Wicked Cowboy Wolf Page 12

  “It’s the contrast between light and dark,” she confessed. “I like to draw, portraits mainly, and yours would have great chiaroscuro. I’d render it in black and white. Graphite only. It seems fitting for a wolf who lives his life somewhere between the light and the dark.”

  He watched her. The scarred side of his brow furrowed and caused a ripple effect in his face. The tissue had felt taut, almost stiff beneath her touch. His eyes narrowed, and the cold in his icy blue irises deepened. Enough to make her shiver even though it was summer.

  Whatever tenderness had passed between them appeared to be over, and she could tell she’d been dismissed. She gathered the message loud and clear. Turning to leave, she gripped the door handle, then paused. There was something electric between them. Hell if she knew why, but there was. He wasn’t the type of cowboy she was supposed to want, but to pretend she didn’t was a lie.

  Don’t lie, Princess. Not to me. His words echoed in her head.

  What kind of woman would she be if she just left? If she allowed the openness between them to pass? She feared she already knew the answer far too well.

  She’d be a woman who accepted what was given to her, who did what was expected of her. The kind of woman she’d always been until he’d come into her life and she’d chosen otherwise. Making a deal with him to save her pack wasn’t the ultimate rebellion, he was, and if she walked away now and ignored what she felt, deal or not, nothing would change. She’d still have made her decisions out of loyalty to her pack, not for herself, and after their deal was through, they’d part ways. Years later, she’d always wonder what could have been if only she’d been honest about the darker truth of what she was here for, with herself, with him.

  With this dark, wicked cowboy who’d risked his life for her as if she meant something to him, even though they were strangers…

  She didn’t want to be that kind of woman.

  Facing him again, she squared her shoulders, forcing herself to be brave. “I know what you’re doing,” she said before she could stop herself.

  He crossed the room to his bedside table, where a bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat.

  Murtagh had insisted on leaving it there. “Fer his pain, ye ken?” the Scot had said.

  Rogue gripped the bottle by the neck and drew in a heavy swig. When he was finished, he glanced at the black label as if he were bored with their conversation, but he wasn’t fooling her.

  She knew better than that.

  “And what exactly am I doing, Princess?” His whiskey-graveled voice shook her.

  “You’re trying to scare me, push me away because you’re feeling vulnerable, but it won’t work. If you wanted my fear, you shouldn’t have risked your life to save me.” She settled her gaze on him. She’d hold those intense eyes of his, no matter how that caused goose bumps to prickle over her skin. “Art isn’t about pursuing perfection. It’s about embracing flaws. The scars should make you terrifying, but to me they don’t. They only make you intriguing. It’s beauty with depth.”

  He was still watching her. From the spark of fire behind those icy eyes, she would have feared him, had she not known better. But she knew it was only because she was prodding his wounds, and not the visible kind. He’d done the same to her only moments before. She wasn’t certain what had compelled her to confess her dreams, her fears to him, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. Her draw to him was magnetic.

  She ignored his glare and continued. “The unscarred side of your face is handsome, but contrasted with the scars, you’re authentic. You’re—”

  “Deformed,” he snarled.

  “I was going to say breathtaking,” she shot back.

  He tensed. But he didn’t scare her. Despite the fire burning in his eyes, she got the impression that he was feeling as raw and vulnerable as she had moments earlier. Telling him her dreams had made her feel far too open and bare, but there’d also been a bit of freedom and power in confessing the truth to someone.

  It was like standing naked in front of a lover for the first time, thrilling yet terrifying.

  There was a magnetism between them, and she didn’t doubt he felt it. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Her thoughts turned to the kiss they’d shared. Sure, she’d been kissed before, but never like that. Never in a way that had left her feeling forever changed, like the memory of it was as much a part of her as any of her limbs. She could still feel the tingling sensation on her lips, and dark criminal or not, she wanted more.

  “I want to draw you, because I like looking at you,” she confessed, “and because the contrast in your features would be a technical challenge, and because you saved me.”

  He cut her a look. “Don’t mistake self-interest for heroism, Princess.”

  She refused to believe him. It was more than self-interest. The fury, rage, and passion she’d seen in him as he’d battled first the vampires and then the bear said it all. No one fought that way unless it was personal, intimate. And he’d fought that way to save her. She wasn’t certain why, but she’d be damned if she’d pretend she hadn’t seen it.

  “You’ve saved my life twice now,” she challenged. “Three times if you count the deal we made in the vampires’ cells.”

  “I need you alive for the antidote as much as any other shifter.” There was a sharp edge to his voice and if she hadn’t been so used to dealing with alpha males like him back at Wolf Pack Run, it might have warned her off as he intended. But she wasn’t buying it for a second.

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “And what do you believe, Princess? That I’m some sort of damaged hero, and when I saved you, it was an act of pure selflessness?” He set down the bottle of Jack on the table with an audible thud and prowled toward her. “That deep down, when we kissed, I had true and honest intentions?”

  Slowly, he advanced on her, backing her toward the door until she was pressed flush against it. “In this fairy tale, I’m not the hero who scales the drawbridge. I’m the wolf who darkens the door.” He was so close now that he was nearly pressed against her. “And when I do valiantly scale bridges to save the princess, it’s only because I intend to burn those bridges down.”

  He pressed both hands against the doorframe just above her head. “Lust has a way of clouding judgment.” He leaned in, so close that she thought he might kiss her again.

  Her nipples tightened.

  “Don’t let it cloud yours,” he whispered. He shoved off the doorframe, retreating from his onslaught.

  Mae struggled to draw breath. Damn him. “It was you who kissed me,” she said.

  He arched a brow, and that wicked grin crossed his lips. “Was it?”

  Mae gaped at him. When she opened her mouth to protest, she was about to tell him how ludicrous that was but stopped short. His question sparked a bead of clarity inside her. It was true, and she couldn’t bring herself to deny it.

  When they’d been there together in the dark, their bodies pressed against each other in a way that was as deliciously sinful as it was forbidden, she wasn’t certain who had leaned in to whom. Maybe she had kissed him…

  Because if she was honest with herself, she’d wanted him from the start. From the very first time they’d encountered each other in the vampires’ cells. Like hell if she could explain it or understand why, but it was true and it’d colored every decision she’d made in regard to him ever since.

  “Mae.”

  Something about the way he said her name caused a delicious chill to run down her spine. He might be a nefarious criminal, a cowboy wolf with a past darker than the midnight fur of his wolf form, but he wasn’t going to hurt her. He’d made that abundantly clear.

  He rounded on her, stalking toward her like a predator hunting its prey. “Is that why you came here?” He drew closer. Each step he took drew the air from the room until he loomed over her, his presence
leaving her struggling for breath. “Some sort of walk on the wild side?”

  With him standing over her like this, his body so close she could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin, her bravery faltered.

  And he knew it. She could see it in the wicked amusement on his scarred, handsome face. He’d smelled her desire, knew she wanted him. He’d made that abundantly clear.

  “Don’t avoid the question, Princess.” He eased closer, each word punctuated with deliciously devious intent. “Is. This. What. You. Came. For?”

  He faced her, and from the fire raging behind his cerulean eyes, he understood. She’d confessed her darkest desires to him. He knew what she wanted.

  Freedom.

  Freedom to love, to want whom she chose.

  Even if that meant she wanted a dark and dangerous cowboy.

  His hand clamped overtop hers where she gripped the bed railing as he leaned in toward her. He didn’t even have to pull her into his arms. One hand over hers, the rough callused skin of a cowboy’s hands, and that was enough to draw her in.

  He was the hunter, but she couldn’t call herself prey.

  Because she wanted to be captured.

  The hard length of his arousal pressed against her stomach. Slowly, he trailed his knuckles over the curve of her cheek.

  In a move so brazen she couldn’t believe she did it, Mae reached out and cupped the fly of his jeans in her hand.

  He growled, but it wasn’t aggression she heard there.

  It was desire. Pure and raw.

  “I can feel that you want me, too, just like you did the first time.”

  At the feel of her touching him, his already graveled voice deepened. “When I kiss you and it means something, you’ll know it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she admitted.

  This man. This dark, dangerous cowboy was a hedonistic rebel, and if Mae had to guess, he loved those he cared for as passionately as he hated his enemies. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her. She wanted that passion.

  Even if it was only a taste.

  “I’m not asking for romance.” She released him, and from the spark of frustration on his features, he didn’t want her to. “You’re everything I’m not supposed to want in a mate, but there’s something between us, and I…” She struggled to articulate what she was feeling. “I can’t ignore it,” she finally said.

  She’d regret it if she did. She’d always wonder what could have been.

  Rogue shook his head as his gaze raked over her. “Your brother would tell you you’re being a fool.”

  She placed a hand on his chest. “My brother would also tell me to follow pack traditions, to listen to orders, to do what I’m supposed to.” The beat of his heart thrummed beneath her fingertips. “But I refuse to behave.”

  His eyes flashed to the golden of his wolf’s. If she’d allow them to, she knew hers would already be there.

  “It was you,” she continued. “That first night in my bedroom. You asked me who I thought of when I”—she struggled to say the words—“pleasured myself, and I never answered.” Her eyes transitioned to her wolf. “The answer was you.”

  His low, rumbling growl vibrated through her chest.

  “You said you could give me things others can’t.” Her fingers traced over one of the tattoos on his torso. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

  Suddenly, he gripped her hips in his large, masculine hands, using his strength to seize total control over her within seconds. “Well, in that case…” His gaze darkened, and it stirred something low and primal in her belly. “I’m never one to disappoint.”

  If she’d thought he’d take her rough and hard, she’d been mistaken.

  Instead, he moved with a gentle, lithe grace belied by all the strength she knew he possessed. Using her hips to leverage her weight, he laid her out on the bed before him. His hands ran up the length of her thighs, teasing her legs open until she lay straddled against his hips. He peeled the shirt she wore over her head, her underwear shortly following. As he stripped her of her clothes, his eyes never left her. With only his eyes, he feasted on her until she lay there bare before him.

  “Is this what you want?” he whispered.

  He stared down at her, taking in the sight of her nude body. She’d expected a wild hunger in his eyes, a greedy need that fit the wicked wolf she’d come to know. But instead, as he trailed a hand over her belly, his touch was so deliciously gentle and his gaze so soft, it was almost…reverent.

  She nodded. She did want this. She wasn’t certain she’d ever wanted anything more.

  At her affirmation, something flashed in his eyes. Not the feral hunger she’d expected, but something softer. There was pleasure and desire there to be certain, but there was also something more vulnerable.

  Something like sadness…

  Though she couldn’t begin to understand why.

  But it was gone just as quickly as it came.

  Slowly, his hands trailed up the length of her thigh, savoring and worshipping every inch of her skin, the pace of which built an anticipation inside her she could barely handle.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Breathtaking.”

  Who was this man who touched her with such care and passion? Surely not the devilish rogue she’d come to know? No, whoever he was now was someone else.

  Only once his hands had caressed and paid homage to every inch of her skin—her legs, her belly, her breasts, her nipples, every small curve of her—did he gently cradle her sex in his palm. The heat and pressure of his large hand warmed her, and she felt herself slicken. She was dripping in anticipation for him. Every inch of skin he’d touched ached for him.

  As he used two fingers to part the lips of her pussy, his thumb drew delicious circles over her clit.

  Mae cried out, bucking her hips forward.

  In response, he dipped his fingers inside her as he used his free hand to grip one side of her hips, guiding her until she rode his hand.

  His golden wolf eyes met hers as he massaged deep inside her. The sensation was so sinfully good and so surprisingly tender that Mae felt certain she would fall to pieces. She felt the tension building inside her. He leaned over her, curling his fingers, pressing even harder into that spot until she was crying out in pleasure. The tension inside her mounted to an apex until she was teetering on the edge.

  “Don’t fall in love, Mae,” he growled again. “You know this isn’t real.” A wave of moisture coated his hand. “Because if you expect to heal my tortured soul, you’re mistaken.” He drove his fingers deeper into her. This time, a little harder, faster. Exactly what she needed.

  It was as if he knew her body, as though he could read her every desire plain on her face.

  She was teetering on the edge. “But if it’s freedom from being a Grey that you’re after”—he leaned over her, and that familiar wicked grin crossed his lips, softer now but just as sinful—“then I’ll make you come so hard you forget your name.”

  On this, he was a man of his word. Rogue dropped to his knees, his head dipping between her legs until suddenly his mouth was on her. He captured the bead of her clit in his lips and sucked—hard.

  Mae came apart on a wave of pleasure. The muscles of her pussy writhed and clenched as she rode him. His tongue lapped over her, greedily devouring her until she shook. The power of her climax thrummed through her.

  When the last throes of her orgasm had dissipated, she lay there on the bed, still wet and open for him. He raked a hand through his hair as he licked the last of her taste from his lips. His gaze flicked over her, his irises transitioning back to his human form. Distant pools of blue. And then she saw it again. The streak of pain in his eyes she couldn’t begin to understand. It was so intense and heartbreaking it tore her pieces, even though she didn’t unders
tand it.

  What about this pained him?

  He moved to step away from her.

  But as he did, she reached for him.

  “Rogue,” she whispered.

  He caught her hand in his. “Don’t call me that.” The sadness in those words cut through her. “Not now.” His gaze met hers, and whatever vulnerability she’d seen there was gone in an instant. He didn’t need to say anything for the message on his face to be clear. She’d pushed too hard, gotten too close. To what, she wasn’t certain, but she knew without a doubt she had.

  And he wouldn’t allow it again.

  He quickly released her hand, stepping away from her as he grabbed the bottle of Jack from the nightstand and headed toward the door. He held the door open, gesturing with the bottle for her to leave. “You’ve had your pleasure. You can go now.”

  Hurt seared through her. Mae sat up on the bed, tugging the shirt down to cover her intimate parts. She hadn’t expected tenderness, but she thought they’d at least spend the night together.

  “What about the antidote?” She asked the question because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Without looking at her, he said, “We’ll discuss it come morning.”

  “And…” Her voice trailed off.

  What about us?

  She was being ridiculous. There was no them. It was only heat and passion between them. Nothing more. There couldn’t be anything more. She barely knew him.

  And yet…

  She felt it without a doubt.

  He caught her meaning instantly. “Forget about what’s between us, Princess. You’ll be better off.”

  “I’ll be better off?” She stood, crossing her arms over her chest to hold herself together. She felt more vulnerable than she’d expected. It would have been easier if he’d been what she’d anticipated. Not this. Not this quiet, powerful stranger whose gentle touch stole her breath away. “How do you know what’s best for me? Now you sound like my brother.”

  A fire lit behind his eyes, and his nostrils flared as if he were the dragon on his back, struggling to contain his anger. His next words were harsh in their quiet rage. “I may be a monster, but never compare me to the likes of him.” Finally, he turned toward her, the shield he used to protect himself, his secrets, back in its rightful place. “Run back to your room now, Princess. We’ve burned enough bridges for tonight.”