Pack Law Made Him My Brother, So I Made Him My Mate novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Puesto

In the iron bed of the sheep camp Lola rides him for the first time, sets her three rules, and wakes to a text about the Westbrooks coming to dinner.

The Puesto was one room of adobe with a tin roof that rang under the rain.

He lit the lamp with hands that would not hold still.

I knelt at the iron stove and fed it kindling until it caught.

The rain came sideways against the single window.

When I stood up, he was standing by the bed with his back against the wall, watching me.

"You can still go," he said.

"Take your shirt off."

He took it off.

He stood in the lamplight, lean and brown, with a scar across one shoulder.

A pale mark on his ribs showed where a ram had caught him once.

I walked across the room, put both hands flat on his chest, and kissed the scar on his shoulder.

"I'm on the shot," I said.

"Wolves don't catch anything."

"I know."

"Then there's nothing between us except the clothes," he said, and his voice cracked.

"Let's fix that."

I stripped for him.

I did it slowly, on purpose, boots first and then jeans and then the damp cotton underwear.

He did not take his eyes off me once.

When I was bare, he said, "I've been trying to remember how you looked in the truck. I got it wrong."

"How wrong?"

"Everything."

He came to me and went down on his knees on the packed dirt floor.

He put his mouth against my stomach, just under the navel, and held it there, breathing.

I held his head in both hands.

Then he stood, picked me up, and laid me on the iron bed, and the springs shrieked.

We both laughed.

"I'm going to put a hole through the floor," I said.

"Good."

He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his jeans.

He was already hard.

In the lamplight he looked bigger than he had under my hand, the head flushed dark and heavy.

My stomach dropped, and my thighs went slack.

He lay down beside me and kissed me, slowly, with no hurry in him at all.

His hand moved over me.

He traced my ribs, my hip, and the soft inside of my thigh.

Then he cupped my breast and rolled the nipple between his fingers until I arched.

"You like that," he said.

"Don't stop."

He took the nipple in his mouth and sucked, and his hand slid down between my legs.

Two fingers pressed inside me, easily, because I was still slick from the truck and from wanting him.

He curled them, slow and patient, and my hips began to rise.

"Cruz."

"I want you ready," he said.

"I've been ready since the barn."

"Humor me."

He worked me open with his fingers while his mouth moved from one breast to the other.

I reached down and found him, heavy and hot against my thigh, and stroked him until he swore against my skin.

"Come here," I said. "On your back."

He looked at me.

"You said I'd be on top of you," I said. "You called it a threat. I'm accepting."

He lay down on the wool blanket with his arms flung out.

I climbed over him and knelt astride his hips.

First I kissed him, long and slow, with my breasts brushing his chest.

His hands went up my back and down again, learning me.

When he found my ass, he squeezed hard and pulled me down onto him.

His cock slid hot and hard through my wet folds, and we both gasped.

"Lola," he said.

"I know."

I rocked against him, sliding up and down his length without taking him in.

My clit dragged over the head each time, and the pleasure sparked and sparked.

His fingers dug into my hips.

A drop of sweat ran down his temple.

"You're killing me," he said.

"Good."

"Please."

I reached between us and held him steady against my entrance.

Then I sank down.

It was slow, because he was big, and because I wanted every inch to count.

He pushed in, and I breathed out.

Another inch, and the stretch began to burn.

I stopped and rocked a little and took more of him.

He made a low, rough sound in his chest, and his hands closed hard on my hips.

"Look at me," I said.

His eyes were open, gold-ringed and wild.

"You're so tight," he said. "You're so hot. Dios, Lola, I can't."

"You can."

I sat down the rest of the way.

He bottomed out, deep, so full that I gasped, and my hands braced flat on his chest.

For a moment neither of us moved.

His whole body was trembling under me.

"It's so quiet," he said.

"What is?"

"My wolf."

He laughed, and there were tears in the corners of his eyes, and he did not wipe them away.

"He's never been quiet like this," he said. "He's lying down. He's home."

I put my forehead against his and rolled my hips once, slowly.

We both groaned.

"Then I'll take care of the rest," I said.

I started to ride him.

I found the rhythm slowly, rolling forward and back.

I let him slide almost out and then took him all the way in.

Every stroke dragged along the place that made my knees weak.

He watched my face.

He watched where we were joined.

He watched my breasts move and his own hands on my hips, guiding me, never forcing.

He let me set the pace.

"That's it," he said. "That's it, mi vida. Use me."

"You like that?"

"I'd die for it."

I went faster.

The iron bed squealed with each thrust, and the rain hammered on the tin.

I leaned back and braced my hands on his thighs to take him at a better angle.

I cried out.

He sat up and wrapped one arm around my back.

He held me against him so that I straddled his lap with our chests pressed together.

The new angle put him exactly where I needed him.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, right there."

He slid his other hand between us and found my clit with his thumb.

He rubbed it in small tight circles in time with my hips.

"Come for me," he said into my ear. "Let me feel it."

I could not have stopped it.

The orgasm began deep and slow and spread outward.

I clenched around him in long hard pulses.

I buried my face in his neck and shouted his name.

He held me through it.

He groaned, a long shaking sound, and went still, with his jaw clenched, while my body gripped him.

"Don't move," he gritted. "Or I'll finish."

"Finish."

"Not yet."

He lifted me off him, and I whimpered at the emptiness.

He laid me on my back on the narrow bed and settled between my legs.

I wrapped them around his waist.

"My turn," he said.

He pushed into me again in one long, deep thrust, and I gasped.

Then he began to move.

He fucked me slowly, with long strokes that pulled almost all the way out and drove back in.

His weight rested on his elbows, and his mouth hovered near mine.

My breasts moved against his chest.

My hands slid down his back, over the hard flexing muscles, and I pulled him closer.

"Harder," I said.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Harder, Cruz."

He gave me harder.

The bed slammed against the wall.

I heard myself begging, in broken pieces, for more, for deeper, for him not to stop.

He answered in Spanish, low and fast.

I did not know the words, and I understood every one of them.

A second orgasm gathered at the base of my spine.

"I'm close," I said. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Inside me. Please."

He growled.

It was an actual growl, low and animal, and it went through my body.

He drove into me three more times, hard and deep.

Then he buried his face in my neck, and his body locked.

I felt him pulse inside me, hot and heavy, again and again.

That tipped me over the edge, and I came with him.

We lay tangled in the wool blanket for a long while.

He did not pull out.

He stayed inside me, kissing my shoulder and my jaw and the burn scar on my arm.

They were soft kisses, one after another.

"I'm sorry about the bed," I said.

"The bed has had worse."

I laughed against his neck.

Then I felt him begin to harden again inside me, and I looked up.

"Already?" I said.

"It's your fault."

"Then roll over."

He rolled onto his side, and I turned my back to him.

He slid his arm under my head and fitted himself against me, chest to back, knees behind my knees.

He lifted my top leg over his hip.

His cock found me from behind, slow and sure, and pushed in.

I moaned.

It was a different angle, shallow and deep at once, and with my leg opened over his, every inch dragged against me.

"Is this good?" he said into my hair.

"It's perfect."

He moved in long, lazy strokes, with no hurry in him now.

His hand slid around my thigh and found my clit, and he stroked it in the same slow rhythm.

His other arm held me tight across my chest.

I could feel his breath on the back of my neck and his heartbeat against my spine.

"I could stay here all night," he said.

"Then stay."

He kissed my shoulder, and the line of my neck, and the spot just below my ear.

His mouth opened against my skin, and I felt his teeth, and I felt him stop himself.

I turned my head and kissed him.

The pleasure built slowly this time, a warm tide rising, each stroke lifting me a little higher.

I came with a long shudder, soft and deep, and he followed me a moment later with a groan against my throat.

We lay still.

"Three rules," I said, after a time.

He lifted his head.

"One," I said. "Not in the main house. My mother sleeps there."

"Agreed."

"Two. Nothing that shows. No marks, no looks, nothing a pack nose can find," I said.

"You mean the bite."

"You said a bite means something. So you don't bite me where anyone sees," I said.

"All right."

"Three." I took a breath. "Tell me why your face went white when that old woman said her words."

He was quiet a long time.

"There's a rancher on Coyote Creek named Westbrook," he said. "He wants his daughter to mate me by Christmas."

"And?"

"My father promised it at his wedding without asking me," he said. "The Westbrooks hold the headgate for our winter grass."

"Does your wolf say anything about her?"

"He slept through the dance I took her to two years ago."

I looked up at the beams.

"Three," I said. "The night you mate her, this ends. I will not be the woman you keep while you mate someone else."

"Lola."

"Say yes."

"Yes," he said, and he did not like saying it.

I turned and kissed him.

"How long are you staying in the valley?" he asked against my mouth.

"Until the Gila crew calls me back in April."

His arms tightened around me, and he said nothing.

We slept for a little while.

I woke before dawn with his arm over my waist and rain still dripping from the eaves.

My phone buzzed on the floor.

My mother had written at 5:12: Mija, I told everyone you went for a walk. Be home for church.

The next line said: The Westbrooks are coming to dinner at two. Wear the green dress.

Cruz read it over my shoulder.

His whole face went shut.

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