It was futile for her to pretend indifference when her body practically shouted her need. Still, he’d allow her to ignore him…up to a point. Okay, dammit, he wasn’t about to allow that shit at all. Arkham was his mate and it was her duty to want him, to think he walked on water and all that. She wasn’t supposed to even pretend not to want him.
It took everything MountDenali had not to bend Arkham over the couch and fuck her into submission. Instead of pouncing on her and making her admit that she wanted him, he sat back and adopted his most arrogant pose, knowing it would drive her crazy. A crazy Arkham was a dangerous Arkham…and he found that he preferred his sexy mate with a hint of danger, as danger never tasted so good.
MountDenali didn’t even have to look at Arkham to know she was on the edge of doing something crazy. The last twenty-four hours was plenty of time to learn Arkham’s moods: hungry for him, hungry for food, and hungry to whip somebody’s ass. Right now she was two of the three and since he’d just fed her, he knew it was about to be on. He could feel it in her. All he had to do was wait.
Clearing his throat, he held back a smirk.
“May I help you?” Arkham asked all haughty.
Oh, yes, my beautiful mate, you can. Instead of responding, he slowly undressed Arkham with his eyes. The scent of her desire immediately filled his nostrils, as did the scent of her fury. Both his wolf and his cock sprang to attention. Arkham, they both demanded.
Soon, he promised.
**
Arkham meant to ignore MountDenali. That is, after she got him as worked up as she was. When those emerald green eyes weren’t trained on her, he was busy tempting her with that glorious body of his. She almost moaned thinking back on that slow striptease he’d performed before strolling his fine ass to the bath. How she’d wanted to be that water…and anything else that touched his skin. Of course, when he’d crawled his ass into bed, she’d spent all night touching that skin.
How dare he waltz off to work like he wasn’t as addicted to her as she was to him? How dare he leave her body a quivering mass of desire? How dare he be able to do more than roll away from the wet spot after the way he’d put it on her…over and over and over.
Damn him and his talented tongue, fingers, and cock. Damn him and his mouthwatering stew, and melt-in-your mouth bread. Damn him and his big, ripped body. All damned out, Arkham consoled herself with her decision to ignore him. Yeah, that was what she’d do. The last thirty-six hours was a fluke. No man could be that perfect—except for her granddaddies—but they couldn’t help but be perfect because her grandmomma was so bad fucking ass.
Decision made, she was all set to ignore him until he cleared his throat and fucked her with those hypnotic eyes. Immediately, she was wet, needy, throbbing. Perhaps she wouldn’t have fought it if MountDenali had looked even a smidgen ruffled. Instead, he looked all cool, calm, and collected. Fine, she’d ignore him and go have a marathon masturbation session. Smiling, she sashayed past him, putting a little extra oomph in her hips just for good measure…and found herself up against the wall, in a standing split with a pussy full of Mann and an ear full of growls.
“I’ve been waiting for you to test me for the past hour, love. Every time you tempt me, Arkham, I hope you can get wet in a hurry because I’ll be having you,” he said as he pulled her close and thrust into her once more.
“And if I don’t want you?” she panted even as she dug her fingers deeper into his massive shoulders.
“There will never be a time when you don’t want me, Arkham. Never. There will never even be a time where you can pretend that you don’t want me,” he rasped as he jerked her closer to him. “Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded as he surged into her.
“Please,” Arkham moaned as she licked his nipple. “Please,” she begged as she licked the other. “Please,” she commanded as she bit him.
“Yesssssssssssssss!” MountDenali rasped as he slammed into her with dizzying speed and roared out his release.
Reaching between them, he stroked her, pushing her into another orgasm.
“Yesssssssssssssssss,” she moaned.
MountDenali responded with a smirk that she wanted to smack off his fine face, and she would’ve if she hadn’t been busy sopping up the last vestiges of pleasure.
“Mine,” he said with finality as he bit her.
“You could ask,” she sighed even as she sagged into him.
“I don’t need to. It’s an undisputed fact. You are mine, Arkham.”
“Whatever, asshole.”
“You going to work tomorrow?”
“Yes, but I’m going to fuck you raw before I go…and when I come back.”
Chapter Nine
Arkham had started her day as she normally did. That is, she walked her baby Predator, sang him and his new friends a couple of songs, and text message battled her twin. Her work had taken her all of twenty minutes, which left twenty-three hours and forty minutes of free time.
Now, she was horny, bored, and past due for some serious spoiling, which was most likely going to be tabled because Balere was a tattletale. If her sister had been present, they’d be brawling all over the cabin, not because Balere was a snitch but because that wench had dumped her on the finest mofo she’d ever laid eyes on. Sure, she’d seen a Mann wolf before, but she’d never seen MountDenali Mann. A massive amount of man, he had swagger—and if anyone should have it, MountDenali sure enough should have. Full of “don’t give a damn,” he entered a space and took it over with his presence. Steeped in the arrogance of a man who knew no one could take him—in anything—he did as he pleased…and people let him.
Her pussy had flared to life the moment she set eyes on MountDenali, and that was saying something considering how damn fine Continent Mann and Fletcher (in human form) were. But neither Continent nor Fletcher was MountDenali Mann, and her body knew it. So did her sister, who’d taunted her by text.
Balere and Fletcher had put money on how soon she’d cave to MountDenali’s charms. Continent and everyone else had put money on how soon MountDenali would cave to hers. Later, Arkham would pay them all back, but right now she had to take her vitamins because yeah, MountDenali was that damn good. She really was going to stay away from the shifter, after she left him in a pile of ass-whipping, but MountDenali was fucking relentless. And once again, he was gone, driving his little truck off somewhere far away in the snow.
With the cabin smelling like him, another stew, and all of the hot loving they’d made, it was a good place to wait for her man, but dammit, she wasn’t the waiting type of woman. Especially when said man told her to “stay here and wait.” Fuck that. Bundling up her animals and stashing Fluffy in her knapsack, she cranked the snowmobile and headed the five miles into town.
**
Colder than a Well Digger’s Ass had seen a lot of shit in its day and time. It’d seen several owners, a whole lot of brawls, an unchartered amount of crazy, and even its fair share of wet t-shirt contests. Still, nothing compared to what the patrons were treated to that afternoon. When six feet and two hundred pounds of woman strolled through its doors, everything came to a standstill. No one was sure what was more impressive about the woman: the fact that the t-shirt she wore over her hoody declared her a member of SWAF—Southern Women Against Fisting, the barrage of animals she brought in with her, or the fact that her look said she clearly wasn’t impressed. Hell, neither were they, but despite everything Colder than a Well Digger’s Ass wasn’t, the bottom line was that Renig Frost possessed the only liquor license in a fifty-mile square radius.
It didn’t matter if Renig served weak coffee, stale pretzels and sloppy plates of bad food. Neither did it matter that he hated everyone, especially the law, and anyone with an opinion—especially if they also happened to have a vagina. Nobody came for the food. The coffee was hot, the beer was cold, the liquor was top notch, and the place was heated and reasonably clean. Truckers couldn’t ask for much more. Well they could, but waiting around for it from Renig
was a colossal waste of time.
The problem was that no one clued her in on Renig’s idiosyncrasies. Of course, the longer the patrons were around her, the more they all realized Arkham Kennesaw wasn’t the type of woman to give a shit. But, well, she could give a good comeback.
**
Renig saw the woman before she saw him. It was hard not to see her, being she was right colorful with her neon orange that covered her dog, her whatever the fuck else was with her and herself. Great, just what he needed, one of them “freethinking” liberal whack jobs. He was going to give her what she wanted, maybe some of what she needed, and send her right on her way. He ran a tight ship, and it was going to stay that way.
“What do you want?” he boomed, making sure to put all of the bass he could up in his voice.
“For you to have some manners, but barring that I’ll take a cup of coffee, black,” she said all bossy like.
“I’ve been on this earth thirty-nine years, and ain’t nobody ever taken nothing from me.”
“Well, congratulations to you. Now if you’d like to reach a fortieth year on this earth, get my coffee and hold the attitude.”
Not about to turn down a dollar regardless of who was handing it to him, Renig mumbled something under his breath, shot her a mean look and went about getting her coffee.
Slamming it on the counter, Renig damn near shouted, “That’ll be three fifty—cash only.”
“Are you seriously trying to serve me that?” she asked in an unmistakable Southern accent.
“I can serve you something else, but I don’t think you can handle it,” he leered. “Now take it or leave it, girlie,” he said, which in itself was actually polite for him.
“How about I leave it,” she said a moment before she grabbed hold of Renig’s hair, slammed his face into the bar—repeatedly—and tossed the lukewarm, pitiful excuse for coffee in his face.
“I want a clean cup, some decent coffee, and if you ever in your life disrespect me again, you will need a doctor. Are we clear, or do I need to say it in Neanderthal or Cro-Magnon?” she asked the barkeep despite the fact he was in no condition to respond.
“I asked you a question,” she said as she shook him.
“Um, ma’am. I think he’s unconscious,” Renig’s young nephew said.
“Oh, my bad. I guess that’s why he didn’t respond,” she said while mushing him to the floor. “Let me help him into consciousness.” And with that, she bitch-slapped Renig to full alertness.
“Coffee, black. Clean cup. Table closest by the fire, and I’m not paying shit for it if it doesn’t meet my expectations. And turn up the heat.”
“And if I don’t?”
A moment later Renig had three sets of dangerous teeth bared at him.
“That answer your question?” she asked. “Predator, make sure he doesn’t spit in my drink. “Come,” she ordered the rest of her troupe.
**
Sendoa Ryan and Yukon Mann were assholes, and they freely admitted it. They were also uncles, and while they enjoyed spoiling their nieces, watching Lightning bust Sebastian’s chops, and the relatively mild weather in the mountains of North Carolina, once Continent had called them and filled them in on the lowdown about MountDenali, they’d hightailed it home.
Sitting at a corner table, they knew luck was on their side when the woman who was the catalyst for their return home trek strolled in. True, they could’ve gone to MountDenali’s house and introduced themselves, but that was out. They might be assholes, but they weren’t assholes with a death wish. One did not go see a man’s mate when he was not there to chaperone, especially when they were newly mated. And newly mated they were, whether that little lady knew it or not. Not that calling six feet, two hundred plus pounds of woman “little” was exactly true. She was fantastic, the perfect lady to take their asshole cousin-friend down.
“She’s awesome,” Yukon murmured around the swill that masqueraded as coffee.
“Is that a snake in a blanket?” Sendoa asked, ignoring Yukon’s announcement.
Yukon looked over, and sure enough there was a king cobra snuggled up all close to her.
“Yep.”
“That’s a damn big housecat,” Sendoa said looking at the feline stretching out close to Arkham.
“Dude, that’s a puma,” Yukon sighed.
“Like a real one?”
Yukon’s eyebrows rose. “Is there a big problem with counterfeit pumas?”
“I hate you, and my twin is better than yours.”
“In your dreams. Now keep your eyes peeled for anything while I finish looking up details on my new sister-in-law.”
“Our sister-in-law,” Sendoa said.
“You’re not family, asshole.” Yukon frowned.
“Lightning said.” Sendoa smirked.
“I see why Sebastian hates you.”
“Shut up, Yukon, and just tell me the chances our new sister-in-law will leave someone in a pool of their own blood.”
**
Not impressed by much, both Sendoa and Ryan had to admit that Arkham Kennesaw impressed the shit out of them. If Renig had bothered to do an Internet search, he would’ve still had some of his dignity left. Thank the Creator for little sisters. They had entertained themselves for hours with that website.
Arkham Kennesaw, badass paleontologist, was a highly educated woman. She had a BS in both Biology and Geology from Georgia State, a BS in Archaelogy from Emory, a MS in Paleontology and Geology and a Ph.D. in Geological Engineering from South Dakota School of Mines and Technology. Hot damn. MountDenali had gone and got him a woman with a mind to go along with those curves. He was in for it now.
But knowing Arkham was a doctor wouldn’t have helped Renig. What would’ve helped him was clicking on the link that said “Pool of Blood.” That page was longer than the info on the link that said “Education.” The emergency room had to fucking love Arkham, because she sent a lot of business their way. While a whole lot of hot damns had passed their lips, a few incidents stood out, most notably the Great Spork Incident in middle school, which left a trio of boys the proud recipients of over seventy stitches and was the catalyst for Arkham being banned from possessing any other manner of plastic cutlery—ever. The Loofah Debacle, which happened just before she went on vacation to one of those countries that didn’t extradite. The Bag of Cottonballs Mayhem, which left a frat boy unconscious. And their personal favorite, the Palm Leaves Brouhaha, in which she’d gone all ninja on someone and cut him up with the leaves.
Yeah, Renig could’ve saved himself some pain had he just read before he spoke. If he’d done that, he would’ve peeped the asshole-ometer, which allowed readers to track the level of asshole Arkham was at on any given day. There had never been a time when it dipped below “complete fucking asshole,” although on most days it was set at “asshole of unbelievable fucking proportions.” They bet Renig would testify to that…well, when he stopped limping and shit.
Meanwhile, they’d decided to go and make Ms. Arkham’s acquaintance.
Chapter Ten
After Arkham and Renig had their little “talk,” they didn’t have any more issues. Her cup was clean, her coffee was rich, and he’d even brought over a bowl of hot milk, which she’d doctored up, for her pets. While Predator and the puma made themselves comfortable on either side of her, Fluffy took up residence in her lap, lulled to sleep by the click of her knitting needles.
“Who’s getting a new snake hoodie?” she asked him. Of course, he didn’t answer, just kind of shimmied in his blanky and sighed. Who knew a snake could sigh?
“You are entirely too much woman for my idiot brother,” a deep voice cut into her little talk with Fluffy.
Arkham looked up into the eyes of a man who looked just like MountDenali. How the fuck was that fair that these Mann boys were allowed to roam the country free, looking all manner of fine?
“She’s entirely too much woman for any of the men in your family,” the fine big motherfucker beside him said. Wh
at the hell were they feeding these boys?
Arkham didn’t even take offense because from the admiration in their eyes, she knew none was meant.
“Thank you, both.”
“Thank you, Ms. Kennesaw. By the way, I’m Sendoa Ryan, and the MountDenali doppelganger is his useless brother, Yukon.”
Arkham couldn’t help but smile at the two. She could already tell that they were pieces of work.
“Join me?”
“Absolutely. Any woman who beats the shit out of Renig is a woman we want to buy a drink.” Raising his voice, Sendoa addressed the room at large. “I can’t believe none of these bitches in here thought to do that.”
“It’s okay. Making friends isn’t actually my specialty,” she offered.
“We read,” Yukon said all admiringly.
“Ah, the website.”
“Yes, ’tis a thing of beauty. Brought a tear to my eye, it did. You’re welcome to share a table with us anytime,” Yukon said.
“Now since you smell like MountDenali and are therefore off limits, tell me there are more females like you back home,” Sendoa said.
“Of course. We Kennesaws only make women one way: bad fucking ass.”
“And I think that’s the only way women should be made,” Sendoa said.
In Search of the Fountain of Couth Page 5