brought, Sara was the one who puzzled him the most. She seemed all at once sad and amused, ancient and young, familiar yet foreign. He could appreciate her beauty, but her foreignness unnerved him. The human parts of him shuddered at the thought of the secrets she harbored. His wolf accepted her as a friend, an ally, in spite of her relationship with his mate. He decided to trust his wolf in this.
He closed the door and turned to his own bed. He removed his jeans and tucked himself into the frilly pink bedding. He was hard as a rock, his thoughts on Bianca. Having acknowledged that she would be his mate, his thoughts turned to claiming her. He reached down and took himself in hand. He felt his flesh leap as his fantasy drew upon his memory of her naked body. So beautiful and pale, her elegant white tattoos curling across her back to dip around her collarbones and down her breasts, much as his marked his own. He imagined how she’d feel underneath him—he would take her from behind, so he could mark the back of her neck. His fantasy forming in his mind, he felt his own longing and lust surging within him. He imagined the embrace of her body, her sweet feminine heat. She’d be tight around him, gripping him like a fist. He felt a trickle of fluid oozing from the tip of his cock, and he swept his thumb over it, slicking it over the bulbous head. He imagined her abandoning herself to their mating instinct, urging his wolf to mark her. And as she approached climax, he’d lean forward and bite, hard enough to break the skin and mark her, his teeth leaving the most sacred tattoo of all there at the back of her neck. A mate’s mark would heal but never fade. His mark would push her over the edge, and her shuddering fulfillment would bring him along. As the images filled his mind, he felt his balls tighten and pull up close to his body. He thrust against his hand a few more times before his orgasm leapt through him, a guttural groan tearing from his lips as the viscous white liquid spurted from his body in an arc, landing on his chest. Spent, he got up, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and wiped himself clean before climbing back into the bed and falling into dreams of a snowy wolf.
Chapter Five
J ACK A WOKE T O T HE S MELLS of bacon and coffee, his stomach rumbling. He heard the sounds of other guests moving about the building. He wondered if Bianca was still there. The thought of her was all it took to get him out of bed. He showered quickly and got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, feeling oddly peaceful as he went about his morning routine, like the future was taken care of, thanks to Sara’s reassurance that it would be okay. He found himself in a funny spot, one where he was taking what would happen with Bianca on a matter of faith. Because he needed her. He stroked a hand across his stubbled chin, considered shaving, but decided to leave it be, hoping Bianca liked beards.
Locking up his room, he went downstairs to the dining room. A few of the other guests, mostly couples, were sitting about in the various common areas, drinking coffee and chatting. He glanced around, looking for a sign of her. He sniffed the air, but the smells of food were masking other smells. He poured himself a cup of coffee and stepped out on the front porch for a better scent. He breathed in deeply. He could smell her wolf—she was nearby. He sat down on the steps and waited.
“Good morning.”
He heard her voice behind him and turned.
“Hi.” He stood, looking at her, taking in the sight of her.
Her eyes were rimmed in red. She’d been crying. He stepped toward her and cupped her cheek with his hand, offering her what tactile comfort he could. She sniffed a little, and he watched a tear fall from her eyes and splash on the ground between them. His wolf was agitated seeing her distress. He thought back to Sara’s words of warning last night, that he and Bianca would both face personal upheaval.
“I’m sorry. My being here is trouble
He closed the door and turned to his own bed. He removed his jeans and tucked himself into the frilly pink bedding. He was hard as a rock, his thoughts on Bianca. Having acknowledged that she would be his mate, his thoughts turned to claiming her. He reached down and took himself in hand. He felt his flesh leap as his fantasy drew upon his memory of her naked body. So beautiful and pale, her elegant white tattoos curling across her back to dip around her collarbones and down her breasts, much as his marked his own. He imagined how she’d feel underneath him—he would take her from behind, so he could mark the back of her neck. His fantasy forming in his mind, he felt his own longing and lust surging within him. He imagined the embrace of her body, her sweet feminine heat. She’d be tight around him, gripping him like a fist. He felt a trickle of fluid oozing from the tip of his cock, and he swept his thumb over it, slicking it over the bulbous head. He imagined her abandoning herself to their mating instinct, urging his wolf to mark her. And as she approached climax, he’d lean forward and bite, hard enough to break the skin and mark her, his teeth leaving the most sacred tattoo of all there at the back of her neck. A mate’s mark would heal but never fade. His mark would push her over the edge, and her shuddering fulfillment would bring him along. As the images filled his mind, he felt his balls tighten and pull up close to his body. He thrust against his hand a few more times before his orgasm leapt through him, a guttural groan tearing from his lips as the viscous white liquid spurted from his body in an arc, landing on his chest. Spent, he got up, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and wiped himself clean before climbing back into the bed and falling into dreams of a snowy wolf.
Chapter Five
J ACK A WOKE T O T HE S MELLS of bacon and coffee, his stomach rumbling. He heard the sounds of other guests moving about the building. He wondered if Bianca was still there. The thought of her was all it took to get him out of bed. He showered quickly and got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, feeling oddly peaceful as he went about his morning routine, like the future was taken care of, thanks to Sara’s reassurance that it would be okay. He found himself in a funny spot, one where he was taking what would happen with Bianca on a matter of faith. Because he needed her. He stroked a hand across his stubbled chin, considered shaving, but decided to leave it be, hoping Bianca liked beards.
Locking up his room, he went downstairs to the dining room. A few of the other guests, mostly couples, were sitting about in the various common areas, drinking coffee and chatting. He glanced around, looking for a sign of her. He sniffed the air, but the smells of food were masking other smells. He poured himself a cup of coffee and stepped out on the front porch for a better scent. He breathed in deeply. He could smell her wolf—she was nearby. He sat down on the steps and waited.
“Good morning.”
He heard her voice behind him and turned.
“Hi.” He stood, looking at her, taking in the sight of her.
Her eyes were rimmed in red. She’d been crying. He stepped toward her and cupped her cheek with his hand, offering her what tactile comfort he could. She sniffed a little, and he watched a tear fall from her eyes and splash on the ground between them. His wolf was agitated seeing her distress. He thought back to Sara’s words of warning last night, that he and Bianca would both face personal upheaval.
“I’m sorry. My being here is trouble
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