Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle

by Champagne Jackson

  “Oh, god, Liberty!” I screeched. “You hurt me so good!”

  I felt his teeth sink into the back of my shoulder and I squealed again, his hips pounding and pistoning into me harder and faster, like a true werewolf, no humanity left in him—except for the fact that this was an actual man taking me, and no longer a wolf.

  Yet in his core, in his soul, I could tell that Liberty was transformed, made into a wolf, made into a beast who was egotistical, powerful, selfish, and violent. So this was what he meant by his change under the full moon… It wasn’t just physical but mental. Emotional. Spiritual. It was a total change, a holistic change, and one that stayed with him even when he wasn’t a wolf.

  “Oh, god, please, Liberty… Please…” I begged, not knowing exactly what I was begging for. All I knew was that I wanted him to fuck me harder, wanted to be everything for him, and that I wasn’t about to let him get the best of me. I wanted to be everything that this beast needed—even in my nineteen years, I knew I had found something, found something… Spectacular.

  Yes. Spectacular. That was the word to describe Liberty.

  And awe-inspiring.

  And… terrifying. Truly and absolutely terrifying.

  “You’re all mine,” Liberty whispered in my ear, his voice little more than a guttural growl. The words sent shivers of delight up and down my spine. I was his. I had never belonged to anyone before. And I liked the sound of it. Liked the way the words tasted on my lips as I repeated them, rolling them over my tongue and letting them spill out of my mouth as he took me over and over, his cock spreading my formerly virgin hole wide, making me his mate.

  “Harder, Liberty, harder…” I begged, reaching back to grab him by the hair, savoring the feeling of his sweaty body on top of mine, savoring the way he dominated me, the way he in turn savored and disciplined my flesh. I gasped again as he dug his teeth harder into my flesh, leaving tiny, bloody welts. I didn’t care. The pain was my pleasure.

  That was what he did—he caused pain, but when he did, it was pleasure. He was my pleasure and my pain.

  I felt him start to twitch deep inside of me and I knew he was getting close—could feel the hunger that had begun already deep inside of his flesh beginning to spill over into me once more, as it already had once.

  “Please, baby, Liberty…” I groaned. “Please, cum in me—make me yours.”

  My plea was enough to push him over the edge, it seemed. With a long, anguished howl, he thrust himself once more into me, gripping my hips from behind so hard I thought I would bruise—who am I kidding, I KNEW I would bruise—and I felt his cock pumping, spasming, spilling his seed, filling me with his hunger, filling me with his desire, filling me with his passion.

  And maybe… His love?

  No. I dashed away all thoughts of love. This wasn’t love. This had to be lust. I knew there could be nothing real, nothing true and pure about this passion in the woods. This was just animalistic fucking, brutal and hard, the way beasts do it. There was nothing else to be said about it.

  He and I, we weren’t really so different. Both just animals, hungry and needing passion and physical contact. And we were getting it. He was getting what he wanted—I was making sure of that.

  Each pump of his cock spilled more and more of his seed into my womb. I had no idea what would come of this—would I get pregnant? Would this ill-considered tryst in the forest lead to something more—to a little werewolf, growing in my belly?

  Regret and trepidation began to fill me as he slid out of me and, exhausted, I collapsed to the ground. I rolled over onto my back to look at him and suddenly, all my regrets, all my fears dissipated.

  How could I have resisted this? How could I have resisted this perfect specimen of a man and wolf combined into one? His lean, built body, with muscles glistening with sweat in the moonlight like wet rocks in a stream, smooth and glazed over with a dusting of hair, it was what any woman wanted—the more pure and true expression of masculinity that I had ever seen. How could I have wanted anything else?

  How could I have resisted? And that cock… Long still, even though it was flaccid and slicked with both of our juices, dripping cum, still knotted at the base—I hadn’t even had his knot inside of me, I realized—I hadn’t even experienced the most powerful, the most painful, and invariably pleasurable part of being with Liberty.

  I hadn’t even really given myself to him, I decided, if I hadn’t been knotted—if he hadn’t done to me exactly what beasts like him do for real in the wild.

  And his face—that cherub’s face, painted with a five o’clock shadow that made him seem older than he really looked upon closer inspection, made him seem all the more fierce, all the more dangerous, all the more bestial, no matter what he could say.

  It was his eyes, though, that caught my attention the most, that spoke the most of his dual nature. In one eye, I could see the cold blue reason of humanity, relaxed and rational, while the other, fiery, angry, passionate—there was the Animal that lived in him still. There was the beast that inhabited my lover’s body and just by looking at his eyes, just by drowning in his eyes, I could understand that conflict. I could live in it. And there was a life to be lived there, certainly.

  “You’ll probably want to get dressed and go home,” Liberty finally said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You shouldn’t stay here. I’m dangerous.”

  “I’ll be back in the morning,” I said, beginning to gather the clothes I had lost in the process. He stood away from me, having turned his back and locked his eyes on the moon glaring down at us through the trees, a few stray moon beams catching his features and making them glow with an otherworldly light.

  “No. Don’t.”

  “I can bring you some food.”

  “Tashandra, don’t do that.”

  “What do you like? Bagels? Peanut butter? No, you’re a werewolf… Probably meat? I could pick up a hamburger…”

  “Don’t do that!” he roared, spinning angrily and advancing on me. I was still naked and instinctively, I dropped my clothes, hoping deep down that he was going to force me up against a tree and make love to me once more…

  “I’m dangerous, damn it. Don’t you see that? I all but tore you apart this time. What’ll happen the next time?”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. Forget this ever happened. I…”

  He took a deep breath. Was he holding back tears? I wanted to take him in my arms, my poor wolf boy…

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this had to happen to you.”

  I went to him as he turned from me, pushing my breasts against his back as he drew slow, heaving breaths.

  “No, no, no…” I whispered. “Liberty, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “There’s everything to be sorry about.”

  “Liberty…”

  “Tashandra… I…”

  “No, you don’t understand! I loved it—this was incredible. I couldn’t have imagined my first time being any better… This was magical.”

  “Oh, god… And it was your first time too… I’m a monster.”

  I leaned my head against his back, feeling its warmth and its sweat and smelling the scent of his manliness and his animal-ness, the fierce, musky, masculine scent that drove me wild and made me want to jump on him once more.

  “No, it was amazing…” I whispered, kissing his back. But he didn’t reply. I felt him grow cold, go stony hard underneath my touch.

  “I’m a monster, Tashandra,” he said finally. “And I’m dangerous. This was the worst full moon I’ve ever had—they keep getting worse and worse, more violent and demented the older I get.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m unhappy about that,” I whispered, reaching around to grasp his cock. I was amazed to find it already erect again.

  “You know, I want to just throw you on the ground and tear you to shreds…” he whispered, glancing back at me. “I want to make you cry and leave you a bloody mess. It’s taking all my will power not to fu
ck you half-to-death right now.”

  “You have my permission,” I whispered, trying to be sultry as I kissed his neck. “I liked what we did so far…”

  “No…” he gasped, pushing away from me. It was clearly a difficult thing to do—I could see how conflicted he was, feel how much he wanted to take me, how much he wanted me to be around him again, to be under him, to be crying and screaming for him…

  “No. I won’t do it.”

  “Do it. Make me yours, Liberty. I submit.”

  “No. Get out of here.”

  “Liberty…”

  “Do it! Go!” he all but screamed, pushing me hard. I tumbled to the ground and as I gathered myself, collecting my clothes, I saw him bounding off into the forest, disappearing completely into the moonlit night.

  “Liberty…” I whispered, my eyes straining to make out his disappearing form. But he was gone and I was left alone, alone with my thoughts and my passions and fears, and nothing else—nothing else but the clothes he had torn from my body, as carelessly and brutally as he had torn out my heart.

  “Don’t… Don’t leave me…” I whispered once more, hoping against home that he would hear, but it was not to be. With a sigh, I began to gather up my clothes, began to slide them back onto my sore, abused body, not looking forward to the hard walk back to the convenience store, my entire body aching of passion and love-making, my insides sore and swollen, and my heart… Broken.

  Homecoming

  I walked back to the convenience store as broken as my heart was, on the verge of tears. My clothes were dirty and I was thankful that I met no one along the way who might have witnessed my shame.

  I finished closing up the convenience store as I had been doing when I first met Liberty. I felt like every one of my movements was infused with sadness and missing now—I wanted him back.

  And yet, at the same time, I couldn’t believe what had happened.

  Had I really met a werewolf? Had I really made love to a werewolf in the middle of a forest? Had I really done all sorts of nasty things to him with my mouth and unmentionable bits? God… It was so hard to imagine but in fact, it was true. I had done it. I had done it all.

  The aching in my pussy attested to that. God, I was going to be swollen down there for days… Weeks, maybe.

  Finally, I had finished cleaning up and closing the convenience store. I flicked the lights off with a sad little flicker and slunk off to my car to find my way home.

  Along the long, lonely, dark country roads that led me to my parents’ house, I couldn’t help but turn my thoughts to Liberty—couldn’t help but think about him, about what he had done to me—about what we had done together.

  I remembered his touch. I remembered his scent. I remembered the fire and sadness in his eyes. All of it—all of these memories, which were so recent but already seemed so distant, seemed to have been made so long ago—now played over and over in the cinema of my mind like a never-ending film that reminded me of what I had had and what I had lost. There was no way around it.

  Liberty was gone and I would never have him again. It was a one-time thing.

  Why did I care? Why did it hurt me so hard, hurt me so deep that he was gone, that he didn’t want to stay with me?

  I tried to tell myself it was nothing personal. That he had problems that would keep us apart. Keep us apart irrevocably. I tried to tell myself that there was nothing that could bring us together again.

  But still. I still missed him. I still craved him.

  I tried to tell myself that it had just been lust, not love. I tried to tell myself that other girls—my friends, for instance, and especially my best friend, Marianne—are fine with lust, fine with having a lover for a night and being everything to him, and then letting him go in the morning. That’s the way things are now.

  Hookups and sexting. That was what I was supposed to want.

  This was what I was supposed to want—a few quick, hard fucks in the woods, and then I never see him again.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to accept that. I wanted Liberty back. I wanted it to be love. I wanted him to love me, and I wanted to love him.

  Maybe I was naïve. Maybe it was dumb. It was probably both of those things.

  But I believe, firmly, that love is never a bad choice. And if it’s dumb to choose love, than every other choice must be even dumber.

  I got home finally, an hour later than I was supposed to. I noticed the light on in our living room and I realized that my father was probably up waiting for me. He hates my being out late and he’ll stay up hours until I come home from a friend’s house or a late shift at the convenience store.

  As soon as I stepped into the house, I felt his eyes fall on my torn, filthy clothes.

  “Tashandra!” he gasped. “What the hell happened to you?”

  He wasn’t even mad. His old, kind face had tried to be mad, I could tell, but instead, the sight of me just inspired pity. Yeah, I was fine with that right now.

  “I, uh, got into a fight with the deep fryer,” I said with a shrug. “And the deep fryer one.”

  “Damn it all to hell,” my father said, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his face with one hand under his reading glasses. He set down his copy of the New York Times, his favorite evening reading material, and sighed.

  “I’ve been telling Janice for years we’ve got to get that thing replaced.”

  “Well, it might still have a few more months in it… It’s nothing urgent…” I said lamely, just glad that my excuse had been believed.

  “Just long enough to shop around for a new one, I suppose…” my father mumbled, taking up his paper again. As I started to head to my room, he called out my name once more.

  “Tashandra.”

  “Yeah, dad?” I asked, frozen in terror. Had he noticed something else? Maybe the blood from where Liberty had nibbled and bit me? Maybe semen, or some stain that couldn’t plausibly have come from erupting fry grease?

  “Marianne’s brother Keith is home on break from college. He called this evening looking for you.”

  My eyes widened.

  “R-really? That’s nice.”

  “You should see if he’ll take you out for a nice dinner,” my dad said with a smile. “I feel like you must get so bored, hanging out here in Greencliff. You should have some fun every now and then.”

  “Oh, dad…” I mumbled, as I slid into my room. “I have plenty of fun.”

  ~

  I awoke the next morning feeling like I had the worst hang over of all time—but I hadn’t even been drinking. No, this was the hangover, I realized, that came from hard, rough loving—the hang over that was caused by rough passion, that was caused by the pain and pleasure of being bent over and taken by a beast of a man…

  It was an ache that I still loved, even though I had trouble sitting up and my insides felt like they had swollen themselves shut. It was an ache that I loved, all right.

  I finally found the wherewithal to give Keith a call back. It was easy—I had long since memorized Marianne’s number. Mostly because we were best friends, but also because I had always hoped that Keith would pick up instead of Marianne or one of her parents.

  “Hello?” a deep, thick voice answered. My heart skipped a beat. It was just as I had remembered his voice being. It was a voice that had given my junior high self goose bumps and now, even though I was older, I still couldn’t help but get chills all up and down my spine when I heard him.

  “Keith? It’s Tashandra.”

  “Oh, Tashandra, hi. I was hoping you’d call me back today.”

  “Yeah, of course… What’s up? Are you home on break?”

  “Well, not exactly break… But yeah, I’m home—hanging out at my parents’ house.”

  “Definitely sounds exciting.”

  Keith laughed. His laugh was incredible. I loved his laugh. I wanted to make him laugh more.

  “So, what’s the deal? Is it some resort vacation?”

  “Not quite… But hey, why do
n’t you come over sometime this afternoon? We can sit in the back yard and throw beer cans at the trees, just like we did when we were kids.”

  I grinned inwardly, remembering the long, boring summer afternoons I had spent over at Marianne’s house, drinking light beer and wasting time until nightfall. It seemed like life had always been summer when I was younger, and now it was always rainy, or cold, or beaten down and broken—or maybe that was just me. Maybe it was just my perspective that made all of my youngest memories seem to be summertime memories, and all of my current reality seem to be irretrievably condemned to a cold, semi-permanent winter world.