Betting on Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 2) (9 page)

The showgirls, seated in the front pew, looked politely bored.

Houston grabbed Kirsten again, picking her up and walking back down the aisle with her while she whooped and yelped. Just as they went through the big wooden door, she tossed the bouquet back into the chapel, where it landed on one of the pews.

The three of them spilled back into the brightly lit casino hallway. Jack felt high like he never had before — still very, very drunk, but elated, like he was soaring above everything.
 

Right in the middle of the hallway he grabbed them both and kissed them again, Kirsten’s veil getting in the way as the air conditioning kicked on and blew it over her face.

“Come on,” Houston said. “There’s a limo waiting outside the west entrance.”

“Where’s that?” asked Jack, putting his arms around Kirsten from behind, resting his chin on her head.

“West, I guess,” said Houston.

It took them a while to figure out where west was, but at last, they spilled out of a revolving door in front of a bored man holding up a whiteboard that said HOUSTON TWIST.

“That’s me!” Houston shouted, holding up both arms like he’d just scored a touchdown.

The driver didn’t say anything, just held open the back door, and Houston practically dove in, followed by Kirsten and Jack, tumbling on top of him, landing in a pile of giggles on the limo’s back seat.

The driver got in and opened the partition.

“Where we going?” he asked, not bothering to look in the back.

“Where
are
we going?” Houston whispered.

“The big gold one at the end,” Jack said to the driver.

“Mandalay Bay?” the driver asked.

“Yeah, that one,” said Houston, already distracted by Kirsten, giggling and sitting halfway on him.

“Champagne’s in the mini fridge,” the driver said. “Complimentary with the wedding package.”

The partition closed again, and Kirsten twisted around in her seat, her skirt riding halfway up her thighs.

“There’s a fridge in here,” she said, very matter-of-factly.

Jack reached for a handle in the side of the car and was rewarded when it pulled open, revealing a bottle inside. In moments he’d ripped off the wire cage and yanked out the cork with a loud pop, then looked around for glasses.

He didn’t find any in two seconds, and then Kirsten was grabbing the bottle from his hands, shrugging at it, and taking a long swig right from the bottle. Then she handed it to Houston, who did the same, finally handing the bottle off to Jack.

“How long until we’re there?” she asked as Jack gulped, holding her hand out for the bottle again. As he handed it off, his brand new wedding ring caught the light from a neon sign outside, and he reached up and switched off the overhead light in the limo, leaving the three of them lit only by the dazzling street outside.

In the near-dark, Kirsten giggled. As his eyes adjusted, for a moment Jack focused on his other senses — and especially on the deep, musky, almost-overwhelming scent of arousal.

Houston took a last drink and gave the near-empty champagne bottle to Jack, just as Kirsten swung around to straddle his lap. She had to pull her dress nearly up to her hips and Houston ran his hands up her legs right away. Kirsten bent down and sought his mouth with her own, making a breathy moan of satisfaction as she found it.

Jack swallowed the last of the champagne and put the bottle in a cup holder, never tearing his eyes from his mates as they kissed furiously, Houston’s fingers leaving indentations in Kirsten’s thighs. He felt himself straining at his jeans, his own erection aching and
desperate
to be free, but he forced himself to be still for another moment, just drinking in the most perfect sight he’d ever seen.

Then he nudged his new wedding ring with his thumb one more time, a habit he’d already acquired.

Kirsten was breathing hard, fumbling with Houston’s Cascadia belt buckle, her hair wild and tangled with the bridal veil she still wore.

“How do you undo this thing?” she finally asked, exasperated.

“Here,” said Jack, and he slid over, grabbing the belt buckle. Before he undid it he pulled on Houston’s belt, the familiar sensation of his erection in his pants throbbing against Jack’s fingers, and covered Houston’s mouth with his own, pressing against his mate hard, almost savagely.

Now
was when he let his wolf take over as much as he could without shifting and he growled, biting Houston’s lower lip, feeling Houston’s fingers dig into his side, maybe hard enough to leave bruises. He let the other man go, his fingers deftly undoing the offending belt buckle, then the belt.

Now Kirsten’s hands were on his, unbuttoning and unzipping Houston’s pants and Jack’s hand reached inside for his smooth, rock-hard erection, freeing it with a gasp from Houston.

Kirsten slid forward, and then all that separated the three of them was the thin material of her underwear. One hand on Houston’s shaft, Jack moved his other hand up Kirsten’s thigh and grabbed her panties by the hip pulling as hard as he could.

“Ow!” she said, laughing. The fabric against his hand and against Houston’s cock was damp, and all Jack could think about was how she
smelled
, how he wanted to take her and claim her as his, claim
both
of them.

He tugged again. No dice. The underwear stayed on.

“What are these made of, chainmail?” he grunted.

“I forgot to tell you, I’ve got a chastity belt,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Not funny,” said Jack, pulling her forward and kissing her hard, his tongue snaking into her mouth. She moaned again and moved her hips, rubbing herself along his hand and Houston’s erection. Jack was
throbbing
with desire, like he might burst at any moment.

“Kiss him again,” Kirsten commanded when she pulled back from him.

“Bossy,” said Jack, grinning. “You like watching?”

“Hell yes I do,” said Kirsten.

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned into Houston, pumping his hand up and down on his mate’s shaft, making
both
of them moan as his knuckles grazed Kirsten. Then Houston’s hand was on Jack’s jeans, rubbing the bulge beneath them, so Jack lifted his hips toward Houston. The angle of the seat made it a little awkward, but he positioned himself so the other man had better access.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the window, and the three of them jumped in unison. Kirsten hit her head on the ceiling, then yelped, then half-rotated, half-fell onto the back seat, frantically tugging her skirt down as Houston stuffed his cock back into his pants, zipping and buttoning.

Then, after checking that everyone was decent, Jack opened the door.

The driver looked just as bored, and pointed toward the revolving door.

“We’ve arrived,” he said.

“Thanks,” gasped Jack. He tried to get out of the car, failed, regrouped, and then succeeded at last. He nodded once at the driver, trying to act cool, but failing.

Kirsten was a bright, deep shade of red, and couldn’t even make eye contact with the guy as she got out, followed by Houston.

Chapter Eight

Kirsten

Kirsten didn’t think she’d ever be able to describe how it felt, watching her husbands kiss. Even thinking that word in the plural — husbands — was strange and new, but watching them together awakened something deep, deep inside. Something she’d never even known was
there
.

And it was
hungry
.

Then the driver knocked on the window, announcing their arrival at the Mandalay Bay, and Kirsten could only pray that the windows were tinted enough.

He probably sees people fuck in there all the time, right?
she thought, but she still couldn’t look him in the eye as she got out, still pulling her skirt down, before someone shouted at them.

Oh god not them please not them I can’t talk to them right now
, she thought. Tomorrow, yes, but right now, she was
busy
.

She turned, her stomach flipping over, but it was just a group of girls, one of them wearing a white sash and a tiara.

“Did you guys just get married?” one of them asked.

Kirsten grinned.

“Yeah!” she shouted.

The group of girls cheered, clapped, and laughed, then Houston grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door.

One of the girls gasped, and another whistled, and for a moment Kirsten was bursting with pride about her new husbands.

Then she turned and followed them into the hotel to raucous applause, cheering, and whistling.

Kirsten thought the elevator might never come. She clasped her hands together in front of her, absolutely certain that she’d do something inappropriate if she didn’t hold them still where she could see them. Behind her, Jack took her by the shoulders and then rested his chin on the top of her head. She could see his wedding ring shining on his hand.

Holy shit
, she thought, looking at her own.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit
.

Then it occurred to her: she still hadn’t told them about the divorce.

Tomorrow
, she promised herself, and the elevator doors opened onto the longest fourteen-floor ride of her life before they walked down a hallway directly behind an elderly couple.

They rounded a corner into an alcove and Houston stepped forward, room key in hand, and Jack grabbed both her hands in one of his, raising them over her head and pressing her into the wall. He kissed her hard and ran his hand up her thigh, his thumb almost at the juncture of her hip when she heard the bolt slide back and the door to the room opened.

Jack picked her up and carried her in, moving past the first room, filled with chairs and fireplace, and heading straight for the bedroom. Houston flipped a few switches here and there, frowning in the dark, and then a fire suddenly lit in front of the massive California King bed and the curtains parted, revealing an incredible view of the Strip.

“This room must have cost a fortune,” Kirsten said, wonder in her voice.

“Annual splurge,” said Jack, and then Houston came over to him, grabbing him from behind. He kissed his mate’s neck somewhere between roughly and tenderly, his hands working their way down the line of buttons.
 

Kirsten scooted forward on the bed, pressing her fingers to the long, ugly scar as Houston yanked off Jack’s shirt, then kissing it, starting at the top and tracing the whole thing with her tongue, ending at his hipbone, just above the waist of his pants, where Houston was unbuckling his belt without even looking.

Their mouth worked together, a low groan coming from one of them, and then Houston’s hands were in Jack’s pants, pulling out a thick, long erection and stroking it.

Kirsten couldn’t tear her eyes away and she stood, putting one hand on Jack’s cock above Houston’s.

“Fuck yes,” Jack whispered, taking her in his arms and pressing her against him, then unzipping the back of her dress and pushing it off of her, letting it fall on the floor in a silver pile. Both her nipples were hard against the thin material of her bra, and Houston flicked a thumb over one before Jack got that off, too, and suddenly Kirsten was standing there in a black thong, white veil, and white garter.

Jack growled and stepped forward, but Kirsten held up a hand, and he stopped short.

“Wait,” she said, the alcohol and the dark and the sheer, wild
desire
she felt making her brave. “I don’t want to be the only naked one here.”

Jack had his pants off in half a second flat, then turned to Houston, practically ripping the other man’s shirt off. He put his hands around Houston’s belt and then ground their hips together, Houston’s arm flexing and bulging as he grabbed Jack’s head pressing their faces together, Jack’s long, hard, muscled frame against Houston’s partly-clothed one.

Houston’s jeans came off and before Kirsten knew it, he’d grabbed her knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed, fingers under the white garter.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, grinning.

“From the wedding, of course,” Kirsten said. She licked her lips, her mouth dry.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t ask.”

He snapped it against her, playfully, just enough for it to barely sting, the sensation rocketing through her whole body.

“I like it,” he murmured. “Leave it on.”

Then he grabbed her thong and pulled it off her and pushed her further onto the bed. Jack was getting something from a drawer, then deposited something on the nightstand. He rolled onto the bed behind Kirsten, pressing his length against her lower back and pinching a nipple between two fingers, making her gasp.

Kirsten’s brain felt fuzzy, between the drinks and the overwhelming desire, but she grasped both their cocks at once, one in each hand, and squeezed just hard enough to hear them both grunt, She pressed herself into Jack’s hands, his fingers twisting and pinching her nipples harder, making her pant with need.
 

Jack’s cock brushed the space between her thighs, and then she let it bump against her slit, biting her lip as she arched her back.

Just put it in
, she thought.

She’d never wanted anything so badly, but then there was Houston’s cock as well, nudging at her from the front.

I wish I could take both at once
, she thought.
Maybe someday
.

She rubbed Jack’s cock against her slit harder, letting the tip spread her lips apart, and she moved her hips back, ready for him, but he rolled away at the last second, reaching for the nightstand, so instead she put one leg over Houston and rubbed his length against herself, letting him kiss her deeply.

Jack was behind her again, and Kirsten looked over her shoulder, questioningly.

“Condom,” he said, and bit the back of her neck gently, and Kirsten arched her back.

Jack entered slowly, almost teasingly, and no matter what Kirsten did, he moved at his own pace, taking her millimeter by millimeter as she kissed his mate, her hand still on Houston’s cock.

“Fuck, this feels good,” she told Houston, feeling Jack sink deeper and deeper, hitting every last pleasure zone inside her channel.