by Tessa Clarke
Jolene closed her eyes and sank backwards down on the bed, imagining Dylan’s body on top of hers, his shaft finding its way between her legs to the soft warmth that lay there, and then Dylan riding her hard, biting her lips and sucking her nipples, until he came, shuddering inside of her. She found herself bucking and writhing with her own orgasm, her fingers slick with wetness as she took herself over the edge twice before she felt sated enough to get in the shower.
How was she going to get through the evening with him? He’d probably be angry over the way she acted, and all she’d be able to do is imagine pulling him into the coatroom and fucking him. She felt a frisson of arousal again, and made a mental note to always be nice to completely gorgeous ski patrol medics no matter what their medical expertise.
Never mind getting through the evening with him, suddenly she had no idea how she was going to get through the rest of her life without him.
But he was a doctor. She didn’t date doctors anymore.
After a long shower in which she was a little too absorbed in thoughts of Dylan’s cock, she tried putting her hair up, but opted to wear it down. The humidity had worked wonders with her natural curl and it fell in soft waves below her shoulders. She layered dark grey kohl around her eyes and on her lids for a smoky look that she hoped made the blue pop, then she slipped into her red shoes and dress and examined the results. She felt a bit like a siren, and she considered for a moment putting on the plain black dress that she’d come with. But no, she’d put on her big girl panties, metaphorically of course—in actual fact she was wearing the sexiest little slip of pink lace that she owned—wear her red dress, and go apologize to Dylan. If they were going to spend the next forty-eight hours together, they’d better do it on good terms.
She checked her hair in the mirror one last time and trying to ignore the shivers and slickness of anticipation that had already gathered between her legs at the prospect of seeing Dylan again, stepped out of her room and headed down to the lobby.
Chapter Six: Dylan
Dylan was drunk. There was no denying it. He knew it in the sloppy way his skis snapped back at him with each mogul. Skiing in the dying light was hard because judging depth became a guessing game, so he was used to missing a few transitions, but this had become ridiculous. And they still had the whole lower half of the mountain to descend. Maybe he needed to just stop, shove his skis in the snow, and chill out for an hour or so until he sobered up enough to ski. Cade was way ahead of him, skiing his own line, confident in his friend’s ability to get down a slope they’d skied a million times before.
Dylan skied for a few more minutes then stopped and quickly checked his phone. It was already six, and drinks were scheduled to start in half an hour. He had no time to linger on the ski hill if he hoped for a shower.
He considered shifting into his cougar form and simply barreling down the hill. But there was the matter of his clothes and skis, and he didn’t want to have to get up early the next morning to retrieve them.
He put his phone away and sped up a little, softening his knees to absorb the blows of misjudged transitions. They were almost at the bottom when Cade turned sharply and took a shortcut that required a drop through some trees. In the daylight, and sober, it was an easy enough drop, but right now, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Nevertheless he turned his skis—following Cade was so automatic—and executed the drop cleanly, but one of his brakes caught on the narrow trunk of a tree on the landing, jarring his ski off and into the air. Dylan stumbled on his one ski, but stayed on his feet as his free ski hit him in the ass.
He rolled his eyes at himself. “Great skiing, Dylan. Just great,” he said. He bent to pick up his ski and flipped it to snap it back on his boot. Red dotted the snow beneath the ski. Blood? His blood? Nothing hurt, but he had to admit that his ass was feeling a bit chilled. He took off his mitt and snaked his hand back to find that the sharp bottom edge of his ski had sliced not only through his ski pants, but also through his skin. He could feel about a five-inch laceration in his ass. Perfect. It was almost comic.
“You okay, buddy?” Cade called through the trees. “I have to get going. My mother will kill me if I’m late for the dinner.”
“I’m fine,” Dylan said. “You go ahead. I’ll see you there.” He put his ski back on and skated out of the trees. Cade had gone, and Dylan could see him pulling into the ski racks in front of the main lodge. They were all staying in the resort hotel for the weekend so nobody would be tempted to drink and drive. Drink and ski, however… Apparently that was another matter, and one that resulted in lacerated asses.
Dylan pulled out his phone again and dialed his buddy Pete, who he knew would be on shift in the ER that night.
“Hey dude, how slammed are you tonight? Got time to throw ten quick stitches in my ass? I have to be somewhere in half an hour.”
Pete’s voice was as dry as usual. “I’m not even going to ask how it is that your ass requires stitches. But yes, we’re slammed. I’ve got two heart attacks, and it’s Friday night and a full moon, and every nutter in White Peaks has decided to show up. Even if I put you to the front of the queue, it’s going to be an hour at least. The nurses are in full revolt because of the staffing situation. Plus we have three delightful cases of gastro that just walked in. If you show up, I’ll probably make you work for your stitches.”
Dylan pictured the chaotic ER that suffered from lack of nurses. “Right, thanks. I’ll see if someone else can do it.”
Dylan skied the rest of the way down to the lodge, shoved his skis in the ski patrol hut, stuck some gauze over his laceration, and grabbed his suture kit. Then he walked over to the hotel. If he was going to make more calls looking for someone to stitch him up, he might as well do it from the comfort of his room.
The glass doors to the lobby slid open just as he came up the stairs, and Jolene stood in front of him in a stunning red dress that accentuated her amazing rack and round ass. His cock surged to life, and Dylan forced his eyes upward to her face. Her full lips, painted crimson to match her dress, were parted slightly, and her blonde hair fell in gentle waves down her back. Her blue eyes that had looked angry before now glittered with sultry makeup, and her expression quickly shifted from surprise to a rueful sort of smile. His cock was even more entranced. Wouldn’t he like to fuck that hot little mouth of hers.
She extended her hand. “Hi I’m Jolene, Alissa’s friend and Maid of Honor. I’m really sorry for being such an ass on the hill today.”
Dylan took her hand and wanted to jerk her hard into his arms and press his lips against hers. His cock practically leapt with agreement. But that wouldn’t be right. Patient. He had to be patient. But at his touch, her eyes had gone from apologetic to baldly hungry, and he could feel the heat emanating from her body.
“Funny you should mention asses,” he said. “I seem to have a little problem that requires a nurse.”
Her eyebrow shot up in a sexy little arch, and Dylan risked moving in a little closer.
Chapter Seven: Jolene
On the bed before her lay literally the most perfect looking specimen of a male ass that she’d ever seen. Jolene wasn’t sure she could continue to concentrate on her suturing with her panties so wet. She wanted to roll Dylan over and ride him until she screamed. Just three more stitches. Just three more stitches, she reminded herself, resisting the urge to cup the cheek of his ass with her hand. She was a nurse. Nurses didn’t fondle their patients. Nurses especially didn’t fondle patients they’d just met, as much as they might want to.
She closed off her last suture with a tidy knot and cut the thread. She placed a large waterproof bandage over the sutures and removed her gloves.
“Alright. All done. Do I need to talk to you about proper care of your sutures?” she asked with a slightly tart tone.
Dylan rolled over onto one hip, his boxers failing to hide the state of firmness of his shaft, and Jolene just barely suppressed her sudden intake of breath.
Dylan seemed to hear her though because when he sat up, he was only inches away from her, staring directly into her eyes. Then his gaze fell to her breasts and traveled the length of her red dress.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Don’t thank me until you see how it heals,” she replied. “I’m not normally allowed to do stitches, so your swimsuit modeling days might be over.”
“Horrors,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to save my ass modeling for private events where there’s a tolerance for scars then.” His eyes were fixed on her lips, and she found herself very light-headed.
“Looks that way,” she said.
“I guess we have a party to go to,” he said.
“I guess so,” she murmured.
“They’ll be expecting us.” He hadn’t moved a millimeter and his lips had dipped dangerously close to hers. Jolene’s entire body tingled with desire. One of his hands reached out as if to caress her, and their bodies seemed to be leaning into each other when the sound of Jolene’s cell phone echoed through the room.
“That’s Alissa’s ring tone,” she said and flicked her eyes desperately to the clock radio beside the bed. “We’re already half an hour late.” She pulled her phone out of her purse.
“Hey, Lis.”
“Are you okay?” Alissa’s worried voice filled the line.
“Yes, I’m fine. I was just helping Dylan with a little problem.” Suddenly her voice filled with giggles, as if she’d been caught with a boy drunk in the broom closet at a school dance.
“Jo, what exactly are you doing with Dylan?” Alissa didn’t sound mad, but certainly suspicious—but the amused and happy sort of suspicion.
Jolene shook her head. She needed to fulfill her Maid of Honor duties, which meant not spending the evening with a sexy shifter in a state of undress. At least not for the next few hours.
“He cut himself and needed stitches. We’re on our way.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yes he’s fine. He just had a little mishap skiing down the hill with Cade.”
She gave Dylan a meaningful look, and he obediently went to the bathroom and turned on the tap. Then he winked at her and pulled off the thin long-sleeved shirt he’d been wearing, which had left little to the imagination. But his naked and ripped torso left even less to the imagination—although it spurred the imagining of a whole host of other delicious things—and Jolene let out an audible gasp.
“Are you sure you’re on your way?” Alissa said, laughter still girding her voice. “Renate is having fits.”
“I’m coming right now. Dylan is just getting in the shower.”
“Well don’t rush for me. It’s just the pre-wedding dinner. I can say Dylan needed thirty stitches or something. Tomorrow I need you, babe. But tonight you’re on your own. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and it sounds like you’re just fine.”
Dylan had gone half behind the open door of the bathroom where he’d removed his boxers and tossed them casually on the floor, the tip of his erect cock visible in profile. Jolene’s entire insides felt like they’d turned to molten liquid and her voice had gone all squeaky. “Nope. I’m coming. I’m coming.”
She hung up the phone to Alissa’s snort and tried to collect herself. Dylan had stepped into the shower, and she could hear the water cascading around his body. After her initial boldness and laughter, Jolene suddenly felt a wave of uncertainty. She’d just met Dylan and had no reason to believe that he was interested in her, apart from his appreciative glances and the fact that he’d leaned into her earlier… and had just taken his clothes off in front of her. But maybe he stripped for everyone. If she had the body of a stripper, she probably would too.
“I’m going,” she called out, putting her phone back in her purse.
“Tell Alissa I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Dylan called out.
“Will do,” she said. There. It was clear that he didn’t intend to stick around to do things other than go to the party. The stripping and leaning had just probably been one of the playful things that god-like men did on a regular basis. She’d enjoy his company and looking at his body, but she wouldn’t let her heart get involved.
Chapter Eight: Dylan
Dylan heard the hotel door click shut above the sound of the water. Letting her go had been almost impossible. But she was Alissa’s Maid of Honor and for that matter, he was Cade’s best man, and he didn’t want to let Alissa and Cade down or get Jolene into trouble with her friend. She’d just looked so perfectly edible in that dress.
Besides, he didn’t want their first time to be a quickie. He wanted to spend the night fucking her thoroughly and completely, making her cry out in ecstasy, tasting and touching every little bit of that hot body of hers. His shaft, already erect when he got in the shower, was now like a rod of steel. He stroked it slowly, his breathing becoming more jagged. He could come right now in an instant, releasing the tension, the want. But he was enjoying the sensation of burning for her. His mate. He ran his hand over his hard cock a few more times, growling with desire and then stopped. He’d burn for her. It would keep him on point tonight. He was always at his best when he was hungry. Later, with any luck, he’d be sinking his rod deep into the glorious little pussy that lay beneath that red dress.
He threw on the charcoal suit that hung pressed in the closet and ran his fingers through his strawberry blond hair. He’d spend the night seducing Jolene and showing her what life would be like as his mate. He just hoped she’d decide that a life together would be as magical as he knew it could be.
Cade had a vaguely pained look on his handsome face when he met Dylan in the lobby of the main lodge. He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Where have you been? Your date is waiting. We’re all at our tables. It’s starting to get uncomfortable.”
Dylan looked at him blankly. His date? He remembered with a flash of horror. Astrid.
His date.
Astrid was one the ski school instructors. She’d had a crush on Flynn forever, and since Alissa’s friend Zoey wouldn’t be arriving until the next day, had convinced Dylan to bring her as his date so the six of them would sit at the head table together at the pre-wedding dinner, allowing Astrid to flirt shamelessly with Flynn.
He’d agreed before he met Jolene. Before he had a mate. What was Jolene thinking now?
“Where’s Flynn?”
The pained look flashed over Cade’s face again. “He’s out with my mother testing the snowmobiles to make sure they’re all in working order for tomorrow. My mom had this sudden sense of paranoia that one of them might break down, leaving hundreds of red poppies, flown in specially from Afghanistan, stranded on the hill. I don’t know when they’ll be back. My mother told us to eat without her.”
Dylan swore under his breath and pushed past Cade into the ballroom. The snowflakes glittered prettily in the flickering candlelight, and the tables were filled with dozens of Cade and Alissa’s friends, many of whom were also Dylan’s friends. The scent of roasted meats and vegetables hung in the air and a line of impeccably dressed waiters lined the wall, waiting for the direction to start serving. At the head table sat Alissa, looking stunning in a deep purple gown, Astrid, looking none too shabby for Astrid in an aqua dress with a neckline that plunged down to her navel, and Jolene, looking as ravishing as she had twenty minutes before, but now sporting a decidedly unhappy expression as she watched Astrid waving her hands in the air to make some point. Astrid talked a lot. Dylan had forgotten this when Astrid had pinned him in the ski patrol shack and sprung her plan on him.
He set off toward the table with a growing sense of dread, Cade trailing behind him. “I didn’t know you had a thing for Astrid,” Cade said.
“I don’t,” Dylan snapped and then felt bad. “Sorry man, she’s here for Flynn. I’m just a decoy.”
“Hmm,” Cade said, shrewdly eyeing the table and Jolene, then turning back and scanning Dylan from head to toe. Dylan was quite sure that he’d gone
pasty faced and was sweating profusely. “Bad timing, then.”
“The worst,” Dylan agreed.
Dylan plastered a broad smile over his face and approached the head table. “Ladies,” he said, dropping a kiss on Alissa’s cheek. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I had an unfortunate incident with a ski, that this lovely woman was kind enough to help me out with. You all look ravishing tonight.” He beamed at Jolene, who didn’t return his smile. To make matters worse, Astrid plastered herself all over him as soon as he sat down next to her, one hand snaking around his neck and the other grasping his thigh. He gave her a little kick under the table to try to remind her that it wasn’t a real date, and that Flynn wasn’t even here. Astrid jumped a little and her eyes widened, but fortunately she withdrew her hand from his neck.
Alissa regarded him with a faintly amused, faintly annoyed smile. “So we’ve heard. Astrid here was just telling us how long the two of you had been dating.”
Dylan flicked his eyes to Astrid in alarm. What on earth had Astrid been saying? She wasn’t an unattractive woman, a little loud for his liking, the party girl of the ski patrol shack. But she had a good heart and could always be counted on in complex extractions on the hill. He noted that she had three empty glasses with fancy umbrellas sticking out of them in front of her plate.
Cade, who had gone over to talk to the lineup of waiters, returned to the table and sat next to Alissa.
“They’re going to start serving,” Cade said.
“Great,” Dylan mumbled. He needed to get Astrid out to the deck pronto to explain the situation, but she already had that swaying, swirly-eyed look of the truly hammered, and he suspected that the conversation might go a bit better if she had food in her stomach to absorb the alcohol.
Instead he turned to Alissa. “You didn’t tell me your friend was such a Wonder Woman with the sutures.”