have to wear so much bloody armor?” Bek pulled at his wrist braces, struggling with the buckles as he fumbled with the laces of her dress. “Damn it.” She slapped his hands away. “You do you. I’ll do me.”

He grunted his agreement and tore at his clothes and armor. By the time she had her jeans in a crumpled pile, he’d stripped his tunic over his head and had his breeches around his ankles.

She paused, her hands on the hemline of her dress. God, the man was a work of art. Chiseled abs, slim hips, muscular thighs and… A sound lodged in her throat, part moan, part purr. She wanted her hands on him.

Ulrik kicked his legs free of his breeches and reached for the neckline of her dress. She glimpsed an extended claw as, with a brutal swipe, he tore the material from neck to knee. Her dress slipped off her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her breathless and naked.

He reached for her and, laughing, she threw herself at him. He caught her and she wrapped her legs around his hips, crushing her breasts against his chest.

Hell, yeah.

Bek curled her fingers through his hair, yanking his face to hers and kissed him, desperate, needy and oh so hungry. The crack and the sting of his palm against her ass cheek broke the kiss and made her squeal. She clenched her legs tighter, crushing his hot, hard cock between them. She opened her mouth to protest and he slapped her other cheek.

“The first one,” he said, before she could utter a word, “is for not staying in the cottage like I told you to.”

She pouted. “And the second one?”

“For not staying in the cottage like Gaharet told you to.”

She huffed. “You know I don’t take orders well.”

“That I do know, and that is what this one is for.” He slapped her ass a third time.

“Hey!” Her ass was burning, but the effect of his slaps was not limited to her cheeks. She squirmed, her slickness coating the length of his cock.

His nostrils flared, and a rumble started up in his chest. “You like it when I smack you?”

“No, I—”

He slapped her again, and she couldn’t prevent the moan that slipped out.

He rasped out a chuckle. “You can’t lie to me, Rebekah. I can scent you.”

Her face flushed, but not from embarrassment. With heavy-lidded eyes, she met his gaze. “Do it again.”

Dark shapes twisted within his irises, and he took her mouth in his with a brutal kiss that spoke of more than passion, more than lust. It staked a claim, declared ownership. And he did own her—her body, her mind and her bruised and distrustful heart. He slapped her again, then he spun them around and pushed her back to the door, entering her with a single, deep thrust. He buried his face in her shoulder, his hot breath teasing her sensitized skin and she bared her neck, giving him greater access.

He went deathly still, his breath stuttering. A heavy, musky scent surrounded her, and the muscles in his shoulders went taut beneath her hands. A deep growl rumbled in his chest, full of longing and a primal hunger that—sank into her bones and had her digging her nails into his firm flesh. She shuddered, her body tightening around his cock, and she could not stop the cry that ripped from her lips. God, this man would be the death of her.

Her cry snapped Ulrik from his stupor. He lowered his nose into the crook of her neck, his chest heaving as he centered himself and got his wolf firmly under control.

Merde, I almost bit her.

Instead, he rasped his tongue over her skin, then licked and nipped his way down the column of her throat and across her collarbone. His gums throbbed with the effort to keep his canines at bay, to use only his blunt human teeth. Soon, but only with her permission.

“Ulrik.” She clenched her body around him. “Move.”

He chuckled. “So demanding,” he teased, but he withdrew, then thrust again.

She clung to him, locking her ankles behind his back, digging her heels into the cheeks of his ass. He pressed his mouth to hers, avoiding the temptation, the craving, and his wolf’s call to bite her. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she met him with a swipe of her own, fighting him for control. Ulrik answered her challenge, refusing to secede. A shiver ran through her and she melted against him.

Ulrik lost himself in her mouth, in the softness of her body. There was nothing in this world like the feeling of her channel stretching around his shaft. Her body softening against him, as she ceded to his dominance. And, merde, he loved it. Loved her. Rebekah. His mate. He tossed his head back and howled, giving voice to his feelings in the only way he knew how.

She clenched around him, her whole body vibrating her pleasure. “Ulrik,” she pleaded with a little catch in her voice, and he had never heard a sweeter sound.

He called on his werewolf strength, shifting her weight, and slipped one hand free to cup her breast. He flicked his fingers over the engorged nipple, tweaking it with a pinch. She arched into his hand, thrusting him deeper inside her. His hold over his control almost slipped again, his need for release sizzling through his testicles. But to watch her squirm, hear her panting breaths and to have her beg him to fuck her hard would be worth it.

He pinched her nipple again, harder this time, and paired it with a thrust of his hips. She chased after the sensation and he clenched his jaw. Not yet.

“Ulri—” His named faded off into a whimper, as he gave another pump of his hips.

“Yes, Rebekah? Something you need?”

His words came out through gritted teeth, the rasp of his voice a mere whisper of sound.

“I need…”

Another slow grind of his hips, and he plumped her breast in his hand.

“Fuck me. Now. Hard.” Her breath hitched. “Please.”

Her words hit him, a pulse of heat to his cock, and he released his restraint and gave her what she wanted. What he wanted. He pounded into her, rutting her deep and hard against the door, like the animal he was, his guttural groans mixing with her cries for more. If the occupants of the keep had not guessed what was happening with his earlier howl, they would know now. He cared not. Rebekah was no silent, indiscreet liaison with a married woman, or a hurried coupling with a servant girl in the dark corners of Langeais Keep. She was his, and he wanted the world to know it.

Her climax hit and her pussy spasmed around his cock, her hoarse cry bouncing off the stone walls of the room. Sensation ripped up his spine, and he stiffened, plunging deep one last time, roaring his release as she milked him of his seed.

He collapsed, spent, his chest heaving. She flopped her head on his shoulder, her pussy still fluttering around his semi-hard cock. He would never get enough of her, not in his lifetime. Ulrik wrapped his arms around her waist and planted a kiss on her sweaty brow.

He had to tell her the truth about his past. After all she had been through because of him, he owed it to her. But with what they had just shared, and Rebekah beginning to trust him, would the truth be the one thing sure to drive her away?