Chapter Thirty
Melinda stared at the big bed. We came for you, Melinda.
Not Cordelia. That’s what Pierre had said.
From Louis—you’re ours. Our mate. Those simple words, their heartfelt admission, Pierre’s admission he was afraid to tell her, had at once soothed her and ignited a pounding in her heart and her clit.
What that would’ve cost her reserved lover to admit.
And Louis, he’d barreled into that room without a thought for his own safety.
To get to her. To save her. Again. Pierre, he’d had the chance to take down Cordelia.
It’s what they’d come here for. What his pack wanted. But he’d chosen her.
Now they were going to claim her. In this bed. Louis and Pierre. The thought of it made her knees weak.
Pierre opened the bedside drawer and set out a pack of medi-swabs and three syringes. The turning is painful, Pierre had told her, the taste of key lime pie lingering on her tongue as she stared at him over the glass coffee table. It would last for three days. They would sedate her.
Louis stepped in front of her, blocking her view. He cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his palm.
“You’re overthinking this, chérie. Relax.” He trailed his hand down, pausing over her heart. “Feel, not think.”
Her heart thudded beneath his hand. He held it there for a moment, before shifting it lower until he was cupping her breast, rubbing his thumb across her nipple. He pressed his lips to hers—a gentle touch. As he trailed soft kisses over her cheek, Melinda found it hard to do anything but feel.
Louis paused at her earlobe. “Trust us,” he whispered, then dipped to her throat.
Pierre joined them, his hand cupping her other breast. The scrape of his teeth as he nuzzled her jawline sent shivers down her spine. Should she be frightened? Should she be running for the hills?
Pierre dipped to her throat. “We’ll take care of you, Melinda. Let us claim you.”
The two of them, in tandem, nipped at her skin.
Her whole body trembled. Their scent, their bodies, wrapped around her, their mouths on either side of her throat…
it was the most erotic moment of her life.
Yes, she wanted this. Wanted them. And as insane as it sounded, she wanted them to bite her. Both of them.
“Say it, Melinda. Give us permission.”
There was a punch of command in Pierre’s voice.
He was asking for consent, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
It should be sounding alarm bells, but all her mind was producing was the fury on their faces when they’d set eyes on her, on her knees, a gun to her head.
First Louis, then Pierre. Gabriel was right. They would die for her.
They waited for her reply, not pressuring her for a response.
“Yes.”
Then they were gone, both of them and she stood, bewildered and bereft.
Louis chuckled. “Our mate is impatient, Pierre.” He shucked his sweats in one smooth motion.
Pierre, a neat pile of clothes at his feet, stood proud beneath her gaze. Were it not for the expression in his eyes, the whirlpool of emotion, she’d have thought him unaffected. But this was Pierre. Calm on the surface, deep feelings underneath.
He cocked his head to the side, the hint of a smile playing across his lips. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”
Then he was moving, cupping her face and kissing her lips, plundering her mouth with his tongue. His hands made short work of her blouse and bra as Louis removed her jeans and panties. She was naked. They were naked. This was happening.
With a jerk of Pierre’s chin, Louis lay down on the bed. Biceps bunched as he hooked his hands behind his head. Knee raised, the evidence of his arousal jutting against his stomach, he grinned at her like some nude centerfold. Such a tease. In his eyes, the promise of so much more.
He held out his hand to her, and with Pierre’s palm on the small of her back urging her forward, she took it and let him help her onto the bed to straddle his lap.
His hot, hard length trapped against her core, she rode his hips, sliding back and forward as he palmed her breasts.
She was so close. Knowing Pierre watched, that he got off on watching, spurred her on.
Pierre settled in behind her, gripping her hips and holding her still. “Non, non. Not without me. Not this time.” With a tug on her calves, he resettled her flat against Louis’ chest. “Together.”
Pierre spread her wide, her thighs straddling Louis’, baring her for his touch.
He teased her slippery folds with two fingers before sliding them inside her.
He knew exactly what she needed, how she needed it.
Louis captured her moan with his mouth, and as though by silent communication, they set up a rhythm—Louis’ tongue, Pierre’s fingers, and the press of Louis’ cock against her clit.
As masterful as their malware code, they set off every trigger in her body.
Played her like virtuosos—strumming her to a crescendo she might never come down from.
She broke, gasping for air, spasm after spasm, spurred on by the deep, satisfied rumbles of two males, one in front and one behind. With residual spikes of pleasure shooting through her, she dropped her head against Louis’ shoulder.
Pierre curled himself over her, his weight on his forearms, caging but not crushing her. “Are you ready, bébé?”
Ready? No. Yes. Maybe.
“Should we both have her, Pierre? Claim her in all ways she can be claimed?”
Melinda stilled. All ways she could be…? She met Louis’ eyes and saw the hope in them. Pierre ran his hands down the cleft of her ass. She couldn’t help the flinch.
Pierre shifted his hand to her hip. “I don’t think she’s ready for that yet.”
Louis pulled her mouth down to his and kissed her fears away. “Nothing you don’t want, chouqette. Not until you’re ready.”
The head of Pierre’s cock nudged her entrance. “So we’re clear, Melinda. We’re keeping you. Forever. We’re going to protect you and love you for the rest of your life.”
“Non,” murmured Louis. “For the rest of our lives.”
If ever there was a declaration, there it was. And she wanted what they were offering with every fiber of her being.
“Yes. I’m ready.” To make sure they understood exactly what she was telling them, she said, “Bite me.”
Pierre thrust inside her, filling her, and Louis rolled his hips.
The friction was intense, the sensation overwhelming and as they worked together to bring her undone again, she gave herself over to it, dropped her internal walls and opened herself to them.
Trusting them. Letting herself get lost in the pleasure storming through her body.
She barely noticed when they nuzzled her neck, one on either side. The rasp of their tongues over the pulse in her throat only added to the sensation between her thighs. The sting of teeth nipping at her skin sparked an insistent pressure at the base of her spine. She was close. Oh, so close.
Pierre thrust harder, hitting nerves deep inside her, and as her orgasm roared through her, they struck, latching onto her throat as they pounded her to heights she’d never experienced before.
She screamed, but not from pain, her whole body convulsing between them as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.
Louis licked their mate’s throat, lapping at her wounds as Melinda collapsed on his chest. Before the turning could take hold, Pierre grabbed a syringe, prepped her limp arm, and gave her the sedative.
Melinda mumbled something as she snuggled into him, and it wasn’t long before she was sleeping soundly.
For three days, they would keep her sedated, then her training would begin.
Louis grinned. Training, he’d heard, was fun.
Maintaining form was a skill all werewolves needed to learn.
Mishaps occurred. Uncalled for shifts resulting in ripped clothes and naked bodies.
His grin widened. When training one’s mate, that meant lots and lots of sex.
Pierre growled at him. “I know what you’re thinking, Louis.”
He quirked an eyebrow at his twin. “And you’re not?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Pierre’s lips. Oui, his brother was looking forward to training their mate, too.
Pierre disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a wet cloth. As Louis cradled Melinda in his arms, Pierre cleaned her up. The twin puncture marks on either side of her throat, he left alone. Those would be the first things to heal as her body transitioned from human to werewolf.
With a toss of the cloth toward the en suite, Pierre joined them on the bed, and they cradled her between them.
Pierre brushed a strand of dark hair off her face. “She’s ours now, Louis.”
“Ours.” And no stinking Faucherian was ever getting near their little mate ever again. Not while he still breathed.