chest hair is gray. Actually, all of his hair is gray.”
“Happens to the best of us, I’m sure.” He took his shot, didn’t even come close to hitting the pocket. She was too distracting. With a resigned sigh, he began pushing the rest of the balls into the pockets.
Playing guard dog in Quentin’s house when no one was around was damned boring, and he tended to migrate down here to practice his game, even though he suspected the pack master would be pissed if he knew. Generally, other shifters were only allowed to use the table when Quentin was around. And then they all understood the unspoken rule: the pack master always won.
“I’m too young to be sleeping with someone who has gray hair.”
“You should have thought of that before you hooked up with him.” Not that she had a choice, once Quentin set his sights on her. Still, if she hadn’t wanted to pique the pack master’s interest, she could have avoided it. There were plenty of females in the pack who managed to avoid his wandering gaze. But young, hot females who strutted around half-dressed and boldly flirted with the shifter were exactly his type. She had gotten precisely what she wanted, except she had lost interest faster than Quentin had.
“He isn’t here right now,” she said, stating the obvious. If he were, they sure as hell wouldn’t be having this conversation. They wouldn’t have any conversation. She’d probably be flat on her back in Quentin’s bed. Or, more likely, on her hands and knees.
The pack master loved to fuck shifter style, even though technically, in a shifter’s world, the only person he was supposed to take that way was his mate. Although Reid suspected that Quentin’s mate was probably more relieved than repulsed by his propensity for sleeping with other women. It undoubtedly kept him out of her bed.
Arianna Lyons had once been a beautiful, vibrant woman. More than thirty years mated to the aggressive, domineering pack master had taken their toll. She had turned into a frail, aged woman, and every time Reid saw her, he wondered if it would be the last.
“There’s no one here, except you and me,” she murmured. He felt her hand on his ass again. He froze, not moving a muscle, as she massaged the seat of his jeans. Then he felt her body, pressed against him. Her hand slipped over his hip, reached around and cupped his rock-hard dick. He sucked in a breath, tried to will his legs to move, to step out of her embrace. They weren’t listening.
“Fuck me, Reid,” she whispered. Her other hand slipped under his T-shirt; her nails raked across his chest. He closed his eyes, selfishly enjoying the sensation. He knew he was a reasonably attractive guy, but no woman had ever come on to him quite as boldly as this one was, right now.
“We can’t,” he protested, even as her hands moved to his belt buckle, tugged the leather strap out of the metal clasp.
“We can. No one has to know. I swear, I won’t tell. You know he would beat me, too, if he found out.”
He would. He would beat both of them. And Reid could lose his position as house guard. Not that he was particularly in love with the job, but Quentin paid well enough, and while it wasn’t at the level of his brother, Finn, it still afforded him a certain level of respect within the pack.
His belt was undone, and she worked at the snap on his jeans. “I’m not wearing underwear,” she said.
Holy fuck, in that skirt? Reid opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. She looked up at him, her gaze full of promise.
She slipped her hands into his boxers, wrapped her fingers around his dick, and squeezed. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists, but lust had begun to fog his brain. His legs still would not move away from her.
“Fuck me,” she whispered again. “Fuck me hard. I want to feel a young dick in me for once. It’s been too long.” Her hand began a steady, rhythmic stroke. His hips rolled of their own accord, and she picked up the pace,
“Happens to the best of us, I’m sure.” He took his shot, didn’t even come close to hitting the pocket. She was too distracting. With a resigned sigh, he began pushing the rest of the balls into the pockets.
Playing guard dog in Quentin’s house when no one was around was damned boring, and he tended to migrate down here to practice his game, even though he suspected the pack master would be pissed if he knew. Generally, other shifters were only allowed to use the table when Quentin was around. And then they all understood the unspoken rule: the pack master always won.
“I’m too young to be sleeping with someone who has gray hair.”
“You should have thought of that before you hooked up with him.” Not that she had a choice, once Quentin set his sights on her. Still, if she hadn’t wanted to pique the pack master’s interest, she could have avoided it. There were plenty of females in the pack who managed to avoid his wandering gaze. But young, hot females who strutted around half-dressed and boldly flirted with the shifter were exactly his type. She had gotten precisely what she wanted, except she had lost interest faster than Quentin had.
“He isn’t here right now,” she said, stating the obvious. If he were, they sure as hell wouldn’t be having this conversation. They wouldn’t have any conversation. She’d probably be flat on her back in Quentin’s bed. Or, more likely, on her hands and knees.
The pack master loved to fuck shifter style, even though technically, in a shifter’s world, the only person he was supposed to take that way was his mate. Although Reid suspected that Quentin’s mate was probably more relieved than repulsed by his propensity for sleeping with other women. It undoubtedly kept him out of her bed.
Arianna Lyons had once been a beautiful, vibrant woman. More than thirty years mated to the aggressive, domineering pack master had taken their toll. She had turned into a frail, aged woman, and every time Reid saw her, he wondered if it would be the last.
“There’s no one here, except you and me,” she murmured. He felt her hand on his ass again. He froze, not moving a muscle, as she massaged the seat of his jeans. Then he felt her body, pressed against him. Her hand slipped over his hip, reached around and cupped his rock-hard dick. He sucked in a breath, tried to will his legs to move, to step out of her embrace. They weren’t listening.
“Fuck me, Reid,” she whispered. Her other hand slipped under his T-shirt; her nails raked across his chest. He closed his eyes, selfishly enjoying the sensation. He knew he was a reasonably attractive guy, but no woman had ever come on to him quite as boldly as this one was, right now.
“We can’t,” he protested, even as her hands moved to his belt buckle, tugged the leather strap out of the metal clasp.
“We can. No one has to know. I swear, I won’t tell. You know he would beat me, too, if he found out.”
He would. He would beat both of them. And Reid could lose his position as house guard. Not that he was particularly in love with the job, but Quentin paid well enough, and while it wasn’t at the level of his brother, Finn, it still afforded him a certain level of respect within the pack.
His belt was undone, and she worked at the snap on his jeans. “I’m not wearing underwear,” she said.
Holy fuck, in that skirt? Reid opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. She looked up at him, her gaze full of promise.
She slipped her hands into his boxers, wrapped her fingers around his dick, and squeezed. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists, but lust had begun to fog his brain. His legs still would not move away from her.
“Fuck me,” she whispered again. “Fuck me hard. I want to feel a young dick in me for once. It’s been too long.” Her hand began a steady, rhythmic stroke. His hips rolled of their own accord, and she picked up the pace,
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