The Werewolf Bodyguard (Moonbound Book 2) (2 page)

M
arco watched
her through the corner of his eye while he cracked a quail egg on the counter and split it into his skillet with one hand.
Season quickly from above and watch for that perfect curl on the edge.
With a few drops of calabrian chili sauce, he slid the egg onto the pasta nest and flourished the plate over to the darkened, hidden table in the corner of his kitchen.

Her eyes rounded just a touch when he placed the carbonara in front of her. Marco slid into the seat across from her while the kitchen noise whirled around them. But this was his favorite moment and he wasn’t about to miss it.

“This is your special pasta.” Marco found his mouth watering as she wound her fork into the delicate tendrils of hand-rolled pasta. “Our secret tasting experience is…the chef chooses for you.”

Her lips closed around the first bite and the tiniest uptick of the corner of her mouth made him soar inside. She wasn’t going to give her praise easily, but he could read it on her face, in her smallest movements.

Reluctantly, she was enjoying this.

“How do you know what I like?” she asked, around her bite of food.

“I can see into your soul.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d said them, and her little eye roll told him she thought he was feeding her a line. Normally, it would have been a line, but with her it was different. Somehow, he felt he could really see something inside her, laid bare for him.

She leaned across her plate, her eyes hazy with food lust, but when he drew closer, her eyes went wide.

“Does that bullshit usually work on women?”

A blow to his pride, certainly, but at least she was enjoying the food, and she couldn’t hide how much she’d liked it. Still, she didn’t respond the way his average bored socialite with a tricky palate would. No lighting up, no hidden smiles. She was holding something back.

Defense
and
denial, but no inhibition. Holy fuck, who was this woman?

Marco cocked his head. “Does your sarcasm usually keep men at a distance?”

Her chin jerked and those icy eyes flared at him, but she kept eating. With a careful twist of her fork, she lanced the last of the pork belly and held it out to him.

“I’m sure that Betty Billionaire just loves to get eye-fucked by the fake-Italian-Vegas-shit-show you’ve got going on here.” She pinned his gaze straight and something stabbed at his insides. “But I’m not here for the circus-circus, okay?”

Marco held his mouth closed and chewed on his tongue before he said something he would regret. Head-on wasn’t going to work with this one—she was too quick—and side-on hadn’t worked, either. But the pull, the itch, he could still feel it. He needed to get her upstairs so he could crack her open.

He leaned against the back of his chair. “Whatever you think of me, do you like the
food
?”

She slurped the last little bit of spaghetti noodle. “I didn’t say I didn’t like you. I just see through your sideshow.”

Marco nodded. “I get that. But you don’t want the seduction, the experience?”

The woman laughed, matching his posture against the high back of her chair. “Oh, honey, I don’t need you to seduce me.”

Marco felt something on his leg and realized that it was her foot when she wrapped it around his calf and gave a little tug. Limber, this one.

“I can see you have no inhibition, but…” He stopped, considering her. Something vulnerable kept peeking through the shields, like a chink in the armor, but he couldn’t quite get a handle on what it was.

He needed to get her up to his suite so he could find it.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, without even a hint of Marco-the-Chef. For the first time in what felt like ages, he dropped all pretense.

“I always will,” she shot back.

“Do you like the food?”

Her eyebrows went up, two dark stripes of interest on the creamy white of her expressionless face. “It’s better than I expected. You have real talent.”

Reluctant praise, but praise nonetheless.

Marco bounded up and shouted at one of the sous chefs, “The
bistecca
?”

“Steak?” Hunger stalked over every inch of her face.

“Yes, I thought that, being from New Orleans, you would be bored with fish, so I’m preparing a beautiful
bistecca
with lemon horseradish sorbet.”

Her tongue snaked out and moistened her lips, bringing Marco’s hunger surging back upon him. That tongue. He wanted to taste it.

“How do you know I’m from New Orleans?” she asked.

It was his turn to laugh. “You think I haven’t put on a little Bayou when it suits me?” Marco spread out his arms. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,
chèr
.”

His sous chef yelled out, “Chef!” Marco walked over to the burner where they were working on her steak and chopped off a knob of butter, throwing it into the pan and basting the crusty steak.

“Get the sorbet from the blast chiller,” he said, not taking his eyes off the steak. He needed it to be perfect.

When he slipped it onto the steaming pile of port-braised red cabbage and topped it with the dollop of butter-like flavor punch, he finally looked back to the chef’s table. He wanted to see the look on her face when she took the first bite.

She gave his body a long, slow up-and-down while he carried the plate to her and set it down. He tipped the uncorked bottle of Barca Velha into the globe of her wineglass and met her eyes as he poured an inch of red.

Then, with a glance at her cleavage, another inch.

Then, another inch.

The whisper of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she held out her hand for the glass. She nosed the bouquet and the smile spread.

“Portugal,” she said, taking a tiny sip. “Interesting.”

Marco couldn’t help biting his lip just a bit in anticipation. A woman who loved food and knew wine and had no inhibition. He could feel the desire swimming in his blood.

She cut into the steak and her grin widened. “Perfect.” The first bite, and finally, Marco saw the wave of pleasure wash over her face. He knew she had been hungry for meat, but teasing her had been more fun, even…building the anticipation to this moment. The electricity that buzzed inside him was better than any drug or any orgasm, and he couldn’t quite understand why her pleasure pleased him quite this much. He could practically taste the heady wine himself, almost like her scent amplified all his senses.

He found his breath coming quickly as he watched her devour the steak. When she swallowed the last bite, he could feel himself hardening, lengthening. But he needed to hold off his own pleasure. There was something buzzing under the surface of this woman, and he needed to know what it was. He needed to know why everything felt more alive when she was in his kitchen.

Marco turned back to his sous chef to call for the dessert course, and his shifter was out of her seat, standing only inches away from him, her eyes almost black with lust. She grabbed his coat and dragged him through the line, between his working staff, and out the back door into the hallway.

“Take over,” he yelled to the expediter. He didn’t know when he would be back, but the perks of being a celebrity chef were…numerous.

Before he could even secure the swinging door, she had made quick work of unzipping his pants and she had her cold hand on his dick, her nose in his neck, and him up against the wall the room service workers used to get to the freight elevators.

Marco’s head swam with the scent of her, the feel of her hands on him. She kissed up his neck and latched on to his lips and moaned. For just a moment, he let her tongue explore his mouth, rich with the taste of red wine and beef and the spice of horseradish. It was like tasting himself on her tongue.

But he could feel the urgency of her hot, dark lust, and he pushed at her shoulders. Her eyes were hazy and she dipped toward him.

“Not here,” he said.

She glanced around the hallway. “Why not?”

“I have dessert all planned…” He held her firmly at arm’s length. “Besides, I don’t even know your name.”

“No names, just fucking.” She lunged for him, and her strength had him on his heels for a moment.

“But dessert is the pinnacle of the meal. If you don’t finish with the sweet…” He couldn’t talk with her tongue down his throat.

Marco growled and flipped her around so her breasts were pressed against the cold wall. He slipped against her and put his hands on either side of her body. “I know you want to be fucked.”

“That’s right,” she purred, rubbing against him. “Right there.”

“But not here.”

“I don’t care if someone catches us,” she said, “if that’s what you’re into.”

He nearly rolled his eyes. So this was what she was playing at. She wanted to be the bad girl. To fuck fast and walk away.

If that was really what she needed, Marco would’ve let her. But something deep down—maybe the wolf that hid there, he wasn’t sure—told him exactly what she needed, and it would come much, much later.

After dessert.

S
tubborn wolf
.

He was
very
interested. His dick had been hard when she’d grabbed it in the hallway, but he wouldn’t give it to her. Apparently he had his routine and dessert was part of it.

If that’s the game she had to play to get a good fucking tonight, so be it. She didn’t have anything better to do. Rain had taken her spot as head enforcer for Francis Dubois, the New Orleans pack alpha, and Reyna, his daughter, had left her for the hunky sheriff in Somewhere, Texas. Not that she held it against Reyna for finding her Fated match, but everything had happened so fast. They’d been like sisters since they were in diapers and now Reyna was just…gone.

Moving on with her life. A life that no longer included Reyna—at least not on an everyday basis. Now Francis was replacing her with ex-military ranger Rainier Dubois.

Her week couldn’t get any worse.

Sex with this
Amare
hotshot chef should at least help take her mind off her trouble for a short time. There was something about him that drew her in, more so than usual, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. He just made her…hungry. And it wasn’t just that he cooked
really
well. Although that was definitely a bonus.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. They’d stood next to each other in the elevator in perfect silence. Her body was literally vibrating with anticipation as the elevator bell rang for one of the top floors.

“After you.” He gestured to the foyer ahead of them.

Her boot heels clicked on the marble floor as she stepped out into the decadently decorated hallway.

“My suite is to the left.” He stepped toward her, resting his hand on the curve of her lower back, just above her ass.

“Excellent,” Aria purred. “I suppose you do this with all the ladies you cook for?”

“What I have planned for you,
ma chèr
, is not for the faint of heart. But I have a feeling it’s just what you need.” His breathing didn’t hitch and his pulse stayed even. He believed what he was saying.

Aria chuckled. “Let me guess, the beast within also told you
not
to fuck a gorgeous willing woman earlier in the hallway too?”

His hand flexed against her backside as they entered his suite.
Interesting.
Something she’d said had irked him, just enough for it to translate into tension.

He was too relaxed. Too calm. She needed him hungry and excited.

Marco closed the door behind them, but never took his eyes off her. Maybe he was hungrier than she thought. She usually read people better, but he was throwing her off. More likely she was just off because of the craptastic week she’d had.

“Where do we start?” She put her hands on her hips and took in the gorgeous suite. Leather furniture mixed with stainless steel. Very bachelor. But tastefully decorated as well. He’d paid someone to make this place impressive. Wood floors and plush carpets. Canvases filled with bright colors were strategically placed throughout the open area of the living and dining rooms to draw the eye systematically from one focal point to the next.

His warm amber eyes sparkled with a look that reminded her of a Dom she’d fucked in New Orleans a long time ago. A shiver ran the length of her spine and her pussy slicked immediately. Maybe this werewolf chef really did have something extra up his sleeve she’d enjoy.

“First,” he said, stepping closer and nuzzling the side of her neck. “I strip you out of everything you’re wearing.”

“Mmmhmmm.” She leaned forward, pressing her aching breasts against his hard chest. His hands explored up and down her back until coming to rest on the zipper at the back of her neck. The soft brown leather shirt fell away from her back slowly as he drew the zipper down and pulled it from her shoulders.

Her nipples pressed hard against the lace of her skimpy bra. The friction made her clit throb.

This man was moving entirely too slow. She reached behind her back and unsnapped the bra, tossing it to the floor where her shirt had dropped.

Marco was unfazed. He continued to move his hands and his mouth slowly and methodically over her body.

“I know you want to fuck me.”

“Are you in a hurry?”

Aria took a deep breath. Seriously. What was wrong with her? Sex was exactly what she wanted. What she needed. Why
was
she trying to rush him? “No. I just…”

“Not used to the slower approach?”

She narrowed her eyes. He really did have something planned.

Fine. Whatever it was she needed it to happen. Soon. She wasn’t trying to be in a hurry, but the image of ripping his clothes off him and riding him until she couldn’t walk the next day was playing on a loop in her brain. Usually she had better control of herself than this.

He put his hands on her hips and walked her backward until her ass bumped into his massive stainless steel and wood combo dining table.

“Sit.”

Aria put her hands on the slick wooden tabletop and lifted her bottom onto the table.

Marco unzipped her boots and removed them one by one, still moving at a frustratingly slow pace.

She could do this. It would be worth the wait. Gods it better. He hadn’t touched her bare breasts once. Her nipples could cut glass and begged to be sucked. But no. He’d given her nothing but a little nuzzling at the base of her neck.

“When are you going to…do something?” She hated not knowing what was coming. He wasn’t behaving like a typical man in front of a gorgeous woman. Her tits were amazing. A little attention wasn’t too much to ask for.

He put a palm between her breasts and pushed, laying her flat on the table.

She smiled. This was more like it.

“Trust me. Just a little.” His fingers went to the button of her jeans. He undid them and peeled them down, freeing her of her panties in the process as well. A slight groan escaped his chest and she quivered.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

Finally.

Naked and ready to be fucked.

Instead of removing his pants, he grabbed her hips and pushed her along the slick surface of the table, away from the edge.

She raised her head and growled. “What the hell?”

“Dessert,
ma chèr
. Don’t ruin the best course.”

She raised her head and gave him her best move-it-the-fuck-along glare. “I’m not your dear. I’m a stranger who would really like to get her rocks off before the sun comes up. Can we just do this? Whatever it is you have planned.”

He walked away from her and she let her head drop back against the tabletop.
Dammit. Now what?

“I know you want to rush, but that’s not what you need.”

Fucking arrogant asshole.
What she needed was someone to fuck her senseless so she could stop obsessing about shit.

What she needed? This wolf didn’t have a clue. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, he was standing at the head of the table. He caught one of her wrists and slipped a leather cuff around it.

She swallowed and sucked in a quick gasp. The familiar sensation of the wide leather strap relaxed her almost instantly. Bondage was way inside her wheelhouse. No wonder he’d been moving at the speed of snail slime. “If you wanted to tie me up, you just had to say so. I’m more than comfortable with this kind of thing. My safe word is orange.” She offered him her other wrist and he took it with a grin, but no verbal response.

Aria tugged gently at the bonds when he finished. Both her wrists and ankles were secured to the table legs. She was spread and open. Time to get this party started.

Instead, the infernal man left the room, choosing to wander into his kitchen instead of putting his mouth or hands on her. She nearly made a cutting remark, but decided to wait. Perhaps he was fetching something that would be fun. He had asked her to trust him.

She followed his movements out of the corner of her eye and took a deep breath. This wolf intrigued her in a way no other man ever had. There was something about him she couldn’t lay her finger on. On top of everything, he had a face that seemed familiar.

The ice machine in his fridge churned and she heard cubes fall into a container of some kind.

Oh shit.

She turned her head to try to and see what he was doing, but his back was to her. She heard the clink of glass and what sounded like a pot. What the hell did this guy have planned?

Her breath quickened. At least he was finally going to touch her.

She smiled up at him when he returned to the table. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just listening to you,” he answered, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Ready?”

“Honey, I was born ready.”

He gave her a full-on smile and leaned toward her. He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her hard enough to make her whole body sigh. She tried to arch closer, but the cuffs and ropes held her in place. He tasted like chocolate and sin.

She jumped. “Ahhh,” she murmured into his mouth.

He was tracing an ice cube along her stomach, making bigger and bigger circles around her navel. So cold. Her skin burned everywhere it touched.

When the first ice cube melted, he pulled another from the small cup he’d brought to the table. She breathed through the sensation as he traced over her ribcage and up between her breasts to her collarbone.

He wasn’t kissing her anymore. She caught his gaze a couple of times. His eyes were dark and focused on her, like he was searching for something.

She shuddered as the last bit of the ice cube he was tracing along her arm melted. He had yet to touch her anywhere intimate. Her breasts and clit throbbed, hungry for the attention he was withholding.

“Tell me your name
.
” His honey-thick voice soothed the hesitation out of her brain.

“Aria LaBlanc.”

The next ice cube found its way to first one nipple and then the other. The cold burned through her nerves straight to her sex. She was slick and needy and gods…why wouldn’t he just get on with it? Her brain was fogging over from the sensation overload. The ice continued, then his mouth suckled a nipple and she couldn’t help the whimper that slipped between her lips.

Delicious heat. She closed her eyes and arched her back. “Fuck me,” she gasped. The ice was back and his mouth was on her other nipple.

He chuckled, his breath sending tingles across her breast. “There’s much more to come, Aria.” An ice cube replaced his soft mouth and she jerked on the table again. She quivered from head to foot.

Forcing her eyes open, she watched as he traced the lines of her hips with more ice.
Closer. Just a little closer. Please.
For once he obliged her wordless plea. She panted, watching him move to stand between her knees at the foot of his table. The lower halves of her legs dangled over the edge of the table. Cuffs on both ankles kept her pussy spread and open for his pleasure.

He caressed the waxed, smooth skin of her labia and then opened her. Leaning down slowly, he flicked his tongue over her clit and she bucked the ties. He lifted his hands to her breasts and tugged at her rock-hard nipples. The pain melded with pleasure and she moaned.

More.
“More.” An orgasm swirled inside her, but his pace was so excruciatingly slow, it just continued to coil tighter. Her muscles were taut. She flexed her thighs, trying to grip the edge of the table with her calves, but the cuffs kept her from being able to lock her body down.

She pressed her eyes closed and writhed against the bonds.

He flicked his tongue again, and then replaced the warm softness with the burn of an ice cube.

“Fuck!” she screamed, jerking against the ropes. The fire of the ice didn’t stay on her clit long enough to get her off, instead she felt his fingers move it lower on her sex and then slip it inside her vagina. It melted almost instantly, but the shock of the sudden temperature changes was driving her mad. He was giving just enough to continue the build inside her, but not enough to help her over the crest.

Pain was good. Shock was good. But she wanted it harder. Heavier.

“It’s not enough,” she growled.

“It’s exactly enough.” He licked her slit again and then walked away from the table.

“No! Where are you going?” Aria yanked against the cuffs and growled.

He shook the plastic container in his hand, but it didn’t make a sound. “Just getting more
.
”

More?
“Are you going to fuck me at all? Or should I just safeword out of this and go find someone more interested?”

“Who said I’m not interested?” Glass clicked against something metal and she heard the ice machine in his fridge churn again.

“I thought this was supposed to be the dessert course.” She stared up at the coffered ceilings above her and sighed. If she couldn’t have sex, chocolate was the least he could offer. It’s not like his dick didn’t work. It’d been plenty hard when she rubbed her ass against it in the hallway outside his kitchen.

“You are the dessert course,” he answered, setting a glass jar of gourmet chocolate fudge next to her torso. The scent of the chocolate made her mouth water, but the heat from the jar made her body quiver. He was evil. That’s all there was to it. Evil mind-fucking bastard who wouldn’t give her what she wanted.

“All you have to do is tell me to stop.” He pulled an ice cube out of the container and slipped it between her pussy lips, burying it deep inside her vagina.

She panted and shook on the table. Her skin was tight and she could feel the pulse of her heart in every part of her body.

Her nipples throbbed as he iced them down before leaving an ice cube to melt in her belly button. The cold water ran in slow rivulets down either side of her abdomen and puddled on the table below her.

The clink of metal against glass drew her eyes to the jar of chocolate sauce. He held it above her breasts and a hot stream of chocolate burned its way over one nipple and then the other.

“Fuuuuuuuck!” she screamed and arched her back, yanking hard on the cuffs. If the table hadn’t been so solid, she would’ve easily yanked the legs right off.

Seconds later the burn was replaced by the soothing sensation of his tongue and lips as he consumed the chocolate off her breasts, licking and sucking until not even a smidge remained.