Desired by the Pack: Part One: A BBW Paranormal Romance (6 page)

“Nope.” He stepped aside and waved her into the kitchen.

Behind her, the front door closed. Suddenly her sprawling farmhouse felt small and cramped. As Beck
neared, her temperature rose. Under the pretense of cleaning up for the midnight meal, she ran cool water over her wrists and splashed her face.

As she did, something shimmered white on the edges of her vision.

Beck walked right up behind her. The hard line of his chest aligned with her spine. She ignored him and moved her head in the other direction.

If she held her chin just so, she saw it again. Transparent, ghostly white hands covering hers.

Her lashes fell to half-mast and those weren’t hands.

They were paws.

Anders can see her
.

She sucked in a deep breath. “What makes Anders so special?”

Beck reached around her. He didn’t speak as he opened the hot water faucet and cleaned his hands with a dab of dish soap. January fought the desire coursing through her, begging her to lean back and accept his strength.

She steeled herself against falling into that trap again.

“He is wolf-born.” He inhaled as if he meant to go on, but didn’t say anything else as he shook the water from his hands and backed away from her.

January frowned at her reflection in the kitchen window. She hadn’t seen her own wolf in many years. Not since the foolishly trusting little girl she’d been had given the beautiful white wolf away. Her secret shame, and Beck knew the truth of it now.

“Dinner.” Cross’s reflection passed hers as he delivered steaks to the long, solid wood table that took up most of the kitchen’s floor space.

Two chairs scraped the linoleum and creaked under the weight of the two big men. January turned away from the window and joined them.

They ate in silence for several minutes, none of them shy with a knife and fork. One of the men had even produced a bottle of wine.

Halfway through her steak, January lifted her glass and sipped, savoring the complex bouquet.

“So.” She sat the glass back down.

Both Beck and Cross lowered their forks, both focused on her.

A curl of feminine power slid through her, at once glorious and unwanted. These were not men whose attention she should encourage but she couldn’t deny a certain part of her wanted to do just that.

“So,” she said again. “Anders is wolf-born. What else makes him special?”

“He’s my alpha second,” Beck answered after a beat.

She bit her lip, chewing on the tender flesh while she digested that revelation. “He doesn’t like me, does he? The angry one, right? That’s Anders?”

Cross retrieved his knife and cut a bite of meat. “He’s wolf-born.”

“You say that like it’s some kind of explanation.”

“It is.” Cross shrugged. “He has limited human experiences. Do you expect a wolf-born to have a handle on social manners?”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“His feelings for you are complicated,” Beck said.

January nodded and let the subject drop even though she wanted to know more. As she finished eating, Cross reached for the bottle of wine and started to refill her glass.

“Enough for me,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to fall asleep while the two of you are presenting dessert.”

Cross laughed. “Yes, ma’am. Should I start slicing the cake?”

She nodded without looking at him. No use refusing what they’d come to give her. As she cleared the table, one hunger sated, the other came alive. While they cleared the table, she slipped from the kitchen to grab condoms from her purse.

When she walked back into the kitchen, Cross took one look at the strip of condoms and shook his head. “You don’t need those. We brought our own.”

“Fine.” January shrugged and tossed her brand on the counter. They slid to a stop at the base of a tub of coconut oil.

Beck deposited three wine glasses beside the sink and caught her hand.

“Look at me.”

His quiet command compelled her, man to woman instead of alpha to subordinate.

January licked her lips. “Okay.”

But it took her a minute to follow through. The flutter behind her ribs warned of danger. Bracing herself, she lifted her gaze and walked right into the fire.

“We’ll wear all the condoms you want, but you don’t get to cover up.” He feathered a light touch from her temple down to her chin and lower. Hooking his finger behind the crew neck of her scrubs top, he said, “Take this off.”

“I don’t want to be vulnerable to you,” she confessed.

Beck’s eyes softened. “Too late for that, isn’t it?”

“Maybe it is.” She swallowed, wishing she could demand something fast, hard and impersonal again.

But as loudly as her body had clamored for relief a few nights ago, her heart cried out just as loud for a connection now.

Cross came up behind her, strong hands confident at her waist. “Lift your arms.”

Slowly, because it felt like surrender and she’d never allowed herself to do that before, she raised her hands over her head. Cross skimmed the woven cotton up her body. The material caught at her breasts. Beck freed it with a touch, then covered her with his broad hands.

“Oh,” she breathed as his thumbs swept across her nipples, teasing them to taut points beneath the satin of her bra.

Cross swept her shirt over her head, breaking her eye contact with Beck. When she could see again, she found Beck staring at the firm globes he cupped.

Not staring at her belly and that damning sigil forever emblazoned on her skin.

The intensity of Beck’s focus made her take a step back--mistake, as she came up against Cross’s hard chest. She stiffened, surprised. Cross pulled her arms back and looped them around his neck.

His murmur ruffled the fine hairs at her temple. “Don’t forget about me.”

Beck bent his head and wet the fabric of her bra cup with his tongue. Moaning, she bumped her ass toward Cross. With their height difference, she could only reach his upper thighs. His erection rode higher, a thick, rigid knot trapped by denim, rubbing against her lower back.

“I want you to touch me.” Fingers tugging at Cross’s short hair, she arched her back and pushed her breasts fully against Beck’s face.

“Which of us?” Beck licked the deep line of her cleavage. His lashes flicked up and he met her gaze, devilish intent in his gray eyes.

Rough palms sloped down her arms from her elbows to the sensitive, ticklish hollow below. Cross nipped her earlobe. “He wants to hear you asking for exactly what you want.”

January gulped down a flare of unease. She never asked, only took.

Somehow Beck knew that. He raised his head and tilted it, waiting.

Beck knew. And he was going to make her break her rules.

Or leave her suffering if she clung to them.

“I don’t like you,” she whispered, glaring at him.

Beck’s lips quirked. “I know.”

He glanced over her shoulder. At his nod, Cross took his touch away.

She inhaled angrily, blew out a frustrated, “Fine.”

Beck raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. The material of his shirt stretched to fit the swells and planes of his defined muscles.

She wanted to touch him, but she wouldn’t ask for anything that gave him pleasure.

Only her.

Until he broke and started taking without making her beg.

“Take off my bra. Suck on my nipples.” Her chin jutted in challenge.

Beck’s nostrils flared. He flicked his gaze over her torso, eating her flesh with his eyes. Nodding at her upraised arms, he said, “Don’t move your hands.”

Before she could point out the problem of her bra straps, Beck grabbed a long, thin knife from the butcher’s block on the counter.

A flush burst over her skin, precursor to the moisture that pooled between her legs.

“No claws or teeth?” She croaked.

“I’m a tool-using animal.” He flashed a wicked smile and slid the tip of the knife under her left bra strap. One twist of his wrist and the fragile strap split. He dealt with the other and trailed the blunt back of the knife’s point across the full, quivering swells of her breasts.

Deep down to her bones, she knew she was safe with him. Physically. Still, her pulse raced as he tucked the cool steel blade between her breasts. The thin, fragile satin gave and fell away, exposing her.

Her insides clenched.

Behind her, Cross rumbled approvingly, like he knew how hot that little show had gotten her. He ran his lips along her shoulder, inhaling deeply. “Oh, she liked that.”

She would have no physical secrets with these men as lovers.

Beck gathered her heavy breasts, pressed them together and lifted her nipples to his mouth. She watched, rapt, as he closed his lips around one stiff peak. A swipe of his velvet tongue, one strong, suckling pull, and she ground the back of her head into Cross’s chest.

A loud moan escaped her throat. Cross’s cock bucked in response, reminding her of the other treat waiting for her.

“Cross,” she gasped. The single syllable broke when Beck pinched her other nipple, as if punishing her for speaking another man’s name.

“Tell me.” Cross scraped his teeth down the side of her throat. Goose flesh erupted all over.

“Rub my clit. Put your fingers inside me. Goddess, anything.”

Maybe she should have been ashamed of how fast she broke, but the words spilled out. Out of her control, just like the need coursing through her. Hotter and hotter, as if, between them, Beck and Cross were pouring gasoline on a fire.

Cross stilled, big hands resting on her hips. He could have stripped her scrub pants off with a hook and a push but he didn’t.

No, he moved over her pants and cupped her sex through her clothes. The pressure inside her gathered at her center, building too fast.

“Hot and wet, even through your pants. No wonder I can smell your pussy.” He wedged a fingertip between her lower lips. The seam of her pants lodged against her clit. Cross rubbed back and forth, pushing her closer to the edge.

At the same time, Beck dragged his mouth off her nipple, a slow, long retreat with scraping teeth and suctioning mouth. Sharp nip of pain, as his teeth glanced the excruciatingly sensitive tip, followed by a velvety, soothing lick around the tight bud.

Whimpering, January yanked at Cross’s hair and rolled her hips, trying to create more satisfying friction between her legs. He indulged her wordless begging by slipping his hand under her clothes. His touch was soft but his fingertips were rough, and one little stroke was all she needed.  The bubble of tension popped, setting her free. She shrieked as she came, nails digging at the back of Cross’s neck. Cross held her through the wave but Beck…

Beck stood back and
watched
her.

He looked like something feral, corded muscle and bared teeth, shaggy dark hair falling across his glittering eyes. She could see the sharp points of his flat male nipples stabbing at his shirt, the rigid board of his abs, a line of golden skin at his waist, as if his body was suddenly too big for his clothes.

Her breath hitched. “Beck?”

His hands flexed at his sides, opening and closing into white-knuckled fists.

“That ought to hold you for a minute.” Cross petted gently between her legs, then lifted his hands to her shoulders. “Let’s go, Jan. On your knees and thank the man for his generosity.”

Those words from a human male’s mouth would have been a bitter pill she didn’t even try to swallow.

Coming from Cross, the command went down sweet and dark like fine maple syrup. She licked her lips, enjoying the way Beck’s gaze tracked her tongue, and she disentangled her fingers from Cross’s hair.

Cross pushed her forward and down, guiding her to kneel at Beck’s wide-planted, booted feet.

This close, she realized the men weren’t the only ones who could smell the arousal in the air.

Beck’s erection stressed the seams of his fly. The zipper’s teeth peeked out from behind the strip of denim meant to
hide them. And she could taste the scent of him, rich and masculine and ready.

Cross slipped the elastic from her hair and fingered through her ponytail, detangling the long strands. She tilted her head back, inadvertently baring her throat.

The growl came from Beck, long and deep, almost a word.

Her gaze snapped to his, found his eyes that much more wild.

Understanding dawned. “This is your moon.”

Werewolves could control themselves by the light of the full moon. Many were at their most stable with the full charge of light coursing through them. But each had a secret weakness--the moon under which they were born.

Even an alpha could go a little moon-mad with his birth moon riding high in the sky.

He unclenched his fists and cupped her cheeks. The bulge of his cock brushed her chin as he stepped close, bracketing her knees with his booted feet.