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Malix
All the yearsI spent sleepwalking through life didn’t prepare me for this woman.
Her strong, lithe body, her curves, the satin of her skin and her curtain of soft dark hair—none of it seems real. She’s like a dream; the kind of woman I fantasized about from the moment I hit puberty but never believed existed.
It’s crazy to me that she’s mine.
Amora moves against me, pliant and needy. I’m desperate for more of her. I’m already hungry and eager to sink between her legs again, as if I didn’t just come inside her harder than I ever have before. Her leg slides over my hips to cradle my hard cock at her hot core, which is slick with my cum and her arousal. I growl against her lips and palm her thigh, opening her wider so I can grind against her.
Fuck, the woman knows how to use her body.
Her lips break away from mine after a moment, and she murmurs, “We should get back. We’ll be missed.”
“They can miss us a while longer.” I roll her beneath me and catch her lower lip between my teeth, my hips rocking into hers.
She yelps and bucks up beneath me. “Ow! Fuck!”
I quickly sit back on my knees, my eyes going wide as a jolt of worry shoots through me. “I didn’t bite you that hard, kitty, damn.”
Amora laughs as she sits up and reaches beneath her fine ass. Her hand emerges with a stick. “No, not you. This branch just got fresh with me.”
I pluck the offending stick from her fingers and toss it at the water, wrinkling my nose. “I’m jealous as hell that Frost got to use a bed with you. This outdoor shit doesn’t give me enough room to maneuver.” Waggling my eyebrows, I add, “I’ve got moves I haven’t even shown you yet.”
Amora laughs, a bright, clear sound that comes from deep in her belly and reaches her eyes. I love everything about it. Her usual flinty exterior is gone for the moment, replaced by this goddess who looks thoroughly fucked and soft as a ripe peach. I could probably convince her to go for another round, but the temperature has started to drop as the night wears on, and I know we should get back to shelter and shift to wolf form. Sex is great and all, but frostbite is a bitch.
Sighing, I climb to my feet and offer her a hand. “To be continued. Many, many, many times.”
Amora grins, her fingers latching on to mine. “You talk a big game. I can’t wait to see if you can back it up.”
I haul her to her feet and kiss her hard in response to that, then we wade back into the ice cold water to clean up. Since we have no clothes, we shift to wolf form and head back to the cave to rejoin Frost and Kian by the campfire.
My brothers are already in wolf form as well—it’s a lot better for staying warm in weather like this—but I can tell by their heightened tension and the hardness to Kian’s furry jaw that they know exactly what Amora and I were up to.
While she slinks around to the opposite side of the blaze, her wary gaze on Kian, I saunter into the warmth of the fire and plop down on my haunches, letting my tongue loll out in a wolfish grin. Ain’t no shame in my game, and they both know it.
I’m starving, I say in mind speak. We got leftovers? Worked up an appetite.
A vicious growl erupts from Kian’s huge barrel chest, but I just let my jaw hang open in an even wider grin.
I wasn’t lying when I told Amora that Kian isn’t really a dick. But one bad habit he never can seem to fucking kick is holding shit in. He bottles up his feelings and emotions until he explodes, and the people around him always seem to get the brunt of the blast.
He needs to learn to let shit go.
Frost picks up one of the leftover hares in his teeth and tosses it at me. I plant one paw on the mangled body, rip off half of it, and throw it to Amora. I was watching her before she ran off to the stream—I know she barely ate.
She thanks me with those big green eyes and digs in.
I’ve decided, I say, tearing off a hunk of skin. That you have to tell us about your life now.
Amora pauses in her chomping to glance up at me. I’m sorry, what?
You know everything there is to know about our sad, sordid story. Your turn, kitty.
She turns her snout back to the hare, her tail thumping softly against the ground. I don’t talk.
Could have fooled me,I tease. Can’t get you to stop talking, usually.
She lifts her green eyes to meet mine, and I can picture her rolling them in her human form. There’s nothing to tell.
Frost cuts in, his tone low and even, as usual. That’s not true. Everyone has a history. We want to know yours.
Amora’s teeth crunch down hard on a bone—purposefully, I’m pretty sure, like she’s wishing it was my head. My parents died when I was a baby. I was raised by various members of the pack. I’ve been on my own since eighteen. There’s nothing else to know.
No family? No friends?I ask. You got to meet ours. You know, the wolves who’ve tried to kill you multiple times.
She whuffs a breath, the wolfish version of laughter. After a moment of consideration, she finally speaks.
Fine. My best friends growing up were two brothers. Ridge and Lawson. They lived in the house next door. Her mind speak tone takes on a softer tone as she continues to eat her rabbit, as if she’s lost in the past. We used to play together in our yards. Imaginary games, mostly, making up whole worlds and adventures. Until we were old enough to strategize—then we got obsessed with board games. And cards. Ridge and I, we’ve had a rivalry for ages over poker.
The affection in her voice is real when she talks about these guys. I stare into the messy guts beneath my paw, jealousy burning in my own stomach like the embers of a fire.
It sounds so easy, her time with these friends. So peaceful and happy. Nothing like the relationship the three of us have with her.
When we got older,she goes on, we learned to hunt together and spent a lot of time in the wilderness honing our skills. Honestly, I’m probably only good at hunting because of Ridge.
I can’t contain my curiosity. A deep, dark part of me needs to know if I need to travel to Montana and relieve a couple douchebags from their heads. Did you date either of them?
Amora throws her head back, letting out a quiet yip.
Oh, hell no. They were just my friends. Ridge found a mate, and she’s wonderful. Lawson…She trails off, pain twisting her brows together. There’s more to that story, but she moves on without elaborating. Honestly, I consider myself lucky. My pack is tight. I have no complaints about being raised communally. I never really felt lonely or alone. Not until I left them, anyway.
Her green eyes appear to darken, and I swear, it almost sounded like her voice cracked on the last statement—though that’s a little hard to prove in mind speak. Obviously, leaving her pack caused her tremendous pain. I know, logically, that we’re the reason she left them, and that weighs heavy on my conscience. Even though we never really had a functioning home, she did. And we ruined that for her.
