My Sister Is a Werewolf (7 page)

He pressed a kiss to her bare knee, trailing open-mouth kisses up her inner thigh. As he edged closer to the place he most wanted to taste, he felt her tense, her legs not moving, but the muscles under her smooth skin growing tight.

He lifted his head, really enjoying the position they were in. Him practically kneeling between her spread thighs, she lounging back amongst the remaining sections of newspaper, looking down her body at him with intense moonstone eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, purposely leaning closer so his lips were lined up with the moist curls between her thighs. God, she smelled delicious. Like hot spices, like pure sex.

Again, he noted that her muscles tightened, barely contracting, not noticeable to the eye, but there nonetheless.

“I’m... ” She nodded.

He wondered at her sudden hesitation. Shyness certainly didn’t correlate with the woman who’d just bared herself to him. The woman who came here with this exact intent.

And it was going to happen. Most definitely. Just like last night, it was impossible to stop it. Even as small scraps of his mind told him he shouldn’t. For his own sanity.

What was sanity? Who needed it?

He shifted forward a little more, his lips just grazing her. The tickle of her curls, the searing moisture, the scent. Damn.

This time, she sat up. Her knees pushed against his shoulders.

He moved back, looking up at her. Her pale eyes held easily readable uncertainty now. Her full lips pulled down at the corners.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m ready for you.”

He blinked at her words. Businesslike and informative. Not at all what he was feeling. He was on fire; he was out of his mind to get his tongue on her.

“I’m glad you’re ready. But I’m not.”

She frowned at that, her gaze flicking down toward his crotch, which she couldn’t see from her angle on the tabletop.

He chuckled ruefully. “Okay, I’m ready. But I’m not ready to stop touching you.”

He slid his palms up her thighs, nudging her back into a reclining position. He moved back toward the apex of her thighs.

“Or to stop tasting you,” he murmured as he ran his tongue up the pink fold of her sex.

Elizabeth cried out as Jensen’s tongue parted her, tasted her. She had to brace her arms to keep from falling back on the table and writhing under his amazing mouth. What was he doing?

She wasn’t so naïve that she hadn’t heard of a male pleasuring a female with his tongue and lips. But she’d never experienced it. It wasn’t something she’d wanted from... anyone other than this man.

He swirled his tongue, focusing his attention on her clitoris, his tongue hot and raspy against her. Then the velvety brush of his lips, then followed by the occasional fleeting hard edge of his teeth. Then that amazing tongue again.

“Jensen,” she murmured, knowing his name sounded like a religious word on her lips. But she’d never known. Never believed that she could want this so badly. That she could enjoy the want so much.

Then his lips closed around the straining bud, the center of all her sensations. He pulled on her, suckling the hypersensitive flesh to the point of near pain.

She moaned, bucking her hips. He licked her, more swirling, more long rasps.

She collapsed back against the table, unable to hold herself any longer. And still he continued, each sweep of his tongue more intense than the last. Until she could barely catch her breath—she could barely even remember to breathe. Then he suckled her again.

Lights, brilliant starbursts of color, exploded behind her closed eyelids. Through her body. Wave after wave of lights, of pure sensation, of ecstasy.

Then Jensen was levered over her, entering her in one thrust. Her body clenched him, as if seizing onto him in desperation. In an attempt to keep some hold on her sanity. But the thickness of him, the stretch of her body to accommodate his size, only heightened the other sensations radiating through her. A kaleidoscope of release.

She cried out again, her voice sounding hoarse, as if she’d been crying out over and over. Maybe she had. She couldn’t recall. She couldn’t remember anything beyond Jensen, and his body moving inside hers. Powerful strokes, rocking her toward something that was life-changing.

You should be scared,
she thought, even as she anchored her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper inside her.

You should stop.
She’d have laughed at the ludicrous impossibility of that thought if she’d been able, but only another gasp, another moan, another strangled repeat of his name escaped her lips.

She opened her eyes to find Jensen watching her, his eyes hooded but his expression intense, as if he was memorizing her every reaction. And that look, that intensity, was the trigger that threw her over the edge again, headlong into the abyss of release.

“Jensen,” she breathed, then locked him tight to her, keeping him buried fully inside her as she shuddered around him. And he pulsed in response, his body tensing as his wet heat filled her.

Chapter 7

S
lowly reality seeped in, the lovely blur of her release fading, focus returning from the edges toward the middle, until she realized she was flat on her back, staring up at a ceiling light. Copper with scrolling flowers, the metal tinged brown with age.

Jensen’s weight pinned her to the wooden table, the sensation pleasing rather than confining. His head was nestled between her breasts, and when she tilted her head to the right, she could see his features—his eyes were closed, his lips parted, his breathing gradually slowing to an even rhythm.

He was a beautiful, beautiful man. Far more beautiful than any mortal man she could remember seeing. For a moment, her heart soared at the idea that this man was hers.

Then reality hit again—this time, not the mellow fade-in. This time, a stark, unforgiving truth.

What had she done? She’d come here with the intent of seeing him, just seeing him again. To tell herself that her behavior from last night was a fluke. A strange anomaly.

Then she’d pulled up her skirt, like a street-corner hooker. Hell, hookers were probably more subtle. But that’s what she had come here for—there was no point denying it. The lack of panties sort of stated that, although she didn’t recall dressing to come here. She didn’t even recall how she got here.

She’d been in her house, resting on her sofa; then, her next memory was greeting Jensen. Something was really wrong with her.

Panic filled her, and she made a strangled noise in her throat.

Immediately, Jensen lifted his head, his gaze searching her face.

“Am I too heavy?” He levered himself off of her before she could answer. Again, his eyes roamed her body as if looking for obvious signs of discomfort. Her hands flew to her skirt, now bunched up under her bottom and back.

Seeing her struggle with the uncooperative clothing, Jensen caught her frantic fingers and tugged her into a sitting position. Then his hands gently caught her waist, and he lifted her to a standing position. He brushed down the material, and then his long, masculine fingers moved to arrange his own clothes. She watched, unable to do otherwise. When he finished, it took her a moment to realize he was aware of her staring.

“I’ve got to say,” he said with a crooked grin, “you know how to get a man’s attention.”

Elizabeth stared at that lopsided smile, her heart tugging, even as she told herself that it couldn’t be her heart that was making her chest so tight. Then heat burned her cheeks. What must this man think of her? What did she think of herself? Nothing good, that was for sure.

But instead of showing her shame, she offered him a cocky smile. “Well, that was the plan.”

It had been the plan—it just wasn’t a plan she realized she had until she’d done it. Actually, that wasn’t exactly true.

Hadn’t she just spent most of today thinking about doing just this? But hadn’t she also told herself it wouldn’t happen again? Yet, it had—without her even realizing what she was doing.

That scared her—and that was also dangerous. What if she’d arrived here in her wolf form? What if she’d hurt him? Although she knew she hadn’t shifted to get here, there were side effects to her shifting. An aftermath. And she didn’t feel any of those sensations. But it could have happened. God, she had to get out of here and never see this guy again.

A sharp pain stabbed again at the area of her heart. Ignore it, damn it. The feeling had to be her imagination.

She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the painful tightness. Then she forced another carefree smile in Jensen’s direction, and she waved her fingers, trying to make the action as light and negligent as possible.

“T
hank
s.” The same ending as last night, only this time she wouldn’t be back. She couldn’t see this man again.

She stared toward the living room, remembering the front door was that way. But Jensen caught her hand.

“Wait.”

His fingers were strong and warm and made her want to turn back and curl against him. But he couldn’t help her. He couldn’t explain what was happening to her. And all she could offer him was far more strangeness than anyone could handle.

She glanced up at his green eyes, concern making them a shade darker. Even a nice guy like this wouldn’t understand the truth.

“What’s your name?”

More shame filled her. Twice she’d been with this man, and he still had no idea what her name was. She hesitated, thinking maybe that was for the best.

No, she couldn’t bear having him remember her as the sleaze whom he’d met and shagged and never saw again.

Oh yeah, and the sleaze named Elizabeth whom he’d met and shagged and never saw again was just so, so much better.

Still, she found herself answering him. “Li—Elizabeth.”

Now, she really couldn’t say why she gave him the name she hadn’t used much in years. Surely she wanted all of this bad behavior to be Lizzie’s, not Elizabeth’s.

“Hey, Elizabeth,” he said with another of those crooked, yet a little cocky, smiles. “Do you have a last name, too?”

She hesitated again, then nodded. “Young. Elizabeth Young.” Now she’d outright lied. Lizzie Devlin. That’s who she was. But damn, she wanted to go back and be the person she’d once been. For this man.

“Well, Elizabeth Young, why don’t you join me for dinner?”

For the first time, Elizabeth realized the kitchen smelled of something delicious. Something more than the musky sweetness of sex. Her stomach growled. For the first time she realized she was starving for something other than carnal pleasures.

She supposed that was a pretty good sign that she was back to normal. Elizabeth had an enormous appetite.

But she shook her head, even as she breathed in the tempting smells again. This time, Jensen’s masculine scent, woodsy and clean, mingled with the food. That, as much as anything, made her say no. She would not have a repeat of what had just happened. She had to leave.

“Come on, you can’t go yet. I’m pretty sure social decorum demands that once you’ve had sex on the kitchen table, you at least have to stay long enough to eat at said table.”

Again Jensen smiled in a way that made her chest flutter, and she could almost ignore her embarrassment. Almost.

“I don’t think—”

Jensen tugged her back toward the table, pulling out a chair with his free hand. Then he positioned her in front of it.

“Please. Sit.” Another winsome smile.

Against her better judgment, she did sit, perching on the edge of the wooden seat, as if not getting comfortable would make staying okay. Except she knew staying was a very bad idea. She couldn’t afford to actually like this guy. What she’d done with him thus far was unforgivable, as unforgivable as it was unexplainable. And as it was, she felt inexplicably fond of him. And very, very drawn to him.

“I’ve got beef stew simmering,” he said, moving to the stove where he’d originally been fiddling with the pot with the lid that was missing the handle. Again, he struggled with the top, finally reaching for a fork to lever it off.

Steam billowed out of the kettle, the smell filling Elizabeth’s nose and making her stomach rumble again.

“I also have fresh bread. And butter.” He gave her a look that was designed to tempt her. “Now, how can you pass that up?”

“I can’t,” she finally said. After all, given what they had done, could one meal really hurt? In truth, sitting with this man and not jumping his bones would actually make her feel better, make her feel as if what they’d done wasn’t so strange, so random.

Or, rather what
she’d
done.

Jensen hadn’t pursued her either night. The pursuit had been all hers.

She watched Jensen as he moved around the kitchen. The stretch of his t-shirt across the muscles of his arms and back as he reached into the cupboard to get bowls. The graceful stride of his legs as he walked to the refrigerator and got out a dish of butter. The masculine shape of his hands and wrists as he ladled stew from the pot.

Oh, she definitely understood why she found him attractive. She just didn’t understand why she’d acted the way she had. That had been abnormal to the extreme.

“Do you live around here?” he asked as he leaned over her to set a bowl and spoon in front of her. Elizabeth wasn’t sure which was more appealing—the smell of the thick soup or the scent of Jensen. He returned to the counter, getting a knife out to slice the bread.

“I live pretty close to here,” she said vaguely, scooping up a bit of the stew on the tip of her spoon. She sniffed it, then took a taste. Delicious. She spooned up more.

“Pretty close, huh?” he said, glancing toward her as he filled a bowl for himself. “So you can have sex with me, but you can’t tell me where you live?”

Elizabeth paused, a full scoop of stew nearly to her lips. She gave him a sheepish look. “Well, you could be a crazy person.”

He chuckled at that. “True enough. I guess a girl can never be too careful. Avoid going off with strangers in their trucks. Avoid being alone in a stranger’s house. That sort of thing.”

Elizabeth knew she should have been embarrassed by his words, but he said them with such an endearing grin on his face, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Exactly.”

She took a couple more bites of stew before offering, “I live in Shady Fork.”

“Near that bar?” He finished cutting the bread and arranging the pieces on a plate. “What was the place called?”

“Leo’s,” she said automatically, and almost added that the bar belonged to her sister-in-law, but she caught herself. It wouldn’t do for him to track her down. After all, this would be the last time they’d see each other.

She glanced at him as he settled on the chair to the left of her. He offered her a piece of bread.

For a second, her heart constricted. By wolf rules, Jensen was acting as a mate should. A male made sure his female ate before he did.

Unless, of course, you were mated to a rogue wolf like she was. Then none of the laws, human or animal, applied.

She didn’t want to think about that. And she certainly didn’t want to think about how much she’d rather be mated to Jensen. That train of thought was pointless. She wasn’t. He was human. And after they shared this meal, she wouldn’t see him again. It was dangerous, both mentally and physically. To both of them. She was out of control and that made her
very
dangerous.

“Do you want more?”

She frowned up at him, not understanding the question at first. Then she noticed he was looking at her nearly empty bowl. Heat crept across her cheeks and down her neck. God, like she needed to add her enormous appetite to the list of objectionable things he knew about her. A slut with the appetite of a large land animal. It was a wonder he’d even thought about asking her where she lived—unless he was planning to avoid that location.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she said, even though her rumbling belly told her it could easily handle another bowl. And some bread.

“Well, let me get you a little more.” He took her bowl and returned to the stove. Again a pang of longing filled her, longing that wasn’t sexual. This was more about the novelty of being with him. About enjoying security and kindness.

Don
’t go there,
she told herself. It was a fruitless line of thought. In fact, she should just leave now. It was too hard being here. And not because of the embarrassment of her earlier behavior, but because she liked being with Jensen too much.

She liked watching him. She liked the timbre of his voice, deep and smooth. She really liked his smile—cocky, but not conceited. Dashing, charming... beautiful.

“You know, I really should pass on the second helping.”

Jensen paused, ladle in hand, his forest eyes roaming her face, trying to understand her.

He might as well not try. She didn’t even understand herself at the moment.

“
Don
’t leave. I haven’t eaten yet. And I don’t want to eat alone.”

Jensen had no idea why he was practically begging this woman to stay—when earlier he’d been hesitant even to allow her in the house. He just knew he wasn’t ready for her to leave. She fascinated him—and it wasn’t just the unorthodox nature of their relationship thus far, although that did merit a lot of contemplation. He just liked her being here. He liked it a lot.

“Come on. Stay.”

She glanced in the direction of the back door, looking a bit like a wild animal desperate for escape. But instead of bolting as he thought she would, she gave him just the slightest nod.

He finished filling her bowl and set it in front of her as he retook his seat. Again, she reminded him of a nervous animal as she regarded the second helping of stew, then reached for her spoon.

They ate in silence for a few moments, until she finally said, “This is delicious. You’re a good cook.”

“I think it’s a little too salty,” he said, frowning down at his bowl. “I tend to be heavy-handed with salt.”

When he stopped considering his culinary faux pas, he realized Elizabeth was studying him.