Savage Seduction: A Dire Wolves Mission (The Devil's Dires Book 3) (17 page)

“
T
his blue isn't really working
for me.” Mammon frowned at the wall. Was it too blue? Too green? Shit, he wasn’t an interior designer by any stretch, but something about the shade didn’t work for him.

“Then I guess it's a good thing you won't be sleeping in this room.” Charmeine pushed her pole higher, slowly painting all the way up to the trim line he’d cautiously cut in before they moved on to the rollers.

“True. I just wonder if the boys will like it.”

“They'll like it.”

But still, he doubted. “How do you know? Maybe they'd like a gray more. Or black. Boys like black.”

“We're not painting a room for children black.” Charmeine gawked at him, staring as if he’d grown two heads or something. Not exactly the expression he was going for, but he had her attention. Which was always what he wanted.

It took work not to grin at his mate. “No, really. I think black would be amazing.”

Irritation flashed across her pretty face. “Mammon.”

Jesus, he loved it when she said his name. Even if the word was tinged with frustration. Especially then, which was why he loved pushing her buttons so much.

“We'd never have to clean the walls.” At her exasperated sigh, Mammon dropped his roller and stalked across the room, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her against him. Needing contact. Craving it. “Boys are pretty dirty.”

“You're pretty dirty,” Charmeine mumbled.

Yes. Yes, he was. Only for her, though. And thank fuck, she was just as dirty for him. It'd been a rough month since the bombing. The Dire Wolves had taken to patrolling the rescue building—well, what was left of it. Everyone had been moved into the four rooms that could contain them, but no rebuilding had begun. Charmeine focused all her time on finding a new place, a piece of property with a big house where they could all live as a pack. What had once been Ethan’s job became hers. She attacked every task with gusto, and she succeeded faster than any of them expected.

The farmhouse they stood in had once been home to a family of German immigrants who'd taken their chances on the oceans, then moved south looking for prosperity in the land. Left abandoned for a number of years, the old house had begun to fall apart and show her age. But Charmeine had seen the possibilities, especially as the land the house sat on backed up to a large area ripe with wildlife and open places to run. Perfect for wolves.

Once Charmeine signed on the dotted line of the deed—they could all thank Finn for that hefty donation—the repairs began. Every Dire Wolf jumped in, every refugee coming to help as well. A family unit working together for one goal. They'd polished and shined, repaired broken drywall and leaky pipes. Rewired everything and made sure the entire house was up to code, alarmed, and ready to defend. Just in case.

All that was left were the final touches—a little paint, some added trim, and a few doorknobs. They were almost done, which was good because the refugees would be moving over in the next day or two.

Which reminded him…

Mammon grabbed his roller and pointed it at the wall. “Paint harder. There are people coming soon.”

Charmeine gaped at him. “How on earth does one paint harder?”

He couldn't resist that face. Couldn't stop teasing her if he tried.

“Like this.” Mammon grabbed a paintbrush and patted it against her nose. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. It was a shocked look, but it fucking turned him on. Something about her lips parted like that. About that sexy-as-sin mouth he couldn't get enough of.

“Damn, you're so beautiful,” he murmured, letting his growl rumble over his words. But then he grinned. “Even with paint on your nose.”

Her lips quirked into a smile, though she tried to stay calm and cool. “You, sir, are a filthy beast.”

“And you, ma'am, love me in all my filthy beast ways.”

He dropped his brush and grabbed his mate, holding her close. Squeezing her ass under her soft, cotton skirt as he lifted her. Pressing her hips against where he was so hard for her. Always.

Charmeine melted into his hold, releasing a noise so much like a purr, it made his cock twitch. “I do love your filthy beast ways.”

Mammon growled, finding an unpainted wall to push her against so he could get more leverage. “We're alone, my mate.”

Charmeine rocked against him, definitely on board with where his thoughts had gone. “Such a rare occurrence these days.”

“And about to be rarer once all the refugees move in.”

She bit her lip, slowing her movements. Looking at him with something close to worry in her eyes. “You know you don't have to move all the way out here.”

Mammon fought not to roll his eyes. This had been an argument since he’d made the decision to move in with the refugees. And with his mate. She worried and hedged, making sure not to push. Always questioning if the move was something he truly wanted. As if she didn't think he was serious. As if she didn’t realize how far he would go to keep her at his side. A move was nothing—he’d run all the way around the globe if it meant she’d stay with him. And yet, she doubted him. He'd have to prove himself. Again. And again.

What was it Phego had said about trust?
You can’t convince someone to trust you; you can only act in a way that builds trust slowly. That proves who you are.

Obviously, Mammon was still in the proving phase.

But trust took time, and doubts cast long shadows. Ethan’s betrayal had cut her deep. Far more than she would probably ever admit, but Mammon knew. He saw the emotional scars appear when she stopped fighting them, when she lost her focus and stared out at the horizon. When her beautiful face would drop the mask of indifference and become more expressive. The storm of those moments rolled through her the same way every time—pain at all she’d lost, at the lives taken from her by the selfishness of her last living relative. Next would come anger, fury even. Mammon assumed it was the memories of Ethan that caused that shift, but he never asked. She’d made it clear she wasn’t ready to talk about that night, so he gave her space to work through things until she needed him. And she always needed him, because the last emotion, the final nail in the coffin, was the guilt that he knew ate at her. Those were the moments when he’d take her in his arms and hold her tight, growling low and soft in her ear to remind her he was there. He cared. He’d never let her go.

And sometimes he was enough to push the guilt aside. Not always, but more often than not. Mammon wasn’t sure if she’d ever forgive herself for the explosion at the rescue and the two lost lives that night. He hoped, but there was no guarantee. Charmeine had been through too much to be easily swayed.

So instead of attacking her trust issues directly, Mammon went back to the foundation they’d built together. They’d started as enemies, but the lust between them had pushed them into bedfellows. The sex and desire had helped them grow as friends—and later as more. Lust was familiar and solid, never-ending, it seemed. Lust he could handle.

With nothing more than a growl in warning, Mammon grabbed the back of Charmeine’s panties and yanked, ripping them from her hips. She jolted, her eyes going dark with her desire, the scent of her arousal growing thick and delicious. Yep, they had lust down pat.

“Are you my mate?” Mammon ran his fingers between them and over her pussy, loving the way she jumped and sighed when he hit all the right spots, how she groaned when he zeroed in on her clit.

“Yes.” She grabbed his shirt, ripping it from the neckline down. Not that he cared. He loved it when she lost a little of that impressive control.

“Then why would you doubt I want to be with you?” Mammon licked the mark on her shoulder, the mating bite he'd given her only a few days ago. He wore a matching one on his neck. She'd wanted hers to be subtle, something she could disguise if need be. Something just for her. He'd wanted his bold and bright and right where the entire world could see it. Typical of the two of them, really.

Charmeine reached between them and unfastened his pants, pushing them off his hips. “I just…I hate that you have to give up your life for us to be together.”

Mammon growled and bit her neck, not enough to break skin but enough to hold her. To make her freeze in his arms before he released her once more. “I'm giving up nothing. What I'm gaining in being able to be with you every day and to help the refugees more than makes up for any perceived slight at simply having to move.”

“Your Dire Wolf brothers—”

He slid a finger inside her, loving the way her legs quivered. The way she gasped and dropped her head to his shoulder.

“My brothers live all over the country. This won't change anything.”

Charmeine groaned and clutched at his shoulders, and his control broke. He loved her like this—all wild and free. Out of control. He loved knowing only he could push her to that point. He was a selfish bastard, but that didn’t matter. She liked him that way. Got off on knowing how possessive he could be.

“Apparently, I’ve neglected this sweet pussy.” Mammon pulled his hand from her and gripped himself instead, lining up. “I'm going to fuck you, and then I'm going to tell you again how much happier I am with you as my mate, then I might fuck you a second time. And if the message isn’t clear, I’ll keep fucking you until you’re too exhausted to worry about such silly things.”

Charmeine growled all low and sensual, running her claws down his arms. “You filthy beast.”

But she didn’t push him away—she never did. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer. Mammon knew her signs, understood her tells. She wanted this as much as he did, if not more. Thank the fates for that.

Giving in to his desires, he pressed inside her with a sigh. Sliding deep as she arched and spread her legs wider, opening herself up for him. And fuck, did she feel good as her pussy swallowed his cock. The two worked together, moving, writhing, clutching one another as they pushed each other toward completion. Mammon could barely keep up with her, a fact that only made the sex that much hotter. His mate wanted him, was pleased with him, and loved him. She didn’t trust him implicitly yet, but they could work on that. He would make sure to show her, to prove to her, that he was a trustworthy male. And he’d keep working. He’d give her all the time she needed to learn to trust him because he was in this forever. Whatever he'd done to deserve her, he wanted to keep doing it. He wanted to earn every second with her.

They came together with whispered curses and groans, holding tight, Mammon closing his eyes as Charmeine’s pussy clenched around him. Bliss. At least for a moment. Because if there was one thing he knew about Charmeine Byrne, it was that the woman’s mind was never quiet for long.

“You know,” Charmeine said even before she’d fully caught her breath. “Perhaps you were right.”

Mammon chuckled and shook his head, trying to force the blood back up to his brain. “About what?”

His mate didn’t seem to have the same problem. “The blue. It does seem a bit too soft in this light.”

Mammon growled and nipped at her shoulder, loving the way her pussy reacted with a soft aftershock. “This is what you think about right now? While I’m still inside you?”

She grinned, that secret pirate’s smile she only ever gave him. “No. Normally, I think about how soon until you can make me come again.”

Mammon spun away from the wall and dropped to his knees, taking her with him. Laying her out on the wood floor and covering her with his body.

“How soon would you want another orgasm?”

Charmeine fisted his hair, tugging his head down. Making her point clear. “That’s a silly question.”

Fuck, Mammon loved it when she got demanding. He slipped down between her spread legs, letting her push him where she wanted him. Letting her lead him. And when he got into the right spot, when her swollen, rosy pussy lay directly in front of his face, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.

She rocked her hips against his face, making desire stir within him. Never enough. He would never get enough of his mate looking at him like she was right then. Disheveled, windblown even, with pink cheeks and full lips from his kisses. Staring down at him as if he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And maybe he was. She was definitely the best thing that had happened in his very long life.

“Greedy man,” she whispered, her eyes dark and filled with lust. Mammon chuckled against her before sliding two fingers inside her. Teasing her.

“For you, Char. Only for you.”

N
ovels

Claiming His Fate

Claiming His Need

Claiming His Witch

Claiming His Beauty

Claiming His Fire

Claiming His Desire

C
ollections

Claiming Their Forever: A Collection of Shorts

The Feral Breed: Volume One

C
laiming
His Chance

Claiming His Prize

Claiming His Grace

K
illian and Lyra

Gideon and Kalie

Blasius, Dante, and Moira

Homecoming

Also available in one convenient anthology in both electronic and paperback formats.

The Gathering Tales

S
avage
Surrender

Savage Sanctuary

Savage Seduction

Savage Silence

B
early Dreaming
: A Southern Shifters Worlds Novella

Masterson: A Vampire Sons Story

S
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