Chapter 33


    Pillow Talk


    She woke with her cheek on his chest and his fingers stroking through her hair. The day waste and


    both breakfast and lunch trays were on the dresser. Like her previous heat, Jane found it hard to eat or


    drink, her body focused on one thing alone. Baron had summed it up crudely but urately the first heat,


    she thought. She needed her alpha’s c-ck, to be filled with his seed, over and over, until her body was


    convinced that conception had urred and the estrus passed.


    “My father is dying,” Baron said quietly. “Cancer. The result of forty years of smoking. He won’t live to see


    our grandchildren.”


    “I am sorry,” she whispered.


    “Hmm,” he pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her scent, a werewolf trait, she thought, seeking


    comfort from the scent of mate or family. “I want to give him the answer for his father’s murder, to restore


    our family, before he passes.”


    She caressed his skin offeringfort. “I understand,” she said. It made sense, she thought, of his


    determination, of his risk taking, that he was pushing his agenda of revenge on such a time schedule. “I


    am sorry. I wish that I could help you.”


    “My grandfather was a shrewd businessman,” he said. “Ruthless. People say that I am like him,” he was


    amused and proud of that. “But he had enemies. I have been investigating them first. Quite a list,” he


    sighed. “Down, now, to four. The four that I thought least likely, as they had least motive, and least


    means.”


    N?velDrama.Org: text ? owner.


    “And if you find nothing?” She wondered cautiously. The heat was rising, tendrils of desire curling


    through her, and the subtle scent of him that rose warm from his skin, the feel of his body beneath hers,


    and the sound of his voice, all added


    to the need for him. She wondered if it would be the same with a hired lover, if the need would rise as


    strongly and as specifically. She had never had another she-wolf to speak to of it, Alice would never, and


    it was not the sort of thing casually spoken of.


    “Then I have missed something from someone earlier,” his stroking had turned amorous, responding to


    the change in her scent almost automatically, bing in tune with her needs. “And we will return to


    those that I suspected most.”


    He lifted her, the muscles of his arms standing out impressively, so that she straddled him, and she


    watched his eyes close, the tension in his face ease into pleasure as she took him into her. His hands on


    her hips encouraged her to the pace and motion that he wanted, and she felt him arch his back, thrusting


    into her in rhythm with her rocking, his stomach muscles working beneath the palms of her hands.


    So beautiful, she thought watching him through heavily lidded eyes, her big, alpha husband, his skin


    golden-brown against the pale sheets, his dark, glossy curls tousled, and his strong jaw shadowed with


    stubble. His eyes, opening and meeting hers, caught her admiring him, and his strong, white teeth


    shed in a triumphant smile.


    “Do you like what you see?” He asked her.


    “Yes,” she flushed, breathless with pleasure, the slow ache of an orgasm building.


    “Good,” he was smug. “I like what I see, too. You remind me of the children’s story, the one with the


    maiden with skin like snow, hair like night, and lips,” he reached up, the pad of his thumb stroking over


    her bottom lip. “Lips like blood.”


    She leaned forward, and kissed him, ttered that he wouldpare her with a fairy tale beauty.


    He held her against him and rolled so they were on


    their side, holding himself up on an elbow, and thrusting, his fingertips tracing her cheekbone and his


    expression gentle. “My little omega,” he murmured, and groaned as she came, clutching him to her. She


    felt the hot rush of his seed, the sensation adding to her pleasure.


    He lowered himself onto the pillows, sliding his arm under her head so that they were face to face, nose


    to nose, with her cheek on his bicep. “You still have not told me who bruised your face the other night, he


    murmured, tracing his fingers over her skin. “The bruise is all but gone now.”


    “Alice,” she confessed. “At the Colston’s party.”


    “Hmm,” he wasn’t surprised. “And why did Alice strike you?”


    Because Jane had pleaded to return to the family home, Jane thought immediately, but then realised that


    it wasn’t the truth, so she didn’t need to confess it. Alice hadn’t cared about Jane’s wishes to return to the


    Corbyn home, Alice had cared about why the Corbyn connection might no longer matter to Baron.


    “Because Angelique had told me that once the connection to the Corbyn’s was not needed, you would


    divorce me, and Alice wanted to know what she meant by that.”


    “F-king alpha she-wolves,” he pulled a face of displeasure. “The most dangerous type of werewolf, not


    due to strength, teeth or w, but because of the sharpness of their f-king tongues.”


    “Will Angelique betray you?” She reached out hesitantly, touching the sharp points of stubble that broke


    through his skin, and then the softness of his bottom lip.


    “It is possible,” he considered it. “But I do not think so. It would have been safer to let her continue to


    think she would be my wife, but…” He reached out and touched her cheek gently. “When I thought


    that you had not wanted to marry me, humiliating you by keeping a mistress was a petty


    revenge, and had the benefit of keeping Angelique loyal and happy.


    “But torturing my mate,” his eyes softened. “My beautiful little omega who married me because she knew


    she was my true mate, is a very different situation. As soon as you yelled those words at me…” His eyes


    darkened. “I don’t think I have ever seen anyone cry like that…I had to change my ns.”