Kylie
“Pull that skirt up, baby. Let me see what’s waiting for me when we get home.” My mate hasn’t grown any less bossy since marking me. Our drive home from work together has become just one of the many pleasures of working for Jackson King. Shared lunch breaks are another one. And getting to help him with his new code.
He stares over at me like a starving man. Like he hadn’t already fucked me over his desk after using a ruler on my ass during lunch. Like he doesn’t have full access to me every night at home.
“Now, kitten. Every second you make me wait will earn you a stroke with my belt.”
I already reached for the hem of my tight fitted skirt, but I stop now, flashing a naughty grin. “Is that so?”
Now that I’ve switched on my shifter DNA, my body heals almost instantaneously, which means Jackson can employ any form of punishment he desires and the pain is only fleeting. It’s a bit sad, really. Because now I can never get enough.
Jackson grasps the fabric and rucks my skirt up to my waist, tearing the fabric with the force of it. He slaps my thighs apart. “Show me what’s mine.” His voice is thick. I love hearing him like this, halfway gone with desire for me. Now that he knows I’m a shifter, he’s not afraid to be rough with me.
Last full moon, he installed me in his cabin again and claimed me in every position, angle, and orifice ever invented. I’d thought he’d been insatiable last time, when he’d been trying not to mark me, but it turns out mating him doesn’t ensure my safety when the moon is full.
Not that I’d ever complain.
I reach down and stroke the notch between my legs. “You looking at this?” I purr.
He bites out a curse. “Off,” he growls. “Panties down or I tear them off.”
I make a show of shimmying out of my panties and dangle them in front of his face while he drives.
He snatches them, brings them to his nose, and inhales deeply before shoving them into his breast pocket. He’s in a suit today, which had me wet all day. I love when he wears his CEO garb almost as much as I love the tight T-shirts and jeans.
“This, baby.” He reaches across the car and wedges his hand between my legs. “Open those thighs wider for me. I need to see my pussy.”
I attempt to obey, but it couldn’t be seen anyway because his fingers are tap-tap-tapping, spanking my clit and my feminine folds, making me squirm as heat floods between my legs.
Jackson’s rumbling growl fills the Range Rover. He pushes one finger inside me.
“Jackson,” I gasp. “Not while you’re d-driving.”
He tsks and slides the beautiful, intruding digit in and out, sending spirals of heat and pleasure careening through my body. “Who gives the orders around here, kitten?”
I moan as he works the finger even deeper. I don’t know how he’s managing to drive straight. I’m blind with desire, my world tilting and rocking, sliding to one side then righting itself and sliding to the other. “Y-you do.”
“That’s right, baby.”
I grind my clit against the heel of his hand, taking his finger deeper.
“Who owns your every orgasm?”
I lift my pelvis to meet his thrusts, gritting my teeth. “You do! P-please, Jackson.”
He growls. “Beg for it, kitten.”
I’m not too proud. “Please, please, please, Jackson!”
He leans forward to change the angle and inserts a second finger.
I lift my hips from the seat cushion, swallowing a scream just before I come.
“That’s right baby. Come all over my fingers. You’ll be squeezing my cock when you come again as soon as I get you home. After your whipping.”
My thighs tremble as I fall back, limp and shaky from the release.
Jackson pulls into his driveway—our driveway, as he keeps reminding me. I still can’t believe how fully enmeshed our lives are now. We get out of the vehicle, and I adjust my skirt. Jackson circles around the car and shoves me up against it. He captures my face with one hand and holds it prisoner for a hot, rough kiss.
“I know that pussy is still squeezing for me.” How he knows this, I have no idea, but he’s right. The hand holding my face drops to cup my nape. “So we’re going to go inside and kiss Mémé and eat dinner. But, when I give you the signal, you will scurry upstairs and take off everything but those sexy high heels. And I want you waiting for me with your ass in the air and your face in the blankets. Understand?”
The squeezing between my legs becomes more distracting.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles and traces the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. “Good girl. Let’s go.”
Inside, the house smells of Mémé’s heavenly cooking.
“Ah, you’re home.” Mémé beams. She’s wearing the goofy apron Sam bought her that has the French food pyramid on it—French bread, cheese, and quiche.
Jackson kisses her on the cheek. “What smells so good, Mémé?”
“Steak for the wolves. Salmon for the cats. Rice and salad and fresh bread for all of us.”
Sam comes in the back door carrying a platter piled high with steaks from the grill. “Your meat, mademoiselle.” He gives Mémé a bow and a wink.
She blushes like a schoolgirl. She and Sam get along famously. At first, Sam had suggested he move out, but Mémé and I wouldn’t hear of it, and Jackson backed us up.
“You are my pack,” he insisted. “The three of you. I need you all at my house where I can protect you. And, Sam, I need you around to protect my females when I’m away.”
“Bring it to the living room,” Mémé directs Sam now, and shoos us in after him. I try to sit in my chair, but Jackson pulls me onto his lap, instead. He still hasn’t grown tired of feeding me. Something about a wolf’s privilege.
As I watch my small family gather around the table, my heart swells so large, I’m sure it will burst. As strange and unlikely a pack as we are, with them, I experience a profound sense of belonging. This is the normal I’ve been searching for all these years.
I’m finally with my own kind, loved beyond measure.
Home.
