Alphas of Storm Isle (Complete Boxed Set: Books 1-5): Werebear Shifter Menage Romance

by Sophie Chevalier

  He smelled so good—so masculine—and it felt so good to be held by him, so good to have him reassure her. She wanted to believe he could help her. She wanted him to help her.

  “Take me away from here,” she whispered, drained and overwhelmed by Saltspring.

  “I will, baby. Get on the boat. I’ll get us off this island.”

  “You waited for me.”

  “Shh, baby. Just get on. Let’s go.”

  She squeezed him tighter, hot with gratitude, hot with relief—sick with anger, sick with love. It took a great effort of will to let go of him and his hard, warm body.

  He guided her up onto Miss Grizzly’s deck, hand on hers.

  “There’s a berth, Ginger. In the foc’sle.” He pointed. “Go and lay down. I’ll get us underway.”

  She didn’t know where he was taking her—back to Storm Isle? Off to Nanaimo? All the way to Shanghai?—and she didn’t care. She did just what he said and dragged herself into the foc’sle, collapsing on the unmade, Hunter-smelling blankets.

  Chapter 4

  When she woke up, it was to the burr and judder and bump of the boat. The berth was wood-lined, and the bunk she’d slept on was a wood frame with drawers built into its foundation. All that timber creaked with the movement of the water.

  She stared up at the low, rounded ceiling with its curved red-pine beams. This wasn’t as luxurious as Dane’s glossy yacht, but it was cozy. Damn cozy.

  Fisting a hand on the warm, thick bedclothes, she traced the same beam with her eyes over and over. She felt filthy and sore and lost. At least she finally toed her boots off; they fell with clunks onto the wood-surfaced floor.

  The roll and rhythm of the water felt good; it almost lulled her back to sleep. But the boat started to slow, and then it stopped. Her eyes ran over the berth’s ceiling, following Hunter’s muffled footsteps; she sensed he was anchoring the gillnetter. They weren’t tying up at a pier?

  Eventually, she heard his feet coming down the stepladder to the foc’sle. He appeared, looking windswept, and smelling like cold brine and cold pines. She squeezed her thighs together as a heat sprang up between them.

  “Hey, Ginger. How’re you doing?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bunk and putting a hand on her hip.

  She shrugged.

  “You look miserable,” he said gently, eyes running over her.

  “I guess I am.” Her voice was soft, exhausted.

  “Kills me to see it.”

  She gazed at his face—so handsome, so masculine: a strong jaw, strong cheekbones under a short growth of beard; hot, gold-ringed caramel eyes—and felt animal appetites warming between her hips. His broad shoulders—his strong neck—his big, hot hand on her body—she was getting dangerously wet.

  “Where are we?” she managed, swallowing.

  “I’m going to help you, Ginger.” He was serious. “I’m going to show you how to be one of us. I’ve anchored us off an empty island. There are caves there, and they’re easy to live in; you can see ’em from the water. We’ll spend as much time here as we need to.”

  A thousand considerations occurred to her. “But—I only have one outfit—and the food—we need supplies—”

  “What did you think I packed in that bag before we left? What do you think I have on this ship? I’ve got everything we’ll need. And”—his voice roughened a little, with embarrassment—“I bought you some more clothes on Saltspring. While you were gone.”

  She had to bite back a smile. “You—what?”

  “From the Salvation Army.” He glanced away from her, then back. “Just… sweaters, and things.” His voice gruffened even more. “So you’d be comfortable.”

  She was touched. Sitting up, she kissed his unshaven cheek. He grunted.

  “Thanks, Hunter.”

  “Don’t think about it. Hope it all fits you.” Unconsciously, his hand strayed to where she’d kissed him. “Listen, Ginj. You’ve got a lot to learn, but I know you can handle it. All I need you to do is trust me, and we’ll come up roses.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know if I can trust any—”

  “Just enough that you’ll listen to what I have to teach you,” he cut in.

  “Alright,” she said slowly, feeling how the gold in her eyes brightened. “I can do that.”

  “Okay. Good.” His hand slid up her hip, onto the inward curve of her waist. The heat of his palm bled through the shirt and warmed her skin; she felt goose bumps breaking out. “We can row to shore and pick a cave. Get set up.”

  “Are you sure we’re alone here?”

  The gold in his eyes brightened, too. “Completely.”

  She wriggled slightly, just enough to encourage him to run his hand higher; it worked, and he did. “What am I going to learn?”

  “How often you need to change. How to hunt. How to fish. How to fight. How to suppress your—urges.” But he was barely suppressing his: his hand slid high enough that he cupped her breast. It felt so, so good: her nipple warmed and sharpened receptively. “And how to fulfill them. When they need to be fulfilled.”

  She bit her bottom lip, soaked between the legs. Nothing sounded better than stripping down, spreading her thighs, and letting him fill her with his thick, insistent cock. Her underwear virtually overflowed with the thought…

  “Hunter,” she whispered, almost a whine.

  He drew back his hand, with an effort. “Ginger, I won’t lie to you: I want you, and I know you want me too.” His voice was raw—hungry. She wanted to pull him on top of her and let him have his way, but he went on: “I want to help you more than anything in the world, but if we land here—we’re going to couple. More than once.” He paused, then admitted, “Over and over. And if that’s not something you—can handle, or really want, then I can’t help you… because I can’t control myself, and neither can you. We’re going to fuck. Often.”

  “Good,” she said, before she could stop herself.

  “Are you sure? I mean—you must be—confused, overwhelmed… scared…”

  She was. Part of her still wanted to bolt, make for Vancouver, buy a plane ticket to Siberia and never come back. But the other half of her knew that was impossible. She was where she had to be, and she was desperate for his guidance—and for the therapeutic pleasure of untamed, uninhibited sex. The animal in her—and the woman in her—wanted it equally. And she wanted it with Hunter.

  “Take me onshore,” she said quietly. “And teach me how to be like you. I have to learn.”

  His eyes were hot—pure melted gold. “I will. I’ll show you how to live with this. I swear.” He leaned in and kissed her: a rough, possessive kiss, one that swelled her clit. She kissed back just as hard, just as desperately.

  Maybe I can trust him more than Dane. Maybe I can go ahead and—love him.

  He nipped her jaw, then leaned back. “Alright, Ginj. Let’s go.”

  ***

  “Like it?” Hunter asked, throwing down his duffel bag. “Think it’ll do?”

  Ginger was looking up at the rocks that formed the rocky, architectonic roof of their cave. They were full of colors: reds, browns, yellows, fawns.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she admitted, putting a hand on a steep moss-furred wall. “I like the sea sounds.”

  The cave opened up onto a pebbly beach, one that eventually softened into a run of grey sand. Through the big, craggy cave mouth she could see the water, and see spruce and hemlock weaving in the wind downcoast on top of a low, shallow sea cliff.

  “At high tide the mouth’ll get wet,” he said, dropping a backpack with the rest of their supplies. “But we’ll be dry back in here.”

  She toed the cold, gravelly cave bottom. “Is this okay to sleep on?”

  “Sure. I brought a couple of mattress pads, and some sleeping bags. And if you sleep in sow form… hell, that’s just as good as sleeping on a mattress pad. You won’t feel the rocks at all like that.”

  “What about keeping warm?”

  “I’ll dig out a
fire pit. We’ll be fine.”

  “A fire pit?” She turned back to look at him. “Will you show me how you make one?”

  “Okay. Sure. That can be lesson one.”

  The sound of rushing water filled the cave, a kind of calming echo of the surf outside. She wandered over to him, suddenly wanting to be closer; when she reached him, he put his hands on her waist.

  “You know you don’t have to do this, Hunter,” she said quietly.

  “I want to.”

  She cuddled close to him, putting her arms under his jacket and around his middle, nuzzling his neck.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I need you.”

  He put a hand on the back of her neck, stroking the soft, delicate skin there lightly with his calloused fingers. “You can trust me, Ginger. I’ll train you.” He hesitated; her chest buzzed, and instinctively, she knew what he was about to say. “You know how I feel you about you. I—”

  She rose on her tiptoes to silence him with a kiss. She wasn’t ready to hear that.

  “Mm.” He liked it. “God, Ginj, if you don’t have the sweetest mouth…”

  The bear in her was coming awake, getting hot—frisky. Its appetites were strong, feral… demanding. She kissed him more—deeper, hungrier kisses… needier kisses.

  “Ginger…”

  “Hunter.” Her voice was low. “I want to suck you.”

  “You—what?” He sounded surprised, but she could feel him start hardening against her. “Now?”

  “Please,” she whined, pressing her hips against his, against his big, trapped cock. “I really want—”

  “You don’t have to beg,” he cut in; his voice had gone husky. “I’m yours. If you want to suck me, then suck me, Ginj.” He held her closer. “I’d fucking love to feel your mouth on me.”

  She kissed him again, unsnapping the buttons of his jeans with her nimble fingers. His hands went to her breasts, kneading and squeezing them, and her nipples stiffened gratefully. When he gripped the base of her sweater and pulled it up—up over the plump, pert flesh of her breasts—and exposed her braless chest to the cool, salty air of the cave, she moaned into their kisses.

  “You’re gorgeous, Ginger,” he murmured. “These are so flawless.” He rubbed one of her nipples with his thumb; the rough, calloused skin was exquisite on her pink, cream-soft nub. It hardened like it had never hardened before.

  She finally got his cock out, through his fly. Had she ever taken the time to properly admire it? It was girthy, chased with veins, hard as an iron bar. It made her dumb; made her breath hitch; made her pussy sopping wet. She lightly ran her nails down its hot, blood-flushed sides; he shuddered.

  “That’s good, Ginger. Fuck.”

  She did it again, and he growled. Her inner thighs were wet.

  But she was out of patience to tease him—she wanted him in her mouth, now. Sinking to her knees, she had to bite her bottom lip: his cock was right there, thick, heavy, gorgeous. Irresistible.

  Her mouth filled with spit. She had to taste it.

  She gripped the big base of his shaft—he sighed—and licked the fat, spongy head. He tasted salty, and utterly male. She loved it.

  A few more licks, cat-delicate, and then she couldn’t resist: she swallowed as much of his length as she could. His head rolled back, and he groaned.

  For a few luxuriant moments she just sucked—the sounds he was making had her pussy drooling—and then she started to slide her mouth up and down his cock, in a slow, obscene rhythm.

  Her eyes closed in enjoyment. There was a primal delight in having his big, throbbing cock in her mouth; in having his hand fisted in her hair; in the pebbly bottom of the cave floor biting into her knees. She could hear the rush of the sea.

  She was jerking the length she couldn’t suck, swallowing the pre-come he was leaking, humming with real pleasure—this was such dirty bliss. His hand tightened in her hair, pulled; the roughness of it turned her on, and she moaned around the dick in her mouth.

  “Good girl, Ginger,” Hunter growled. “Suck my cock. Fuck, you love it, don’t you?”

  She did. She’d slid a hand past the waistband of her jeans so she could vigorously rub her clit. It was swollen up like a piece of hard candy.

  “So hot,” he sighed, pressing more of his length past her lips. “Keep touching yourself, Ginj. Show me how much it turns you on to have my cock in your mouth.”

  It did. Her cunt was on fire. Easily, she slid a finger into inside herself, into her soft, molten heat; she crushed her thumb against her fat clit as she did, making her hips pump. Had she ever been more turned on than she was right now, with this half-animal man stretching her mouth? Only the other times she’d been with him (and Dane, a fair voice whispered. He did the same thing to you).

  Inside her mouth, she was running her tongue along the bottom of Hunter’s slow-thrusting shaft, loving its ridged tracery of veins, its naked power. He pulled her hair even tighter, with even less restraint—and her pussy gushed.

  “I should be your man,” he groaned, his voice molasses-thick with pleasure. “Look at you… you can’t get enough of me, Ginger. I satisfy you. You were made for me, girl, and I was made for you. I can take care of you… ahh, suck me, Ginger. Suck me hard.”

  She pressed a second finger inside her burning cunt, loving the sweet stretch of it—but also hating how inadequate, how pathetic it felt. She needed a real man’s big, rebar-hard cock inside her—not her slender little fingers. The ache in her pussy for more—more—more was agony.

  Abruptly, she pulled off his cock, panting, her mouth full of his salt. “Hunter,” she said, knowing her eyes were as gold as harvest moons, “I need you inside me.”

  He was breathless, too, his spit-drenched cock twitching in the air. “Do you, baby? Say it again. Tell me what you need.”

  “Fuck me,” she whined, and she bit the crown of his cock very, very gently. “Fuck me with this. I need it. I need you!”

  He was already pulling off his shirt; the sight of his muscular, hair-shaded chest made her even more desperate.

  “Undress, Ginger.”

  She did, standing and yanking off her jeans, kicking off her boots while he did the same; then he pulled her roughly to him, and kissed her forcefully, manfully—bitingly, his teeth almost drawing blood from her bottom lip. She bucked against him, wetter than she’d ever been. The animal in her was demanding a mating.

  He pressed her down onto the cave floor, the pebbles harsh on her soft, pale back; one of his hands went between her legs, testing her pussy.

  “You’re so wet, girl,” he burred, right by her ear, his deliciously muscular weight fully on her. “So wet for me.”

  “I want you,” she confessed, rolling her hips. “I always have. I want you so badly, Hunter—please. I need you to fill me!”

  He kissed her with fierce, genuine passion. “You’re so fucking precious to me, Ginger. You know that?”

  “Show me,” she begged, near-delirious with desire. “Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

  “That’s the only way I know,” he growled, and then he was gripping himself, and she felt the helmet of his cock touch her pouting, glistening lips, felt it start to sink into her heat—

  She wailed like a dying thing, the relief of having him inside her was so great. Tears of pleasure beaded in her eyes, while her hot, creamy pussy clenched vice-tight on his cock.

  “You’re an animal now,” he whispered, gravelly, right by her ear. “And you need it like this. Raw, deep. Rough.” He bit her ear, kissed her flushed cheek. “And you need a man who can give it to you like that, anytime you want. A man like me, Ginger. Say you’re mine.”

  But that was too much—she couldn’t, wouldn’t. She lifted her hips against him instead, demandingly.

  That worked. His cock pulled out—slowly, against the lusty resistance of her clutching pussy—and then slammed back in, to the hilt. She cried out.

  He fucked her. He fucked her hard and fast, his strokes deep and savage, p
rimally satisfying. She kept gasping and arching her back, driving her hips against his, sometimes gripping his arms and sometimes throwing her hands over her head, frenzied. He pounded her with abandon, groaning, glazed with sweat, his eyes gold with pleasure.

  She was liquid ecstasy, completely surrendered to the feral pleasure of their sex. Her mind was white, her eyes closed, her heart drumming. He was fucking her with pure abandon—one hand buried in her hair, the other bracing him—and he was claiming her, claiming her body—

  He kept kissing her mouth, her jaw, rawly, conqueringly. Her feet were locked behind him; she was nothing but the pleasure of their coupling—her tits were jiggling violently, her whole body was—she clawed for purchase on his side, drew blood on his muscled ribs—cried out—

  And then she was coming, violently, crashingly. She rose her hips up, high, high, forcing him as deep as she could; he was still fucking her, vigorously; her pussy clenched on his pistoning cock, drenching it with orgasm—a rich, hot orgasm, going on and on and—

  And then she was done, gasping like a beached fish, limp as wet silk.

  He finished inside her, unable to hold back a yell of release. The ecstasy on his face pleased her; she smiled, watching him—feeling him—come. Her cunt was flooded with his seed, which sent off a wave of fresh, hungry pulses; she whined, bucking.

  Sex like that left her with a natural high. Her entire body was flushed.

  Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out of her. She wiggled close to him, into his arms as he settled on his back, panting.

  He squeezed her breast, hard. “Fuck, Ginger. That was good.”

  Chapter 5

  “Come on, Ginger,” he said, shrugging off the blanket. “Let’s get going.”

  “Don’t you want to get dressed?” she asked, amused. It was morning, and they were just getting up; they’d been tangled together all night. “Not that I find your nakedness offensive. Just asking.”

  His answer shocked her stupid. “No. And you’re not getting dressed, either.”

  “Excuse me?” Him saying that made her hyperaware of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the light dusting of hair on her pussy. A shade of very human shame made her cross her arms over her chest.