Sold to the Wolf Chief for a Debt, but His Wolf Knelt First novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Change Back

Ishbel orders the wolf to change and the Chief kneels naked on her floor, hating her, and does as he is told.

"Change back," I said.

The wolf did not move.

"I mean it. I'll not talk to a dog on my doorstep at three in the morning. Change back."

The black shoulders shook once.

I heard bone move under the fur, a wet, dragging sound.

The shape on my threshold pulled itself together and lengthened.

Then the Chief of Glen Ardach was kneeling on the attic boards, naked, with his hands flat on his thighs and his head down.

He was breathing hard.

The skylight put a grey square of moon on his back, and I could see every muscle in it shaking.

"Look at me," I said.

He lifted his head.

His eyes were the same brown, and they were furious.

"I didn't choose this," Coll Macrae said through his teeth.

"I came up the stair to put you out of my house. I'd the door in my hand. Then I was on the floor."

"You were on the floor," I said, "because you wanted to be."

"I want you gone."

"Aye. You said so in front of forty men."

His gaze went down my body and came back up, and I watched him hate himself for it.

I stood in my work tunic with my plait undone and a cord on my wrist.

No one had ever looked at me so hungrily in my life.

I found I did not mind.

"Stand up," I said.

He rose slowly to his full height.

I had to tip my head back to keep his eyes.

He was big all over.

He was hard, too, jutting against his own belly, and he made no move to cover it.

"That's not on the paper," I said. "Your hands only, you told me. Nothing else of me."

"No."

"So whose is that?"

"It isn't mine to answer," he said roughly. "I don't know what it is."

"Then I'll tell you what it is," I said.

"It's yours, and it's mine to say what happens to it."

I sat down on the edge of the iron bed.

I pulled the tunic up over my hips and pushed my knickers down my thighs and off.

I watched his face while I did it, and he did not look away.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"Come here," I said.

He crossed the room in two strides.

"Kneel."

He stood there with his fists closed at his sides, and I thought he would refuse.

I had a moment's real fear then, that I had misjudged all of it.

Then he went down on his knees on the cold boards between my feet.

I felt the fear go out of me and something hotter come in.

"Put your hands behind you."

He did it.

His palms met at the small of his back, and his chest came forward.

"Good," I said.

I heard him take a breath through his nose at the praise.

I took hold of the hem of my tunic and pulled it off over my head, and dropped it on the floor beside him.

I sat there in nothing but the cord.

He looked at my breasts, and my ribs, and the dark between my legs, and he swallowed.

"You can look," I said. "You can't touch. Not yet."

"I know the terms," he said roughly.

"Then you'll know what happens if you break them."

His mouth twitched, and I saw how badly he wanted to be told what that was.

I put my feet on his shoulders and opened my knees.

"Now," I said. "Show me you can do something besides sign things."

He bent his head.

The first touch of his mouth was careful, a long slow lick from the bottom of me to the top.

I made a noise I had not meant to make.

He stopped and looked up.

"Did I..."

"Don't stop," I said. "Do that again."

He did it again.

His beard was rough on the insides of my thighs, and his tongue was slow and wet and sure.

He did not rush.

He found my clit with the flat of his tongue and circled, and my hips came up off the quilt.

"There," I said. "Stay there."

"Aye," he said, against me, and I felt the word.

I put my hand in his hair and held on.

He was good at it.

I would have given a great deal to find he was bad.

He licked me in long even strokes and then in small tight ones.

When I said "harder" he gave me harder, and when I said "slower" he slowed until I cursed him.

I wound my fingers tighter in his hair.

"You hate me," I said, breathless.

"I do," he said into my thigh, and put two fingers inside me.

I cried out.

He curled them up and found the place and pressed, and his mouth closed over my clit and sucked.

"Say it again," I gasped.

"I hate you."

He sucked harder.

"I hate that you walk into a room and I..."

The rest was lost.

I came with my heels digging into his back and my head thrown against the cold iron of the bedhead.

I was loud enough to wake the whole attic floor.

He kept his mouth on me and his fingers moving all through it, slower and slower.

I pushed his head away with a shaking hand.

He sat back on his heels, and his mouth and chin were wet.

I looked down his body, and he was hard and aching.

His hands were still clasped behind him, because I had not told him to move them.

I felt a tenderness for that which I did not want to look at.

"Did I tell you to stop?" I said.

"No."

"Then do it again."

His eyes closed for a moment.

"Aye, Chief," I said, "or whatever they call you. Do it again."

He leaned in.

The second time he was slower, and he watched my face the whole while with his dark eyes.

I let him see everything.

I told him what I wanted, a little higher, a little left, there, and he did exactly as I said.

I felt a third wave building, and I did not want it from the bed.

"Stop," I said. "Lie on the floor."

He eased back from between my knees and lay down flat on the boards, with his chest rising and falling.

I slid off the bed and stood over his face.

He looked up the length of me, and his eyes went black.

"Hands on my thighs," I said. "Hold me."

He took hold of the backs of my thighs, and his fingers were warm and shaking.

I lowered myself onto his mouth.

He groaned into me, and the sound ran straight up my spine.

I rocked against his tongue and set the pace myself, slow and then not slow.

I braced my hands on the iron bedpost and ground down, and his beard scraped me, and I gasped at every rasp of it.

"That's it," I said. "Don't let me go."

His grip tightened.

He held me hard against his mouth, and he made small desperate noises, and I understood that he was as lost in it as I was.

His hips lifted off the floor, though I had not touched him.

"You'll wait," I said, breathless.

He answered by sucking my clit between his lips and flicking it with his tongue.

I came with a cry I had to bite my own wrist to muffle.

It tore through me in long hot spasms, and he held me through all of them, murmuring into my skin.

I stood shaking until it passed.

Then I knelt over him, pulled him up by the hair and kissed him.

I tasted myself on his mouth.

He made a sound in his throat that was half groan and half growl.

For one second his hands came out from behind him and gripped my waist.

Then he took them away again.

"Not on the paper," he said hoarsely. "I told you."

I put my forehead against his.

"Then it's mine to give," I said, "and I'm not giving it tonight."

His whole body went rigid.

"Go on," I said. "Get up. Go to your own bed."

He stood, and he had to put a hand on the bedpost to do it.

At the door he turned.

The moon lit the scar through his eyebrow and the wet on his chin.

"I'll have you out of this house by Samhain," he said, but there was nothing in it.

"You do that," I said.

He changed on the landing, and I listened to the black wolf's claws go down four flights of stairs.

I lay back on the quilt with my legs still shaking.

On my left wrist the red cord was warm, and I lay awake until dawn with my thumb on it.

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