Wolf

by Wolf (lit)

  “You need anything else? Need to go?” he asked.

  Sylvie released a huff of breath. “No. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Is that what you want?” he murmured.

  Sylvie swallowed with an effort. “I don’t know. I … ache.”

  He stroked a hand lightly down her arm, over her hip and then slipped it over her ass and along her cleft. She gasped when he pushed a finger inside of her. “There?”

  She squeezed her eyes tightly as he began slowly thrusting in and out of her. “Yes,” she finally gasped.

  He leaned closer, nuzzling his face against the side of hers. “It’s alright, baby. We’ll make it better.”

  He didn’t, though, he withdrew his finger and got up. She discovered Hawk had been standing near the bed, watching. The moment Mac left, he took his place. “Turn over on your back, baby, and spread your legs for me.”

  She sent a glance toward Mac. When he nodded at her, she straightened and rolled onto her back. Hawk climbed over her, positioning himself. When he’d settled the bulk of his upper body on his elbows, he reached between them, aligned his body with hers and began to push slowly inside of her. The ache instantly intensified, but moisture flooded her channel to ease his passage. After sawing shallowly in and out of her for a few moments, he drove deep and continued thrusting until she climaxed shatteringly. When she did, he caught her hips, drove deep and spilled his seed.

  Relief flooded her. Sighing blissfully as Hawk rubbed his face along her neck, she dropped to sleep again, but it was only a brief respite. The next time she woke, she was as achy as she had been. Beau, she discovered, was waiting. As soon as she began to writhe in discomfort, he pushed his cock into her and thrust until she reached another peak and exploded in ecstasy.

  She had no idea what time of day it was or even what day. Exhaustion claimed her each time the ache was assuaged, but each time she woke it was back, worse than before and each time, one of them would come to her and plow into her until it quieted the sense of desperation. When she finally awoke free of the feverish achiness, she hardly knew whether to accept that it had actually stopped or not. The smell of food cooking on the hearth finally aroused her enough, however, to make her push herself upright.

  Mac was crouched in front of the fireplace, stirring something that was cooking on the hearth. He swiveled to look at her, studying her for a long moment. “Feeling better?”

  She felt like she’d been run over by a train.

  Hardly surprising, she thought wryly, when she considered the train she’d been driving—Mac and all of his buddies. “Except for feeling like I was beat half to death,” she said a little hoarsely.

  A look of regret and discomfort flickered across his features. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’ve hardly eaten anything for two days.”

  Startled, Sylvie gaped at him. “I was out of it for two days?”

  He grunted instead of responding.

  Pushing the cover off, Sylvie struggled and finally managed to drag her legs from the bed. Her inner thighs instantly began to scream and shake even before she tried to put any weight on them. A wave of dizziness assailed her.

  Uttering a sound of irritation, Mac crossed to her and crouched down in front of her, grasping her arms. “You alright?”

  “No,” she said crossly. “I’ve been screwed half to death!”

  A mixture of amusement, remorse, and anger glittered in Mac’s eyes. “Somebody did something you didn’t want?” he asked tightly.

  Sylvie felt her face redden, because the moment he asked, she distinctly recalled begging for it. She certainly hadn’t objected, not even once. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she’d been drugged. Unfortunately, she knew she hadn’t. There hadn’t been anything like that on the boat and they certainly hadn’t had anything with them.

  Then, too, she didn’t even know of a drug that would have that kind effect on her, not a prolonged one. She didn’t do drugs—never had—but she had friends that did. Ecstasy was probably the closest to the sort of symptoms she’d had, and it still didn’t match up.

  “I need a bath,” she said instead of answering. Pushing him away, she got to her feet and did her best not to hobble her way outside to use the ‘facilities’.

  Chapter Twelve

  Much of the soreness had passed before the end of the first day after Sylvie finally woke up without feeling like she was going to die if somebody didn’t screw her, but the suspicion didn’t and neither did the sense of guilt. All of the men watched her warily, as if she was a ticking time bomb, and steered clear of her.

  She didn’t realize it at first, of course. She was too focused on her own feelings on the subject and too certain the only looks she got from them was disapproval or disgust.

  ‘Things’ began to appear in and around the cabin, however. When she went out to use the facilities, she discovered a rough roll of toilet tissue had appeared. It wasn’t like the soft, cushy paper she was used to, but it beat the hell out of what she’d had to use before. There was a cake of soap and a bottle of shampoo on the edge of the shower floor. When she finally began to notice her surroundings, she discovered there was actual food on the kitchen ‘counter’—a basket of eggs, and a basket filled with a variety of peppers and tomatoes, some canned goods that she could only recognize, vaguely, by the pictures because the labels were in Spanish. There were a couple of pillows on the bed, and a new coverlet, and pillowy pallets rolled up against one wall that obviously belonged to the men.

  She didn’t know how the men had found the time to go out raiding between trying to screw her to death, but obviously they’d been somewhere!

  She finally realized the men had been deliberately avoiding her when Cavanaugh strolled up to the shower while she was bathing and propped his shoulder against one of the posts that held the rain barrel up. “Still pissed off, baby?”

  Sylvie sent him a speculative look. “Why would I be pissed off?”

  He shrugged a little uncomfortably, straightening away from the post. “Guess that’s a definite yes.”

  “What if I’d said no?”

  He hesitated, scanning her face. “Mac might stop growling at everybody and trying to take their heads off,” he said finally.

  Sylvie focused on lathering herself. “What’s Mac’s foul mood have to do with me?”

  Cavanaugh snorted. “I’m gonna leave and let you figure that one out.”

  She stared at his back irritably, but it gave her something to think about that was a little more pleasant than the thoughts that had been plaguing her. Had she been wrong about Mac despising her for sleeping with the others, she wondered? Or was that why he was angry? She’d thought so, but what Cavanaugh had told her seemed to indicate that he was irritable because she was angry with him.

  So maybe he was angry because he thought he should be mad and she had a lot of gall to be mad at him when she’d been in the wrong?

  She couldn’t make any more sense of it than she’d been able to understand what had happened to her to turn her into a nympho maniac and then just turn her back into her normal self.

  Her behavior bothered her, but it was almost more unnerving that she didn’t understand what had caused it. It hadn’t been ‘normal’, that was for sure. She was ready to admit that she had been drawn to all of them. She’d thought they were all attractive, but she didn’t think she’d just gone off the deep end for a handful of days and then recovered her wits.

  They’d acted guilty—and well they should!—but she couldn’t decide if it was because she’d made them feel that way or if it was because they’d done something they felt guilty about.

  She’d finally completely dismissed the suspicion that they’d somehow gotten hold of some kind of drug and slipped it to her. The lack of availability aside, why bother? She’d told them when she joined them that she was willing, and they all knew she and Mac had been intimate. Mac, she remembered, ha
d been present much of the time and he hadn’t tried to stop it—which seemed to her to mean that he had approved it. None of the others ever did anything contrary to what Mac said.

  She didn’t think Mac would’ve drugged her just to turn her over to the others. If he’d wanted her to have sex with them, or hadn’t cared, he would’ve just told her, she thought, or disappeared conveniently and allowed them the chance to seduce her.

  She was more confused about Mac than anything else. Why had he behaved so possessive of her before and then said nothing when the others had screwed her?

  And why was he angry with her about it? Why not be angry with them? Or at least blamed everyone, not just her?

  Ok, so she could grasp that. They were his buddies and she was a woman. It was always the woman’s fault. She’d egged them on.

  Of course she had, but then she hadn’t been operating with a full deck and that had to have been obvious, damn it!

  No closer to understanding, she shook the thoughts the best she could, finished her bath, and went inside to check their dinner. She was learning to cook in a fireplace, a skill she’d never considered that she might need or want, but although she’d thought previously that she was pretty damned good at most domestic tasks—cooking in particular—it was a real challenge to turn out a decent meal. Limited ‘pretty much everything’ was part of the problem. They generally had plenty of meat—wild meat—but not much to go with it. Water had to be lugged inside. It wasn’t right at hand in a sink, and kitchen luxuries like pots, pans, and cooking utensils were extremely limited. Beyond that, it was hard to regulate the heat.

  The men seemed to appreciate her efforts, but she didn’t get a big head over it. She’d already seen that they seemed more interested in quantity than quality, although where they put all that food away was a mystery to her. She supposed they ran it off, or maybe changing required a lot of energy? It made sense, and they’d begun to spend more and more time, it seemed to her, running through the jungle in beast form.

  She wasn’t certain if that meant they were beginning to prefer the life as a wolf to the life of a human, but it worried her that that might be the case even though she couldn’t say she blamed them. The life they’d had had virtually disintegrated before their eyes overnight. They couldn’t go home and they weren’t soldiers anymore. If they had no choice but to live in the jungle and live off the land then their animal form was more suited to it.

  Mac surprised her by joining her in the bed when she finally turned in. He hadn’t shared the bed with her since the ‘orgy’, which was one of the reasons she’d been so upset. That sort of thing was usually a distancing tact and she’d figured it meant that he wasn’t really interested in her anymore now that she’d made the rounds.

  It had angered her because it seemed so unfair. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she hadn’t been in control and, as dim as her memories were, it seemed to her that Mac had encouraged them to fuck her. Which made it all the more unreasonable for him to hold it against her.

  She lay on her side tensely when he’d climbed into bed with her, trying to decide whether to give in if he showed any sign that he was interested in sex or to snub any overtures.

  Mac, she finally realized, was as tense as she was. He’d settled on his back, folded his arms behind his head and was staring at the ceiling. “We’ll have to leave tomorrow to meet the others at the rendezvous point,” he said finally.

  Sylvie’s heart contracted painfully in her chest and she was suddenly nearly overwhelmed by the urge to burst into tears. This was it, then, she thought. Goodbye, so long, nice knowing you, have a good life. She struggled to think of something to say in response, but she was too hurt to think of a thing that wouldn’t include begging him not to go or at least trying to wrangle a promise that he’d come back.

  There wasn’t really any point to either, she told herself fiercely. If he’d decided to go, nothing she could say was going to change his mind and she’d known all along that it was a temporary situation. “You’ll … be careful?” she finally whispered.

  He rolled onto his side and slipped an arm around her. “Beau will stay to take care of you. We’ve checked the place out thoroughly. It’s about as safe as anything we could come up with. I’d leave Cavanaugh, too, if I thought it was necessary, but we don’t know what we’ll be facing when we get there. That’s why I thought it would be best to leave you here.”

  Hope flickered through her but it was hard to reverse emotions that had already reached critical mass. She tried to draw in a calming breath to regain control. “If you’re only going to be gone a few days, I’d probably be fine alone. Don’t you think it might be best to take him if you suspect there could be a problem?” she asked shakily, more worried about him now that he’d suggested there could be trouble than she was about being left alone.

  He shifted up high enough to brush his cheek along her upper arm and then burrowed his face along the side of her neck. Shivers chased up and down her length as his heated breath caressed her skin. “No, I don’t. I couldn’t leave without knowing you were safe. Beau’s a good man. He’ll take care of you for me.”

  Take care of her for him? She’d thought she’d pretty much mastered her emotions, but the comment nearly undid her. She twisted her head, trying to see his face in the shadows, wanting reassurance that he actually meant what he seemed to mean.

  She’d misunderstood. He wasn’t dumping her and moving on!

  He cupped a hand along the side of her face when she turned her head, tilting his head to align his lips with hers. His kiss was gentle, so gentle her eyes stung. He merely pressed his lips to hers, brushed back and forth lightly a moment and eased away.

  Mac couldn’t say he completely understood what had been going through her mind, but he certainly realized that she felt used and abused. He was doubtful anything he could say would take that away, but he knew he had to at least attempt to apologize even if he couldn’t really explain.

  Which he couldn’t. He didn’t completely understand it himself. It had been his beast’s instincts that had told him that he could bring her into heat, and how to go about it, and even that it was desirable that he do it. It had actually been more than that, though, more of an irresistible compulsion. It was those same instincts that had driven him to offer her to the others once he’d been certain his own seed had found fertile ground, even though his human side had been dead set against it. What he hadn’t counted on or been prepared for was the effect it would have on them when she did go into heat. Truthfully, they were lucky it hadn’t been worse. He’d managed to maintain some order, but he didn’t know if he could put that down to the instincts of the beast, or what was left of their humanity, because they’d all been ready to fight to be the next to fuck her.

  On some levels, she’d ceased to be anything to any of them beyond a receptacle, the female they were absolutely dedicated to breeding. And yet, he didn’t think any of them had ever completely lost sight of the fact that she was Sylvie, theirs, and that the aim was to breed her, not merely to breed. If they had … well, it had taken more restraint than he’d ever thought possible to give her room to rest a little between. He knew damned well she had to be sore as hell for the simple reason that they’d all fucked her until they were sore. “I didn’t mean to treat you so roughly—nobody did. It just … got out of hand. Are you still pissed off with me?”

  Sylvie swallowed a little convulsively, still confused, but she wasn’t angry if he wasn’t going to dump her! Truthfully, she didn’t think she’d really been angry about it any of the time. “No,” she finally managed to say.

  He shifted to give her room, pulling her onto her back. Stroking his hand down her length, he found the bottom edge of her shirt and slipped beneath it, settling his hand on her belly. “Still sore?”

  His voice had deepened, roughened with desire. Doubt flickered through her. So, was this an apology--‘I’m sorry if I hurt you because I really didn’t mean to’? Or was it an �
�I’m sorry you’ve been holding out on me and can I coax you into giving me another piece of ass’?

  She was afraid it was the latter. And yet, did she really care if it meant that accepting it at face value meant they could go on pretending for a little while longer that it meant something, or at least she could? “Not that I’ve noticed,” she said tentatively.

  Taking that as assent, he sat up, pulled her up and skimmed her shirt off over her head. Coiling his arms around her, he dragged her down onto the mattress again, scooting down to match his face to hers. Contrary to what she’d expected, he didn’t simply fall upon her, fuck her brains out, pat her head, and roll over. For what seemed an eternity and stretched her tension nearly to the breaking point, he simply studied her, tilting his head to lightly brush his lips against hers, or rub his face along hers.

  She was already breathless with anticipation by the time he settled his mouth firmly over hers, breached the barrier of her lips with his tongue and began a leisurely exploration.

  He moved restlessly against her while he caressed her mouth, rubbing his skin along hers in a way that seemed to bring every nerve ending to high alert. With a mixture of dread and excitement, she felt her body begin to grow feverish as it had before, felt a deep, throbbing ache begin inside of her. The longer he caressed her, the more distressed she became, the more certain she was that she couldn’t bear the wait.

  He ignored her mute urging to end her suffering. Slowly and methodically, he aroused her to fever pitch by caressing her with the light stroke of his hands and the brush of his lips all the way from her lips to her mound. He paused when he reached her belly, rubbing his face against it, nibbling light kisses across the sensitive area until she was lifting to meet each one. Lifting his head, he studied her for a long moment, as if debating whether to kiss her lower, to bring her off with his mouth.

  She was instantly torn, remembering how good it had felt when he’d brought her off with his mouth and tongue, and yet the thought also disappointed. It felt far better to have him inside of her when she came.