The Worth Series: Complete Collection

by Lyra Evans

  The brown-haired Wolf bowed slightly to Oliver. “Connor said you would be joining us,” he said, his voice smooth but unnerving. “I’d hoped you would. You’ve been so good to our pack, to our Alpha—” he paused, giving Oliver a once-over and biting his lip. “Let me thank you properly,” he breathed, leaning in to Oliver.

  The words froze in Oliver’s chest, and it took only a split second for him to push the man back and brace himself for a fight. But the Wolf only stumbled a step or two, his mouth still pulled into a smile.

  “I belong to Connor,” Oliver said, the words harsh. The collar around his neck burned into his skin.

  “Of course you do,” the Wolf said, the mildest confusion clouding his features. “I was only—”

  “Oli?” Connor’s voice came from the stairs to Oliver’s left, and when he looked up, he found Connor standing at the last step, expression concerned. His blue eyes flitted between Oli and the Wolf. “Are you all right?”

  Breathing hard, Oliver stepped over to Connor, reaching for his hands, his arms, his chest. He felt all of Connor he could in that one moment. A panic he hadn’t been aware of in himself began to subside only when he touched Connor. “Fine,” he said. “Just reminding this Wolf I belong to you.”

  Connor took Oliver’s hands, pressing his lips to Oli’s fingers, then looked over at the Wolf. “What did you do, Rance?”

  The Wolf, Rance, shrugged and bowed his head. “I merely offered myself up to your consort for his enjoyment in thanks for all he’s done and is doing for us.” He stepped forward. “I am at his service, if he so chooses. And yours, of course, Alpha.”

  Oliver gaped, his expression caught between alarm and incredulity. “Why would you think—”

  “Thank you,” Connor said, cutting Oli off. He seemed to mean it, too, and Oliver gaped at him instead. “Your offering is noted and appreciated, but I think I need a moment with my consort.” Rance nodded pleasantly and returned to his position with the other Wolves getting off by the sofa. Oliver’s wide-eyed look and furrowed brow drew a small smile to Connor’s lips.

  “What kind of wake is this?” Oli asked in an undertone, eying the increasing number of Wolves shedding their clothes.

  “This is how Werewolves mourn the dead,” Connor answered quietly, pulling Oliver close. “Or rather, how we celebrate life.” He pressed a kiss to Oliver’s jaw. “The death of a friend, of a pack-member and kin, is a mark of how important it is to live. In his honour, we throw a massive gathering dedicated to the pleasures of life, to the enjoyment of it. Wolves will bring whatever they think will contribute to that—any kind of entertainment is welcome—and they engage with the other Wolves however they feel comfortable.” Connor pressed himself against Oliver, pinning him to the banister of the staircase and peppering his jaw and neck with more kisses. Oliver tilted his head back to accept them, his eyes fluttering shut on instinct.

  “So—so that Wolf, Rance, offering himself to us—”

  “Totally normal,” Connor answered, flicking his tongue out to lap at Oliver’s heated skin. “It’s a mark of respect, loyalty, and love. I’m very pleased, actually,” Connor said. “That he offered himself to you first means he respects you and your position in our pack. It was a way to welcome you formally.”

  Oliver wasn’t quite sure Rance had any kind of formal ideas in mind, but he set the thought aside when Connor pulled him into a kiss. He pressed his tongue to Oliver’s lips, slipping it into his mouth to taste him, and Oliver melted into him. He kissed Connor back, sliding his tongue against Connor’s, raking his fingers down Connor’s back.

  “Alpha,” a quiet voice interrupted. Connor pulled away from Oliver for a moment, and flushed with desire, Oliver nearly glared at the group of Wolves standing before them. The speaker was a woman with red hair and chocolate eyes that made Oliver think more of a fox than a Wolf. “We humbly offer ourselves to you and your consort. We share in your grief, so may you share in us.”

  There were seven Wolves standing there, all in varying stages of nudity. Both men and women offered themselves, their heads slightly bowed and their eyes half-lidded. Each as aroused as Rance had been, they stepped in closer, circling Connor and Oliver to better reach them.

  “Thank you all,” Connor said, inclining his head. “I am grateful for your offering and shall not forget it. But tonight the choice belongs to my consort. Given it is his first wake, he will decide if we are to share in any of your offerings.”

  The woman nodded courteously and stepped back, but another Wolf, from off to the side, snorted loudly and made a derisive noise. Connor tensed, turning slowly to find the source of the sound. Oliver glanced from him to the Wolf, a woman with angled eyes and a long sheet of dark hair. She wore a tight blue dress the colour of Connor’s eyes, and her lips were pursed in a condescending expression.

  “Of course,” she said. “He makes all your decisions for you now, doesn’t he?” She turned to the woman who had offered the group to Connor and Oliver. “Sorry, Dahlia, you caught him at a bad time. Don’t you know Connor can only do his duties as Alpha when he’s not buried cock-deep in Ape?”

  Connor was at her throat in a flash, before Oliver even felt him move. She was pinned to the wall, his hand at her throat. Her head was tilted back against the wall, her jaw tight, but Connor wasn’t pressing down on her throat at all from what Oliver could see. It was the dominance of the move, the threat of what he could do, that mattered. His mouth was a maw of razor fangs and snarling. As Connor stood there, pinning the Wolf who showed disrespect, Oliver shivered. He felt a flash of lust, of the desperate wanting for Connor to pin him to the wall, to fuck him hard, and a small twinge of concern for Connor and the state of things.

  Most of the other Wolves had stopped what they were doing to watch, aware that something had happened. Even the group sex had halted, mid-thrust, to observe what Connor would do. A muscle tensed in Oliver’s neck, and he stayed where he was.

  “Do you mean to challenge me?” Connor asked, his voice low and steady but preternaturally calm. It held the threat of instant violence behind it.

  The woman stared at him. “No, Alpha,” she said.

  “Yet you insult me in my own home, you disrespect my consort, you criticize my performance as Alpha in front of my pack, and you show shameful disregard for the life of the Wolf we celebrate tonight.” Connor barely moved as he spoke, his eyes a piercing, icy blue directed at the woman. “So tell me, Nadia,” Connor said, “what did you mean by your behaviour?”

  Nadia didn’t answer for a moment, the tension in her visible even from across the room. “It was a mistake,” she said. “A stupid expression of grief. I am shamed to have given in to reckless anger. I am shamed before my pack.” Her eyes locked with Connor’s. Her tone sounded genuine, but something in her eyes, a coldness there, told Oliver she was only saying what she needed to. “Can you forgive me, Alpha?”

  All eyes were on Connor, and Oliver wished he could step forward and tell Connor no, don’t listen to her, she’s lying to you, but he couldn’t. After what she’d said about Oliver making his decisions, it was more important than ever for Oliver to keep his mouth shut.

  Finally, Connor released her, stepping away with his mask of calm back in place. His mouth returned to its normal, beautiful shape. He smoothed out his shirt.

  “I understand the temptation to anger,” he said. “But a true Wolf does not let it get the best of her. You are forgiven.”

  Connor nodded once to her, then turned back to Oliver. As he walked back, the other Wolves slowly returned to their business, but Nadia wasn’t done.

  “He’ll just disgrace you, you know,” she said, but low enough only Connor and Oliver could hear her. The music blotted out most of her words to the other Wolves. Connor froze and turned, his expression baldly furious. “And he’ll disgrace us all when he leaves you for some other cock-toy, just like the others he left behind.”

  A cold vise wrapped around Oliver’s chest as he watched Connor lau
nch at Nadia. In a flash he grabbed her and drew her to the stairs, still barely touching her. Oliver wanted to reach out and grab her, to stand between her and Connor for his sake, but someone else beat him to it.

  Three Wolves appeared between Connor and Nadia. Two men and another woman. They held out their hands to Connor, shuffling Nadia behind them and up the stairs.

  “She’s drunk, Connor, please,” the woman was saying. “We’ll take her home. She doesn’t mean what she’s saying; she’s just upset and drunk—”

  “Go ahead,” Connor said, his tone dangerous. “You take her home, Sylvie. Take her and teach her how to hold her alcohol and her tongue. But in the morning, when she’s of sound mind again, she and I will have words. This kind of disrespect is unacceptable.” Sylvie gestured for the two men to pull Nadia out and up the stairs. “I would have expected better from a Wolf of the old kin! You are family, Nadia!”

  The four Wolves disappeared upstairs, and Connor stood glaring at the landing for a moment. The other Wolves seemed to think it best to ignore what had happened entirely and return to what they were doing. Oliver, meanwhile, reached out for Connor’s hand. He wrapped his fingers around Connor’s only to find himself spun around and thrown onto the nearby couch.

  With a gasp Oliver landed on the cushions, two other Wolves rushing to get out of the way as Connor climbed atop Oliver and pinned him down with a bruising kiss. Oliver moaned into it, his half-hard cock quickly filling. He spread his legs to circle Connor’s waist as he ground his hips down into Oliver. He tore at Oliver’s clothing, ripping his shirt to get it off Oliver faster without breaking the kiss. Oliver gasped again and played into the kiss, his own hands struggling with Connor’s shirt buttons. Connor slapped one hand away, grabbing it by the wrist and pinning it above Oliver’s head. His other hand tore open his own shirt as he rocked his hips into Oliver. He was hard against Oliver, his thick cock soaking a small patch into the fabric of his pants.

  “Connor, wait,” Oliver said through the kissing, his chest already heaving. Connor paused, his eyes a molten blue and irises nearly eclipsed by his pupils. As he stared at Connor, Oliver found his mind going blank. What had he meant to say? What was so important to stop the kissing? But the words Nadia said rang back in his ears, and Oliver knew he needed to say something. “About what you asked, this morning—”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Connor said, pressing a long, slow kiss against Oliver’s mouth. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” He kissed Oliver again, sucking on his lower lip as he pulled away. Oliver’s head spun with lust. “Right now, I just want to grieve my friend by fucking you into this sofa.” Breathing hard, Connor hesitated for one more moment. “Yes?” he asked, and Oliver nodded.

  “Fuck yes,” he moaned as Connor scratched thick welts down Oliver’s sides, his mouth latched to Oliver’s collarbone just beneath the collar. He sucked the skin there roughly, biting it between his teeth then smoothing it back with his tongue, and Oliver threw his head back. Reaching down to fist Connor’s hair, Oliver bucked upward into Connor, his cock straining against his pants. He was desperate for more pressure, for more contact.

  Connor’s hands found their way down to Oliver’s pants, yanking them off with the same brutal efficiency he’d used on Oliver’s shirt. His pants fell down to his ankles hanging off the couch, and Oliver was momentarily trapped between the clothing and Connor’s body. Connor sucked at his neck and chest while his hands found their way down to Oliver’s cock, circling it and pumping slowly. Oliver tried to sit up, to touch Connor too, but Connor forced him back down. His fingers played with Oliver’s balls a moment before drawing a line down behind them toward his entrance. Oliver’s legs still too close together, too closed for Connor to fit between them, Connor merely teased at Oliver’s entrance, at the puckered rim of his hole, while he licked and kissed Oliver’s stomach.

  “Fuck, Connor,” Oliver groaned, his body aching for more, his limbs tense and wrought from the wanting. He grasped at Connor’s hair because it was all he could do and bucked his hips against Connor. He cleared his mind as best he could to call up the spell he used for lubrication. Finally, after long moments of Connor teasing him, Oliver cast the spell and gasped at the sensation of wetness inside him. The obsidian collar at his neck vibrated slightly, warm and pulsing with magic at his neck. The sensation sent a wave of pleasurable shivers down Oli’s body, making him arch even more into Connor.

  “So eager,” Connor breathed, his finger slipping slowly into Oliver up to the knuckle. Oliver gritted his teeth and looked down. He met Connor’s hungry, mischievous eyes, and Oli nearly came at the sight. “You want me to fuck you. You want me to fuck you right here in front of my whole pack. You want them all to watch.”

  Oli nodded. “Yes, yes, fuck,” he babbled, scarcely aware of who was watching and who was not. There were people around him, he knew, many of them. The room was hot and sticky now, the music so loud and yet Oliver could barely hear it. All he could hear was Connor’s voice, his low hums and filthy words. All he could feel was Connor probing into him, sliding another finger into Oliver and stretching him with agonizing slowness. Oliver breathed in the smell of Connor, the heady scent of lust and sex and the heat that only Connor could call up in him.

  After a moment, Connor pulled his fingers out, and Oliver whimpered at the loss. Then he was being pulled, his legs now over the arm of the sofa. Connor ripped away the jeans around his ankles and picked him up. He caught Oliver’s mouth in a rough, wet kiss, biting down on his lip as he sucked, then Connor turned Oliver around and pushed him back down over the edge of the couch.

  Oliver’s face pressed into the leather of the couch cushion, his cock tightly squeezed between his own body and the arm of the sofa, Oliver moaned and gripped the bits of the couch he could reach. Connor was up against him quickly, the tip of his cock pressing lightly against Oliver’s exposed entrance. Oliver felt himself tighten in anticipation, his every muscle taut.

  Connor teased him more, one hand flat-palmed to Oliver’s back to pin him down, the other guiding the head of his cock to draw little circles of wetness against Oliver’s ass. Oliver groaned.

  “Connor,” he said, nearly pleading. He couldn’t think straight for the wanting, for how badly he hungered for Connor. “Want you inside me. Now.”

  Connor’s cock was gone then, Oliver’s entrance cold and still pulsing. He bemoaned the lack of warmth, the missing thrusts. Connor leaned over him, careful not to let his cock touch Oliver at all.

  “I’ll take you when I want you,” Connor said, pressing his lips to Oliver’s jaw and shoulder. “You’re mine, and I want you to beg me for it. Beg me for my cock.”

  Oliver exhaled sharply, his nails scratching into the leather as he fought the yearning. The reality that half Connor’s pack was standing around them, all within earshot, struck Oliver hard. So many eyes watching, so many Wolves fucking nearby, an audience to their tryst, their debauched little performance. The newspaper article floated in Oliver’s mind, but for a moment he didn’t care. All he knew was Connor and his cock; all he wanted was for Connor to fuck him, in front of all these Werewolves, and to make Oliver scream.

  “Fuck me, Connor, please,” Oliver said, unused to begging. “Please, I want you so bad. I need you now. I need your cock. Need you inside me. Please, Connor!”

  Connor leaned down and captured Oli’s mouth again in a kiss. This one was slower, more luxurious, more sensual. His tongue danced with Oli’s, sliding smoothly over Oliver’s, taking in the flavour. Then finally, he pulled away and disappeared behind Oliver.

  “As you wish,” Connor whispered, and he slammed into Oliver, the whole length of his cock sheathed inside him. Oliver cried out, suddenly full and still wanting more, and began to rock back against Connor. Connor pulled out again, entirely, then slammed back in. Oliver jerked forward from the impact, his legs splayed wide over the edge of the couch. He gripped hard to the cushions, but Connor’s punishing pace was almost too much for him.
Oli’s cock rubbed roughly against the leather as he was jerked up and down on the couch by Connor’s thrusts.

  “Yes, fuck, Connor, more,” Oliver said, his words a garbled mess of pleasure sounds and gasping. Connor pressed his back down further, arcing Oli’s hips upward to adjust the angle. Then he pumped in again, and again, and again, his cock stretching Oli so far it nearly hurt. But Oli couldn’t feel that; all he could feel was the lit spark and wave of ecstasy as Connor fucked him, his erection pounding hard into Oliver, hitting the sweet spot on every other thrust. It was as though he kept lighting and un-lighting a match, desperate to draw out the fire.

  But Oliver was lost already, his legs wide, he was full of Connor and so close to the end. He was babbling a stream of incoherent words and pleas, so hungry for Connor’s cock he was aware of nothing else. And Connor delivered, fucking him harder and faster until Oliver couldn’t see for the pleasure.

  There was a weight on him, and Oliver felt Connor press his mouth to Oli’s back, his hand reaching around Oliver’s hip to slide between the couch and his body. His fingers found Oliver’s cock and began to pump, his hips jerking more violently, more erratically with every passing second.

  “Come for me,” Connor whispered to him. “Come for me in front of everyone. I want you to spill out onto the sofa and scream my name. I want you wet and full of my spunk and dripping me. I want you, Oliver. You’re mine.”

  Oliver nodded and hummed and with a last deep thrust of Connor’s cock, Oliver did as he was told. “Connor!” he screamed, his orgasm hitting him like a bolt of lightning. He was blind with pleasure, his mind blacked out from the force of it. He collapsed, his arm hanging off the couch as though made of jelly, and his head dizzy with thoughts of Connor.

  Connor pressed a kiss to his shoulder and down his spine, still thrusting hard, fast, unevenly. Finally, he pumped in one last time, Oliver tightening around him, spasming from the waves of residual pleasure, and Connor came too. A hot jet of liquid filled Oliver, and Connor was thick inside him, thicker than he ever imagined, pressing his body apart. After a long moment, Connor collapsed on top of Oliver, slipping his softening cock out of Oli.