Alphas of Storm Isle (Complete Boxed Set: Books 1-5): Werebear Shifter Menage Romance

by Sophie Chevalier

  And God, was it good.

  Then one of his hands was in her hair, and he was kissing her mouth, the hinge of her jaw, her ear; he was teething her neck. She wanted to stop him, wanted to push him away—wanted to make a last dash to try and steal his canoe, again—but instead her arm went around his neck, and her thigh rose to press against his hip.

  “You do things to me, Ginger,” he murmured hoarsely, right against the hollow of her throat. “I want you. Can’t help it.”

  “Hunter—” she breathed, coloring up. “Don’t—we need to stop, we—”

  “I can’t help it!” he repeated, his voice thicker, deeper. “Ginger—I need you—need this—”

  Next she knew they were on the forest floor, and he was stripping her and she was letting him; hell, she wanted him to. The pine needles and oxalis felt good—primal—against her naked back.

  He got her bra off—the way the snap sounded, she half-thought he might have broken the eyelet closure—and her plump, unblemished breasts fell free. The cool, piney air felt good on the naked skin.

  She pressed his head to one of her rigid pink nipples, forcefully. His mouth closed on it and sucked hard; her eyes rolled back, and she blindly grasped for some nearby sword fern. His beard and half-chapped lips were rough on the milk-soft skin of her breast, but the coarseness was electric, delicious—masculine.

  We shouldn’t be doing this.

  He sucked both of her nipples to a deep, flushed fuchsia; it was bliss, but her pussy was swollen and crying out for attention, distracting her. The hot, muscular weight of him, the way he was kissing along her clavicle, biting her shoulder—

  I need to get away! I need to get away from this place—from these people!

  His cock was rebar-hard between her thighs, sinfully tempting. Slick with sweat, she ground her hips helplessly, demandingly against his, his cock trapped between their bodies.

  But I want him. I want him.

  The sex is too good. He’s too good.

  I want this so much!

  She couldn’t resist—didn’t really want to—and wouldn’t.

  He sucked on a couple of his fingers, then slid his big hand down between her thighs.

  “Perfect, Ginger,” he growled, his voice pure gravel. “Perfect pussy.”

  She gasped as his thick, wet fingers rubbed up and down her strawberry-pink slit. He pinched her clit gently; it hardened even more, and her vision swam. Then he sank his middle finger deep inside her, right between her puffy lips.

  “Hunterrr,” she whined, wriggling against the forest floor.

  “Perfect pussy,” he repeated, his voice thick and husky. “So soft. So hot. Tight.”

  He pressed another finger into her, making her back arch; her breasts flattened against his hard, hairy chest. She was so wet, so slick, that he could pump his fingers in and out of her deeply, forcefully, easily.

  “H-Hunter—” she gasped, her eyes rolling up in her head from the simple ecstasy of having his big fingers inside her. “That’s—”

  His mouth closed on hers, and he kissed her roughly, hungrily. Possessively. She loved the savage taste of him—pure salt, pure heat, pure pine. Her inner thighs were drenched from the froth of his fingering, and from the flood of her sheer, overwhelming arousal.

  He fisted a hand in her hair, pulling just enough to hurt—a delicious hurt—and then, between her legs, he pulled his fingers out of her. She bit back a wail of frustration.

  “I’m going to take you, Ginger,” he whispered, hoarse and fierce. “I’m going to fill you. You want it as much as I do. You’re like me—you can’t help it.”

  It was true. She rolled her hips desperately, eager for his hard, swollen cock. It was pinned against her abdomen, leaking hot pre-come onto her navel.

  “I’m all man, Ginger.” The harsh desire in his voice made her legs spread as wide as they could go. “And I’ll prove it to you. You’ll never go back to MacAlister.”

  He lifted himself up on a hand, reaching between their bodies to grab the base of his cock. Then he guided himself inside her; the fat, flared head of his dick sunk easily into her soft, hot folds.

  She moaned loudly, her fingers digging at the needley soil. The pleasure of him inside her—it was as sharp as cut crystal, overpowering. Her hips bucked, then pressed up flush against his, forcing him deep—as deep as he could go, all the way to the hilt.

  He groaned; his free hand, the one not tangled in her hair, pinned one of her wrists above her head. The pressure of his big clenching fingers made her skin throb.

  “You make me so hard,” he hissed roughly.

  “Fuck me,” she breathed, struggling to get the words out. She felt as sweet and hot and mindless as melted toffee.

  “Your skin’s so soft,” he growled. “And you smell so good. Like vanilla.” His cock flexed inside her, swelling even thicker.

  “Fuck me!” she repeated, rocking her hips urgently. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever needed a man to fuck her this much in her life. What was he doing to her?

  He pumped against her, working his hips, doing just what she asked: fucking her. It was so good, so fulfilling—all she could do was whimper and pump back, her eyes rolling up in her head.

  Instinctively, she tightened on him, capturing him in the hot velvet grip of her pussy. He groaned, thrusting harder, faster—forcing hotter, sweeter friction. His fat, rigid cock shucking in and out of the lather of her cunt drove her wild; she gripped the back of his neck, locked her thighs around his hips. Bit her own tongue, hard.

  His muscular chest, its hair deliciously chafing her breasts, was sweaty against hers. His strokes were strong and anvil-hard; punishing. He was growling, panting, half-kissing her, half-biting her.

  He was an animal: a big, strong animal, ramming deep into her slick, hot cunt. An animal that was taking her. Satisfying her. Her toes curled.

  “Oh, Hunter—Hunter—oh—”

  She was close. The filthy, mind-melting pleasure of being fucked by this handsome, powerful man—this half-man, half-beast—on the forest floor in the wilderness was too much. Her clit was as hard as an opal—so hard that it had swollen out of its hood.

  “Hunter—you’re making me—come—”

  “Good!” he panted. “Come! Come on my cock, Ginger—you’re—mine—”

  Her back arched. The jackhammering of his pulsing cock was sending her over the edge. Her fingers, clawing the back of his neck, drew blood.

  “Need you, Ginger—” His voice was rough, barely human. “Need to come inside you—fill you—”

  Even the last time with Hunter hadn’t been this good, and it had been good. She’d never been fucked like this—never. Not with this raw, feral energy. Not with so little restraint. Not like she was being mated by a breeding stud.

  It was too much. Her orgasm was a thrust away—

  “Hunter!” It was a wail.

  She came. Her climax was nuclear, devastating—unsurpassed. She writhed against him, her body wracked with waves of hot, sizzling pleasure; it whited out her mind. Her pussy drooled so much from the orgasm that she could hear the foaminess of his strokes.

  He came a half-minute later, spraying like a firehose inside her. The hand in her hair pulled hard; the hand on her wrist crushed so tight and so strong that she felt her skin bruising. She could feel the timpani-drubbing of his heartbeat, his chest pressed flush against hers.

  She gasped and bucked, her pussy clenching on his orgasming cock; she’d never been filled with that much come. The sheer pleasure of it all turned her blood to fizz. She thought she might never come down.

  “Ginger,” he growled, nipping her soft, flushed neck. “Ah, fuck… my Ginger.”

  She certainly felt like she was his, just that moment: pinned beneath him, overflowing with his come, sweaty and vibrating from the titanic climax he’d given her. In that moment she almost wanted to be his. Forever.

  “Hunter,” she breathed, her voice a dry whisper. “So good. Amazing.”

/>   “I told you,” he said, gruff, panting, “I’m all man. All man! And I can satisfy you!”

  She believed it.

  But she was floating back to Earth, and she remembered where they really were, and what they really were doing. She remembered the situation she really was in. And she put her hands against his powerful chest, and pushed.

  “Off,” she said, still breathless. “Roll over.”

  He did—reluctantly—and the night air immediately cooled her wet, boneless body.

  Chapter 4

  “Don’t get up and run away,” he warned, his breathing finally calming. The rush of trees moving in the night wind was all around them, hypnotic.

  “I have to run. I’m going to run. Help me run.”

  “Ginger,” he said seriously, putting a hand over his face. “You can’t just run away. Don’t you get it yet?”

  “Let me take your canoe. I’ll book it, Hunter. I’ll be in Vancouver in a day.”

  “It’s dark, Ginj. And you don’t even know these waters.”

  “Give me a compass. I bet you have one. I’ll just paddle northeast and—”

  “The channel’s full of bears, Ginger! And they’re all out looking for you!”

  “Just let me try!”

  “You already tried! You sank my canoe, and I caught you!”

  “Then you take me. Take me back to the mainland.”

  “No!” He sat up on an elbow. “That’s against our law, Ginger. I’m not helping you get away from the elders. Where would you go even if you could get back to Seattle?” He put a hand on her arm. “Be reasonable! Even if you made it to the city, Dane would just be obligated to bring you back—”

  “I’d go far away,” she interrupted. “Back East.”

  “There are bears out East, Ginger. There are bears everywhere. And not just bears. Wolves, cougars, foxes, coyotes, lynx—there are shifters all over the continent.”

  She didn’t have time to be shocked about that. “Okay. Further away. Overseas.”

  “Overseas?” he half-laughed. “Where?”

  Delhi. Laila’s family’s estate. “Overseas.”

  “You won’t get out of Sea-Tac, Ginger. Someone will nab you right in the airport.”

  “Screw you, Hunter!”

  “You just did, so… I mean…”

  “How do you know that I can’t—” A new and obvious thought came to her. “You told them. Didn’t you? You told them I left!”

  “What?”

  “You were the only one who knew I took the canoe, Hunter! And you told everyone else on that godforsaken island that I did it, or they wouldn’t all be out looking for me! You’re the reason the strait’s full of them! Full of people chasing me!” Anger bubbled up, hot and blinding. “How could you? You know I might die! I might be sentenced to actual, literal death! If you wanted to come after me alone, fine, but this? I could be getting far away from all of this right now if you hadn’t stacked the odds—”

  “Far away? Yeah, as ‘far away’ as this hunk of rock we’re lying on!” His voice rose. “I told Dane you left, and Cat, and then we told the elders. We had to. It’s our law, Ginger!” His grip on her tightened. “What exactly do you think I owe you? You stole from me! After fucking me!”

  “Ugh!” She rolled to her feet, grabbed up her jeans, and pulled them on. Guilty rage made her skin burn. “Dane pilots the yacht, right? The cutter?”

  “What? Yeah, he does. Why? Did you see it?” Hunter stood, too, sounding wary.

  “Fine. He landed here too—I saw him. I’m going over there.”

  “Ginger, no.” He reached for and held on to her wrist. “Come back with me.”

  “No!”

  “Don’t be an idiot! It’s nightfall! You’re going to cross this island alone? To get to him?”

  “Look, Hunter,” she said, with as much calm as she could muster, “I get how it is for you. Okay? I can see your side of this—intellectually. Problem is, I am not feeling particularly intellectual about this situation.” Her teeth gritted. “My life’s on the line. You can fathom why I made a break for it—right?”

  “Of course,” he said gruffly.

  “Right. I made a break for it, and you told everyone that I did and made sure they all came out in force to bring me back. Now I can’t try again. I’m done. That makes me angry. That makes me bitter. ’Cause I want to live. I want to get away from here.” She swallowed. “So get your hand off my arm and let me walk it off. If I don’t get mauled by a grizzly by decree of your bear-council, maybe we can work on forgiving each other.”

  His hand slipped from her wrist. “Let me… let me walk you across the island.”

  “No.”

  “Why, Ginger? There are others looking for you… not just me and Dane… Gunnar’s people…”

  Her blood thinned. “Yeah, thanks for that added difficulty. Just let me go.”

  She pulled her shirt on, then her Bean boots. Her bra was snapped at the closure, unwearable. “Here. You break it, you buy it.” She thrust it against his chest, and he took it.

  “Ginger, don’t—”

  “I know where I’m going. The moon’s out”—she pointed up, to the white disc cresting the treetops—“and it’s hanging in the east, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah. And Dane’s yacht is on the east side of the island. So I’m good. Bye.”

  She headed off in that direction, not looking back. The sea of deer fern and salal whispered as she broke through it.

  Why had she fucked him? Where was her self-control? Her self-respect? How had she ever ended up in this situation? Once was understandable, but twice…

  If there hadn’t been a storm last night, would she be back on the mainland by now? Or not, because she was such a terrible canoer? Probably not, since yes, she was a terrible canoer—and because Hunter had sent out the cavalry to get her. Damn him! Not that he didn’t have that right, especially since she’d stolen his boat… what a horrible mess…

  “Ginger! I’ll still speak for you!” he called after her; it was a struggle not to glance back at him. “I still like you!”

  I still like him, too. So much that it scares me.

  But I want Dane now—if he’ll talk to me.

  I really want Dane.

  ***

  There was no sound but the rustling of the trees and the rush of the strait’s salty waters. Ginger had been following the moon eastward for forty minutes, and now she was almost to the island’s other side.

  The forest was thinning; it was all storm-gnarled Sitka spruce and shore pine now, and the ground sloped down to a small, gravelly inlet. The moon was so bright that she cast a shadow.

  And there: she saw Dane’s yacht, anchored just past the shallows.

  Thank God it’s still there. That means he’s still on this island.

  Finding a big rock, she sat on it, facing the water. His boat shifted and bobbed, riding the wavelets. She drew her legs in close and leaned her forehead on her knees, waiting.

  Time passed. She dozed.

  It was the sound of someone crunching up the gravel beach that brought her back to reality, and made her raise her head.

  It was Dane.

  He was dressed like someone who’d been on the water all day, sailing through cold wind—gloves, a rain shell jacket over a fleece, dark jeans. She felt guilty that he’d gone out on the winter sea to find her.

  And he looked beautiful. Strong and tall, straight-backed, self-possessed. The cold, frosty color of the moonlight desaturated him, but she knew his tousled hair was light brown—almost dark blond—and his eyes were hickory-and-gold. She wanted to get up and go to him and throw herself into his arms.

  But she didn’t. She slid off her rock and waited for him, near where he’d landed his dinghy. By the time he reached her—he didn’t hurry—she was near tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said very quietly. For what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. Maybe everything.

  He crunched closer, stari
ng at her face—examining her, she could tell.

  “You’re filthy, Ginger,” he said surprisingly gently, and he raised a gloved hand to tuck some dirty hair behind her ear.

  “I’m sorry, Dane,” she repeated, biting her lower lip. She could still taste Hunter.

  “I know. Forget it for now. We need to get you back, and cleaned up.”

  “Are you mad?” she blurted, knowing it sounded stupid. Childish.

  “Come on.” He took her arm, guided her to the dinghy. “Let’s get on board.”

  “Dane?” she pressed, feeling suddenly afraid—vulnerable.

  He hesitated, gazing at her. “I’m glad you came to me. All I want is to keep you safe, Ginger.”

  Is that yes or no?

  Well. At least he doesn’t hate me. I’ll take that.

  She let him lead her to the dinghy.

  ***

  His yacht was nice. Ergonomic.

  The interior space was smaller than she would have expected—for something he owned—but it was roughly elegant, and very practical. The walls were paneled in beechwood, and the galley was clean, smooth steel; she could see a berth with rich, dark covers through a half-open door.

  “We’ll be back on Storm Isle in thirty minutes, maybe less,” he said, not dropping off the ladder between the deck and the cabin. “You can shower there, or do it here. There’s a head to your right.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  He gazed at her. “I understand why you ran, Ginger. If I thought you could escape this by running, I would have let you go.”

  “I don’t want to go back to that island,” she said quietly. “I don’t want… that dock… I don’t…” She couldn’t finish her sentence—couldn’t say just how much she dreaded the coming walk-of-shame, landing at the island’s public dock up and then trekking back to his secluded cabin.

  “I know.” From the way he said it, she knew he understood her. “I’m not going to tie up at the dock, Ginger. I’ll anchor on the island’s far side and we’ll walk through the woods.”

  She stared at him. “You—really?”

  “Really. I’ll sail it to the pier tomorrow. For now, I just want to get you safely home.”