Chapter Four

Elias

“Quinn.” Her name falls from my lips, and I see her miss a beat of the song, a full-body shiver working its way through her curvy frame before she resumes. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Where the hell did that corny line come from? Maybe Madden is right, and I am out of touch with the world.

“Thank you, Elias.”

My name falling from her lips has a strange surge moving through me, and I swear I would give anything to hear her moan it with my knot locked deep inside her cunt.

Where the fuck did that thought come from?

Never in my life have I ever wanted to knot a female. The women I have fucked in the past have always been simply a distraction, a one-and-done type deal. But this woman? I want to knot and breed and keep. Pushing the thought aside, I run my gaze along her exposed skin.

“Dance for me, Quinn.” It seems to be the only other thing I can say right now except my corny lines.

A small smile tilts her lips as she closes her eyes, allowing the music to sweep her away. Her body undulates as her hands once more caress up her sides. Her fingers nimbly undo the buttons of the pale blue shirt she is wearing with her denim miniskirt.

My fingers twitch to replace hers, but I know places like these have a strict no-touching rule, so I hold myself back, gripping the back of the couch I am sitting on. And it is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do in my entire life.

The material falls from her shoulders to pool at her feet. The white lace bra she is wearing does nothing to hide her erect nipples from my gaze. Jealousy thrums through my veins.

“Were you intending to dance for someone else?” I ask lowly, fighting to keep my beast under control.

Her gaze clashes with mine before she shakes her head. “I don’t give private dances.”

“And yet you’re dancing for me?”

“It’s a means to an end.” At my raised eyebrow, she explains, “I don’t want to dance anymore. Doing this dance for you ensures I will be the manager tomorrow.”

Respect courses through my veins at her words. She is trying to better herself and her situation by any means necessary. I have always had this misguided opinion that women who stri p— or do burlesqu e— love their jobs. Not that they want to do something more with their lives. Clearly, I have been wrong.

“So this will be your last dance?”

“Yes.”

“Come here.” I crook my finger at her, and she steps between my spread thighs. “I want to touch you.”

I look up, waiting for her reaction.

“It’s against the rules.” She licks her lips nervously, and I want to bite at the plump fullness of the bottom one.

“You don’t work here. You aren’t a dancer anymore but haven’t been appointed the manager yet. You don’t have to follow the rules.”

I see the moment my words sink in.

“No sex,” Quinn says. “I’m not a whore.”

A flash of anger hits me at the thought that anyone would call her that. I’ll kill anyone who dares to treat her like anything less than a fucking queen.

“No sex,” I repeat, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer.

Her skin is soft and warm beneath my fingertips, and I want to run my hands over every inch. My hands skim across the skin of her hips, back, and stomach as she stands perfectly still, the song long forgotten.

A sigh leaves her lips, and I can’t resist running my nose across her skin, breathing her in deeply. Her scent of vanilla and cinnamon assaults my senses and burrows deep into me, twining around my soul and holding fast.

“You smell so fucking good,” I murmur against her skin, skimming my lips across her flesh.

My brain isn’t working. I keep repeating myself or saying the worst things. How do I intend to impress this woman if I keep babbling like a hormonal teenager? Do I want to make an impression on her and to what end?

“Elias,” she mewls as my hands harshly knead at the full globes of her ass.

I pull her forward harshly, and she lands on my lap, straddling me. The denim miniskirt she is wearing rides up, doing nothing to hide her tiny white thong from my sight. My fingers itch to run along the fabric and feel if she is wet, but I hold myself back, my hands firmly on her hips.

“Is my dance over?” I tease.

Quinn smirks, defiance burning in her gray gaze. Lifting herself from my lap, she leans over my torso, running her hands through my hair and scraping her nails across my scalp, her breasts a breath from my lips. Her hips sway in the air, and I wish she would pull that move on my lap. Quinn releases my hair to cup her breasts as she settles her ass in my lap, never stopping her movements for a single moment.

Pre-cum leaks from my greedy cock at the sight before me, the feel of her grinding down on me. She is a goddamned goddess, and I want nothing more than to rip her remaining clothes from her delectable body. Her thoughts must echo my own because she unclasps her bra in the front and allows her breasts to fall free.

“Fuck me,” I moan lowly, unable to keep my hands from cupping her breasts.

“No sex,” Quinn moans as I suck a nipple into the wet heat of my mouth.

Her hips shoot forward, bumping against my erection, and I fight to remain in control.

Flipping her onto her back on the couch beside me, I hover over her.

“We may not be having sex, but I can guarantee I will be doing everything else I can think of before I let you out of this room. And I haven’t stopped thinking of dirty things to do to you since I laid eyes on you.”

A low moan leaves her when I run my teeth along the outside of her left breast. The smell of her arousal hangs thick in the air, and I swear with every breath, I can taste her cinnamon and vanilla scent.

I want to consume this woman.

The logical part of my mind is screaming at me, begging me to take a moment and figure out what the fuck is going on here. Why am I reacting this strongly to a woman I have never met? This is way out of the norm for me. But her little mewls of pleasure as I suck and knead her breasts are driving me crazy, and I simply push the thought aside and allow my baser instincts to guide me. I’ll figure out my reaction later.

My wolf is pushing me to take her.

To mount her.

Claim her.

Breed her.

But we both agreed there would be no sex tonight. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other things I can do to her.

Running my hands beneath her skirt, I expose her underwear and the prize I really crave. Her little thong has a pretty wet spot on it, and I can’t resist running my nose along the fabric. My erection hurts behind the confines of my dress pants, and pre-cum slips down the length, and I know before the night is through, I will be fisting myself, alone in my empty house, with thoughts of her consuming me.

I bite her pussy through the fabric, and a little scream leaves her lips as her back bows off the couch. She is so responsive, and I can barely wait to slip my tongue inside her.

Drawing her thong down her thick, creamy thighs, my attention is drawn to a little black circle on her hip.

“What is this?” I ask running my finger over the raised plastic.