“You’re gonna…you’re gonna…make me…. oh, God,” she said, voice jagged, breath quick.
“What am I gonna do, baby?” he murmured, pulsing into her in tight jabs that pressed his cock into her deepest places. “Tell me what I’m gonna do to you.”
“I’m gonna cooooommmee,” Stella screamed as his cock, angled downward, pressed against her womb, triggering her second climax, making her buck and squirm once more as delirious pleasure filled her mind, blinding her eyes, her mind a vacant space filled with white light.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” she heard Tuck groan as he emptied inside her, his cum hitting her pussy, massaging it through her climax, her cunt milking every last drop of his juice, the warm stickiness of him bursting straight through to her center. They came together in a moment of unrivaled bliss, and then collapsed, sweaty and spent, in a giddy embrace. The weight of him on top of her was welcome, the taste of the sweat on his neck like candy, the feel of his heartbeat against hers a siren call to her soul.
When he finally rolled off, she immediately rolled with him, draping one arm across his chest, her head on his shoulder, a leg draped across his.
“Baby,” Tuck breathed, still panting. “I’m never finding another woman like you.”
“Oh,” was Stella’s only reply, her eyes languid and dazed. “Oh.”
5
When Stella awoke, she was alone. Confusion nipped at the corners of her brain as she took in her surroundings; this wasn’t her bed. This wasn’t her room. Where was she? She was…
Oh fuck, she thought. She’d actually done it. She’d gone out with Tuck and then…
Then…
She could still feel the buzz of last night’s pleasure in her fingertips. She sat up, panicked, her thighs still sticky with his cum. One hand flew to her open mouth as she looked around the room.
And where was he? Had he just left? She looked at the nightstand - no money for a cab. Fucking bastard! She thought. There was no way he wanted her for anything more than a one-night fuck. Least the fucker could have done was paid for her way home. She felt stupid - so, so stupid - for ever believing he wanted anything more from her than her body. But even as she sat in the bed, running all the worst case scenarios through her head, she heard the bedroom door open.
And there he stood.
Holding a tray. With flowers. And a steaming plate of eggs, toast and sausage.
Stella’s eyes became, roughly, the size of saucers.
“Morning,” Tuck said, crossing the room and putting the tray down on the nightstand. He sat down beside her and, seeing the look on her face, furrowed his brow. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing, I…I just…I thought…”
“You thought I was some hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy?” he asked, eyes now turning amused. “Tough luck. Man finds a pussy like yours and…shit, makes you wanna keep it forever.”
Stella studied his face intently. He wasn’t lying. At least, it seemed like he wasn’t lying.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Trust me. I’m not…I’ve wanted you for a long time, Stella. Wanted you here, in this bed, right now, just like this. Trust me. If it were up to me, you’d never leave.”
“You can’t be serious,” Stella said. “I’m not…I’m broken goods, Tuck. I told you that.”
“What do you think I am?” he asked, now cupping her face in his hands. She immediately felt warmer, hotter. Last night had been…amazing. It had been everything sex could ever possibly be. And he was so sweet, anyway. Dinner had been just as nice as what came after. She’d never felt anything so strong in her entire life. And this was what she’d been looking for her entire life.
“I think you’re a bad, bad man,” she cooed, barely recognizing her own voice. But the spark in his eyes, half surprised and half lusty, made her feel bold. Made her feel sexy. Her slit dampened as he stared at her. The hand that had cupped her chin moved to her hair. She let out a tiny squeak as he closed a fist around her strands and yanked slightly, the pain sending shockwaves through her body that weren’t entirely unpleasant.
No, in fact; they weren’t unpleasant at all.
“You want me to show you just how bad I can be?” he asked, voice throaty and low. She could barely move her head, but she managed a slight nod. When she looked down, she saw a bulge in the sweatpants he was wearing. He rose up before her, still clutching her hair, and with one hand pulled his pants down, revealing his cock, hard and throbbing. He shoved her face toward it.
“Open your mouth,” he growled, and she obliged, the head of his cock plunging between her lips and immediately filling her mouth. The taste of him was intoxicating, a drop of briny precum falling down her throat as her tongue pressed against the thick vein running along the underside of his cock.
He shoved her face even further forward, giving her no time to prepare as he thrust into her throat, feeling her gag and choke, pulling out enough to give her time to breathe before thrusting forward again. With his hand in her hair, he controlled her every movement, using her mouth as a toy made just to please his cock.
“Look at me,” he growled, and her eyes rolled up to his, watery as her body reacted to the lack of oxygen and rough treatment. He pumped forcefully, fucking her mouth with abandon, loving the way she moaned and hummed around his cock. Stella was getting wetter and wetter, never knowing how hot it could be to be so vulnerable, so completely at the whim of another.
When she closed her eyes, tears spilled down her cheeks, but her heart was racing with passion. Each time his cock slammed into the back of her throat and then withdrew, she felt her body tense with excitement. Tuck grunted above her, his hands grabbing her hair even more tightly. But he didn’t want to finish in her mouth. There would be time for that. But he could see her nipples hardening, her body still bare from the night before. His free hand fell to her breast, kneading roughly and tweaking the nipple hard, inspiring another throaty moan from her abused throat.
“What do you want?” he growled, pulling out entirely. Stella gasped, breathing in ragged breaths. When she didn’t immediately respond, he yanked once more on her hair.
“Fuck me!” Stella begged, panting now from desire.
“I don’t know if you deserve it,” he sneered down at her, but his hands moved to her waist. His face hovered in front of hers, their eyes matched up once more, energy like a cord between them. And then he pushed her down, her back against the mattress. Her thighs parted and his fingers landed on her, feeling her slickness and spreading it upward to her clit, making her gasp.
“Please,” she whimpered, legs rising to offer him more of her, feet coming to the end of the bed. His cock pressed lightly against her open slit, her pussy immediately clenching in anticipation. “Please…”
He plunged into her in a single, violent stroke, filling her with his manhood and making her cry out in pleasure. Her head rolled back against the sheets, fingers clawing at them, her juices running down her thighs as he stroked inside of her. His hands moved up towards her waist once more and he gripped her hard, leaning down so his face was inches from hers.
“I’m going to turn you around,” he growled, “and fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”
In a single fluid motion, he’d flipped her onto her stomach, and grabbing her hips, raised her ass into the air. Her hips moved backward desperately as he thrust into her, the new angle making her even more crazed, fire licking at her cheeks as her thighs shivered.
Tuck pounded into her mercilessly, his balls slapping against her thighs, one hand returning to her hair and yanking her head upwards on her neck. She moved with him, matching his pace and fervor she’d never known taking over her body. Each thrust was pleasure and pain mixed. Every muscle in her body was taut as a rubber band stretched to its limits. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, filled by the sheets, and when she bit down she moaned.
“I’m gonna fill this tight little pussy,” he said
, nearly breathless himself. “I’m going to fill it because it’s mine.”
The word rang in her head like a symphony. Mine. Mine. Mine.
She’d never been anyone’s before. She’d been alone her whole life. And now she was his. She was Tuck’s. And she would do anything to keep it that way.
“Is that what you want,” he growled, yanking hard on her hair so that she rose up, back against his chest. His fingers found her clit and hovered above it, teasing her to the point of torture.
“Yes,” she moaned against him as he thrust harder.
“Yeah? You want your little cunt filled with my cum?”
“Yes, please,” she moaned. “Please, Tuck, I want you to come in me, make me yours…”
He grunted, and his fingers finally touched her clit, rubbing hard as his body shuddered behind her. As the first bursts of his cum slammed against her womb, she quaked, body releasing all at once, pleasure filling her head to toe, each spurting blast of his seed making her shiver and moan, prolonging her orgasm until she was deaf, dumb, and blind to anything but her pleasure.
Finally, they separated, both panting. Tuck watched his cum dripping from her slit and felt a love he couldn’t explain bubbling in his heart. She felt it inside her, and her mind reeled with the sensation, that same love blossoming in her own chest.
But then reality sunk in all at once, and she shook as she turned to him, wide-eyed.
“Tuck,” she whispered, looking down at the seed that coated her thighs. “I’m not on birth control.”
To her surprise, he smiled, wide.
“Good,” he said. “I can’t wait to see you all swollen up with my baby inside you.”
Her mouth opened in shock. She couldn’t…there was no way…how could she…
“Isn’t that what you want? A family?” Tuck asked, brows furrowed as he looked at her. She gulped. She did want a family. She wanted to belong. She wanted…
He pulled her in close, their eyes meeting.
“I’ll take care of you, baby,” he said, leaning in so his lips were hovering just above hers. “I’ll take care of you forever.”
Moaning, she pulled herself up to meet his kiss, and they pressed their bodies together. She imagined, in her mind’s eye, his cum inside her, her body welcoming it, a new life created in her womb. A family. What she’d always wanted. Always.
Epilogue
“I can’t fucking believe it,” Johnny said, growling down at his desk, hair clutched in two fists. Stella bit back a smile. “You fucking women! Every last fucking one of you!”
“Sorry, Johnny,” she said, wishing she actually felt a little bit sorry. He was clearly distraught. But as her fingers fluttered up her slightly swollen stomach, her heart was too full of love to make room for regret.
She knew, just outside that door, Tammy stood with her ear pressed against the wall, dying to rush in and declare herself ready, willing, and able to take Stella’s place. Stella wished the best for her because she couldn’t harbor any hatred for the girl. Right outside the bar, Tuck waited her, his new car ready to drive her back to his house, where his hands would roam across her tummy and then upwards, his eyes fixed on hers, their bodies meeting together in a perfect circle, their family still growing inside her.
Let Tammy be manager. Let Johnny’s strip club burn to the ground. Who cared? Stella was happy, and she was right where she belonged, in Tuck’s arms.
TRACKING HIS MATE
1
He could smell her from the moment she entered the room. His neck snapped upwards from the notes he’d been looking over. But it was impossible to tell, in the huge horde of girls who’d all entered together, noisy and fragrant, which of them had the scent that had called to him.
Why do they always need to travel in packs, he wondered, reigning in his beast. If he could shift right then and there, in the classroom, he could use his panther’s heightened senses to single her out. But the university wouldn’t look kindly on that sort of behavior. In fact, he was well aware that the university preferred to ignore his shifter identity completely; the only reason they’d tenured him after it came to light was because he was still the country’s foremost expert on shifter sociology. Despite the effort to make mainstream society accept shifters, there was still a great deal of prejudice, especially among society’s upper echelons.
His golden eyes scanned the room as the girls took their seats. For the first time, he cursed the fact that women outnumbered men two to one at the school. Otherwise he found it quite progressive, and was proud to teach some of the nation’s brightest young women. Vassar’s graduates went on to do impressive things, more often than not, and Cillian had seen some of his own students go on to make great strides in sociology, anthropology, and politics.
Why are you even bothering, he thought, scolding himself for giving in so easily to his urges. You don’t truly want another mate.
Still, if he was going to have to spend the entire semester with this girl’s scent in his nostrils, tempting him, taunting him, making the panther inside him growl and pace back and forth in the wild jungle of his mind, it was going to be a very, very long semester.
Bloody hell, he thought as the clock clicked into place. Class was starting. He had no choice but to begin, and try not to get distracted.
“Welcome to Introduction to Shifter Relations,” he said, commanding the class’ attention with his booming voice. He could tell by the way many of the female students leaned forward slightly that they were considering how lucky they were – Cillian knew how handsome he was, at least compared to some of the other professors at Vassar. Plus, his rich English accent didn’t hurt one bit. More than once he’d have to ward off the unwanted advances of a particularly engaged (see also: horny) student.
This year, though, he hoped, far back in his mind, that the girl who was releasing that earthy, intoxicating smell might be one of those few students who couldn’t resist him. Of course, he shoved that desire down as far as he could, willing himself not to give in to his primal instincts.
“Please take a syllabus and hand it down,” he said, bringing a stack of papers to each end of the front row. He watched in benign amusement at the confusion that always seemed to break out when the stacks met in the middle and had to be passed back to the next row – every year, the students never failed to make sure at least one person got skipped, and that the last person holding a stack would look around in such wild panic you might think they were caught with a bag of cocaine rather than a harmless collection of papers.
“I’m rather stringent on attendance, so I’m afraid this is not the class to be in if you enjoy coming up with excuses for your absence,” he said, turning back to his desk. “I start each day with roll call, then…”
2
Cindy clicked her pen against her teeth until her friend, Jenna, kicked her gently in the shin. Cindy blushed and put the pen down, turning to those around her with an apologetic smile. It was one of her worst habits, and she knew how annoying it was. But it was hard to sit still and not fidget after a long day of the same nonsense. The first two days of class were always torturous for Cindy; while her peers probably enjoyed being eased into the routine of school and coursework, Cindy started every semester claws out, raring to go, wanting to dig deep into the material.
Now, as Professor Turick summarized the information that was clearly available on the sheet he’d handed out, Cindy wanted to groan in boredom. Why can’t we just read this on our own time, and get down to business?
It wasn’t like there was even anything that radical about his rules. Show up on time. Do the reading. Write the essay. Be active in class. Participation grades, midterm grades, weekly writing assignments. Blah, blah, blah. When she yawned, Jenna leaned in to whisper in her ear.
“How can you be bored with that fine specimen in front of us?”
Jenna’s voice was low but Cindy worried about it carrying all the same; perhaps because she thought she saw the professor’s eyes glance over the
two girls with a hint of a smile on his face. Cindy turned to her friend and shrugged; Jenna reacted with an exaggerated eye roll, then put two hands over her heart and mimicked fainting. Cindy bit back a giggle.
She guessed Jenna had a point; Professor Turick was rather handsome. With jet black hair, greenish-colored eyes, and a tall, slender, muscular frame, he certainly beat out her History of the UN, 19th Century Literature, and Dramatic Writing professors. And that voice – the British accent was like a siren song for females across America. It was like listening to a cat purring.
The more she stared at the man, though, the more she felt like she wasn’t seeing him at all. Squinting, she tried to make sense of what her brain was trying to tell her. It was like he was there – but also, weirdly, she found herself seeing something else in her mind’s eye. Something like the dark green leaves of a jungle. Or a long, thin figure moving in the dark. Confused and, frankly slightly frightened, she dragged her eyes back down to the sheet.
Too much coffee, she thought. Brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, she shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. The motion caught the Professor’s eye, and she felt suddenly like a deer in the headlights as he looked at her for a fleeting moment before moving on to Jenna.
Looking at her friend, she wondered if he thought they were sisters, or cousins, something many people seemed to think. Jenna and Cindy weren’t very close, just party friends and occasional study buddies when they had a class together, but everyone always talked about how they should be best friends because of how similar they looked. As though looks were a great indicator of personality.
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