27. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ash
O ur first night in the villa was unexpectedly mild. Not that I’m complaining. I wasn’t really up to giving anything my all, after hours of travel and the somewhat humiliating, albeit ultimately profitable, ‘game’ we played to decide the order of our individual dates.
By the time Pack Milton and the auxiliary camera crew finished their interview segments and cleared out of our villa it was just about time for dinner.
We enjoyed some of the most luxurious ‘room service’ I’ve ever experienced—including but not limited to all of my stays in Paris, Ibiza, and Berlin. Plates and plates of fish, fruit, vegetables, rice and noodle dishes; everything garnished with edible flowers and served al fresco, with the backdrop of the villa’s incredible view.
The six of us indulged in a little jacuzzi together (swimsuits on, regrettably) after dessert and coffee—before all of us slunk into pajamas and got ready to bed down in the nesting room.
All of the boys agreed to draw straws for sleeping positions the first night while Ursula was brushing her teeth. She didn’t need to see all of us squabbling over who got to sleep closest to her—and us boys didn’t need a reason to start a spat with one another when things were going so swimmingly.
Of course, my stellar luck couldn’t hold out. The alphas, Teddy and Mavren, just so happened to garner the two spaces bracketing Ursula—the rest of the boys and I would be relegated to the outer limits .
Even though I haven’t ever gotten close to ‘biting in’ to a pack, I’ve been involved in my fair share of flings. Sure, some were heat and rut related, but some of them were just ‘funtime fuckies’ on the road—especially during the height of my early career when I was in the crosshairs of being twenty-one years old and drowning in self-identified ‘groupies.’ Over the years, as I’ve aged and moved downward on the food chain of fame, I’ve found myself in all sorts of interesting places.
I ended up bedding down on the far right side, just behind Lysander—who nearly knocked me the fuck out with his scent as soon as he started sleeping. Our little theta Morpheus—prince of dreams.
Ronan and Mavren were the first ones up; Ronan played barista and breakfast cook while Mavren did his morning calisthenics in the sun.
By the time the rest of us rolled out of the nest, there were coffees, fresh fruit, eggs and bacon, baskets of toast—plenty of goodies for a relaxing breakfast before Ursula would have to depart for our date.
Anna and the others had explained the day before, each member of the pack would have an opportunity to have some one-on-one time between our arrival and the first social—where all the different packs are going to get to see each other for the first time since the ‘bubbles.’
They explained that individual dates would not only be special activities tailored to each of the different participants that would take us away from the villa from the day, but each pair would also get some time alone in the villa, while the other members of their pack enjoyed their own excursion—with everyone reuniting for a differently themed cocktail hour and dinner every evening.
To say that I was excited to be the first to get my individual date with Ursula would be a criminal understatement. While I don’t know what the producers have in store for us, I couldn’t be happier that I get some alone time with my omega back at the villa before the other boys are due back.
We were told to wear casual clothes, and to have our bathing suits on hand.
It’s still so early in our courtship that all of us are still acting chivalrous—leaving the room so that Ursula can change, doing our best whenever she’s in a swimsuit not to look at her incredible soft, teardrop shaped breasts, her high, rounded ass…ok, maybe the chivalry is starting to run thin—but I’m doing my best.
The boys all fuss over me, just as bad as any mother hens, as I wait on the front terrace on the other side of the giant wooden door.
Ronan fluffs a bit of my hair, Teddy helps cuff the sleeves of my apparently ‘too large’ Hawaiian shirt, and Mavren and Lysander circle me as they echo Teddy’s sentiments about me not knowing the secrets of menswear that they are apparently so expert in. All of us crane our necks to get a look as the large wooden door swings open—revealing Ursula; looking very va-va-voom in a pair of denim cutoffs over a bright blue mock turtleneck one-piece; a zipper with a circular pull undone as far as the straining plastic teeth will go; Ursula’s prodigious cleavage on full display.
“What—should I zip it up? Is it too much?” She sucks air through her teeth, peeking at us over the top of her oversized geometric sunglasses, a mesh beach bag slung over her shoulder, a white cotton button down tucked into the crook of her arm.
I have to stop myself from physically reaching out to stay her hand when she pouts and hooks a finger through the zipper pull.
“I think it’s just the right amount,” I say instead, lifting my own mirrored aviators to give her what I hope comes off as a frisky wink.
She makes her way down the row, shamelessly needy Lysander and Teddy at the head of the line, eager Ronan, just behind—Mavren, presiding over the three of them, waiting his turn. Sweet kisses for each of them, nothing with groping or tongue.
Finally, she turns to me, last of all. I take Ursula’s hand in mine just as the van pulls into the turnaround.
Our ride turns out to be more of a quick jaunt to another location on the connected resort property that manages the villas Build-A-Pack-Blind has been using since their first season.
We’re escorted to a private portion of the resort’s stretch of pristine, white sand beach—where a luxuriant cabana has been prepared for us. In addition to the standard fare of billowing white canopies, plush daybeds for reclining, and a small bistro table and chairs set with all sorts of refreshments; the resort staff were quick to point out a beautiful acoustic guitar made by a local luthier.
Within moments we were left alone with our omnipresent camera crew.
I couldn’t help myself—I gravitated instantly toward the guitar.
“Ooh goody! I don’t have to do the thing where I act like some cringey teenager and beg for you to play for me .” Ursula kicks off her plastic jelly sandals and sets to work making herself something to drink from the table full of fruit, juices, and fizzy liquids that have been set out for us.
“I promise I won’t play Wonderwall ,” I laugh, watching her easy way—the toss of her short curly hair as she flops down on the daybed—drink in hand, golden eyes on me over the top rim of her sunglasses.
The truth is, I’m dying to ask her to sing for me, but it feels simultaneously too silly and too intimate to ask of her.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you sing before,” she muses aloud—her lips pursing around the striped paper straw in her drink thoughtfully.
I give her a look. Not to be an asshole, but now that she knows who I am—I would find it pretty hard to believe she’s going to pretend that she hasn’t heard at least one of my dozens of top 40 radio hits. They may be few and far between these days, but I’ve got plenty of gold and platinum albums to go around.
“Don’t give me that face,” she laughs at me, sticking out her little kitten pink tongue. “I’ve heard KR3OSOTE songs, sure—but your voice is pretty highly modified in all of those!” Ursula protests, and I have to concede to her valid point.
“Fair enough, you are getting far from an acapella experience on any KR3OSOT3 track, that is true,” I sigh, quickly making sure the guitar is actually in tune—plinking out the angelic bell-tones of a proper harmonic, my fingers light over the strings.
I start picking an impromptu fingerstyle arrangement of George Shearing’s ‘Guilty’—and I’m delighted to see Ursula’s eyes sparkle with recognition.
“Is it a sin, is it a crime—loving you dear like I do? If it’s a crime then I’m guilty, guilty of loving you…” I begin in my clear, shining tenor. My heart flutters in my chest as Ursula sets her cup down on a side table, scooting to the edge of the daybed—her spine straight, air filling her lungs as she breathes in. Yes, that’s it…you know you want to.
I continue singing through the rest of the following verse, but when I make it to the chorus, Ursula joins me in perfect harmony,
“If it’s a crime then I’m guilty, guilty of loving you!”
She claps excitedly already on her feet.
“I’m sorry, I just hopped in at the end there, I am so bad—I couldn’t help myself,” Ursula apologizes, but I’ll hear none of it.
“Are you kidding? I would have preferred you sing the whole thing! Will you do one for me now?”
She blushes furiously.
“Uh—I don’t know, I don’t want to embarrass myself.” Ursula backs herself onto the daybed, bouncing down onto it—all the wind gone from her sails.
“Did I…say something or do something wrong?” I venture, worried I’ve somehow behaved like a boneheaded show off.
“No, not at all. It’s me who’s got the issues here,” Ursula laughs unkindly at herself. “I’m worried that you’re going to listen to me just like all those record execs and producers for nightclub acts—and you’re going to send me packing,” she admits reluctantly.
“I can tell you that isn’t going to happen,” I assure her—cupping her bare knee with my hand.
“You say that, but you’re literally a famous musical artist. How the hell am I supposed to compete with that?”
An ugly laugh wells up from deep in my belly, a sudden weight lifted from my shoulders that I wasn’t aware that I was carrying until now.
“I know you call me famous , and not to seem like a total douchebag—because I am, famous that is—but most of my contemporaries, my ‘keepers’—my ‘bosses’ consider me to be firmly in has-been territory,” I confess ruefully.
Ursula straightens on the daybed, my hand slipping from her knee—a determined furrow between her brow and a sparkle in her golden eyes.
“Who the fuck told you that you were a has-been!?” she barks angrily, her hands reaching out to clasp my hand.
I’m so struck off balance by her instant jump to anger—her complete commitment to defending my honor when I myself have no heart to—that I can’t help but let out another cathartic laugh—my spirit lifting with each gasping guffaw.
“Put the knives away, ma’am—they aren’t exactly off base. But I appreciate you being so quick to turn some very high-powered record executives and label owners into throw rugs for me.” I bring her hands to my face and lay a few kisses over her knuckles while she shifts to standing.
“You aren’t a has been,” Ursula insists, jutting her chin toward me. “You can play well, you’ve got an excellent sense of musicality,” she compliments me before pressing up onto her tiptoes to kiss me on the mouth.
“How did we end up with you reassuring me? I’m clearly terrible at giving pep talks,” I muse aloud in between a chain of tender kisses.
“Because you’re actually good at pep talks, idiot,” she scoffs a laugh, pushing back from her place awkwardly curled around me and the guitar. She folds her sunglasses up and sets them on the side table, pulling her regular glasses from her beach bag before making a gesture of ‘grabby hands’ for me to pass her the instrument.
“Oh? My nightingale agrees to sing for me?” I gush dramatically, passing the leather strap over the top of my head before passing her the guitar gently.
“As long as you promise not to run away afterwards if I don’t live up to whatever wacky expectation some barely warmed-up-noodling has set for you.” She shakes her head, settling the guitar strap over her head and strumming the strings gently.
“I swear I will never ever belittle you, as an artist—nor as a woman,” I swear earnestly, a hand over my heart as I switch positions with her—allowing her the makeshift stage as I take my place on the nearby daybed.
“Ok, I’m going to hold you to that though—Mr.Kreosote, sir.” Ursula flashes that dazzling smile at me, her honey colored eyes alight with anticipation.
She begins to pluck out a familiar melody that I almost instantly recognize, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’
Tears are in my eyes before she’s through with the first few lines. By the time that Ursula’s moving alto makes its final refrain, “why oh why can’t I?”—I am gently weeping with the beautiful, pure tone of her voice—the theatricality of her facial expressions as she lovingly fashions each word with breath, tongue, lips and teeth.
It strikes me like lightning—like the fervor of a single key on a piano struck in an otherwise silent music hall; I am in love with Ursula Goldblum-Laskaris. She has consumed a lurking darkness that had been taking root within me, and in its place—something wonderful and new has begun to grow.
After spending the rest of the morning and early afternoon swimming, lounging, indulging in the delicious fish tacos and refreshing frozen drinks served as a beachside lunch, the production crew returns Ursula and I to a blissfully quiet, empty villa for the next four hours—until the rest of the boys will return home to get ready for cocktail hour and dinner.
Just as Kimmy and Timmy are about to leave—Timmy rounds back on me, manically tapping his clipboard.
“Ah shit dude, I forgot to touch base with you—Anna said she meant to mention it this morning, but forgot, but you’re cool to do a little DJ set tonight after dinner, right?” Timmy confirms as if there’s no answer I can provide other than ‘yes’.
The shock must register on my face, because Ursula, ever my champion it would seem, steps in immediately.
“Wait, you’re just springing a DJ gig in like—a few hours, on him right now?” Ursula crosses her soft arms under her massive breasts, sort of giving them an upward lift—and I couldn’t hate Timmy more for taking up valuable alone time with this blathering.
Timmy winces, at least having the decency to be embarrassed.
“I know, I know—it’s kind of a big ask and it was supposed to come from Anna on camera this morning but she forgot,” Timmy explains plaintively.
“Well, that sounds a whole lot like her problem,” Ursula grouses—and I can’t help but be even more endeared to her.
That being said, I know how this business works—and I want Kimmy and Timmy to get the fuck out of here, so I do what needs to be done.
“Yeah, don’t sweat it—I’ll pull something together, Nestflix is going to end up covering it with their own cheapo in-house music anyway,” I laugh it off, getting my own somewhat passive aggressive dig in there purely for the purposes of making myself feel better.
“Really?” Timmy beams.
“Yes, really! Now, you and Kimberly have somewhere to be—don’t you?” I remind him, arching a brow meaningfully.
“Yes, yes, we do—we were just going.” Timmy grabs Kimmy by the shoulders and steers her back to the sprinter van, wise to spare himself a backward glance.
“I have sand in places where sand should not be,” Ursula grumbles —pulling at the gritty lining of her bathing suit, just beneath her pendulous breasts.
“I think we should go rinse off in those outdoor showers,” I purr suggestively, moving into her personal space and hooking my index fingers through the belt loops of her denim cutoffs.
“Hmmm, that sounds like a good idea.” Ursula tips her face up and catches my bottom lip in her teeth playfully before letting it go.
I shoot a look over my shoulder at the camera crew—just in case they hadn’t already done the math on giving us a wide berth now that we were back at the villa.
We move past the big wooden door and through the central courtyard to the back patio, showers, and pool. I allow Ursula to get a few steps in front of me, watching her undo her cutoffs and step out of them—the denim left on the concrete floor as she wriggles free from the lycra spandex of her swimsuit—rounding the corner and out of my view.
Not wanting her to feel left out—I shed my already open Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks, my erection already strong, bobbing up and down as I quicken my pace at the sound of the running water.
I’ve been with women of all kinds—every shape, every color; butch, femme, hairy, sleek—‘barely legal’ to silver cougars. I can’t say that there is much that I don’t like—but I’ll tell you what I do like; bodies like Ursula’s—leagues of creamy white skin, thighs thick and soft; a high and chunky heart-shaped ass, heavy teardrop breasts with ghostly pink, silken puffy nipples—a cushioned pannus above that fat, juicy pussy.
I feel my cock twitch as I take in the sight of her.
“Fuck, you’re a goddess,” I breathe, my hand moving instinctively to my throbbing hardness.
Ursula’s gold eyes fix on me, lurid and hungry.
“Then get on your knees and worship,” she purrs, feet drifting apart—her fingers spreading her pink, slick petals for me.
I don’t need to be asked twice. In the blink of an eye I’m on my knees, one of her legs braced over my shoulders so I can lap at her eager cunt as the water rains down over our naked bodies.
Ursula begins to make delicious breathy mewling sounds, my cock jumping in my hands at each tiny noise of gratification.
I can feel her leg start to wobble, her balance going as pleasure begins to take its hold of her senses.
“Here.” I ease her leg off of my shoulder and make a twirling gesture with my fingers. “Turn around—lean up against the wall,” I rumble, waiting for Ursula to face away from me—her soft white breasts pressing against the slate wall glistening with water.
It’s all I can do not to jump to my feet and slam my cock deep inside that juicy pussy—her scent, the taste of her sweet cunt still running down my chin…but we’re still so early in courting, I’ll just have to be patient.
Certainly doesn’t hurt that I’ve got her where I want her now—that plump, firm ass; one cheek in each hand as I guide her hips backward—her legs apart—so I can eat that dripping honey right from the hive.
Ursula lets out a low moan as I go back to eating her pussy.
“Ash,” she gasps as I let my tongue slip upward to tease her perfect asshole, my index and middle fingers dipping inside her.
My fingers still curled inside Ursula, stroking her g-spot, I use my thumb to start stroking her clit. She throws her head back and moans.
I’m feeling pretty confident that I’m close to making her cum—when suddenly Ursula turns around, a wild look in her eyes.
“This doesn’t seem very fair,” she huffs, her breathing laboured.
I blink, not entirely sure what she’s getting at.
To my astonishment and delight, Ursula steps around me, laying flat on the concrete floor—the drain on the far side of her.
She grins mischievously, looking at me, upside down—her hands pressing her huge breasts together as she bends her knees and spreads her legs wide.
“You can still eat my pussy while you fuck my tits, can’t you?” she challenges.
I move to her so fast, I struggle not to skin my knees.
“That’s a good boy” she commends me as I slip all 8 inches of my cock between those perfect tits. I moan loudly as I pull back and she directs my cock into her mouth.
“Fuck!” I whine as she alternates this way—tits and throat, until stars crowd the edges of my vision—and I realize I still haven’t finished my worship.
My balls are in Ursula’s mouth as she works my twitching cock in her clever hands—she can’t see me reach up—grab the secondary detachable shower head—and change the setting.
The moan she makes around my hard cock as I bring the steady stream of water to her swollen clit nearly makes me blow my load down the back of her throat.
Ursula’s fervor only increases—her cheeks hollow with suction as she attempts to siphon my soul away.
Her moans only increase in frequency and volume—my cock reverberating with pleasure as the water increases its delicious pressure.
It’s not until she begins to spasm uncontrollably—my cock slamming something solid at the back of her throat as she cums—her hand diligently milking every last drop of me into her waiting mouth as I careen after her into my orgasm.
Both Ursula and I had been so exhausted from the activities of the day that we actually luxuriated in a nap before the rest of the boys made their way home to get ready for the evening.
Once more, the five of us give Ursula her space while getting ready.
Since I had an impromptu DJ set lined up after dinner, I opted to dip into the more ‘wild’ spectrum of my travel wardrobe; landing on a black lace short-sleeved button up and a pair of well-fitted tuxedo slacks; my rhinestone loafers and diamond septum ring lending the all-black fit some much needed sparkle.
While I’m very used to being around some of the best dressed, glamorous people in the business—I’m still a bit starstruck by the rest of our pack as the gents make their way, one by one, out to join me at the mezzanine bar—the sun just beginning to set over the ocean horizon.
Mavren looks like some kind of rockstar in a pair of skin tight dark jeans, and a flowing chiffon button down printed with bright tropical florals left mostly unbuttoned, showcasing several dark ink tattoos and a single gold barbel through his right nipple.
Just beside him, Ronan shimmers in a beautiful celadon silk—the beautiful colors of the tattoos shown beneath his rolled sleeves seeming to echo Mavren’s shirt.
Teddy and Lysander, seemingly joined at the hip since we agreed to go to the reveal, stumble their way up the steps—ever in a state of play; mock-fighting and rough-housing between hurried debates on comics, anime, and video games. Teddy’s outfit has an almost feminine quality to it—obscenely sharply tailored slacks, a black vest with an oversized collar—no shirt beneath it; his golden chest and muscular arms on full display—a pair of pointed toe white snakeskin loafers really sending the look.
Meanwhile, Lysander is dressed almost as if he’s Teddy’s photo-negative; a pair of bone-colored khakis fixed to his narrow natural waist by a tan leather belt—a snowy white ribbed cotton tank top accessorized with a simple gold chain—his dark hair swept back from his face in a ‘do suspiciously like Teddy’s pompadour-esque coif.
“So—how was it, man?” Teddy waggles his brows at me knowingly as Ronan passes me a seven and seven in a highball glass.
“The date—I mean, man,” Teddy clarifies after I take a sip of my drink rather than answering him.
“I mean—it wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say it was the best day of my life, but it wouldn’t be too far off,” I admit, trying to cover my own vulnerability with a cavalier laugh.
Teddy lets out a long, low whistle—while the others watch me carefully.
“I don’t know if that’s infatuation talking, or you know.” I drop my gaze to my own crotch for a fraction of a second before redirecting back to the others. “But it’s the truth, my dudes. I got roped into this bogus gig tonight because Timmy and Kimmy started imposing themselves during our designated alone time—and I just wanted to get rid of them as soon as possible.” I raise my glass to the boys as if making a toast—to my delight, they raise their glasses in kind—adding their laughter to my own.
We’re all clinking glasses when suddenly Lysander’s face goes slack—his eyes twinkling as if he’s seen the stars for the first time.
“And she will wear the stars and moon in the night sky as her cloak,” Lysander reverently quotes under his breath as I turn my head to face the top of the stairs.
Holy shit—Lysander wasn’t underselling it. Ursula looks incredible. A shiny chrome string bikini glimmers from beneath a black bodycon mesh dress—the elasticized transparent fabric dotted with tiny luminous bits of Austrian crystal—a few of Ursula’s silver lavender stretch marks peeking through the dress like slivers of moonlight. My eyes follow from the top of her head, down to her perfectly manicured toes—peeking out from the sky high stiletto sandals she’s wearing—greedy for the sight of her.
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever worn this few clothes out before.” She fidgets with the rhinestone clamshell clutch in her hands—her doll-like lashes fluttering.
“There’s a first time for everything, Princess.” Teddy beams—all of his weight loaded into the balls of his feet as if he’s about to pounce on her like some kind of jungle cat.
“Personally, I’d like to see the whole outfit before we have to share this hotness with the rest of dinner service,” Ronan purrs, winding his index finger in a circular rotation in a silent request for Ursula to give herself a spin around.
“There’s more than enough of me to go around,” she grouses in a careless moment of self deprecation.
“Hey,” Mavren clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “None of that—none of us will hear a bad word spoken about your incredible body,” he warns sternly. “Not even from you—got it?” He softens slightly, crossing the space between us to place a kiss on her bright red lips.
“You're lucky I’m wearing waterproof mascara—and no-budge lippy.” Ursula sniffles slightly, blinking away a few errant tears—rolling her lips together out of habit as she runs her thumb over Mavren’s full lips to make sure she hasn’t left her crimson mark on him.
“Alright—you asked for it.” As she turns for us—Mavren lets loose a little groan of appreciation as we get a view of her chrome thong bathing suit bottoms through the sheer fabric of Ursula’s dress.
It’s going to be a long night of looking without touching, I realize—suddenly jealous that I’ll be stuck behind the turntables while the guys actually have a chance to dance with her. Then I remember just exactly the little sound that Ursula makes right before she’s about to cum—and I think better of my jealousy.
Dinner passes by in a blur. Everyone talked about their day over pitchers of citrus fruit laden Sangria and plates of grilled delicacies until all of the plates were cleared away—the six of us ushered from our empty table to the resort’s beachside event space; the stage in place for destination wedding DJs is shockingly similar in size to some of the smaller venues I’ve played throughout my career—the dance floor populated with a slew of guests from the resort in addition to our burgeoning pack; but none of the other contestants. The odd mix of almost exclusively honeymooning couples and packs in addition to our motley crew was certainly a choice, but I suppose that if they didn’t want the shot to be empty—and they’re not going to let all of us animals from Build-A-Pack-Blind into the same enclosure just yet…this was probably the best solution.
It feels a little skeezy to be roped into this half-assed ‘Exclusive KR3OSOT3 Set,’ but what do I care? I’ve long passed any window for ‘artistic integrity’ in my career—if this is a stepping stone to being happy with my new pack? It’s a price I’m willing to pay.
Dignity who?
Anna and the rest of Pack Milton have shown up for the occasion—Anna in a tiny glittering cocktail dress to match her bedazzled microphone as she steps up to the edge of the small stage to announce me.
Like always, I’m wearing a pair of enormous mirrored sunglasses to keep myself from being blinded under the impressive array of lights the resort has mounted above the stage; one side of my omnipresent in-ear monitors dangling over my right shoulder—its clear neon yellow plastic nearly glowing under the stationary spotlight—the other firmly lodged in my left ear.
I spent the precious time between the end of my nap and getting dressed for tonight, cobbling together a short set from some of my existing live show set lists. I listen to the starting click track in my monitors as Anna finishes her introduction, “Without further ado, DJ KR3OSOTE!”
I begin to spin, one of my early songs—a standard ‘house music’ vibe; one of my more popular hits with a decidedly more ‘nu-disco’ number waiting in the wings.
It’s not hard to find them at the edge of the crowd— Lysander and Teddy on either side of Ursula—like the cartoon Devil and Angel respectively; perched on her sparkling shoulders.
Mavren and Ronan stand just behind—one of Mavren’s long-fingered hands resting at the curve of Ursula’s thick waist—enjoying the view from behind just as much as he’s denying it to others in the venue—I’d imagine.
Lysander bobs his head, clearly familiar with the song—but not quite dancing.
I slide the fader—crossing into the next song; a platinum top ten single popstar on the vocals.
All of their faces light with recognition now. I watch Ursula—her nerves quieted by several glasses of sangria and the better part of a blunt Ronan rolled—as she moves from the brass railing that separates the bar and seating area from the crowded dance floor into the wind of moving bodies.
My eyes never leave her, Ursula winding on tipsy feet to a small opening in the crush of people—a bank of color changing lights swiveling directly above her—a mirrored disco ball throwing tiny glowing squares of refracted rainbow reflection over her and the other dancers as she begins to move.
I do my best to stuff down the knee jerk tug of jealousy that gnaws at me as I see Lysander and Teddy approach her from the fringes of the crowd.
I’ve always struggled with the idea of sharing my mate, even with a pack I’ve already bitten into…something about my nature, I guess. Just a little selfish streak I’ve never been able to fully kick.
Holding my breath, I wait for the jealousy to bloom like emerald flames deep within my heart…but instead, something surprising happens; my pulse quickens, my breath escaping me in a bewildered sigh as I watch Lysander approach Ursula from behind—his hands creeping over her hips—his lips already at the side of her neck.
It’s all that I can do to focus on the click track—the amount of time before I have to start transitioning to the next song in my set as I watch Teddy close the distance between himself and Ursula—their bodies drifting toward one another with the inevitable gravity of attraction.
Then she’s kissing Teddy—his tongue sweeping through her mouth, Lysander reaching over Ursula’s shoulder to hook his finger under her jaw—turning her face away from Teddy toward his own—his full lips crushing hers with hungry intensity.
The thoughts begin to rush in all at once—Lysander and Teddy—the two of them pouring themselves over Ursula; their bodies a tangle of limbs and mouths—Ursula surrendering to the ultimate pleasure of taking Teddy’s knot.
Fuck.
Where the hell did that come from!?
I shake off the wave of heat that courses through me—making sure I move into the next funkier, downbeat nu-disco tune even though I’m still reeling from those unexpected, powerful fantasies.
Something tells me, it’s going to be a wild week…and we’ve only just begun.