Page 6 of Shifted Desire

I can barely hang on any longer, my hips stuttering as the dam of my need bursts and I pour myself inside the condom, my wolf snarling that I’m wasting my cum when I should be breeding her.

As we come down from our release, Declan gathers his princess up against his chest, murmuring praise. She smiles at him and there’s a gnawing, absurd ache in my chest wishing I were the one giving the aftercare, but that’s not what we agreed on ahead of time. I have to stick to my role, so I chuckle and remove the condom, tossing it in the trash, then tucking my dick away.

“Did I do a good job?” she asks, directing the question to me, a dirty, knowing slant on her lips.

“Yes. But make sure to behave for your daddy so he can do his job.”

Her grin grows devilish. “I’ll try.” She laughs as I shake my head in amusement, the sound low and throaty.

I get two steps toward the door when hits me who she reminds me of. I freeze, stomach jolting as I turn back.

Long, wavy black hair.

Violet eyes.

An aura of pure sexuality and a sinful laugh.

Oh gods, she reminds me of my best friend’s wife.

How did I not notice that sooner?

Fucking hell, that’s going to make for an awkward reunion.

3

“Sam…”

*knock knock*

“She had a late night…should we let her rest?”

I groan at the whispering outside my bedroom door, burrowing under the covers.

Maybe if I pretend I can’t hear them, they’ll go away.

A louder knock, less timid.

“Peanut buttercup, I hate to wake you up, but your brother is going to be here soon.”

Mom’s pet name for me makes me grimace. It’s far too reminiscent of waking up after sneaking out to smoke weed and hook up with my classmates in high school.

She never got upset with me for my behavior, never judged the dark circles under my eyes that made it clear I hadn’t slept, but I still hated it. I hated how sweet and upbeat she sounded, as if life were full of sunshine and roses, and every day was a blessing. A part of me wished she’d be like a normal mom and yell at me, or ground me for acting out.

Maybe if she’d done that, I wouldn’t be here, only a few years from turning forty and waking up in my godsdamn childhood bedroom after a night of debauchery with anonymous men.

“I’m up,” I sigh, shoving the covers back and stretching. The pastel kitten clock on the bedside table that I kept “ironically” as a teen stares at me with its wide eyes, as if to say, “Gods, you slept until 3pm?”

“Mind if I come in?” Mom calls through the doorway.

I put on a worn pajama tee and shorts before stumbling into bed at 2am, high on good sex, so there’s no need to keep her out. Not that she won’t be able to tell what I’ve been up to the second she sees me.

Ugh, it’s so fun having a succubus for a mother.

I run a hand over my tangled hair, trying to tame it. “Sure, come in.” I attempt to hide the annoyance in my tone, reminding myself that this is the price I have to pay for my delightful new living situation.

Even with my go-ahead, the door creaks open slowly, as if she’s waiting for me to change my mind and yell at her to get out.

Gods, I was such a bitch as a teen. I force a smile on my face in a weak attempt to make up for years of being a complete brat to her.