Alle Kapitel von Freakn' Shifters: Kapitel 61 – Kapitel 70

Talk about erotic overload. Mitchell just about shot his cream into Francine's mouth when he saw Alejandro's long, smooth prick thrust into her. He knew she enjoyed it from the way her mouth went slack around him as she lost focus, to the visual evidence in her shaking body that rocked back against the cock slamming her. The jealousy he'd once feared didn't surface. Instead, he found himself riveted and part of the action, as excited watching her getting pumped as if he slid into her himself. He could no longer form coherent sentences or he would have told Francine how beautiful he found it. How arousing. Letting his cock slip from her slack mouth, he moved to the side, unable to stop himself from taking a closer look, his hand stroking his dick as he watched. "She has such a responsive little body," Jag said in between grunts and thrusts. "See how she takes me and begs for more? Touch her underneath. Stroke her little nub and you'll see how she quivers." Doing as Ale

Francine and her mates moved into a four bedroom home on a ravine lot nestled in a new subdivision on the outskirts of town that shifters were snatching up due to its prime location next to some protected woodlands. Domestic life agreed with Francine, especially now that her men had finally learned to share. Although not without the occasional tussle that she ended with a softly spoken, "I'll masturbate tonight if you don't behave." Talk about instant attitude adjustment. And Naomi was so right about the two-man thing. Two is so much more convenient than one. Take now, for instance. Both her men panted, the sweat glistening off their bare chests as they took turns pleasing her. "That's it, Mitchell," she crooned. "A little harder. Swirl it. Ooh, yes, almost there, push it now." "You're going to kill me, Red," he groaned. "Isn't it the cat's turn?" Alejandro laughed. "Not yet. Come on, you mangy dog, give the woman what she wants. Put your back into it and

Years later? Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the hard bass of an AC/DC song, Chris cruised up the street towards his next job. A doozy of one, too. The guy who called, Asian judging by the accent on the phone, wanted an estimate on turning his basement into a veritable jungle gym with climbing ropes, wall pegs, balance beams, gymnast rings and more. Why he'd build one at home when he could just get a monthly membership to a gym for less wasn't something Chris concerned himself with. As a handyman-slash-contractor, he took whatever jobs came his way, anything to help him sock away for the time he'd leave home, which he didn't intend on doing anytime soon. While his sister couldn't wait to leave the family nest, Chris found it quite comfortable. Sure, he needed to do his part keeping his own room tidy, helping out with the house and lawn work, but the home cooked meals and laundry ? folded and ironed ? totally made up for it. Oh, and you couldn't beat the cheap

What the hell? Chris stared at the closed door, his jaw dropping as disbelief froze him. What was buddy's problem? Did he somehow sense Chris's interest in his wife? An interest Chris now felt sure was mistaken. He'd specifically requested, in his mind at least, to have a mate all to himself. Surely Fate heard him? Given his adamant stance on the whole subject of m俷ages ? not for me! ? it stood to reason, the female ? hot and delectable as she smelled ? didn't belong to him. Nope. She was taken. Off the menu. Not his concern. If he knew that, then why did his feet refuse to move? Because he had unfinished business, that was why. And no, it wasn't his wolf's demand to sniff her again that had him raising his fist to knock. Then pound as no one answered the door. I deserve an explanation. Or a valid reason, at any rate, for the dude's rejection of his services. Services, he might add, buddy asked for. But it seemed Chris wouldn't get an answer because the door remained

The whack against the back of his head snapped Chris's attention back to the arena and the game at hand. Craning his head, Chris scowled as he saw the culprit, his sister Naomi. Wearing a baby in a chest sling, she smirked at him. "Hey, little brother." "What was that for?" He rubbed his noggin. Not that her little tap hurt. But still... For a girl who screamed loud and often about her delicate sensibilities, his sister possessed a rough streak. "Pay attention to the game. My mates are playing." "So?" A moment later the reason came clear as a missile sailed across the partition glass, the white, Indian rubber ball whistling past his head. "That's why." Naomi grinned as she waved at Javier, number sixty nine on Loup Garou, Ottawa's shifter lacrosse team. Chris could see her mate's answering smile even through his helmet, which the league insisted they wear because of the occasional humans that came to watch ? and because it minimized the blood on the