Where Wild Things Roam

Possessive

Ian    

“… think as long as we keep the pressure on them, they’ll give us the contract witho…”

I squint against the over bright haze clouding my vision, glance blinkingly at the overhead lights, then at the windows. But this isn’t reflected light or a shorting bulb.

This is burning sand.

I skim the horizon, from where I stand to the low rolling mountains cropping up in the distance, lavender where the sun touches them and deep purple in the shade. Sparse clumps of low-growing green-gray scrub and the deep green of stocky straggly pines are interspersed at irregular intervals amid the struggling tufts of dry, yellowing desert grasses wavering in the heat. Even the breeze scorches in my lungs.

So harsh. So hot.

Just miles of this and no sign of water. Not even cactus that I know from old westerns and stories that can be tapped for a meager sip and to keep you alive. 

My feet burn even through heavy boots, as I struggle to higher ground on the nearest dune. At the top, I flounder in the slipping sand across a trough and up to the next dune’s peak, stopping to stare in wonder.

It’s still the desert—hot, dry and bright. But here, blooming from nothing but the brutally hot sand are wide swaths of exquisite wildflowers as far as the eye can see. Undulating waves of bright white, yellow, orange, purple and pink flowers crouch against the silty soil like a painted oasis, their heady fragrances permeating the air, proclaiming their silent existence, their steadfast perseverance against the worst the environment can bring.

Superbloom.

I don’t know how I know this. It’s a rarity in the desert—sometimes not seen for the entirety of a lifetime—only happening when exactly the right combination of rains and temperatures stirs dormant seeds entombed beneath the sand for decades, encouraging them to renewed life.

These aren’t my eyes, I realize. I’m seeing through someone else. Seeing what they see.

Or perhaps what they share.

This place they love, and not merely for the extraordinary moment of the superbloom, but even for the cruel conditions that forge strength and resilience in those who remain here.

I wonder why I’m bewitched with this Sight, wonder who’s vision it is.

As if in answer, the desert fades. From the bright white fog, a pair of golden eyes, wrinkled at the corners from squinting through the sun.

“Mr. Gallagher? Mr. Gallagher?”

“I’m sorry. I’m being distracted for something critical,” I reply smoothly to the lawyer at the other end of the call. “Would you do me a favor and summarize this in an email? Something urgent has come up and I have to go.”

I don’t wait for an agreement. Disconnecting the call, I vault out of the heavy executive chair. “Kallie, I’ll be at the packhouse.” I hurry through the office, angling for the stairs.

“Do you want me to reschedule your afternoon?”

“No. I’ll have this resolved quickly.”

It’s a quick jog to the parking lot for my car and a matter of brief minutes before I come to a screeching halt in front of the packhouse. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, I fling the door open and rush into the entry, fuming to be so dishonored by a guest in my very home.

“Ian!”

At the breathy joy in her voice, I turn to see Darby rise from a table in the dining area. Unsteady on her feet, she falters her way between the tables and stumbles into my arms.

“You’re home early.” She nestles against my chest with a contented sigh.

Crushing her to me, I stare, cold-eyed, at Sean MacOmb where he still sits in the chair that had been across the table from Darby. He’s tense, his now familiar golden eyes dilated, instinctively recognizing the danger he’s in. Then he rises slowly and begins collecting the dishes on the table.

“She ate,” Sean says neutrally, as if he was asked. “Not much though. Mostly she was thirsty.” With his arms full, he heads for the kitchen, leaving me alone with Darby.

It couldn’t have been my imagination—Jack saw it too—and the Desert alpha, his behavior is noticeably strained.

I plunge my nose into the crook of Darby’s neck, inhaling deeply.

Lilac and shortbread. But nothing else.

I bend, scooping her into my arms and carry her to our bedroom.

**

Darby    

The bedroom door slams against the wall with the force of Ian opening it. Turning with me in his arms, he gives it only long enough to return, vibrating, to half-way open. Then he kicks it closed with a slam.

I slide my fingers from his broad shoulders into the hair at his nape. “Ian, what’s wrong?”

In three long strides, we’re beside the bed. Though he sets me gently on my feet, the rough hands that grab my t-shirt at the collar, shredding the fabric to the hem are anything but gentle. The brittle plastic clasp at the front of my bra cracks and tiny pieces tumble to the floor, then Ian’s forcing them both off my shoulders and down my arms.

“Ian—.” He doesn’t let me finish.

“No.”

His mouth on mine is vicious, and his large hands cup my breasts too hard, his fingers digging into the fragile sensitive flesh. I yelp against his plundering tongue, push against his shoulders, but I don’t know what I’ll do if he lets go, since he’s really all that’s holding me up.

He seems to understand and his grip loosens, but his assault moves to my n*****s, pinching and rolling them between his knuckles and his thumbs.

It’s still too much and I wrench my mouth away from his. “Ian, you’re hurting me!”

With an insensate growl, he pushes me and I tumble onto the bed, wide-eyed and searching his face. This is not his wolf half. Whatever hunger drives Ian on, insatiable and feral, is in the man this time. He blazes with it, burning like a dark god hellbent on domination. Covering my abdomen in hard kisses, he fumbles with the drawstring of my sweats.

I reach for them, “I’ll do it,” I offer but withdraw quickly at his ferocious snarl. The fabric tears easily in his grasp and he tugs them violently until they’re past my knees and I can kick the shredded pieces off.

Ian stares so intently at the flimsy cotton of my panties that I can feel it like hot sun on my skin. He kneels, elbowing my legs apart wide enough for his broad chest to fit between them. Lowering his head, he exhales hot breath through the thin fabric and I shudder violently, unable to stifle my trembling moan.

The sound drags a rough groan from him, another scorching breath he pushes through the fragile material and I writhe, attempting to squirm away.

“No.” The word grinds out of him and he drags me back to the edge of the bed, one heavy hand pressing down on my middle, holding me in place. “Stay right here.” One large finger strokes the inside of my thigh, then along the lacy elasticized edge of my panties before slipping under them.

I exhale a breathy whimper, trembling in anticipation and fear, but when the tip of his finger presses firmly between my nether lips, sliding along my slit, seeking, the whimper becomes a high-pitched whine. Ian teases a tiny bead of wetness he finds there, making small circles and I shudder. A surge of hot wetness slicks out of me, coating his entire finger and seeping into my panties.

This time his groan is louder. His mouth is hot against the fabric, sucking at it and the taste of me, his finger still tracing dizzying circles against my tender flesh.

“Again.”

Confused, I shake my head. “What?”

There’s no answer, only his large finger ramming hard inside me, barely stopping when his knuckles bang aggressively against the bones in my pelvis.

The violence of it rips a scream from me and I pant, trembling and wildly excited, as a new trickle of wetness seeps out around his thick finger.

“Good.” He scrapes along my sensitive inner walls, working more pleasure out of me, his mouth still sucking at the damp proof of my arousal. Slicking his second finger in my wetness, he eases both inside me and restarts the torturously slow teasing against my walls.

As he glides in deeper and deeper, his lips creep upward. With the tip of his tongue, he feels his way to my hooded nub, stroking it through the lacy textured fabric.

My hips buck in quivering ecstasy and Ian presses harder against my middle.

“No.” His mouth and his fingers still.

“Ohhh.” It’s a long, whimpering moan. “Please, Ian.”

Inside my hot canal, his fingers twitch once over the sensitive bundle of nerves as if to get my attention. A bolt of electrifying pleasure shoots through me and I jerk rigidly as another small gush of hot, slippery fluid oozes around Ian’s fingers. “You’ll do what I say, Darby.” His fingers twitch again and my body bucks against him.

“Yes!” My hands clench in the bedcovers.

The tip of his tongue licks slow and hot over the cold wetness that had settled over my sensitive bud and I buck again, a long, keening groan pouring out of me.

“Again.” This time his fingers press against the hyper-responsive bundle inside me and my walls spasm, my p***y sucking at his digits buried there. 

Between my legs, Ian grunts through gritted teeth, fighting for control feeling me clenching around him. Gradually, the strong pressure against my g-spot lessens and he draws his fingers out of me, my body sucking wetly, trying to hold onto him. “Don’t move.”

Rising, Ian sucks the fingers that were inside me. The deep animal growl and his blue eyes boring into me makes me tremble again. With his other hand, he loosens his tie, unbuttons his shirt and untucks it. Giving up the fingers in his mouth, he strips and stands over me. Fluid beads at the tip of his rigid c**k, but he ignores it, stroking the underside with one large hand as he reaches between my legs again.

His nostrils flare feeling my slick outer lips, then without warning, he grabs my wrists. Ian pulls me up against his hard chest, then turns me completely around, one large hand holding me at my collarbones.

A shudder rips through my body. Though he’s demanded my submission, and I yield compliantly, something angry and powerful still simmers just beneath the surface and it terrifies me. His other hand slides over my hip across my stomach and between my thighs to stroke the eager flesh waiting for him there.

“You’re not wet enough to take all of me, Darby.” Ian’s arms squeeze me tighter against him and he kicks my legs apart. “I’m going to f**k you anyway.”

Taking a wider stance to accommodate for the difference in our height, he bends his knees and I gasp, all but wilting at the insistent hot press of his tip against my nether mouth. Then my softness gives way, swallowing all of his thick hardness, eagerly slicking the entire length of his shaft as if to prove him wrong.

Against my ear, Ian grunts with satisfaction, his body unmoving as mine ripples in quivering spasms around him, adjusting to his girth.

As suddenly as he was there, Ian withdraws, taking all of his heat, all of his fullness from me and I can barely keep my frustrated body from following him. The hand that held my neck slides behind me, pressing between my shoulder blades, forcing me to bend and support my upper body on my arms or be flattened face down into the bedclothes. Against the back of my thighs, Ian’s muscular ones guide mine forward and I crawl on my hands and knees until Ian’s kneeling on the bed with me.

For a moment, he’s still, but I can feel his eyes on my body, feel them rove over the roundness of my posterior, along the smooth curves from my hips to my waist to where my rib cage widens to my shoulders. Whatever brought him home to me this way, driven with animal heat and desire, he’s unleased the same craving, the same hunger in me and I don’t want him to stop. I burn for him.

His hand between my shoulder blades caresses downward along my spine and I arch like a cat with a purring moan when it settles in the small of my back, my wings unfurling like delicate tendrils poised and waiting for us to connect. He lingers only a moment before stroking upwards between them, all the way to my nape. I freeze, my eyes flying open to stare without seeing the things before me, my senses on high alert. Ian brushes my hair aside, exposing the back of my neck to his view.

I know what he’s looking for—the tingling at the back of my neck began almost the instant I saw him in the entry scant moments ago. It’s not the pale gleam beneath my skin in response to him he wants though. It’s the scar, his mark, the bite he puts there each and every time we couple. The one my recalcitrant preternatural body heals away completely within hours as if to rebuff and reject him.

Defying my expectations, Ian reenters me slowly, filling me tenderly. His body wraps over me, supporting his muscular weight on his knuckles with his massive hands braced outside my diminutive ones, corded veins standing out beneath the tanned skin of his forearms. My wings shift, curling around him, clinging to his body like shimmery leaves, hugging him tighter, urging him for his touch. It’s an instantaneous high, a sizzling rush, being physically connected to him and I can’t get enough.

His hips start to move, short, fluid strokes, picking up speed like a rising swell, and the firm tip of him rubs hotly against the ravenous bundle of nerves inside me over and over, sending fireworks exploding over my vision.  

“You feel so good, Darby—so snug and warm around me.”

The words come out in a rushed exhale, his breath curling over my skin, drawing a shiver from my body. I tighten reflexively around Ian and he groans, pressing his forehead into the space between my shoulder blades. His thrusts come harder, faster, and he shifts his weight to one arm, sliding his free hand between my legs.

Shuddering, I scrunch my fists in the bed coverings, convulsing when Ian’s middle finger covers my swollen excited bud, applying a gentle pressure. My high-pitched whimper fills the room in harmony with his deeper growl and my head drops, my hair parting around my neck, as my eyes lock on Ian’s hand beneath me, watching his strong finger rubbing agonizing pleasure out of me in rhythm with his c**k driving it in.

Ian brushes a few stray hairs away at the back of my neck with his nose, grasping the tender flesh between his wolf teeth. Both of us convulse as the tornadic whirl of our connected senses wraps around us and we’re falling into each other, anchored in reciprocal gratification where our bodies join.

My climax spins in a miserable holding pattern, hovering, aching and desperate at the tenuous edge of release.

“Say it.” The demand hisses through his clenched teeth, tickling the hairs on the back of my neck and sending another quiver through me.

No. I shake my head. I won’t cave to his insecurity, won’t let him either. His teeth pinch harder, the stinging pain zapping into my core and locking it even more tightly around him.

“Oh, fuck.” He can barely choke out the words, every hard line and bulge of him clenching, holding himself back. “Say it!”

“No! I’m not yours.” I shake my head frantically again when he increases the pressure against my c**t but still refuses to let me climax and the tension in my core writhes and twists barely contained. “I chose you, Ian. I choose you. I’m not just yours. You’re mine.”

I scream my pleasure as he explodes inside me with a snarled curse, his twitching member filling my greedy cavern with his thick juices, coating my insides with hot seed. My walls convulse around him, draining his c**k gluttonously and I shudder, my climax overwhelming all my senses as it spirals outward, consuming me. “IchooseyouIanIchooseyouIloveyouIloveyouyouloveyou.” The words roll out of me in a barely coherent slur.

Ian’s body jerks involuntarily, jetting a few last spurts of his fluid into my eager chamber, then he slumps over me, his lungs desperately heaving oxygen into his hot, sweaty body. His teeth recede, and he kisses the punctures, licking the blood away.  Releasing one elbow, he rolls to his side, drawing me with him, spooning me against him, his arms holding me tight.

**

Ian    

“Did he touch you?”

My lips are against Darby’s ear, and the heat of my breath sets her quivering. I can still feel her heart pounding in the side of her chest beneath my arm, but she’s limp against me, exhausted again. I don’t know why, but it pleases me to have sapped her energy this way.

“Answer me.”

Her words whisper but still seem loud in the quiet recesses of our bedroom. “Only to help me to the closet, then to the kitchen.”

My grip around her tightens, my teeth clench. “I left you in this bed undressed.”

She’s trembling now in earnest, unable to stop it, and despite the heat of our bodies still pouring into the ambient air.

“I was in the blanket, Ian. Completely covered. It’s still on the floor in the closet.”

For a moment, I’m completely still, only my breath tickling the fine hairs at her ear and along her neck, inciting more quivering. I’m haunted by guilt for succumbing even the slightest bit to the taunting insecurity over my inability to mark her so the world can see she’s mine.

Even though I can trust her, Sean’s MacOmb’s interest is obvious and his determination an unknown variable, the only real defense against, besides a mate scar, is Darby’s magic. Magic that wasn’t faster than his wolf in the plaza a couple nights ago. A wolf that’s not much smaller than Jack’s, if it is at all.

“He shouldn’t have been in our room.”

“I know. He knew. He only came in because Tessa told him I needed help. Because he didn’t think you’d mind that he was here more than that I was stuck on the floor if he didn’t help.”

That wily bastard. Inside my head, my wolf half growls his agreement.