He glanced back to where Sadie watched him from the bottom of the stairs and rumbled low in his throat, letting her know it was safe. She scampered up to join him, and he nudged her deeper into the house then pushed the door closed with his shoulder. Letting go of the wolf, he let the shift roll over him. The crack of joints beside him told him Sadie had taken his cue and begun her own transition.
Rolling his shoulders, Easton rose to his feet and glanced around the open-plan room. Everything was as he had left it—a thick rug laid out in front of the crackling fireplace, a cold box standing nearby but out of the heat. He took position in the center of the rug, the thick material warm beneath his toes, and held out his hand. “Welcome home, Sadie Quaid.”
A quizzical smile played at the corner of her lips. “What’s this, now?”
He folded his legs beneath him and patted the rug. “This is home. My home. Our home, if you like it.”
Staring around the room, eyes wide, he watched as she drank in the simple space. “Like it? I love it.” She ran over, tumbling them both onto the rug. “And it’s ours? Really?”
He kissed her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin. Covering every inch of skin he could reach. “Really.”
Lifting his knees, he adjusted their positions until she sprawled over his chest, thighs parted over his hips, the heat of her core soaking into his erection. She moaned against his lips, twining her hands into the curling strands at the nape of his neck. He opened for her, letting her slip her tongue inside, leashing his own need to allow her to explore at her leisure. The need to dominate rode him hard. Laid back in most aspects of his life, his desire for Sadie brought out a fierceness in him he hadn’t known until he touched her for the first time.
She petted him, her small hands stroking and kneading his body in tender caresses and delicate sweeps. He ground his teeth, knowing full well she was teasing him from the golden gleam in her eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweet.”
Her tongue swept over his nipple, followed by the sharp graze of her teeth. “Show me.”
With one heave of his hips, he flipped their positions, pinning her wrists above her head as he settled between her thighs. Vanilla and spice perfumed the air, and slick heat cradled the tip of his cock. “Mine.” He growled, undulating his lower body to drag his shaft through her wetness.
“Yours,” she gasped, lifting her legs to wrap them around his waist.
The tilt of her pelvis aligned them perfectly, and he pressed forward, a slow, steady surge that left him panting by the time he’d seated his cock to the hilt. The tight muscles of her pussy rippled around him, threatening to drag him under. “Behave.”
She licked her lips, leaving them pouting and plump, begging for his kiss. “Make me.”
Her cheeky taunt slipped the leash on his control, and Easton let go, plowing into her with the full force of his wolf strength. He captured her gasping breath into his mouth, claiming her with his tongue, and cock, letting his hands roam over the soft curves of her body. She matched him, stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust, the sharp prick of her nails into his shoulders urging him higher, harder, faster.
Sweat soaked their skin, the air filled with the slap of flesh on flesh, the crackle of the fire, and their rasping breath. She was safe, beneath his roof, beneath his body. His mate. His heart.
“Easton, please,” she moaned, rolling her head to the left to expose the smooth column of her throat.
His teeth sharpened, and he tasted the tang of copper when he nicked his tongue. The blood drove his need, and his balls drew tight in preparation. Opening his jaws wide, he sought the tender flesh at the juncture of her shoulder and neck and bit down. Her screams lifted to the rafters, the shuddering quake of her pussy drawing his seed as he drew on her flesh. Heat bloomed in his chest and a delicate awareness formed in his mind.
Mate?
Yes. Her voice whispered in his head, filled with wonder, and moisture trickled from her cheek to wet his own.
Easton loosened his grip, pausing to sooth the deep imprint of his teeth with gentle flicks of his tongue. She shivered beneath him, the claiming mark already an erogenous zone, and an echo of her pleasure rippled in his mind. Raising his head, he kissed the tears from her cheeks, and she gave him a tremulous smile.
“Grandmother was right. Everything I need is East.”
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A Mate’s Forgiving Touch by Merryn Dexter
Chapter One
The hum of the motorcycle between his thighs lulled Connor as he pushed on through the night. He’d already memorized the route to his next destination, so he could relax and let the blacktop flow beneath the wheels of his bike. He would be there at first light.
His wolf stirred beneath his skin, and he pushed it away with a silent apology. Los Lobos would be their destination one day, but not tonight. Distance and time had given him a false sense of security regarding his ability to put the past and his pack behind him. Every mile he drew closer to pack lands tugged at his wolf. He’d chosen Franklin as a compromise between his two halves. Fifty miles gave the human room to breathe and assured the wolf his pack was at last in easy reach.
Working his way around the state, he’d been able to pretend for a while, but the nightmares were back. Helpless, terrified, he woke night after night, bathed in sweat, sick to his stomach from the evil ghosts torturing his body. Only it wasn’t his body suffering at the hands of madmen. The nightmares belonged to his twin sister. Connor and his siblings shared a telepathic link, and, unbeknownst to Caitlyn, he had shared every horrific moment of her abuse at the hands of their evil alpha and his twisted friends.
The pain and horror had torn away her natural shields, leaving him writhing in the forest where he’d gone for a run. His inability to escape the torment, to fetch help or rescue Caitlyn, had layered his soul in guilt ever since. Ten years he’d held his secret close until the family had returned to Los Lobos following the death of the alpha at the hands of his son, Drew. Caitlyn had fallen for an aggressive asshole, an unsuitable match for her delicate, omega nature in Connor’s opinion. In a fit of temper, he’d blurted the truth, hurting his twin, causing irreparable damage to their psychic bond.
Growling fiercely, he shrugged off the painful memories and gunned the engine, roaring into the night. His answer to his problems had always been to run, but in his heart he knew he’d never outdistance the past.
The first rays of dawn lightened the horizon as he rolled along the wide thoroughfare of Main Street. Squat brick buildings lined the street, decorated with traditional wooden signs, painted in bright colors, declaring the name of each business they contained. Security lights illuminated the interior of some, metal security shutters protected others. Few were open at this hour.
He steered his bike toward the parking bays in front of the brightly lit diner. An older woman bustled around inside, placing menus and condiments on the laminated tables positioned around the room.
His thoughts drifted to another small-town diner, not so very different from the one before him. He sighed at the bittersweet guilt nibbling the edges of his conscience. His younger brother, Caleb, had met his mate in that diner. Sexy, curvy Hannah had become an addiction Connor needed to kick. From the moment her healing power had drawn on his strength to rescue her child, his mind had strayed too often in her direction.
There had never been anything between them. Never would be. Hannah was head over heels for Caleb and loved Connor as a brother. He didn’t desire Hannah, but he couldn’t deny the erotic impact of her po
wer as it had coursed through him. He’d been high as a kite afterward, buzzing in a way drugs and alcohol could never deliver thanks to his shifter metabolism. The secret longing to feel the buzz again had been the other reason he’d left home.
He loosened the chin strap on his half helmet to remove it, rubbing his hand over the close-cropped stubble covering his head. Tugging down the red kerchief keeping the dust of the road off the lower half of his face, he returned the smile of the waitress watching him through the diner door. She flipped the sign to open, and the bell rang when she pulled open the door.
“Hey there, early bird. Marty’s firing up the grill, so breakfast will be a few minutes. Coffee’s fresh, though.”
Connor swung his leg off the bike. Smiling in greeting, he strode up the steps toward her. “Coffee sounds about as perfect as your smile, ma’am,” he said, enjoying the hint of a blush his compliment appeared to bring to her cheeks.
“Well aren’t you as charming as you are handsome, young man. I’m Grace. This is my place. Come on over to the counter and I’ll get your coffee.”
The coffee was hot, rich, and plentiful, the food well cooked. Grace had quirked a penciled brow at the size of the meal he ordered, nodding with satisfaction when she collected his empty plate a while later. The diner filled slowly, the crowd mostly male, locals dropping in for a hearty meal before their workday started.
A five-man crew of construction workers piled out of a double-cab flatbed truck and entered the diner, laughing at some comment from the leader of their group. The sour smell of anger irritated his nose as the group settled in a booth near his stool. A dull flush rose on the throat of a short guy with a mean glint in his green eyes.
“Ha ha. Very fucking funny, Dale.” The guy paused at the edge of the booth, glaring at their leader. Everything about Dale screamed cocky asshole, from the sneer curling his lip to the man-spread taking up more than his share of the bench seat. One arm rested along the back of the booth, but Connor wasn’t fooled by the relaxed pose.
“You got a problem, Billy-boy? Something you wanna get off your chest?” The rest of the crew snickered like a bunch of hyenas as the ugly, red flush stole farther up Bill’s neck.
Grace stepped from behind the counter, coffee pot in hand, making a beeline for the booth. She hip-checked Bill, forcing him to one side, and filled the cups already laid out on the table. “Morning, boys. You’ll be wanting the usual, I expect? William, you know I don’t stand for bad language in my establishment, so you either sit down and play nice or clear out.”
She turned her focus on Dale. Connor hid a smile as the braggart withered under the fierceness of her glare. “I won’t have any trouble from you, Dale. Your mama will be real disappointed if I have to call her.”
Dale shifted on his seat. “Come on, Miss Grace. I’m thirty not thirteen. You can’t call my mom,” he whined.
Grace patted his cheek and turned toward Bill. “William? Are you staying?”
“I’m not working with this crooked bastard a moment longer!” The short man stormed out of the diner, slamming the door closed in his wake. Grace huffed, moving away to refill cups and soothe any feathers ruffled by the scene. Connor turned sideways on his stool, watching the men in the booth mutter amongst themselves until Dale noticed his attention.
“Something I can help you with?” A sneer curled Dale’s lip.
Connor reined in the desire to give him a glimpse of the wolf. Dale was a bully, but, like so many bullies, he needed the support of his cronies to boost his nerve. Connor could crush him like a bug in a dominance display, but the man might prove useful to his needs.
“I thought you might need some help. I saw your truck outside, and I figure your crew is a man down. I’m new in town, looking for work.” He nodded toward the window, indicating his parked bike. “Got my papers in my saddlebag.” He made sure to keep his tone friendly, body language open and nonthreatening. He even lowered his eyes slightly, ignoring the snarl of outrage from his wolf.
Dale looked him up and down, considering for a moment. When he caught a whiff of greed, Connor knew he had an in. “I’m the foreman of this crew. You do what I say and you keep your mouth shut, are we clear?”
Connor nodded, waiting for the shoe to drop. Dale pointed to the free seat opposite him. Connor slid from his stool and into the booth. The foreman rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t carry.
“I’ve got the inside track with the boss so my crew gets the most lucrative jobs. I take the heat, and it’s my nuts on the block if we miss a deadline. That don’t come for free. You want to work for me then you pay me eight percent of your weekly take-home, understand?”
Oh, he understood, all right. Dale was a dirty, cheating asshole, but he needed a job. The money roll strapped to Connor’s chest wasn’t fat enough yet. He’d walked out on his sister, his family, his pack, and he needed to prove his worth before he could return. The crew finished up their meal while Connor excused himself to settle his bill and say thank you to Grace.
“You watch your back with those boys, you hear me?” she said, and he let the wolf sharpen the grin he gave her.
“Thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself, Grace.”
She studied him for a moment before unleashing the dirtiest laugh he’d ever heard. “I have no doubt you can, honey. So you’ll be around for a while?” He nodded. She grabbed her pen and pad, scribbling down a number. “My friend Donna runs a boarding house, good food, decent rates. She could also do with a hand around the place, if you can find the time. Her husband passed a few years back.”
Connor took the piece of paper she held out to him and leaned across the counter to buzz her cheek. “Consider it done, Grace.” He winked and tucked the number in his top pocket, turning to nod when Dale called his name. “Gotta go, thanks again. For everything.”
***
Whatever doubts he had about the morals of Dale and his cronies, they were a decent crew. Their work was to a standard Connor’s father Stefan would approve of. Banter flowed between them, and it didn’t take him long to work out the pecking order within the group. Based on their conversations, they’d known each other since high school. As often happened in small towns, the cliques and gangs formed then had a longevity and power they didn’t deserve. People stuck together out of habit rather than genuine bonds of friendship, and the claustrophobic atmosphere intensified fears of exclusion. Connor kept his head down, did his work, and refused all attempts to draw him into the group. Apart from his dislike of Dale, the group were fans of hunting for sport. As a predator, he understood the instinct, but he killed for food, not enjoyment. The way the guys talked about it, killing animals excited them.
“So whatcha got planned for the weekend?” Dale sidled into the room where Connor cleaned and packed away his tools. “We’re going for a beer if you want to join us?” The man seemed determined to befriend him, and, after three weeks, it was more than a little tiresome.
“Sorry, man. I’ve got plans.” He raised his brows knowing the foreman would assume said plans were of the female persuasion.
“That’s cool. Say, I need to make a quick detour on the way to town. You don’t mind, do you?” A sly note twisted Dale’s scent, putting Connor on guard.
“Should be okay. Is there something specific you need me to do?” Stretching up to his full height of six feet four, he folded his arms across his chest, turning his full attention on Dale. Beads of sweat popped on the other man’s forehead, and he laughed nervously.
“Nah, man. I don’t need you to do anything other than exactly what you are right now. Did anyone tell you, you are one scary-looking bastard? One of the suppliers is dicking me around. I need to remind him who he’s dealing with.” Dale held up his hands in surrender when Connor glared harder. “Nothing bad, I swear. Just turn that evil eye of yours on him, and he’ll fall in line. He’s holding back on an order, demanding more money. It
’s going to cost us our finishing bonus.”
Seemed like the whole damn town was on the take one way or another. Whatever beef Dale had with the guy, it wasn’t his business. He needed the bonus, though, so he could glare a bit if it meant he got paid. “Okay.”
The rest of the crew piled out of the king-cab truck outside the bar on Main Street, and Dale floored the gas the moment the back door slammed shut. He steered the truck to the end of the road, turning left down a side street then sharp left along a service alley running behind a group of businesses. Suspicion grew in Connor when Dale parked the truck in a dark corner, glancing around before hurrying to the back of one of the buildings. Following at a slower pace, he hesitated when Dale hammered on a door marked Staff Only. An older man—mid-fifties by his thinning hair and the start of a paunch—yanked open the door.
“What do you want, Thomson? I already told you, I run a respectable business and I won’t fudge the paperwork.” He glanced up when Connor approached, the color draining from his face. “Now, hold on, boys. I don’t want any trouble here.”
The sour taint of his fear turned Connor’s stomach. He felt like twelve kinds of asshole for scaring the human. “No trouble, sir.”
Dale dug him in the ribs. “No trouble, Mac, but Bailey Clarke will be very unhappy at your unwillingness to cooperate.”
At the mere mention of the name, Mac went from pale to translucent, and Connor had to turn his face away from the stink in his scent. Connor knew he intimidated people, but it seemed he had nothing on this Bailey guy. The nasty grin on Dale’s face pissed Connor off, and he regretted agreeing to accompany him. Dale had fed him a bullshit story. He should have known better, given the way the foreman extorted money from his own crew.
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