Sought by the Alphas Complete Boxed Set: A Paranormal Romance Serial

by Carina Wilder

  “I have some idea,” said Gwynne.

  Lachlan slid up and kissed her full on the lips at last. Each of her mates had now touched her breasts, her pussy, but neither, she realized, had kissed her.

  It was everything she could have imagined; his soft lips were tender but strong, his tongue beckoning hers to mingle and to be stroked as he’d stroked her pussy and her nipple. She could taste herself on him and it aroused her even further, her tight channel aching now for him to be inside her.

  But this wasn’t the ritual; this was her lover soothing her. This was tenderness. And it was perfect.

  Lachlan kissed his way down her neck and onto her collarbone before landing his lips softly on each of the two puckered nipples awaiting him. Gwynne could now see the delicious bulge in his pants, taunting her with its size. She reached eager fingers out, touching him with their tips, and said, “I want this. Please.”

  He stood up, allowing her to undo the laces at the front of his pants, which fell open to let his hard cock free. At its slit was a dab of clear, hot liquid that made Gwynne’s mouth water.

  “Get on top of me,” she said. “I want to eat you, too.”

  With that, Lachlan pulled a knee over her head, positioning his hard shaft near her mouth as Gwynne lay down and allowed him access as he pushed his face between her legs again.

  She was torn between sensations; ecstasy at being eaten by the most expert mouth she’d ever encountered or the joy of having the most delectable cock she’d ever imagined in her mouth, in the greatest sixty-nine that ever was. She wrapped her soft lips around his tip, teasing him with her tongue to make him squirm as she’d done.

  Lachlan remained focused on his task, on her pleasure, though he did allow himself the occasional moan, and noises that Gwynne loved which sounded like low growls as he feasted on her.

  His tongue caressed her slit, teasing, occasionally entering her, while a wet finger circled around her sensitive bud. He seemed to know how to push her to the limits of arousal, how to get her to the point where she couldn’t stand it any longer. And then he’d reward her with a soft kiss on the clit or a series of gentle licks, never advancing her to the point of coming; always extending her pleasure.

  Gwynne wrapped her fingers around his shaft and took him deep in her mouth. His cock seemed only to grow more as she did so, his veins throbbing under the touch of her tongue. She could tell that if she worked him he’d explode for her, and she wanted nothing more. But they’d both waited; for him, an eternity. For her, only a few days which felt like centuries. They could wait a few minutes more, enjoying each other’s scents, tastes, textures, arousal.

  She savoured him, his delicate juices making shy appearances on her tongue as if to remind her that she was working him exactly right. With one hand she stroked his tight balls while the other caressed his shaft, urging him towards climax.

  Lachlan followed her motions. As she squeezed him gently, he thrust two fingers inside her to let her know where his cock might like to be, if not between her lips.

  “Do you like this, my cwen?” he asked, his voice hoarse with pleasure.

  “I love this,” she moaned, her tongue circling the tip of his cockhead. “I could do this every hour for the rest of my life.”

  “And here’s hoping you do,” said Lachlan before thrusting his tongue into her again alongside his thick fingers.

  He sucked then on her clit, his tongue stroking as his lips pulled gently on her flesh. He had the softest touch, and yet he was such a man, such a warrior. Such a wolf.

  Gwynne could feel him pulsing gently in her mouth as though in warning of what might come to pass. She felt her lips try to curl into a smile as she sucked, urging him on, dictating that he come for her.

  But he was unrelenting. Her pleasure was paramount and the man was discipline incarnate. A third finger was added to the first two and he began to pound her in earnest as he kissed, licked, circled and sucked on her most delicate nerves.

  “I’m going to come for you if you don’t stop,” moaned Gwynne.

  “Do you want me to stop…my lady?” he asked, his voice breathy and soft.

  “No.”

  And so his lips caressed and his tongue lapped hungrily. Gwynne pulled her mouth away from him, worried that she might hurt him if the ferocity of her orgasm was too intense. She kept stroking him as his tongue caressed her, eyes fixed on his hard, glistening cock even as she felt the wave crash over her.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned as her hips thrust upwards, Lachlan’s fingers pushing deep into her as she pulsed around them, tightening over and over again.

  “You’re so wet, my cwen,” he said, soft licks continuing as she stilled. “And so delicious.”

  “So are you,” she said as she moved to take him in her mouth once more.

  And then a voice from the doorway interrupted her euphoria like a gunshot.

  “She is wet, isn’t she? And I see that she’s ready for the ritual even sooner than the medics imagined.”

  Gwynne’s head shot to the left. Rauth was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, an amused look on his face and an enormous bulge in his pants, which was evident in spite of his long tunic.

  “Tomorrow, then, I’ll be inside you,” he said before turning away. His eyes pierced her to the core, sending aftershocks through her body.

  “Tomorrow,” said Lachlan as he descended from the bed and laced his pants up over his enormous erection.

  “I look forward to it,” he added as Gwynne watched him. “You don’t know how much.”

  * * *

  To be continued.

  Book Two: Rituals

  October, 1348: The Shifters’ Era

  Castle Dundurn, Cornwall, England

  The day of the ritual had arrived at last; in fact, it had come on a week earlier than planned. Gwynne’s brief tryst with Lachlan the previous night had prompted Rauth to declare her “ready” for the ceremony, by which he meant “if you can sixty-nine with him, you can take us both at once.”

  Clearly he had faith in her strength and her sexual abilities, though she didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or an inconsiderate slight.

  The ceremony to come should be a joyous occasion, and yet on some level Gwynne was haunted by her own lack of understanding; so many questions were yet unanswered:

  Why had she been sought out by Lachlan, the pack’s co-alpha, and why had he brought her to a time and a place so far from the home where she’d been raised?

  More pressing still was an answer to the question that had been etched on her mind for the last decade: What exactly had happened to her mother, who had disappeared ten years earlier, and why did no one seem to know? Not one shifter, not even her future mates, seemed willing or able to help her to gain the knowledge she so desperately sought.

  Yet one thing was certain in Gwynne’s mind, in spite of the loose ends that flitted through her thoughts: this was where she needed to be. Somehow Dundurn Castle in the dire wolf shifters’ era was her true home, as though her life until this point had simply consisted of a sort of preparation for this stage. Gwynne had mixed feelings about all of it: the ritual, her purpose in this time and place, her life, but she admitted to herself that excitement easily overshadowed any other emotion.

  Again and again she reminded herself of Lachlan, of his strength and resolve. Of his skill at being focused, determined, and seeing things through to their end. Of the days he’d spent in wait for her, hoping and yet not knowing if she would ever come. For him alone she could do this. She could be strong in her own way, and prove to him that all of his waiting and seeking hadn’t been in vain.

  Rauth was another issue, of course. It was hard in some ways to believe that he was from the same time and place as Lachlan, let alone that the two were related. He was an animal of a man; primitive, muscular; even stronger physically, perhaps, than the other alpha. But something in him was so compelling, so sexy that Gwynne couldn’t have resisted him if she’d tried. He
stirred something in her most carnal depths, an animal of her own wanting out to claw at him, to ravage him. To take him in.

  Each man provided her with something that she desired. In Lachlan it was goodness, loyalty, faithfulness. In Rauth it was the purity of attraction. Lust. Sex. A hard body, an even harder cock, and absolute desire.

  Never in her life had she wanted two men equally; in fact she hadn’t even known it was possible. And yet she found herself filled with tenderness and a physical ache for both the gentle soul in Lachlan and for the fighter in Rauth. She would soon take each of them inside herself and pleasure them to the point of ecstasy, and nothing, she knew, could be more fulfilling, no matter what her ultimate purpose.

  Lachlan had once hinted that she was the key to saving his clan, his pack of dire wolf shifters. If her body could be given to them to help save their kind, she would gladly give it again and again. That the two alphas were physical perfection, she told herself, was simply a bonus.

  For now she would wait eagerly but patiently to be summoned to the ritual, as the alphas had waited for her for so many years.

  * * *

  Ygrena came to her in the afternoon, several hours before the ritual was to begin. Recently the young woman had shed her role of courtesan, of a human meant to pleasure the male shifters, and had become more of a lady in waiting to Gwynne. The position was an honour and a privilege, though at times she missed the sensual pleasures provided by the attentive males of the wolves’ clan.

  “I’m here to bathe and dress you, my lady,” she said to Gwynne, who sat on a wooden chair, seemingly examining herself in the mirror.

  “Ah, good.” Gwynne’s mind, which had been consumed with fantasies about the night’s coming ceremony, began to focus. She turned and smiled warmly at the woman who’d become her friend and confidante in the short time that they’d known one another.

  The courtesan spread a beautiful silk dress across the bed. It flowed in a way that Gwynne imagined wasn’t typical of fourteenth-century clothing, and she wondered if Lachlan had acquired it in her time. That would be just like him; always considerate. Always thinking of her comfort, her pleasure.

  No matter where the dress had come from, it was perfect: golden silk, which Gwynne had requested after seeing the portrait of the lady Gwendolyn. Something about the colour seemed regal and rich, and she felt that she could somehow fulfill her role better were she dressed like the woman she was meant to be.

  Leaving the dress on the bed, she rose and wrapped herself in the modern terrycloth robe that had been provided for her by Lachlan. She was beginning to feel a little self-conscious in some of her clothing that was so anachronistic, so inappropriate for medieval England. And yet it reminded her of where she’d come from and where she was. Somehow, she was special. Even if she didn’t yet understand why or how.

  Ygrena led her down the series of hallways that she was beginning to think of as her own domain. Dark, rough stone slabs stacked in thick, impenetrable walls, wrought iron torch-holders lighting the way as they processed towards the chamber where she would bathe.

  Before they arrived at their destination, though, something caught Gwynne’s eye which she hadn’t seen on her previous walks through the castle.

  “One moment, Ygrena,” she said, pausing in her stride.

  Her hand reached out for a wooden door which was slightly ajar to her right, and she pushed it open gently. Here was a room that she’d never noticed; she supposed because the door had always remained sealed in past.

  The chamber before her was a perfect square made up of tall stone walls leading to a high arched ceiling. It wasn’t a large room, but it was well lit thanks to a series of candles and a glassless window that allowed light to pour in on one side.

  Between the evenly spaced candles on the walls hung a series of large portraits. Gwynne’s eyes immediately caught sight of two large ones: Lachlan on the left, Rauth on the right. Each stood in a full set of armour, only their faces exposed. The two looked so similar, she thought as she studied them, yet so different. The painter had somehow managed to catch their expressions perfectly; Lachlan’s serious and pensive, Rauth’s mischievous and haughty.

  Each had at his side a large dire wolf representing the shifter’s déor, or animal form.

  On the opposite wall hung the largest portrait: one of lady Gwendolyn herself.

  As with the painting that Gwynne had first seen in the Cornish pub in her own time, the lady wore a gold dress. Around her neck was a circle of pearls, and she looked very elegant, though as usual her feet were bare.

  But the background was different this time. Instead of the castle Dundurn, it was another castle that stood behind her; one that was dark, brooding, foreboding, even. It reminded Gwynne of a haunted house, somehow. And even the expression on Gwendolyn’s face was less regal and more sad than it had been on the other portrait, as though that one had been painted before her murder, and this one after.

  Above the castle flew a dragon. Another strange consistency. The mysterious dragon that no one seemed able to explain. For Gwynne it had come to symbolize a confusing past and an absent mother. A part of her felt a hatred for the creature; another part felt sorry for it.

  “Ygrena,” she whispered to her servant, who’d walked into the room quietly and now stood behind her, waiting patiently.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Do you know how she died?”

  “I don’t, my lady. I only know the rumour.”

  Gwynne turned to her.

  “Which is…?” she asked, her eyes silently pleading.

  “That it was one of her own who killed her.”

  A cold shudder swept down Gwynne’s spine then.

  “I think it’s best that I have that bath now,” she said softly. As they left the room, she pulled the door shut behind her.

  * * *

  Ygrena brought her to the bathing chamber which contained a large iron tub filled with steaming water, and Gwynne stepped in without a word, allowing the young woman to spread a soapy sponge over her.

  “You’re very quiet, my lady,” Ygrena said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Gwynne said, managing a smile. Her mind had shifted from the disturbing painting to the potential of the night ahead. “Actually, better than fine. Thank you. I didn’t know how I’d feel when the time came, but I’m pretty…excited…about the ritual.”

  “I can imagine that you are.”

  “I’ve never been with two men at once, though. I have to admit that it’s a little daunting.”

  “I have, my lady.”

  Gwynne’s head shot to Ygrena’s face, and her own lit up with an amused smile. “You have?”

  “Yes, many times.”

  “Oh, man,” laughed Gwynne. “Of course you have. I always think you’re so much more innocent than I am. But you’re not, are you?”

  “Not in that way, my lady.”

  “So what’s it like?”

  “It’s…pleasant.” Ygrena’s smile revealed more than her words ever could.

  “Do you…I don’t really know how to ask this, so forgive me. Do you have both inside you at once?”

  “Sometimes, my lady.”

  “And you enjoy that.”

  “I do. It’s hard to imagine not enjoying it.”

  “Dear God. I can’t even imagine, no matter how hard I try…” Gwynne’s voice trailed off as she tried again to envision the sensation.

  “You will find them eager to please you, my lady. The shifters aren’t like humans. They strive to pleasure their women. It’s considered a failure to leave your lover unsatisfied.”

  Gwynne didn’t generally have problems finding her way to orgasm. But in this case she wondered if it might happen too quickly, with two men going at her at once. Premature perfection.

  “Well, now I’m even more excited,” she said, laughing. “Thanks, Ygrena. Somehow you always manage to calm me down when something’s freaking me out. Though I don’t know if ‘ca
lm’ is the word for what I’m feeling right at this moment.”

  She wondered suddenly if the word “horny” had existed in 1348.

  “You’re welcome, my lady.”

  Gwynne allowed her body to sink down, her head leaning back against the edge of the tub. This, she thought, was living.

  * * *

  When the bath was over, Ygrena escorted Gwynne back to her room and dressed her. This was a new habit for the modern woman, but she was learning to get over her self-consciousness at having a beautiful young thing see her naked multiple times a day.

  The silk dress was thin and fluid, so that it slid over her body easily. No corset this time; only the finest layer of fabric between her and the open air.

  “No undergarments?” she asked.

  “No, my lady.”

  Gwynne studied herself in the mirror. The dress was designed to rein in her full breasts, pushing them together over an empire waist. Her straps were wide but delicate, and the bottom of the dress flowed, a short train dangling on the floor. It wasn’t the sort of garment that a voluptuous woman could normally wear but was tailored to perfection. Someone was a gifted craftsman.

  “I will come to you,” said Ygrena, brushing long strokes through Gwynne’s dark hair. “In half an hour or so.”

  Gwynne felt a surge of wetness between her legs, her body registering the words before her mind had. Her pussy was already anticipating the ritual, readying itself for the alphas. She wondered if the two wolf shifters were as eager as she was.

  When she’d finished brushing her lady’s hair, Ygrena looked at her. “You look beautiful,” she said. “Is there anything you need?”

  “No. Thank you,” said Gwynne. “I think I just want to be alone for a little bit.”

  “All right, my lady. Good luck to you.” With that, the maidservant left.

  * * *

  Gwynne lay on the bed, a hand idly running over her breasts. This wasn’t like the days in high school when she’d looked out the window, waiting for her boyfriend’s beaten-up car to show. This was anticipating the two most manly specimens she’d ever met showing up and taking her, pleasuring her.