Twin Alphas: Claimed (A BBW Werewolf Romance) by Georgette St. Clair

and women sitting together on picnic blankets on the grass.
                  Holt walked towards a banquet table which had meat pies and platters of cold cuts and cheese and thick slabs of bread. There were stacks of plate and containers of silver ware on each end of the table.
    Oddly, the air around the tables had what looked like steam rising from it.  A man who she suspected was probably a Mage stood at the head of each table. When she reached out to fill up a plate, she realized that the air around the table was as frosty cold.
    The Mages were using their power to keep the food on the tables cold, she realized.
    They loaded up their plates and sat down cross legged on the grass under a spreading oak tree.  Amelia dove into her food with gusto. Normally, she felt self conscious eating in front of guys, but somehow she felt completely comfortable with Clayton and Holt. She felt as if they’d never judge her for anything.
    “Have a bite of mine,” Clayton said, holding his fork out to her. He cupped her face in his hand as she leaned forward to swallow a bite of the shepherd’s pie he was feeding her.  The feeling of his hand heated her blood and sent a rush of arousal through her body. She felt her nipples swelling into hard buds against her shirt, and she bit her lip and stifled a low moan.
    “I want you to know that we both really like you. A lot,” Clayton said.
    “You just met me,” she protested. She tried to look away, but his golden-brown gaze held hers. “I might be a terrible person. Or, uh, boring. Or stupid. Or bad in bed.” Then she blushed; they hadn’t asked her to have sex with her, so why was she bringing this up?
    “But you’re not any of those things,” Holt said.
    “You’re so sure, are you?”
    “Well, I do think we need to evaluate certain things on that list a little further.” He flashed her a roguish smile, and she had no doubt what he meant.
    “I’m going to eat now,” she mumbled, diving into her plate and avoiding their eyes.
    “Holt, will you go get the lovely lady some dessert?” Clayton said.
    “With pleasure.” There was something about the way that he said the word “pleasure” that made her shiver.
    She struggled to cling on to the last scraps of her willpower. 
    I’m a professional. An academic. I’m here to study. This is very unprofessional of me.
    Dear God, they’re so ridiculously sexy they should come with a warning label. 
    Holt returned, and he held a plate piled high with little miniature cakes and cream puffs and strawberries.
    “Oh, my, you are the devil.” She let out a little moan of pleasure and reached for it, and he yanked it out of her grasp.
    “This can only be consumed in private. Back in our cabin.”
    “Uh…really? Is that a festival tradition or something?”
    Holt and Clayton exchanged glances with each other.
    “Yes,” Holt said nodding vigorously.
    She raised an eyebrow at him. “I question your veracity. Then again, I really want some of those cakes. Maybe all of them.”
    “I’ll lead the way,” Holt said, and Clayton helped her to her feet.
    Good lord, I’m really doing this, she thought as she followed them. The cabins were about ten minutes walk.  They were rustic looking, the grass neatly mowed, with a wooden sign hanging in front of each cabin with a number on it.
    “They’re not that far apart from each other,” she observed.
    “But, soundproof,” Clayton grinned at her.
    They walked in and shut the door behind them.
    She glanced around them nervously.
    The cabin was a one bedroom, with a small kitchen area and a living room. High on the wall there was a big screen TV.  Across the room from it was a fireplace, with a bearskin rug in front of it.
    She set her bag down by the door, and, crossing over into the living room, settled down on the leather sofa. There was a table that was cut from a giant slab of wood, which was balanced not on legs but on a big swirl of tree limbs. Holt set the dessert