Dark Moon Gathering
As a wolf, she was intoxicated by his scent, his strength and power.As a woman, she was overwhelmed by his passion and his beauty. But as the leader of her werewolf pack in the absence of a surviving alpha male, Mattie Bainbridge was required to select a mate at the next Dark Moon Gathering, and Anthony Ricci was just too risky a choice.Might he follow in his Purist father’s footsteps and force his domination upon all the females of her pack? Or would he mate with her alone, and respect the ways of her pack? Anthony was determined to convince Mattie to choose him…and when it came to seduction, he had a limitless bag of tricks.
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Chapter One
I smelled the stale beer and chocolate cake long before the park pavilion emerged in dark relief from the blue-green shadows that surrounded it. I raised my muzzle, scenting the air.
Humans; hours ago, their perfumes, their body secretions, still lingered on the air, like the first tinge of meat going bad. Theyâd left their scent everywhere, like fingerprints. Not that I minded. Iâm human too, most of the time.
It was late. The park was empty. I padded onward, eager to finish the game, my paws silent through the short, manicured grass. The pavilionâs floor was concrete and my claws tick-tacked as I crossed. My nose led the way to the cake, following the chocolate-scented footprints to the garbage can at the far end. There it was, a big slice, icing-side down, tread marks squishing the corner flat, the whole of it covered with ants. Gross.
I backed away, running my long tongue around my muzzle, over my nose, fighting the creepy-crawly feeling tickling under my fur. A hard snort shook my whole head and finally blasted my senses clean.
Damn, Mattie Banebridge, you are good. Nearly giddy with the win I gave a sharp yip of a bark, turned and took a running leap onto the wooden picnic table. I raised my head, filled my lungs with night air and sent a high, clear yowl up and out through my throat. The sound pierced the night, echoing off the wood rafters of the pavilion, filtering through the surrounding trees, traveling long and wide. The howl died as my lungs emptied.
God, it felt good, primal, natural. A heavy thud on the picnic table turned me around.
The large honey-blond wolf was double my weight and several inches taller. He moved in near silence. Scary for something so big and potentially deadly. But he was beautiful. A soft thick coat smelled of fresh air, forest and earth, with the faint hint of menâs cologne underneath. His eyes were an amazing shade of blue that looked almost violet in the moonlight. And even in wolf form his lean muscled body made a girl go warm and wet in all her special girl places.
He closed the small distance between us and licked the side of my face behind my eye to my ear, his tongue barely rough enough to feel through my fur. I leaned into him, nuzzling my head under his chin, running my body along his. As solid as a mountain, he didnât budge, taking the full press of my weight so my fur stroked against him. When I reached his tail my nose tickled with a familiar scent. Arousal.
I dropped my snout; a quick peek between his back legs and my suspicions were confirmed. There, nestled among all that lush fur, wagged his stiff, glistening, pink penis. I wasnât surprised. A late night run always made me horny as hell, too. But when I felt the cool wet nudge under my tail and then the sudden stroke of his tongue over my pussy and anus, I nearly jumped out of my fur.
Instinct spun me around, teeth bared, a hard snap clenching my mouth. Anthony yipped and jerked backward to avoid my bite. Not fast enough. I was spitting fur from my tongue as he tumbled off the table and landed with a clumsy grunt on the cement floor. His whole body twisted and spun to get his feet under him again. And when he stood I couldâve sworn he was laughing.
I shifted forms, fast and painless. I can shift at a run now, sensing the second before my hands and feet become paws so my stride remains unbroken. It had taken practice, and a lot of tripping ass over head.
Thirty seconds, maybe a minute later, I was sitting on my hip, my legs curled, my arms locked, bracing me. Anthony waited until I finished before he shifted and I couldnât help watching that pink little penis grow and thicken into a fully erect human cock. It made my thighs cream. No matter how large a guy is, heâs bigger, much bigger, in human form. And Anthony was scary big as a wolf.
Fur receded as though pulled beneath tan, taut flesh until all that remained was a wavy butterscotch mop on his head that brushed his shoulders and the darker thatch that encircled his cock. The body of an athlete, long and lean, broad-shouldered and powerful.
âNot into the fur-on-fur scene, love?â he said the second he was able.
Anthony Ricci wasnât British; he was Italian. But sometimes he slipped into this weird British accent. I donât know whyâI never asked. Besides, I thought it was kind of cute, sexy even. Most of the time.
âI donât screw dogs,â I said, rolling onto my butt, shifting my hands to brace behind me on either side. Anthony moved toward me, using the picnic table bench to climb on.
He positioned his long, hard body over top of me, kneeling between my open legs, his hands next to mine, his bearded, scruffy face inches away. âBut pet, you were a dog.â
I narrowed my eyes, forced a scowl I didnât feel. âDo you want to fuck me or poke fun at my hang-ups?â
âNot hang-ups, sweet Mattie. Endearing quirks that make you even more irresistible.â His gaze dropped to my mouth and he leaned close like heâd kiss me. But he didnât. His warm lips hovered a hairsbreadth from mine, waiting. Waiting for me to kiss him. It was one of those unspoken games we played. Who wanted whom more?
