Page 36 of Wolf's Redemption

“I don’t care.” She was too close to the brink. She tightened her hold on his hair, dragging him back to her. “You can’t stop. I need…”

A thrust of his hips, a pinch of fingers at her nipple, muted through her dress, and she tossed her head back.

“Yes. I need that.Please.”

He growled, a deep rumble reverberating through his chest, shooting heat straight to her clit. She’d given into the craving, granted herself permission and proved him right. He couldn’t leave her hanging.

“Please don’t stop.”

Determination flashed in his eyes. “I will take care of you, Rebekah. I will give you what you need.”

He shifted his hips and hiked up her dress, fumbling with the button of her jeans. Once free, he tore at the fabric. Her zipper gave. Then his hand was where she wanted it, slipping beneath her knickers. He sought her clit and rubbed against it. She bucked beneath him, crying out. His fingers slipped lower, sliding through her slick folds.

“So wet for me,” his raspy voice whispered in her ear.

He tugged her jeans down and slid one long finger inside her. Then another. With a sureness that spoke of years of practice, of experience, he found her G-spot. With a hoarse cry she shattered, clinging to him, his hand trapped between their bodies, slipping, sliding, rubbing and wringing out every last spasm of her orgasm.

Bek flopped back and lay limp, eyes closed and her chest heaving, residual spikes of pleasure pulsing through her body.

How am I ever going to move on from that?Top that?

The man not only knew where to find her clitandher G-spot, he also knew what to do with them. A man like that was as rare as rentals with air-conditioning. For all that sex had been good with Spider, it had never been likethat. And she hadn’t had sex with Ulrik. Yet.

She opened one eye to look at him.

He stared back at her, an eyebrow cocked. “Are you well sated, Rebekah?” He shifted his fingers inside her and she gasped. “Or do you need me to make you come again?”

He slipped his hand from her jeans, raised his fingers to his nose and inhaled. He licked his fingers. “Or perhaps I should use my mouth.”

Bek sucked in a breath, her body quivering, more than on board with that idea.

Fuck. Imagine what this man could do with his tongue?

He rolled off her and got to his feet. “Alas, now is not the time.”

He buckled his sword around his waist. Anothersword,proud and ready for battle, begged for her attention. He ignored it as he sorted their meager belongings. Bek ignored it, too. As much as it was possible to ignore the elephant in the room. Or the forest.

She pulled up her jeans and buttoned them, her broken zipper a reminder of what they had done. What he had done. To her. What she hadaskedhim to do.

She turned away from him, heat flushing her face. Not because he had given her one of the best orgasms in her life. She wasn’t embarrassed about that. Or her need to feel the hands of a man on her. Or even that she’d asked for it. Nor did it bother her that she’d not reciprocated the favor. Too many men in her life had leftherunsatisfied. One man would barely tip the scales in balance.

No. Her shame came because she’d let her weakness for dangerous men rule her once again. She’d given in to theattraction between them, when barely moments before, the evidence of his scars had convinced her he was a man to avoid at all costs. Bek turned away from him.

Lord Almighty.Why didn’t anyone warn me being good would be so damn hard?

Chapter Seventeen

With a pounding of horse’s hooves and the jingle of harnesses, Lothair swept into the bailey of the d’Louncrais keep, a score of keep guard at his back. Three days of searching and not a single trace of Ulrik Voclain or this mysterious woman. He was running out of patience. It was time to see if the wolves of Langeais knew of his whereabouts.

As the dust settled, he dismounted and stared up at the stone keep. It was not as large as his, or as fortified. Nor did it have the strategic location guarding the River Loire, but it was a symbol of power and wealth accumulated, nonetheless. They had always had influence, the d’Louncrais. In Lothair’s father’s and grandfather’s time, too, but only he had allowed one of them into his inner circle. Gaharet. He had trusted him, relied on his steady presence and his wise council. Dare he say he had called him friend. For that, Gaharet had betrayed him and fled Langeais to God knew where.

So he had given the d’Louncrais estate to the Beauchenes. Used it and the unmarried Kathryn Beauchene to bait the pack. His plan had worked, though not quite as he had expected. It had not flushed out Renaud’s informant, but Lothair could work with the end result.

Two figures appeared at the door, one a servant, the other the chevalier he had come to see. Aimon Proulx, his white-blond hair loose about his shoulders, smiled in greeting, but his gaze was wary.

“Mon Seigneur Comte. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Come now, Aimon. Do not be obtuse.” He turned to his keep guard. “Capitaine,secure the keep. You four” —he pointed to the guards on his left—“follow me.” He planted his hand on Aimon’s shoulder. “We have much to discuss. How fares things with Mademoiselle Kathryn?”

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