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off the chain reaction of the beginning of the end for John. Just the touch of that tongue while John was inside him, he wasn’t sure how or why, but in his mind it was the most erotic thing in the world, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He had to come, and he had to do it now.

He groaned as he thrust harder, gripping Storm’s hips tighter and pressing him down on his cock. It hurt, but he ignored the pain. This was better. He would die if he didn’t do this.

“John…John…” Storm said, throwing his head back and repeating his name over and over again. If he was trying to form some kind of protest to make John stop or slow down, then he wasn’t going to let him. John shifted his hips and fucked Storm harder until his balls went tight and he was coming inside his mate.

John moaned out loud, his body quaked, and everything inside him was more alive and clear than it had ever been in his life.

It was probably very corny, and he would never confess this to anyone, but now that he’d had his mate, he had to say that coming inside him felt damn near spiritual. He was giving something of himself to Storm when he came inside him, something that did more than mark the man as being his. He liked doing it, and he wanted to do it as often as possible, until the spiritual connection that bound them together was felt by Storm was well.

When John came inside him, Storm hugged John tightly to his chest and moaned. He quickly reached down and jerked his cock quickly, still gyrating his hips as he shot his load on John’s chest.

They collapsed together, but Storm was quick to pull himself off of John’s lap. John reached out and grabbed him by the hand before he could go anywhere. “Stay with me.”

Storm stared down at him then pointed to the stove. “I’m getting Hunted and on the Run

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more dish towels. We need to clean that off,” he said, looking down at the little splatter of cum on John’s stomach and chest.

“I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t?” Storm said, surprise in his voice as John pulled him back down.

John would never admit to this either, but he actually kind of liked it when Storm came on him. If John was claiming Storm as his whenever he came inside him, then maybe it worked the same way when Storm came on him.

He probably wouldn’t like it so much after it dried up and got itchy, but for now, he was feeling too lazy to want to do anything other than sleep with his mate’s warm body beside him.

“No,” he said.

“I should at least check your wound. We got rough toward the end.”

John chuckled. “That we did.”

Storm slapped his arm, even as he came to rest on John’s good side, the both of them putting their arms around each other. “I’m being serious. How does it feel?”

John tested his leg by flexing the muscle that had been shot. His eyes popped wide at the pain. That had been a total mistake.

“Definitely still hurts,” John said through his teeth, but then he gripped Storm tighter when the man tried to get out of his arms to check. “But I’ll be fine until the morning. Look, it’s not like it started bleeding again,” he said, trying to reassure his mate as they both looked down at the still white bandages.

“What about you? How’s your wound?” he asked, remembering the long scratch brought on by a grazing bullet.

“Just fine. It’s you I’m worried about. I’ll be checking on your bandages in an hour,” Storm said.

“Mmhm,” John replied, hardly able to pay attention as exhaustion took hold of him once more and he fell asleep.

It didn’t feel like he slept for even ten minutes before Storm was 72

Marcy Jacks

shaking him awake, keeping his hand on John’s mouth to keep him from speaking.

John’s eyes snapped open wide. It was pitch dark in the cabin―Storm must’ve gotten up at some point to turn off the lamps―and there was no light streaming in under the crack of the door or anything. Still night.

Storm held a finger to his lips and pointed to the door. He mouthed the word hunter, and John went stiff. He sniffed the air, searching for the scent of whoever was outside.

When he got it, he wanted to curse.

That guy from before. The one John had spared on Storm’s insistence. The fucker just didn’t give up. Really, they should have seen this coming.

Then another thought occurred to him. Shit, was this the same guy who’d come after him in the truck and shot him with the silver bullet?

He was a lot more dangerous than both Storm and John had originally given him credit for if that was the case.

John sat up quickly when Storm moved his hand away from his mouth. He tried to, anyway. The bullet hole in his leg was far from healed enough for him to be able to run around carefree on it, but he was going to have to try.

He eased his leg off the bed. Now that he was up and aware, he could hear the footfalls of the hunter outside as he tried to remain quiet. Humans were never as silent as they tried to be, and John could hear the man’s breathing, as well as the crunching sounds his booted feet made as they stepped over dried grass and rocks.

Storm was like a ninja and silent as the night as he hurried around their little shack, throwing the first aid kit into their travel bag, as well as some of the clean dish towels, and anything else that they could take with them that would be of some use.

Getting rid of the open soda cans, dumping out the water, and cleaning the wolf hair that had fallen to the floor was out of the question.