by Alexis Wilde
But he let her bend over his lap, withstood it as she wrapped both hands around the base of his cock. She’d been so right. His hair there was dark and thick, short and glossy. She inhaled his scent, musk and male. Forest and sex.
Jackson gathered the long tail of her dark brown hair in his hands, pulled it up on her head and held it loosely out of her way. Out of Ben’s way.
Left her face bare to the other man’s stare as she opened her mouth, eased Jackson’s thick cock between her lips.
Jackson’s hips twitched as she dragged her tongue over his shaft. His breath fractured when the head of it bumped against the back of her throat.
Her gag reflex kicked at her hunger. She whimpered.
“Come here,” Ben ordered. “Ease that gorgeous ass this way.”
Uncertain, she shifted over, weight on her knees, hips spanning the narrow bridge between the seats. Jackson’s hands in her hair shook, and his breath came in hard, desperate pants, but he said nothing. That was the deal, she realized. Ben got all the control.
And they all shared the pleasure.
Chapter Four
Giddy with pleasure, high on arousal and power and submission, she meekly wriggled out of the jeans Ben unsnapped without looking. Her face burned as the damp fabric clung to her flesh.
“Incredible,” Ben breathed. His hand skimmed up her thigh. She shuddered. “You are so beautiful.”
She jerked, tried to raise her head, but Jackson’s fingers tightened in her hair. Cradled her head and held her still. “She doesn’t think so,” he said, a hard note.
“Then we’ll prove it,” Ben replied. Crack! His palm slapped against her bare ass. The flesh warmed; she yelped. “I didn’t say you could stop sucking his dick, Natalie.”
“But—”
Crack! Another sharp pain, and the warmth imprinted by his hand slipped into the swollen flesh between her legs. She groaned, shaking with it—with the pleasure each punishing slap thrust through her body.
Jackson watched her face, blazing eyes capturing every shimmering variation on arousal; she couldn’t hide.
Didn’t want to.
Bracing her hands on his powerful thighs, Natalie dipped her head and took his cock deeper into her mouth. She braced for another slap, but instead, the fingers of Ben’s free hand grazed her sex. She moaned, and Jackson’s voice grated out wordless encouragement as the sound vibrated through his cock.
“You are so wet,” Ben told her, like she didn’t know. The van remained steady, and distantly, she wondered how he managed to drive and touch her, order them both, without losing his focus. She could barely string two sentences together. “Does this get you off, little girl? Pain and pleasure?”
Jackson’s eyes squeezed closed. His hips jerked upwards, forcing him a little farther into her mouth—a little harder.
Her muscles wanted to retreat, to pull her away from this intrusion in her throat, but Ben’s long fingers slipped into the folds of her body, plunging deep and sure. Her hips tilted, small of her back arching to thrust her back into his hand, even as her throat expanded, reshaping itself around Jackson’s cock. He groaned, a shuddering sound. The hands at her head became less gentle.
She loved it. Craved it, wanted more.
“Let Jackson fuck your mouth,” Ben said, his deep, rich voice sure. “I want to see you swallow him the way your pussy is swallowing my fingers.”
Oh, God. Was it possible?
Natalie forgot that she knelt between two seats in a moving vehicle, forgot that she was on the run from the pack who had never taught her this. She forgot things like strangers and fear.
All she knew was wicked hunger, desperate and demanding, and the shuddering sensation of being filled from two orifices—Jackson’s cock in her mouth, thick and amazing, and Ben’s fingers thrusting in and out of her body. Arousal dripped down her thighs, her own saliva merged with the clear, salty pre-come leaking from Jackson, and every scrape of Ben’s fingers against her channel walls coiled the spring of her orgasm tighter. Brighter.
Amazing.
Her leg muscles trembled. Her breath panted.
Jackson’s head fell back against the seat as he braced his feet against the van floor and thrust himself between her lips. “Shit, yes.” A guttural affirmation.
“Come,” Ben demanded. “Come, Natalie. Let me feel you clamp down on my fingers.”
She couldn’t stop herself, even if he’d commanded it. Her climax rippled through her, spread out from her hips, her lips, met somewhere in the middle and exploded in a wild surge of lust and heat and sensation. And just when she thought she couldn’t bear anymore, Jackson’s cock jumped against her throat, his teeth bared, fingers biting into her scalp. “Ben,” he growled, as close to helpless as she’d ever heard him.
“Do it.”
With a ragged groan, he came inside her mouth.
Nobody had ever done that. No one had ever told her what it would be like.
The thick fluid filled her mouth, warm and salty. High on the waves of her own orgasm, Natalie swallowed what he gave her. Every last surge, every drop. She took it, fiercely thrilled, wildly pleased that she could.
He was the first.
And it wasn’t enough. Her orgasm took the edge off, but it wasn’t enough. Her body burned, a thousand degrees of desperation and instincts that demanded she take more than fingers for her trouble.
Maybe Ben knew. Maybe they both did.
The van veered off the road. Eased to a stop.
Jackson grabbed her by the arm, dragged her into the back. She was grateful for his help—for the understanding that had him framing her sweat-damp face with both hands, forcing her to look at him. She trembled, her heart a ragged staccato.
“Will you let us help ease you?” That he asked almost made her laugh.
She barely managed a nod. “I want him.”
A sound behind them had Jackson looking over her head. “Ben.”
The other man eased into the space with them. The skin at his cheeks was taut with strain, but he moved slowly. Too slow. She bared her teeth.
Ben’s eyebrows raised.
His lips curved, and this time, she realized that when they did, his eyes crinkled. Glinted like black glass when they pinned on her. “Your wolf is hungry, isn’t she?”
Another nod.
Jackson turned her slowly, pulled her back against his chest. “Take a good look, sweetheart.” He tugged at her shirt, lifted it to bare her breast, cupped by plain pink satin. Slowly, he reached around, hooked a finger into her bra and tugged the cup down.
One full breast spilled free. She sucked in a breath.
Ben’s shoulders rolled. Lust cracked through his cool facade, leaving something raw behind.
The impact of it stole her breath.
“He’s not all deep water and calm,” Jackson said in her ear. She shook in his grip as he pinched her nipple, rolled it where Ben could watch.
She arched into Jackson’s hands, but held Ben’s stare. She reached out. “Let me feel you,” she whispered.
Something wordless, something charged, passed between the men flanking her. Whatever it was, it was Jackson that gave in, pushing her bra completely down and cradling her breasts in both hands. His palms were hot against her skin, fingers firm as he lifted her heavy breasts up like an offering.
Ben knelt between her legs, his gaze locked on her. Slowly, infinitely slow, he bent down. Pressed his lips to the swell of her left breast.
Flicked his tongue over sensitized skin.
She moaned her approval. Reaching back, she grabbed Jackson’s shoulders, leaned into his chest to ground her as Ben’s hands spanned her waist, held her so he could lick his way to her nipple. Her back bowed as he closed his mouth around the tight bud, the dusky tip vanishing between his lips. He sucked hard enough that it shot straight to her sex, plucking at all the tangled knots of need and hunger that he’d helped ease but didn’t end.
Her head fell back against Jackson’s soli
d chest. “Oh, God,” she panted. “Please.”
She’d never used that word so much.
Jackson smoothed back her hair. Brushed his lips across her fevered brow. “You have to use more words, remember?”
She didn’t have the words for it. Her nails bit into his shoulders, twined into his shirt. Fabric tore, but nobody stopped to care as Ben transferred his attentions to her other breast. Hot, wet, demanding, he sucked and laved until her body became a mass of sensitized nerves, each strained to the max.
When he opened his jeans, she didn’t know. She was barely even cognizant of her own pleading. “Please, fuck me,” she gasped, in a voice that didn’t sound like hers. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—Yes,” she groaned as Ben’s cock pushed between the dripping wet folds of her sex. The seams of Jackson’s shirt split at the shoulder, accompanied by Ben’s low growl as he pushed past the initial resistance. Inch by inch, he pushed deeper inside her. Stretched her. Filled her.
Her body adjusted fast, sucked at his cock, enfolded his flesh in her own so easily that Jackson groaned in her ear as her backside tucked against his straining erection.
Ben braced a hand against the side of the van, fingers splayed by Jackson’s head and holding himself upright. Jackson cradled her against his chest, palmed her breast and toyed with her nipple as Ben withdrew almost all the way, set his teeth, and pushed into her again.
Every push thrust another layer of heat into the inferno of her body. Rocked her hard against Jackson, until every part of her focused on the ache between her legs and the driving friction at her ass.
“More,” she gasped. “Yes. Hard.” And in every syllable, her wolf howled in hunger and satisfaction and demand.
Jackson’s tongue swept over the curve where her shoulder met her neck. Her skin tightened.
Ben’s eyes blazed into hers, held there as he seized her waist and angled her into a position that left her helplessly splayed in Jackson’s arms—her hips tilted so that every thrust dragged his cock over that most sensitive spot inside her.
Natalie’s legs fell wide, bare thighs pale against the contrast of Ben’s suntanned fingers gripping her flesh and holding her for every thrust. She rocked back into Jackson, let herself go with the momentum Ben forced their bodies into—losing her mind as his cock slid in and out, over and over, again and again. Until she was shaking with it. Trembling violently in Jackson’s arms, pleading. “Oh, God, oh, God. Ben, please. Please!”
One broad thumb came to rest between them, easing between her folds to stroke her clit. To pinch it, roll it, over and over, in opposite time with his thrusts.
She was too sensitized for that. Too far gone.
She stiffened, a protest on her lips, but Jackson’s teeth bit down hard into the muscle of her neck and lightning suffused her body. Natalie’s denial sheared off into a high, wild cry as Ben slammed into her hard enough to force them all together, flesh against flesh against flesh.
She came apart like glass, like fireworks of raw sensation.
As the walls of her sex clamped down, milked his cock with trembling demand, Ben growled low, deep in his chest. The van rocked as he shuddered against her, his forearm slamming against the wall.
Jackson wrapped a large hand around her throat, held her gently while his second-in-command spilled himself inside her.
The hunger, the biological demand of her heat cycle, softened into something warm and full. Heavy and comforting.
She meant to say something. To thank them both, to tell them how much she’d enjoyed this new foray into pleasure. She’d meant to talk to them about something other than sex and need, to smile at so quiet Ben and tell him he didn’t scare her anymore.
She couldn’t. Her eyelids felt weighted by lead. Exhaustion—days of it—poured into the silence left behind.
Cradled by both men, feeling beautiful and safe, Natalie crashed into sleep.
* * *
Ben drove the van. It gave him something to focus on, something besides the thick heaviness in the air, redolent with the fragrance of satiated female—and barely satiated male. It wasn’t enough. And it wouldn’t be enough, because she hadn’t chosen him.
Not that he was surprised. Ben understood how it worked. He’d given her the satisfaction she craved, buried himself to the hilt inside her beautiful, luscious body until she’d screamed with it, but she wasn’t meant for him—wasn’t right for him. He knew that much.
Even so, the fragrance of their interlude lingered, slipped into his lungs, gripped him by the throat, and squeezed.
She’d felt so incredible around him, under him.
Natalie slept in the back, mounded with blankets against the chill. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t moved once in an hour. If she was at all aware of the fact that she’d left herself completely defenseless while two virile werewolf males practically leashed themselves down in the front seat, she didn’t seem to care—she slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted.
He couldn’t blame her. By all accounts, she’d been run ragged before Jackson and Alek had found her in that box.
Which, all things considered, was another problem. Two of his had broken the unspoken rule of transporting, and that was going to hurt their reputation. The Yellow Canyon Pack would be well within their rights to demand restitution. Especially when it came to the safe return of a fertile female.
It didn’t help that the Yellow Canyon wolves had hired Nico and his troubleshooters to retrieve their package from whatever assholes they’d hired to capture her, and they didn’t even give the fucking courtesy of a full explanation, either.
Was she theirs? She obviously wasn’t mated, and what Ben knew of the Yellow Canyon Pack, he couldn’t imagine them letting a woman go around unmated this long. There were too many variables, here, too many uncertainties. Surely they would have worn down her defenses by now. Females chose their mates, not the other way around, but those whose wolves were stronger sometimes had trouble letting go enough to settle.
Maybe she hadn’t settled.
And now that he’d tasted her himself, he could admit—in a deep, quiet part of himself—that he didn’t want to let her go. She hadn’t chosen him, something about him wasn’t right for her, but he wanted her around anyway. There was something about her that eased his edges.
The boss’s call was the right one. By holing her up at the cabin, they could take some time to figure out what to do. Nico was sure to come up with some kind of plan. Hopefully before the other pack came to claim what they’d call theirs.
He took another deep breath. Nothing had changed about the air—the smell of the road, exhaust and pine, and the musky fragrance of sex.
Plus one irritated wolf.
Amusement crackled through him. He didn’t bother looking away from the winding county highway. He didn’t have to. Jackson’s prickling temper was as obvious as a bonfire in the dark. “You can relax,” he said dryly. “She’s not mine.”
The man huffed out a hard sound, shifting in the passenger seat and jamming an elbow into the back of it. Not that it’d make these seats any more comfortable. “Yeah? Well, she’s not mine yet either.”
There it was. He raised an eyebrow. “Yet, huh?”
Jackson grumbled something under his breath, too guttural to make out.
“Something you want to say to me?”
“Fuck you.” There was heat in the retort, but not the kind Ben felt obligated to address. Temper came with the blood—werewolves ran hot.
Especially when a female was around. Heat just made everything that much more complicated.
Ben was old enough, strong enough, that he didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “I get the impression it’s not me you want to be fucking.”
Jackson’s low growl trickled between his teeth.
There was a limit. Ben shot him a long, hard stare. “What’s the issue, King?” Not that he couldn’t guess half of it. It was pretty damn clear that Jackson had all but wrapped her noose around his neck and jumped
headlong into possession—a dangerous ride when the mating hadn’t taken hold.
There wasn’t much ritual to it, not in the sense that humans understood ritual. Ben had only seen a mating once, and it hadn’t looked like anything special, but the pack had known. Maybe the scent changed, maybe something about the pair had altered, he couldn’t be sure. They’d simply…known.
The feelings that had gripped him then—lust, jealousy, relief—still echoed somewhere in his soul.
Jackson scrubbed at his face. The rasp of his fingers over his close-cropped whiskers whispered as much aggravation as the lines drawn into his scowl. “I’ve been thinking about her situation. Does she belong to the Yellow Canyon Pack?” They spoke in low tones, mindful of the sleeping woman behind them.
She deserved whatever rest she could get.
“I don’t know.” Ben hadn’t been given all the data yet, but Nico had promised it’d come. “That’s going to be part of the negotiations.”
“So we’re negotiating?”
“Damn right, we’re negotiating,” Ben replied grimly. “Nico’s pissed.”
In the passenger seat, Jackson’s shoulders eased. A fraction, but it was enough for Ben.
The man had worried.
He shot Jackson a frown. “You thought he wouldn’t be.”
“I wasn’t sure he’d put her over our reputation,” Jackson confessed. He closed his eyes, lacing both hands over his chest, but he didn’t feign sleep. Jackson wasn’t much of a feigner—he meant what he said. And usually said when he meant. A dangerous disposition in a weak werewolf.
Fortunately for Nico’s troubleshooters, young werewolves didn’t always stay weak. Nico had a damn good eye for people—Jackson was a hell of a lot stronger than anyone else had expected he’d become. Maybe it was Nico’s influence that pushed him.
Did Jackson know how strong he was?
He hid a smile. “You should trust him.”
“I trust him.”
“More,” Ben emphasized dryly. “You put together yet why we’re taking her to the Lost River cabin?”