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His breath came in
erratic, rushing bursts, swirling hot against Holly’s skin. He was pained,
desperate, so close. They both were. Dustin’s calloused fingertips worked his
mate’s clitoris in furious circles, until her hips fell in time with the
motion. God, how that felt with his cock inside her, hitting all those secret
places never touched before now.

Holly jerked in
Dustin’s arms as her climax overcame her, a feeling not unlike her wolf
overwhelming her, a predator pouncing. Everything inside her—heart, stomach,
muscles, and especially the walls of her pussy—seized tight and hard before
collapsing into a cascade of shuddering release. Wave after wave of it, each
only a little gentler than the last.

The lupa went weak
against her mate, and he responded by riding her vulnerable body with every
ounce of savage strength remaining to him. With his teeth still in her shoulder
and his fingertips digging into her flesh around that tender button of flesh.
With his cock hitting home, touching her core, with every thrust. With his wolf
frothing and growling until his heavy, swollen balls twitched and tightened in
warning and he released himself inside the body of his mate.

The liquid warmth of
Dustin’s release filled Holly, beyond just her sex. He filled her senses and
her veins. Their hearts beat in time just as his cock twitched and pulsed along
with the rippling contractions of her sheath. They breathed in tandem and only
at great length sank down into their sides on the bed still joined. Sated. And
mated.

Two straight days of
sleeping aside, Holly dozed again, Dustin still spooned up behind her. In the
moments she was half awake, she could have sworn she felt his contentment,
like…like she was hearing an echo of his thoughts and feelings but without the
limitation of actual thoughts and words. Was that part of the mating, she
wondered. She’d have to ask when they were both rested and awake. She wouldn’t
ask if part of the mating was the strange sense of peace she found stretched
out there naked against Dustin, curves bared and modesty be damned. No
desperate need to cover herself with a blanket or to find some illusive
position that would disguise the bulge of her tummy or her thighs.

Holly was marveling at
how natural she felt when she heard a high yip and a giggle from outside. It
had been so quiet up until then. Had she imagined it, or had she just been too
preoccupied
before to notice? The lupa
lifted and perked her head.

Even this slight
movement roused Dustin, and he followed suit, looking down at Holly rather than
listening. “What is it?” he asked.

“Do you hear that?”

“That? Yeah. Sami is
outside with the pup.” And Dustin laid his head back down, unconcerned.

“Pup?”

“M-
hm
,”
he mumbled, sounding way too sexy with his voice so slow and low and thick.
“The husky. Sami and Tate drove down to get it from my townhouse. It peed
everywhere.”

Of course. No time to
drop the puppy from the grocery store off at the vet’s office before this all
began.

“So they’re keeping
it?” Holly asked, surprising herself with how wistful she sounded.

“No.”

“No?”

“We are. You and me.”

Five simple words. They
hung in the air, as Holly mulled them, marveled over them, repeated them in her
head. We. You and me. Dustin and Holly. Two people who made something else, who
made a place, simply by virtue of being together. Two people who would know one
another, what they liked for dinner, their favorite music, what time he was
supposed to get home, where she was supposed to be. Two people who, well, also
happened to be werewolves.

And they had a puppy.

THE END

Thank you for reading
Turning Wild. If you enjoyed this novella, please consider leaving a review in
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ALSO
BY ERIKA MASTEN

The Ringmaster: Cirque de Plaisir

A Full-Length Domination and Submission Romance

Cirque de Plaisir. Circus of Pleasure.
 
An upscale underground theatrical pageant of desire and allure.
 
A masked BDSM spectacle bringing forbidden
fantasies to life for the select few with the power, wealth, and influence to
secure an invitation.

For Donovan Haigh, the man they all call Ringmaster, the Cirque de
Plaisir is illusion, showmanship, and
domination
brought to the level of performance art.
 
It is the culmination and affirmation of his grasp of human nature mixed
with business acumen and sheer force of will. And no one dares ask what wounds
and personal losses underlie the Ringmaster’s resolve to maintain that
unwavering control.

For Olivia Keane, the Circus of Pleasure is a vision in the night, a
hunger in the dark, and a promise of freedom couched in the terms of
submission.
  
Become the Ringmaster’s
slave and escape the grasp of her manipulative, belittling family.
 
Succumb to the tightrope-taut sexual tension
between the showman Dom and herself and blossom in the warmth of the spotlight
and Donovan Haigh’s embrace.

But when the Ringmaster’s slave becomes the star of the show, drawing
the lion’s share of attention and princely sums for private command
performances, will Donovan be willing to share either the spotlight or his
submissive?
 
The Ringmaster’s hold on
Olivia and his own self-control begins to fray as powerful admirers try to woo
her away, and
at least
one suitor
proves he is not who he seems.
 
Old pains
and family hatreds will not be so easy to escape for the Ringmaster and his
slave, even in their secreted world of glamour and passion.

An Excerpt From Erika
Masten’s

The Ringmaster: Cirque de Plaisir

“Ringmaster,” I
repeated to Olivia, then cleared my throat to regain her attention as she
stared after the utterly unselfconscious Naomi.
 
“You may call me Ringmaster.”

The blonde swallowed
with obvious effort and nodded in acknowledgement, flushing disarmingly across
the apples of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
 
“I’m ready to audition, Ringmaster.”

“That I highly doubt,”
I muttered under my breath as I motioned for my guests to follow me and led
them back down to the warehouse floor where the real work of the set-up for
tonight was taking place now that the audience had cleared out.
 
“Have a seat,” I told Gwynne and pointed to
one of the crates that hadn’t been moved yet, then to Olivia said, “Up, onto
the stage.”

She did as commanded
and without hesitation, I noted with approval, but she turned with a concerned
look bending her tawny brow.
 
“I’m going
to audition here?
 
In front of everyone?”

I glanced about the
vast, open room.
 
Rafe, still dressed as
the foreman from the performance, was marking out directions on the concrete
floor for what stages and equipment went where.
 
Slighter, sandy-headed Thom was passing around small bottles of sports
drinks and cautioning everyone to mind their electrolytes like the mother hen
he was, combination admin manager-chef-physical therapist, keeping my athletes
in top shape.
 
Griffin and his
pixie-faced partner, Piper, were working with the crew installing the Chinese
Pole, making sure it was secure enough for their performance.

“No one is paying
attention to us, Kitten,” I said before I thought better of it.

I avoided looking down
again into that delicate, angular face, not wanting to see her reaction to the
spontaneous endearment, and took the whip from my hip.
 
From the corner of my eye, I saw her hand
clench into a sudden anxious fist at her side.
 
A most curious reaction, like I was going to use the lash on her, and
further proof this was a futile exercise.
 
If she was this skittish now…

Still, she
persisted.
 
“All right.
 
What do you want me to do?”

So many things.
 
In part to give myself time to consider my
response, I stepped up onto the stage and made a slow circuit around waiting
Kitten, made a show of studying every line and curve of that petite body. As I noted
the firm, smooth musculature along the back of her calves and the front of her
thighs, along that delightfully heart-shaped buttocks, I asked, “Are you
trained in dance?”

“No,” she began,
shaking her head and sending shimmery waves of movement through the sleek
curtain of her hair. I was actively resisting the urge to run my hands through
those strands when she corrected herself, “Well, sort of. A little. It was
someone else actually taking the lessons, but I was her partner for practice.”
I stopped and narrowed my eyes at her. Was every interaction this awkward and
difficult for her? As though she read my expression, she hissed her breath out
hard through her nose and her clenched teeth. “It’s complicated. Ballet and
modern dance, to answer your question.” Finally.

I resumed my circuit.
“I can tell; you have a dancer’s legs.” From the confusion clouding those
pretty green eyes, she looked like she wondered if that was a good thing. My
hardening cock certainly thought so. The parts of my brain not currently
occupied with inappropriate considerations of all the ways I could stroke this
kitten wholeheartedly disagreed.

The narrowness of her
waist made her hips seem larger than they were, lending an alluring sensuality
to a body that was actually quite lean upon close examination. The full round
swells of her breasts were a perfect counterpoint to the curve of her ass. In a
harness, with a tight leather cincher around her waist, she would have looked
stunning—in an Old Hollywood, vintage erotica way.

When the impulse to
thread my fingers through her hair overtook me again, and I reached a gloved
hand out for her, Kitten—Olivia—caught the movement from the corner of her eye
and flinched away so slightly. And I caught my breath, though I wasn’t entirely
certain why. Perhaps because, though I was of the cooler and more aloof variety
of Doms, I was unaccustomed to women wincing away from me. Or perhaps because
her apprehension made me wonder if she just expected rough treatment, if
someone had misused her in the past. I took the touch of nausea in my gut for
the sickness I’d have felt at the thought of any little innocent being
mishandled and abused.

“Easy there,” I
muttered as I removed my right glove before tangling my fingers in the silky
strands just above the nape of her neck. It was unexpected, both my urge to
soothe her—I was not the fawning Daddy Dom sort, even outside the performance
ring—and the cool softness of her hair, like cream flowing along the back of my
hand. “It’s good that your hair is so long and straight,” I continued to encourage
her despite being at a loss still as to why I would. She smiled nervously.
“Though it could be a bit longer.” And at this she frowned, leaving me with the
smallest hint of guilt.

I peered at her again,
feeling my own lips pressing into a subtle frown—at myself. This Olivia was so
unlike Evelyn, my last assistant, and not what I’d have expected of any of my
performers. When I’d auditioned
Evi
, the busty
brunette had thrown back her shoulders and cocked one hip provocatively,
exuding sex appeal and a larger-than-life personality that made her a natural
for the stage. She was a brat submissive par excellence.
 
Every facial expression, every sigh, every
tiny gesture had always been a choreographed reaction playing for maximum
effect.

Olivia?
 
She was an open book, a bundle of live wire
nerves without the least protection. What she felt down to the bone was the
reaction that rose to the surface, unfiltered and unadorned, so vulnerable and
honest. The stage was going to break this girl’s heart, assuming I didn’t do it
first.

Buy
The Ringmaster: Cirque de Plaisir at your favorite online retailer

Also
available in paperback from select outlets.

ALSO BY ERIKA MASTEN

Flower-And-Willow In New Angeles

A Standalone Science Fiction Domination and Submission
Romance Novella

The
Amero
-Japanese
elite of New Angeles knew this well enough: in a time when everyone and
everything could be reduced to a string of zeroes and ones, simulated, or
cloned for the right price, there was no
substitute
for the flower-and-willow world.