Chapter Thirty-One
T HIRTY - O NE
Silas is up to something. Hard as I try, though, I can’t figure out what. Bishop seems even less concerned now that he’s checked in with his cousin.
“Julius is right,” Bishop says as we leave the house.
“Silas is off-balance and trying to find his footing. The wolves really didn’t like the way he killed your aunt, both in front of you and while she wasn’t able to fight back.
Ordering me to punish you for being justifiably upset?
” He shakes his head. “Werewolves have a strong code of honor. Everything he’s done to you has been unfair, and they won’t put up with any more of it.
He keeps reminding them that you’re his daughter, and so they expect you to be treated like it. ”
“He’s trying to win back their loyalty with gifts.” I glance over at him as we walk. “Will it work?”
We go at least twenty steps before he answers. “Imagine a factory where workers are threatening to unionize. Give them all a bottle of whisky and money to buy their girl a pretty bonnet. It’ll work for some.”
“Temporarily.”
He nods. “Because the bottle and the money run out. It’s the timing that makes this tricky. I want to act before he can solidify his hold. But that means acting before they get their tournament and holiday.”
“You’ll need to offer compensation.”
He sighs. “I know. That’s not how I want to start my reign, but we have the money. I’ll talk to Claude tomorrow.”
We continue walking. Distant noise tells us where the Pack is hunting, and Bishop steers me in the other direction. We walk until we climb a small hillock. Then he spreads a blanket.
I lower myself to the blanket and listen to the distant yips and snarls and yelps.
“It sounds like a fight.” I tense. “Is there any chance—?”
“—that Silas has launched an ambush on my supporters?” A soft smile. Catching my look, he puts his arm around my hips. “That was patronizing.”
“Yes, it was.”
“I smiled because I agree that it sounds like a fight. It’s part of the hunt. Tussling, running, playing. That’ll be especially important tonight, with everyone on edge.”
“They’re reconnecting as a Pack.”
He tilts his head. “I suppose so. Reaffirming their bonds through play.”
I gaze out toward the sounds. “I’m sorry you’re missing it.”
“I’m not.” He moves up against my side, arm tightening around me.
“Do I enjoy the hunt? Yes. The rest?” His lips purse, considering.
“I like a mock fight. I like running, experiencing the world in wolf form. I only play with a select few close companions. Mostly, if I were out there, I’d be trotting off to find deer and hoping they don’t frighten them all off with that racket. ”
I smile. “They’re just giving the deer ample warning. Then it’s the deer’s own fault if they’re caught.”
He chuckles and leans into me, lips going to my neck as he begins pulling pins from my hair.
I sigh. “Do you know how long it took Marjorie to put that up?”
“A waste of time. You should just leave it down.” He removes a few more pins. “Isn’t it more comfortable that way?”
“I’m also more comfortable without a corset. Can I leave that off as well?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I insist.” He pauses. “Which is not what I should say.”
“You should say that I may do as I wish, corset or no corset, hair up or down. After all, it’s my body.”
He sighs, and I turn to kiss his cheek.
“I’m teasing you,” I say. “I suspect, if I gave you the option, you wouldn’t know which to pick. Do you really want me walking about with my hair down and corset off?”
“Certainly.” He pauses. “Wait. Are there others around?”
“There are if you don’t intend to lock me in my bedchamber.”
His eyes gleam.
“No…” I warn.
“Locked in your bedchamber, naked, waiting for me at my convenience…”
“Waiting to leap on you the moment you walk in.”
His lips curve up.
I continue, “Leap on you from the shadows, put a knife to your throat and demand release.” I arch my brows. “Not nearly as tempting a prospect, I imagine.”
He gives a low laugh. “Oh, I find that just as tempting. Perhaps more so.” A flash of teeth. “I’m a wolf, remember? I just said I like a good tussle.”
Heat licks inside me.
He kisses my neck, making me shiver, as he removes more pins. “I’m teasing, of course. Well, teasing in the sense that I wouldn’t try locking you in your room unless we were having a bit of fun.”
More kisses. “You’re good for me, Delia Levine. You keep me in check. I don’t usually respond well to that. But I find I’m responding very well to it.”
He moves my hand to his crotch, and I laugh softly as I stroke him.
“You like being in control.” I lift my skirts to straddle his lap. “Which means having it taken away occasionally can be thrilling.” I lean down to his ear. “I agree wholeheartedly.”
He flips me over so fast I gasp. In a heartbeat, I’m on my back with my legs around his waist, his manhood pressed in exactly the right spot.
“This feels familiar,” I say.
He smiles. “Yes, but it won’t be a repeat of the cell scene. I’m in much better control now.”
“Are you?” I rub against him and lift to whisper in his ear.
“But I like it when you lose control.” I nuzzle his ear, nibbling at the lobe.
“I also like it when you take it.” With a grin, I writhe beneath him, throwing my head back and arching into him.
“I can’t wait for you to take me, Bishop, to push into me—”
He flips us over so fast I can’t help laughing.
“Wicked,” he says, tapping a finger to my nose.
“Your fault, for challenging me.”
“I didn’t challenge you.”
“You did.” I adjust my skirts to straddle him. “You said you were in much better control tonight. Obviously that was a challenge.”
He glowers at me. “It was a statement. ”
“Of disputable fact, which made it a theory. I had to test it.”
“Consider it tested. You win.”
“Do I?” I arch a brow. Then I unbutton my dress, tug it down around my waist, unlace my corset, and pull it down, letting my breasts pop free as I sigh. “There. Much better.”
He gives a low growl. “ So much better.”
“I’m glad you agree.” I tug my hair down over my shoulders, partly curtaining my breasts, and I reposition myself on him. “Now, what did you say yesterday? Something about wanting to see my hair over my breasts as I rode you.” I straighten and move atop him. “Did it look anything like this?”
“I yield,” he says, his voice husky. “In case that wasn’t clear. I yield.”
“If you yield then I win. Which means I can do what I like.” I move against him as he groans softly, his hands on my hips. “This is what they call riding, isn’t it? With the woman like this? Only I wouldn’t be rubbing against you, I’d be firmly astride your—”
“Yield, woman. I said I yield.”
“I know. I already accepted your surrender. Now I’m taking my prize.”
“By tormenting me?”
I arch a brow. “If you really didn’t want this, you’d lift me off. Now stop your complaining. I have a question.”
He throws his head back and groans. “I don’t dare ask.”
“If I have a question, then I’m the one who’s asking.
Pay attention. I need to know proper terminology.
Everyone is always very circumspect in their language around me, even in the brothels.
I know euphemisms. Manhood. Maidenly flower.
I need a better vocabulary. If I say I’m riding you, firmly astride your… ”
He doesn’t answer, only tilts his head back and groans in pleasure, which probably has something to do with the fact that I’m not only saying the words but making the motions, moving up and down on him, breasts peeking from under my hair.
“You don’t know the word?” I say.
His fingers grip my hips, and he bucks his own hips up, pressing into me.
“None of that.” I take his hands and move them over his head, where I pin them to the ground. His eyes widen, surprise at first, then the tip of his tongue slides along his teeth, eyes slitting in pleasure.
I lean down, my lips to his ear. “Would this sound right? Riding astride you, plunging down on your cock, my pussy wet and hot and aching for you, for you to explode inside me, filling me—”
He flips me again, mouth going to mine, hands gripping my arse as he thrusts against me. I spread my legs further, making sure he’s pressed between the open legs of my drawers, getting him in exactly the right place.
When I arch up, groaning, he leans down to whisper. “You give up control far too easily.”
I glare up at him.
He shrugs, lips twitching with a barely contained smile. “You’ll need to work on that. One well-placed…” He thrusts against me, making me gasp in spite of myself. “And you yield.”
I sputter and try to rise, but he copies what I did to him moments ago, pinning my hands to the ground over my head. When I wriggle experimentally, he pushes between my legs.
“Tell me to let you go,” he says. “You can’t break free, but all you need to do is say the word and…”
Another perfectly placed thrust, and I can feel myself wet against him, only the fabric of his trousers between us, so thin I feel the heat of him pressing into me, bare and spread against him.
His mouth at my ear, he whispers, “Tell me to let you go.” His fingers tighten on my wrists. “Just say the magic words.” His lips brush my ear. “You win, Bishop. Say that, and I let you go.”
I look up and meet his eyes. “Harder.”
He blinks.
I bite my lip and then murmur, looking at him through my lashes, “Pin me harder, Bishop.”
His breath quickens as his fingers tighten on my wrists.
“Harder,” I say. “Please.” I arch my hips up. “Harder. Everything. Harder.”
He’s breathing so fast his nostrils flare, and I can tell he’s holding back, holding himself so still, fighting the urge to do what I want.
So I lift my lips to his ear and say, “My Alpha,” and that does it. The dam breaks. That legendary control breaks, and it is glorious.
He rams against me, wonderfully hard and rough, fingers digging into my wrists as he thrusts against me, both of us building to a crescendo. We both reach it, gasping and crying out and then shuddering as we collapse, entwined.
“So…” I say, lifting to look down at him. “I win?”
“Wicked little—”
When he cuts himself off, I rise onto one arm. “Wicked little what?”
“Temptress,” he finishes.
I chuckle. “That is not what you wanted to say. Not now or yesterday.” I flutter my eyelashes at him. “I really do need to improve my terminology. What is it you wanted to call me?”
“Wanton,” he says.
“No, I don’t think that was it. All right, I’ll drop it for now. I’m neither wicked nor wanton. Simply curious. I’m trying to figure out what you like. It’s for your benefit, after all.”
He chuckles. “I appreciate it, although I really do need to consider packing a second pair of trousers.”
I kiss his cheek. “For that, I’ll apologize. However, you did tell Silas you might transform tonight, so your trousers eventually need to come off.”
He groans and flops his head onto the ground. “I don’t have the energy for that.”
“You seem awake enough to me.”
“I am, but a transformation would sap all my remaining energy, which I’d rather spend in other ways. After a brief rest.”
“Hmm. Well, I suppose I can’t argue with that.”
“You can’t.” He sprinkles kisses across my face. “Now, let’s rest and listen to the hunt. And, fair warning, the second time, it will be much harder to make me lose control.”
I lift my head. “That sounds like a challenge.”
He smiles. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
We spend most of the night out-of-doors, alternately resting and pleasuring each other.
Talking, too. We don’t discuss the coup.
I won’t ask for details because I’m better off not knowing.
I’ve offered to do whatever Bishop needs, and I’m pleased that he doesn’t tell me to sit in the corner and stay safe.
He asks for a fuller understanding of the spells I can cast and then looks thoughtful and says he’ll speak to Julius, Oliver, and Claude.
When we do go inside, there are still wolves carousing, despite the hour.
The hunt was successful, and they’ve availed themselves of Silas’s private liquor.
We stop at the kitchen to fill plates from the larder and then we go up to the sickroom to give one plate to Julius and check on him.
He’s with Oliver, who’ll sit awhile with Henry, letting Julius get some sleep.
We leave them and head down the hall to nearly bash into a wolf who has one of the maids against the wall.
I suppose “has her against the wall” is a euphemism that could be taken to mean she’s being held there against her will.
She isn’t. Nor is he simply holding her there.
He’s, er, I really do need to work on my vocabulary.
He’s plunging into her, both of them naked as the day they were born. I try not to stare.
Bishop murmurs something like an apology to me as we skirt past them. I’m quite certain any apology should go to them, for the interruption. Except they don’t seem at all interrupted, and if they cared, they’d be in a bedchamber. In that case, is it acceptable to look? I believe so.
We’re passing an open door when a noise has me looking in.
I must look—the noise could suggest a wolf accidentally transforming, given all the grunts and groans.
At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. I’m expecting two people and there are three—no, four.
One of them is Marjorie, her raven hair unmistakable.
Augustus has his head between her legs. Charlie is straddling her head and a werewolf I don’t recognize is suckling her breasts while her hand services him—no, wait, that isn’t her hand. Oh my.
I expect Bishop to tug me along, maybe apologize again. But he only looks at me, his head tilted, watching me watch them. Then his hand cups my arse, and he leans in to murmur, “You asked what I like. Sharing isn’t one of those things.”
“Oh, I agree,” I whisper against his ear, still watching. “I don’t think I’d share well either. But I can still be fascinated. And educated.”
“Fascinated and educated.” He nuzzles my neck and his fingers press through my dress, between my legs, and I shiver. “Is that all?”
“No, that is not all.”
He scoops me up so fast I bite back a yelp. “Then let’s get someplace more private. I trust ‘private’ is acceptable?”
“Very acceptable.”