by Olivia Myers
“Bridget,” he murmured.
He lowered her down onto the bed of pelts, continuing to kiss her breasts, and then her belly. His hand slid between her thighs, and she parted her legs some more, urging him on. One finger stroked gently up and down the rim of her outer lips. She felt an intense excitement, a need that she had never felt before. She moaned and rocked her hips forward, wanting more. His finger slipped inside of her, gently moving in and out, deeper each time. Bridget moaned again, biting her lip and trying to keep from being too loud. “I need you,” she whispered.
Will withdrew his finger and gently spread her thighs so that her legs were wide. He looked down at her, his gaze burning with desire. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes one last time in a silent question.
She nodded. She wanted him. She needed him. She had never been surer of anything in her life.
Will leaned his weight forward slowly, settling his manhood against her wet center. She gasped as the head of it slipped inside her, stretching her and filling her in a way that was both painful and amazingly pleasurable. He pushed more of himself in, and Bridget groaned, thrusting her hips forward to meet him as he filled her completely. He paused for a moment, to give her time to get used to the hard member that was inside of her, and then pulled back, only to thrust forward again.
Each time Will thrust into her, pleasure increased between Bridget’s legs. It was building steadily, until all Bridget could think of was Will. She wrapped her legs around him and his thrusts became erratic and powerful, losing rhythm as his instincts took over.
Bridget bit back a scream as her first orgasm hit her. Her nails dug into Will’s back, and she felt his manhood pulsing inside of her. After a moment, he collapsed on top of her. He kissed her gently on her forehead, and then rolled to lie next to her.
Bridget settled her head against his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around her protectively. She whispered to him, “That was amazing.”
Will chuckled, and kissed her again. “You’re amazing,” he whispered back.
Bridget felt herself smile in the darkness.
***
The next morning, Bridget and Will woke up early again, before the others. They sat by the campfire, snacking on leftover food from the night before. Bridget leaned against Will, and he kept his arm around her, as if he couldn’t bear to break contact with her.
Eric was the first one of his brothers to get up, and he just gave them an amused, knowing look before grabbing some food for himself. They sat in a companionable silence.
Connell came out of the tent a few minutes later and opened his mouth to say something to Will, but he froze. His head turned towards the woods, and he cocked it, doglike, as he gazed into the trees. “What’s that?”
Suddenly an arrow flew out of the darkness between the trees and buried itself in the dirt in front of his feet. Will jumped up, pulling Bridget with him. She heard shouting in the trees now, and the pounding of feet. Will grabbed Bridget’s shoulders and turned her towards him.
“Listen to me,” he said. “I want you to run. Go climb a tree, and wait for me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head.
“I need you safe, Bridget.” He kissed her roughly on the mouth before releasing her. “Run.”
Bridget gave him one last, desperate look, and then did as he’d told her, the ground cold and hard beneath her bare feet.
She paused when she got into the woods. She hid behind a tree, breathing hard, and then turned to peer around it, back into the clearing. What was going on? Who was attacking Will and his brothers? She saw men rush into the clearing and realized with horror that she knew them. They were men from her clan!
With a sinking feeling, she remembered that she had been supposed to return home yesterday. When she didn’t show up, her sister must have told the men everything. They had tracked her here, and probably had seen her with Will. They would think that he and his brothers had captured her and ravished her. She had to tell them the truth. Maybe she could calm them down and get them to leave without hurting Will or his brothers.
She was just stepping out from around the tree when she saw something that froze her in her steps. Will and his brothers had stripped off their shirts, and they began to change. Gray fur washed over their bodies, and their faces elongated into muzzles. She saw the flash of long, sharp teeth in the mouth of the wolf that used to be Will. As she watched, he leapt at one of the men from her clan and sank those teeth into his arm, sending a spray of blood spattering across the ground. She gasped and stumbled back. Turning, she ran deeper into the woods until she found a tall, strong tree. She climbed up into it, frantically pulling herself through the branches, not even noticing the scratches she was getting on her face and arms.
Safely up in the tree, Bridget hugged the trunk, gasping. She couldn’t believe that she had seen Will turn into a wolf. He was a monster, a nightmare from the stories that the elders of her clan told. But… on some level, hadn’t she already known it? She remembered the gray-eyed wolf that she had seen on her first day out here, and remembered the odd familiarity she had felt when she saw Will in the morning.
Then she thought of Will fighting her clansmen as a wolf, his flesh soft and vulnerable to their arrows and guns, and she felt sick. She hated the thought of him getting hurt; she didn’t know if she would survive it if he died. She remembered Will’s gentleness as they made love the night before, and she knew that he wasn’t a monster. Everything he had done, he had done to protect her.
***
It seemed like she waited forever. Every time she heard a gun go off, she jumped. She was only thankful that the firearms took so long to load, and not many of the men had one. They were expensive, and hard to maintain. The men couldn’t make them on their own, like they made their bows.
She didn’t know what she would do if Will never came for her. What if her clansmen won? When she heard the branch snap below her, her heart started pounding. She looked down, into the trees, and didn’t see anything at first. Then a form materialized out of the forest. It was a man, bloody and shirtless, with gray eyes and dark hair. Will.
Bridget gasped, feeling the numb fear recede from her fingertips. He was alive. She scrambled down the tree. She almost fell twice, but caught herself at the last moment. Her hands were bloodied with scratches, but she didn’t care. The moment that her feet hit the ground, she ran towards Will and threw herself into his arms.
He wrapped her in an embrace, burying his face in her hair.
“You’re okay,” she gasped.
He nodded. “We’re all right, all of us. And we managed not to kill any of your clansmen, we just drove them away. But we can’t stay here, Bridget. We have to move on.”
She pulled back and looked at him, her heart sinking.
He spoke hesitantly. “Do you… do you want to come with us?” His eyes were hopeful.
“Yes,” Bridget said immediately. “Oh, yes.”
She hugged him again. It didn’t matter if he was a wolf. He would never hurt her, and she knew that there would never be another man that she loved as much as she loved him. Will tilted her head back and kissed her gently, pressing her body to his, and Bridget knew that he felt the same way.
THE END
Trouble
Duke knew the girl was trouble the second she walked through the door. Not that Shotguns Bar was any stranger to trouble. Most of the men that came in to belly-up to the scarred walnut bar or play a borderline unfriendly game of pool were rough and tumble types, bikers and bad-asses, and Duke had to put his military training to use busting heads and rousting surly drunks pretty often.
But she was a whole different kind of trouble.
The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the dusty windows gleamed off her long, wavy blonde hair as she tossed it over her shoulder. She scanned the bar, slender, long-fingered hands propped on her hips, and her haughty little snub nose in the air.
She’d made an attempt to dress do
wn, but if her faded denim mini-skirt with its frayed hem wasn’t ‘designer distressed’ or whatever they called that shit, Duke would eat his own jeans — which were ragged and worn nearly white in places because he’d had them for over a decade, not because some he’d bought them that way.
He didn’t smile as he took in the pink, glittery words on her tight black t-shirt — YOU SAY ‘BITCH’ LIKE IT’S A BAD THING — but his lips did twitch. He continued slicing limes, but kept half an eye on the new arrival as she sized up the few patrons scattered at the mismatched tables.
Once she’d taken the lay of the land, her gaze zeroed in on him. Her eyes narrowed a little and her pointed chin went up another notch. Duke dumped the limes into a plastic bucket and stuck it in the chiller, wiped his hands, and tossed the bar rag over his shoulder. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to come to him.
Not many women came into Shotguns, and the ones who did were nothing like her. They were either as rough and hard as the men they were drinking with, or the kind of easy girls that hadn’t been pretty enough in high school and were used to getting attention on their back or their knees.
Blondie looked like she’d probably been head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen. Duke doubted she’d ever spent a minute on her knees in her whole life. Which was a shame, because the thought of her looking up at him with those pouty pink lips made Duke’s blood hot. Hot enough that he had to reach down and make a bit of an adjustment as she sashayed across the bare wooden floor, the heels of her cowboy boots (Jesus, they were pink) clocking loudly over the faint strains of Waylon Jennings drifting from the ancient jukebox in the corner.
When she reached the bar, she placed her hands on the edge and leaned in, one corner of her mouth curled up in a little smirk. The move drew his eyes immediately to the ample cleavage visible above the scooped neckline of her little black tee, which was no doubt exactly the response she was looking for. His suspicion was confirmed when he glanced back up and saw the triumphant glint in her blue eyes.
She knew the effect she had on men and she enjoyed toying with them. Duke put on his best ‘Don’t fuck with me’ look, furrowing his heavy brows, mouth in a straight line, hard eyes and flexing biceps. It was an expression he’d seen on more than one CO’s face, and even used a time or two himself on some grunt fresh off the plane.
Unlike them, Blondie didn’t even flinch. She cocked her head a little, sending all that blonde hair sliding down her arm, and her gaze crawled all over him. Sizing him up. When she got back to his face her little smile grew wider. Duke felt the skin on his forehead tighten as his scowl deepened.
Christ, trouble was right! They hadn’t even spoken a word to each other and yet he could feel the heat crackle between them. The warm, leather- and alcohol-scented air of the bar seemed heavy and oppressive, like the atmosphere just before a hell of a storm.
When his fierce expression didn’t relax, she rocked back on her heels, her smile fading a little. The challenge in her eyes didn’t, though.
“Sign out front says you’re hiring.”
She hooked a manicured thumb toward the door she’d come through, as if Duke was too stupid to remember where it was he’d put the sign. It had only been three days since he’d had to fire Barb. He’d hated to do it, because she’d been a hell of a server. None of the customers gave her shit because she was just as hard as they were. But he’d caught her with her hand in the till, and there wasn’t much Duke hated more than a thief. Except maybe a coward.
When he didn’t respond, Blondie gave an exasperated little huff. She crossed her arms in a mockery of his posture, but it didn’t quite work since she had to do it under the full swell of her breasts, pushing them up as if offering them on a platter.
“Are you or aren’t you?”
Duke had to give her points for the hard edge to her voice. It sounded all business, even if she looked all pleasure. He shrugged one shoulder.
“What’s it to you, Blondie?”
He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling as her nostrils flared and a muscle in her jaw jumped. He could practically hear her grinding her teeth.
“I want the job.”
Duke couldn’t help it, he snorted laughter. Her spine snapped straight and a faint pink flush stained her cheeks. He turned away to grab a longneck from the cooler, ignoring her as he popped the cap and slid from behind the long bar.
He felt her watching him, her gaze a hot press between his shoulder blades as he strode across the room to Buz’s table and set down the fresh beer. The bearded old biker gave him a brief nod and pushed his empty out of the way.
Blondie was still staring at him when he turned back, hands on her hips like they’d been when she first walked in. Her eyes were glittering with anger… and maybe a hint of hurt. She covered it well, but he could see it in the set of her slender shoulders. Duke sighed as he reached her, setting Buz’s empty on the bar beside her and leaning one elbow on the scratched surface.
“Look, no offense Blondie, but the kind of clientele we get in here… well, they’d eat you alive.”
She flashed him perfect, straight, white teeth in something halfway between a grin and a snarl. Her eyes snapped with blue electricity.
“Perfect,” she purred. “I love getting eaten.”
Lust hit Duke like a flash grenade, every drop of blood heading straight to his groin. He swallowed, shifting as his previously comfortable jeans suddenly constricted his half hard cock.
Her gaze dropped to his waist, took in the outline of his erection. The flush on her cheeks grew deeper and the glistening tip of her tongue poked out to slide along her lips. Duke stepped into her personal space, resting his right hand on the back of the bar stool behind her, caging her in with his arms.
She had to look up at him. She was tall for a woman, nearly 5’11 with the heels on her boots, but he had her beat by a good six inches still. He stared down into her wide eyes, taking in the dilated pupils. Her breath was a warm, mint scented puff against his chin.
“If you’re looking for a little rough trade, you don’t have to work here for that. Have a seat. I’ll get you a drink. If you hang out, I’m sure you can find someone who’ll punch your ticket.” Duke gave her cleavage a lingering look and then shrugged. “Hell, if you’re still here at closing maybe I’ll give you a go.”
He’d meant to piss her off, because in his experience princesses like her liked to play bad girl but they stormed off in a snit when things didn’t go their way. Once she did that, he could get back to doing inventory.
But he’d underestimated Blondie badly. For one thing, she moved quicker than he would have thought. Her left hand came up between them to shove at his chest with surprising force. It didn’t shift him, but it rocked him back a bit and gave her a moment of advantage while he gaped in shock.
The sound of breaking glass coincided almost exactly with the movement of her right arm. If he’d been another man, she might have managed to get the broken beer bottle to his throat before he could take action… But Duke wasn’t other men. His left hand shot out without him even having to think about it, the response smooth and automatic. He caught her slender wrist in his thick fingers.
She panted lightly, but her arm didn’t tremble. Duke was impressed. And hard as a railroad spike. His heart hammered in his chest and he tasted bright metallic adrenaline on the back of his tongue.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?!”
He squeezed her wrist hard enough to make her flinch but she didn’t let go of the bottle. Instead, she pushed against him, her breasts brushing against his own plain black tee.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to ‘give me a go’!” She fluttered her long lashes at him, her voice sickly sweet.
He narrowed his eyes, relaxing his hold on her wrist just enough to let the edge of the jagged glass touch his jaw. He felt the sharp sting and watched her eyes widen slightly. Her arm stopped straining. Duke was careful
, he didn’t want to really hurt her, but he needed to prove a point. Because if she pulled that shit on some of the bikers who frequented Shotguns, they wouldn’t care about hurting her.
The bones of her wrist felt fine and light beneath his fingers as he twisted her arm, making her gasp and drop the bottle. It shattered on the floor, but neither of them looked away from each other.
She tried to pull away, but he stepped in even closer, pressing them chest to chest as he drew the arm up behind her. He put just enough pressure on the joints to make his case. She sucked a breath in through her teeth.
“Get the fuck off me, you Neanderthal!”
Somewhere behind him, Buz snickered. Duke ignored him, concentrating on her. Each uneven breath she took pressed her breasts against his chest. He thought he felt the stiff peaks of her nipples but he couldn’t be sure without looking, and he didn’t take his eyes off her flushed face and glittering eyes. He wasn’t going to underestimate her again.
Duke leaned down until they were nose to nose. He resisted the urge to crush her against the bar and ravage that pouty mouth with his tongue. Just barely. Only years of intense training in controlling his body allowed him to keep the reins on his raging lust.
“Make me.” He growled it, unable to suppress a feral grin when he saw her shudder. She licked her lips again, parting them on a shivering breath.
“I would,” she whispered, a sudden sideways smile baring a dimple in her cheek just as Duke felt her knee press up into his balls. Gently, thank Christ. “But I’d hate to ruin what feels like a rather impressive package by crushing it up into your diaphragm.”
They both remained still for a long moment, gazes locked. He tried to read the expression in her pale blue eyes, but couldn’t. His blood pounded in his temples and groin. Want was a roaring beast in his belly. It had been a long time since he’d been that turned on by a woman. And he could tell she wanted him too. If her blown out pupils and flushed throat weren’t a dead giveaway, he could practically smell the warm stickiness of her arousal.