Desired by the Pack: Part One: A BBW Paranormal Romance (8 page)

The floor creaked as Cross closed in behind her. His oiled hands coasted over her shoulders and down her back, kneading a southerly path that made her tense.

His fingertip traced a line down the crease of her cheeks. “Are you going to let me in here, beautiful girl?”

“She will.” Beck bowed his head. An instant later, his tongue connected with her clit, firm and attentive, rolling the bud between his lips.

A high keen of need rose from her throat. Her head fell back and she parted her knees as far as she dared on the narrow surface of the chair.

Thick fingers slid between her legs from behind and circled her entrance. The muscles there squeezed hard but Cross avoided her attempt to pull him into her body. He pulled her wetness back along her perineum, up between her cheeks, and pulsed his fingertip against her anus.

She forgot how to breathe until Beck picked up where Cross had left off and traced through her folds, driving her mad as he drew circles around her entrance before finally slipping one digit into her clamping heat.

“So wet and tight,” he murmured, approval thick in his tone.

She threaded her free hand through Beck’s hair and held his mouth in place, gasping as he started to stroke inside her. Cross circled her rear opening, withdrew, then returned with a smoother, more slippery touch.

“Breathe,” Cross rumbled.

She did, a shallow inhale, a quick breath out, and his thumb popped into her pucker. Her nipples beaded instantly, contracting to rigid points. For a greedy moment, she was disappointed Beck and Cross were only two instead of three. Hot, wet suction at her breasts would have completed a perfect, blissful triangle of pleasure.

No, that was wrong. Only one thing would complete this. Pulling on Beck’s hair, she said, “I want you inside me.”

For all his threats to make her beg, Beck reacted instantly to her words. He and Cross helped her off the chair. The three of them sank to the faded, slanted floor. Foil crinkled as both men adhered to her wishes and sheathed themselves. Beck pulled her across his lap, then astride his hips.

Cross slid into place behind her, and he took over directing again, one hand between her shoulders to push her forward into Beck. His free hand found her hip, guided her back to meet the weight of his arousal. Beck took her mouth and bucked up into her in the same motion. He banded his arms around her waist, took her down another level, and then nothing separated them.

Just this once, she allowed herself to have what she wanted. The taste of his tongue in her mouth, the satisfying burn of his big body stretching hers. Skin on skin and playing pretend, like it meant something when their marks aligned.

Cross was a dark pressure at her back, pleasure and pain different from what Beck made her feel, but no less powerful for the difference. Her world became friction and fullness, petting hands, seeking mouths. They took her to dizzying heights, so high she feared the fall. But when it came, it was exhilarating and terrifying at once. As she clung to Beck, afraid of crashing, her nails left half-moon marks in his skin. The sight of those small indentations fueled her fantasy and for a blinding-hot moment, she believed he belonged to her.

The fantasy was already evaporating when she collapsed on Beck’s chest. Cross eased out of her but Beck lingered in her heat until January sighed and shifted herself off him. Cross peeled himself away from her and Beck after the two men exchanged glances, speaking a language January didn’t understand.

Alone with Beck, she needed armor.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said, not looking at him. One disgusted glance at her discarded scrubs had her padding into the laundry room off the kitchen. She felt the weight of two pairs of considering stares as she walked away from them, but couldn’t summon the energy to be self-conscious. Her shift had worn her out even before the
invigorating, exhausting after hours encounter with the two men in her kitchen.

The last load of laundry she’d washed was still in the dryer, cold and wrinkled, but clean. She found one of her nightgowns and shook it out. The lacy cap sleeves settled over her shoulders and the lettuce-edged hem settled around her upper thighs. The filmy material she loved for sleeping was useless as a shield. It clung to the damp juncture of her thighs, showed the indentation of her navel, and every curve of her heavy breasts.

She heard clothing rustle, and then the kitchen door opened and closed while she was pulling her hair out of the back of the gown. Footsteps fell behind her. She knew it was Beck without having to turn.

“Do you sleep in that?” He asked.

She glanced back to find his gaze on her ass and realized the gown probably clung there, too.

“I thought you were leaving,” she said instead of answering his question. “I heard the door.”

“I am. Cross went to get the truck.”

“Ah. I figured you two came on foot when I didn’t see the truck outside.”

He shook his head. “You’re too far from pack territory for a pleasure trip. He parked about a mile away. I don’t want to draw attention to you. And I figured you could use a night sleeping in your own bed for a change.”

“I guess you knew the truck was keeping me away.”

“I figured it out after last night.”

She nodded and bit her lip, thinking of the hunters, bikers, and her missing housemate. “Are you guys looking into those hunters?”

“Do you think we should be?”

As a rule, werewolves took an evasive approach with hunters. Any time they could be avoided or redirected, that was the preferred course of action. Engaging hunters posed a risk of being captured or killed, but worse, engaging exposed secrets. Myths and stories about werewolf abilities and weaknesses had always flown from human lips, but few truths had ever emerged.

Evasion, instead of engagement, preserved those truths a little longer.

She shook her head. “Prince probably didn’t even realize.”

“I want to talk to your housemate. When do you expect him home?” Beck leaned his shoulder against the door frame, trapping her in the room, still eating her up with his eyes. But his tone was neutral, his words those of an alpha conducting business.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, relinquishing the post-coital awkwardness and letting her concern into her voice. “He’s been missing work.”

“No phone contact?”

She grimaced. “No phone. The last time I saw it, you were handing it to Maverick.”

“If he doesn’t have it, I will replace it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He waited a beat before adding, “I want a lot of things.”

Her throat constricted. She looked away, acutely aware she had nowhere to run. “I’m sure you do.”

He walked into the laundry room. Cupping her cheek, he tilted her face to his. “I want you, but I’m not going to take from you. I’ll be content to give until you want to give back. But there’s something you need to know.”

She had no idea what to say to that so she just gazed at him.

Beck’s jaw worked like he was chewing on something unpleasant. She was about to say something when he finally spoke. “That condom you gave me was too small. It broke.”

6

A stiff wind blew the dying leaves from the trees. Some fell to the ground but others swirled into Peace River, swiftly washed away by the fast-moving current powered by the waterfall spilling a mile upstream.

Beck lowered his gaze from the cloudy sky and glanced at Jared, who crouched at the river bank, naked despite the cold. Mud, dead grass and flecks of leaves stuck to Jared’s skin, which showed blue in some places. Despite the cold, Jared dug his feet and fingers into the soft earth. He threw his head back, eyes closed as river mist and moonlight bathed him.

Beck waited patiently while Jared cleansed himself of three days in the city. His thoughts were far from the forest,
consumed by the distraught woman he’d left behind a couple hours earlier.

After his confession about the broken condom, January had locked up, refusing to speak to him. Beck tried to force her to talk but she was damnably immune to his alpha compulsion and he’d finally left her. The pale pallor of her tawny skin and her hollow eyes haunted him. She was shaking when he left. In shock, he realized now that he was past his fury over her lock-down.

All at the prospect of carrying his child.

Before she closed the door in his face, she’d finally opened her mouth.

I never want to see you again.

“The thing they caught on camera is wolf,” Jared said, stopping Beck’s bitterness in its tracks. “The scent signatures come out right, except for the weird sweet smell. Like beaches. I suppose it could have been female, maybe even in Heat, since scents go off during the cycle. But, something’s not right. The scents were mostly right but the physical tracks were all wrong. Whatever this thing is, it might have been wolf once but not anymore. Now I don’t know what it is.”

“Beaches,” Beck repeated.

“Yeah, you know. Tropical. Like coconuts. You ought to be familiar with that scent,” Jared said, glancing at Cross, who, like Beck, still smelled of January.

“Fuck,” Cross said.

Dread pounded between Beck’s ears as he came to the same conclusion Cross had reached.

“We’ll set up surveillance detail,” he said, forcing his emotions out of the way.

January might not want to see him again, but he was going to be seeing plenty of her.

The Peace River Guardians sexy adventure continues in DESIRED BY THE PACK: PART TWO, available now!

Author’s Note

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading
DESIRED BY THE PACK: PART ONE
. I hope you’ll consider leaving a review at the online store you bought from! If you’re anxious to find out about the fall-out from that broken condom or the mysterious werewolf wreaking havoc with the media, don’t worry--Part Two is coming in May 2014, with Part Three following soon after.  Parts Two and Three will be released at an introductory price of 99c for a very limited time, and once that introductory period passes, they will be sold for $2.99 each.
Subscribe to my newsletter today
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to know when new releases are available and so you won’t miss the sale price.

You might be wondering why I’m writing this book in parts, instead of as one long story. The truth is, I grew up watching soap operas and I credit shows like Days of Our Lives and the Dark Shadows remake for my love of episodic romance.
DESIRED BY THE PACK
is coming to you in parts because I envision January, Beck, and all the other wolves living, loving, and struggling beyond the limits of a single plot. While some conflicts will be resolved and some relationships will conclude, I’d like to continue writing about the Peace River Guardians for as long as you’d like to continue reading about them. So, if you’d like more, more, more, come on by
my web site
or
Facebook page
and let me know!

Sincerely,

Emma Storm

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emma Storm has wanted to write ever since she realized her mediocre skills with a crayon were going nowhere fast. When she was thirteen, she begged her parents for a typewriter for Christmas and went to town on a crazy-bad historical romance.

Fortunately, she left that messed up historical behind and went looking for her real loves--a big, sexy man; a sweet little boy; and dirty-hot werewolf heroes.

DESIRED BY THE PACK, Emma's paranormal romance serial novel, is her first foray into paranormal romance. Join Emma's newsletter today in order to stay up to date on news about upcoming releases and future plans.

Copyright © 2014 by Emma Storm.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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Desired by the Pack: Part One/ Emma Storm. -- 1st
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