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He pushed his finger in deep. More clenching. His hand at her hip tightened. He withdrew his fingers, and she whimpered. A good whimper. The kind that screamed don’t stop. He pushed in again, slow and steady, reveling in it, testing his own patience, his own control. This time when he withdrew, he added another finger. Watching them disappear inside her, feeling her walls clench around them, her body quivering beneath his grip on her hip, was exquisite. And torture. Grace must agree with him, for she rocked on her knees, trying to increase the pace.

“No.” He gripped her hip tighter, keeping her still. “Not unless I say so.” Nice and slow, in and out. A rhythm designed to taunt both her and him, switching it up as her walls fluttered around his fingers, keeping her orgasm close but out of reach. Anticipation burned through his body and left him short of breath.

Her moans and gasps filled his cottage, serenading him, and his cock. It wanted out. It wanted to play, to replace his fingers. Desperately. He gritted his teeth and pulled the threads of his control around him. Not yet. He paused deep inside her and the moan that came out of her mouth could’ve galvanized whole armies. She hadn’t seen anything yet.

He released her hip and ran his thumb along her slit, coating it in her juices, then rubbed it on her puckered back passage, lubricating it. Her cheeks clenched around his hand and her head snapped up.

“Will you let me do this, Grace?”

Her breathing was harsh in the silence of the cottage. In the forest, the two wolves Maxime had posted guard nearby paused, waiting for her answer. What would she think, what would she do, if she knew others were listening? Would it send her higher?

“Will you, Grace?”

Her heart pounded out a staccato beat, loud in his ears. Or was it his?

“Yes.”

It wasn’t more than a whisper, but it echoed around the room like a gunshot. Thudded into his chest with the force of one, too. It was all he needed. He resumed the movement of his fingers inside her channel, faster this time, less slide, more thrust, the thought of her changing her mind lending him urgency.

“Don’t come,” he warned her. “Not until I tell you to.”

She had no experience, no conditioning from him to hold back her orgasm, and his words had sent her closer to the edge. He’d designed them to. She wouldn’t last much longer.

Neither would he.

He pressed his thumb inside her puckered hole, past the external ring of muscle. A taste. It was too soon for anything more, and he didn’t have lube. She gasped and bucked under his hands. She was so fucking responsive. He sucked a breath in through his nose, breathing her in. Her scent, her arousal, the sweet aroma of her submission. He let it expand his lungs and settle into his chest. Putain. He loved it. Craved it. And it was all the more sweet because it was her.

He curled his fingers inside her pussy, hitting her G-spot with practiced precision. “Come for me, Grace. Now.”

She did. And it was glorious. A strangled cry, clamping down on his fingers, her muscles spasming, her back arching. His chest heaved, his breathing harsh and heavy, watching her come apart on his fingers. He would have given his left testicle—both testicles—for the mirrors in his playroom right now. To see her face, her nipples hard and her full breasts flushed, knowing he did that to her. His groin throbbed, pre-cum soaking into the front of his pants.

As her fluttering muscles released their crushing grip, he thrust his fingers in and out again, deep enough to touch the sensitive bundle of nerves at her cervix. She screamed as he sent her into another orgasm. He threw back his head and howled.

She collapsed onto the couch, and he withdrew his fingers, eliciting another moan from her. He ripped his jacket off, then his shirt, unable to control his need to have her in his arms, skin against skin, any longer. Scooping her up, he pulled her onto his lap and cradled her in his arms. She lolled against him, all languid, her eyes fluttering closed. In his mind, his wolf was smug. That he barely scratched the surface of what he’d planned to do with her tonight, irrelevant.

Alain brushed strands of hair from her sweaty forehead, and dropped a kiss on top of her head. He’d be lying if he’d said he didn’t want more. And yet, having her in his arms like this, the warmth of her body, her breasts pressed into his naked chest, he was strangely content, his wolf calmer than it’d ever been. A satisfied rumble echoed in his chest. As though having her in his arms soothed the beast within.

She snuggled into him, her hip nudging his stone-hard cock. Non, that part of him wasn’t quite on board, but Alain could live with that. For now.

He kicked off his shoes, snagged a throw off the couch, wrapped it around her, then pulled her down to the rug. He didn’t have a bed in the cottage. This was it. The rug in front of the fireplace, where he slept, more often than not, in wolf form. Not tonight. He removed his pants and tucked her into his side. His wolf could come along for the ride, but Alain wanted to hold her close as a man. Her breathing slowed and her muscles relaxed. He smiled. She was already asleep.

* * * *

Alain woke with a start and sat up. His body hummed with magic, his blood zinging through his veins like he’d overdosed on caffeine. The cottage windows glowed the soft gold of sunrise, spilling light across the rug and the woman curled up beside him.

Grace rubbed her eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Someone was trying to break the ward on his apartment in Paris. Not unexpected. He was surprised they’d waited until now to try. Maybe they’d had to call in another witch, or wait for Irena to return. Laurent and the twins had planned to lead her and Dubois as far as they could.

The echo of a scream reverberated in his mind. They’d broken the ward. Too bad there was nothing there for them to find. His grin was all fangs. They hadn’t come away unscathed. And, thanks to the little twist he’d added, he’d recognize the witch should they ever chance to meet. If they survived.

“Nothing.” His canines receded as he lay back on the rug, and he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

She yawned and snuggled into his shoulder as her eyelids fluttered closed. He could lie like this forever, watching her as she slept, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the soft exhale of her breath across his skin, but tomorrow Maxime would be sure to test him. He’d need his wits and every ounce of his control for that, or it could end in bloodshed. Alain closed his eyes, and with his mate tucked into him, he let sleep take him.

Chapter Nineteen

Joséphine Veilluex ran a hand along the marble countertop in Alain d’Louncrais’ kitchen, past the two wineglasses and an open bottle. Expensive wine. Domaine de la Romanèe-Conti, no less. She turned, surveying the bespoke kitchen, the parquetry floors, the chandeliers, the view of the Eiffel Tower bathed in the golden glow of sunrise through the French doors of the living area. Must be nice to live like this, in the lap of luxury. Did all the Langeais wolves have apartments with exclusive addresses like this? Did he? The man who’d haunted her dreams for months now?