His reluctant Luna

What he really wants

*Melina*

"My Alpha," I manage, my voice rough and throaty, a new layer to my disguise perfected recently. "I didn't realize you had returned from the safari."

His gorgeous hazel eyes widen slightly, his smile fading a bit as he tilts his head, studying me closer. "Have we been introduced?"

I barely part my lips to respond when he places one of his long, thick fingers against them. "Don't answer that. Here, for the she-wolves, anonymity is sacred. I would be cast out if anyone thought I deliberately tried to determine who you were."

I doubt anyone would cast him out. His pack is powerful, or it had been before his father died. The rumors I have heard suggest he hasn't taken his responsibilities seriously yet, not that anyone blames him. Pack society seems to delight in his adventures. He spends more time out of the country than in, traveling the world with his childhood friends. They are known for the trouble they cause, but they are indulged, sought after, encouraged. Next to them, most of Blackrock city seems timid.

"What shall I call you?" he asks, his finger still against my lips, sending tingles over my skin. "And don't use your real name."

Even without his warning, I wouldn't have. I'm not so distracted by his proximity that I can't think clearly. My lungs might have stopped working properly, but my mind is agile. "Lady V."

A dark eyebrow lifts. "Victoria?"

Virgin. But I'm not about to admit that to an Alpha who has likely deflowered half of the known world.

His eyebrow lowers, his dazzling smile returns, and his eyes glitter wickedly. "No," he murmurs provocatively, warmth blooming in my stomach and spreading through me. "Something more exotic. Venus, perhaps."

"Perhaps." It's unconscionable how enamored I am with a man of his reputation, yet for a she-wolf seeking adventures in a boudoir, this man could deliver. Sensuality radiates from him, from his immense height... he must be over six feet... to his well-shod toes.

I move my head back slightly, his finger leaving my lips, though his other hand remains on my shoulder. Taking a sip of scotch, I'm grateful my hands aren't quaking with nervousness. Planning for tonight, I never imagined falling into bed with an Alpha, especially one known for his s****l exploits. She-wolves whisper about him, his prowess legendary. He would likely laugh at my clumsiness, my inexperience. I want my first, possibly only, time to be with a mortal, not a god.

Another swallow, more gulp than sip. I'm not sure how to get out of this situation. Do I just walk away? Or confess he's too close to being a fantasy?

But isn't fantasy what I yearn for? If I crave memories to carry me into old age, wouldn't it be best to seek out a man with vast experience, one who knows his way around a she-wolf’s body, who would take charge and ensure the experience is unforgettable?

By his reputation, he is perfect for my needs. Honestly, he is at the top of my list of desired lovers... not hard to achieve when he is the only one on it. But I have always known he could barely be bothered with me, much less consider me as a bed partner. He doesn't need my dowry. He doesn't need anything from me.

"Is this your first time?" he begins, making me wonder if my inexperience is that obvious. Only I don't have sleeves to hide behind, just my bare arm that he's tracing tiny circles along.

"...here," he finishes.

Admitting that seems harmless enough. I nod. "It's not quite what I expected."

"You thought it would be an orgy?" He asks.

"Something like that. I expected people to be... more engaged, instead of just talking." I admit.

His hazel eyes darken. "Oh, make no mistake, they are doing very naughty things. You see Alpha Wilton speaking to the she-wolf in the red mask?"

"Yes." I mumble.

"I suspect he is telling her how he plans to explore her with his mouth, journeying over every inch of her body." He says in a seductive tone.

I blink, "Why doesn't he just do it?"

"The pleasure is in the anticipation, the slow build-up that eventually consumes." He mumbles.

I can see that. Alpha Ashebury's words alone ignite something within me. Just imagining him... I'm so warmed by the thought, I'm surprised I don't dissolve right here.

"Is that what you do? Use words to build anticipation?" I ask.

"No, I prefer action. I just do it." He grins.

I look at him, "And if the she-wolf objects?"

"I would stop, of course. But no she-wolf has ever objected." Another panty dropping grin.

"You're not short on confidence." I tell him.

He locks eyes with me, a challenge in his gaze. "Would you want a man who was?"

He is right. I want someone who knows exactly what they are doing. I shake my head and turn back to my scotch, finishing it off, thankful it's starting to relax me.

He takes the glass from me, hands it to a servant without looking away. I find myself wishing for a man to look at me like this without the mask. I think about taking it off, but then he might walk away, or worse, laugh at my boldness. My confidence falters when it comes to attracting a man's desire.

"I must beg your forgiveness," he says. "Gentlemen aren't supposed to approach the she-wolves. We are supposed to wait for you to make the first move." He says.

"But then you're not one to follow the rules," I mumble.

His eyes narrow again. "We are acquainted."

"Your reputation as a hellion is quite well-known and documented from what I read in the gossip papers." I admit.

"I suppose I have my moments." He smiles cheekily.

An abundance of them, based on the rumors and speculations. I have never much cared for the gossip sheets. It isn't real journalism, and yet it does provide information that is serving me now.

"I am at a disadvantage," he says, "for all I know about you is that you are adventurous."

My heart gives a little kick. Has he realized who I am? "How would you know that?"

"You are here. This is not a place for the timid but rather the bold. Although the question remains, exactly how bold are you?" He skims his finger along the side of my neck. I have never before noticed how sensitive the skin is there. Or perhaps it is simply his flesh carrying some magical properties that heighten awareness. I imagine his touch over my entire body, the gratification it would bring. "Bold enough to retire to the bedchamber that I have already reserved, to adhere to my wishes, to find pleasure in my arms?"

I have never shied away from anything: drinking spirits, smoking my father's cigars, using profanity. I am quite certain it is my bold behavior, my unwillingness to be perceived as a simpering female, that is largely responsible for my never having had a suitor fall head over heels in love with me. Yet here is a man who seems to admire boldness in a she-wolf, at least in a she-wolf he wants to bed, not necessarily in one he wishes to wed.

Squaring my shoulders, I meet and hold his gaze. For tonight, I can give but one answer and come away satisfied. "Yes."

His eyes darken with triumph, his smile one of pure maleness that sets my heart to thundering. I want him to give me that smile when we are finished. I want to be far more than he has ever known, to give him something better than he has ever had. My competitive streak… which more than one gentleman has told me is unattractive… is rising to the fore. But wouldn't every she-wolf want to be unforgettable?

With a slight bow, he indicates the doorway through which I had entered earlier. As I turn for it, his hand comes to rest possessively against my lower back, the heat of his flesh seeping through the thin fabric to warm me from head to toe. He so easily ignites my passions. My nerves thrum, yearning for a heavier, more sure touch.

Confidently, he guides me into the hallway and up the stairs. With each step, my knees seem to weaken. Grabbing onto the banister, I refuse to swoon or give any indication that, as much as I want this, I am also quite unnerved by it and where our journey will lead. The landing branches out into three hallways. We take the one to the right. Our feet are eerily quiet on the thick carpeting. Apparently, no one wishes to be disturbed. Moans, high-pitched squeals, grunts drift from rooms we pass.

"Thicker doors would be nice." I don't realize I have spoken until he chuckles.

"Your cries of pleasure will eclipse all of theirs." He mumbles.

I snap my head around to look at him. No arrogance, simply knowledge and confidence. He knows what he is about. That's what I want: a man of experience and skill. It seems silly to hesitate now that I have it. I have come here to shed my virginity in a manner that leaves no regrets. Being with the Alpha of Ashebury is certain to be memorable.

When we reach the very last door, from inside his jacket he withdraws a key and inserts it into the lock. With a turn of the brass, a twist of the knob, the door swings open only a fraction, only enough to reveal the bed laced with shadows that dance as candles flicker.

It's incredibly large, roomy enough for two, perhaps even three. A canopy of heavy velvet is tied back to reveal the thick counterpane, one corner neatly folded to expose red satin sheets. I will lie between them with him.

He doesn't push me forward, urge me to go in. He merely waits as though we have all the time in the world, as though minutes aren't ticking by, as though no one would stumble upon us and know the sort of mischief into which we are getting up to.

"If you have changed your mind..." he says quietly. Perhaps not all the time in the world, although his tone reflects no impatience.

He would let me go, left unspoken, and yet I hear the words as though he has shouted them. Nothing he could have said, nothing he could have done would have reassured me more that he would take care with me. That he is the one with whom I should spend this night.

I walk into the room. The few flickering candles placed at strategic points and a low fire burning in the hearth are all that hold complete darkness at bay. A table to the side houses a bottle of champagne, decanters, tumblers, and crystal flutes. A sofa rests before the fireplace, a fainting couch waits near the window.

He steps in. The door clicks closed. The lock snicks into place.

I jerk my gaze back to the satin sheets, then turn my attention to a box perched on three legs that rests near the foot of the bed. With two steps I near it, study it, try to make sense of why it would be here. "Is this your camera?" I ask.

"Yes." He says softly.

I swing around to face him. "Surely you don't intend to take a photograph of us... copulating."

He chuckles low. "That would be quite the trick. No. I want to take a photograph of only you lying on the bed."