Bride of the Wolf

Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, Marissa snuggled closer and felt hair tickle her nose. She wiggled and shifted, wanting to sink back into the place of comfort and peace she’d been in, but unfamiliar sensations teased at her, the feel of strong arms holding her tightly, the solid beat of another’s heart close to hers, the gentle caress of warm fingers upon her face and her lips. They were dreamed for sensations and she sighed at the heavenly feel of them as heat tingled in every place her blood pulsed.

She moved closer, wanting more.

“You are awake?” The timbre of Navarre’s whisper, so close to her ear sent tiny shivers of pleasure everywhere. Dios, you’re not dreaming!

“Navarre?” Marissa popped her eyes open and stared, stunned. Surely she had to be dreaming or dreaming that she wasn’t dreaming. She was in the truck. Shaded light streamed in through the window. She lay sprawled across Navarre’s lap facing him with her head resting in the crook of his shoulder, cushioning her from the hard door. Her legs stretched along the seat and into the floor. Her chest was pressed so tightly to his chest that she could feel the heat of him, the imprint of his amulet, and the beating of his heart as if there were nothing between them. Her palm rested upon the smooth, hot skin of his muscled arm that lay against the side of her breast as he caressed her face. Father Dom was nowhere in sight and Navarre was no longer a creature, but a man’a very large warrior with roughly hewn features, intense golden eyes, full parted lips, and a hard arousal pressing against her bottom.

“I hunger,” he said, her lips parted as he slid the pad of his finger along her bottom lip.

The dream was magical and perfect—heart-wrenching because Navarre was no longer this golden warrior, but a misshapen creature. Perhaps it was wrong of her even to imagine herself kissing him as he once had been, but she didn’t have the strength to deny herself. This one little moment in a dream wouldn’t hurt.

“Me, too,” she said then closed her eyes and brought her mouth to his, marveling at her imagination. His hand fell from exploring her face to rest against the swell of her breasts. Sensations exploded inside her that were so different from the ugliness and fear Herrera had thrust upon her, and she pressed herself eagerly to Navarre, needing something that she wasn’t sure how to express.

Marissa felt Navarre stiffen for a moment as if surprised; then he pressed his lips harder against hers and the stubble of his beard roughly brushed her skin. She fleetingly wondered why she would dream that but the thought was swept away by a hot wave of need. Her heart swelled and pounded, racing as wildly as the desire rushing through her.

Then…nothing. Wasn’t there more to a kiss?

She drew closer, moving her lips against his, wanting that more. He groaned, a deep rich sound expressing satisfaction greater than when he’d eaten the Snicker Bar. She automatically slid her free hand up his sculpted chest through the smattering of soft dark hair there then along his neck, relishing the sensual nuances of supple skin, burning heat, and hard man. She threaded her fingers through his silky short hair, sighing with utter pleasure at every sensation. Short?

Her eyes snapped open, bringing her fully awake from dreamland. Navarre the warrior she dreamed had long black hair to his shoulders. This Navarre had unevenly chopped hair, as if someone had taken a knife and sheared it off at an odd angle—like an old man wanting a toupee? Her gaze sought Navarre’s golden one. The fire in his eyes stopped her breath, making her feel as if she could drown in the molten pools, but his gaze was directed at some point a little down and to her right where her face had been when she’d first awaken. His hand at her breast was tentatively tapping up her neck like a blind person seeking an unfamiliar way. This wasn’t a dream. This was real. Navarre was no longer a hairy, clawed creature with fangs, but he was still blind. How was it possible? Where was her brother? Was his fever worse? Where was Father Dom?

She backed away, flooded with questions and mortified over her forwardness in kissing him.

“Dios, I’m sorry!” she cried.

Navarre frowned. “Why? Was that not pleasurable for you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. This hunger grows like a fire that must be allowed to rage. You taste better than Snicker or Twinkie.” He slid his hand up her neck to her chin and brought his lips back to hers, hitting the corner of her mouth. Then he quickly dragged his mouth to perfectly fit hers. His hips shifted, pressing his arousal tighter to her bottom and she gasped, losing her thoughts to his sensual need. His tongue brushed over her lips, tasting her like he did the cream from the Twinkie and he moaned with pleasure.

Her heart flipped. She opened her mouth wider. His tongue swept over her lips again. This time she brought the tip of her tongue to his, wanting to taste him. He responded by delving his tongue deeper into her mouth in a wild seeking of hers. Her stomach clenched and fire of desire exploded inside her. This was the more! She needed to feel him everywhere against her. She wanted nothing between them.

“Madre de Dios! What is this…this…abomination?”

Marissa jerked away from Navarre to find Father Dom starring at her in horror. He had a wet cloth in his hands and a damp face, clearly having just refreshed himself. She blinked at him, desperately trying to find her wits and her voice.

“What is wrong? Is there danger?” Navarre tensed. Shifting and sliding his hand, blindly searching, he landed on her breast.

An electric jolt went right to Marissa’s sex and a hot rush of embarrassment heated her face.

“Have you forgotten that you’re a married woman, Señora Herrera?” Father Dom asked.

© 2009 Jennifer St. Giles | All Rights Reserved