Her thighs tensed when his hand went under her dress and cupped between her legs, the scent of her arousal sharp and warm in the enclosed space.
He crammed three fingers into her pussy without warning, thick and deliberate, stretching her walls until he felt the fine tremor in her hips. She yelped and whined, screamed, “Sir!” Even put her hand on top of his forearm a brief second, but quickly moved it to the car’s armrest before she actually tried to push him away.
As Silas had done earlier, he worked her up and then backed her away from orgasm. Once. Twice. When she was slick enough he could add a fourth finger, he pressed the pinky in slow enough to make her feel every inch. Her breath hitched, chest rising fast.
He pushed harder, with more pressure, opening her faster, harsher.
Held her open without backing off, his hand sliding in millimeter by millimeter. Her scent changed — pain,submission, that raw pulse ofyes, Sir— but under it, a ripple of fear.
Boone breathed it to the bottom of his lungs: feral need, pain, and her cunt all braided together.
And still she held her position. Gasping, squirming, but not fighting him. Not truly. Until the pinky slid in deeper, past the widest stretch, and her body locked up.
The moment she realized he wasn’t backing off, she gasped out, “No — Sir, I — can’t—” she choked out, tears glinting in her lashes. “It’s too much, Sir! God, it hurts!”
“I know,” he told her. “And you’re so lovely like this, full, stretched open, fuckingowned.”
Her scent twisted again, sourer now, her body trying to retreat. Not physically because the seatbelt held her fast, but in the way she clenched up around him, unsuccessfully tried to twist away.
Boone’s dick pulsed hard in his jeans.
She’d been taking everything, wanting it, surrendering — until now. This was where her instincts kicked in and screamedtoo far.
Good.
That’s where the training started.
He didn’t say a word. Just held her stretched around him, letting her feel the weight of it. The invasion. The inevitability.
Because Boone wasn’t just testing her body.
He was watching her mind. Measuring how long it took her to exhale. To stop trying to fight what was already true.
And when her muscles finally gave that tiny shift, the smallest relaxation, a whimper instead of a protest, Boone pressed in a little more.
Because pain or no pain, her cunt was still slick, and her body stillwanted.
He pressed in harder still when they turned onto pack lands, but he abruptly pulled out when Kenny put the SUV in park. Playtime was over for a few hours, until bedtime, when he’d have more time with her.
“My night with the fucktoy,” Kenny said, and he turned to face Willow. “Get your ass upstairs. Permission to remove the plug so you can lube your ass, and then stand and wait for permission to enter the playroom.”
* * * *
Kenny checked in on the back porch, which was empty, but he noted a tent forty yards behind it. The scent told him who it belonged to, and he telepathed Silas to let him know who was camped out, and suggested maybe he could take him some food and see if the old man needed an ear.
It was also possible he was just here to absorb the pack magic infused into the land, so he didn’t feel so alone.
His beta would know better than him what to do.
Wolves mate for life, and when they lose their mate, they don’t always survive. The ones who do, struggle more than most humans, figuring out how to go on.
The bond that connects mated wolves makes them more of a unit, more of a single being than mere marriage could ever offer.
Kenny had long ago decided he wasn’t interested in mating with a wolf, but another shifter hit all the right notes for him.
He’d never considered sharing the other shifter with two other wolves, but the relationship had formed that way, and he didn’t see a way to tear it apart.
Nor a reason to, when it came down to it. He was a busy man, running the pack and business, and Willow seemed to thrive on being used by three men.
