by Sarra Cannon
Mary Jane wasn’t exotic.
She certainly wasn’t bold.
The thought of asking for what she dreamed of, what she wanted, had a blush painting her cheeks. And that damn heat was back again, crawling through her body and setting her on fire.
Maybe Dre and Landry did share their lovers.
Maybe they knew exactly how to please a woman.
She was still out here alone, and the only relief she was finding tonight was what she could give herself.
She bit back the groan threatening to slip from her lips. Walking was sweet torture, and she needed to put some space between herself and the boat. If either brother saw her now, she’d about die of embarrassment.
Or jump his bones.
More than once she’d spent the night in this part of the bayou, and there was an old hunting cabin tucked behind a stand of cypress trees. Parting the moss, she stepped up onto the wooden porch and tossed her sleeping bag down. The door would be unlocked—no one locked up this far from civilization—but she didn’t want walls around her. Not tonight, not ever again. Out here, on the porch, there was nothing but space and dark possibilities.
“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself, unzipping the bag and hunkering down. All around her, the bayou settled in for the night. The katydids and frogs were banging out another chorus in their sleepy-time song. Unfortunately, sleep had never seemed more impossible, yet it was late now and tomorrow would be another early start. She wasn’t the first woman to lust after an employee, and she wouldn’t be the last.
A gator roared in the distance, and something closer and heavier dropped into the water. The day’s heat was still a damp, sticky weight against her skin, and zipping up the sleeping bag wasn’t happening. When she finally gave in to temptation and lay down on her back, the clouds that had tracked them all day still covered the sky. Only the occasional star peeked through.
All alone, the way she liked. No people and no pressure, just the night air and the familiar sounds and scents of the swamp around her. Getting comfortable, she let her knees fall apart as she ran a hand along her inner thigh, enjoying the glide of skin on skin. She needed someone’s touch and she was the only one here. Inching deliciously closer to her soaking pussy, she teased the edge of her denim cut-offs with her fingertips before slipping underneath.
Her panties were damp. The sensation of her own fingers moving over her skin had her clit throbbing and begging for a closer touch. She was tempted to give in to the need, but it would be better slower. Sweeter. She wanted more than a thirty-second quickie.
She was sensually aware of the night. The desire burned brighter, hotter, needier than ever before. Images from the day tumbled through her mind. Dre and Landry. Landry and Dre.
She wanted them both.
Her hand slipped higher, trailing over the hard seam of her shorts. She pressed her index finger against the wet, swollen channel. Oh God.
Shamelessly, she imagined Landry touching her like this, Dre’s hands cupping her ass as his fingers met his brother’s and the two of them stroked her together. The fantasy was good, but the reality would be even better. Her fingers grew slick as her imagination filled in details, putting her between the two of them.
Her fingers scooted higher, found the needy bud and pressed. Rubbed slowly in small circles.
She wanted.
— —
The sweet, hot scent of feminine cream called Landry. His dick shot to attention, his balls full and aching. He knew that scent, knew that woman. Mary Jane needed. And he wanted to be the one to give her what she yearned for. Another night, he’d have gone back for Dre. Would have shared this moment with his brother. Tonight, however, he was almost out of time, and he couldn’t resist the sexy siren call of Mary Jane.
He slipped silently out of a centuries-old stand of cypress trees and found himself in front of an equally old hunting cabin. The damned thing looked like it was one breeze away from falling down, the windows broken out and the front porch listing left. Christ. Mary Jane didn’t know the first thing about staying safe, and he wanted to paddle her ass, but then he inhaled, and her scent teased him until all he could think about was getting himself a taste of that sweetness.
She was all alone out here, and he was definitely the big, bad wolf come to eat her up.
Christ. He looked up desperately, but the damned moon was still playing coy, and there was no neon sign pointing the way to Mary Jane or back to the boat. He was on his own here, and he knew precisely what he wanted.
His honey smelled good. He barely bit back the rough growl that started from his throat. He wanted closer to her. His wolf wanted closer. So he crossed the space between them. She was so small, almost swallowed up by the sleeping bag spread out around her.
Eyes closed, she muttered something, shoving back the bag’s flap like her internal temp had kicked up a notch or ten, sweat beaded along her hairline. She hadn’t even undressed, was still wearing the white tank top and those itty-bitty denim shorts his eyes had been glued to all afternoon. Hell, she could have stripped down to a satin bra and panties, and he couldn’t have been more aroused. Her legs shifted restlessly, and his sensitive ears caught the whisper of skin rubbing against skin as her thighs closed. Parted.
Don’t do this. Don’t look.
Don’t touch.
His gaze went straight to her shorts. When she moved restlessly again, she gave him a full-on shot of her crotch. A wolf in the wild would have done so deliberately, teasing him with her heat and her need. Mary Jane’s restless gesture had the same effect on him now. Damned if he couldn’t see the darker shadow at the junction of her thigh and hip, where she was all soft and vulnerable. He wanted to put his tongue there and give her the smallest of kisses.
Less than a minute. That was all it would take for him to close the remaining distance between them and slide in there beside her. Would she welcome him? Despite her stated hands-off policy, he hadn’t missed the feminine curiosity burning in her eyes.
His feet took him closer. Heat poured off her body and her scent… Christ, she made him hard. Her scent was pure arousal, lush like caramel apples, all decadent sugar on the outside but juicy sweet on the inside. Her hands moved down her body, like her fingers were headed right for the hard little nipples beneath the soft cotton before she jerked them back up.
That had to be one hell of a fantasy she was working up.
“Mary Jane,” he crooned, crouching beside her until they were eye to eye. He intended to be the one pulling at her nipples, teasing her flesh hard. For that to happen, she needed to wake up and do some choosing.
Her eyes flew to meet his, the pink staining her cheeks proof positive she was real unhappy at being caught red-handed.
Which was too bad, as she was so damn pretty taking her pleasure. “A gentleman would keep right on walking and pretend he hadn’t seen a thing.”
Oh, she was a delight. That blush contradicted her sassy tone. His little beta was trying to show him to the door, but no way would he leave her alone now. Not with her creamy invitation flooding his senses.
He laughed. “Naw, chère. A gentleman, he’d be slippin’ right up there behind you to lend a hand.”
Damned if she didn’t think about his words, so he kept right on talking. “You got room for two in there, sha? I’m happy to be helpin’ you out. I’m thinkin’ you’d like my hands on you just fine. Invite me in.”
Mary Jane might be the prettiest, softest, pinkest female he'd encountered, but she was stubborn. That was both interesting and unexpected. She arched again, her fingers dipping lower. Christ. She was killing him here.
Framed by the fabric of the sleeping bag, her legs parted like they had a mind of their own, and she snapped them shut. She couldn’t keep still, though, her legs rubbing restlessly together. Resisting so hard didn’t make sense. Some things you couldn’t stop, and the arousal ripping through her body right now was one of those things.
“This isn’t like me.” The words f
lew out of her, her back arching up even higher, a tight little bow that had her heels pushing against the porch.
Too shy to demand what she wanted, and that made him want to smile. “You’re turned on. Aroused. Wet.” He wouldn’t let her hide from the words. “Your body wants sex. Right now. You wan’ someone to fuck you hard.”
She glared at him. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
And that wasn’t a denial.
“Nope.” He didn’t move, watching her with the innate stillness of the predator he was. A pink flush stained her skin, her throat and chest. His wolf whined. “I don’ think it was.”
Her fingers got busier, but he couldn’t see as how she was getting where she wanted to be going. The shudders racking her body were fine tremors now, her legs scissoring apart as she groaned in frustration because there was nothing she could do to stem the tidal wave. Yeah. She was riding the express train to orgasm here, and he was so onboard with that plan.
“I won’ make you wait,” he observed.
“You think you can do this better?” Her glare reminded him his little cat had claws.
So did he. He knew the slow, dark smile tugging at the corner of his mouth wasn't nice. Her eyes widened—because she clearly saw that nasty side too—but he opened his mouth anyhow and gave her the truth. He didn’t dress it up in pretty words either. “You wan’ me to help you, that’s what I’ll do, honey. Fuck you. I’ll put myself inside you, fuck you fast and hard, in and out, until you feel me everywhere.”
Mary Jane was a good woman. Everything he’d seen about her on the boat today said she was all that was sweet and honorable. She did what she said, and she hurt no one when she went about her business. This kind of female didn't choose males like him. Maybe in another century or even another lifetime, those females had. When everyday living was a choice of kill or get killed. Now, humans were more civilized, and the only place for his kind was on the edges.
Tonight, though, she was offering him a taste of heaven and no way would he refuse.
She eyed his body greedily, and his erection sure didn't get the message that this evening was the end of the road. No, that erection was an iron-hard bar pressing against the front of his pants, begging to get inside Mary Jane. Which was so not happening.
“So do it.” The sensual demand in her brown eyes set him on fire. “If you want to play doctor here, do it. Make me feel better. Make me feel good, Landry.”
Landry wanted Mary Jane on her knees, her lips opening up to take him deep. He wanted to fuck her pretty mouth until he came and she swallowed his come. At the same time, her scent called to him with a siren’s lure, demanding he push her thighs apart and lick everywhere she was wet and lush.
Being he was a gentleman—sometimes—he’d take care of her first. Hell, she was spread out like a feast, touching herself. He figured he didn’t need words. All he had to do was slide in there behind her and help her take care of business.
Forget the words discussion they’d had when he’d signed on and the rules she’d placed on their relationship. Right now, she wasn’t the captain and he was no deckhand.
“Lie down.” Hell. That harsh, guttural growl was his voice. He shouldn’t touch her like this, not when the wolf was so close to the surface and he was waiting on the moon to come up.
He wasn’t stopping.
Hell no. No one had ever accused Landry Breaux of being too much of a gentleman, and he’d reached his limits tonight all right.
She hesitated, and the dom in him wasn’t letting her get away with that little act of defiance.
“You do it, sha.” He towered over her, his size underscoring her feminine vulnerability. She’d give him this, though. He suspected their Mary Jane was a submissive at heart, and he’d make sure she got the pleasure she deserved.
— —
Landry was big and demanding. He stood over her like some kind of medieval lord, and strangely that made her want him more. Just as she was ready to tell herself this shouldn’t happen like this, that she couldn’t let him dominate her, the surge of wetness between her thighs told her precisely why she was going to do this. He was six feet of pure luscious, and she wanted a taste. Now.
Tonight didn’t count.
She settled back. The boards of the porch bit into her back, the sleeping bag no real protection from that hard reality. She had no idea what to do with her hands. This was both awkward and about as unsexy as it got, but then she saw Landry’s eyes. Almost glowing in the dark, his eyes looked like heated, liquid gold. He wanted her. This wasn’t some game he was playing with her.
“There’s a good honey.” He didn’t move any closer, and she bit back the needy moan rising to her lips. He was near enough to touch her and yet he wasn’t.
“Landry?”
“Shhh,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m goin’ to look at you jus’ a minute here. You have any idea how pretty you look, Mary Jane? How good you smell? Open up your legs for me.”
Before she could second-guess herself or him, she parted her thighs. The denim shorts dug into her sensitive skin as she shifted, giving him a peek of the softer, vulnerable skin where the shorts ended. When she moved again, she knew she was flashing him the lace edging her panties.
“Real pretty.” He crouched down, his big hands catching her knees and pushing her wider. Holding her open.
She could smell her own arousal, and that was an embarrassment she hadn’t planned on. Flushing, she tried to wriggle away.
“Uh-uh,” he chided. “You don’ go anywhere now.”
He ran his thumbs up her thighs, massaging the tense muscle there. His touch felt good, so good, but she was caught between the nervous, delicious desire and that pleasure. She’d invited him to touch her, and he was making it clear he’d do so. On his terms.
His thumbs dipped into the hollow where her thighs met. Her skin there was ticklish. Exquisitely sensitive. She wanted to scoot closer, shove her pussy along his fingers and take what she craved. And yet she also needed to get away, to put some distance between them. She was so wet that her panties were soaked. Maybe he’d be put off by that, maybe he’d think she was too easy.
When she squirmed uneasily, he pinned her in place effortlessly. One big thumb slid up and down that crease, and she held her breath, not moving. What would he do next? What did she want him to do?
Those dark eyes watched her. “Take the shorts off.”
She undid the top button and lowered the zipper, flinching at the impossibly loud rasp of sound. Her fingers trembled, paused.
His eyes dropped straight to the waistband of her panties. Pink and lacy, her favorite pair sported a saucy little bow at the top of her crotch. She sure hadn’t planned on showing them to anyone, but his gaze darkened and he smiled. Slow and knowing. She was in so much trouble.
“Who’s in charge here, Mary Jane?” His rough growl sounded hungry. Confident. He knew what he was doing—she was the one who didn’t. “The shorts come off. Now.”
She blinked up at him. Opened her mouth and then closed it. She’d known he’d take charge, but the words were shockingly blunt. And erotic. Oh God, his rough command got her going. She didn’t know what that said about her, but she wanted to see where he’d take this attraction between them. Desperately. Obediently, she pushed the denim down her thighs, and he took them the rest of the way.
“Here’s your firs’ clue, sha.” He pressed his mouth against her lace-covered pussy, and heat shot through her. “It’s not you.”
He nipped. She screamed with the sudden shock of pleasure, her cry echoing around the bayou.
“Let’s try my question again. You tell me who’s in charge.”
“You,” she breathed. “Landry.”
“That’s right, honey. You invite the big bad wolf into your bed, you let him see this pretty pussy of yours…” He dragged his thumb up her slick channel, pressing firmly against the hard bud at the top, and a low, keening moan tore from her own throat, “…and he’s goin’ to eat you
up. You asked for this.”
He leaned closer, and she felt his next words against her aching, needy flesh. “I’m goin’ to take real good care of you.”
One quick tug of his fingers and her panties were gone.
In the next moment, he had her thighs spread over his shoulders, his big, sure hands cupping her ass and pulling her towards his mouth. No problem there, because she was with him every inch of the way. She wanted him. No matter how this complicated tomorrow, she wanted Landry Breaux looking at her like she was his sweet treat.
His head lowered, and his mouth covered her. There was nothing subtle about his touch. His tongue parted her folds in one long, slow lick from top to bottom. He opened her up, dragging himself over her swollen flesh. Her fingers tangled in his hair, soft, silky where the man himself was all hard.
Landry Breaux. Eating her up like she was his sweet treat.
The pleasure shot through her, building fast. Her thighs shook, the muscles of her ass tensing and clenching as she pushed herself against his tongue. Moans and gasps tore from her throat, but all that mattered was him tasting her, exploring every hidden, secret fold. When he rasped the side of her clit, she keened.
Another moan escaped before she could bite back the needy sound and “God, Landry. I’m close.”
“Tell me,” he growled, and she felt that demand through her entire body.
She was so close, the orgasm trembling out of reach. She’d never let go, not like this.
“More,” she demanded, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. Damned if she was going to beg him anymore. He could give her what she wanted. They both knew that. So he could do it. Now.
He laughed and went back to work, sucking her clit into his talented mouth. A wet finger slid deliberately into her ass, and she bucked. Oh God. The dark sensations were unspeakably good, each firm stroke opening her up, pushing deeper.
“You like that,” he asked, lifting his head for a moment. “You okay, Mary Jane?”