The Mating Game

by Melissa Snark

  “Because of Tony,” he said, thinking for the millionth time that he should have killed that slimeball ages ago. He couldn’t undo the harm the bastard had done, but there was something to be said for some old-fashioned vengeance.

  “Because of Tony,” she said. “But also because of me. I’ve made bad choices, and I just don’t see why…”

  “Why?” He kept his tone gentle, but the prompt carried command.

  Her voice emerged almost too weak to be heard. “Why someone like you would be attracted to someone like me.”

  He hurt for her and would have given anything in that moment to be able to take her into his arms and prove to her just how very attractive he found her. Violent emotions tested the limits of his control, but discipline softened his response. “Theresa, I’ve wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you. I’ve waited three years for you to trust me enough so I could act on it.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “My God. I’ve been waiting for you to say something—to notice me—and this whole time you were waiting for me? We’ve failed because I was afraid.”

  “We haven’t failed.” He allowed power to touch his voice so she would feel the strength of his resolve. “I refuse to fail. I won’t give up on you, on us.”

  She hiccupped, and he suspected she was crying. His throat hurt from the dryness, but what was important was that he sensed her responding to his confidence. “Be patient with me, Zach, please. I just need…time.”

  He exhaled so quickly his nostrils flared. “I’ll be as patient as I can, Theresa, but time may be running out. I don’t have the words to explain and I’m not sure I want to try on the phone.”

  Theresa gave a shaky laugh. “That’s funny, coming from you. You always know what to say, how to say it.”

  Zach snorted, laughed, and shook his head. “Not always. Look, can you trust me enough to believe that my attraction to you has nothing to do with Adam’s competition? In fact, if it will make you feel better, then we can wait it out.”

  Her tone took on a teasing lilt. “You seem awfully confident that I’m not interested in Robert, mister.”

  His sarcasm surfaced. “If you are, then things are about to get really complicated,” he said, thinking it more probable that Robert would be interested in Zach than Theresa. Though, he said nothing out of respect for the Beta wolf’s privacy.

  His response must not have been what she was expecting because she gave an awkward laugh. She fell silent, and he danced on pins and needles, waiting for her response. Finally, she said, “You’d give up being Alpha for me?”

  He exhaled slow and steady. Tension bled out of his shoulders. “Without gilding the lily, yes, in a heartbeat.”

  Her voice hitched. “Zach—”

  He interrupted because it was imperative that she believe him. “Theresa, have I ever lied to you?”

  Impatience crept into her voice. “Zach, you’re not letting me get a word in edgewise.”

  “Sorry.” He put a lid on it and waited for her.

  “Are you going to let me talk?” Theresa adopted her mommy voice.

  Zach grinned like mad. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It really wouldn’t be an act of trust if I made you give something up to prove yourself, would it? If you want to be Alpha that much, then you should court me.” The smile he heard in her voice brought one to his lips.

  Zach shut his eyes. An odd feeling filled him, akin to revelation, affirming his choice of Theresa as the woman meant to become his mate. Not that he’d ever really doubted it, but the last three years had been an exercise in patience and faith. “I won’t let you down again, Theresa. I promise.”

  “You’d better not, Zach.” The vulnerability in her voice wrenched his heart.

  “I won’t. I’m going to take care of you, love.”

  The emotional drain of the moment exhausted him, and they both lapsed into silence. Theresa recovered first and brought about a welcome change of subject. “How did your book signing go?”

  “It went.” Zach’s tone expressed his weariness and his frustration. Still, it was good to move onto a less intense topic, and he sensed Theresa felt the same. He talked about the event for a couple minutes but didn’t go into great detail. “Afterward, I met with the junior editor the publisher assigned to replace Sam while he’s out on medical leave.”

  “I take it that didn’t go so well?” His sweet Theresa sounded both amused and sympathetic.

  “It was a farce. The woman was twenty-four if she was a day. Fresh out of college, and she didn’t know the first thing about publishing.”

  “Zach, I’m twenty-three,” Theresa’s tone turned sharp.

  “Yes, but you’re not an idiot,” Zach said, running a hand through his hair. “Theresa, the woman had the nerve to tell me that Wesley can’t shoot McTavish because it’s not in character.” He sprang to his feet, his outrage fueling a violent gesticulation of his arms.

  Theresa gasped. “Wesley shot McTavish?”

  “Yes.” His brow knit and confusion replaced some of his outrage. Absently, Zach removed his cuff links and set them on the dresser. Then he unbuttoned the remaining buttons on his shirt and shed the garment.

  Theresa sputtered. “Oh, Zach, no. Wesley can’t shoot McTavish! They’re partners. They’re like brothers. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Zach hesitated, but made no reply. The unexpectedness of Theresa’s reaction threw him for a loop. He hadn’t realized she was such a passionate McTavish fan.

  “Did you kill him?” Theresa tipped her hand and he caught the laughter in her voice lurking just beneath her exaggerated outrage. “Zach, please not McTavish! Please! Anyone but McTavish!”

  She made him see the ridiculousness of the situation. Sides cramping in stitches, Zach dropped onto the bed. He laughed until it hurt. Tears flooded his eyes and he wiped them away with the backs of his fingers. When at last he had enough air to speak, he gasped. “Am I that insufferable?”

  Theresa’s laughter lit him up. “Yes, but it’s okay. I’m here to keep you real.”

  “I appreciate that,” Zach said, the last chuckle fading away. Abruptly, he felt so much better. His terrible tension dissipated and pain eased from his shoulders.

  “Did you take that poor woman’s head off?”

  “Not so much,” he said, but the silence that followed kept him honest. “Yes, but I exercised admirable restraint.”

  “Oh, Zach.” Theresa sighed into the phone. The sound of her weight shifting atop fabric reached his ears. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I could offer all manner of suggestions.” Zach’s mouth went dry, and his voice had acquired a sultry tone, deliberately suggestive, a hint of the lewd.

  “Oh, you. Stop!” She giggled with delight and there was nothing in her attitude to make him believe she meant anything but the opposite.

  His slacks had become tight in the crotch so he unfastened the sliding tabs. As a rule, he went commando because it made undressing to shift forms easier, but he happened to be wearing black silk boxers under his suit. With one hand, he shoved his boxers down to mid-thigh and his aroused shaft sprang into his hand. His balls were swollen and tender, and the slightest pressure felt exquisite. He muffled a moan.

  “Where are you, Theresa?”

  “In bed.”

  “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

  “Zach!” Theresa sounded scandalized, but he also detected the note of intrigue in her voice. Her breathing grew rapid and uneven. “I’m wearing a white robe. I just got out of the shower.”

  “Is it silk?”

  “No, you know I can’t afford silk, silly. It’s cotton.”

  His gaze flickered to the gift he’d bought her and he licked his lips. His hand stroked his engorged member, fingers and thumb encircling the girth. “Anything else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have on panties?”

  “You’re bad!” Her muffled laughter did not disguise the sound of pillo
ws being beaten and fluffed. Finally, after a giggle, Theresa said, “No. I’m not wearing panties.”

  “Is your hair wet?” In his imagination, the long strands of her hair tickled his thighs and her hot breath caressed his skin.

  “Yes, I just washed it.”

  Zach dropped onto the mattress and rolled to his back. Still massaging his erection, he stared up at the room’s white textured ceiling. “I love your hair when you wear it down.”

  “You do?” Theresa sounded shy and pleased. She hesitated, and then said, “I’m untying my robe.”

  “You know I do. I love the way it’s wavy and then corkscrews tumbling down your back. The ends are just long enough to reach the line delineating your arse.”

  “You sound like you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that.” Theresa’s come hither breathy tone invited him to continue and he did so without hesitation.

  “I have, love, constantly for the last three years. You’ve the sweetest, tightest arse I’ve ever laid eyes on and I can’t wait to pry apart your thighs and taste your pussy. I’m going to lick every lovely inch of your gorgeous cunny.” In his mind’s eye, he held the enthralling vision of Theresa nude, and it required no effort to add sensory detail to his fantasy. He could taste the salt of her skin, feel the hot flush of her flesh against his own, smell the musk of her arousal flooding his nostrils…

  He heard the distinct rustle of bedding beneath her restless shifting. Theresa panted in the receiver, more rapid and harder than a resting breath rate called for, and she whimpered with need.

  “Tell me what you’re doing,” he urged as he fisted his throbbing member with renewed vigor. A throaty moan tore from him.

  Her breath caught on a hitch. After a brief hesitation, she said, “Massaging my breasts. Zach, what are we doing? I haven’t ever done something like this.”

  “Shh, love, it’s okay. We’re just playing.”

  Theresa giggled and hesitated. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

  The coy invitation was almost his undoing, but he was determined not to lose control like a horny teenage boy. Zach pressed his ear to the phone and listened, intent upon hearing every delicious sound she produced. “Stroke your breasts gently in little circles. How do they feel?”

  A short delay followed and then her soft moan of pleasure. “Good,” she said. “Firm, full, my nipples are hard.”

  Ah, fuck. Zach mouthed the words, taking great care not to speak them aloud. The last thing he wanted was to jar her out of the mood with a crass exclamation. The skin of his palm was too rough and his fingers too callused for the fantasy he wanted to create—the smoothness of her lips, the velvet of her tongue, and the heat of her mouth about him…

  Extending his long arm, he reached toward the chair beside the bed and snagged a silk handkerchief out of the front pocket of his suit coat.

  “Press a little harder. Pinch your nipples for me.”

  Theresa’s gasp signaled her obedience. “I want…”

  “Yes, tell me what you want.” Frantic for relief, Zach shook out the silk square and dropped it over his turgid member. The cool material felt like heaven against his hot skin, and it created a funny tent that he would have found hilarious under different circumstances. He sucked down a strangled breath as he wrapped his long fingers around his cock and squeezed so the soft material cocooned him.

  “I want you.” Theresa punctuated her proclamation with a whimper. The soft rasp of skin on skin reached his straining ears.

  “I want you too, pet.” It was the ultimate statement of the obvious, but his brain wasn’t fully functional. Reason was fading fast. His cock was engorged, his balls felt ready to burst, and every stroke of his hand felt like heaven.

  “Slide your hands down, love. Stroke your stomach. Lower, touch your pussy. Don’t be quiet. I want to hear you.”

  “I am. I’m touching myself. I wish it was you.” Theresa sighed and moaned.

  “I’ll be home in two days, love.” Zach envisioned her slender fingers caressing her flat stomach, and then reaching the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. Theresa, his little beauty, gained most of her height from her long legs. His imagination wrapped those sexy limbs around his hips as he thrust and then pounded into her tight channel.

  “I’ve fantasized about you so many times…”

  Being the center of her fantasies was so much more than he’d dared hope for. “Tell me your favorite fantasy.”

  “I—” Theresa faltered and the blush that he was sure covered her cheeks could be heard in her voice. Zach stilled, becoming intent upon the unexpected intrigue.

  “Theresa, tell me.” Zach made it a command, infusing his voice with the authority of his dominant wolf. It was cheating, but he was too damn horny to care.

  Stammering just a bit, Theresa obeyed. “I fantasize about being taken. Restrained.”

  His mouth watered. “Held down or tied up?”

  “Both. Sometimes I struggle, just a little, pretend that I don’t want it. You always force me to come…over and over again.” She whimpered and then moaned, a ragged cry of passion.

  “Jesus.” His sight blurred even though the vision in his head remained crystal clear. The hand on his shaft moved faster, creating a slapping hard enough that it could probably be heard over the phone.

  “I’d like to be spanked,” Theresa said.

  “I’d love to spank you.”

  She laughed. “You’re a bad man, Zachary Hunter.”

  “Don’t you know it,” he said, chuckling despite the cresting intensity of his need. Lust and laughter were the best combination, a powerful aphrodisiac.

  “Oh! I’m coming!” Theresa’s voice dissolved into the sweet stutter of moans muffled against a pillow. She didn’t utter another coherent word other than to call out Zach’s name, but he hung on every sound she made. His fertile imagination supplied the image of her face contorted with passion—eyes shut, teeth sunk into her lower lip. Her full breasts, nipples erect, full and quivering while she panted for breath. Her small fingers buried to the third knuckle in her pussy, glistening moisture coating her hand, forming a sweet cream layer on her inner thighs.

  Zach’s balls contracted and he came with a hard shudder that wracked his entire body. A thick stream of cum spurted from his cock, soaking the silken handkerchief. He squeezed tighter, deliberately inflicting enough pain to slow the spasms, wanting to draw out the glorious moment of release for as long as possible.

  A howl rolled from the back of his throat, filling the confines of the hotel room with a wolf’s primal song. His orgasm continued to peak steadily, resulting in the longest climax of his life. Milky streams of fluid shot from his penis, gradually lessening in intensity until the pressure in his scrotum finally subsided.

  Panting, he slid into warm drowsiness. Theresa’s breathing provided a solid sense of comfort, almost as good as being able to hold her, but not quite.

  “You howled,” Theresa said, giggling.

  “Yeah. I’ll be lucky if security doesn’t come knocking, looking for a dog.”

  “Will you call me again tomorrow night?” Theresa asked with a wistful note in her voice.

  Zach chuckled. “Love, you’ll be lucky to get me off the phone at all.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Theresa, you’re late. Again.” Hilary Beeman, the owner of the diner, stood behind the cash register and did not look away from the till as she rang up a customer. Her voice had a raspy quality from too many years smoking, and she wore her gray hair beneath a hair net. Every part of her from her jowls to her barrel limbs had the swollen look of an overstuffed sausage.

  Reflexively, Theresa opened her mouth to argue the point. In actuality, she was almost never late. Certainly, it wasn’t the way the obnoxious woman made it sound. Her tardiness that evening was the exception and not the rule. Her recalcitrance startled her, and she bit her sharp reply off before she spoke aloud. Instead, she forced the apology that was expected of her.

  “Hil
ary, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.” Reaching back, Theresa struggled to tame the thick curls of her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a band. She felt bad about being late, but her mother hadn’t picked up Isabel on time. When one person got delayed, it created an unfortunate domino effect.

  “Table six is waiting for their food,” Hilary said with a curt jerk of her head toward the customers in question. “Hurry up. Maggie’s been covering your tables since five.”

  Theresa cast a quick glance at the clock—5:10 p.m. She sighed and reached for an order pad and a pen. Then she grabbed a tray and went to the kitchen window where the completed dishes waited.

  “Hey, sweetie, don’t let that cranky bitch get you down.” Sam Smiley’s easy grin greeted her from the other side of the window. The cook came by his name honestly. She’d never seen him project anything but a cheerful attitude.

  “Thanks, Sam.” Theresa grabbed the ticket for table six and loaded all of the dishes onto the tray. The order consisted of three blue plate specials—chicken fried steak with thick white gravy and garlic mashed potatoes. The Wednesday night menu always brought in bustling crowds of hungry locals. Without fail, the entire restaurant was packed with a line out the door.

  She passed Maggie, another waitress, a woman in her forties with frazzled red hair and tired hazel eyes. “Hey,” Theresa said to her co-worker. She flashed a smile. “Thanks for covering my tables.”

  “No worries, honey,” Maggie said. “How’s that little one of yours doing?”

  “Isabel is good,” Theresa said with quiet pride. “She’s mastered her ABC’s, and she can count to a hundred.”

  “That child’s a smart one.”

  Maggie passed Theresa, heading toward the heated counter while she went in the opposite direction toward the restaurant’s floor with a full tray balanced on her hand. Halfway to the table, her foot slipped on a patch of wet tile, and she almost fell over. Thanks to her preternatural agility, she recovered her balance at the last second.