Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 11

Her back arched and she heard a faint groan. Damn. Thank god he was holding her down.

Not here. Don't make me come.

Mac stuck his tongue back in, still sucking and began to thrust the hard length in and out, in and out, suckling hard between each penetration, enjoying the ripple of her thighs under his hands as she twisted, the flush of endless moisture soaking down her warm passage into his delighted mouth.

In.

Out.

In. Oh.

Out.

Oh Mac.

His tongue was now deep, deep, and he wasn't withdrawing it to suckle, just fucking her with it, encouraging more and more of her delicious liquid to baste his tongue, quietly savouring her arousal.

Then he slid his abundantly coated tongue out of her, and gently began to slide the tip up, up over the throbbing lips toward the hard, pulsing, aching nub waiting, ready to burst at the head of her cleft.

No! she thought desperately.

Don't make me come!

If he so much as touched her there, right now, she was going to scream like a banshee and buck in her seat as though electrocuted.

The lightest touch of his breath against the nub hummed through her, firing her, pushing her over the edge of the cliff as she clung desperately with her fingernails. She'd forgotten why, she just knew that she couldn't, couldn't come.

Then his tongue was retreating, back towards her pussy, and she felt a sudden rush of yet more liquid gushing down her passage towards his appreciative mouth.

Damn, she thought faintly, she so wanted to come.

One day she would win this one.

His tongue was slurping in her wet folds again, delving deep, swirling around, and she could feel the pressure building, building inexorably anyway, the unbearable, unstoppable tight knot pulling in her stomach, the pulsing of blood swelling those engorged lower lips as he lapped over them.

"Mac, please don't make me come here."

The breathless words whispered from her mouth, too quiet for anyone except a wolf to hear.

His musk was overpowering her, manifestation of his hedonistic enjoyment of the taste of her melting on his tongue. He swirled it again, and clamped his mouth over her and suckled, hard. Gemma almost screamed as she felt the flash of lightening down her spine, the heave of her hips suddenly smothered under a black wash of rage.

Then she was staring at the ceiling, held immobile under that implacable grip on her mind, shaky with rage and fear and burning, boiling lust. She realised that she would have turned into a werewolf again, if it weren't for that unbreakable hold.

And she still hadn't come! Close, so close, but - noooo. Ooooh.

Scared, trembling and angry, she heard a quiet apology whisper past the beating of the blood in her temples, even as the slightly tart tinge to his scent soothed down her spine. "I'm sorry, picchu," Her wolf gently folded her knees closed. "I got momentarily carried away - you taste so damn delicious," he explained.

The urge to tear into rage retreated further under the softly spoken words, she could feel the shame he conveyed with it, reinforcing the sharp scent of his remorse. Mac was ashamed that his delight in her taste, her response, had led him to lose touch for a moment, slacken his self-control, misjudge and push a bit too far.

Gemma's anger melted - she just loved the fact that Mr Control lost it for even a moment, with her.

Just as he loved it that she did, all the time, with him, he responded silently.

Smug wolf.

I said please three times now, she thought slightly grumpily at him, melting back bonelessly against the chair, and felt a wash of love melt over her in return while he carefully fitted her shoe back on.

The brush of cool air around her calves and the fabric falling back on her thighs told her that he had departed, but she didn't move or open her eyes. She was fighting, fighting the begging, seething urge inside herself, aroused again by the brush of the cloth against her hypersensitive skin. She'd never been left this close to the precipice. So close. So close Too heavy. Please, please. She felt on the verge of screaming.

She smelt him approaching again, felt him twine his fingers into hers as he slid into the seat opposite. It helped.

A very little.

"Can we please go now?" she murmured desperately, eyes still closed.

"Are you sure you don't want to finish your dessert, picchu?" his voice was way too carefully smooth.

Her eyes shot open and she glared into the teasing sparkle in his, then pulled her left fingers free, lifted her napkin, and picked the head of the teaspoon from her mouth, depositing it defiantly beside the bitten-off handle.

He shook his head sadly, and she caught a vague blur in the corner of her vision as the pieces disappeared into his pocket.

"That might be a little difficult to explain."

Suddenly she was aloft, in his arms, swung around and carried toward the double doors to the hall. She felt a rush of blood wash across her face as the other diners looked up; a smattering of clapping rose to a full-volume thunder when Mac smiled at them while he carried his fiancée through the crowd of approving humans.

His reminder was clear in her head under the echoing noise. The first two times you said please, you only said it in my head, Gem. You know that if you really mean something, you have to vocalise or make it visual. Physical submission, whether through action or speech, reinforces mental. You know this.

Um. Yes. Well. She did know that, but - hah. That'll be the day.

You want me to submit to you?

He slanted a gleaming eye down at her: No, I prefer you to keep challenging me. Then I can respond in kind.

Gemma shut her eyes, trying to hold back the fire which leapt through her veins in response to that look.

But I do want you to learn the mores of the society you now belong to, Gem. If you step out of line, your Alpha will correct you, and you have to acknowledge acceptance of that correction through submission, even if all that is is an apology. You are a deadly, powerful creature now, my little wolfmate. We have to live within certain standards.

Wanting chocolate mousse is wrong? she grumped back at him.

Mac was smiling as he carried her through the doors into the lobby.

Teasing your Alpha has consequences. You were issuing a challenge. I simply responded to it, to remind you that however much I adore you, I am an Alpha.

Humph. Like she could forget, with every female within a half-mile radius constantly drooling at him.

The brunette now on the reception desk had perked up at the sight of Mac. Conveniently not noticing what he was carrying.

Your Alpha, he reminded her. Also your mate.

Gemma smiled a little ruefully. Why was there this happy little curl in her stomach that her smug wolf had won? Again.

The quivering, melting demand between her thighs was burning higher, aching through her, and she could barely think. Something about his damn incorrigible need to win everything was heightening her lust, already at boiling point. And now his musk was intensifying because of her readiness, melting into her, making it so much harder to bear the pulsing, screaming desire aching through her. She pressed against him as he crossed the foyer to the lifts, biting his doublet, and conveyed: Just one thought now, together with the surge of rich, intense desperation pulsing in her empty pussy, the memory of the feel of him surging inside her; the longing for that heavy, deep possession.

His heart bounded, mating-doft swamping and drowning her as it pulsed with his lust, and his pace faltered in the middle of the echoing, marble floor. His mind growled into hers, Picchu, I'm finding it difficult enough sticking to "humanly possible" speed here in public. Please don't push me further.

Say it aloud, she sent back.

"Please," he murmured instantly, on a deep growl.

Disappointed, she forced her fingertips back out from under his doublet while he stepped into the lift. It was damn difficult.

She was a little surprised to find that he had said please so readily.

Wolves follow example, picchu. I wouldn't expect you to do anything I won't.

The lift doors closed silently when he flashed his card over the sensor.

Her stomach lurched, but not because the metal box began to move. Mac dropped his pretence of calm and plastered her urgently to the side of the small cubicle, one clawed hand ripping at his codpiece binding. A pulse of excitement rocked her small frame when his arms were suddenly sweeping her legs and the ridiculous swathe of fabric up above her shoulders, exposing her wet, needy entrance.

A surge of wanton liquid washed from her passage at the sound of his heavy, excited panting while he leaned in closer. Her hands gripped urgently at his shoulders while she moaned, "Please!" to the urgent question in his mind. The thick girth of his throbbing cock probed, parted her, and then he was in, filling her, drilling into her, fucking hard, rutting her up against the smooth wall, grunting slightly while he panted his need.

Gemma screamed as she exploded in pleasure on the third stroke, her desperate, banked lust pulling, sucking her into an unbearably intense moment of blissful release. She moaned, groaning as her mate continued to pound into her hard, panting hoarsely. Then the lift doors pinged open. Mac's fingers clamped into her buttocks as he thrust deep into her soaking passage, then he spun and stumbled through the doorway with his cock still buried deep, landing on his knees and elbows just over the threshold in the short, private hallway. He flattened her hips into the carpet, raising himself on his straightened arms while he continued his urgent, desperate thrusting down into her, after only an instant's pause.

A little ripple of delight crested over her skin even as she sank back into rising urgency while her hips lifted to meet his. She had never seen her wolf this ungainly: bursting with impatience. She did get to him too.

So hard. So fast. His eyes were darkening, swirling black, hollow with pleasure while he fucked her wildly across the deep carpet, his thick cock stretching her, penetrating, claiming. Gemma ached her back up forcefully, grabbing his arms and screaming again as a second orgasm exploded from no-where, rocking her with the bolts of pleasure shooting through her small frame. Mac's forceful rhythm began to break up into a staccato series of desperate jerks of his hips, deeper, deeper, and he let out a long howl when suddenly his arms stiffened, back arched and he slammed down into her one more time, forcing his cock as deep as possible. His heart was thundering, breath heaving in gasps as he shuddered, his seed spurting thickly into her, again, and again. He groaned in pleasure, rocking his hips gently. Eventually he stilled, relaxing his taut arms and bent to rest his head down on her shoulder, closing his teeth gently over the marks of his bite with a final, satisfied grunt.

Wow.

So much for Mr Control.

Much later that night, Gemma was slowly pulled out of her sensual, sated dream by the burn of unease shimmering along her skin. The void beside her on the mattress teased at her senses, and she slowly became aware that Mac was sitting on the side of the bed, his head in his hands. His whole frame was trembling, and she might have thought that he was crying, but for the tight burn across her skin. The scorching edge to the air reminded her of the night when he had healed her with the Wolflord's shiele. Power was burning through the room, pouring into the night, dancing across her skin. Only this time, it was aimed elsewhere.

Unease burned through her. A sense of threat loomed, and the swirling specks of berserker rage darkened her vision. She pushed them back, rolled and shuffled towards her mate on her knees, gently laying a hand on one trembling shoulder. Her palm felt scorched by the energy pouring off him, but he seemed unaware of her touch.

"Mac?"

Silence. Echoing silence, into which he drew a shuddering, pained breath, a flicker of awareness briefly crossing his gaze, then the green faded back into the black. Gemma's eyes were caught by his. The flaring black was deep, beckoning, shimmering flecks of energy constantly rising at the edge of his irises, edging together to swirl, a tiny galaxy in the black core, and then sinking, sinking out of sight. They began pulling her with them, her mind swaying unsteadily under the wash of the constantly circling flow of power.

"Mac?" she half-whined, skin shuddering as her mind was tugged by the strong current, blackness encroaching while she clung desperately to control. Something was so, so wrong. He was so far away. So deeply buried.

A second, longer green flicker shot and swirled into the black galaxy. Her mate swallowed, and after a long pause forced out a terse, hoarse choke, "He is - torturing her. Worse than usual."

Nick. And Natasha.

Nicolas Grey was torturing Natasha Vanilchov. Sickness rose in a vile wave from her stomach at the images which flitted into her head, that memory of the hatred in Nick's eyes, the feel of the menacing body pressed against hers. Maybe he was forcing her into rut. Unstoppable, the black wave of fury reared and crashed through Gemma, rage blanking out her reason.

Rage. Rage. Rage.

At some point within the echoing blank frenzy, Gemma dimly felt a hot pulse of excitement pull her mind toward the surface. The fight had brought her naked form squirming up against his hard length, the scent of his musk, the feel of his cock thrusting rigid against her belly breaking through the insanity for an instant while her lust surged.

Then rage swamped back in. She pulsed with her fear of it, the strength of it: the loss of herself. Please, no.

Rage. Insane rage.

Gemma arched her back as though to break in two, screaming in intense, unrestrained ecstasy as she lifted her head off the bed, straining with all her might against the bonds holding wide her wrists and ankles. Her body was convulsing in pleasure, bursts of intense sensation rocketing through again and again, unstoppable, almost unbearable. She moaned, long and loud, and shuddered against her mate, sobbing, the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as her body was lifted and crashed into another blast of feeling. The pleasure peaks racked through her again and again, slowly, slowly subsiding. Wow. Wow. Oh. Oh please. Oh yes. Yes.

Mac was breathing harshly, lying atop her, quivering with restrained lust, his hard cock buried deep and throbbing inside her.

What the hell?

As the diamond-hard points of pleasure began to subside, Gemma tried to curl into a sated, bewildered, panting ball around her mate, wrung out from the shattering pleasure. But she was prevented from moving more than a few millimetres by the torn sheets tied tight around her furry blood-stained wrists. In the soft light of the dawn, Gemma saw one of her mate's razor claws slash through the cotton holding her left right. Dawn?

She watched, stupefied, while he cut free her other arm, lifted himself off her, and then ripped the cloth holding her ankles, before rolling her into a cuddle in his strong embrace.

It was dawn. Hours later.

She ached all over. Like she had punched her way through a hard, physical workout. Her claws were all caked with blood.

Her heart shivered. Mac's blood.

What the hell?

"You wouldn't stop fighting me, picchu," Mac murmured into her hair. "And you kept hurting yourself, trying to break free. The bonds are softer."

For hours?

She'd attacked him. She'd attacked him before, but not like this insane frenzy. The madness of the werewolf that all wolves feared. Hours of it. Shuddering in revulsion, Gemma gradually awoke to awareness of the scents exuding from her mate. They tingled in her nostrils, tugging her into the need to comfort him. Mac was exuding shame, worry, anger, fear. Chiefly shame.

"I'm sorry, Gemma," his voice was low, tormented. "I asked but - you couldn't answer."

Her mate had to fight to get each set of words out, the shame throttling him.

"I couldn't soothe you. And you were so scared of the rage."

Cold, cold memory of that fear. The ever-lurking fear. Of herself.

"That one time I sensed you trying to get free, it was the lust that pushed you close enough to hear. So I thought -" He broke off.

Hours.

Hours of rage.

But - Mac. She realised, slightly incredulous, that her mate was apologising because she hadn't agreed to sex. He was practically writhing in shame.

Although it seemed to have been sex, lust - love, which had dragged her back to the surface.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again, voice broken.

Gemma rolled over and hugged her mate fiercely, burying as close to him as she could.

"Idiot," she growled into his fur. "Idiot wolf." She couldn't believe how ashamed he was about this, "You have my blanket permission to fuck me, your songmate, your fiancée, whenever you wish to break me out of that. Without asking."

His skin was shuddering lightly under the soft pelt. Gemma slanted an eye up at him, recognising that hollow look of bleakness in his eyes. Hmm.

"Unless I'm eating chocolate," she added.

That worked. A broken little hitch of a laugh sounded in the air, and Mac rolled her back underneath him, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, breathing harshly.

She ran her fingers gently through his thick hair, her mind sinking into calm. She knew the chance of her going permanently insane was real, but she wasn't going to go down glumping and gloomy. If she was going down at all. She had a damn good reason to stay sane. And happy. His tawny hair soothed beautifully against her fingertips.

"Neither of us know what we're doing here, Mac," she reminded him softly. "But I promise that I will do my utmost to come back to you."

He hugged her tighter to him.

"You just have to promise to fuck me like that," she suggested on a teasing note. "I think I'd come back from the dead to orgasm that hard."

He tilted his head up, resting his chin on her chest above her breasts, and just looked deep into her eyes from the echoing depths of his own. Her heart felt as though it would burst. Her songmate. A glimmer of his usual sparkle was rising in the depths.

"Actually, I'd come back to you if you were paralysed, and the only bit of you that still worked was your left eyebrow," she whispered.

His straight mouth crooked slightly, then he waggled that brow at her suggestively. They both smiled, and rolled to cuddle together.

A while later, Gemma broke the peaceful silence. "But we need to kill Nick," she growled.

The air seemed to thicken. The silence grew, the echo of her words pounding in the dawning light. Her skin began to tense at the feeling growing heavier in the still room.

"We?" his voice was resonant, a challenge in the word.

Gemma had to struggle to force her reply out into the heavy sense of clashing clouding the air. Her throat was locked, but she gathered all her strength and pushed.

"We," she eventually growled, harshly. "Alfamme matches Alpha."

The silence was reverberating with intensity. She could feel her mate quivering in anger against her back, but there was also a tinge of - pleasure? - edging his scent. Mac seethed quietly for a long time, then sighed quietly and settled himself behind her, hugging her closer.

"Yes," her mate agreed softly. "We'll go hunting, once you've mastered the urge to obey his cub and we've found a way to track him."