Rocked by the Werewolf (Paranormal BBW Erotic Romance, Alpha Wolf Mate) Read online

  Copyright © 2013 by Cassie Laurent.

  Kindle Edition

  v1.0

  Rocked by the Werewolf is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or portions thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form whatsoever without direct permission from the author.

  This book is intended Only for Mature Audiences 18+. It contains mature themes, substantial sexually explicit scenes, and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

  UUID: 8dcae63a-b3df-4928-9da9-7808ddf3894f

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  Cover

  Title/Copyright

  Rocked by the Werewolf

  + More from Cassie

  About the Author

  Other titles by Cassie Laurent:

  Werewolf's Gambit (Paranormal BBW Erotic Romance, Alpha Wolf Mate)

  Curves for the Werewolf (Paranormal BBW Erotic Romance, Alpha Wolf Mate)

  Love, Passion, & The Billionaire Cowboy: A BBW Erotic Romance

  Lust, Desire, & The Billionaire Cowboy: A BBW Erotic Romance

  Lust, Desire, & The Billionaire Cowboy #2: A BBW Erotic Romance

  Everything's Bigger in Texas: A BBW Erotic Romance

  Lusting for Her Soldier (Curvy Girls, BBW Erotic Romance)

  Caressing Chloe's Curves (A BBW Erotic Romance)

  Caressing Chloe's Curves: Part 2 (A BBW Erotic Romance)

  Pounded by the Pool Boy (A BBW Erotic Tale)

  Bree the BBW Birthday Girl

  Pouring rain, again. It had been storming for almost three days straight, but despite the gloomy weather outside Carol was in the mood for champagne. Noting the fare for the cab, she pulled out a $20 bill from her clutch and handed it to the driver. The driver looked at the bill and then back at the meter, reaching his hand to the glove compartment to make change.

  “Keep it,” she said, slamming the door loudly and dashing through the storm and into the warm restaurant lobby. She was feeling quite generous on this special evening.

  Having forgotten an umbrella, Carol found herself almost completely soaked as she made her way to the small wooden podium where she waited for the maître d’. He came by shortly and, wary of her rain-soaked state, Carol timidly mentioned her reservation.

  “Two for Bodacelli.”

  “Yes, madam. I see two for Bodacelli at 8:45pm. We are very busy tonight, so I cannot seat you early. If you please, you may sit at our bar while you wait.”

  Great. Liza had said she would make reservations for 8:00 PM sharp. Now Carol would have to kill almost an entire hour alone at the bar. She felt her phone vibrate in her clutch. A text from Liza:

  Pushed back rez to 845. Working late on case. Have a drink on me while u wait. See u soon.

  Carol walked over to the bar, her new Manolo Blahnik pumps making a satisfying clicking sound as they tapped the smooth, hard marble floor of the restaurant. Embarrassingly enough, these were the only pair of actual designer shoes that she owned. She had even based her entire outfit around them, but what better time and place for flaunting her new shoes? Finding a seat at the relatively empty bar, she ordered a glass of the restaurant’s most expensive red wine. After all, Liza had said she was paying tonight.

  She sipped her wine somewhat anxiously, looking around the gilded room with its impressive floral arrangements and light pink, masterfully-tailored designer tablecloths. Sparkling silverware and crystal glasses clinked in the hands of the beautiful, wealthy patrons.

  This was where the famous come to see and be seen, she thought. Maybe this was why she felt so out of place. Carol had always been a curvy girl, and being inside this fancy restaurant alone made her incredibly self-conscious about her voluptuous figure. Especially when she spotted some well-known models sitting nearby. Models? Why the hell were they in a restaurant, she thought. Do they even eat?

  Carol hadn’t even made the reservation that night. Liza had done it, and she had been forced to take the circuitous route of going through her boss, a partner at Ellison, Slater & Booth who happened to know the owner of the place. There was simply no other way they could dine at such an exclusive restaurant on a Friday night.

  Château Ausone, 1961. So smooth and complex, it really was fantastic wine, even if it did cost $50 by the glass. It reminded her of something. Passion? Sex? Wow, I haven’t been laid in forever, she thought. No, clean up your thoughts, this is a classy place. And “laid”? Who even says that? She took another sip and rubbed her hand up her thigh, her nerves became less tense as she remembered once again that she was happy. Tonight was a celebration of all her hard work.

  She sat swirling the fine wine, thinking of Professor Sterling, her graduate adviser back at NYU. He was the reason for all this newfound success. He was the one who had read her collection of short stories and forwarded it to his contacts at the largest publishing houses in the City. A terse voicemail on her phone had earlier informed her of their interest in her first full-length novel; they were even willing to extend to her a $25,000 advance on the prospective work. Professor Sterling was the first person Carol called with the news of her good fortune, but he had declined her invitation to celebrate due to a conflicting engagement with his wife.

  Oh, Professor Sterling, so relentlessly sexy in his own way, but hopelessly devoted to his marriage. For three years Carol had made it more than obvious that he could have his way with her curvy body, nearly any time they spoke in the confines of his office. But every time, he had feigned complete obliviousness, not wanting to embarrass her by explicitly turning down her advances. She touched herself over her tight black dress, thinking of him. All those years of unconsummated passion, where they had grown so close intellectually, but hadn’t shared so much as a kiss in real life. What would it be like to have him inside her? His novels absolutely dripped sexuality; and of course, she’d read them all many times over. She envied his wife, wishing just once that he would have thrown her short stories to the floor, bent her over his desk, and given her the fucking she so badly craved from him.

  Suddenly Carol jumped, startled from her taboo thoughts by a dark, handsome man in an expertly-tailored suit who was down beside her.

  “Did I scare you?” he asked, smiling at her.

  “No, no sorry. I was just thinking of someone—I mean something else. I forgot I was even here, really,” she said quickly, giving him a polite, self-deprecating smile.

  “No, I apologize. I should have asked if this seat was taken. Is this seat taken?” he asked in his smooth, deep voice.

  “No, it’s not. I’m here by myself.”

  “By yourself? Who comes to Le Bernardin by themselves?”

  “Well, I’m by myself right now. I’m waiting for my friend actually. She’s taking me out to celebrate.” Sometimes Carol felt so gauche talking about herself, but she desperately wanted this handsome man to ask her what she was celebrating. This verbal prompt would give her an opportunity to brag about her newfound success.

  “Celebrate, ahh. What are you celebrating?” he asked, taking his cue expertly.

  Damn, was he gorgeous, so tall and handsome. Something about him made Carol feel as though she’d seen him before; she didn’t know exactly what it was that made her feel this way.

  “I’ve just received an advance for my first novel.”

  “Ahh, a writer. Wow,” he said, se
eming genuinely impressed. “What is your name?”

  “Carol Grey.”

  “Carol, nice to meet you. I’m Lucas.” He took her hand and pressed it lightly, smiling again as he looked directly into her eyes, glowing and confident in his interaction with her. This man should be famous, thought Carol. He could be a celebrity with that damn smile.

  At that moment, a rotund man in an expensive-looking suit, Italian loafers and a garish printed tie walked up to them.

  “Lucas, hell of a show last night, hell of a show. I’m up in the company suite wining and dining clients as you play that electrifying solo. I swear my client damn near choked on his steak tartare. Closed the deal about fifteen minutes later. You’re making me a rich man, Lucas, a richer man.”

  Carol found it strange and a bit amusing how this big-shot, finance-type seemed so nervous around her mysterious new companion, stumbling through his words before awkwardly making an excuse to go.

  “Listen, I gotta run. Hell of a show.”

  Lucas just smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Howard. I do what I can.”

  As the man walked away, Carol inquired as to the odd exchange.

  “Oh, he manages my portfolio for me. Private equity guy, a real shark in fact. Ruthless in business.”

  “He doesn’t look ruthless to me. He looks… tacky,” Carol said, giggling as she watched the man exit the restaurant.

  “Oh trust me, the truly ruthless never do,” he said, winking again.

  Damn, what charm, she thought while staring intently at his sparkling eyes. Had she seen him before? Where?

  “So you’re a businessman? You do business with that guy, Mr. Howard? What was he talking about, some show or something? You really look familiar.”

  “Well, actually I…”

  “Wait, I know you. Oh my—Lucas Wilde? I’m sorry, I’m not really into rock music, but even I know who you are. Last night’s show is all anyone is talking about! I heard you turned into a wolf on stage, or something crazy like that. Damn, it’s amazing what they can do with special effects. Of course you know all about that, sorry, I’m just blabbering on here.”

  “Yes, those crazy effects. People seem to like it.”

  “Lucas Wilde. All that fame and money, and here you are acting like you’re just some normal guy. I heard you had a $2.1 billion contract on your last album, is that true?”

  Lucas was silent, but suddenly Carol felt her phone vibrate again. A new text message from Liza:

  Sorry cant make it. Boss making me work late tonight. Lets do dinner tomorrow night.

  Carol sank in her chair, dejected. Liza was always breaking plans for her stupid job. This was supposed to be my night, she thought to herself. Disappointment was written all over her face, obvious enough for anyone to see.

  “Are you ok?” Lucas asked.

  “No, no. I mean, yes, I’m fine. It’s just, well, my friend cancelled on me is all,” she sighed. “She says she has to work late on a new case, but she’s probably fucking her boss.”

  Lucas laughed, surprised to hear this brash phrase out of such a seemingly innocent girl.

  “Oh, wow. I didn’t mean to say that, it’s just this wine. I better go before I say anything worse.” Carol started to get up, but Lucas stopped her, touching her lightly on the arm.

  “Wait, you’re already here. You’re supposed to be celebrating. Have dinner with me. Please.”

  Hailing the bartender, he smiled once more. The bartender walked over to their seats and Lucas asked him to get the maître d’ so they could be seated in the interior dining room.

  “Are you sure? I really don’t want to impose, I’m sure you have somewhere else to be. I should go,” she stared at her feet, nervous and timid before him. Once again, her self-consciousness about her curves was getting the best of her.

  Lucas touched her chin lightly, nudging her face upwards so that she was into his eyes. “Please, have dinner with me. How would it look for Lucas Wilde to dine alone in public? Forget your friend, we’re celebrating in style tonight.”

  Soon the maître d’ seated them at the best table in the restaurant. Lucas immediately ordered a bottle of Krug Rosé, the most luxurious bottle of champagne on the list.

  “When in Rome,” he laughed. The waiter brought the bottle over, chilled in a big bucket of ice. Carol could hear the cubes clink up against the $700 bottle as she looked over the sumptuous items on the menu. The waiter began to open the bottle, but Lucas stopped him.

  “I can take care of this,” he said. “Tell the Chef that I want him to prepare us something that’s not on the menu. His finest dishes, we want to try them all. Tell him I’m celebrating. His finest dishes, all of them. Fill the table. Money is no object.”

  The waiter was caught off-guard. “Of course, sir,” he said, attempting to conceal his surprise before hurrying off to the busy kitchen. A moment later the Chef’s face appeared, staring out from the doors of the kitchen as the waiter explained the strange request. He looked at Lucas, who smiled back and nodded.

  The waiter walked back over to give Lucas a message from the Chef. “The Chef says it would be his pleasure, anything for the biggest rock star in NYC.”

  Lucas laughed, doing his best to remain humble. “You’re too kind. Tell him I say thank you. I look forward to a meal prepared by the best chef in the city.”

  Carol studied his chiseled face as he interacted with the waiter. How could someone so absolutely phenomenal regard himself without the least bit of conceit? He was at the top of the world, and yet so humble—a veritable King in New York City, the greatest city in the world. He could have anything he wanted, and anyone he wanted. And here he was, dining with her. Her self-consciousness was starting to subside. If Lucas was with her, there must be something about her that was incredibly special.

  Within minutes the table was filled with every sort of culinary delight imaginable. Carol ate the most delicious dish she had ever tasted in her life, then tried the next plate and decided that was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. The server hurriedly brought over two more plates, uncovering a mouthwatering pair of expertly cooked filet mignons dressed in exotic garnishing. Another plate cover revealed a pistachio crusted rack of lamb, glistening in its glaze as steam loomed over to the delicately arranged caviar covering every pigment of the rainbow. The presentation of each dish was so beautiful; the table bloomed to life as a collage of vibrant foods worthy of their own art display. And there was even sushi. Sushi! At a French restaurant. Oh, the things money could buy! But it can’t buy good taste, she thought. And Lucas has taste, he has class, he has everything.

  An hour later Carol was feeling tipsy from the rosé—also bold and a bit impudent. She slipped her left foot out of her shoe and lifted it up beneath the lux pink tablecloth. She caressed Lucas’ powerful leg, sliding her foot up towards his thigh, playfully rubbing his crotch with her foot. She could feel his cock starting to grow in his pants, but he simply smiled across the table as though it wasn’t even happening.

  “Boy, you’re something else,” she said with a playful smirk.

  He flashed that boyish grin again. It absolutely killed her, seeing that handsome smile.

  “You could have any woman you want in this city—in the whole world even,” she said.

  “That’s… true, I suppose,” he laughed, “I always get what I want.”

  Carol felt her pussy starting to get a little wet. She wanted him to take her right now, but knew that a man like Lucas wouldn’t make it easy for her. There was process, a highly-choreographed way by which he seduced a woman. Lucas wouldn’t just take her, he would take her only when he knew there was nothing in the world she wanted more than his cock inside her. Carol would be the one to crawl to him.

  A man was waving to them at the bar and Lucas hailed him over to their table. She noticed that he never got up to greet other people; they were always coming to him. He was a king. The chat was brief, an exchange of mere pleasantries.

  “Just anothe
r hedge fund guy,” he explained. “He manages one of my portfolios.”

  “How many portfolios do you have? You’re something else, really.”

  “Oh, well, it’s important to stay diversified. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that once you have it all, it’d be a damn shame to lose any of it,” he said, turning slightly pensive. This was the first time all evening he’d said anything without his typical boyish grin.

  They stood outside the restaurant while the valet brought around his car, a black AMG Mercedes coupe. The Benz looked like something a president would drive, not that Carol knew a damn thing about cars. It was sophisticated and subtle, mirroring the mysterious man who owned it. Lucas opened the door for her, and before she knew it they were speeding up the West Side Highway, his hand skillfully working the shifter.

  While they drove, he questioned her more about her new novel. What did she intend to write about? She didn’t know. There were a few ideas, but all were in a nascent stage and none were very exceptional. If her first novel was to make her a name in the literary world, it would take great patience, perseverance and dedication.

  “It takes a tremendous amount of effort to develop a story,” Carol explained. “You have to balance so many different tensions at once. You have to work flawlessly towards a perfect climax.” Looking down she found herself subconsciously working a hand up and down the shifter of the car. She jerked her hand back and put it in her lap. “It’s really something special if you get it right.”

  Lucas pulled up in front of a luxurious building on 77th Street on the Upper West Side. We’re at his apartment, thought Carol. Am I really doing this? I never do things like this. She wondered if Lucas could tell what she was thinking.

  “We’ll just have one last drink, then I’ll have a car bring you home. Wait here while I park the car.” He smiled and her nerves eased just a little bit. I can do this, she thought.