Imprints (Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1)

He shuddered as he drew closer to Carla’s home. He sensed the sexual tension in the air. The deed between two—a rival and a lover—was nearly complete.

Frank pressed forward. With every mile he put behind him, the knowledge of what lay ahead left him snarling at the dust and digging that much harder in an effort to shorten the distance between himself and Carla.

Trekking up the ridge overlooking the valley, Frank came to an abrupt halt. He tilted his nose high in the air and freed a heart-wrenching wail.

Customs would change. Legends would soon fall. History would be changed forever and while their love would be destined to test the strains of time, the pack members forced to endure the sins of one pack master would never accept the trials and tribulations brought forward by another.

Still minutes away from Carla’s cabin, Frank loped down the incline, darting through a throng of bushes and an obscene overgrowth of vines and low, sweeping branches. Even though he feared the first imprint had been made, he owed his pack the effort.

His wolves had put their faith in their leader. They’d expected him to guide them into the next generation. They’d admired and adored him.

He had failed them.

* * * *

Jarring arousal shot through Carla’s body when Jock took her in his arms and held her against his warm, masculine form. He nuzzled the side of her face and whispered sweet promises, endearing sentiments.

His kiss swept her off her feet and triggered emotions she’d decidedly only felt once before when she’d first given herself to Frank. Shuddering, she lifted her face to his, accepting his kiss as his tongue traveled over her tongue. His lips smoothed across her lips. His arms bracketed around her and he held her close, embracing her as if he’d never let her go.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he looked down on her with more love than lust seeping into his eyes. She wondered then. Did all men look at their woman as if they saw an extension of themselves, or was it a shifter trait, perhaps even a tactic some shifters used to win over the woman they felt compelled to love?

“I was afraid it would be like this,” Jock whispered, tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue.

“Me, too.” She spewed half-truths, realizing then that while she’d craved Jock’s touch, she’d always long for another man’s hand as well.

Jock closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, dragging his nose against the soft contour of her neck until she quivered against him once again. The tickling sensation left her womanhood weeping in desire, clenching in anticipation. Her nipples spiked as he pulled her closer.

He pressed his erection against her center. Mashing the length of his penis against her dress, he jiggled his hips as if he were trying to split the material in two so he could spear his cock between her legs and drive himself into the intimate depths of her desire. Shoving her hands forward, she balled her fists with handfuls of blond hair, framing his tan face with closed hands as she felt the defined ridges of his hard flesh pressing firmly against her thin dress.

Jock temporarily backed away from her. His wild blue eyes flickered with hunger as her needs heightened and her inhibitions disintegrated into the night.

Ravenous, she was oh so famished as their gazes locked. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. Even when she tried to look away and desperately wanted to turn her head, she was unable to cast aside whatever spell he seemingly placed upon her.

Her body rocked forward. She rode his stiff length, wanting then to push aside her undergarments and just give in to the whirlwind of unleashed passion.

“You’re my mate,” he rasped, grounding his erection against her lower belly.

Her future

flashed before her. Images ran rampant in her head. She could see the past and present. She was aware of the wolf’s heritage, of traditions steeped in cultural ceremonies and territorial agreements. And for reasons still foreign to her, she realized she belonged to two shifters—Frank and Jock.

“Mine,” Jock told her, possessiveness in his voice.

“Yes,” she whispered, searching his eyes and more eager to please him than she’d ever held the desire to satisfy another.

Her back was against the cabin logs. She arched her neck, bracing for the unexpected as she prepared to give herself to the man who had certainly been the person she’d longed to hold, the man she’d longed to love.

Cupping his nape, she kissed his rounded chin and placed gentle pecks along the underside of his stern, thick jaw. Planting kisses across his solid cheeks, she avoided his lips until she couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t help but love him.

Nuzzling his angular nose, she wrapped one hand around his neck and used his body for balance. While bunching the skirt of her dress at her hips, she quickly untied her lace pantalettes and loosened the opening at her crotch.

With complete access, Jock nudged the head of his penis through the parted material and sank right inside her intimate folds. “Look at me, Carla.”

“I see you,” she whispered, focusing on his handsome face as he drove inside her slick channel.

“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked, pumping his cock faster as his thighs bunched and his body melded to hers.

The pleasure spinning around her was too much to bear. She wanted to scream. She wanted to lock her legs behind his back and act like a renegade riding without a saddle.