Pawn Among Wolves Ch. 07bySmileWhenYouMeanIt©
She'd refused to back down though, waking increasingly frequently in the night with the clamping pains in her stomach, but distracting herself by rolling over and smothering her wolf with kisses. It had been interesting to note that he couldn't resist her, either.
Just before dawn her stomach had been aching so badly that it had woken her despite her exhaustion, and then had kept her awake, lying alone in her bed. She'd been rocking herself, shivering in a ball curled around her groaning emptiness when she'd felt Mac drop lightly behind her, cuddling her into the heat of him, his warmth welcome even through the rug. Then a small, delicious-smelling morsel of tender roasted duck had been held to her lips, making her stomach spasm desperately even as her blood simmered with hope.
"Stubborn, ornery human," her mate had growled into her ear, and Gemma had smiled contentedly when she'd heard that the caustic Mac was back. The duck was freshly roasted and had none of the slightly dry smell of takeout, she knew that he had caught and cooked it himself - but he'd dipped it in oyster sauce, and the heavenly scent tormented her echoing stomach.
Reaching her teeth forward to gently lift the piece of meat from his hand, she had finally understood. There was something so damn intimate in letting him feed her, look after her this completely, licking the juices of his kill off his fingers while he smiled ruefully down at her, his bulk curled protective and warm around her back. This must be a wolf thing, and although she liked it, it had still sent a little tingle of unease up her spine, being so decadent and lazy - and subservient.
He'd told her not to worry, it would only last while she was on heat. Afterwards - well, woe betide her if she dared filch any more pieces of his toast.
She had eaten most of the duck he had brought, and the peach to accompany it, which he had fed to her slice by slice until she began to suck gently on the tip of one piece, eyes gleaming naughtily up at him. That meal had ended there, and having him roll her impatiently onto all fours, pinning her under him so he could fuck her brutally was exquisite. Welcome home.
Gemma smiled at her memories, relaxing back contentedly against the warmth of her mate. They were both learning.
Mac lifted another cube of venison to her lips - there was some tangy marinade he'd soaked it in, and it tasted extra delicious this morning. Gemma leaned forwards eagerly to bite it out of his fingers, and Mac laughed softly, delightedly. Her insides squirmed, heart melting in soft pleasure. Yesterday evening, when she'd woken alone with a fuzzy mouth and been rummaging in his startlingly new backpack for her toothbrush, she'd bashed her knuckles against a hardback. Incredulous, she'd pulled it out - he was so bored while she slept that he had to read? - and had found a small publication called 'Camp Cordon Bleu'. The memory of it made her blink back tears.
Mmm. Gemma curled slightly to one side, snuggling against him as she chewed on her breakfast, and brushed her fingers gently through the soft, silken fur of his upper arm and shoulder. She loved combing her fingers through the occasional tangles, teasing out a burr or a cake of dried mud until she could smother her nose in its silkiness, rubbing her face delightedly into the softness, breathing in the clear, hot scent of him.
She almost sank into a hypnotic trance, watching her fingers brushing smoothly through the deep, soft pelt, and, mind drifting lazily, she commented, "I still feel a bit like a slave girl, accepting food from her master's hand." She opened her mouth without thinking as he lifted a cherry to her lips.
"If I wanted a sex slave, picchu, I'd just bite you again. Properly." Mac caressed his free hand across her neck meaningfully. Although he hadn't broken her skin once since the first time he caught her on the rut, the tender area above her collar bone was covered in a hieroglyph of hickeys. From the delicate, precise way he nipped her as they mated, and the pleased gleam in his eye whenever he surveyed the marks, Gemma had a feeling that they were a stark hands-off-or-else warning to any wolf who saw them. When she'd taxed her smug lover with her suspicion, he had just avoided the issue by nibbling across the area in a trail of fire, swamping her question with incoherent ecstasy. Although somewhere outside the lust she'd thought she'd heard a voice mutter gruffly, "Well if you will keep washing my scent off."
Sex slave. Mmmmm. Gemma's pussy throbbed in sudden, urgent delight, insides melting. Her lips twitched. "Not tempted at all?" she queried airily, sliding her hand slowly up his leg. She felt the bulge against her buttock swell, and he sighed a half-growl.
"I don't think you'd like being locked up when I wasn't fucking you, Gem. Wereem - female weres - are completely wanton, completely indiscriminate when it comes to lifting tail. They can't say no. Any male will do, any time, and I'm not letting some other wolf mount you."
Hah. Nor am I.
"You sound as if you know them well." Her voice was perfectly casual, but the clawed fingers digging into his thigh were a bit of a give-away.
His fingers stroked lightly in her scalp. She could feel him keeping quiet, and began to burn with jealousy.
"Mac?" her tone was soft, with a hint of danger. His breath hitched as he smothered a laugh, pleased at her reaction.
"The last wereem died when I was a cub, Gem. I remember when Isaiya - our grandmother - took us to visit her, we were about five. I thought she smelt a bit funny, but that's all."
Gemma smiled to herself, relaxing from the irritated tension prickling across her skin, instead picturing a five-year-old wolf's disinterested dismissal of the siren scent of a were.
She still had other questions about them.
"That's all? Then how do you know how a wereem would act? How do you know they go insane?" she demanded. This was important to her.
Mac wrapped his arms tighter and cuddled her closer against him. He knew what she was getting at, and his tone was a little sad. "Well, she was insane, Gem. Her eyes were - unsettling. Totally unfocussed, lost internally. And it's in our history. Our legends, our culture - there are many tales of the weres, male and female - some were good friends to the wolves, but friendship never changed the way they ended. Tales of short, tragic lives."
Damn, thought Gemma wistfully as his strength engulfed her. Wolf culture - Mac's culture. The history, the legends, the traditions that made up the life he was born to, the life he had returned to. The backdrop of his life. She kept getting lost in just the language. Every time she learned one word he introduced another. But she had to keep trying to learn, to get closer, it was entwined into her - he was entwined into her by now.
"Would you tell me one?" she asked softly.
He kissed the top of her head lingeringly, tightening his arms around her in a gentle, rocking hug. "Storytelling is an art, Gem. We share our lives, our legends through the spoken word, told and retold to the cubs under the stars. History enacted and exulted for the pack to remember who we were, certainly, but mostly to celebrate who we are. I couldn't do even a short tale justice."
She was jealous of his knowledge - this knowledge that all wolves shared. But he wouldn't share with her. "Why not?" she whispered.
He curled closer around her, breathing the words into her ear. "Because of your heat, my picchu. I am feeding you slowly, slowly, to savour the warmth of you lying softly in my arms, but my blood is growing impatient again already, and yours will be more so."
Dammit, dammit, true.
But she wanted a story.
"You're an Alpha, aren't you? Control yourself!" Gemma grumbled.
She could feel Mac's smile against her ear, and he nibbled gently on the lobe, sending a frisson of awareness burning across her skin.
"I can control myself, little mate. But I think we both know that you can't."
"Yes, I can," she growled back. A voice in the back of her head was wailing, Shut up, idiot! No way! No you can't!! She ignored it. And trembled.
So she was cold.
His chest was vibrating underneath her, and she heard the laugh in his voice. "Gemma, you're so competitive - I can scent your arousal rising demandingly - why restrain yourself?"
"I want a wolf story."
"But I want to mate you."
Her blood leapt eagerly, straining at his soft, heated words. Her pussy clenched in longing.
"And you want me to mate you," he added huskily as her scent intensified.
Damn right, growled the voice in her head. She ignored it, stubbornly clinging onto her wistful wish.
And then he slid his hands up to clamp squeezing over her aching breasts, thrusting his tongue into her ear, and the wisp of alternative desire evaporated in fiery, wanton desperation. She whimpered and ground her hips back against his straining erection, excitement peaking, the wetness seeping onto her thighs.
Abruptly she was rolled onto all fours, the dress flipped up across her back as urgent fingers bit into her hips and she was jerked back, impaled on the rock-hard cock jutting behind her. Mac slammed his thighs against her buttocks, the force causing her arms to buckle so her entire, naked torso was plastered against the soft grass, and his weight smothered her under him while he urgently thrust and ground his rampant cock down into her melting pussy. Gemma's cries were muffled in the grass, then she came violently under him, squirming breathlessly beneath his weight when he reached down and forced her twitching legs wide. He continued to spear her forcefully, grunting in intense pleasure, the speed of his thrusts increasing until he was pistoning into her like a sledgehammer, enjoying the jerky little cries of his mate as he flattened her. Gemma felt her legs stiffening again painfully as he impaled her mercilessly; all of her muscles tensed in a second, exquisite explosion of pleasure, and Mac cried aloud in ecstasy at the sensation while he forced his cock through her taut, rippling passage and came violently.
Gemma lay, panting under the force of her orgasm and his weight, blood hammering through her veins, and felt his teeth nip possessively at her shoulder.
"I'll tell you a story when you're no longer on heat, my little picchu," the words were growled softly against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Then Mac lifted his torso off her, braced on his forearms, and began to kiss his way gently down the sensitive flesh while his fingers and palms teased their way underneath her to cup around her naked breasts. His cock was already hardening again within her pussy. Gemma melted further, fresh liquid bathing his cock, and heard his swift intake of breath at her increased doft, feeling his member stiffen to full extent, stretching her passage with the heavy breach of his girth. He rocked back abruptly onto his feet, her boneless form held tight to him, and slid his fingers down to caress gently over her clit while he surged to full height.
Gemma cried out wordlessly, her legs weaving in the air from the sensations arcing through her over-sensitive body. She gasped as the cool air swirled against her overheated skin while he withdrew his cock, spun her so her back was against a tree, and pulled her legs high while his arms slid around her waist, her knees hooked over his elbows, and he thrust heavily back inside her.
"Mac!" The cry burst from her as he stretched her with his cock, and he pressed a brief kiss to her lips before pulling back to begin slamming into her with renewed passion. Wow. Unh.
The build-up was heavier, slower, her skin tightening to unbearable sensitivity as her mate savoured the lush sensation of her slick, soft sheath around his cock, looking down at the tight peaks of her nipples and the abundant wetness covering his cock, a little smile gleaming in his eyes as he jerked up repeatedly into her.
"Say my name again," he growled the words harshly. His breath caught in the middle of the phrase, and the little halt, the hoarseness of his dry throat, seared satisfaction through her. Gemma felt her passage tighten further when she breathed her favourite word, and he thrust hard into her to meet it. She cried his name a second time, then a third, faster, faster, and he kept time with her, impaling her in a hard, smooth rhythm as her voice rose in excitement.
"Mac! Mac! Mac!"
His thrusts were shaking the tree, forearms behind her cradling her from the harsh bark, and she could feel her eyes black out and blood begin to boil as the sensations intensified. Building, building - no, she couldn't. Too much. Too much. She groaned his name as her leg muscles began to tighten, to stiffen again, toes pointing. Blood pounding, her mind was going blank, the driving, ceaseless rhythm blinding her to all else and his name was lost in an endless, yelping moan, rising and falling as he drove into her. Mac tightened his arms around her and bent in to scent her throat, the doft of her peaking excitement tingling down his spine. His control blanked in a surge of pleasure and he began to fuck relentlessly, pounding into her.
Gemma screamed and arched, mind breaking in two as her body was wrenched into the most excruciatingly intense orgasm, shocks of pleasure shuddering shatteringly through her, and she lost touch with the world.
The slant of the afternoon sun glittering through the branches woke Gemma the second time. She was lying curled on her front, cuddling her pillow, tucked snugly into her rug. Her fingers were tangled lightly in the soft folds, seeking, missing the warm down of her wolf.
A curl of disappointment writhed through her. He wasn't there.
Gemma blinked the bleariness out of her eyes and sat slowly up upon the leafy bower he had woven to keep her off the ground, gingerly stretching her over-used muscles. Way, way, over used. Deliciously so. Mmmm. Her eyes swept around the clearing, disappointedly verifying the absence of wolf. He had rebuilt the fire, she could see the transparent swirls of heat rising from the rough circle of cleared turf, but there was no wolf crouched by the flames humming as he cooked.
Gemma grinned to herself as the happiness bubbling inside her drove her to roll to her feet, stretching out her aching leg muscles. Ow. Too many, too, too intense orgasms.
She knew why he was missing. Now that she was reaching the end of her heat, both her doft and her urge to mate were becoming more intense, unbearably delicious, and it was driving Mac wild. Even wilder than before (which she hadn't thought possible). Moreover, his musk was getting more irresistible in response, so she wasn't able - or willing - to stop herself from pouncing on him constantly either. With the result that they were extra starving, and had wolfed down so much between recent couplings that her mate had had to go hunting again. An in-betweeney hunt, based from the same camp. And he disliked hunting the same area twice, calling it irresponsible.
His own fault for inspiring so much exercise.
Her blood was simmering, stomach beginning to growl volubly, and the flush of desire on her skin was almost painful in its tautness, but Gemma couldn't stop smiling. She picked up her second dress and pulled it over her head. The soft fabric slunk enticingly around her hips, hugging her curves and she spun excitedly on the spot to make the knee-length skirt fan around her in a whirl of rich autumn colours. It also gave her another reason for feeling giddy than just - Mac.
Thinking about Mac. He loved this dress on her. And off her.
She had to get moving or she'd go insane, just mooching here thinking about him. Thinking about what they'd do when he got back. Do with her on her back. Maybe.
If she collected some firewood, then they could spend more time together on the more important things when he did get back.
Life was good.
So long as Mac didn't catch her doing any chores...
Her blood pulsed with excitement and she grinned again. She liked the way he stopped her.
Her mate was being damn intractable about her helping out with the day-to-day looking after of the pair of them. So he was stubborn. What a surprise. She had tried, several times, but he went very still, eyebrows twitching into a frown whenever she tried to do anything useful, and he would either lift the backpack she was trying to pack out of her reach or pull her to him and distract her from cooking or lighting the fire. Very damn successfully.
She was on heat, he'd explained once. He was her mate. So he would look after her every need right now, not just the most burning, urgent one. A green-black lazily heated eye had slanted sideways. He was rewarded enough for his trouble. Then he'd bitten gently on her pouting lower lip and she'd snorted with laughter, pulling him closer while her pussy clenched in renewed need. She liked rewarding him. Loved it.
Gemma quickly forced herself into movement, and began walking through the trees, picking up the driest sticks she could find, desperate to move before she melted back into a heap of aching need on her bed. Humming to herself, she forced aside all the heated memories of how she'd woken up every other morning in this forest. Sort of. They didn't really budge, so she resolutely ignored them. Almost. Nearly almost. And desperately tried not to succumb to the fire seething along her skin. Knowing Mac would return swiftly, brilliantly eager to fuck her, made it so much easier to wait.
Well, a little bit easier.
A very little.
This drive was so damn compelling. If only she had as much energy as he - but she kept keeling over into a little heap after each series of orgasms. Not that she was really complaining, here. And nor was he, but she was aware that if she really had been a wolf he wouldn't have had to restrain himself quite so much, and it made her feel faintly guilty, inadequate. She had a feeling a lot of his restless energy came from wanting to fuck her a lot more often than he did.
Lip protruding broodingly, Gemma stepped forward and leaned down to pick up a long dry branch just beyond the bulk of a large beech trunk. And froze, startled to hear a shattering wolf howl sound directly in front of her, a howl screamed through the air like an expletive. Her head jerked up, and her shocked eyes met the flaming green ones of the white wolf mid-leap, just before Mac collided with her heavily, tumbling her back to roll in the short grass between the trees.
Stunned and out of breath, she lay as the sky spun through the trees above her. What the hell?
It was only a few sticks, for Pete's sake.
Simultaneous, angry snarls sounded left and right around them among the beeches, and Mac whirled to his feet over her in lycan-wolf form, facing the other voices aggressively.
"She didn't know!" he snapped angrily, the last word muffled under the fur of a huge brown wolf who leaped onto him from one side. Her Alpha rolled easily onto his back under his antagonist, grasping his ruff in both hands and catapulting the brown wolf back into the trees with a violent heave of his bent legs, almost too swiftly for Gemma to see. But her shocked eyes did focus on the two large grey wolves who then pounced on her mate simultaneously from either side as he continued the roll back to his feet. Then she was distracted by the third light smoky yellow wolf diving over her own legs to join the attack. Suddenly, Mac and the challenging wolves were a blur of whirling, snarling fur and she watched frozen, heart in her mouth. And a bit perplexed.