ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories) (148 page)

              She sat on the bed and he knelt down to kiss her neck, working his mouth down her neck and to her breasts. As his tongue moved gently around the curve of her breasts and her nipples, she sighed, feeling increasingly excited. She ran her hands along his back, his chest, and reached down to grasp and feel his erection.

              He touched her as well, feeling the wet warmth between her legs. Her nervousness gone, she held onto him and they began to feel one another, she stroking his hardened shaft and he rubbing the her softly and rhythmically.

              Quietly, though panting, he asked, “Have you ever been kissed there?”

              “What do you mean? I don’t understand what you intend.” She asked. He responded but falling to his knees and gently pressing his lips to her. She was shocked at first by it, then found her mouth open with joy as his tongue ran along her, pressing and licking in ways she hadn’t imagined. Jocelyn held his head, leaned back, and moaned.

              When he was finished, she felt curious. He stood full before her, so she sat on the bed, leaned down, and took him her mouth as well. His grateful gasps told her she was exciting him, and she felt her own excitement rise.

              She stopped before he could become too excited. After kissing his chest and running her hands along the length of his body, she tired of the slow exploration, wanting him in her. She guided him in and he moved slowly, teasing and allowing her to adjust to him inside. When he was in as deep within her as they could meet, the slow, rising friction brought them to greater joy. She felt some discomfort throughout it, but when she did she let him know and he slowed or stopped enough for her to adjust and become comfortable. By the time they’d reached the end, she felt comfortable enough to touch herself as he moved within her and they both came to nearly the same release.

              They lay together after, entwined and exhausted. “Is this real?” She asked, unbelieving. “Are we finally together and happy?”

              “I’m happy.” He assured her. “And I’ll be with you for the rest of my days.”

###

              Old Mártainn finished his final drink and blinked to try to wake himself up. He’d told his story as best he could, though his old wound to the head was said to have made him go a bit senile earlier than most. No one was entirely sure how old the man was, though, and given his great age some degree of forgetfulness was certain.

              Though he hadn’t shared Fingall’s marriage night with his audience- they were certainly not details he was privvy to- he was able to tell them the broad strokes of Fingall and Jocelyn MacAllarran’s lives to the best of his ability. It wasn’t as though he was without some help.

              “Now, I told you they married, but did I tell you they had children?” He asked. The audience laughed, and the middle-aged man to his left patted him on the back. The old man joined in, chuckling.

              “Well, I suppose that part Dhugall MacAllarran can tell you his own self, could he not?”

              “That I could, good sir.” Dhugall agreed. “For instance, I can say I’m pleased to have been named for my uncle and I’m do my best to give honor to both my names. But you’ve done so well in your storytelling, it’d be a shame to stop you now!”

              “I’ll do my best.” He agreed. He steadied himself in his seat and sighed. “Sad to be the last of us from that time. Your mother, there was a wonderful woman. Gone these five years now. Your father passed only a year before.”

              “They lived good long lives, sir, as have you.” Dhugall assured him.

              “I have tried. And they have seen their five children all grow to adulthood and make them proud. Your two sisters, Jocelyn and Murron, have left the village and married well. Dhugall , Kieth, and Uilleam have each grown their stock to become the wealthiest men of the village. All of you have children of your own, most of whom your parents were able to know. Aye, I envy you your happy life ahead as the years before me grow dimmer.”

              Dhugall cleared his throat. “Yet you fought at Red Harlaw, as did many of our town. If you are the last of those men, it is you I envy. I envy your bravery and your chance at honor.”

              The last of the drinks were passed around and Dhugall stood. “To our ancestors and those who came before us. Let their memories never fade.”

THE END

His Reluctant Heart

              Eddie stepped back to admire his handiwork, wondering when the realization of his the end of his bachelor status would set in. His life was about to change so drastically that he may never again have time to leisurely paint his own house. He probably wouldn’t be able to paint anyone else’s house while drunk either, since the beer slowed his speed considerably, and he’d have to keep better hours now. It never affected his precision, but his hand couldn’t keep up with the speed of his thoughts. He set down his empty glass of ale and ran his dark blue pupils over the cream-colored walls again. The windowsills were painted a true blue, smooth and nearly has deep as his eyes, and the steps and railing were the same shade. He hoped his new bride like it; then the next second a voice within him scolded the thought.
What are you, a wuss? Who cares if she likes it.

              Your uncle probably will,
he reminded himself. His Uncle Raymond was counting on him to make this marriage stick, unlike his own father had done with his series of wives. By the time Eddie was four, his mother, Lola, was living with her sister and allowed the confused boy to see his father one day a week, if that, and never while he was drunk (after the first time Eddie came home with singed pants: his father had accidentally lit him on fire with a cigarette). His Uncle never wasted breath tiptoeing around the fact that he feared Eddie would turn into Edward Senior, and this was no different. Raymond reminded Eddie of his father’s last words, spoken before he’d died of a head injury.

              “I promised your father I’d take care of you,” Raymond said gruffly a month before Eddie’s bride was due to arrive. “And I’ve done that. I gave you  a plot of land, materials for houses, and taught you to build and paint. And you done good in some respects,” Raymond said hurriedly as he saw Eddie’s face grow red. “But you ain’t taking real good care of yourself.”

              “I’m fine, Uncle Ray.” Eddie had grown tired of lectures by the time he turned 16.  “I work, I rest, I work some more. I don’t need anyone to help, and when I find someone, I’ll settle down. I’m not an old man yet.”

              “Moments away,” Raymond answered. “You’re 35. You can’t keep bringing loose women into this pigsty you call a home for a night or two. It’s time to calm down and have a real life. You ain’t gonna live forever.”

              “I don’t want to,” Eddie said hotly. He towered over his uncle normally, but now he was sitting on his sofa with his head in his hands while the portly older gentleman stood in front of his hunched body. “I just want to
live.
How can I do that with some biddy tying me down?”

              “Don’t call her that. You’re not a kid anymore, Eddie, you know those ideas don’t fly!” Raymond had lost his patience and was wringing his handkerchief fretfully. “I can’t take this. I’m gonna come over and find you lying on the ground with your head cracked open, just like your father. Except it’ll be you who done it, and not some sap who’s been cuckolded.”

              Eddie fell silent then. He remembered the scene clearly because he’d been with Raymond on the day his father died. Raymond traditionally took Eddie to his father’s house---he was the only family member of Eddie Senior’s that Lola still got along with. Eddie recalled Raymond slinging him over his shoulder and backing away hurriedly, depositing him with a neighbor before tearing back down the street. Eddie had time to glimpse his father with his limbs splayed akimbo and a dark red pool surrounding his head like a crimson halo. He saw him again after they transported him to the hospital, one short hour before he died. The horrible memory hung between the two men, and Eddie finally raised his eyes to meet his uncle’s.

              “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll take the bride.”

              Now she was finally arriving. Eddie worked thought the month numbly, making alterations and additions to the house without letting himself acknowledge why. He spoke about his bride---Martha Hannigan---with his uncle only when the other man brought it up. For the rest of the time, he simply put his body in motion and didn’t think about the reasoning behind it. He’d meant every word he said to his uncle, but he also acknowledged that something about him wasn’t completely right. Sometimes he broke things simply because rage ballooned in him so hard and fast that he had to let it out some way. He drank until he blacked out and occasionally woke up choking on his own sick. And even though being the best carpenter in a hundred miles meant he often met a pretty young thing who gushed over his craftwork and took him to  bed, after she left, he was always overcome with the same feeling: an astounding emptiness, like the woman had simply reached inside him and tore a chunk of his soul away as she walked out the door. It felt hollow and raw and horribly painful all at the same time, and sometimes he’d drink just to black out and wipe the feeling away. He didn’t say anything of this to his Uncle, or even aloud to himself. He didn’t want to make it more real.

              Eddie sighed, picked up his glass, and started up the stairs. He’d painted the whole house last night, and it had come out flawless, as usual. Hand-eye coordination was one thing Eddie prided in himself---that and his ability to hold his liquor. In the last month, he’d also worked on the kitchen: new flooring, a brand-new stove, and a wider window. Eddie was the only builder in town, and even though some residents remembered his father’s work ethic and so avoided the younger Edward, most people knew Eddie wasn’t mean or lazy, and he was highly requested. It was one of the reason’s he’d avoided settling down---so many women admired his skilled hands and found excuses to come to his home office that he saw no reason to choose one. It meant that more than a few of the women grew attached to him and caused trouble when they saw him with another one, but after a few years, squeamish or romantic maids learned to steer clear of him, and even warned off some of the more naïve ladies. Eddie had been active since he was 18, and he’d always lived in the same town, so he’d gone from the center of attention to a shunned pariah and back again more times than he could count in the last 17 years. He knew what some of the women thought of him, and he knew he never laid with a woman unless she knew he was a lone wolf, but gossip was more interesting than the truth.

              After washing his glass, Eddie walked down the wide hall to his bedroom. The house came with three---he’d built it when he was far younger and optimistic than he was now. The biggest bedroom was his, and the only change he made to it was getting a larger bed. It was perhaps more lavish than he should have sprung for, but being a bachelor meant he had fewer things to spend his wages on than other men, and he knew his finances could take the hit. He did repaint the other bedrooms to a butter yellow hue, just in case they were used to baby’s rooms in the future, but he didn’t honestly think he would ever need it. In fact, Eddie was secretly expecting his bride to be an insane person, or perhaps even made up---an elaborate ruse someone carried to far. Mostly, Eddie imagined her as a spinster, frail and shrill and unsuitable for anyone less broken than he. He knew it was hypocritical, but he assumed any bride willing to marry him was probably damaged goods. He briefly recalled a story Evan told him--- his best friend since childhood whose younger brother received a mail order bride.

              “Said she was 22, blonde, slender and talented,” Evan recited. “Parents and grandparents dead, but she said she was fertile and strong. He want to pick her up, and the woman was 400 pounds if she was a stone. Older than sin, dumber than a post. Sat on him and broke both his legs one night They’re still married.”

              Eddie imagined waking up to a rotund woman squashing his chest slowly in the darkness of his room. He’d be pressed into his mattress and no one would ever find him. He shook his head roughly to bring himself back into the present, pressing one hand to his broad chest to feel his racing heart. He was far more nervous than he had been a moment ago, and he realized it was because he’d caught sight of Marsha’s last letter. After Uncle Raymond arranged the trip for Martha, he gave Eddie the stack of missives so he could get to know his new bride. She sounded too good to be true: 25, five and a half feet tall, creamy skin and a lovely singing voice. She worked with school children but wouldn’t mind staying home. She liked animals, cooking, and taking walks. She raised her younger sister along with her single father, and wanted children of her own some day. Her words were flowery and tinged with hope: hope ‘for their future’, for the ‘seed of their love’, for her success in the move, and for his ‘eternal happiness’; Eddie hated her already. He took a deep breath as he stared at her letter now---a short one informing him of her arrival date and how much she’d be bringing.
Not much; two trunks and one large duffel.