by Celia Kyle
Damn, her skin tasted good. A hint of salty sweetness that had him salivating. He licked her again, taking in more of those flavors while teasing her with what was to come.
He made his way to the crack of her ass and tormented the sensitive flesh.
“Wyatt, don’t.” She jerked away, but he grabbed her hips and forced her to remain in position.
“Don’t what?”
Her body heated and he imagined her face held a bright red blush. “Don’t lick me there.”
His sweet, innocent Bethy.
“Here?” He traced a path between the globes, delving deeper and lapping at the hidden skin. More of her scent surrounded him, invaded him.
“Wyatt…” she whined and now her ass was flushed red.
His poor mate sported a full-body blush now.
“Okay, sweetheart.” He lapped at her skin once more before abandoning his playground. “Hand me the lube and I’ll make you fly.”
*
Millie immediately did as asked, snatching the discarded tube and holding it aloft behind her. She couldn’t wait to feel him inside her. She was torn between embarrassment and delicious wickedness. He’d take her there, he’d be in there. Her satisfied pussy clenched on air, and she had to accept that her body was anxious for that possession.
The snap of the lube cap had her twitching, but she forced herself to remain in position, to remain exposed to her mate.
The cat was wary, circling and huffing as they lay prone for Wyatt. It was unsure, weighing their mate, deciding if he deserved what he was about to take.
Millie had no doubt in her mind. She definitely didn’t have any when a cool, slick finger slid along her crack. She’d shied away from his mouth, still caught in the feeling of wrongness.
That digit circled her back hole, teasing the virgin flesh, and she tensed against his touch.
“Shh…” He stroked her back, soothing her, and she felt some of the tension leave her body. “Let me in, Bethy.”
Bethy. His name for her. Because she was his. His. His. His.
The thoughts resonated with the cat, filling them both with the certainty they belonged to him and him alone.
She forced her muscles to ease, to relax beneath his touch.
He increased the pressure, and one finger slid past the outer ring of muscle, easing into her back hole. “That’s it, sweetheart.”
She trembled with the pleasure, the feeling of forbiddance adding to the growing bliss. He thrust in and out, a slow glide helped by the lube.
His other hand stroked her pussy, fingers finding her clit and thrumming the sensitized nub. “Oh, God.”
He alternated his touch, rubbing the bundle of nerves while slowly fucking her asshole. She trembled and jerked, a shudder tearing through her at the illicit pleasure.
“That’s it.” His finger pushed deep and then withdrew, fully disappearing. She rocked back, whining with the loss of his touch. “Hush.”
Two fingers stretched her hole now, spreading her, sending a slight burn through her body. But those digits on her clit… Fuck… They made it so much more than bearable. He teased and toyed with her, tormenting her with the opposing sensations.
Millie dropped her chest to the mattress, keeping her ass aloft while she sank into the bed. Let him do with her as he willed. She didn’t care. It all felt so good, so right.
“Damn, that’s beautiful.” His voice was filled with true appreciation.
“Mmm…” she hummed.
His tormenting fingers disappeared again, but quickly returned as before. Yet this time, she felt three fighting for entrance, three pushing their way into her ass.
“Wyatt!”
“I’ve got you.” He rubbed her clit with his thumb in tight circles.
“Fuck.”
The jerk chuckled. “Soon. Soon I’m going to fuck this ass and claim all of you.”
The words resonated inside her, and the cat purred in response. Yes, that’s what they wanted; they craved him branding her entire body with his claim.
The burn slowly subsided, her body adjusting to the three fingers and balancing along the edge of pleasure and pain. One nudge toward one or the other and she’d fall into that abyss.
“Please. I need you.” Everywhere, anywhere, she needed him.
“You’ll get me soon, sweetheart.”
When he vanished this time, she tensed. His cock or another finger? She wavered between which answer she desired most. Then again, what did it matter? Either way, she had him.
Both hands disappeared, and she whined. No, no, no. She wanted it all.
The blunt, rounded head of his cock brushed her asshole, and the squirt of the lube bottle reached her. A squelching sound preceded the drop of cool fluid along the crack of her ass. Then his hands were moving, gathering it. She couldn’t see, but she imagined him stroking his cock, coating it in lubricant before he pushed into her forbidden hole.
That had her pussy clenching and silently whining for attention.
Millie didn’t hesitate to put her hand between her thighs, to revive the rhythm Wyatt had gifted her not long before. She circled and tapped, keeping her arousal at a delicious simmer.
Then… Then his cock pushed against her dark hole. It nudged and crept forward, forcing her to open and accept his penetration.
A sliver of fear struck her as a tendril of aching pain slid into her blood. “Wyatt?”
He was so big, so long, so thick…
“You can take me, Bethy. Relax and push out. I know you’re being bad and touching that pretty pussy. Rub your clit for me.” His voice was rough and strained.
Millie whimpered and focused on the feelings her fingers created. She noted the way her hips jerked when she scraped her nail over the nubbin and the way her cunt tightened when she tapped the bundle of nerves.
Wyatt thrust deeper, her hole spreading around his penetration, and her pussy clenched in response. It liked the hint of pain. It liked the wickedness. It liked having Wyatt inside her any way possible.
She did as he asked and forced herself to relax, to push out against his naughty invasion, and he plunged deeper inside her. Another burning pain attacked her, but the pleasure far, far, far outweighed any discomfort.
He withdrew a little, and she whined only to groan when he pressed back in once again. “Yes.”
Wyatt gripped her ass, hands kneading her plump globes as he filled her farther. “Just a little more, Bethy. I’m so deep, sweetheart. Got my cock in your ass, and you love it, don’t you?”
Millie whimpered and could answer with nothing but the truth: “Yes.”
“That’s good, sweetheart. Because I love being inside you like this.” He withdrew and thrust forward, pressing in the last inch and then she felt his balls resting against her soaked pussy. Wyatt leaned over her, covered her with his massive body, blanketing her in his strength and scent. “I’m inside you now, Bethy. You’re mine. All of you. Your mouth, your juicy pussy and this tight ass… You’re mine.”
“Yes.” She was, wholeheartedly.
He scraped his fangs along the back of her neck, and she stretched, moving to expose more of her vulnerable flesh to his mouth. “All mine.”
He lifted from her then, claw tipped nails digging into her hips as he held her steady.
Then it really began.
Wyatt eased half out before pushing deep once again, slowly fucking her forbidden entrance with long, sure strokes. His rhythm remained steady, and she toyed with her clit at the same maddening pace.
With every thrust, she tapped her clit and with every retreat, she circled it with the pad of her finger.
Tap tap, circle circle.
Again and again, his movements gently eased her arousal higher, giving gradual pleasure to her while keeping the ultimate prize out of reach. But she didn’t care because it felt so fucking good. Like the damn Fourth of July was exploding around her clit and ass. His cock stroked nerve endings she’d never known she possessed.
But he kept her on that edge, in that place where her peak was just out of reach.
Millie rocked her hips, shifting her body in an effort to increase the power behind his strokes, the speed of his penetration.
The ass laughed.
“Nice try.” He rubbed her ass. “Tell me what you want.”
His voice was so deep, so full of sexual promise.
“Faster. Harder. Deeper.”
Wyatt slowly withdrew and then slammed home, shaking both her and the bed. “Like that?”
“Yes. Please, yes.” She wasn’t above begging. Not when the cat was just as desperate as her.
He repeated the motion, pummeling her with his dick with three rapid strokes.
Slam slam slam.
Each one drew a sob from her chest, and she spread her thighs wider, offering more of herself to him.
“Please please please.” She needed more and more of him.
“Like this?” He did it again, shaking their bodies with the power behind his thrusts. His balls slapped against her wet pussy, his cock pushing and stretching her spread asshole. She wanted it all, everything he had to give.
Instead of ceasing his torment, he adopted a new, rough rhythm. The slap and collision of their bodies filled the room. She panted and moaned, accepting everything he had to give to her.
“God, yes. Don’t stop. Wyatt…”
The scent of his sweat and need filled the air, her own desire clouding his. His hands gripped her hips harder, the sting of his fingernails piercing her skin overriding the pleasure he caused.
Slam slam slam.
Over and over again, he dominated her body. “Fuck, that’s it.” He gave her three, rapid, forceful thrusts. “Like that.”
“Yes. Don’t stop. Need.”
She needed so, so much.
Her orgasm was close, hovering within sight and a hair out of reach. She stretched for it, ready to embrace the euphoric feelings of her release.
“Come on, sweetheart. Come for me.”
That was all she needed.
“Fuck!” She screamed the word as her world shattered. Her mind crumbled into a million pieces as pleasure stole her sanity. She trembled and spasmed, muscles jerking uncontrollably. Her pussy tightened in rolling waves, and her ass did the same. The ecstasy overrode everything, blinding her to anything beyond the pleasure pummeling her veins.
“God. Bethy. Love. Gonna.” Wyatt jerked against her in short, rapid thrusts and finally sealed his hips to hers with a bone rattling roar.
His cock swelled inside her, stretching her the tiniest bit farther, and it was enough to toss her back over the edge once again. Another orgasm tore her in two, filling her with the bliss of release. She shuddered and cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations he caused inside her.
“Wyatt!” She sobbed his name and then he was there, leaning over her, hand snaked beneath her and across her chest while his teeth…
Wyatt claimed her once again, fangs embed in her flesh, tying them together even tighter than before.
A single, garbled word reached her. “Mine.”
Yes, yes she was.
Chapter Thirteen
“It doesn’t matter if I win, I just wanna make sure the other guy loses. Killing him ensures that outcome.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride. She swears she was never this bloodthirsty. It’s the twins. Bringing those little parasites into the world made her evil.
Wyatt wasn’t sure what woke him, what had his cat snarling and shoving at him to get the hell out of bed. They’d made love for hours, fucked hard a time or two, and finally passed out in a messy heap.
Somewhere along the line, he’d decided loving Bethy was the smartest decision he’d ever made.
Now he was awake, muscles tense and fur lurking below the surface of his skin. His gums ached, the animal ready to lend a hand.
But why?
He remained motionless, allowing his beast’s senses to assist him where his human sense of smell and hearing wasn’t up to par.
Nothing seemed out of order or odd. The wind rustled the trees, and he heard the occasional call of a bird. The soft scuffle of a paw on grass reached him, but he recognized his fellow guard’s gait. Brute lurked nearby. The man had a personal vendetta against the Mattson family and had been happy to lend his assistance. The lion hoped for a chance at Frank Mattson.
Wyatt wasn’t going to tell Bethy when the guards came on duty and when they’d moved their positions closer to the house. She’d get all embarrassed at their chance of hearing them and then she’d get mad. He liked his balls right where they were.
Still, something pulled him from sleep.
He opened his eyes, letting the light of the moon guide him as he looked around the room. Everything looked the same, nothing out of place, yet his cat was ready to tear meat from bone.
His heart rate picked up, muscle banging against his ribs as adrenaline rushed into his bloodstream. Sweat leaked from his pores, and impotent anger filled him.
The cat sensed an intruder the man didn’t. An intruder the guards hadn’t yet discovered.
Then he heard it—the telltale shift of fabric along the scaled skin and the hiss that only came from a snake. The cloth near his foot shifted, and Wyatt waited. Bethy’s body was entwined with his, front practically fused to his side, and the last thing he wanted was to risk her.
Seconds ticked past, and he forced his body to remain neutral, demanded his breathing remain even and steady as the snake, Frank Mattson, approached.
Soon, he told himself.
Closer, closer, closer. The slim body slid along the bed, slowly growing heavier with each flex of muscle. Fuck, the asshole was shifting, changing so that when he finally hovered above them, he’d be human once again.
Shit.
Bethy sighed and rolled from him, her pale body bared to the room and the snake paused. Frank’s low hiss filled the area, and the slight weight seemed to double. Shit, Wyatt realized he didn’t have any more time to waste.
With a massive push, he kicked the intruder to the left and shoved Bethy to the right. His mate rolled over the other side of the bed and landed with a pained moan. He only had a split-second to worry about her before the real fight intruded on him.
A half-shifted Frank collided with the dresser, cracking the furniture and sending knickknacks flying. The male now stood tall, built exactly as Ricker described. His human skin was covered in deep green scales while his nose was flattened and his head wider than normal. Frank opened his mouth wide, flicking out his tongue and exposing his long, thin fangs. Saliva dripped from their tips, and Wyatt wondered exactly how much was spit and how much was poison.
He really didn’t want to know.
The snake hissed at him as he pushed away from the dresser, and Wyatt’s cat responded. His body grew, muscles bulging and thickening while fur sprouted from his pores. His hands transformed into a lion’s paws with deadly claws spread. His mouth became the beast’s snout, animal fangs crowding his human teeth.
Partial transformation complete, he hissed.
Unfortunately, Frank seemed too crazed to be afraid. Dumb ass snake. His lion was about to take the male down and then they’d burn his remains, destroy him and get rid of him as if he’d never existed.
Frank was the first to move, snake darting across the seven feet that separated them as if it were nothing. One moment he rested sprawled against the dresser and the next he was striking out at Wyatt. The snake’s clawed fingers barely missed his shoulder, but a miss was a miss, and it gave him a chance to retaliate.
He punched the male, fist driving into Frank’s stomach with one heave. He followed it with a quick crack to his jaw that had the man’s head whipping to the side. Wyatt took advantage and went after him again, this time using his claws and scraping them along the man’s chest, digging deep furrows into his flesh.
Frank released an anguished cry and retaliated, hands flying and nails flashing in the room’s dim light. A movement
to his right snared his attention, and he saw Bethy standing on the opposite side of the room. She clutched the sheet to her body, and pure terror coated her features.
Oh yes, Frank would die for scaring his mate. Soon.
A hiss brought him back to his fight, and he caught the strike aimed at his neck, wrapping his fingers around the male’s wrist. Frank’s nails seemed to glitter, the snake’s scales adding to the affect. Holding tight, Wyatt took the opportunity to wrap his furred paw around the man’s throat.
Distantly he heard the heavy thumping of a body slamming against his front door. He imagined Brute trying to get into the house after hearing the crash of Frank colliding with the dresser. For the first time in his life, he cursed himself for being so damned worried about security. Brute would never break through. There was no way he could come into the home via the windows, the fucker was too big. Plus, they were impact resistant and meant to hold off a damned hunk of wood going a hundred forty miles an hour. The back door had been replaced by material equally strong.
Damn it. He’d have to handle Frank by himself, and then he’d soothe Bethy.
Tightening his hold, he choked the slippery snake, cutting off his air. The green scales darkened under the pressure, and his lion gleefully roared at Frank’s impending death.
Except… The snake suddenly jerked, kicking Wyatt in the stomach. He released Frank in surprise, and that’s when the man struck. The sharp, reptilian fangs dug into his forearm, sinking deep and he felt the moment the poison entered his system. It burned its way into his veins, scorching every nerve ending as his heart pumped it through his body.
He slowly felt his grip on his body lessening, the muscles no longer responding to his mind’s orders. When Frank released him, Wyatt dropped to his knees. Pain overwhelmed him, the burn of Frank’s poison searing him from inside out. His blood boiled and his heart pumped the venom deeper into his muscles. It tore at him, seeping into the hardness of his bones. It attacked his mind, hunting and searching for his memories, but his cat fought the liquid death.
The animal refused to lose consciousness, refused to allow someone as pathetic as Frank force them to forget his Bethy.