Page 10 of The Hunt
My mouth lowers to hers, slow and sweet, a complete contrast to the way I’m taking her pussy. Thrusting hard and fast, I’m hitting the spot that makes her weak while she cries into my mouth. Each pulse, each rush of wetness making a mess of us pulls me closer to the edge, but it’s her low I love you that milks the come from me.
Rope after rope of spend fills her pussy to the brim and then overflows, staining the seat below us. Not that I give a single fuck. Every inch of the grand room smells like us, and my chest swells with pride at the satisfied grin on my pretty girl’s lips.
Now she’s happy.
“Thank you.”
“And I love you.” With her nestled against me, I lazily continue to pump into my wife. Time ceases to exist outside these walls; I’m held captive by the feel of occasional tremors running through her. She rests while I revel in her softness…
Love. Happiness. Excitement.
The last one is a surprise, but the bond tugs with the command for another round. Her eyes flash open, and I know that whatever it is, I won’t say no.
“This time, I want you to bend me over in an alley like a whore and…”
4
ISABELLA
ONE HOUR BEFORE…
The cold bites like it knows my name.
It slips beneath my fur-lined cloak, sharp and alive, stirring the power coiled under my skin. The Alaskan wilderness is brutal this time of year, and yet I revel in its old magic. Like an old friend who’s always watching, recognizing that I’m protected by its master, it bends to my will.
I’m a witch: protected by Gaia and cherished by the king of all wolves.
A luna: a source of comfort and guidance to our pack.
A mother: I’m raising an alpha born to one day command the gods and wolves alike.
Fair. Noble. Protective.
Three cries beneath the next full moon…
The trees know why I’m here. So do the Gods.
Born to three Wiccan royals.
We are to be blessed once more.
Gabriella’s words echo in my ear then, pulling a smile from me. She’d looked at me with mischievous eyes, yet her expression was serious.
A challenge.
Run wild, my sister. Make him earn what’s already his.
So I do.
Snow crunches beneath my boots as I move deeper into the pines, my breath a soft cloud of frozen air. The northern lights ripple above me in streaks of green and violet, the sky thrumming with the same energy vibrating beneath my skin.
Beautiful. Untamed. Dangerous.
Just like him. My male.
Xadiel thinks I’m still near the nest he’s built for me, a dome made of glass with an open floor plan. It’s where we come to isolate during my heats and his ruts, days on end where I’m ridden fast and hard and left a dripping mess stretched by his knot and full of come.
“Goddess, I need him,” I whisper low, keeping myself beneath the rustling wind and thick, lush greenery. To him, I’m arranging my nest, but he forgets I bite back. I might not be a full wolf, but his mate mark and seed have given me certain advantages.
