Free Desired by the Pack: Part One: A BBW Paranormal Romance by Emma Storm Page A

took her to dizzying heights, so high she feared the fall. But when it came, it was exhilarating and terrifying at once. As she clung to Beck, afraid of crashing, her nails left half-moon marks in his skin. The sight of those small indentations fueled her fantasy and for a blinding-hot moment, she believed he belonged to her.
    The fantasy was already evaporating when she collapsed on Beck’s chest. Cross eased out of her but Beck lingered in her heat until January sighed and shifted herself off him. Cross peeled himself away from her and Beck after the two men exchanged glances, speaking a language January didn’t understand.
    Alone with Beck, she needed armor.
    “I’m going to get dressed,” she said, not looking at him. One disgusted glance at her discarded scrubs had her padding into the laundry room off the kitchen. She felt the weight of two pairs of considering stares as she walked away from them, but couldn’t summon the energy to be self-conscious. Her shift had worn her out even before the invigorating, exhausting after hours encounter with the two men in her kitchen.
    The last load of laundry she’d washed was still in the dryer, cold and wrinkled, but clean. She found one of her nightgowns and shook it out. The lacy cap sleeves settled over her shoulders and the lettuce-edged hem settled around her upper thighs. The filmy material she loved for sleeping was useless as a shield. It clung to the damp juncture of her thighs, showed the indentation of her navel, and every curve of her heavy breasts.
    She heard clothing rustle, and then the kitchen door opened and closed while she was pulling her hair out of the back of the gown. Footsteps fell behind her. She knew it was Beck without having to turn.
    “Do you sleep in that?” He asked.
    She glanced back to find his gaze on her ass and realized the gown probably clung there, too.
    “I thought you were leaving,” she said instead of answering his question. “I heard the door.”
    “I am. Cross went to get the truck.”
    “Ah. I figured you two came on foot when I didn’t see the truck outside.”
    He shook his head. “You’re too far from pack territory for a pleasure trip. He parked about a mile away. I don’t want to draw attention to you. And I figured you could use a night sleeping in your own bed for a change.”
    “I guess you knew the truck was keeping me away.”
    “I figured it out after last night.”
    She nodded and bit her lip, thinking of the hunters, bikers, and her missing housemate. “Are you guys looking into those hunters?”
    “Do you think we should be?”
    As a rule, werewolves took an evasive approach with hunters. Any time they could be avoided or redirected, that was the preferred course of action. Engaging hunters posed a risk of being captured or killed, but worse, engaging exposed secrets. Myths and stories about werewolf abilities and weaknesses had always flown from human lips, but few truths had ever emerged.
    Evasion, instead of engagement, preserved those truths a little longer.
    She shook her head. “Prince probably didn’t even realize.”
    “I want to talk to your housemate. When do you expect him home?” Beck leaned his shoulder against the door frame, trapping her in the room, still eating her up with his eyes. But his tone was neutral, his words those of an alpha conducting business.
    “I don’t know,” she said honestly, relinquishing the post-coital awkwardness and letting her concern into her voice. “He’s been missing work.”
    “No phone contact?”
    She grimaced. “No phone. The last time I saw it, you were handing it to Maverick.”
    “If he doesn’t have it, I will replace it for you.”
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    “I want to.” He waited a beat before adding, “I want a lot of things.”
    Her throat constricted. She looked away, acutely aware she had nowhere to run. “I’m sure you do.”
    He walked into the laundry room. Cupping her cheek, he tilted her face to his. “I