Mated for Keeps Boxed Set: a BBW Werewolf Shifter Romance (The Lost River Pack) (2 page)

It was murder to hold himself in check.

It had to be worse for her.

“Got the flask,” Alek called behind him. The man caught up easily, a long-legged shadow with lethal grace, then bypassed them both and led the way to the stream bordering the camp site.

She pressed her face against the side of Jackson’s neck, inhaled deeply like she’d draw the scene of his skin into her lungs and hold it forever.

Nerves popped and sizzled all the way to his cock. Even the feel of her breath set his skin on fire—he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. None of them had ever really known what to expect—all they’d had were the stories. Turned out a bunch of words didn’t go far when it came down to it. “Hang on,“ he growled again, fingers curling into her nape. “Just hang on a little bit longer.”

The sprint through the forest eased some of the color that turned her cheeks lobster red. By the time he knelt at the side of the bubbling creek, she’d started to twitch. Every stride widened her legs, until she couldn’t hide the way her hips tilted into his. The way her breasts rubbed against his chest. She was instinctively searching for him—for his cock, even. She could probably smell arousal thick on him, too.

That was how it started.

The moonlight turned the creek to a silver glow, reflected off the steel canteen as Alek held it out. “Did you know
she
was the package?”

Jackson met his sky blue eyes, eerily pale in the dim light, and held them. “No.” A flat sound, all but strangled as he snatched the canteen from him. “Hell, no.”

“Did Nico?”

A good question. One he’d very much like to ask their unspoken alpha once he had the chance.

Not that Jackson had the right to question anyone, especially not Nico Flores. With the state of the werewolf population being what it was, the packs had adopted a tradition of pushing out the ones they called weak—though it wasn’t always the case. Some of the young wolves were shoved out for social reasons, dirty politics, even old school vendettas. Territories were as much a matter of pride as blood, and the ones who didn’t want to die on that altar—like Jackson—hit the road to find better odds.

For a while, he’d been little more than an angry kid with a chip on his shoulder. They all were, eight strays with no purpose—and no hope.

Nico had pulled them together from nothing. Shaped them into the mercenary band they’d become, troubleshooters whose motto had become “no job too small”. They all worked to make something of themselves, to earn the strength that came with time and effort and experience. Working for the established packs was one way to do it.

As the strongest among strays, Nico did a lot of the heavy lifting when it came to the contracts they took on. Jackson had worked with the wolf for years. He trusted Nico, and more than that, he trusted the older man’s moral compass.

But he’d also made it a policy not to ask questions.

Jackson crouched by the stream, eased the girl to the cool ground and gritted his teeth when she bit back the kind of soft, husky moan that rubbed like velvet over his nerves. His skin.

Alek felt it, too. The way he crouched on his haunches shifted subtly. His chin came up, a whiskered shadow in the dark, and the eerie eyes that marked him and his brother with the same foreign blood flashed like ice in a storm.

The thing that crawled behind his so pretty features wasn’t entirely human.

And it probably found an answering echo in Jackson’s.

No
.

Damn it, he had to be better than this—than genetics and hunger.

Tearing his gaze from Alek’s wide-eyed stare, he tipped the canteen to her mouth. Let the cold water trickle over lips that gleamed plump and soft as they parted. Her tongue lapped at the stream, pink and wet and somehow carnal and innocent all at the same time.

He didn’t like it, but he understood just what it was that made a wolf pack risk something like this.

Slowly, Alek eased away from the stream. His nostrils flared wide, but he backed away with careful, deliberate steps. “This,” he said, voice low and strained. “This changes everything, man.”

Her hand snapped up, fingers curled around Jackson’s wrist to tip the water farther into her mouth.

There was strength in that grip. The kind of easy surety that came with the blood.

And so much sensation.

Five points where her fingers strained against the thicker, corded muscle of his wrist. A brand.

The canteen jerked in his hand, the water splashed over her cheek.

She tipped her head back, away from the stream, and used her other hand to dab at the droplets sliding down her cheek. Her eyes, tumultuous like an ocean, met his. Flared wide.

She had thick, dark lashes. A smooth nose faintly upturned at the tip, and skin tanned where it hadn’t turned red at her cheeks and chest. The water seeped into her scoop-neck T-shirt, turned the light blue fabric to a dull indigo. The material darkened like a blooming flower, spread like a hand over the mouth-watering curve of her breast, and he wanted to press his lips to it. Taste the crisp, cool water and her skin through her shirt. The visceral fist in his gut twisted him up so bad, Jackson lost his breath.

Whatever else she had going on—and she had so much going on, it was astonishing he had any blood at all left in his head—she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t
think
. Sex drove her body, but so did survival, and the way she snatched the canteen from him said she’d been in that container far too fucking long.

When she wrapped her lips around the mouth of it, that was it for his common sense.

Jackson surged up from his crouch, putting at least a little distance between them before he did something stupid.

Like peel those jeans from her lush waist, tear them down her soft thighs and bury his mouth between her legs for a taste of something he’d grown up thinking was as rare as unicorns.

He needed perspective. “Choices?” He asked, but he knew already.

Alek’s lifted eyebrow said the other wolf knew, too. “There aren’t many.” His gaze flicked over Jackson’s shoulder. Dilated until they were little more than a thin ring of ice around black. “One whiff of her scent, and every werewolf in the area will come knocking for a taste of that.”

It was too similar to Jackson’s own instincts.

“Fuck,” he growled, jamming his fists together. “Fuck! We weren’t prepped for this.”

Alek laughed—a low, hollow sound. “Nope. But she is. And you are,” he pointed out, but didn’t add that there were
three
of them in that clearing panting for flesh. “You have to take care of her.”

“Alek—”

“No.” The wolf shuddered out the word. “No way. Not touching that.”

He didn’t mean ever. Or even that he didn’t want to. His hands were tied by more than just the unexpected mess this had become. This was big, either in news or trouble, and Alek didn’t wade into either without his twin brother at his side. It was hard enough prying them apart to do their jobs, much less to play.

Add the fact that Jackson outranked him by a hair, and there were…issues to be considered.

He didn’t have the energy or the time to argue with Alek about his choices. Not here, not now.

Which meant this one was up to Jackson.

He scraped both hands over his face. “Call Nico,” he ordered. “Tell him what happened.”

The other wolf turn away. “I’ll call him from the drop-off site. Good luck, man.” He tossed a hand out in a backwards wave as he strode with deliberate purpose back the way they’d come.

The forest swallowed him within seconds.

Leaving Jackson with a full-blooded wolf who defined every line and curve of woman.

Defined it, and cranked it up to max.

This was on him. But he only knew of one way to ease a female in the grip of her heat cycle.

N
atalie wasn’t so far gone
that she couldn’t use her brain. Well, that was what she told herself, but as she swallowed the last of the water in the canteen, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the wide back of the wolf who’d carried her away from that awful box.

He wasn’t beautiful. Not like the other one who walked away, all lean muscle and quiet swagger. The one who’d stayed behind, the one who lit her skin like the Fourth of July, was something far more dangerous than beautiful. He was taller than the other, taller than Victor, with broad shoulders and thick arms. She didn’t have to peel him out of his thermal shirt and denim jacket to know they’d be edged with muscle—her fingers still tingled where she’d braced her weight against his biceps.

The way he’d held her, the way he’d cradled her body like she weighed nothing, had made even her feel small and protected. Even delicate.

And that was new enough that even her wolf had eased down into a hungry simmer—as curious about this stray with strong arms and effortless grace as Natalie was.

United in that, at least.

They watched him together as he turned. A shudder rippled down her spine when his boots crunched on the fallen pine—each snap of bracken echoed and re-echoed in her feverish mind until her world was comprised of nothing but sound and him. His scent, achingly sharp, burrowed into her senses like a command.

She wanted to taste him.

He ran long, scarred fingers through his short brown hair, his leaf green eyes sheened with same desperation riding her. But he didn’t jump her—not like the others would have. He slowed to a halt just out of reach, eased to his haunches in a powerful, balanced motion that had her heart hammering in the back of her throat. Her hands twitched.

She curled them into the loam.

“Natalie.”

Her name was a benediction on his lips—she’d never heard it so hard, so edged and husky all at the same time. His baritone stroked over her skin like a physical caress.

She shuddered. Her eyes widened. “Oh, God.”

At the base of his throat, his own pulse hammered.

Natalie wanted to open her mouth over it. Run her tongue over his flesh, see what that living pulse tasted like.

Heat flooded her skin. Arousal pooled between her legs, and she clamped her thighs together as a low moan shuddered through the air between them. Her moan.

Her hunger.

His eyes darkened. His teeth flashed white in the moonlight—a grimace, like pain.

She turned her head. Her dark brown hair slid over her cheek, hiding her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” The word tore from him. She didn’t have to look to know he’d reached out a hand—she could practically sense the burning heat of his palm. “My name is Jackson. I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to know. Do you know what you are?”

Since the day she was born. She covered her face with her hands. Even that was too hot. “Yes.”

“Do you know what’s happening?”

She wanted to laugh, but the throbbing ache inside her wouldn’t let her. If she laughed, she’d scream. She looked up, raked her hair back from her face and met his eyes without any barriers—just raw need. “I do,” she said, and forced herself to hold his stare. “I know.”

He had eyes like the forest they crouched in, mysterious and endless. Ancient. If she fell in that stare, if she wrapped herself in his power, would it fan the flames licking at her now or would it be cool, quiet like a pond?

She had to know.

Her wolf
had
to know.

Natalie grabbed his hand. An electric shock snapped between them—two currents colliding in the middle. Her nails bit into his wrist. “It’s not the first time,” she gritted out. Shifting her weight to her knees, her body swayed towards his. “Just…get it over with!”

She didn’t know what part of her demand cracked him like a marble statue, but Jackson didn’t argue with her. She was grateful for that. Like her words were the permission he was waiting for, he reversed her hold on his wrist, closed fingers like steel around her forearm and jerked her hard into his arms. She collided with his chest, couldn’t stop herself from doing exactly what she’d been thinking of moments before.

Her mouth opened at the base of his throat. Her teeth nipped once, hard, and his groan shuddered through his wide chest. He flattened a hand at the small of her back, pulled her hips against his until there was no mistaking the hard press of his cock against her belly.

Still not enough. Not nearly enough.

She almost sobbed when his fingers locked into her hair, wrenching her lips and teeth away from his throat. His jaw was stony, but the shape of his lower lip was too soft for severe. When it pressed against hers, another electrical current arced from her lips to her nipples. She felt them harden, beading against her bra. Aching.

Natalie jerked away from his kiss, but grabbed the back of his head in both hands and gasped, “Can’t.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him. She did. She wanted it bad, but her body didn’t have that kind of luxury—that kind of time. A kiss would send her over the edge, and she didn’t have the strength to leash her wolf any more.

The skin over Jackson’s cheekbones was taut, his muscles locked into powerful rigidity. The fingers in her hair were gentle enough, but the other hand he dug into the small of her back seared through her thin shirt. Slowly, too slowly, he leaned forward. His lips twisted into a harsh line. “Tell me.”

She didn’t get it. She let go of his head to tug at his waistband. He didn’t so much as twitch under her wordless insistence, but her efforts exposed a line of golden skin etched with rock hard muscle. Abs to die for. An Adonis belt that would have put the real thing to shame.

Dark hair that arrowed down into his jeans, and in her mind’s eye, she imagined that it spread out over hot skin, lovingly cradled the base of a cock she badly needed.

What was there to say?

Tears filled her eyes. “It hurts.”

His curse, foul and vicious, clipped through the shuddering echoes of her desperation. But the hand in her hair shifted, gripped her nape and held her as he picked her up off the ground, set her on her feet and fisted a hand in her T-shirt—solid, steadying support at her left hip.

Even that was too much. Too little. Too…
everything
.

Her knees buckled.

“No,” Jackson bit out. “Stand.”

“C-can’t,” she managed.

“Yes, you can. Let me get to your pants, sweetheart, and you can have as much of me as you can take.” One part order, one part beguilement; his deep voice slid into her body the way she imagined his cock would. All hard lines and rough demand.

Her breath eased out on a ragged sound. “I can take...a lot.”

“God, I hope so.”

He made short work of her jeans, peeling them down her legs and tugging them out of the way. The air was colder than she expected, but it felt good against her overheated skin. The flesh of her inner thighs prickled from the wet slide of her own arousal—another layer of unbearable awareness.

And he saw it. He watched her, jaw tight and sharp eyes pinned on her every move, every inch of pale skin he exposed.

She couldn’t help herself. She cupped one hand over her breast, thumb rolling over her own nipple—and he watched her do it. Sucked in a breath as she arched into her own palm. He supported her, didn’t let her fall, but he didn’t look away as her fingers squeezed the soft flesh of her breast.

When the callused scrape of his palms innocuously eased over her bare hip, she gasped.

His fingernails raked over her skin.

Her head tipped back. “Jackson.”

His skin scraped against hers, fingers rough at her waist. Then tightened to points of near-pain and tugged her fully into his lap.
Finally.
She sank into him like a sigh, let him guide her knees on either side of his waist. The air stroked over the flesh of her backside, thrillingly bare, sensitized against the rougher scrape of his jeans. His shirt bunched in her hands.

The long, naked ridge of his erection jutted against her flesh.

He watched her face, searched her expression for something—maybe he cared enough to make sure she felt good. Maybe he wasn’t the type. She couldn’t unravel his thoughts, and didn’t have the patience to try. Not when the length of his cock slipped like it belonged between the swollen, slick folds of her body.

Natalie’s voice, a throaty moan, made his jaw shift. His fingers bit into her waist, a spasm that coaxed another shimmering sound from her—a panting gasp that embarrassed her even as it seemed to please him. His mouth hiked up at the corners, the faintest of curves. “How long has it been, Natalie?”

What? She shuddered, grappling with the question, but she couldn’t tear her awareness away from the smooth, hot skin pressed against hers. So close. So damned close.

“Please,” she whimpered.

He dragged her hips along his, angled himself perfectly so that his cock dragged over her, stroked against her clit. The sensation of it—of him, hard and thick and unyielding against her so sensitive flesh—jarred a strangled cry from her. And another. His throat worked, cords in his neck taut against his golden skin.

Like he liked it.

Oh, God, like he loved it. Loved the sounds she made, broken and needy, as he pulled her flesh over his, eased her over him, around him, until her world narrowed down to a single bundle of nerves. “Let me hear you,” he said thickly.

She couldn’t argue. Her head tipped back, fingers knotted in his shirt, and let out her voice as he pressed his cock against her flesh. Teased her, tormented her.

Again and again.

Focused. Deliberate.

The pitiless bite of his fingers in her flesh didn’t ease. The ragged sound of his breath echoed hers, over and over—relentless, wordless encouragement.

Sensation, raw and powerful, swept through her—his skin was hot, his chest beneath her rock solid.

His cock perfect.

And the earth-shattering climax that rippled out from her sex, bubbled up through her chest and spilled out of her mouth in a frustrated scream only eased the fever soaking her flesh by a fraction.

She was too far gone in the mating cycle to be soothed by anything less than
him
. All of him. But he’d bought her time. Space to think, to breathe.

Her spine went limp—a brief moment of clarity had her collapsing against him, burying her red face against his chest. She didn’t know what to say. Saying his name felt too intimate.

Demanding more felt...needy.

He caught her before she sagged off balance, eased a shaking hand through her hair—shaking not because he was tired, she realized, or because he was somehow afraid. Whatever else he was, stray or lone wolf or whatever, Jackson didn’t smell like fear to her instincts.

He was shaking because it was costing him to be gentle.

Costing him to give her what her hungry body craved, in increments that ensured he wouldn’t hurt her.

The realization, late and slow as it was, slipped like a balm through her embarrassment.

And fed the smoldering embers of her hunger with fresh kindling—relief and joy and, ever so sweetly, gratitude.

She turned her face into his neck, pressed her lips to his sweat-damp skin.

“Bear with it, sweetheart.” His voice shuddered through her. Stroked her nose to tail. Her wolf growled.

She would. For as long as she could, she would—because he said so.

Her body, her sanity, rested in his hands.

And oh, God, what hands.

They slipped between her splayed legs, eased between his own flesh and her to slick his fingers with the liquid gleam of her body’s arousal. The mere touch of his callused fingers, a whisper away from entering her, had her shaking against him. Her body tightened in anticipation.

He didn’t enter her. Not with his fingers. Instead, he slid his dripping palm over himself—slicked his cock down with her, until her sex slipped smoothly across his skin. His breath came in small pants, but hers caught and held as he positioned the head of his erection against her needy flesh.

He hesitated a fraction of a moment—his jaw moved against her cheek, like he’d meant to say something. She didn’t care what. Nothing could compare to the feel of his cock waiting, ready, at the entrance of her sex. Nothing, not even the climax that left her dripping on him, could overwhelm this moment—this amazing, powerful, eternal moment when he dragged her hard onto his cock, impaling her without comment or apology.

She couldn’t hold her voice in—she threw her head back, nails sharp at his scalp as she screamed out in relief.

He was large. Larger than she’d expected, thick and curved just right to hit every perfect nerve as she straddled his lap and ground her hips into his. The muscles of his arms bulged as he guided her up to her knees, then down again onto his cock, a steel cage wrapped around her that only gave her enough leverage to arch her back. Left her with no other recourse but to feel—the way his flesh slid against hers, the way his cock nudged deeper and deeper, easing the heat of her fever only to replace it with something hotter, brighter.

Glorious.

And he didn’t slow. Didn’t stop to adjust her, like he knew exactly how wild he drove her. Jackson clenched his teeth, cords of his throat working as his thick cock plunged into her, stretching her, then eased out to do it all over again.

The cold air on her backside, the loam beneath her knees, the press of his parted denim into the skin of her abdomen, none of it mattered to the throbbing ache inside her. Only this wolf—this stranger with eyes like a mossy pool in cool shadow, with indomitable strength.

And his body.

His lips peeled back from his teeth, a pale slash in the dark, and a raw sound trickled from between them as he half-rose on his knees to thrust hard into her. His thighs strained beneath her, another layer of taut heat cradling her.

Fast. Aggressive.

Perfect.

Just enough to give her what she needed—and as her second orgasm pooled in her belly, as her wolf shook and clawed at her senses, Natalie’s voice parted on a rapid, panting keen she didn’t hold back. Didn’t care. Her spine warmed. One of his hands left her waist to cup her breast through her shirt, one broad thumb dragging over her nipple.