A Wild Ride: (Paranormal MMF Menage Romance) (Wolves on the Prowl Book 1) by Michele Bardsley
Authors: Michele Bardsley
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A Wild Ride
Wolves on the Prowl #1
M ARC WILMONT SAT at his favorite table in Starbuck’s, his mocha gone cold and his newspaper unread. His heart yammered in his chest -- the result of both an undeniable attraction to a stranger and a blatant fear that he’d gone bonkers.
I’m gay. I like men . He’d told this mantra to his dick again and again. It wasn’t listening. Gay. Men. Love touching their chests and penises and muscled thighs. Love masculine lips on mine, male fingers stroking my flesh, and cocks in my hands, my mouth, my ass .
His gaze traveled around the interior of the small café until it once again landed on the tall brunette sitting at a corner table near the windows.
His cock reacted to the female. It got hard. Rod-of-steel hard. And the fantasies his mind spun about that woman’s breasts! He’d never before had an urge to touch, much less taste any part of a woman.
Worst of all, he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to feel his cock inside her tight, wet pussy. Wanted to feel her breasts scrape his chest. Wanted to hear her breathy feminine moans in his ear.
His body rigid with the weird desire, Marc gave up pretenses and stared openly at the woman. She wasn’t pretty. Not in a traditional sense. Her cheekbones were too high, her lips too full, her nose too thin. Yet there was a shimmering beauty about her. Abstract and untouchable. Goddess-like.
Lust heated his blood, thrummed through his balls and hardened his cock. Her flawless skin required little make-up. Her hair was the color of milk chocolate and her eyes were dark brown. She was tall and stacked and dressed for the cold weather in boots, jeans, sweater, and a leather jacket. She sipped her coffee and read a magazine.
She lifted her gaze and caught him in the act of checking her out. Schmuck! Get out of here before you do something really stupid .
He put on his coat and threw away the cold coffee and unread newspaper. As he reached to push open the glass door, he found long, pale fingers wrapped around his wrist. Startled, he looked into the gaze of the woman who had tilted his world on its axis.
“Hello,” she said. Her eyes sparkled with humor and intelligence and -- oh shit -- attraction. His gaze drifted down to the hand on his sleeve. Her nails were neatly trimmed and coated with clear polish. She liked all the wonderful feminine qualities of being a girl, but not in a way that showed off.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her smile revealing a dimple near her right cheek. “I didn’t realize you were mute.”
“I’m not,” he said. “But I am gay. Very gay.”
“That’s nice. Is stating your sexual preference part of introductions where you’re from?” She had a Midwestern twang, which was softened by her honeyed voice.
“I… uh… what?”
She laughed. “My name is Victoria. And you are?”
He cleared his throat and managed to say, “Marc.”
Victoria leaned close, and the floral scent of her perfume drifted around him. “Would you like to know my sexual preference?”
“I’d be thrilled if you told me you were a man in drag.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, “But I’m not even a man trapped in a woman’s body. I’m pure female -- from my highlights to my pedicure.”
“That’s tragic.” Marc sighed.
“Would you be up for a little experiment?” she asked. “You’ve never been with a female. And I’ve never been with a werewolf.”
Shocked, he stared at her. How had she known about his dual nature? “I’m not a werewolf.”
“Oh, sugar, you don’t have to lie to me. I know you’re not a werewolf like those portrayed in movies. No full moons necessary. Guess that makes you a shape-shifter.”
She spoke in the same tone one would use to discuss the weather. Marc drew in her scent. Human. And, as she’d stated, pure female.
“Usually my gaydar works really well, even on non-humans.” She shook her head. “I swear you were attracted to me.”
“Victoria.” A tall man joined
Wolves on the Prowl #1
M ARC WILMONT SAT at his favorite table in Starbuck’s, his mocha gone cold and his newspaper unread. His heart yammered in his chest -- the result of both an undeniable attraction to a stranger and a blatant fear that he’d gone bonkers.
I’m gay. I like men . He’d told this mantra to his dick again and again. It wasn’t listening. Gay. Men. Love touching their chests and penises and muscled thighs. Love masculine lips on mine, male fingers stroking my flesh, and cocks in my hands, my mouth, my ass .
His gaze traveled around the interior of the small café until it once again landed on the tall brunette sitting at a corner table near the windows.
His cock reacted to the female. It got hard. Rod-of-steel hard. And the fantasies his mind spun about that woman’s breasts! He’d never before had an urge to touch, much less taste any part of a woman.
Worst of all, he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to feel his cock inside her tight, wet pussy. Wanted to feel her breasts scrape his chest. Wanted to hear her breathy feminine moans in his ear.
His body rigid with the weird desire, Marc gave up pretenses and stared openly at the woman. She wasn’t pretty. Not in a traditional sense. Her cheekbones were too high, her lips too full, her nose too thin. Yet there was a shimmering beauty about her. Abstract and untouchable. Goddess-like.
Lust heated his blood, thrummed through his balls and hardened his cock. Her flawless skin required little make-up. Her hair was the color of milk chocolate and her eyes were dark brown. She was tall and stacked and dressed for the cold weather in boots, jeans, sweater, and a leather jacket. She sipped her coffee and read a magazine.
She lifted her gaze and caught him in the act of checking her out. Schmuck! Get out of here before you do something really stupid .
He put on his coat and threw away the cold coffee and unread newspaper. As he reached to push open the glass door, he found long, pale fingers wrapped around his wrist. Startled, he looked into the gaze of the woman who had tilted his world on its axis.
“Hello,” she said. Her eyes sparkled with humor and intelligence and -- oh shit -- attraction. His gaze drifted down to the hand on his sleeve. Her nails were neatly trimmed and coated with clear polish. She liked all the wonderful feminine qualities of being a girl, but not in a way that showed off.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her smile revealing a dimple near her right cheek. “I didn’t realize you were mute.”
“I’m not,” he said. “But I am gay. Very gay.”
“That’s nice. Is stating your sexual preference part of introductions where you’re from?” She had a Midwestern twang, which was softened by her honeyed voice.
“I… uh… what?”
She laughed. “My name is Victoria. And you are?”
He cleared his throat and managed to say, “Marc.”
Victoria leaned close, and the floral scent of her perfume drifted around him. “Would you like to know my sexual preference?”
“I’d be thrilled if you told me you were a man in drag.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, “But I’m not even a man trapped in a woman’s body. I’m pure female -- from my highlights to my pedicure.”
“That’s tragic.” Marc sighed.
“Would you be up for a little experiment?” she asked. “You’ve never been with a female. And I’ve never been with a werewolf.”
Shocked, he stared at her. How had she known about his dual nature? “I’m not a werewolf.”
“Oh, sugar, you don’t have to lie to me. I know you’re not a werewolf like those portrayed in movies. No full moons necessary. Guess that makes you a shape-shifter.”
She spoke in the same tone one would use to discuss the weather. Marc drew in her scent. Human. And, as she’d stated, pure female.
“Usually my gaydar works really well, even on non-humans.” She shook her head. “I swear you were attracted to me.”
“Victoria.” A tall man joined
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