Free Conner's Wolf by Jory Strong

helpless long enough to be incapacitated and caged. Otherwise they wouldn’t have exposed her to the charm so casually and eagerly.
    She shouldn’t care about the mage’s death. Shouldn’t feel anything except justified in the wolf’s actions, her actions, but she did.
    “Did you feel guilty afterward, about taking a life?”
    “No. I didn’t feel good about it, but I didn’t feel guilty either.” Conner shrugged against her back. “I’m not sure I can explain everything I felt, Khemirra, then or now. I’ve made my peace with it. He was a criminal out for himself. He didn’t care who got hurt as long as he got what he wanted. Bottom line, he may not have landed any of the blows that left an old man dead, but he was part of a robbery that ended in homicide.”
    She found a measure of comfort in Conner’s words, permission of sorts, to shrug off human guilt. Whether the mage knew about the covenant with its laws applying to the supernatural, or not, he hadn’t cared about the fate of any werewolf who might be forced to change because of the charm he’d created.
    She turned in Conner’s arms, smiling when he made a sound of protest as his cock left her channel. “You’re a good man.”
    His eyebrows lifted. “What brought that on?”
    “I like being with you.”
    His hand traveled the length of her spine. “I can say the same about you.”
    He followed the words with a slow, thorough kiss, and then another, causing heat to coil downward with each of them and fill her with the need to join her body to his.
    She grasped his cock, swallowing his moan as she slid her hand up and down on his shaft, coaxing him into hardening again before pushing him onto his back.
    He went willingly. Hands tangled in her hair, extending the time their lips touched, clung, before releasing her so she straddled him, guiding him to her entrance and taking him inside her.
    Her hands went to his chest, fingers brushing over tiny nipples. She loved the tone of his skin, the contrast, his lighter than hers by several shades.
    His blond, blue-eyed looks appealed to her, as did his cop’s body. He was a warrior in his own right.
    She rose on his cock until only the tip of him penetrated her, the threat of loss making him lift off the mattress, his hands going to her hips in a silent demand that she reverse direction so he’d once again be fully seated. She yielded, burying him deep inside her only to rise again, and again. And when she came, he rolled them, claiming the dominant position and thrusting until he spilled his seed inside her.
    Contentment flooded into her, her channel rippling along his shaft as if the wolf milked him of semen, an act that would one day lead to growing heavy with young. She tried to stifle the image of a child with Conner but couldn’t quite pull it off, not when he was content to linger in bed, his cock still in her.
    She stroked his back, distracting herself with touch and lazy kisses until the desire for a shower and breakfast intruded. They shared both before deciding to go outside.
    When he picked up the shoulder rig and put it on, wearing it against his bare skin, she couldn’t resist making a show of giving him a thorough study before saying, “I like the whole Rambo look on you.”
    He retaliated, eyes traveling downward to where her nipples were tight, hard points against the thin material of her tank top. “I take it you’re a fan of his.”
    “I’m a fan of yours.”
    Jesus. In a minute she was going to have him beating his chest like Tarzan. “I thought you wanted to go outside. Keep this up and we’ll be back in bed.”
    She laughed and headed for the back door. He followed her out, admiring the way she moved, the air already heavy, still and thick with building heat.
    Claiming a lounge chair, he pulled the gun from the shoulder rig and set it on the table within easy reach. Khemirra joined him on the chair, sitting facing him with her legs crossed.
    Christ, he liked looking at her.