by Carys Weldon
Published by Mojocastle Press, LLC
Price, Utah
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
7: Mark
Pack Attack
ISBN: 1-60180-053-3
Copyright @ 2008 Carys Weldon
Cover Art Copyright @ 2008 Scott Carpenter
All rights reserved.
Excluding legitimate review sites and review publications, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Copying, scanning, uploading, selling and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission from the publisher is illegal, punishable by law and will be prosecuted.
Available online at:
http://www.mojocastle.com/
Dedication:
This is for men who like big butts and women who have them. Big Beautiful Women are everywhere, and by God and Gaia, thank heaven and earth--there are men who can’t get enough of them.
7: Mark
Pack Attack
Introduction
I’ve always been a lone wolf, but I’ve had some major changes in my life recently. Hooked up with a lady. Looks like more than I can handle.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
Okay. Yeah, I do. But it wasn’t my upper brain doing the high gear, I can tell you that. It’s just now kicking in, and I’m kicking my own ass. Not for hooking up. Damn, that was probably the best move I’ve made in a long while, and I’m gonna tell you how that came about.
But I am struggling with the whole relationship thing. Being a man, and a wolf to boot, I’m fighting the nature of the dog. I like a good fight, and taking something means it’s mine. Right?
For some reason, Amber doesn’t exactly agree with me. That’s her name.
I can’t figure her out.
She fights like a bitch when she’s in a mood. It can’t be all my fault, can it?
According to her, I’m the one with the problem. Lots of problems. She says bottling everything up is like capping a volcano, and, apparently, all my little explosions of late, signal that I’m working up to one big...ugly. Leave it to a woman to point that out to me. Before I met her, I didn’t have any problems. Now, I’m seeing them everywhere I turn. Is it her, or am I finally opening my eyes?
Doesn’t matter, really. This is where I’m at...I’ve been advised to work through some of my issues before she--and I quote--‘Dumps my sorry ass’, even got this damned journal to record my thoughts and feelings and recollections in.
Yeah. There’s a friggin’ gift, obviously from a woman.
Amber wrote inside the cover, Write it down, Vesuvius, or you won’t be getting off anywhere near my island. Capiche?
And yeah, I’m pretty sure we can take that literally. The woman doesn’t mince words, ya know? She’s a real bitch. Seriously.
Canus lupus garou. Do you know what that means? Werewolf woman. She’s got a good grip on that, though--and everything else, I think.
My balls, definitely. Don’t mean to be crude--just saying it how I see it.
I’m the one losing my grip.
She’s also a nympho. So, if she’s not letting me satisfy her--yeah, well, I ain’t letting her go elsewhere. Not over something like expressing a few emotions, writing out a few stories. I told her I’d try, and she said that would be good enough.
I’ll do what it takes to make her happy...if I can just figure out what that really is.
We’ll see how the hell that goes. She’s restless about something. Me and all my shit, probably.
Right now, I’m supposed to be venting a little steam, recording the events that led up to my latest eruption. Pun intended.
Did I mention that I went off half-cocked?
Please bear with me. I’ve got a one-track mind these days.
Amber. Amber. Amber. That’s my new mantra.
But wait. You have no idea why. Let me go back and explain how we met, and what had me all pent-up and ready to explode in the first place...why she thinks I need to work through a few things.
Prologue
“Mark?”
That’s me. Mark Wolf.
And that would be Amber’s voice. ~sigh~
I can’t get enough of it. It makes me wanna curl up on the bed and pull her into my arms. Yeah, belly up, exposed to the whole wide world. Or her ministrations, anyway.
Again, she asked, “Mark?” Husky, like warm whiskey over ice--she melts me.
I heard the rustle of her clothing, the friction of her slacks rubbing together at her thighs. Gaia help me. Is everything about her sexy? I think so.
She’s a big, beautiful woman, not some twig.
Damn--swishing sound of silk on satin or something, getting me worked up. I know she’s undressing. Teasing bitch--never shuts the door. She knows I can hear what she’s doing. Me and my wolf ears.
That woman definitely likes to keep me hot and bothered, thinking of her naked. Nearly naked. Thinking about getting naked.
The temp in the room rose about ten degrees. I swear it did.
A grunt, a moan. My curiosity had me tipping my head, wishing I could see through walls.
Very pleased with herself, Amber singsonged, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Cool.” I tried to sound unaffected, almost uninterested, but she’s got my curiosity up 24/7.
Not moments before, she came breezing in through the front door, whisking herself and a shopping bag into the bathroom before I had a chance to glance up. Just caught her ass end as it disappeared around the corner.
Gaia, I love her wide back door. Enough to last ‘til sundown, if you know what I mean.
I’d been pondering her inscription inside the journal, and all it implies. Kind of hung me up right there on the first page. The thought of her not letting me near her--that she’s ever considered it--it’s got me feeling pretty tied up.
Like I need more pressure. I went off on a vacation a few months ago, had a great time checking out the tundra--until I got a call. My brother, Barklay, went missing. Nobody knows what the hell happened to him. Well, somebody does, and I’m damn sure gonna find out.
Bark ran Wolf Enterprises. So not only did he disappear--and I have to wonder and worry about that--but the pissin’ company’s got problems: embezzled funds, takeover issues. And all the fingers are pointing at him. So, yeah, I’m facing some fucked-up heat.
I’m handling it, but shit. Things are out of control all over the place. I arrived back in the states to find the bastet--friggin’ cats--are the ones trying to take us over. Now, if that’s not the dumbest fucking shit you ever heard. Bastets owning a garou conglomerate.
You understand what I’m talking about? Cat people attacking dog people where they live, where they eat, trying to own us.
Ain’t never gonna happen. Fucking shapeshifting morphodites. I’ll kill every last one of them before I let them get away with it.
They had the nerve to come to our property. Killed one of our own without provocation.
My people know how I feel about that sorta shit. Before I got off the plane, they had taken up arms and were out hunting. That was the last night anyone saw Bark.
So we’ve got a Gaia-damned good idea on who is responsible for his disappearance and before it’s all said and done, I’ll find him, and kill the bitch that’s responsible.
Reports said he was with a fucking bastet whore. She had to set him up. Tricked him? Drugged him at the bar? What else would he be doing with a bitch cat?
I will fin
d her, and you can sure as shit bet that that bastet pride will be gone. I swear it.
Amber muttered, “Oooh,” stealing my attention back for a second. I tuned in, hoping for more. I wondered if she had a toy out in that other room.
“You need my help with anything?” I offered assistance. Hell, I just wanted to watch. Touch. Anything.
I wasn’t in any hurry to solve the crime of my brother’s disappearance. I had people on it. I’d get a call sometime soon. I was mostly killing time. Besides, I really figured he was doing some undercover investigating or something. He’d turn up on his own. Bark’s the dependable, loyal dog type.
No matter what it looks like. I can’t believe he’d run out on me, the company, us.
Around the corner, Amber chuckled. “Ah. No. I think I got it, but thanks. Mm.” She threw in another moan, just to keep me in suspense, I’ll bet.
My blood pressure goes up every time I think about her.
And those damn cats. I’m having a little trouble keeping my focus. That’s part of the problem. I like things under control, and who can keep a bunch of frikkin pisscats in line?
Purposefully, I redirected my thoughts. The most obvious release of pressure outlet, Amber, had me inquiring, “What are you doing in there?”
She laughed. “You really want to know?” A giggle. More rustling. “Contortionism, I think.”
Amber is about as limber as they come, despite her size. I could envision all sorts of things. Things she’d already done.
“You need an audience?” Yeah, I’m always volunteering for voyeurism. It’s the nature of the dog.
“Nope. Thanks.”
She was a little too quick and pleased with herself in the fast-snap response she gave me--in my opinion. That’s her one big issue. The girl takes care of her own business, keeps people at arm’s length or something. Never asks for help. Turns it down when you offer. Watch.
“You sure you don’t need a hand?” Got two, ready, willing and able.
She laughed again. Laughed at me, I mean.
“Come on. I don’t mind helping you out.”
“Quit distracting me! Ugh.”
“Sounds like a workout in there.” My mind was working overtime. I had all sorts of visions.
“Feels like one, too.”
Okay. At this point, she had my full attention. I’ve turned around in my swiveling, black leather desk chair, facing the corner near the doorway, anticipating, having forgotten the diary completely, and wondering what the hell she is up to now.
The wild sex goddess in the bathroom isn’t really a drama queen. She doesn’t prolong my agony or give me time to contemplate the knockdown texture on the drywall. Nope. Without a ‘tada!’ or a ‘voila!’, she stepped into view and waited for my response.
Despite the fact that I am a silver-tongued devil, I was speechless.
Did I mention that Amber isn’t some anorexic? On the contrary, you could call her heavy. But she isn’t ashamed of her body, either. Damn, am I grateful for that.
Squeezy, cushy muscle, big boned, large ass, maybe a bit flat up top if you’re comparing it to the width and roll of her hips, but really, more than a hand or mouthful’s a waste there. Five foot ten if she’s an inch. Well-rounded, in my opinion. No sharp edges. Just what I like.
I tease her, call her my Amazon bitch sometimes when I’m nuzzling her neck. I’m not insulting her. I say it with so much appreciation that she can’t help but know I’m enamored with her, damned whipped dog that I am.
But don’t you say that. I’d hate to have to rip your throat out. I can admit the truth to myself. Ain’t no shame in that. Because I’m not whipped on every level, just when my baby wags her tongue in my direction. Damn if that doesn’t get me going. The woman has a magic licker, and luscious lips. Absolutely does me in.
She’d have you begging, too--male or female. Amber’s got that something going on that makes you want to be with her. No kidding...people bask in her presence.
Self-assurance. A good sense of humor. Natural beauty in spirit. She’s got it all.
When I’m with her, I almost feel like I do, too. Except...it’s like she’s slipping through my fingers, thinking of skipping out. I don’t think she trusts me.
I know that everything I do in private contradicts my public image. I’m trying to figure out how to make her believe what she sees. Maybe I’m trying too hard?
To be honest, it’s killing me. I have never acted subservient before. I thought that’s what she wanted, but she sure seems pissy every time...
Some people think she medicated me. Did I mention that she’s a pharmaceutical wizardess? A scientist of the highest order? Yep. Works for Lobos International. So it’s possible that she did medicate me.
I could honestly say that I think she did, too. With her charms. Gaia almighty, she has charms. She’s a witch woman. I can’t get enough of her.
She must’ve noticed the glazed look in my gaze because when I refocused my eyes on her face, she was snapping her fingers in a zigzag in front of herself, bobbing her head to the motion, feistily saying, “Oh, hello there. Could you stay with me for one minute, please?”
Like I had wandered off. Ha. My ears had been pinned. If she’d moved, my eyes would have followed. I shrugged, “Yeah. Right here,” I clicked my pen and tossed it on the desk, “with ya, babe.”
Very slowly, I let my gaze travel over her, as if I’m a man of iron control, like it was okay but not all that--like I had all the time in the world.
Hm. Thinking back...I realize now, I had one ear to that damn phone.
Carefully, I guarded my movements, really worked at not showing white knuckles, gritting my teeth, baring a little wolfish fang with my instant hunger pangs for a fast fuck.
Sorry, was that too crude for you? You’re in male garou territory now. You’ll have to deal with shit the way I do--or get the hell out of my head. What’s it gonna be? You with me on this? I’ll tell you, straight up, I don’t need anybody else telling me she’s more than I deserve. Or that I’ve got my hands too full. I know that. But you know what? Ain’t nobody keeping this dog down--but her.
I struggled to hide my every expression. Everything but my eyes. They gave me away, I’m sure.
Not letting my tongue hang out--that was a trick.
I’m ready to pounce her. Always. I have no way of stopping the hormones that rage inside of me at the very sight or smell of the woman. Let me say that up front. From the moment I set eyes on her--
Anyhow....I’ll get to that.
Gaia have mercy. She’d stepped out of her slacks into, what would you call it? Fantasy wear. What the hell is that? I peered/leered, whatever. Something sheer, black, with what? Shimmering, tan roses embroidered in strategic places?
Yeah. I’m peering at all her tight spots, noting every last rose appliqué.
Amber struck a pose, kicked up a foot behind her, stuck her first finger to her tongue, went “Sssss,” and stuck it to her backside.
Oh, yeah. Fucking yeah. I’m with her on that.
From her high-heeled...jeez...spiked platform shoes, those gotta be new, over her ankles, knees--I feel the blood rushing from my brain, pooling in my manhood.
My gaze takes its sweet time, easing its way up her thighs, spearing in on--
Time out. Had to close my eyes, get a little control. Tug on my collar. Damn, the thermostat is set too high for this. I already told you...my blood runs a little hot as it is.
“You all right?” She’s been worried about my vitals for awhile now. Says I’m a candidate for a stroke. But then, who isn’t?
I didn’t open my eyes. I reached up and rubbed a hand over my face. “Yeah. Just needed to think about something.” How the hell not to disgrace myself? Don’t want to empty my gun before I ever got near her.
She’d crack a joke. It’s happened before. But don’t think bad about me for it. Amber says it’s endearing. I think it shows how fucked up she makes me. I never had that problem with anyone els
e.
No, really.
She sighed and then moved a little, spread her legs, propped her hands on her hips and tipped that pretty head. Another pose. Something off the cover of a dominatrix movie? All she needs is a whip.
I peeked through squinted lids, and that hand over my face. You know, part of me doesn’t want to look. I haven’t written in my diary yet, and I’ve got a feeling this foreplay is gonna end up painfully, for me. But--
Holy shit, I can smell her. How am I gonna clear my head with that on my brain? I stopped peeking and dropped the hand...and all pretenses. “You are one fucking beautiful bitch. Come here.”
Guess it was her turn to squint, and purse her lips. Sexy, with a bit of a grin and a serious wicked glint reaching her eyes.
I love her expressions: the way her lips move, the way her tongue flicks out and wets them, or her upper teeth bite down on the lower lip when she’s thinking. And tell me this, why is it that some women are blessed with a scent that turns a man into a total dog?
Again, I ask, how the hell am I supposed to keep my wits with something like that in the air between us? She is hot and ready to go, I can smell it. But then, she is most of the time.
Those lips...“What do you think?” A pause. “Mark?” More zigzag snaps.
I stared, I know, and blinked when she did that. “Uh--”
Had to give her an honest opinion, so she wouldn’t kick my ass. I shrugged like I hadn’t really been thinking about it, and her. Continuing my once-over, I zipped past the nether regions. Conserving brainpower--blood flow issues, you know. It’s not like I can’t go back for a second look. Right?
The nearly nothing fabric clung to her hips, the folds of her curves. There was a rose patch over that juncture--you know the one. A single rose at her belly button, one on each nipple.
Okay. I almost laughed out loud...when it occurred to me that it was a cat suit.
I could not hide the smile. She’s got such a great sense of humor. A garou bitch in a cat suit. Priceless!
