Beaufort Creek Shifters (10 book series)
The Wolf’s Bullied Mate Chapter 8

Jada

I wasn't quite sure what drove me to comfort Isaiah. By all accounts, it didn't make sense. The man was just having a massive breakdown in the kitchen via cleaning chemicals and a square rag that looked cleaner than most of my clothes. If I had to guess, I would have said that the rag got cleaned far more often than his opinion of people. Which didn't quite make much sense to me either. Isaiah was just a bully, a hardheaded and magnificently hot jerk of a wolf shifter who would stop at nothing to tear down the people around him. What did I care that he was in the middle of an emotional breakdown over a few mugs being out of place?

Sheesh, it was like he was one of those obsessive types. Though I didn't doubt he might have some form of PTSD from being in that deplorable medical facility owned by Dr. Myrtle, I had to wonder how he'd been before all that. Did he have any manners? Was he ever kind to anyone?

Only Troy could have told me that. The Bravecrest alpha was a quiet, reserved man with a heart made seemingly of gold. Blake loved the man to pieces. It was clear in the way he treated the Bravecrests as if they had been distant cousins this entire time. That wasn't terribly unheard of for many shifter packs. Most of the time, it was reserved for wolves as our numbers had dwindled in recent centuries. Thriving simply hadn't been an option when we were at war with vampires. Now, though, all of that had changed. Were we going to be able to thrive now? How could we when we were constantly at war withone supernatural species or another? Would this ever end?

I squeezed Isaiah's shoulder. The man was frozen in place, hands perched on his knees with his feet propped on the third step of the stairs leading into the yard. He could have crunched himself into a ball and still would have taken up most of the area. Because he was just that tall.

Regardless of the strange display inside and his recent bullying, there was one thing that bothered me more than anything, more than his rotten approach to this situation. His face.

No, no, it was the look on his face.

Sheer helplessness echoed from the lines carved around his mouth and eyes. Such an odd sight for such a proud wolf. I knew he had a soft, fleshy part of him that was wounded. But unrelenting gods, I didn't think it was something as simple as organization and cleaning.

I frowned. Unless it's something deeper.

"Isaiah?" I whispered. "You alright?"

He barely responded to me, tilting his head ever so slightly, so subtly that it was barely noticeable at all. This close to him, I could see every reaction. He probably wasn't aware of that fact. He didn't seem to truly be here.

"Izzy." I let his nickname slide right out like it had always sat on my tongue. "Look at me."

I touched his chin. Years of loneliness broke away with that plain gesture. The wind hardly blew above the sound of a whisper, carrying a host of promises for the brand-new day approaching. Crickets chirped idly in the trees on the other side of the yard, retreating from a fulfilling night of mating, eating, celebrating-whatever crickets do.

Surely crickets did like us too.

And now with his chin in my palm and his eyes dripping with the kind of betrayal found only in the darkest hours before dawn, I saw that Isaiah also did like me. He felt like me. He wept like me. He worried like me.

Yes, the great and impenetrable barriers he had erected when he arrived were crumbling. From this touch. From this moment.

I bent toward him. "Izzy..."

He caught my wrist and stiffened, grimacing with what seemed to be a great effort to resist...something. Was he trying to stop me from comforting him? No, it must have been something else. The way his tongue poked at his teeth told me he was prepping a specially curated phrase for the situation, for me.

My heart shriveled up.

Right, of course. Once a bully, always a bully. He was just itching to insult me, wasn't he? That entire display was just a ruse to get me to be vulnerable and exposed. Bullies were far more intelligent than people give them credit. They knew precisely how to bait their prey and trap them.

I just fell for the biggest trap in the book: emotional vulnerability.

I took a deep breath and eased back. If he was going to insult me, then I wanted some space from his dirty words, framed however they came. A portrait was waiting beyond his lips of things he didn't like about me. Whatever. He could paint me whichever way he pleased. I didn't care anymore.

But instead of derogatory remarks, his grip on my wrist tightened. He yanked me toward him-and I had no choice but to follow.

I fell right into his lap where he buried his face into my bosom.

Anticipatory anger turned to shock. The awning stood above, a modern covering for a modern porch situated behind a modern condo. Birds fluttered from the bushes and whistled their way toward the woods and back again. Slivers of light crested the horizon and penetrated the yard, lightening the dark forest green to an ethereal blue.

And then he started weeping.

I mean, full-bellied, heart-splitting weeping that would have suited a widow discovering her husband's corpse out in the fields. This was the kind of gut-wrenching cry I had overheard from the mansion when the alpha was mourning the loss of his mother. While that woman had been a double agent, a betrayer, the absence of her had wounded our alpha.

We felt the wave of his grief in great bouts.

Isaiah now resembled our alpha then with his shaking, his incoherent blubbering, his momentary silences signaling another crashing wave of horror. All the gods in the universe couldn't have prepared me for that feeling.

Pure horror unlike anything I had witnessed in my life.

I cradled Isaiah, turning myself so I could straddle his lap and embrace him, burying his face in my chest like I was a body pillow. I soaked up his feelings. I stroked his scalp. I massaged the back of his neck and listened to his cries taper off. Such strength in such a vulnerable display couldn't have possibly been in the repertoire of even the most talented bullies. It simply wasn't possible.

No, this was real. Isaiah suffered great pain.

No wonder he wanted to scrub everything clean.

"You're safe here," I assured him. "I'll keep you safe."

His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips. "Promise me."

"I promise you."

"Again." His nose nudged the strap of my top. "Keep saying it..."

Hot waves crashed the length of my upper arm originating from his mouth. His lips caressed my skin and then danced south, heading toward my elbow. While he cradled my back with one hand, he slid north along my side with the other, landing at the base of my breasts. Fluttering eyelids interrupted my vision, uncontrollable mewls surfacing from where I hid my desire for him.

How the hell was it possible for him to make me lose power? I was at the mercy of his shifting emotions, influenced by his l**t as much as my own. Comfort was my calling. He knew that-and he was using it to his advantage.

Abruptly, I sat up, fighting his control with a light push. My weak fingers were no match for the steel wall of muscle making up his chest. He chuckled even, a mocking laugh at my attempt to resist him. It fueled my irritation-and my desire only magnified from the encounter.

"How...?" I whimpered.

He took my hands and pinned them behind my back, encircling me with his potency. "You've always wanted to submit to me, Jada. Admit it."

"Yes."

That wasn't fair. I wasn't in control of my faculties. I couldn't resist the dark appeal of his husky voice, the rich patchouli of his scent, and the softness of his lips drifting over my skin. The more I fought, the more I wanted him. Yet giving in didn't seem to be an option either. I was at an impasse.

The memory of the toolshed came back vividly, outlining the mistake I had made over a week ago. If I hadn't touched him or even entertained the idea of getting him out of my system-whatever the hell that meant at the time-then we wouldn't be tangled up on the back porch at the crack of dawn with his burning erection poking at my slit.

My satin shorts suddenly felt wet. Shameful heat curled in my core as I arched toward him, urgently attempting to reveal my breasts without asking. A quick shrug produced a partial view of my hard nipples. And he went for it right away, eyes skittering to observe what I'd offered him without words.

We didn't need words. What we wanted circulated between us in quiet cycles of hot and cold. That was how we were with each other-hot, then cold, then hot, then cold.

He bucked lightly. "Is this what you want?"

I nodded numbly, lips trembling with the requests I held back so I didn't expose the true nature of my desire. Within my soul rested an inexplicable need for him to dominate me. Not just my body, but everything else as well.

I wanted his protection. I wanted him to guard me.

And it all started with him taking what he wanted.

He held my wrists back with one hand, circling my waist with the other, teasing the lace tie holding my satin shorts together. As his thumb roamed toward my slit, he nudged my head back, hot waves coating my throat like the soft kiss of silk fabric. One confident stroke over my covered slit produced enough arousal to soak his hand. Embarrassment joined the other emotions brewing in my gut. Soon enough, I'd have a whole damn cauldron of ingredients ready to be boiled. That was his goal, wasn't it? What kind of gods allowed men like him to exist?

His throaty chuckle drew my attention as his thumb drifted under my shorts. The digit swept over my wet slit and inspired me to gasp, the motion quickening as he locked my wrists tighter together behind my back. My nipples hardened even more, if that was possible, and my brain short-circuited, emotions swelling wide enough to make me burst.

An unexpected orgasm rattled me. Short bursts of laughter bubbled from him, angering me more than my desire, sending me into a heated shivering fit that I attempted to break. While I was in the midst of writhing, he tore away my satin shorts and exposed my bare c**t, swiping a hand through the mess he had made.

"You can't resist me," he rasped, "but it's hot when you try."

More desire laced through my core. I heard the zipper of his pants and then felt his magnificent girth shortly after. He seated the head of his cock at my entrance and waited, encouraging me to take my time, whispering reminders for me to breathe. For a bully, he was more considerate than he let on. Which only made me want him that much more.

Inch by delicious inch, I engulfed him, gushing so much that I slid down a few times faster than intended. Light billowed around us, golden hues that danced in my eyes as I arched my back just to accept more of him. When I made it to the base, I lifted my head, straining to witness his reaction to me.

It was sheer surrender. The lines usually carving disdain into his face had relaxed and his eyes were wide, pupils blown to the max with clear desire, lips parted as he waited for me to move again. One demanding look was all it took to prompt my hips into action. I rose quickly and slid back into place slowly, enjoying the moderate control I had over his reaction.

My wrists ached-but I didn't want him to release me. I felt good being held together so tightly, being constrained in a way that felt safe. It didn't make sense. But it didn't have to make sense.

Mating never did make sense in the beginning, did it?

Sex before our announced bonding had been nothing but the satisfaction of the skin. This was an entirely different dimension of banging it out. This was the kind of desire that electrified. It could scorch me if I wasn't careful.

But at the same time, I didn't want to be careful.

I rode faster, eager to please, utterly hell-bent on getting exactly what I wanted out of him. Already, an orgasm teased me over the edge, forcing my hips to move without much thought at all. Instinct drove me at this point. The sight of his eyes brimming with admiration inspired the rest.

His hand climbed my chest, dipped between my breasts, and then teased my throat with pressure. It was just a quick squeeze-nothing serious-though it did nothing to stop the tsunami approaching. Slick arousal supported my pace as I focused on the way I came undone, caught completely by surprise at the way my o****m crashed into me.

No summoning needed with Isaiah. He was the one calling the shots.

I let myself go. I mewled and cried and writhed my way to pleasure, feeling him grip me as he unleashed thrust after thrust, following through my o****m with hard pumps that produced his release. He didn't stop until he was spent, making me quiver in ways that were indescribable. I didn't have the words to detail his influence.

All I could say was that I wanted more than ever.

He touched my lips reverently as he let go of my wrists. I teetered back, caught by his quick reflexes as he nuzzled my nose, my lips, my throat. He licked my main artery and dropped to my breasts, smothering them in sweaty kisses. When he draped me over his lap, his fingers danced between my thighs, swirling through the mixture of fluid we had deposited there.

I whimpered when he stroked my clit. "We have to get to work..."

He bowed over me as he massaged my slit lightly. "They can manage without us for a few hours."

"Izzy?"

"Yes, sugarplum?"

My vision blurred as my eyes disappeared. Whatever I wanted to say had gone with it. I bit my lower lip and sighed, bucking gently into his hand. "Whatever you say."

And then he kissed me like he couldn't get enough.