Page 17

Ruby

I never thought I’d see Hamilton Porkwell covered in mud with a genuine smile on his face.

Not the corporate polished smile he wears in boardrooms, but an actual, honest-to-god, happy expression.

It’s unsettling.

Like catching a shark taking swimming lessons.

And yet, here we are—three mud-covered pigs and one slightly cleaner wolf—all laughing like idiots on the shore of my family’s sacred lake.

“Admit it, Hamilton,” I call out, shifting slightly, watching him roll around with his brothers. “You’re having fun in the dirt like a common farm animal.”

Hamilton looks up, mud plastered across his chiseled jaw, and for once, there’s no angry comeback. Just a snort and another roll.

Percy is practically swimming in the stuff while Prescott is creating what appears to be a mud castle with his snout.

He’s methodical, even in filth.

“Alright, mud monsters, I’m going to clean up,” I tell them as I walk back to the lakeside and wash off the mud.

Water drips from my fur as I wade in deeper, letting the cool liquid rinse away the mud that moments ago had us all laughing like kids.

There’s something about being covered in muck that breaks down barriers—even between wolves and pigs who should be at each other’s throats instead of rolling around together like lifelong friends.

I shake myself vigorously before I shift, my human form emerging from where my wolf had been. Behind me, I hear the distinctive sounds of the Porkwell brothers doing the same.

I don’t turn around right away.

Not because I’m suddenly shy—hello, I’ve been naked in front of two of them already—but because something in the air has shifted.

The playful energy that had us squealing (well, them squealing, me howling) in the mud just minutes ago has morphed into something heavier.

Something electric.

“Much better,” Percy says, his voice closer than I expect.

When I finally turn, they’re all there—three very naked, very well-built pig shifters with water cascading down their bodies. And they’re all staring at me like I’m the answer to a question they’ve been asking their entire lives.

“Speak for yourself,” Hamilton replies, but his usual sharp edge is soft, almost teasing. “I was just getting used to being filthy.”

Prescott doesn’t say anything at all. His eyes are wide behind water-splattered glasses, which he finally remembers to remove and clean on a relatively dry patch of his arm. It’s adorable and weirdly hot at the same time.

I should say something witty.

Something cutting about how we need to get dressed and go back to the cottage. Instead, I’m transfixed by the sight of three very different, very aroused males.

Hamilton’s cock stands proud and thick—no surprise there. Percy’s is elegant like the rest of him, perfecting his leaner eight-pack frame. And Prescott… well, who knew the quiet ones really packed a surprise?

“See something you like, Wolfhart?” Hamilton’s smirk should irritate me. It usually does.

“Just calculating the odds of three pigs satisfying one wolf,” I shoot back, but my voice comes out huskier than intended.

Percy wades closer, water swirling around his hips. “Those are calculations I’d love to test empirically.”

“For science,” Prescott adds with unexpected boldness, adjusting his glasses.

“For science,” I echo, a laugh bubbling up that doesn’t quite make it past my throat because Hamilton is suddenly right in front of me, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“I think we all knew this was inevitable,” he says, reaching out to trail a finger along my collarbone. Water droplets scatter from his touch; tiny cold shocks against my overheated skin. “From the moment you barged into our lives, all fanged conviction and stubborn ideals.”

“Inevitable?” I arch an eyebrow, refusing to show how his touch affects me. “That’s a convenient rewrite of history.”

“Is it?” Percy slides up behind me, his hands settling on my hips. “Because I remember feeling something that first day at the committee meeting. Even when you were telling me exactly how wrong my designs were.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Prescott has joined our little water circle, completing the triangle of Porkwell’s surrounding me.

“The statistical probability of all three of us being drawn to the same female—especially one who represents everything we’re supposedly against—is astronomically small,” he says, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead. “Yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” I agree softly, then I wonder when I started agreeing with Porkwell’s.

Hamilton’s hand slides up to cup my face, surprisingly gentle for a man I once smacked across the cheek in a boardroom. “Still hate me, Wolfhart?”

“Absolutely,” I whisper.

“Liar,” he murmurs, then his mouth is on mine, and it’s nothing like the angry, biting kiss we shared in the stairwell.

This is deep and consuming, his tongue exploring my mouth like he’s mapping territory.

I hate that I’m moaning into it, hate that my body arches toward him instinctively; but not enough to stop myself.

Percy’s lips find my shoulder, trailing toward my neck as his hands slide up to cup my breasts from behind. I gasp into Hamilton’s mouth as Percy’s thumbs circle my nipples, teasing them into tight peaks.

“She likes that,” Percy murmurs, a smile in his voice. “Remember how sensitive you were that night in my bed?”

“Shut up,” I manage to break away from Hamilton long enough to say, but my body clearly hasn’t gotten the memo.

Hamilton chuckles, and a deep rumble falls against my chest. “Still giving orders when you’re outnumbered three to one. That’s my fierce little wolf.”

“I’m not yours—” I start to protest, but then Prescott steps forward, his hand tentatively touching my waist, and the words dissolve on my tongue.

“May I?” he asks, so different from his brothers’ confident hands already exploring my body.

I look into his earnest eyes and nod. “Yes.”

His kiss is nothing like Hamilton’s dominance or Percy’s playful expertise. It’s curious and exploratory. I find myself melting into it, my hand rising to cup the back of his neck.

We’re all thigh-deep in the lake, cool water swirling around us, creating a delicious contrast that heightens every sensation.

Hamilton’s hand slides between my legs from the front while Percy continues his ministrations at my breasts.

Prescott breaks our kiss to trail his lips down my jaw and neck, his hands roaming tentatively at first, then with growing confidence.

“Should we move this to shore?” Percy suggests, his breath hot against my ear.

“Too far,” Hamilton growls, his fingers finding my clit, circling with maddening precision. “I’ve waited too long to be inside this wolf again.”

His possessiveness should offend me, but my body betrays me, pushing against his hand. “The great Hamilton Porkwell, impatient? I’m shocked.”

He nips at my lower lip in response. “You bring out the worst in me, Wolfhart.”

“And the best,” Prescott adds quietly, his hand joining his brothers between my thighs, exploring different territory.

I gasp as his finger slides inside me, quickly joined by a second. “You three are going to be the death of me.”

“What a way to go,” Percy chuckles, then guides us all toward the shallower part of the lake, where a small sandy beach offers more stability than the water.

I should feel self-conscious—one female surrounded by three males with very obvious intentions—but I feel powerful.

Wanted.

Hungry.

Hamilton pulls me down onto the soft sand at the water’s edge, positioning himself between my legs.

“I’ve been dreaming about fucking you again since that day in the stairwell,” he says, his voice rough with desire.

“Thinking about how you fought me every step of the way until you were screaming my name.”

“I didn’t scream your name,” I protest, though the memory of our hate-fueled encounter sends fresh heat pooling between my legs.

“No?” He positions the head of his cock at my entrance, teasing. “Let’s see if we can change that this time.”

Before I can retort, he pushes inside me in one powerful thrust that has me arching off the sand with a cry that echoes across the lake. He feels impossibly huge, stretching me in the most delicious way.

“Fuck,” he grunts, holding still for a moment as we both adjust. “You’re even tighter than I remember.”

Percy kneels beside my head, running his fingers through my damp hair. “Don’t hog her, Ham. We agreed to share, remember?”

Hamilton’s response is to withdraw almost completely before slamming back into me, wringing another cry from my lips. “She can multitask.”

Percy’s laugh is warm as he guides my hand to his erection. “What do you say, Ruby? Care to show a pig how talented wolves can be?”

I wrap my fingers around him, giving an experimental stroke that makes him hiss with pleasure. “I think I can manage that.”

Prescott watches us with hungry eyes, stroking himself slowly. “Is this… is this okay?” he asks, and I’m reminded that while his brothers and I have crossed this line before, Prescott and I have only shared that one kiss on the terrace.

I reach for him with my free hand. “More than okay. Come here.”

The brothers exchange looks over my body, some silent communication passing between them. Then Hamilton slows his thrusts to a torturous pace while Percy positions himself so I can take him in my mouth. Prescott kneels beside me, and I guide his hand to my breast.

“Touch me,” I encourage him. “I want you to.”

It should be awkward, this tangle of bodies and desire; enemies turned lovers on the shore of a lake meant to be fought over, not fucked on. But somehow, it’s perfect—primal and honest. I guide Percy’s cock to my mouth, licking and sucking his tip before he slides himself deeper.

Hamilton’s pace quickens again, his hands gripping my hips. “This wolf pussy was made to be fucked by us,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave. “Made to be stretched and filled by Porkwell’s.”