Just Like Animals: A Werelock Evolution Series Standalone Novel

by Hettie Ivers

  “I’m better,” Raul’s voice startled me as he abruptly returned and reclaimed the seat across from mine, passing the phone back to Stephen, his rankled sub.

  Stephen walked away, leaving me alone with Raul: my best friend’s super-hot, totally off-limits older brother whose cock I’d just admitted to fantasizing about. And who was now assessing me with an intensity that made my clitoris hum. I knew I needed to stop this flirtation and steer him back into the best friend’s brother safety zone fast. But instead, I quipped, “I have a fantastically pornographic imagination.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted, but the intensity of his gaze didn’t falter. His face was directly in front of mine now, although I wasn’t sure how that had happened. Nor was I certain how or at what point his hand had wedged itself between my thighs underneath the table. Yet there it was. Inching ever closer to my soaked panties. “I’m counting on it, Bethy. Why don’t we fuck all weekend and see whose imagination is dirtier?”

  “I—I’m on call this weekend.”

  “I’m happy to pay by the hour.”

  “Being on call at the hospital doesn’t work like that. I’m in medicine, not prostitution.”

  He laughed. It was a beautiful, throaty sound that somehow made me feel like whatever we were about to do was okay. Made everything that was wrong with my life and this entire situation feel less overwhelming and scary.

  But God, I really didn’t want him to be in the Brazilian mafia. My hand shot down to halt his between my legs.

  “I don’t like violence,” I told him. “I can’t sleep with a mobster.”

  He pulled back to look at me but didn’t withdraw his hand. I couldn’t read his expression. At first it looked like confusion. Maybe regret. But then he reassured me by saying, “I’m not a mobster, Bethy.”

  “Really?” It came out overly eager. Hopeful. “So what do you do for work?”

  He frowned. “Lately, I ah …” His eyes flitted about, scanning the club. “Well, I guess you could say I work as a teacher.” His brows drew together. “But I’m more like a friend and mentor,” he clarified, his free hand scrubbing over his jaw. “For a special-needs child. She’s ah … a prodigy. Highly intelligent. Super-talented. But she has difficulty with … social interaction.”

  Oh, fuck, there went my heart again. And my grip on the wrist of his hand between my thighs. “Wow. That’s such important, commendable work, Raul. I never even knew you’d studied special education. Is it normal for you to get calls from your students on weekends and late at night?”

  “Mmmm … no, it’s a unique situation in that I more or less mentor my current student full-time.” He grimaced slightly. “I’m more like … a manny.”

  “Come again?”

  “A manny. You know, as in a male nanny?”

  “Oh. That’s so … progressive of you.” I sounded out of breath. It was both the shock and relief of his revelation and the fact that his fingertips had just grazed my outer pussy lips through the thin fabric of my thong underwear. I could do this. I could have revenge sex on my cheating fiancé with my best friend’s half-sib who was employed as a manny. “So sensitive of you …”

  I gasped as his fingers yanked the strip of silk fabric aside to skim along my naked, drenched slit.

  “That’s right, Bethy.” His breath was warm against my ear. “I’m still the same sweet, progressive, male-feminist surfer who grew up down the street from you in Santa Cruz.”

  “You were never that sweet.” I was panting. “You fucked most of my babysitters.”

  I felt his laughter against my neck as one of his fingers entered me.

  Oh, yes.

  “Caught you making out with one when I got up to get a drink of water once.” Why was I still talking? How was I still talking?

  “And now you are a babysitter,” I pointed out, unable to resist taunting him over the irony. Because I loved to hear him laugh.

  He didn’t disappoint. He chuckled over my earlobe caught between his teeth. The sound made me feel warm all over. Safe.

  His thumb found my clit. Another finger was working its way inside me to join the first, and suddenly I felt so hot and needy. Full inside. And yet so greedy for more as he began to work his fingers. Exploring. Stretching. Moving smoothly in and out.

  “And now you’re the one I’m going to fuck, Bethy.” He said it like it had already happened. “Here. Now. In the middle of this club.”

  4

  Raul

  She clenched wildly around my fingers the moment I said it, confirming what I already suspected: Bethy was a closet exhibitionist.

  Fuck.

  I pressed down hard on her fluttering clit and smothered my growl against her neck.

  I couldn’t pull her into my lap fast enough as she proceeded to moan-squeal and fall apart, squirming against my palm, scrabbling blindly for any piece of me that she could get her hands on.

  Damn. The girl knew how to orgasm.

  She soaked my hand riding out her bliss. Her fingers wound around my neck and her mouth crashed into mine, initiating our first kiss—for the second time.

  I took what she offered like it was my last fleeting chance at salvation. Consumed her lips as if they were the one truth left in the world that could expunge the bottomless void of pretense, regret, and disappointment that permeated my existence.

  She had no memory of the first time we had kissed. My sister Milena’s pack had seen to that. Bethany’s memories of the forty-six hours she and I had spent together in Argentina and Brazil ten years ago had been wiped out almost as soon as our time together had ended. A fact that I was both resentful of and eternally grateful for.

  They were some of my worst life memories. Also my best.

  And this—our second first kiss—was every bit as soul-shattering as the one we’d shared those many years ago.

  Not simply because she tasted better than any woman I’d ever known. Or because having her mouth fused with mine had the bizarre effect of making me feel like I was breathing for the first time in my life. It was the utter lack of artifice in the way her tongue laid waste to mine, sucking it into her own mouth and devouring it on an unladylike moan.

  What made Bethany so great—what had separated her from all other girls in my mind since that first kiss we’d shared on a dance floor in Argentina—was the same thing that still set her apart from all others: She was real. She wore her heart on her sleeve and waved it at the world. When she kissed me she threw every emotion she had into it.

  I felt it. And it felt more genuine and pure than anything I’d experienced before or since that first time she’d kissed me.

  My wolf felt it, too.

  The urge to bite Bethany again grew stronger the more she clung to me, her soft body melding into mine, rubbing against me where I was most vulnerable ... and hard as a fucking boulder. I fought the urge, asserting authority over my wolf each time her perfect scent caused my eyes to shift and my mouth to water, each time the bold thrust of her tongue against mine taunted my canines to breach the surface of my gums. She was kissing me now as if she couldn’t wait another second to have all of me inside her. Still, somehow I managed to keep my wolf’s darker, more possessive urges at bay.

  Until my little exhibitionist wedged her hand down the front of my jeans and wrapped her slim fingers around my cock.

  “Fuck.” I said it aloud that time as I felt my balls draw up and my canines extend down. I swiftly broke our kiss and angled my face away from hers, pressing down on her head and her shoulder with a disjointed, “In your mouth. Now.”

  My words came out gruff and demanding, like a command, and I wanted to flay myself. I’d just ordered sweet, totally off-limits Bethy to get on her knees and suck my cock in a crowded dance club.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed enough blood supply would make its way to my brain that I might formulate the right words of apology—the means to salvage this blessed insanity unfolding between us.

  But then I heard her murmur,
“Yes, Sir,” with a playful giggle, and I felt her slink down the front of my body to her knees on the floor between my thighs.

  There was a God after all. And miracle of all miracles, he didn’t completely hate me.

  I lost more blood supply to my giddy brain as Bethany made quick work of the button and zipper of my fly, allowing my grasp on my wolf to slip even further as more of my pack members on guard throughout the club drew stealthily closer, surrounding us. I sensed uneasiness emanating from some of them, along with the scent of Stephen’s blatant disapproval. I directed a low growl of warning at the backs of several heads—a reminder to check their opinions and keep their feelings to themselves.

  I was Alpha, whether my perpetually disapproving head Beta Alcaeus thought me worthy of the title or not.

  Alcaeus had likely tipped Stephen off to the danger of who Bethany was after our phone call. If he hadn’t, then Mike had surely said something to Stephen and the rest of them. I’d scented Mike’s anxiety the moment I’d stepped onto the dance floor. None of my men had any objection to public copulation, so it could only be an objection to my choice of partner.

  It didn’t matter. I wasn’t stopping this.

  Even though a nagging voice in my head insisted that they were right: I shouldn’t be doing this. That Bethany could never be mine … that she would hate me if she ever learned the truth of what I now was—not to mention what I had done ten years ago.

  Nothing else mattered as Bethany’s perfect pink lips wrapped around the head of my cock.

  Not Sloane’s tantrums. Not Alcaeus’s dire warnings. Not the fact that we were in a crowded, noisy club where someone might catch us, or the reality that I was now set on a path that would no doubt lead to the motherload of all fucking disasters.

  As she swirled her tongue and moaned around my shaft, sucking me farther into her mouth, I gave in to my wolf’s fantasies, reveled in his visions of biting her repeatedly as I indulged in my own fantasies of fucking her senseless, claiming her in every way, again and again. By some miracle, I managed to keep my hold gentle on her head, willing my fingers wrapped around her blonde hair not to squeeze too tightly as she bobbed up and down, bathing me in her saliva.

  When her mouth came off my dick with a pop and she babbled something or other about my “beautiful penis” before lowering her head to suck one of my balls into her mouth, I knew I’d commit murder to keep her. Go to war with my sister’s pack if they tried to take Bethany away from me.

  She was mine.

  And I may have growled it aloud as I pulled her by the hair from my exploding balls and back onto my cock, forcing myself between her parted lips and clear to the back of her throat as I erupted with a sudden violence.

  Gentle! Be gentle, I reminded myself too late.

  It registered that I had her nose pressed up against my groin, my fist locked in a death grip at the back of her head, and I’d pushed myself partway into her throat.

  She needs to breathe, I reminded myself. She’s human. Fragile.

  I was still coming, but I told myself I had to let go and pull away. That it was too much; I was scaring her. I might hurt her.

  Then I felt her swallowing, her throat pulsing around my spurting head, milking my cum while working my cock farther down into her throat like a goddamned porn star, and I nearly lost all semblance of self-control, my hips lifting off the seat to thrust fully into her mouth to fuck her throat. “Ah, yes … fuck yes! Fuck … fuck … fuck …”

  That’s it. I was marrying her.

  She was perfect. We were meant to be. Amid a moment of blinding euphoria, it hit me that this was what true love must feel like.

  And I might’ve said some of those things out loud, because a few of my men actually broke form to turn around and look at me.

  I barked at them in Portuguese and they quickly recovered, righting themselves. But the intrusion into my blissed-out Bethany bubble served to jolt me back to reality, helping me to regain my eroding self-control.

  Pulling my still mostly rigid cock from the heaven of Bethany’s throat, I swept her off the cold floor and into my arms, kissing everywhere but her mouth while she panted for air. And the moment she’d filled her lungs with sufficient oxygen, my mouth was stealing it back again until she was breathless once more.

  “Your turn,” I told her.

  Setting her ass down on the edge of our small café table, I eased her onto her back, keeping her spread legs hooked over my forearms to hold her up and open for me as the scrap of silk she called a dress pooled at her waist, leaving her exposed—in nothing but a thin, soaked-through thong that I was seconds away from ripping apart with my teeth.

  Her glassy sky-blue eyes fluttered open, and as her dreamy, dilated pupils focused on me, a surprisingly shy smile kicked up the corners of her swollen lips. But then some sort of comprehension passed over her features, as if she was just now remembering where we were, and her eyes skated about, dazedly taking in the broad backs of my security detail surrounding us on all sides, forming a tight superhuman wall that shielded us from prying eyes.

  Confused, slightly guarded blue eyes returned to me. I saw fear there. And a whisper of accusation.

  Aw, hell.

  I swallowed. “Friends of mine,” I reassured her. Not a complete lie.

  Her brow furrowed. She glanced from the huge men encircling us back to me with a look that called bullshit. I saw the wheels turning. She was thinking they were mafia.

  “It’s the truth,” I insisted. There was no way we were stopping now. “We’re all in town for an international … manny … convention …”

  Eh, fuck it. I dove for her pussy.

  5

  Bethany

  I heard the sound of fabric rending. Hot breath fanned my bare sex, and an even hotter tongue licked up the length of my slit before ever so lightly circling my throbbing bean—like a predator toying with its prey.

  Heaven have mercy.

  My pelvis arched off the table and I grabbed fistfuls of Raul’s hair with both hands as his soft lips closed over my detonation button.

  He sucked it into his mouth, and my whole upper body practically shot up off the table. When my shoulders crashed back down again, he was eating me in earnest, making rumbling, growling noises against my center as he rhythmically sucked at my clitoris.

  Oh, God …

  It sounded like a wild animal was feasting between my thighs. And somehow something about that was so hot and dirty. So utterly delicious.

  I was strung so tightly already from the experience of swallowing his huge, gorgeous cock in public—surrounded by his super-built “manny convention” friends, no less—that my orgasm hit me hard and fast the moment he began fucking me with his fingers.

  My head flew back over the edge of the small table, putting the taut, well-formed ass of a manny directly in my line of upside-down sight, just as the sounds of a woman screaming for her life assailed my ears.

  Upside-down forms moved closer in a blur of motion. A large, masculine hand clamped over my mouth.

  It wasn’t Raul’s.

  When the woman’s screaming abruptly stopped, but the animalistic growling between my thighs vibrated to new heights against my overly sensitized clit, it clicked that I had been the one screaming.

  I started coming all over again as more unfamiliar male hands fastened onto each of my biceps, securing my flailing upper body to the table. The stranger covering my mouth spoke hoarsely in my ear, telling me to be quiet and calm down.

  Calm down?

  Mid-orgasm?

  Panic set in. At the same time … my arousal skyrocketed.

  Raul was definitely in the mafia. They all were. These big, built “friends” of Raul’s weren’t international mannies at all.

  And they were holding me down because all my squealing and freaking out was clearly causing Raul to wig out, I realized. The growling near my nether region had grown louder. Angrier.

  Yet it also seemed as if Raul was freaking out b
ecause his men were touching me—judging by the harsh-sounding words now being exchanged in Portuguese over my head and vagina. His mouth had relinquished my nub to the cool club air; his fingers had ceased pumping. And despite everything else going on around me that I should’ve been more panicked over, a sad, involuntary whimper escaped the back of my throat at the loss.

  “Ah, fuck, no—”

  The stranger covering my mouth had an accent, I noted, seconds before I was stabbed in the inner thigh and his words faded to white noise amid the deafening ringing sound that permeated my ears.

  My vision went black and my body completely rigid.

  I’d been stabbed! And the pain was blinding.

  How had I been stabbed? My brain function grew foggy as I attempted to process it, and my body quickly followed suit—a sense of lethargy pervading my system.

  I’d been roofied and stabbed?

  But … Raul had been right there—between my thighs. His huge manny-slash-mafia men had been surrounding me. How had they all failed to prevent me from getting stabbed and roofied right in front of them? It didn’t make sense.

  Faintly, I heard the accented man talking in my ear. Saying nice things. Comforting things about me being fine. Safe. He was no longer covering my mouth but stroking my cheek, and my head was cradled against his shoulder.

  I couldn’t get my eyes open; they were too heavy. I was too relaxed. But I told him I’d been stabbed and drugged, and that I needed to get to a hospital. My voice was so quiet I couldn’t hear it over the loud music of the club. He heard me, though, because he reassured me that I hadn’t been stabbed. “Just a love bite,” he said. “No drugs. No hospital. All better now.”

  My thigh did feel better. Raul was sucking on it now. Healing the knife wound. Or … love bite. Whichever. He was making a satisfied groaning noise as he did it that was really sexy, too. The more I focused on it, the more turned on I became.