“Relax Love, and press against his finger.” I drop my head to rest on Weylen’s shoulder and breathe out, trying to relax my muscles, and press against the intrusion of Jameson’s finger. Paxton, who now rests against the back of the sofa, runs a hand over my head in comfort, easing some of my nervousness.
The finger slips inside, and I moan when Weylen begins to thrust inside of me again. I look up at Paxton and he dips down to take my mouth with his. A second finger presses inside my rear entrance, Paxton swallows my moans, when the fingers begin to move in small scissoring actions, twisting and widening, opening me up until a third is easily added.
I groan into the kiss with Paxton as Weylen pumps deeper and harder into me. Jameson shushes me when he withdraws his fingers and I whimper into Paxton’s mouth. “Just give me a moment, shi oolijéé. I don’t want to hurt you,” he explains.
Weylen stills, and Paxton lets me up for air as he watches his brother begin to slowly push inside me. What little air that is in my lungs feels as though it’s punched out as his cock pushes past the outer ring of muscles, sliding deep inside, in one smooth motion. My head drops back down to Weylen’s shoulder, and I bite when Jameson pulls out to the tip and thrusts back inside, rubbing along Weylen’s cock still nestled inside me, separated by only a thin membrane.
I moan around the mouthful of flesh, my teeth digging in deeper until his blood begins to coat my tongue. It’s not coppery and metallic, no, it’s sweet and cool, like a refreshing drink. Weylen’s hand comes to rest on the back of my head, holding me in place, encouraging me to pull from him, to drink and mark him. I know I should have some serious reservations about the fact that I’m drinking his blood. But he’s my mate, so I don’t.
Mine. Mate. My wolf encourages me to take from him. To mark and own him.
With a deep groan, Weylen begins to move his hips again, opposite Jameson’s movements. As Jameson pulls out, Weylen thrusts in, gradually picking up their speed, thrusting harder with each pump of their hips. Jameson’s fingers burrow into my hips and I know I’ll have bruises later, but I can’t seem to care in this moment.
Jameson’s thrusts still as he wraps an arm around my chest, pulling me away from Weylen. I make a noise of distress at being taken from my mate, that is until Weylen sits up with me and I bite into his already healed neck. My wolf’s fangs elongate and sink deeper than before, intent on causing a mark that will remain, regardless of his healing abilities. She digs into his neck, marking her mate.
Jameson kisses along my neck and prickles of static tickle along my arm where his fingers are skimming their way up. “I’m going to mark you, shi oolijéé.” His fingers linger on my shoulder, “Right here. It won’t hurt but you might feel a wave of emotions from me as the bond snaps into place.” I reach back for his other hand and bring it to rest over my heart.
“Do it, please,” I say breathlessly when I release Weylen’s neck. They continue to thrust into me together now, meeting each other deep inside of me. My climax is sitting on a knife’s edge, so close that with the slightest breeze, I’d fall over it. Jameson’s hips snap forward twice, and he groans as he comes inside me and a warmth spreads over my shoulder where his hand rests. My head falls back to rest on his chest as a wave of deep affection, joy, and love washes through me. Joy at having me back in their lives again. Affection and undeniable love.
He thought he lost me all those years ago and now that he has me back, he’ll do anything to keep me. My soul overflows with love for this man. When his pleasure washes through the bond, it’s enough to push me over the edge. As my orgasm peaks and slowly recedes, I bring the hand from my heart to my mouth and run my tongue along his wrist, finding that sweet spot. With my fangs still descended, I bite down, snapping the other side of our bond into place and marking him as ours, now and forever.
Mine. My wolf growls. Ours, I remind her, and she rolls her eyes at me. What is it with everyone rolling their eyes at me?
Weylen groans under me as I let Jameson’s wrist go and look into his eyes with heavy lids, blood sliding down my chin, a mix of him and Jameson. His pupils dilate, deep obsidian pools drowning out the sapphire of his eyes, as his excitement heightens.
When Jameson slips free of me, my eyes shut for a moment at the empty feeling, and my body jerks forward, pressing me further onto Weylen. His arms wrap around me, pulling me tightly to him. He licks the trails of blood running down my chin, and I circle my hips around his thighs.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I open my eyes, meeting his as I begin to rock my hips. “Grace, Love.” Weylen’s cock jerks and swells inside me and I know it won’t be much longer. He shudders under me, crushing his mouth to mine as his hand fists my hair, pulling my head to the side. Releasing my lips, he runs his fangs along my neck sending a shiver of anticipation down my spine, that shoots straight to my core and has my inner walls quivering for another release. His fangs sink into my flesh, the pinch of pain mixed with the heady pleasure of his cock hitting just the right spot deep inside me, sends me crashing over the edge again and he follows right behind me. His cock pulses and hips jerk as my muscles squeeze tightly around him, milking every drop of cum he has to give.
His tongue runs along his bite, licking the final drops of blood from my skin. I go slack in his arms and he pulls me tight against him, his cock still nestled safely inside me. His body twitches as my flutters of aftershocks cause my walls to spasm around him.
I rest my head on his chest, tucked securely under his chin. Someone drapes a blanket over my shoulders and brushes the hair from my face to behind my ear. Paxton and Jameson, both dressed, place a kiss on my forehead before walking out the front door. Confused, sated, and exhausted I ask, “Where are they going?”
“To yell at the plonker who walked out earlier. Bloody hell, he needs someone to knock some sense into his thick skull.”
“I’ll talk to him later when I can feel my arms and legs, or even lift my head. Right now, though, I think I need to sleep.”
“Rest now, Love. We’ll figure everything out later.”
Epilogue
Wilder
“Hell yes, did you see that last leg of the race? I was on fire, man.” I shoot off to some kid, whose name I don’t know and don’t care to know. Leaning up against the counter of bar at Creedence, the local supernatural bar in downtown Vancouver, Canada, I’ve got a race bunny hanging off each arm, one blonde-haired bimbette, and one bottle red harlot. I’m honestly not interested in either of them, but I’ve got a reputation to uphold. Race hard, fuck harder.
My life has gone to shit fast over the last seven years since my adoptive father decided that he didn’t give a fuck about his family and took off. Having an autistic daughter who also happens to be battling leukemia was too much for him, I guess. Not man enough to suck it up and deal.
Fucking bastard. My wolf growls at the thought of the man who abandoned his child. His sick child, putting all of the responsibility on his defeated wife’s shoulders. Sure, I help. I race and provide her with a living so she can stay home and take care of my baby sister since I don’t trust these so-called “caretakers” anymore. Not since coming home to find her neglected, sitting in her own filth, blistering as the acid ate away at her sick. She couldn’t sit up for a week after that, her rear was so sore.
Anger floods my veins, scorching and furious. I need to drink and fuck this out of my system. “Barkeep…. Another round for me and mine,” I holler over the redhead who has her hands halfway down the front of my pants already. Her finger brushes the tip of my cock and it jumps to attention. While I may not be into these women, my body sure as fuck is.
Grabbing a fist full of her hair, I tilt her head back so she’s forced to look me in the eye. “Not here, Baby,” I growl, forcing heat into my tone.
“If you don’t want her, I’ll take her,” a tattooed bastard at the end of the bar states gruffly. His body is coiled so tight, like a rubber band, ready to snap with the slightest tug. He doesn’t rea
lly want her, no. What he’s after is a fight. Good, I could use a decent scuffle.
“I’ve warned you Enzo. Start another fight in my bar and you’ll be banned for life,” Cree’s deep voice carries from where he’s lined up shot glasses along the bar, preparing our drinks.
“Not looking for a fight, lookin’ for a fuck,” Enzo states blandly.
I laugh, sarcastic and unfeeling. “What makes you think these girls want to fuck you? Have you heard of a shower?” The redhead under my arm caresses her hand across my abdomen as she eye-fucks this Enzo character. Yeah, okay she wants him, but we both want a fight. “Dude, have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like shit and you smell worse.”
“That’s enough, Wilder. You both need to shut the fuck up.” Cree’s voice booms over the crowd but it’s too late. Enzo is out of his chair and I’ve tugged the girls safely behind me.
Here we go, showtime. I tell my wolf, a shit-eating grin on my face.
Enzo gets close and I duck under his first punch, catching him in the ribs with my shoulder, throwing him off balance. It’s my first hit, and unfortunately my last. Enzo clocks me in the cheek, then my ribs, and my hip. From there it’s all downhill. A hit to the nose, the left eye socket, and center chest all land in rapid succession. The man is a beast with his fists.
High-pitch screams sound from the other side of the room. Gods, would those tarts just shut up. Another hit lands near my ear, his knuckle connecting with the juncture of my jaw. Fuck that hurt.
“Fuck, Enzo. That’s enough. Reed, get this shit out of my bar.” I think that’s Cree, considering he calls the place his, but honestly, my ears are ringing so loudly, I’m surprised I can hear anything at all. The sound of my blood pumping reverberates in my head as I stumble back, being caught in a strong grasp, and led down to sit in a chair.
Fuck. It’s amazing to feel something, anything, other than the endless pit of nothing.
“Axel, you got your kit with you?” I can’t hear the response of this Axel guy, but I’m assuming it’s a yes, considering the bright light shining in my eyes.
“Get that fucking thing out of my face,” I slur through clenched teeth, unable to effectively move my jaw. Shit, that’ll make drinking hard. Guess I’ll need to get some straws.
“He’ll be all right. I’ll stitch up these deep gashes but with some rest, he’ll heal. Here take these,” Axel says to Cree before handing me some pills. I scoff at him, unable to open my mouth due to the swelling near the hinge of my jaw. “Right, well. Cree do you have any straws back there?”
“Stirring straws.”
“Better than nothing. Give me a shot of the strongest drink you’ve got and a straw.” A large shadow moves to my right, blurry and growing smaller from my vantage point in the chair I was dropped unceremoniously into. The bar is made up mostly of booths but there are a few tables and chairs near the bar, where I currently perch.
The shadow returns and a tiny straw, if you can call it that, is pressed against my lips. Cracking my lips apart, Axel slips the straw into my mouth and I take a small sip instantly choking on the strength of the alcohol. “Fuck,” I groan.
“Golden Grain 190, top shelf for mixing.”
“Goddess Cree, I didn’t mean melt his stomach lining strong. Well, you won’t feel the pain at least but you’ll need to relax here a beat before you’re able to walk a straight line.”
“M’kay,” I slur as my head slumps back and the world begins to spin, and a haze creeps its way around the edge of my vision.
I’m not entirely sure how long the world spins around me as I slouch in the chair, people watching or rather trying to people watch. The girls have long gone by now and the pain from the beating, while still dulled by the alcohol begins to bring me back to reality. Testing my jaw, I find I can move it enough to talk now which means my healing abilities are kicking in.
Slowly, I rise from the chair I’m seated in. Holding my ribs, I slowly make my way to the door. Waving to Cree on my way out. “Settle up with you next time, Cree? I’m not sure where my wallet ended up.”
“Yeah, okay. You good to get home?” Is that concern I hear? What a teddy bear.
“Never better, Man,” I groan as I ungracefully pass by Switch and he gives me a solitary pat on the back, sending jolts of pain echoing through my ribs.
Making it to the sidewalk, I know I should call for a cab, but I start the long trek home. Deciding it’s best not to try and drive tonight. Turning the corner, headed for the alley behind the bar, I shoulder check someone in a hurry.
Spinning into the hit so it doesn’t pull one of my ribs again, I catch sight of the girl, no woman, I collided with. She’s tall for her stature at just over five and a half feet maybe, rail-thin under the baggie clothes she’s hidden under. Her hair is dull, devoid of life, and her eyes are filled with so much grief and loss, my heart begins to break for her.
“I’m sorry,” she’s quick to get out as she spins, and half runs out of the alley.
“Wait,” I call as I move after her but am unable to keep up. Giving up the pursuit tonight but committing her to memory to track down later, I turn and start down the alley. With my mind stuck on the lost female, I forget to watch where I’m walking and run straight into a solid brick wall and that’s no metaphor, it’s literally a brick wall.
Hitting the wall, I knock myself back, landing on my back and hitting my head on the dirty, gritty, alley pavement. The blackness that tried to suck me under earlier is back but this time, it’s determined to have me. Giving in, I drown in the endless oblivion.
That familiar pull of a dream walk tugs at me, and I groan. “Not tonight, come on. I’m having a truly terrible night.”
Opening my eyes, I find myself standing in the same alley I dropped in. “Huh? Well, this is interesting.” Looking around, not finding another soul, confusion fills my mind. “Huh.”
“I’m sorry,” a familiar voice says softly behind me. I spin around just in time to see a head of dull red hair turn the alley corner. So, not a dream walk, because that’s my memory.
“Who are you?” I ask the empty space in front of me.
I startle when a soft feminine voice sounds from behind me again, “That would be my sister... and your mate.”
About the Author
B. Livingstone is a Northern Native turned Southern Bell. She is a lover of books, coffee, movies, but most importantly her family. She has three wonderful children, one fur-baby, and one crazy husband who gracefully loves her erratic and erotic behavior. Livingstone is currently writing in the paranormal world with plans to enter other genres including contemporary in the near future. Regardless, of what genres she's in, her one goal is to create characters you can connect with.
Love or hate... just connect.
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Also by B. Livingstone
Shadowcrest Pack
Beautifully Shattered
Shattered Strength
Shattered Pack
Norse Blessed
Death’s Gift
Life’s Wage (TBA)
Co-Write
Fairly Twisted Chronicles
Her Three Bears (Summer 2021)
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Death's Gift: Norse Blessed Book One Page 18
