by Anne Marsh
So he was a possessive bastard. He wanted to master every inch of Mary Jane. He wanted to teach her the sweet pleasures of submission. He wouldn’t hurt her. Never that. He didn’t know, though, if what he had to offer was enough.
Mary Jane deserved everything. Sun, moon and stars, he wanted her to have it all. She deserved better than a too-old, too-dominant wolf. Her man should have a little soft in him, a little give, and he’d never be that man.
“It don’ matter,” he said finally. Liar. “We’re goin’ to find out tonight.”
Landry looked over at Riley again. She was laughing at something Mary Jane had said, something Dre had missed because he was too busy arguing with his brother. She was pure trouble, that one. Taming her could be fun, but his heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t the woman he wanted, and that might be a problem.
“You don’ think she could be yours?”
“I’m sure she’s a fine woman.” Just not for me.
“It won’ be long now.” Landry searched the cloudy sky for what had to be the hundredth time that day. Sunset was still two hours off or more, but they were both anxious and on edge.
He wanted Mary Jane and Riley inside and under cover. The thunderstorm rolling in over the bayou had his wolf on edge, the air tense and expectant. It wasn’t just the weather.
The problem was, the vamps were out, too, hunting.
He could smell them, even without shifting. There was no missing the oily, pungent stink coming off the bayou’s edges. Landry knew it too, because his gaze kept returning to the bank like he expected an army to make for them anytime now.
The newly repaired rake stuck, the teeth snagging on some unseen obstacle beneath the surface. Hell. Jerked out of his thoughts and back to business, Landry strode to the side, getting there the same time as Dre. The only way to free the rake without damaging the equipment was underwater.
“You up for a swim?” Landry grinned at his brother. Maybe a little cool and wet would calm his nerves. Or not. He eyed the bank one more time, then climbed up onto the railing and launched himself into the air, hollering. He hit the water in an explosion of spray, Dre following in a smooth, clean dive that cut through the surface of the water.
Onboard, Mary Jane worked the motor to keep the boat in one place.
“You wan’ to call in the Pack now?” Landry asked.
Dre treaded water, considering that option while Landry dove down. “Not yet,” he decided, when Landry’s head broke the surface again. “We don’ actually know for sure that our mate is on this boat.” He eyed the sky with its covering of clouds. Night was coming in fast now, a soft, dusky twilight wrapping itself around the cypresses and the skyline.
That moon was going to rise all right.
###
Take both women, head upriver fast and hunker down at the camp. That was definitely one option.
Landry eyed the women working onboard. Forcing them to leave would lead to questions. Plus, while his instincts screamed one of these women was theirs, he didn’t know so for a fact and wouldn’t until the moon rose. He wasn’t laying hands on an innocent. Bad enough either Mary Jane or Riley was about to get dragged into a centuries-old battle between the werewolves and the vamps.
“They won’ come quiet,” he warned.
Dre slicked a hand over his head, scrubbing away water. “That sounds about right.”
“So better to wait until we know for certain.”
Dre nodded. “Then take her and run.”
“Unless she runs first.” Landry grinned. Christ, he liked the hunt. They all did.
“She runs tonight, she runs into company on those banks.” Dre eyed the bank. Again.
“She’s not goin’ to like this.”
“Yeah. We stick real close tonight. Take turns keeping watch.”
While they worked, they laid out a plan. One man for each woman, keeping his eyes on her in a little one-on-one action. Hunting together was better, but the goal here was to keep both Mary Jane and Riley safe. Even if she wasn’t a mate, the way Landry saw it, no woman deserved what the vamps would dish up. Those hungry bastards would suck her dry, leave her to bleed out and die alone in the bayou.
No way he’d let that happen.
He and Dre must have spent too long talking and not enough time fixing for their captain, though. “You boys got this?” Mary Jane hollered at them from the boat, leaning over the railing.
“She’s not as shy as she makes out,” Dre observed.
Landry gave her a two-fingered salute. “Almost there, sha.”
She rolled her eyes but went back to the wheel.
“Or she’s jus’ braver with twelve feet of bayou between us and her. But I’m hopin’ she’s the one, too.” He sucked air in, getting ready to go back down. “Holdin’ her will be real sweet. There’s all sorts of things we could be teachin’ her.”
Dre smiled slowly. “Yeah. That would be good.”
Landry dove. The bayou waters closed over his head, a cool curtain of wet. It was hard to see through the dense, murky water, but the bottom wasn’t all that far away, and he found the rake. One final tug and the debris twisted around the metal teeth gave.
He came up, whooping.
Dre was already slicing through the water, closing the distance between himself and the boat. Landry followed, savoring the cool drag against his body. The air was summer hot, and he’d spent the day painfully aware of Mary Jane working alongside him. His wolf liked the water and always had. Swimming in the bayou was a treat. He shook the drops from his face. Of course, being out here in the bayou was even better when he was hunting. Getting a hand on the railing, he pulled himself up.
Mary Jane watched him come towards her, and that didn’t help his dick settle down any. Her eyes widened, her gaze flickering down over his chest and the soaked denim. He should have stripped off before diving in, but she was deliciously nervous and dancing around the attraction between them. She wanted things to be professional, so he’d kept his pants on. Now the wet denim molded to his thighs and ass. He’d dry fast enough—and enjoy every minute of Mary Jane’s covert examination. She’d clearly thought he was the nice brother.
Yeah, her mistake.
He was definitely a bastard.
If she’d been a wolf in the wild, he’d respond to that subtle feminine interest, the way she walked closer to him, edging into his space. Maybe she’d brush against him, touch her arm to his. Bump into him as they worked on the deck. Nothing overtly sexual, not yet, simply the casual touch of two people sharing a small space. He’d know when she was ready, when he could scent her sweet cream slipping from her pussy.
Then he’d make his move, pin her to the ground, his teeth nipping her shoulder.
Pin her and take her.
Fuck her deep and hard, until she acknowledged this need he had for her and her for him.
Mine.
Chapter Three
After dropping their haul at the nearest fishing town, Mary Jane turned and headed straight back into the bayou, pushing deep into the waterways until it was too dark to continue. No need for Dre to warn her about the risk of driving the boat over a snag or hunting alligators. She’d anchored right as the last light faded, the distant roar of a gator a familiar note beneath the cheerful chatter of roosting herons. Her desire to get an early start tomorrow meant camping tonight.
No worries.
Dre would always indulge her.
Only a handful of stars glinted through the cloudy night sky. Dre willed those concealing clouds to part, for the moonlight to shine through. He wanted to know. After this long, he and Landry were finally close. Maybe tonight they’d find their mate. He’d win the chance to explore his erotic fantasies and then some, although that was only part of the draw. Whoever their mate was, she’d be special. Theirs. Riley had already bunked down on deck, wrapping herself in a nylon sleeping bag despite the lingering heat. The smudge pots lined up by the railing kept off the worst of the bugs.
Right now, h
e had himself a plate of oyster stew to tackle. To his surprise, Mary Jane could cook. He liked the concern that cooking implied. She wanted them to eat, wanted to do some taking care of her men, and he savored that small sign. Plus, her oyster stew was good, all thick cream and onion, followed by the sweet meat with its briny punch. And plenty of Louisiana hot sauce to add a welcome bite.
He’d shucked the oysters for her. Not a big thing, but he enjoyed doing it for her. Her eyes had widened when he gripped the oyster barehanded, sliding the tip of the knife into the oyster’s hinge. A quick pop-and-roll, a little pressure, and the shell moved. He’d turned the knife blade, twisting smoothly as he enjoyed her attention, and the oyster separated. A flick of the blade along the shell halves and the meat had pulled away. Better yet was the way her fingers brushed against his whenever she took the shucked oysters from him.
Hell. He had it bad. He set the plate aside and looked up at the sky, but the clouds stayed put.
On deck, Riley was dead to the world in her sleeping bag, grumping a little when Mary Jane slid by her and dropped over the side. That woman was up to trouble all right. His brother slipped upriver behind her. That was good, then. While Dre kept his eyes on Riley, Landry would keep Mary safe.
###
She was on fire.
Every time Mary Jane closed her eyes, images of the Breaux brothers teased her. Dre’s broad, bare shoulders flexing as he hauled in a load of oysters. Landry diving straight as an arrow into the bayou because the rake had tangled and someone had to fix things. Coming up wet and laughing, brushing his hair back from his face. She’d wanted to trace those drops of water down his neck and over his chest. She’d wanted to keep going right on down. Those soaking-wet jeans left almost nothing for her to imagine. He was big, deliciously so, and staying hands-off was a challenge she hadn’t expected.
No way would she stay on the Bayou Sweetie tonight. Not when Dre and Landry were on the other side of the deck, a few yards of empty space and not much more between them.
Her pussy was wet and swollen, her folds aching. And not only for Landry, if she was being honest with herself. No, she wanted both brothers, and she didn’t know what that said. She wanted their hands stroking over her breasts and further south. She wanted to be skin to skin with them, and that couldn’t happen. Sex on the boat was a bad idea. Give those boys an inch and they’d take a mile. Her Breaux brothers were big, dominant males, and she was already fighting to stay in control.
Plus, it wasn’t as if she’d ever fantasized about a threesome before she’d met Dre and Landry. Sure, the rumors ran wild through the bayou. The Breaux brothers were big, dark, good-looking brutes. Whispering over beers, it was easy enough to believe they got up to all sorts of kinky sex out there in the hunting camp where they lived year-round. Face-to-face with the possibility on the deck of her boat, well, that was something else, no matter what Riley urged her to do.
Mary Jane wasn’t exotic.
She certainly wasn’t bold.
The thought of asking for what she dreamed of, what she wanted, had a blush painting her cheeks. And that damn heat was back again, crawling through her body and setting her on fire.
Maybe Dre and Landry did share their lovers.
Maybe they knew exactly how to please a woman.
She was still out here alone, and the only relief she was finding tonight was what she could give herself.
She bit back the groan threatening to slip from her lips. Walking was sweet torture, and she needed to put some space between herself and the boat. If either brother saw her now, she’d about die of embarrassment.
Or jump his bones.
More than once she’d spent the night in this part of the bayou, and there was an old hunting cabin tucked behind a stand of cypress trees. Parting the moss, she stepped up onto the wooden porch and tossed her sleeping bag down. The door would be unlocked—no one locked up this far from civilization—but she didn’t want walls around her. Not tonight, not ever again. Out here, on the porch, there was nothing but space and dark possibilities.
“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself, unzipping the bag and hunkering down. All around her, the bayou settled in for the night. The katydids and frogs were banging out another chorus in their sleepy-time song. Unfortunately, sleep had never seemed more impossible, yet it was late now and tomorrow would be another early start. She wasn’t the first woman to lust after an employee, and she wouldn’t be the last.
A gator roared in the distance, and something closer and heavier dropped into the water. The day’s heat was still a damp, sticky weight against her skin, and zipping up the sleeping bag wasn’t happening. When she finally gave in to temptation and lay down on her back, the clouds that had tracked them all day still covered the sky. Only the occasional star peeked through.
All alone, the way she liked. No people and no pressure, just the night air and the familiar sounds and scents of the swamp around her. Getting comfortable, she let her knees fall apart as she ran a hand along her inner thigh, enjoying the glide of skin on skin. She needed someone’s touch and she was the only one here. Inching deliciously closer to her soaking pussy, she teased the edge of her denim cut-offs with her fingertips before slipping underneath.
Her panties were damp. The sensation of her own fingers moving over her skin had her clit throbbing and begging for a closer touch. She was tempted to give in to the need, but it would be better slower. Sweeter. She wanted more than a thirty-second quickie.
She was sensually aware of the night. The desire burned brighter, hotter, needier than ever before. Images from the day tumbled through her mind. Dre and Landry. Landry and Dre.
She wanted them both.
Her hand slipped higher, trailing over the hard seam of her shorts. She pressed her index finger against the wet, swollen channel. Oh God.
Shamelessly, she imagined Landry touching her like this, Dre’s hands cupping her ass as his fingers met his brother’s and the two of them stroked her together. The fantasy was good, but the reality would be even better. Her fingers grew slick as her imagination filled in details, putting her between the two of them.
Her fingers scooted higher, found the needy bud and pressed. Rubbed slowly in small circles.
She wanted.
###
The sweet, hot scent of feminine cream called Landry. His dick shot to attention, his balls full and aching. He knew that scent, knew that woman. Mary Jane needed. And he wanted to be the one to give her what she yearned for. Another night, he’d have gone back for Dre. Would have shared this moment with his brother. Tonight, however, he was almost out of time, and he couldn’t resist the sexy siren call of Mary Jane.
He slipped silently out of a centuries-old stand of cypress trees and found himself in front of an equally old hunting cabin. The damned thing looked like it was one breeze away from falling down, the windows broken out and the front porch listing left. Christ. Mary Jane didn’t know the first thing about staying safe, and he wanted to paddle her ass, but then he inhaled, and her scent teased him until all he could think about was getting himself a taste of that sweetness.
She was all alone out here, and he was definitely the big, bad wolf come to eat her up.
Christ. He looked up desperately, but the damned moon was still playing coy, and there was no neon sign pointing the way to Mary Jane or back to the boat. He was on his own here, and he knew precisely what he wanted.
His honey smelled good. He barely bit back the rough growl that started from his throat. He wanted closer to her. His wolf wanted closer. So he crossed the space between them. She was so small, almost swallowed up by the sleeping bag spread out around her.
Eyes closed, she muttered something, shoving back the bag’s flap like her internal temp had kicked up a notch or ten, sweat beaded along her hairline. She hadn’t even undressed, was still wearing the white tank top and those itty-bitty denim shorts his eyes had been glued to all afternoon. Hell, she could have stripped down to a satin bra and panties,
and he couldn’t have been more aroused. Her legs shifted restlessly, and his sensitive ears caught the whisper of skin rubbing against skin as her thighs closed. Parted.
Don’t do this. Don’t look.
Don’t touch.
His gaze went straight to her shorts. When she moved restlessly again, she gave him a full-on shot of her crotch. A wolf in the wild would have done so deliberately, teasing him with her heat and her need. Mary Jane’s restless gesture had the same effect on him now. Damned if he couldn’t see the darker shadow at the junction of her thigh and hip, where she was all soft and vulnerable. He wanted to put his tongue there and give her the smallest of kisses.
Less than a minute. That was all it would take for him to close the remaining distance between them and slide in there beside her. Would she welcome him? Despite her stated hands-off policy, he hadn’t missed the feminine curiosity burning in her eyes.
His feet took him closer. Heat poured off her body and her scent… Christ, she made him hard. Her scent was pure arousal, lush like caramel apples, all decadent sugar on the outside but juicy sweet on the inside. Her hands moved down her body, like her fingers were headed right for the hard little nipples beneath the soft cotton before she jerked them back up.
That had to be one hell of a fantasy she was working up.
“Mary Jane,” he crooned, crouching beside her until they were eye to eye. He intended to be the one pulling at her nipples, teasing her flesh hard. For that to happen, she needed to wake up and do some choosing.
Her eyes flew to meet his, the pink staining her cheeks proof positive she was real unhappy at being caught red-handed.
Which was too bad, as she was so damn pretty taking her pleasure. “A gentleman would keep right on walking and pretend he hadn’t seen a thing.”
