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But my shaft thinks we’ve been mated for over a century, judging by how comfortably it’s nestled between her butt cheeks. I nuzzle her hair, breathe in her scent. The way she fits with me feels so right that my magic crackles across my forearm, which is draped over her hip.
The wolf wants to know if she’s mine.
The magic tingles. The wolf is rising inside me. But I reason better in bipedal male form than when I’m in wolf, and I’m avoiding the moment I’ll realize she isn’t my lycan mate. Hence, I ignore the magic and let it sting my skin all it likes while I nuzzle Marybell and enjoy the quiet moment with her.
It’s unfortunate she hasn’t nested yet, but she still has time for that. The span is young, and even though I should strike at Dan for nearly killing my brother, I must ensure the breeder is bred this full moon. If she’s not bred, I must ensure she won’t breed with anyone else. She and I will wait until the next moon or her next heat, because I cannot give up Marybell to another male, and I do not share.
My lips brush her earlobe, and I move her hair aside and prop myself on an elbow to view the curve of her neck. My wolf starts scratching under my skin, magic rising inside my body, my animal viciously fighting for a view of the breeder.
I breathe through it.
If she isn’t mine, she’s another male’s. No lycan should stand between a mated pair. Unless they’re deranged and crazy for the female. Kind of like how I feel about this one.
Marybell’s breathing picks up. Now semiawake, the first thing she does is scoot back, seeking my warmth. She’s snuggling into my body, looking for comfort. I glance at the near-dead fireplace andwillthe wood to throw itself into the pit so I don’t have to get up.
Her wiggling bottom creates friction against my erection. Inwardly, I curse as I restrain myself from pushing back into her arse and reminding her of our position on the couch. I remain still because I want to watch her wake up, unaware of her surroundings.
Marybell rolls onto her back and blinks her sleepy eyes. She rubs them and smiles. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Good as new, thanks to you.”
She runs a palm over my bare chest and traces the retreating sigils Philippa carved into my body. My pectoral muscles tighten while semen leaks out of my shaft. I expect her to stop circling the sigil with her finger, but she continues. At this rate, if I’m not careful, my shaft will soak the blanket. At the risk of looking like a teen with uncontrolled hormones on a full moon, I grit my teeth and let Marybell touch me.
And Marybell wants to touch me, all right. She woke up frisky and wanting to do all kinds of things, it seems. Her touch turns softer, more sensual and downright daring as her hand ventures under the blankets and firmly grasps my shaft. She looks up, eyes a brighter shade of brown.
Marybell strokes me slowly and watches me with hooded eyes. I don’t dare move, for I know if I do, I’ll break whatever bold spell she fell under. Submissive females tend to wait for permission to touch alpha males and rarely make the first move. If they do, it means they’re comfortable with the male. Maybe she’s a sucker for a bleeding alpha.
Bending, I kiss her on the mouth and trail my kisses down her neck.
“I haven’t nested,” she says. “Not sure I know how.”
“You’ll figure it out. Later.”
“I didn’t want you to die.”
“Good news for me.” I gather her long dress and push it up and over her big tits. Then I remember the fireplace and groan. I can’t get her naked and cold. “You’ll catch a chill.” I whine like a teenager and start getting up, but Marybell holds me by the shoulders.
“Can’t you keep me warm?”
I snort. “I can keep you warm, lass. All cycle long, if you like.”
Under me, Marybell spreads her legs, inviting me for a heat season. Inwardly, I’m howling.
I push the dress over her head and then sit up and lean on my left palm so I can get a better view of her.
“You have a beautiful body, Marybell.”
“A little meaty, no?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” She seems surprised.
I tuck a palm under her ample ass and squeeze. “Meaty suits you.”
