Page 3 of Claimed by the Wolf

“But what were you doing in a dive like that?” I demanded, unzipping my heavy coat. “It doesn’t make any sense. You could afford the trendiest places in New York City. Why a dump in Jersey City?”

Grant grinned at me. “You never know who you might meet.” He sighed. “And if I’m honest, it’s nice not to be recognized once in a while. Everyone who knows who I am wants something from me.”

I wasn’t going to lie. I definitely wanted something from him. My whole body ached for it, especially the hot, wet space between my legs. But I couldn’t figure out why he would want me.

A fat full moon shone its light into the car, pouring down over it like a waterfall of milk. It turned the seating area into a lagoon of lurid fantasies. I felt like someone had dropped me into a movie.

I’d been in a limo once before, when I was on the way to my senior prom. The dance itself had been nothing to speak of, my date even less so—some boy from my high school—but I never forgot the limo. I’d wondered back then what it would be like to be wealthy enough to own one and drive around in it like it was no big thing. For Grant, who tapped his fingers and mixed drinks from the mini-bar, maybe it wasn’t. There was something so fucking sexy about that absolute, well, taking things for granted.

Trying to hide how badly I wanted to jump his bones right then and there, I sipped at the drink he poured me from a shaker, a chocolate-covered-cherry martini. Holy crap, but this was yum. But I didn’t miss that he wasn’t drinking anything himself. “Why’d you think I would like this?”

“You’re a sweet girl,” he said. “A sweet lady. I can tell. Sweets for the sweet.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why none for you?” I challenged. It made me feel better to have something to come back with. Otherwise, it might set in that I was with a freaking billionaire who could have any woman and probably any man he wanted in the entire world.

“Good things are worth waiting for,” he said, winking. “I don’t want anything to distract me from the

My whole body trembled, and heat radiated out from my belly. I was so, so damp between my legs, and the thought of Grant putting his hands on me, trailing his fingers over my bare skin, drove me crazy. “So . . . so why are you waiting?”

He turned the full force of those ocean eyes on me. In the wash of moonlight, they looked dark and stormy, and I could almost see tsunamis crashing in them, threatening to sweep me away. “Why, indeed.”

Then, before I knew what was going on, he knocked my martini glass aside and brushed his lips against mine. I groaned. He felt like he was on fire! My lips parted naturally, and when his tongue slid into my mouth, questing, I shuddered and pressed into him. He was so hot, so solid. I could feel his muscular chest under my hands.

He pulled back just long enough to gaze into my eyes. “This is what you want, right, Zenobia?” I nodded, desperate for him to touch me again. Why was he asking this? Wasn’t it obvious in the way my nipples stood straight up against my shirt or the way my hands were reaching out for him?

“Consent is the sexiest thing,” he purred, his deep, manly voice practically dripping sex. I thought I would die right there, and all my clothes were still on. “I would never touch a woman against her will. I need to know she wants me.”

“Yes, yes, you have it!” I cried. Why was he torturing me like this? “Just touch me already!”

“But,” he said, ignoring my pleas, “once she says yes, she’s giving herself over to me. I will do what I like with her.”

“Yes, yes,” I practically screamed. “Whatever you want!”

He sat back with a triumphant smile. “Well, we’ll see about what I want, but first, let’s get out of this cold, shall we?”

I’d been so frantic for him to take me right there that I’d failed to notice we were passing through a wrought-iron gate. One side had opened and now closed behind us as the limo made its way up a long and winding drive. At last we pulled up before the front door of an enormous mansion. The moonlight splashed down over it, showing me just how big it really was.

A big mansion for a big man, I thought, and swallowed hard. What was I doing here? I didn’t know how to behave among thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton linens and genuine silverware! Hell, I barely knew how to comport myself when Avon had taken me on our one-year anniversary to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. Even though the hostess and waiter were friendly enough, it felt like a white person’s paradise, and there would never be room for me.

But Grant helped me from the car, and his strong hand over mine calmed me for the moment. His driver discreetly remained in the front of the car, eyes straight ahead. “Thanks, Renaldo,” Grant said, knocking on the glass, then guided me through the front doors. There were two, carved wood with golden ring-shaped knockers.

Once inside, I didn’t even have time to properly take in the gorgeous spiral staircase or the crystal chandelier hanging in the front hallway before he whisked me up those same stairs, down a hallway that made me think my legs would fall off before I ever reached the end of it, and into a bedroom so large, my entire basement room could have fit into it fifteen times at least. The canopied bed alone was bigger than my room.

And I found that out firsthand as Grant heaved me into the purple silk sheets. Purple for royalty, I thought, giddy with lust, just before he growled and pounced on top of me. Off came my shirt, and his hands roamed everywhere, first unhooking and then flinging away my lacy bra, his mouth at my neck, nibbling, then biting. His teeth against my skin made me moan, and heat shot through my whole body.

He threw his own suit jacket on the floor, then pulled his shirt over his head. I reached up to touch him, but to my shock, he growled a no at me. Instead, he took off his tie and used it to tie my hands to the bedpost. Then he finished stripping, and I gasped out loud.

A long, thick, thick, thick—did I mention how thick it was?—veined cock stood upright, at attention, eager. I swallowed at the shining drop of precum on its tip. That was for me, a sign of how much this rich white man wanted me. I glanced down to see his golden skin contrasting against my chocolate brown. How good we looked together. How fucking good he made me feel, his strong hands covering every part of my chest, his mouth nibbling on my earlobe, his tongue darting in and out of my ear, then dropping down to my erect nipples. He sucked one and fondled the other, making me bite my lip to keep from crying out.

And oh, that huge, throbbing cock, waiting for me! I strained against my bonds, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going anywhere until Grant said so. My whole body hurt with the need to be touched, with my pussy’s dull ache and need to be filled.

Grant loomed over me on his knees, letting me take in his hefty, muscular thighs, his perfect six-pack abs, his cut chest, and his arms strong enough to pick me up without breaking a sweat. I stared, helpless, at that gorgeous man in front of me. My eyes wandered back to his dick, of course, watching it swing back and forth as he moved closer to me.

“Are you . . .?” I couldn’t make myself finish the sentence, but of course Grant knew what I meant.

“Fuck you?” He laughed and rubbed his cock against my bound hands. I tried hard to grab hold of him, but aside from grazing the smooth skin—God, it really did feel like a steel rod under velvet!—there was nothing I could do.

I knew it, the same way Grant knew that I knew it. He was the one in control here, and he liked it that way.