by Ami Snow
Zachary pulled out reluctantly, and they switched places, Jacques plunging inside of me as I took Zachary’s slick, throbbing cock into my mouth. He tasted salty and tangy, and I licked away the dampness on his shaft, feeling deliciously naughty as I sucked my own wetness off of him. Behind me, Jacques gripped my ass, fucking me as if he hadn’t been in a woman in some time. Maybe he hadn’t. I felt like Zachary probably took the majority of them. Maybe the men, too. I sensed that they weren’t particular in gender, only aesthetics. I felt ridiculously beautiful, like a carefully curated piece of art.
A piece of art being fucked senseless on a sofa.
Zachary moaned, leaning forward to grab the back of the couch as he pulsed, spilling out into my mouth. I swallowed, the rush of warmth and the taste of him sending me over the edge. I came, hard, my muscles gripping Jacques and causing him to groan, convulsing behind me. He was still hard when he pulled out of me. Zachary was softening against my lips, and he straightened. I was lying on my stomach on the sofa, feeling drained, but the heavy fog of lust hadn’t lifted. My heart leapt when Zachary looked at me, his eyes dark with desire and murmured, “Again.”
Jacques lifted me in his arms, carrying me down the hall to a room where a giant, four-poster bed took up the majority of the space. He lay me back against the pillows. He knelt then, and Zachary sat on the edge of the bed next to me, his hands running gently over my body. “I want you naked,” he murmured, reaching for the clasp of my bra. He looked down at Jacques, kneeling on the floor with his own cock still stiff, and there was clearly an order given, although he said nothing. I was right that Zachary was the one in charge, I thought, as he slid the straps of my bra down my arms. I was happy to let him direct me, and it seemed that Jacques was, too. From the way he had held his desire in check the night before, he even seemed to enjoy the deprivation, up to a point. He moved between Zachary’s legs, gently kissing and stroking the man’s inner thighs as Zachary tossed my bra aside, mounding and squeezing my breasts. He unclipped the garter next, slowly rolling the stockings down my legs. He stroked his fingers between my legs, pausing to suck on my nipples one after the other before whispering in my ear, “I am going to drink your blood again, while Jacques’ sucks me. And then he will fuck you, and I will. It will be rough this time.” He pulled away for a moment, waiting for me to agree. I nodded, my breath hard and fast. Jacques had already taken Zachary’s soft cock into his mouth, sucking as Zachary plunged his fangs into my neck again. He sucked hard, swallowing my blood rapidly, and I knew now that he was growing hard in Jacques’ mouth as he drank. He pulled away, licking my neck, and then took a step back. Jacques let him go, putting his mouth onto my neck for a moment to drink me down, and then settled onto the bed between my legs. He was in me in a moment, moaning as my hips thrust up against him, and when he sank all the way into me, I came apart.
I saw Zachary watching us as I convulsed, touching himself, and I reached out for him. He slid between my lips as the orgasm washed over me. I was still trembling as he pulled away again, moving to touch Jacques, running his hands over the other man’s body as he fucked me. I was awash with lust, unable to believe that this was all happening. I came again, bucking hard against Jacques, and he lost it. Zachary’s mouth was on his back, kissing down his spine, and he stiffened, and I felt him pulse inside of me, groaning and shaking. He fell away from me, still trembling, and Zachary was in his place in a moment. He thrust into me, feeling thicker than before, hard and hot. Jacques was touching me gently, his lips softly meeting mine, too tired to do more than that, and I loved it, the gentleness above and the roughness below. Zachary hadn’t been joking about the roughness. He slammed into me so hard that I knew I would be sore the next day, gripping my hips and lifting them off of the bed. His fingers were indented into my skin, and I gasped, arching against him, rolling my hips so that he went over and over the one spot that felt better than any other, and I reached for the last orgasm, panting against Jacques’ lips as Zachary thrust into me once more, his hips bucking, and he spilled over, his head thrown back as I came, moaning.
The three of us sprawled limply on the bed, sweaty and satisfied. Jacques’ eyes were closed and he was breathing softly, his long lashes dark against his pale skin. I was rolled against Zachary, his arm enveloping both of us as we lay there, entirely spent.
I’ve been asked many times since then how I got the small marks on my neck, tiny pinpricks against my skin. Of course, I can’t ever tell you.
Vampires aren’t real, right?
THE END
The Only Wolf
WEREWOLF ROMANCE
By: Madeleine Maclean
Meeting the Alpha
Prologue
There was always something odd about the mountain that towered over the small town of Kinson. Every night, from the thick forests atop the mountain, an unnaturally thick fog rolled down to cover the town. Bestial growls and howls were heard ringing through the surrounding range, and while this had been going on for as long as anyone could remember, livestock were beginning to come up missing or were found slaughtered in the woods. The fog had gotten thicker, and the roars more numerous and wild. Most of the residents had lived there their whole lives, and thought nothing of these events, chalking it up to out-of-towners perpetuating the myths surrounding the sleepy mountain settlement and a growing bear population.
Samuel Richards lived in rural Kentucky. A decade ago, he moved into his family's sprawling, abandoned mansion atop Mount Miriam, quietly withdrawing from the public eye and his role as CEO of the Gray Mining Company. His bank account was practically bursting, constantly fed by a steady stream of profit from his many established coal and natural gas operations in Appalachia, including on the mountain atop which he now lived. His family had established the town of Kinson hundreds of years prior.
A few of the older residents claimed that great beasts on two legs inhabited the towering Mount Miriam, and that they’d seen them through the dense fog that blanketed the town at night. It wasn’t until Marcia Lawson, a recent college graduate and nurse came to the town of Kinson that the truth of it all was laid bare for all to see.
Chapter One
Marcia winced at the whimper and whine of the injured Labrador on her operating table. Some claw swipe had left him with a ragged gash on his hind flank. Since coming to the live and work in Kinson two weeks ago, she’d found that her Nursing degree was in desperate need here. Pets and livestock often came up hurt, and though she was no veterinarian, she could stitch and disinfect the massive bite-marks and claw gashes. The residents were in good health for the most part, but she was more than happy to see to their needs, infrequent as they were.
The clinic was a rural branch of a larger hospital, and she was paid what she thought was a wonderful salary for the little work she had to do. For one reason or another, most other applicants had declined the position. Marcia chalked it up to not wanting to live in the middle of nowhere in a mountain village without so much as a fast food joint for 10 miles around, but she’d never minded the quiet, growing up in a small town herself.
“I told ya, it’s those damned ol’ were-things! They always come ‘round, eatin’ on our animals, scratchin’ up things.” Granny Jones, as she was affectionately known in Kinson, sat quietly in the waiting area, only some 20 feet away from the operation and examination room of the small clinic.
Marcia could only smile, giving a soft shake of her head as she finished patching the widowed woman’s dog up. She failed to suppress a giggle as she fit the large cone around the dog’s neck to keep him from chewing at his stitches. Ms. Jones walked around the small divider, giving a soft pet to the Labrador’s side, looking up to Marcia. “Thank you, dear. You’ve done such a good job, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d not come up! Since we ran that old doctor outta town, there ain’t been much we can do about this sort of thing.”
She nodded firmly. “I understand. Thank you for bringing him in. I’m glad I could help.” With
that, Ms. Jones eased him down from the table, holding him with ease despite her age, gave a warm smile and departed. Marcia thought to herself how wonderful it was to be appreciated. There was no way that she would’ve been in the sea of doctors at the hospital she intended to work for when she graduated. She felt she could do a lot more good for these people. She couldn’t have known the enormity of the role she would play in their collective destiny.
She gathered up her things, shutting down the clinic for the night, turning the sign on the door to display her personal phone number for emergencies as always. As she descended the stairs, she unbuttoned the white coat she wore, and then adjusted the purse at her shoulder. Marcia had always been a voluptuous, soft woman. She imagined living in a town where communal all-you-can-eat dinners were a weekly occurrence would see her a bit chubbier quite soon, and she was perfectly fine with that.
There was really no need for a car in a town this small, so hers more often than not stayed at her humble home in the small garage. She’d only been down from the mountain town twice since arriving, both times to stock her pantry. Marcia was a fantastic cook, and was eager to share her gift with the residents at the dinner that night.
She walked the few blocks to her house quickly, taking in the historical buildings and homes as she went. All but a few of the homes were situated on the main thoroughfare of the town. Hers was situated along the path up to the mountain ascent, and had been occupied for a long while before she moved in. There were plenty of cobwebs and buckets of dust to sweep out, but with a hand from most of the town’s three dozen or so other inhabitants, it was made quick and easy. A recluse’s home sat high above at the end of the trail, quite nearly atop the mountain itself. She imagined it’d take a full day’s hike to reach it on foot, the path was far too narrow to drive, and he’d never shown any interest in interacting with the other residents. She thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie.
Upon arriving home, Marcia sat her bag down, and quickly got down to the business of making dinner. Being a Louisiana transplant, she’d decided to make an authentic Cajun chicken and sausage gumbo for everyone. It was the perfect thing for a wintry night like the one they were expecting, and a light dusting of snow had already coated most of the roofs and vehicles around. She made her roux, prepared her ingredients, added and adjusted as necessary, and let it cook down for a few hours. The clinic closed at noon every day, so there was plenty of time to make a proper pot for everyone.
She moved to the fireplace then, lighting the logs inside to take a bit of the chill out of the air, giving a little shiver as she slipped the white coat from her shoulders and hung it by the door. Her phone was plugged in and the lights brought down, and she settled in for a well deserved nap.
Marcia was awoken by a loud knock at the door only a half hour into her nap. She bolted up, standing quickly and rubbing her eyes before walking to the door and opening it hurriedly.
She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the friendly face of her neighbor Cindy Garnette. “What is it, Cindy? I was just settling in for a nap. Is everything alright?”
Cindy was a younger woman, barely out of high school, and had lived in this town her entire life. She gave her brightest, most pleading smile as she clasped her hands in front of her. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to want to bring me on down, would you?”
Marcia shook her head slowly. “No can do, sweetie.” She made a small wafting motion toward her nose, prompting Cindy to lean in, coming back wide-eyed and grinning. “Ooooh, that smells good. Fine, fine, I’ll ask my mom. But you better save some of that for me if I’m late!”
She gave a little nod, watching Cindy head back to her house down the street. Usually, she would’ve dropped just about anything to help Cindy out, the two of them having become fast friends in the short time she’d been in Kinson.
Within the hour, the smell of the gumbo had begun to fill the home. In two hours, it was wafting through the open window, raising more than a few eyebrows as her neighbors walked by. She knew she’d be the big hit of the community dinner, and it would definitely make up for her paltry contribution last go-round.
Cindy, who’d arrived back from her trip by the time the gumbo was done, helped Marcia carry the giant pot down to the dinner. Just as Marcia hoped, it was the star of the party by far, and by extension, so was she. Most of the other food went largely untouched, and everyone went home with leftovers of both her gumbo and one another's’ food.
She still found it a bit bizarre, even for a small town like Kinson. There was a certain solidarity and companionship that might even seem out of place among most families. Everyone got along famously, and even when there were disagreements, they were mild and quickly resolved.
As everyone packed up to leave, Cindy put together her large basket of food and started off home. Best to get to bed early, she thought. Long day tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe I’ll have to stitch up a possum. A little giggle and shake of the head. Before long, she’d arrived home.
She unlocked the door, turned the handle, then turned around to bump it open with her soft backside, picking up the basket to bring it inside. She shrieked as she turned, an imposing figure towering over her only a few feet away.
Chapter 2
“Stop that. You’ll upset people.” His voice was low, rumbling, and he was oddly firm with her. His golden eyes shone in the low dusk light pouring through the window, and his stark white hair seemed strange and otherworldly on a man as young as he was. “I’m Samuel Richards. The house at the top of the mountain is mine. Am I to assume you’re a new resident?”
Marcia managed a soft nod, her eyes still wide with terror. How had this man managed to get in? Why did he care? Everyone said he was a recluse, that he never came down the mountain, having supplies delivered to him only occasionally via helicopter.
“Stop looking at me like that. You look like prey.” He turned and walked to the kitchen, then pouring a glass of water and downing it quickly. With a sigh of satiety, he spoke. “You don’t want to live in this house.”
Marcia motioned around. “This is... this is all my stuff! I’ve been living here for like two weeks! What are you talking about? What are you doing in my house anyway? You need to go, now.” She pointed to the door.
This only drew a hard, mocking laugh from him. “Gods, you’re... no, no. I won’t be going anywhere. Not yet. Didn’t you see the state of this place when you moved in? There’s a reason no one’s lived here in a long while. Putting the house here was a stupid idea to begin with. I should’ve had it knocked down.” Another quickly filled and drained glass of water.
Marcia looked at him incredulously, a long moment of agape disbelief before she spoke. “I’m going to call the cops if you don’t get out of my house, now.” Her heart was thumping hard in her chest, her breathing shallow and rapid.
“No, you won’t. They won’t come up after dark, and it’s...” He looked through the kitchen window. “...just about time. Say it’s dangerous, with all the fog.” A low, somewhat sinister chuckle sent prickles over Marcia’s skin and a shudder through her body. “You’re going to listen to me, and listen close. If you don’t move out of this house, you’re going to have some serious problems.” He pulled some sort of small device from his pocket, pressing a button and returning it.
“Is that a threat?” She moved as if she intended to take a step forward, but her fear drove her back toward the door.
Samuel simple walked toward her, and she let out a little whimper as he pushed past He stood outside of her door, arms outstretched a bit. “I’m telling you, if you don’t move, there will be problems. That’s it. Move.”
With a grunt of frustration, Marcia slammed the door in his face. She scrambled for her phone to call the police, but she faltered and stopped when she thought about what she could even possibly tell them. Some strange handsome strange broke into my house and vaguely told me I should move for no particular reason other than potential “problems” that might occur? They'd laugh all
the way down the mountain. No, that was no good. Still, she should let someone know about what had happened. Maybe one of the residents knew something about this man. She could only assume by the descriptions she'd heard that she'd just seen and spoken with Samuel Richards. She reflected that it may not have been the best idea she'd ever had to slam the door in a billionaire's face, but she shrugged it off and returned to the couch.
Forget him, she thought. I'm not bowing to some huffy, self-important, egotistical rich boy.
Her brow furrowed, and she looked back to the door. Why did he seem so young? People said he retired young, but she was sure he didn't retire the moment he turned 18 or anything, and he'd been up on the mountain a decade or more. He didn't look any older than his late 20s.
Marcia shooed those thoughts away, settling in for a night of movies and relaxation.
She awoke to the sound of a bestial roar and the sound of her door splintering. Marcia lept up, intending to go and confront whatever was at her door. When she saw the door shaking and buckling as if it was about to come off the hinges, she thought better of it. Sprinting to her room, she ducked down into her closet, curling up tight in the corner, peeking out through the small slats. The ripping and tearing at the door continued, and she eventually heard the heavy thunk of it hitting the floor in her living room. The beast was in her room within moments. She heard its heavy breathing, the heavy thud of its footsteps on the wooden floor, the dragging of claws as it walked.
She clutched her hand over her mouth, eyes wide and terrified, hoping she wouldn't be seen—and she wasn't. She was smelled.
The hulking beast's clawed fist splintered the closet door, ripping through it like tissue paper. As she was pulled out kicking and screaming, she caught sight of the beast's face. Some sort of bear, by its long aspect and razor sharp teeth. The hand was positively massive, thickly padded at the palm and along the underside of the fingers. As it pulled her up to face-level, she kicked and struggled, shortly passing out in nothing short of absolute terror.
