Chapter 8
Bash
Five days of complete feral fucking pass in a haze of hormones, buckets of cum, and undisputed certainty that we want Marisol to be part of Pack Morgan.
When she’s not riding someone’s cock, or taking two, Marisol is asleep. Rare moments of clarity appear between orgasms where we lavish her with food and soaks in the en suite bath, and try to give her glimpses of who we are beyond our physical bodies.
We don’t ask her too many personal questions, not wanting to take advantage of her in this state, but I collect each nugget of information she offers us like a piece of treasure and tuck it away safely at the back of my mind.
“Hi,” Marisol says, squinting blearily up at me while she snuggles a little deeper into my side.
“Hi,” I whisper back, lightly cupping her jaw and gliding the pad of my thumb across her cheek. She’s exquisite and I fear returning to my normal life without her in it is unimaginable.
All four of us lay tangled together right where we fell asleep after a marathon session where I had my cock in her sweet cunt and Killian took her ass while Silas fucked him.
It was one hell of a bonding experience and utterly magnificent.
I never knew sex could be so all-encompassing, almost transcendent.
But I’ve come to learn that with the right partners, it really can be.
“What time is it?” Marisol asks hoarsely. She winces and swallows, and I quickly pass her some water from the nightstand.
Helping her sit up, a small pit opens in my stomach as I sniff the air, finding the sweet note of her scent missing. “I’m not sure. But I think we’re on day five,” I say, trying to keep any emotion from my voice.
To confirm my assumption, I reach out and place my hand on her forehead. Marisol isn’t burning up anymore. Her heat has broken, signaling the final day of our time together.
Giving me a lopsided smile, Marisol huffs, “Day five, huh? That explains the aches and stickiness.”
My eyes skim lightly down her naked body and I quirk a playful brow at her. “Well, you’ve had very specific requests—or orders, should I say—and we were all too happy to satisfy each one. Do you want something to eat? A bath?”
“Both sound amazing. Think we can eat in the bath?” Marisol asks, lightly tracing the scar across my chest. She hasn’t asked me about it yet, but I wish she would. I want her to know me. Know us.
“We make our own rules, baby.” I wince at how corny it sounds. Switching gears and hoping we can pretend she didn’t hear that, I say, “Let me go draw us a bath quickly. Wait, on second thought, come with me. Please. I’m not ready to let you out of my sight just yet.”
While the water is running, I chuck some bubbly stuff in there, then go make us a grazing tray that we can snack from.
Thank fuck Nesting Grounds is very thorough with their initial preparation and care or we’d never have known how much Marisol liked herring and cod just as much as she enjoys sweet treats like apple cinnamon fritter bread and chai spice cookies. The nest service here has been spectacular.
“Is the water temperature okay?” I ask, unsure of how she likes her baths now that she’s not running hot anymore.
Marisol’s eyes soften and she gives me a small smile. “It’s perfect.”
We settle into positions across from each other, our legs intertwined and my heart galloping.
Why am I so nervous? We’ve been flirting and fucking for five days straight. There isn’t a part of me that she hasn’t seen, yet I feel oddly naked for the first time.
“So, come here often?” Marisol jokes, the tension in my shoulders seeping away.
I nudge her with my toe. “You got jokes, don’t you?”
“When my mind isn’t clouded by thoughts of cocks and knots, I can attempt to wrangle a joke or two,” Marisol says with a cute little wink and grabs a chai spice cookie.
Picking her foot up and putting it in my lap, I slowly massage her arch. “What else do you like?”
Marisol purses her lips adorably while she braids her hair then throws the plait over the lip of the bath as she sinks lower into the tub. The long column of her neck is bruised with our kisses and I’m already sad that there aren’t any permanent marks.
“Mmm… making music, early morning swims, sitting on my porch with a cup of tea, cuddling up under a blanket with a cozy book, eating good food, watching cheesy horror films…”
I wiggle my eyebrows and point at my chest. “Well, what do you know, we like all of that too.”
“All of it?”
Switching her feet, I pull the other one into my lap, my stomach feeling all floaty with possibilities. “Honestly, yes. You’ve basically covered all of our interests.”
Marisol sits up and a twinkle of excitement shines in her eyes. “Yeah? Which ones do you like?”
I slowly work my way up her calves, relishing every single moment with her. “Early morning swims and cheesy horror films. And obviously good food, though I can’t cook for shit. But I like to eat.” Feeling a tad playful, I add in a lascivious drawl, “As you might know.”
Marisol lifts her chin and puts on a formal accent. “As the recipient of said eating, I can attest to your passion and skill. I commend you, good sir.”
Bubbles zoom through my blood, my body feeling effervescent and more alive than it’s ever felt before.
I want more of this, more of Marisol, long soaks in a bath together and invigorating cold water swims. I want to watch cheesy horror films and fuck until we pass out.
I want to watch her cuddled in Killian’s arms at night and sitting at our dinner table on Silas’s lap.
There’s space for her in our pack, a special role carved out that only she can fill.
But would she want it? Would she want us?
Heart in my throat, I ask, “Marisol, can we see you again?”
“I…” Marisol swallows and an apology furrows her brow. “I like you, Bash, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I’m thirty-one. I have a good life and a job I enjoy. I’m not looking for a house in the suburbs or staying home to take care of a pack.”
“I’m not proposing marriage.” The “yet” is silent, but loud in my mind.
“I’m only asking you to give our pack a chance.
Let’s get to know each other. Show us your life and we’ll show you ours, that way we can see if there’s a way for us all to fit together.
I don’t want you to change anything about yourself or your life.
I’m simply asking for the opportunity to see if there’s the tiniest sliver of a chance for us to be more. ”
Marisol studies me carefully, her attentive gaze flitting over my face as she deliberates. I keep my face totally open so she can read my sincerity.
Squaring her shoulders, she states neutrally, “I live on a small island and I run a pub.” If she thinks this is something that’s going to put us off, then she’s definitely mistaken.
Challenge accepted.
I skim my hands higher up her legs and rest them on her thighs. “We’re shifters with pretty impressive muscles and can help you carry heavy equipment. And we’re pretty good at cleaning up too.”
Scrunching her brow, Marisol seems as if she wants to argue, but there’s a tiny twinkle in those steel-gray pools that tells me she’s secretly pleased by my answer.
“I go swimming every morning. No matter the weather.”
I pull her closer until she’s in my lap. “So do I.”
“You do?” she asks, settling her hands on my shoulders, her eyes now sparking with interest.
My smile is easy as I glide my hands up until they settle around her waist, my thumbs gently caressing her ribs. “I’m a free diver. I have a small diving school and I also do some underwater photography. Oh, and I give surfing lessons on weekends.”
“You love the ocean?”
“We all do.” But not as much as we can love you.
Her grin comes slowly, cautiously, as if she’s taking down the protective wall around her heart, brick by brick. My heart flutters wildly as I witness her surrendering to the idea of “us,” the moment forever etched in my mind and my heart.
I lean my forehead against hers and whisper, “Can I come swim with you?”
“Yes.”