Savage Possessed: A Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy Adventure (Twin Rivers Possession Book 2)

by September Stone

  Only Carrigan’s not laughing, and neither is my Sophie. The look on her face is hard to read. It’s a mix of sadness, empathy and want. “But I love you,” she whispers, and the sound breaks my heart. “We can’t ever make love?”

  “You and Cary can, no problem. But the second that happens for you and me, there’s no going back. If it can even happen at all. Either way, it ends badly, and I don’t want us to end.”

  “But I mute magic. Wouldn’t that work against any kind of mating ritual, making it null and void?”

  “Mating’s part magic, sure, but it’s also sealed with that physical connection. And the magic that goes into sealing two mates together is stronger than your average spell.” I tap my chest. “And I can still feel my bear inside of me, you know. Even when you’re near me, he’s not completely silent. That tells me maybe the mating mojo is stronger than whatever it is you’ve got going on that turns off most magic. Bottom line: this isn’t something I’m willing to chance, honeycomb. Can you be okay with that?”

  Watching her ponder what she can live with kills me. The complications play out on her face for too many seconds before she tilts her chin to me, her decision clicking into place. “I can find a way to be alright with that, but you need to find a way to be okay with this.”

  She leans over me and delivers a kiss so soft, I feel all my tension melt beneath the sweetness she doesn’t know how to turn off. Her breasts distract my senses when they brush over my chest. The fleeting thought passes through my brain that I’d very much like to “accidentally” burn all her clothes in the fire so she has to be naked with me all the time.

  I’m not paying attention to her hand until her fingers dip below the band of my underwear. I jerk, pulling my face from hers with a silent scold.

  She’s firm with me, and for some reason, when she tells me to relax my hips, I do. “Let me play,” she begs, and I take it like a directive from my superior. She owns me now, taking my fears of scaring her away and strangling them. She kisses me until my body is compliant, ready to surrender to whatever she has in store for me. I’m nervous, but since she’s never done anything except help me, I choose to trust her gentle touch.

  Carrigan rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. He watches as Sophie kisses me and simultaneously unzips the side of the sleeping bag to expose my body to the night air. Her lips trail slowly down my body, and I feel everything in me bracing for her look that tells me this is too much, that I’m too much, and she can’t bring herself to be with me in ways nobody else ever has dared.

  Maybe it’s childish, but I can’t help it when my hands cover my eyes. I don’t want to see her fear. My whole body rebels against being the thing that makes her worried. My job is the opposite of that.

  My feet twist in the sleeping bag when she inches my undershorts down. A strangled cry sticks in my throat, and I’m paralyzed in my need to run far away, and also never to leave her side. I’m sweating as every woman’s face who’s ever seen me naked flashes in my memory, one horrified expression after another.

  My monster springs free and I nearly have a panic attack. My chest feels too tight to pull in a full breath as she parts me from the last of my clothes. I’m naked under the moonlight, and I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. I’m hiding in plain sight like a little boy, hoping her look of dread doesn’t find me.

  There’s nothing. Not a single thing. She’s not touching me. In fact, when I open my eyes, she’s studying my face, not my cock. There’s no fear there, no horror. It’s compassion in her eyes as she watches me. “You’re terrified.” Her voice is soft, like she’s approaching a wounded animal. She’s doing what she can to convince me she’s friendly as her hand ghosts over my chest. “I don’t want to scare you. I love you, honeybear. Your body isn’t something to be ashamed of.” Her sadness weighs down the moment I’ve utterly blown. “I’m not afraid of you, Hagan.”

  Carrigan scoots in so he can spoon her, reaching over her side so he can cup one of her breasts. His chin hooks over her shoulder as her spine molds to his chest. Neither of them are fixated on my monster, only on my face. They see… me. Gratitude pumps fresh air into my chest, finally allowing my ribs to move a little more freely. When my eyes fall to Cary’s hand on Sophie breast, lust begins to battle with my anxiety, trying to take it down so I can enjoy the moonlight.

  Carrigan smirks at me. “You like the look of her?”

  I swallow hard, my head finally finding the mechanics to nod.

  “I’m warming this one up, but her right breast’s looking a little cold. What do you say we heat her up?”

  When I stall as my brain splutters, Carrigan reaches around her body and picks up my hand. I turn onto my side, forgetting the pain in my back. The moment he places my palm on her breast, I remember who I am, and what I want to do with a naked woman who looks at me like… like she loves me.

  Her little moans tease my cock back to life. The night air licks at my balls. Each time I roll her pink nipple between my thumb and forefinger, a gasp pushes out of her. It’s purely mine—an offering she gives me without pause.

  Carrigan’s relaxed smile puts me at ease a little bit as he massages her breast. His hands slips off the mound he’s claimed and trails over her hip. His voice is husky when his nose tickles her ear. “Seems a waste not to stroke his cock. What do you say, Sophie Mae?” Then Carrigan takes her wrist and fluidly places her palm on my thick rod.

  I jerk at her touch, grateful for Carrigan, as weird as that sounds. He doesn’t touch me, but leaves his hand on her wrist. It’s so intimate, I’m not sure what to make of the whole thing.

  But she’s touching me. She’s touching me, and it’s the only thing in the universe. She touching me, and her eyes are lidded with lust, not wide with worry. Her fingers get little more than halfway around my width, but that doesn’t concern her. I inch closer so I can kiss her, and the instant our lips touch, the whole world shatters.

  Carrigan guides her hand to let go of me and dip between her legs, gathering up moisture that radiates pure heat. “He wants it slick,” he whispers to her. Though I can tell she knows what to do with a dick, the mood is so thick with intensity, we need someone to orchestrate the details. I watch with rapt fascination while Carrigan slowly masturbates Sophie using her own hand.

  Her fingers are slathered in her juices, and the second Cary turns her wrist to touch back on my dick, I swear, I go cross-eyed. She’s slick and warm, and I’m distinctly aware that Carrigan’s watching every stroke. She feels like the first time, like the only time, like every amazing time, like she transcends time. She strokes me for ages, and I feel like I’m floating above it all, looking down from my higher state of being or some shit.

  I’m lost in her touch until she tips me onto my back and hitches her leg over my waist. Everything in me tenses up as my bear roars Mate! Mate!

  My hands fly to her hips, stilling her before we do something we can never take back. “We can’t, Sophie! We can’t.” My instincts are pulling me in both ways, and I can’t figure out which demand I should listen to.

  She leans down and kisses me. “We could, but we aren’t.” Then my girl lowers herself, flattening her pussy along the underside of my cock. She presses it to my stomach, making me howl when she starts to slip slowly up and down my length. My hands know exactly what to do when her lashes flutter. I grip her hips and slide her with a steady rhythm, loving the way my swelling head catches on her clit. I feed on the stream of nonsensical curse words that flow out of her, digging my thumbs into the dip of her hips. I’m forceful but not bruising as we get each other off. The whole thing feels like I’m high, drugged on anything she gives me. I’m not inside of her, but it feels like I am, only I’m gifted with confidence, since I know I’m not hurting her.

  I outlast her, which gives me a smug sense of satisfaction. She’s gushing over the underside of my cock, giving me a fresh burst of heat that drives me crazy. I’m growling now, practically feral, but I don’t care. Her s
pine is like a noodle as she leans forward and braces herself with her hands on my chest, letting me direct her body as I please. I’m inches away from mating with her, and my bear is ravenous to complete the ritual. I want her to be mine, and my nostrils flare as the bear rises up in me to claim what’s his.

  Mate! Mate! Mate!

  “No, Hagan!”

  Carrigan’s voice centers me, forcing the man and the animal to duel on even footing. The man in me starts losing the fight, but fortunately, the woman on top of me wins the second her fingertips graze my nipple, giving me just one too many points of stimulation before the bear can impale this tiny, trusting woman in my arms.

  My cock erupts with so much pent-up reserves, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop coming. I shout into her hair, holding her to my body so we can both feel every ounce of what she does to me. Her body doesn’t leave mine, holding me together with surprising strength as she heals parts of me I thought might always be broken.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jonas

  The campsite stinks like sex, even in the morning. Like they didn’t know we could hear every rutting grunt while we tried to make ourselves scarce. Valor had been afraid to wander too far, worried his conscience would vanish again. Opting to listen in on a threesome makes me think his conscience isn’t all that strong. Though, I’m not exactly one to talk. It was nice to hear Cary finally let go with a woman. His headaches have always gotten in the way of enjoying himself. He told me about hearing what goes on in a woman’s mind when she would go down on him, and it turned me off my game for a month. Ignorance is bliss, and last night was Cary’s first trip to paradise. He’s had sex with enough women to know what he’s doing, but I don’t think he’s ever enjoyed himself as much as he did getting head from the little witch.

  Now they’re all snuggled up in their massive sleeping bag, ignoring the first hints of daylight that spill over the camp. Cary’s spooning her like a lovesick chump. The top of Hagan’s head is barely visible, since his face is buried in her cleavage, which hides just below the lip of the sleeping bag.

  She turns in Cary’s arms, exposing one perfect breast to the morning air. A hiss escapes me before I can reel it in, but thankfully it doesn’t wake anyone. No one else sees her breast but me. It’s perfectly round and far bigger than a palmful. My hand flexes with a need to close around it, to feel how soft it is.

  Any tit. Not hers. I don’t care about hers. Obviously.

  I rush to push a mental image of Melanie’s boobs in front of the startling image that’s currently staring me down. Melanie’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a girlfriend, stoic and businesslike as we are. We don’t hold hands. We don’t call each other because, let’s be real, I hate the sound of her voice, and she couldn’t care less about anything I have to say. So we don’t talk much. Talking’s overrated. It’s a good arrangement we have. Sophie’s filled with emotions—not the ones that weep sloppily all over your shoulder, but she’s got those damned big blue eyes that make you want to ask more before you realize what you’re doing.

  It’s hard to make out in the dark before the dawn fully hits us, but I’m pretty sure Sophie’s nipples are light pink. I love that. The peak is stiff with the chilly morning air, begging for a tongue to warm it up.

  Not my tongue. Obviously.

  Melanie’s tits are fine, but I haven’t seen them in a couple weeks. Ever since the little witch stumbled into my life, I’ve had to cancel too many of our scheduled nights together. Tuesday and Saturday nights have been earmarked for two years for stress relief with Melanie. I foot the bill for her car, and she fucks me into a lower blood pressure range. It works. That is, when I’m not camping in the woods because Cary’s girlfriend has a witchy hunch.

  Sophie’s so open with her body, and I’m not sure why, but I hate her for it. She’s flaunting her happiness, as if the rest of us should just find a way to be as content as she is. With two men. It’s not contentment. It’s greed. She’s a greedy little witch, just like the ones who took Cary’s money and mine, promising a cure and delivering a daily dose of near-death and brain fog.

  Her expression is innocent in sleep, but I don’t trust it. Her lips are full and her rosy nipple—yes, it’s definitely pink—is teasing me, begging me to feel if her breast is as soft and pliant as it looks. I wet my lower lip, wondering why on earth I cancelled any of my standing appointments with Melanie. It’s been too long. That’s why I’m daydreaming about sucking on the little witch’s tits. It’s not that it’s her. It’s that it’s any breast, and I’m a man.

  Real quick, I list off ten other women who have better tits than Sophie. I manage to scrounge up enough names to ease the ache in my balls when I look at her, but the relief doesn’t last long.

  She gives a little shiver, and I reach out without meaning to. I’m too far away to tuck her back in, but my body wants to make sure she doesn’t catch a chill. My hands are still weak and achy from the effort of bursting through her insane ability to mute magic. That was rough, and I can’t seem to shake the aftershocks. It’s hard to bend my fingers all the way.

  I roll onto my back, staring up at the sky. No one else is awake—just me and Sophie’s breast. I imagine myself tweaking the tip until it’s stiff enough for my liking. I know what she sounds like when she’s getting off, so the soundtrack provides itself easily, like a taunting little tune I can’t turn off. They’re so careful with her, but I don’t want to be.

  I spend a fair amount of time picturing what those breasts would do if she was riding me, letting them bounce freely. The mental image of a light slap does wonders for my morning wood. I know I’ve got to do something about my situation before they all wake up. I don’t want the little witch; it’s any breast that appeals to me. I don’t like Sophie. She’s Cary’s. And she’s a witch. And she’s annoying with how quiet she gets when I know she’s got loads to say.

  Her hand draws my eyes when it drifts to brush across her own breast in her sleep. I can’t turn away now. Her dainty sleepy sigh goes straight to my cock. I can’t take it anymore.

  My sore hand drifts over my stiffness, and for just a second, I imagine the divide between us is erased. Her breast within tasting distance, and her hand roaming over my dick so I can feel how soft her skin is as it glides over my length. Her fingers are slender, and I bet they’d make my cock look even bigger than it is if she stroked it.

  It’s too much, too real, and yet still too far away to actually happen.

  I sit up like my spine is spring-loaded, wide awake and ready to get out of here. “Wake up, everyone!” My voice is a little too cheery, but my wince isn’t noticeable because everyone else is just barely opening their eyes. I can’t stand yet, of course, because the little witch will see my rock-hard length and think it’s because of her.

  It’s not. It’s morning wood. Cary’s is probably digging into her ass right now.

  I pretend not to notice her embarrassment when she ducks under the sleeping bag, covering herself and rousing Hagan. Valor’s up and stretching, yawning as he tries to avert his gaze when Hagan crawls out of the sleeping bag without any clothes on. I mean, everyone in Twin Rivers has seen Donkey naked, but having his dick this close is worse than a triple shot of espresso. I’m awake now, for sure.

  Hagan’s carrying himself different now. Whenever he stumbled out of Shipwreck Tavern in the nude, he was always covering himself, looking all ashamed. Though, what he could have to be embarrassed about, I have no idea. If my cock was that huge, I’d buy a billboard and plaster a picture of it for the world to see. I always thought I packed a sizeable weapon, but Hagan could make any man feel dwarfed. Cary has balls of steel to get into a threesome with Donkey.

  This morning, Hagan’s shoulders are rolled back as he struts around the clearing, taking his sweet time finding his boxers. He slides them on, and I think Valor and I both breathe a little easier. Carrigan’s never been hung up on insecurities. That’s a good thing, I guess, given the mess he’s gotten himself into.<
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  Hagan digs an outfit for Sophie from her bag, studying her panties with a small smile that is just the tiniest bit smug.

  Great. Now I know she has a pair of black cotton underwear. Like I need that playing in my mind. Melanie likes red silky lingerie. Red. Red is better.

  Hagan lays Sophie’s underwear down by her face, kisses her forehead and goes to fetch Carrigan’s clothes while my best friend helps the witch get dressed under cover of their sleeping bag. It’s weird to watch their circuitous shifts and quiet giggles. When her lashes flutter, my imagination goes where it’s certainly not welcome. I don’t want to see my best friend in bed with his woman, even if the R-rated bits are tucked inside the sleeping bag. But for some reason I can’t justify, I’m unable to look away. I’m not even subtle anymore as I stare. I don’t want to feel any of this, so I push it into a box in my mind where I keep all the things that will never make a lick of sense.

  It’s when Carrigan catches my eye that my spine straightens. His expression is unreadable—a wry play on a smile that twists in almost accusation and something else. Intrigue? Invitation? I can’t tell. I’m frozen, caught like a little kid peeking at Christmas presents before they’ve been given to me. Only Cary’s not going to give me a crack at his girlfriend. I have no idea how they fit the three of them in there, but I know there isn’t room for a fourth. Even if there was, I don’t want to join them. It’s weird, and I don’t do relationships.

  I have someone. Her name is Melanie. She and I can get our own sleeping bags and screw in the woods whenever we want. We don’t need a mission to find the mage to go do that.

  Though, I can’t exactly picture Melanie on a camping trip. She cussed out a waiter when he brought her the wrong bottle of wine, and then gave me this big speech about how she shouldn’t be expected to “slum it” with sub-par alcohol.