White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul (7 page)

“Put me down, you bully.” She cuffed his shoulder and winced when her knuckles stung.

“No.” Damn him for sounding so smug and arrogant.

“You are
not
taking me home.” She folded her arms and scowled at him.

“Too right. I’m taking you to the cabin.”

Whaat?
“You can’t do that.”

“Watch me.”

He was even more beautiful up close. Any woman would kill for his flawless bronzed complexion—not an open pore in sight, and even his stubble had a roguish he-man appeal. The short black fuzz gave him a piratical allure. Figured. His sexy mouth settled into the now familiar grim line. Lordy, she couldn’t prevent a soft sigh. His lips were rose pink, and he smelled better than mouthwatering double-fudge hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows. Loads and loads of marshmallows—creamy and melting over her tongue.

“Melanie?”

“Hmm.”

“If you keep staring at my lips as if you want to eat them, we won’t even make it into the pickup.”

Melanie blinked and looked up to find him studying her with such intensity that she shivered. Then his words pushed through her lust-fogged brain matter, and a wave of heat scalded every inch of her skin. She buried her face in his shirt. So not the right thing to do. No one had the right to smell so mouthwateringly delicious. No one. The wind gusted: the ice in the air a torrid contrast to the desire burning her from scalp to toes.

He halted, and she realized they’d reached his truck. Not thirty seconds later, they were on the move. The pickup’s cabin felt suffocating. Mike filled the small space to overflowing. His smell, his body, his muscular thighs, even the sound of him breathing overwhelmed her. She shifted close to the door and rested her cheek against the cold window.

“No questions, Melanie?”

Her mind was too muddled to string together a logical phrase, far less formulate a rational query. And she was too scared to ask
the
question. Then it hit her. The two of them at his family cabin. All alone. It couldn’t be. Mike Dorland couldn’t mean to…
her?

“No? I have one. Are you on the pill?”

Huh?
She straightened, jammed her back into the corner, and risked a quick glance. For a second, their gazes met, and she hastily lowered her eyelids and then studied her fingers. She kept her nails trimmed short; no time or money for manicures. Only when her lungs started burning did Melanie realize she was holding her breath.
On the pill?
As if she needed to be.

He geared down, and they turned onto a dirt road.

She couldn’t stop staring at her nails, and all her spit seemed to have dried up.

“Not curious about me being a half-breed?”

That jump-started her stun-gunned gray cells. She snorted and crossed her arms. “You’re a Dorland. As white as they come.”

“I am a Dorland, but the woman you know as my mother didn’t give birth to me.” He made the incredulous claim in a good-morning-how-are-you bland tone.

Melanie couldn’t stifle a gasp. She clamped her lips together and turned to stare at him.

He braked and twisted to face her. A small smile played across his lips, and he tipped her chin. “I’m half Native Canadian. A woman from a tribe on one of the lake islands was my birth mother.”

She couldn’t process his words. They bounced around in her head.
Native. Canadian. Tribe. Birth mother? Mrs. Dorland—not his real mom?

“You didn’t seem surprised last night. That I knew about your father and grandfather.”

Melanie shook her head, but the move jumbled her thoughts even more and she gritted her teeth.
Concentrate
. She waved her hands. “I don’t understand. Any of this.”

“You must have known, Melanie. When Shuman refused to give sanctuary to Drake and me all those years ago. That kind of decision isn’t made without a council of elders and discussion with the tribe’s members.”

Her eyes would surely pop out of her head if he said another word. She put up her hand. “Stop. You asked for sanctuary from the tribe?”

“Not long after my Uncle Boyd was murdered.”

“I never heard anything about you and Drake and sanctuary.” Nothing made sense.

He scrubbed his chin. “If you didn’t know about me being a half-breed, why did you start avoiding me in high school? Why the nose-in-the-air attitude? If I so much as came into a room—you ran in the other direction.”

Because Valérie de Verteuil had told practically the whole school about Melanie’s crush on Mike one lunchtime in the cafeteria. The whole room, every single student, had erupted into a snickered guffaw that she still heard every single time Valérie walked into the Caboose.

Until the day Valérie graduated, she had taunted Melanie at every opportunity about the great divide between a Dorland and a White. Because her parents were the town drunks and his were the town’s royalty. Because she was plump and had short legs and a manly jaw. Because she was Native American. A litany of becauses Melanie didn’t have to strain to remember.

Wait a jammin’ minute. It couldn’t be
… She studied the grim frown spiking his brows together. “Why are we here? Why are you telling me this? And why do you want to know if I’m on the pill?”

“Because the first time we make love, I don’t want anything between us—no condoms, no lies.”

She shivered when he trailed a finger up her throat and tilted her head back so their gazes connected. She could drown in those silver-rimmed eyes, jump into the circle haloing his dark pupils, and wallow in his stare.

“Tell me you’re on the pill, babe. Make my day, my year, my entire life.”

Melanie gulped and whispered, “No.”

His hand dropped away, and he banged his forehead on the steering wheel. “You’re going to kill me. I want inside you so bad it’s all I can think about.”

Mike Dorland wanted Melanie Frances White. Wanted
inside
Melanie Frances White.
Inside
. Melanie licked her lips and couldn’t help it—she snuck a glance at his lap. The bulge in his pants had her mesmerized.

Her pussy clenched. Again and again and again. If he so much as touched her, she’d go up in flames. Spontaneous combustion.

“I guess I’m taking you home after all.” He straightened, stuck the key into the ignition, and switched on the engines.

No way. Not a single thing he’d said made sense, but she didn’t care. Not one whit. For once, just once, she wanted it all. Mike Dorland inside her. Giving her her first real orgasm. “I have a birth-control implant.”

He moved so fast everything blurred. “Don’t jerk me around, Melanie. I’m on a hair trigger right now.”

Melanie blinked him into focus. Her throat had gone dry, and she forced words out. “Not. Jerking. You. Around.”

His lips pulled back from his teeth, and his canines glistened. “Fuck. I can smell you creaming.”

She couldn’t get any hotter without igniting. A thin sheen of perspiration tickled the skin above her lip. His white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Key’s under the mat. Go in. Need a few moments. Scared to touch you.”

Melanie’s knees had turned to mush. Her hands shook so hard she dropped the key three times before managing to open the door. And then she stood in the dark cabin like a zombie, just stood there unseeing, listening, trying to suck oxygen into her lungs, and praying the nerves connecting her frazzled brain cells would start working again.

She smelled him before hearing his footsteps. Inhaled that musky, spicy, orgasmic aftershave, and near melted when his hands came down on her shoulders. A gentle squeeze. “Bed. Get naked.”

Melanie froze. Naked. What if she turned him off? She shouldn’t have had all those gas station coffees. The door clicked shut. She twisted around and licked her suddenly dry lips. For he was totally naked. Nude. Aroused. Huge. Stallion huge.

Mike Dorland stood in front of her, his cock thick, engorged, heavy balls hanging close to the base.

“Naked.”

The growled command made her flinch. She jerked her gaze away from his fascinating penis and met his predatory stare.

“Can’t. Undress. You.”

Then he stomped across the room, and she saw the wide, oversize bed rammed into the far corner. He lay down on his back in the middle of the mattress and fisted his organ. The drawn curtains above the bed let in a crack of light that sat like a golden halo on the glistening ruby purpled head. Not circumcised. Onyx pubic curls. Massive.

“Naked. Now.”

Naked. Her purse fell to the floor with a loud
thud
; then the heavy coat slipped from her hold. She fumbled with the back ties of her apron, kicked off her sensible shoes, and shrugged out of the uniform. Fingers crossed, she looked down. Thank the Lord. Her best bra and panties. Heart leaping to escape her throat, legs wobbly, she half ran, half shuffled to the bed, lifted the covers, and slipped under.

“Uh-uh. You. On top.”

Her courage crumbled. Tears welled, and one rolled down her cheek.

All at once, his weight shifted, he tore the sheet away, and hauled her on top of him. He licked the tear. “Sorry. Scared you. Made you cry.”

He was hard and hot and rigid. His erection twitched between their bodies. One palm cupped her bottom, and he nuzzled her neck. “Mine. Melanie. Mine.”

She loved that his voice had gone guttural and scratchy. The way he said her name, all possessive and fierce, took the edge off her fear. She unfisted her hands and touched him, letting her fingers rest near his dark, budded nipple. It was kind of flat and wide with a few coarse hairs dotting the brown circle. This close his aroma had changed to the screaming-orgasms muskiness of last night. She wanted to suck on that flat nipple and graze the budded peak with her teeth, but settled for rubbing her finger on the tip.

He shuddered. His massive body clenched, and his embrace tightened. He squeezed her ass cheek and nipped her neck. His tongue felt wonderful, rough, wet, and hotter than hell could ever be. The burn between her legs returned with a painful vengeance.

She helped when he undid her bra and eased the straps off her shoulders. Then his fingers slipped under her waistband, and he eased the panties down over her rear. His hand grazed the folds of her sex, and she hissed at the sweet friction. He bit her earlobe, tickled the whorl, and she never realized the panties were history until he caressed her pussy lips, the rough callus on his thumb so delectable when he grazed her clit that she moaned, “More.”

“Yes,” he agreed, the word as abrasive and dense as the air in the cabin, heavy with the pungent perfume of their sex essence. He petted her; his talented fingers traced every crevice over and over, and he soon had her writhing and pleading for his possession. She opened her thighs and couldn’t choke back a moan when her folds slipped around his cock’s head.

He rooted for her mouth, his lips claimed hers, and he eased her legs farther apart, nudging his cock to her core. She dug her nails into his shoulders, and their tongues tangled—a slick, dueling dance that had her heart hammering. He lifted her higher, and she tensed at the feel of his penis probing her entrance.

“Mine.” Melanie didn’t realize his intention until too late. He drove into her, one hard, punishing stroke that would surely rend her in two. She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much and yelped, the sound muffled by their fused mouths.

He went drop-dead still, drew back, cradled her face, and stared at her; the bright halo framing his silver eyes glowed. “Hurt you. Love you. Didn’t want to hurt you.”

Love her? He couldn’t mean it. Every pore, every follicle, every bone in her body turned into mush, and the tension in her pussy, the unbearable stinging and the full-to-bursting pressure lessened. She sighed in relief. “Better now.”

But it wasn’t. She needed more. More filling. Melanie rubbed on him, and his cock slipped out a little. She shook her head. “No. Don’t go. Not now.”

“Not going.” He moved slowly, filling the ache in a tortuous, drawn-out pushing until she swore she could feel him in her throat. “Sweet. So sweet. Mine.”

He found her mouth again, the agonizing slowness of him entering and leaving her pussy mimicked by his stroking tongue. It drove her wild. She tangled her fingers in his hair, and she let her legs flanking his hips fall open, giving him complete access. She squirmed and wriggled and ground down, trying to get him to move faster, but he grunted and held her to his rhythm.

He tasted like manna from heaven, all smoky and wild and cinnamon sharp. Sweat slicked their skin and created a delicious friction when he moved over her nipples. The throbbing peaks went supersensitive, and the hair on his chest felt like crackling static. Her muscles clamped around the fat length of him, and the exquisite clenching bedazzled her senses. Her nostrils filled with his testosterone. His growled one-word orders had her flesh sweltering. His calloused palms and thumbs gripped her rear and thighs in a tempo that had her pulse spiking.

“Up.” He eased her into a frog-legged sitting position.

His hand cradled her breast; he rose on one elbow and took her nipple with his mouth. A hard suckle with teeth, tongue, and vacuum suction. Her vaginal walls went into a furious series of contractions—short, sharp ecstasy to the point of pain. She surrendered, savoring the myriad bounty of incredible sensations. All rational function fractured as the orgasm tornadoed through her, the whirlwind spinning her senses into oblivion.

He grasped her hips and pounded into her, the rapid piston action sending her over the edge again. Her pussy milked him. His cock surged, growing thicker and harder with each luscious vaginal clutching. He reached between them and grazed her clit.

“Mine.” His teeth clamped a spot between her shoulder and neck, and she climaxed again and again and again. She had gone limp long before he stopped moving, dimly aware of his roar when he jetted into her. Smiled when he hauled her tight against the rapid rise and fall of his sweaty torso.

It took forever for her to regain control of her rasped breathing. Her ponytail had long since disintegrated, and her hair fell all over the two of them in a wild tangle of curls. His chest no longer heaved, and he combed her back with his fingers, drawing soft circles in larger and smaller increments. If this was cuddling, she wanted to hold on to the feeling for eternity.