Entwined Strangers (BBW Shifter Romance): Sorcery & Shifters Book 4

by Briar, Robin

  He’s concentrating to protect me, resisting the urges that are being encouraged in his body.

  If I could cast Maintain the Flesh on myself, I’d be fine, but that requires a reservoir of magic that isn’t empty right now. It’s filling with every passing moment, but slowly.

  It won’t really start working until Trent releases, but as of right now, there’s nowhere near enough quicksilver for me to cast a protection spell on myself yet.

  Which is only the first problem.

  If I do cast Maintain the Flesh the moment the quicksilver pool fills up enough, then it will leave the reservoir dry and voracious again, repeating the cycle.

  “Jess. My control. It’s slipping,” Trent says.

  I can see what he means, little by little. The change in his face. The transformation he’s trying to resist. It’s all he can do to keep from shifting right now, but it’s not just Trent losing control of himself. It’s me too.

  He might be driving into me, but the tendrils are guiding my body as well. Circling my hips in perfect cadence with his rhythm.

  I’m much less in control of myself than Trent is right now, and yet, despite it all, he feels incredible, growing inside me. It sets me off whether I like it or not.

  The first orgasm fires through me like warm lightning. My world blossoms into a vivid palette of color and light, similar to the amplified vision that I enjoyed with Mason our first time. Everything around me remained the same, but turned a lot more intense and vivid.

  “Let it slip,” I tell him, still coming. “I want the wolf.”

  “Jess. It’s too much. You’re human. You can’t take it.”

  “Go halfway.”

  “Half? You’re sure?”

  “Let the wolf halfway out,” I tell him.

  “I… I might not have a choice,” he says, catching his own breath.

  “Do it.”

  This is going to definitely challenge me. As a man, Trent is hung like Mason when he’s a half-man, half-wolf. I hope there isn’t much difference, but I know there will be.

  Trent lifts me off him and spins me around to face the wall. The tendrils ease up enough to let it happen. They want this as well, after all. It only feels like I have a choice in the matter.

  If this is what Trent wants, then the tendrils will make sure I give it to him. I think so long as I embrace the momentum of our lust, the tendrils will give me just enough freedom to pursue it.

  Trent flattens me against the wall, placing one hand around my neck, holding me in place there. He’s being rougher than normal, but I’m sure the tendrils want that too, and Trent is playing right into their hunger. My face turns sideways to see him. He pushes my legs apart with one of his feet.

  “I can’t get enough of you.”

  “Then take more,” I tell him.

  I arc my backside, opening myself up for him, and look back from the corner of my eye.

  Trent lets his concentration go, and his body instantly grows broader and taller. Fur replaces hair. Claws replace fingers around my throat. His manhood rises up like a blood-engorged steeple.

  Only his eyes stay the same, blood red and lusty, and I am utterly at his mercy. His alone for the taking, which he most certainly does.

  Trent bores up inside me, eager for my warmth. The width of him forces my legs apart. It’s more than I can handle at first, and he doesn’t go slowly. It pulls the flesh of my nethers taut as I stretch around his width. He pushes for the back of my sheath and finds it easily.

  Tears burst from my eyes. I’m not actually crying, but gods, the enormity of him! All my juices release at once. They pour out of me like a flood. It’s the only thing my body can do to handle his size, to make it possible for him to be inside me.

  I’ve been with large men before. I’ve been with Mason as a hybrid wolf, even as a full-size wolf for a second. None of that prepares me for this. And then Trent starts thrusting.

  I need to start breathing again, realizing now that I haven’t been. Fortunately, he starts slow. That helps. He must still have some control of himself. I can almost handle his tempo, until he speeds up. Pounding against the furthest depths of my cavern.

  A shock wave of pain and pleasure ravages through me each time, magnified by his girth, by every ridge of him inside me. It touches every part of me at the same time, every sensitive place, every button. Trent caresses them all at without even trying.

  “I can’t stop, Jessica,” he growls, barely understandable.

  “Don’t,” I tell him with some difficulty.

  He lets go of my neck and grabs my ass with both claws now. I push away from the wall as he pummels me from behind, trying to straighten my arms. It’s impossible. Trent’s too strong. The force of him keeps my arms bent, even holding back like he must be. My legs are trembling and start to give out. I’m slipping down the wall.

  Trent sees where I’m heading and lowers us both to the floor, landing on our knees. The tendrils keep my ass in the air, but allow the rest of my body to flop forward. Trent stays inside of me the whole time, plunging down into me at an angle.

  I want to lie flat on my belly, surrender to him in this position, but the tendrils from the quicksilver pool won’t let me. Instead, my legs climb up his body and wrap around his sides. I’ve never attempted this position before, but I’m succeeding at it now.

  Trent holds me up like a wheelbarrow. He can thrust directly into me again, which seems to be what he wants.

  I don’t know how much longer I can keep going at this rate. The tendrils are controlling me like a marionette, turning me into a sex puppet to siphon Trent’s lust more efficiently. I’m little more than a glorified mannequin.

  If only there was enough magic, one casting of Maintain the Flesh would go so far. That’s all it would take. Then I could be much more involved. Then I could take all of Trent. I’m barely able to accommodate one-half of him inside me right now.

  The quicksilver pool doesn’t care about that. It just wants to be sated. The tendrils guide my hips in circular rotations, impossibly, in this acrobatic position.

  My muscles are on fire, but I can’t stop myself, milking Trent’s arousal for all it’s worth. I’m both inside and outside my body at the same time. Watching myself being taken, but going through all of the physical sensations as well.

  I let my mind drift to the pool itself. To see how much I’ve stored away. It’s filling up, but not enough for my needs. Trent has to come, but these positions aren’t enough to get him there anytime soon.

  If I’ve learned anything about his tastes, he likes it more when I’m assertive, not when I’m pliant to his will. He likes it when I take my pleasure, not when I let him have his way with me all the time. The tendrils don’t understand that, but I do.

  Perhaps I can wrest control back if my goals align with the tendrils. If I can somehow make it clear that we both want to goad his lust. Then the quicksilver pool and I would be on the same page. That might allow me to wield them again, like I normally do.

  To get what I want, however, something tells me my intention has to be stronger, certainly stronger than the quicksilver tendrils. For example, if I’m going to dismount him, I have to know exactly how I plan to keep his feeding his lust. The desire, the position, all of it.

  If I don’t, then I suspect the tendrils will take over again.

  Okay, I already have something in mind, so it’s now or never. Time to act on it.

  Sure enough, the tendrils sense my intention and permit me to spring off long enough to spin around. The tendrils themselves have relaxed for a second, but they aren’t going far, still hovering around my body. They’re waiting to see what I do next before taking over again.

  I grab Trent’s considerable stave, which I can easily do with both hands, and wrap my mouth over his wide head. The end is all I can manage, but it’s enough. The mushroomed ridge is the most sensitive part anyway.

  My wrists immediately go to work, swirling his length, as my lips rise and fall o
n him, flicking the tip. I run my mouth and tongue sideways down his length of him, underneath his ridge in both directions. All the while looking up at him watching me.

  Trent is loving it, and if Trent is loving it, the tendrils are as well. They begin to loosen their grip on me, trusting me to handle myself. If nothing else, it gives my poor snatch a chance to recover. Not forever, but for a few more moments at least.

  Trent throbs in my hands. He’s getting close.

  His claws reach down for my shoulders. They’re sharp and scratch without meaning to do so, but I can handle that. I haven’t looked at my backside. It’s probably torn up as well, but I can’t tell whether blood or sweat is rolling off my body right now.

  Trent wants to back inside me again, which means the tendrils wants that as well. His lust is being serviced right now, not mine. The fact that I want him there only makes my work that much more painless.

  There’s no resisting the tendrils, so I beat them to the punch, and act freely before they can take over my body again.

  I stand up and push Trent backward, rocking him off his knees. He goes where I tell him and sits back on the floor, allowing me to straddle his torso, which isn’t easy, especially when he’s a half-man, half-wolf.

  Trent’s even thicker through the middle than normal, but I stretch my legs apart, not quite doing the splits. If nothing else, my nethers open up even more in this position.

  I push down on his chest and reach between my legs, guiding him back inside me. Trent lets me do all the work. My breach still remembers what to expect, and spreads apart for his return.

  I close my eyes as the curve of him almost forces me to angle my posture in the same way.

  I haven’t even started swiveling my hips, but I must be doing something right. Trent blossoms inside me, widening my sheath apart. He really does like it when I take over, which I suppose kind of makes sense.

  He’s always in charge, always the pack leader. He can let go of all that with me. He can allow himself to relax for a change and lower his guard. I helped him reach this place. Trent might not realize that yet, but he must feel it on some level. And it all it took was a spontaneous kiss in that dark little room.

  I barely knew this man earlier today. I didn’t know him at all when he first appeared in my visions, and even then, I vilified him before we met.

  The actual person beneath in the flesh is completely different. We formed a bond in less than day. We’ve gone from being enemies to lovers.

  Not only that, but I can cast wordless spells with Trent, something I should only be able to do with the man I love, according to Candice and Saffron.

  I rise and fall on his pinnacle, controlling the rhythm. I take Trent inside me only insofar as I can, enjoying myself, savoring him. I’m accustomed to his magnitude now, even without the spell, and he feels phenomenal.

  My fingers dig into his chest to let him know. My breath quickens as well. The signs that he watches for in me. I’m actually cooing before I realize it. That’s when I feel his hand on the side of my face, gentle despite the claws. Cupping my cheek.

  I open my eyes and look down at him. What I see surprises me. Contentment and excitement at the same time, an expression that is human and wolfish simultaneously.

  “The look on your face,” he says in a clear voice. “Taking what you want. This is when I find you the most beautiful.”

  I smile down at him and reach for his hand, pulling it away from my face. He doesn’t understand what I’m doing for a second, but then I can kiss his palm. It’s an extremely intimate gesture, causing his eyes to widen and stay that way.

  That’s when I surprise him by taking his thumb into my mouth, sucking on it like I was just sucking on him earlier. It’s too much for the werewolf between my legs.

  I can feel the pressure throb in his length and then release, strobing past my nethers as uncontrolled jism rockets up through him and into me. His orgasm feeds my own, and for one perfect commingled instant, we are overcome by a wild surge of animalistic bliss.

  8. The Train Won’t Stop

  I can only imagine what Candice and Saffron are feeling right now through the quicksilver pool. They’ll be linked as well, keeping tabs on my spellcasting activities while driving into the city with Mason. A part of me wishes I could see the looks on their faces.

  There’s something about werewolf lovers in particular that makes them extremely good at filling our magic reservoir. We haven’t talked about it yet, but I think it has something to do with how the quicksilver of our spells interacts with the werewolf vulnerability to silver.

  As if the werewolves in particular are more susceptible to being drained than mortal men.

  Trent spumes inside me with the force of a cannon. It almost pushes me off him as I ride out his arousal. The lust that I’m siphoning at the same time is unprecedented. I can actually feel the pool filling up.

  Trent’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He howls like a wolf at the moon, but fortunately, there’s no chance that my neighbors will hear of it. Not even Piper upstairs. This is my meditation room. I had it soundproofed. Not magically, but with noise-canceling technology in the walls.

  This is my private sanctum, after all, devoid of distractions, a place to paint or draw ritual spells on the floor, but it could also double as a recording studio. I never imagined that it would be used to keep the noise inside this room from reaching the outside.

  The insistence of the tendrils grows less and less as their hunger is sated. The need to control my body eases up as they gorge, releasing their claim on me completely. Me, the conduit for their sustenance. Perhaps now I can make the tendrils do my bidding again.

  It occurs to me at this point that Trent isn’t stopping, a never-ending stream of werewolf spunk. This is hardly the first time I’ve been with a man of great quantity, but if he’s supplying the lust, I may as well keep my hooks in him.

  First, the spell I’ve been eager to cast this whole time, especially now that the quicksilver pool has been amply replenished. Maintain the Flesh. The wordless spell goes off perfectly, but I really don’t want to deal with what that means for me and Trent.

  I’m enjoying myself right now, so introspection can be damned. I’m too busy milking Trent for all he’s worth, and now that the spell is cast, no more holding back. None of this half-depth nonsense.

  I stand up off his pulsating pinnacle and turn around, straddling Trent in reverse. I look back at him over my shoulder, reach between my legs, and feed him up inside me. It’s almost like trying to attach a garden hose to a water nozzle that’s still running at full blast.

  His crimson eyes widen, taking it all in, the sight of me enveloping him.

  I don’t think Trent actually caught his breath as I changed position, still firing into the air. I drop myself around him and take his entire length now, made possible by the spell. I sit up straight, pull my hair up off my neck, and swivel my hips around him.

  “Jessica. How are you…?”

  I love it. He can’t even form sentences. It must look almost nonsensical to him. This tiny woman, almost two feet shorter than him, taking his immense endowment.

  “I just took some warming up. Sorry to keep you waiting,” I throw back at him with a devious smile. “Now don’t falter on me. I’ve only come twice so far.”

  I let my hair fall and start bouncing up and down on his stomach, grinding against him. My arms are still crossed over the top of my head. His abdominal muscles are so hard, I may as well be slapping my nethers up against a brick wall.

  Trent reaches up and places his claws on my back, drawing them down my spine. His touch feels incredible, but if the spell wasn’t protecting me, the sharpness of his nails would rend my flesh.

  “Can’t. Stop. Coming,” he says.

  He’s not lying. I can still feel him releasing, over and over again, waves of jism leaping out of him, into me, and out again each time I crest the ridge of his head.

  I know for a fact that Trent h
asn’t been storing it up. The spell is draining him, forcing his body produce faster than he normally does.

  That’s when I remember the tattoo on his neck, the small scratch I made. He should have healed from it ages ago. Perhaps the quicksilver tendrils are preventing him from healing in the same way that being wounded with silver prevents him from healing.

  Perhaps the quicksilver tendrils are making sure that Trent is susceptible to my Preserve the Lust spell.

  I think it’s time to let him off my hook.

  I crouch forward on my feet, but keep him inside me, bending at the knee. I brace my hands on his legs, so that Trent can watch himself disappear inside of me as I bounce up and down against his stomach, swallowing him up.

  The view is enough to drive most men mad with arousal. At least, it has for decades. Trent proves to be no different.

  I close my eyes and angle him inside me to push up against the roof of my sheath. I want him to rub the wall of my cavern with the ridge of his head for the pressure I crave.

  It doesn’t take long before the spark ignites. It didn’t take much. After that, there’s no stopping the release I’ve been holding back. The torrent that spasms through me, powered by every muscle from my waist down.

  I’m quivering with exhaustion now, but I don’t dare open my eyes. Not yet. If I open my eyes, the vision will fall on me like it always does, and I’m expect it will be overwhelming.

  I’m still coming when the world does a somersault. I’m upside down, but I don’t know how I got there, until I realize his hands are around me. Trent grabbed me through the middle and lifted me up and backward in an arc.

  I’m expecting a collision at the end, but then I stop, suspended in the air. I keep my eyes closed, despite every impulse I have to open them. My curiosity is getting the better of me.

  I can tell that I’m no longer facing the floor. Trent grabbed me from behind and lifted me back. He’s lying beneath me now, holding me above his body, but still inside me, bench-pressing my entire weight as if it were insignificant to him.