Seressia Glass - Hunting the Jackal

It was their usual routine, since her only kitchen skills consisted of knife work and other prep, but no way could she sit there and watch Kurik make breakfast and pretend that nothing had happened, no matter how hungry she was. And what if Rashon joined then? Talk about awkward. “No, thanks. Besides, I figured you guys would want more alone time.”

“Rashon’s in the shower.” He smiled in obvious relief and satisfaction. “And we had our alone time.”

“Good.” Her stomach clenched, but she didn’t know if it was hunger for breakfast or the images that bludgeoned her imagination. She edged toward the door. “I-I mean, he’s gonna be okay, then. I’m glad.”

Kurik frowned, his amber gaze missing nothing. “Amarie, I can hear your stomach growling from here. You stayed in jackal form with Rashon and me for the past two nights, waiting for him to wake up. You need food. We all do. Sit.”

She instantly obeyed the demand, sitting at the breakfast bar. He poured a mug of coffee, adding sweetener and an inch of cream just the way she liked it before pressing it into her hands. “Here you go.”

Lifting the mug, she drew a deep breath in. Her eyes slid shut as she took a careful sip, then she moaned as caffeinated warmth slipped down her throat. “Gods, that’s so good.”

A strangled sound had her opening her eyes. Kurik stared at her, unsmiling, his yellow eyes glinting with intensity. “Kurik, are you all right?”

He blinked and then shook his head. “Yeah.”

“Um—” she pointed behind him “—the bacon’s burning.”

Snarling, Kurik spun away to handle the bacon. Amarie stared down at her mug, hunching her shoulders defensively. Kurik never burned food, and he’d never snarled at her, even when she’d made mistakes adjusting to the clan. She could only think of one reason why he’d be angry.

“Are you mad at me?”

Silence. Then big hands slid around hers on the mug, trapping her. “Amarie. Look at me. Please.”

The please did it. Slowly she raised her gaze to his. His expression had softened into another sort of intensity, one that made her stomach clench for an entirely different reason. “Why would I be mad at you, sweetheart?”

“Because.” She licked her lips, conscious of the warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers. “Because I kissed Rashon.”

His low chuckle skated over her senses. “Rashon kissed you if I recall. Then you kissed him back. I wasn’t bothered. Well, maybe a little.”

She dropped her gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Leaving me out like that.”

“What?”

“Where’s my kiss?” A teasing glint lit his eyes. “Are you going to leave me hanging?”

Kurik wanted her to kiss him, too? Her stomach fluttered. Was it just because he was jealous or because he wanted her kiss, and more? She didn’t know what was going on with the two men or why she’d suddenly become the center of their attention, but she liked it.

The effects of that earlier kiss and her orgasm still swam through her system, prodding her into action. “Leave you hanging after you made me the perfect cup of coffee? I don’t think so.”

She leaned forward. Kurik met her halfway, his lips soft, exploratory. Just like with Rashon, he tilted his head, slanting his lips against hers. But where Rashon’s kiss swept her up in a whirlwind of passion, Kurik’s was like being struck by lightning.

It was a demanding sort of kiss, demanding her response, her passion, her surrender. Ravenous, she gave it to him willingly. One moment she wanted coffee, the next, him. All of him. With a low growl, he cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer. She rose off the bar stool, ready to climb over the breakfast bar, ready to say yes to whatever he wanted.

“So that’s why I smell burnt bacon.”

They broke apart as Rashon entered the kitchen. Amarie realized she had a fistful of Kurik’s T-shirt when he had to tug away to tend to the stove. “I got distracted,” Kurik explained, “in the best possible way.”

“Really now?” Rashon came up behind Amarie, sliding his arms around her waist, his lips brushing her ear. Her nipples hardened, making her thankful her bra was lightly padded. “You know if you keep distracting him like that we won’t get breakfast. We’ll be forced to eat cereal.”

“A fate worse than death for growing jackals,” she joked, though her mind reeled. Rashon had moved far beyond their usual displays of friendly affection, and while she craved it, it also made her nervous as she wondered what Kurik thought.

Her eyes slid to the red-haired man. He didn’t growl, didn’t set his shoulders stiffly and didn’t exhibit any of the signals that would have sent her hiding in her old clan. Sure, he’d said he wasn’t bothered by their kiss, but this was different, wasn’t it? This was—gods, Rashon’s hands cupping her aching breasts, pooling liquid heat between her thighs—this was more than a kiss. This was something that would make her ask for something she wasn’t sure she’d get. Unless both men offered.

The thought made her light-headed. Trying for nonchalance, she lifted her mug to her lips. Rashon took that moment to kiss her neck. She fumbled her mug, sending coffee running along the granite slab. “Darn it!”

“Here, let me.” Rashon caught the towel Kurik tossed, quickly sopping up the liquid. “Doesn’t look like any got on you. There’s no reason to get upset.”

“But it was good coffee.” She pouted. “Kurik put his special touch on it.”

“Of course.” Rashon smiled at his mate, a sexy smile that made her warm, and she wasn’t even on the receiving end of it. “Kurik’s touch makes everything good.”

“Don’t worry,” Kurik said as he rounded the counter. “There’s more where that came from—if you’re good.”

She stared at him, trying to read him, doubt and hope warring inside her. If he could tease, so could she. “Please, sir, may I have some more?”

Kurik froze and then smiled. The dangerous glint of his eyes thrilled her. “I like the way you say that. You’ll get more, but first, give Rashon a proper good-morning kiss.”

Rashon spun her bar stool until she faced him. He stepped between her thighs to kiss her, and gods, it was even better than the first. Her arms wrapped about his shoulders as she gave a hum of appreciation. Dimly she was aware of Kurik pulling her gun holster off her belt, placing it on the counter. Rashon pulled her off the stool. She pressed against him with a little moan, needing to feel his lithe body against hers.

Kurik moved behind her, reaching past Amarie to grip Rashon’s waistband and pull him even closer. They sandwiched her in, and Rashon deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue past her lips. Kurik’s big hands cupped her breasts, unerringly finding her nipples through two layers of clothing, his fingertips tracing the sensitive peaks. Once again she was swept up, caught between thunder and lightning as the men tantalized her with hands and mouths. She circled her hips, pressing forward to feel Rashon’s hardness, then back against Kurik. Inwardly, she cursed the need for clothing in human form.

After long moments, they broke apart, gasping for air. Amarie’s entire body thrummed with want. It curled within her, tightening her nipples, dampening her panties. Desire that she’d thought she’d tamped down flared again, demanding satisfaction.

“What is this?” she whispered, wondering if they could hear the need in her voice.

“The start of something good,” Rashon whispered against her cheek.

“Really good,” Kurik added, nipping her shoulder.

Finally. They pressed against her, and she leaned into them, wanting to taste, to touch, to share twice over. The trill of a cell phone sliced through the anticipation like sleet.