Page 51 of Destined Prey
Instead, when Jack pulled out all the way the next time, he patted Ben’s ass. “Up on the bed. I need to see your face.”
Ben scrambled, craving Jack’s cock back in him. He started to roll onto his back, but Jack stopped him with a hand to Ben’s hip.
“On your side. Pull this leg up.” Jack touched Ben’s left leg. The change put Jack’s face in his peripheral vision, and something in Ben eased—he wanted to see the man who owned him this sweetly.
Ben was on his right side. He hooked one arm under his left knee and hiked it up to his chest.
Jack straddled his other leg, and with a grunt, thrust into Ben’s ass, all the way to the hilt.
Ben gasped, unable to even moan, it felt so good. Jack pumped into him repeatedly, then Jack bent, covered him, pinned Ben’s left leg down for him.
Ben let go of it and instead grabbed hold of Jack. He didn’t care where, he just had to touch him.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack mumbled, moving faster, fucking Ben with powerful thrusts.
Ben was held down and taken like he’d wanted to be, rough and hard, yet with care, too. Jack wasn’t hurting him—he was giving Ben what he wanted, needed.
And Jack was with him, in his head, opening himself to Ben, too.
That shared ecstasy doubled and tripled as they gave themselves to each other. Ben felt Jack’s wonder feather through their bond, mirrored by his own. This was what home in a body felt like. Every grind of hips to ass, every thrust and withdrawal, filled them both with more sensational pleasure, more affection and trust.
Jack sucked on a spot on Ben’s neck that made him squirm and shiver, made jolts of bliss spiral out from what had to be a mark to the rest of Ben’s body.
Jack pounded into him harder and slid a hand down to fist Ben’s shaft. “Give it to me,” Jack demanded. “Give me your pleasure, your seed.”
Ben’s laugh broke somewhere inside the moan—bossy, beautiful man—and he let go.
He could deny Jack nothing. He keened as he came, hot waves of bliss washing over him again and again.
“Yes!” Jack hammered into him. “Ben! Ben!” He pushed in a final time and curled around Ben as much as possible, seeking out that spot on his neck again, sucking as he shuddered and came.
Ben was a puddle of satiated man. He was going to melt right into the mattress.
Jack’s shaky chuckle followed that thought. “No melting.” He was breathing hard, moving slow, untangling himself from Ben’s body. “Want to snuggle and pass out.”
Ben managed a grunt. He was already halfway to out of it. Jack had fucked him stupid. Or unconscious. Or both.
Jack jostled the bed, then he was there, pulling Ben into his arms. “We’re going to make something spectacular between us,” he whispered in Ben’s ear.
Ben pressed his smile into Jack’s shoulder. “Already are,” he whispered back—then let the quiet take them both.
Ben smiled at that. They already had, and it was only going to get better. He’d found something he’d never known he could have, a destined mate who was quickly becoming everything to him.
Life was full of surprises, and blessings, and Ben was going to be eternally grateful for the best of both of those, wrapped up in one incredibly sexy, loving man. He drifted off to sleep, his mind and body cuddled with his mate’s, safe, happy and with the seeds of love planted and ready to grow steadily between them.
Epilogue
Casey lingered at the tree line long after the rest of his pack had headed home. He didn’t like leaving them to run without him, but tonight wasn’t about them. Tonight was about watching. About making sure the Double T ranch didn’t draw more blood.
From his shadowed vantage, he could see the ranch house, warm light spilling from its windows. Ben’s laughter carried across the night air, Jack’s voice following after. That bond between them was solid now, glowing like a beacon even Casey could feel from here. Good. His brother had found his mate. That was one less thing for Casey to worry about.
But the ranch itself? Trouble clung to it like burrs in a coyote’s tail. The wolves, the coyotes, the rogues—they’d tasted blood here, and they’d be back. Casey knew it the way he knew the wind. And when they came, they wouldn’t stop at Ben and Jack.
Movement at the porch drew his eye. Rhett Tucker stepped outside, shoulders squared, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The man looked tired—bone-deep tired—but alert, scanning the horizon like he expected trouble.
Casey smirked. “You’re not wrong, cowboy.”
There was something about Rhett that snagged Casey’s attention and wouldn’t let go. Not just his size, or the stubborn tilt of his jaw, but the way he carried his fear—quietly, privately, like a man who’d never admit he was out of his depth. Casey respected that. Maybe even admired it.
