The Den

“This way,” Corrian says. 

This man’s never once been bitten by a mosquito, I can tell. His blood is too expensive for sure, I wonder what it tastes like?

Put the smut books down bitch, that's a crazy train of thought.

He strides ahead without checking I’m following, it makes sense, even just an hour in his presence and you can see people orbit him. Shit, I am already, stumbling along behind him like a puppy.

The path is a secret trail cutting through the trees. Dirt-packed and soft underfoot, lined with wild ferns and crooked roots, it winds through the undergrowth in a loping pattern.

As soon as we step under the leaves, the heat that had reached emergency levels dissipate. The canopy keeps it so much cooler here, thick with pine sap and damp earth.

“Don’t fall behind,” Corrian calls over his shoulder, and I snap out of my weird forest fugue. 

Which absolutely did not include wondering what he looks like naked, sitting on a throne, legs spread, beckoning me to crawl into his lap…

After a few minutes, and a whole internal monologue about whether I’d survive a bear attack, the trees begin to thin.

We step into a cottage core wet dream. 

Rising from the earth, smooth timber walls, stained dark and stretching three stories. A wraparound deck, wide enough to host their cult meetings, trails around both sides and disappears towards the back of the house. Massive windows reflect the sky and trees, portals to some expensive outdoorsy dimension where hot people chop firewood shirtless and no one ever pisses in a friend's wardrobe after half a bottle of tequila.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

Corrian glances back, one brow raised, waiting for me to catch up. But he needs to understand how completely out of my depth I am.

“Do all daycare employees get forest mansions, or am I some weird tax write-off?” I ask, trying to sound casual instead of overwhelmed and slightly aroused by the architecture.

“It’s the pack house,” he says simply.

My brows pull together, and I tear my eyes from the building to him. 

“Pack?”

Red flag, red flag, total red flag. What group of men call themselves a pack, which implies predator. Please tell me it’s some stupid frat nickname they got in college and it’s just an inside joke.

He doesn’t reply, just turns his head and looks back towards the house, slowly sliding his hands in his pockets.

Right, all the useless true crime info i’ve collected over the years really needs to come in handy right now. 

What was that one book I read? About listening to your fear and it’s never wrong. I mean, the premise is great Mr Clever Author, but in practice, what if you're being led by your three year sex dry spell hmmm? What then?

There’s a massive triple garage off to one side, doors open to reveal a whole spread of masculinity on wheels. Gleaming motorbikes, at least one quad bike with mud still clinging to the tires, and sleek, black cars of different shapes and styles.

Even the driveway is fancy gravel.

“You live here?” I try a different tactic.

“We all do.”

“All five of you, in the one house?”

He doesn’t answer, but his smirk says you’ll see in a way that makes me suspicious, and more than vaguely turned on.

Brushing the base of my spine with his fingertips he nudges me forward and we make it up the steps to the front door. The huge brass handle is a wolf head. Huh, the theme continues, I wonder if they all spend the weekends in those horrific wolf howling at the moon fuzzy jackets? 

Or maybe they're just all firmly team Jacob. 

He steps inside, I follow, still not entirely sure this isn’t a stress-induced hallucination brought on by retail trauma and expired gas station gummies. I have officially walked into the belly of the beast.

And the beast has a very expensive wood polish.

Heat, god it’s so warm in here too. Maybe they're the source of heat and it pours off them into enclosed spaces. There’s no other explanation, thank the sweat god I’ve left my hoodie off.

Smack my ass and call me Shirly, this is a five star cult cabin.

Exposed wood, muted tones, leather, so many cushions, there’s even fresh flowers dotted around. That’s a woman's touch, I need to unpick later why that thought sends the tiniest spike of fury into my throat. 

All the furniture is massively oversized, not surprising to be fair. Imagine all five of them trying to squeeze onto a normal size sofa, in front of that beautiful open fire there, all topless and sweaty, maybe they are watching a film, maybe a sex scene comes on, maybe there's an accidental touch of bare thighs…

“Coooorrian!”

Jax’s voice roars through the house, snapping me out of my filthy daydream. 

Shit, shit shit. I’ve wandered into the house without even realising, worse than that, I’ve basically pressed myself into Corrians side in the process. Craning my neck back our eyes slam together, because he’s already looking at me. 

His pupils have expanded to the point all of the colour has disappeared, his chest beats a quick rhythm and I can feel the muscles in his arm tense and flex. We’re locked together, nothing else exists, just this moment, just this feeling, just this pull.

“Oooooh shit, we’re bonding already, I want IN.”

It’s obvious with how his voice bounces off the walls, high energy, high volume, and zero chill, that Jax is trouble. He skids into the room, breaking the connection with Corrian and pulling both our attention straight to him.

The cropped hoodie is gone, full glorious form on display. He’s still in joggers slung low on cut hips, sliders, hair held back with a headband and the only other accessory is a lollipop from my snack pile.

Oh, and he’s beaming at me.

“I knew you’d hog her. That much sexy might be too much for you alone boss.” he says, popping the lolly out of his mouth. Eyebrows wiggling at Corrian.

Why do I feel like a slice of cake and he’s just been handed a fork? 

Why does that make me horny?

Corrian doesn’t look at him, just sighs the sigh of a man who has been dealing with this for far too long. Jax practically vibrates on the balls of his feet.

“I’ll finish the tour,” he states, sliding up to Corrians side, tugging on the flannel sleeve. “I’m good at tours. Remember the last one? We only lost one person!”

“Jax,” Corrian warns with his tone.

But Jax is already squeezing between us, hands clapped in dramatic prayer. 

“Pleeeeease, Daddy. You’re just gonna brood and growl and point at things. I’ll make it fun. Look, look at my face. This is my tour face.”

He beams at me again, and I can’t help the smirk he pulls from my mouth.

Corrian doesn’t decide, instead looks at me with a single raise of his eyebrow in silent question. He’s asking for my permission, checking I’m ok with it. Maybe more, are you sure you can handle it? 

I nod quickly. Fuck yeah I can, Jax meets my energy head on, this golden mullet menace is walking serotonin, and my trauma-wired brain is very into that right now.

Besides, he’s smoking hot. I just know he’d rail you senseless then make you chocolate pancakes after.

Corrian hesitates, just for a beat, then with another sigh, more fond than frustrated, he nods.

Jax whoops and holds out a fist to his stern boss.

If he leaves him hanging, I'm walking, because how could you.

Luckily, he forces his fist to meet his and glances off it before murmuring,

“She’s your problem now.”

“Frankies gonna be all our problem,” Jax grins, stepping closer. “C’mon, sugar snack.”

Corrian starts walking off, probably to wrestle a bear or glower into a book or whatever it is Daddy Boss Doms do. Jax watches him go with such open affection that I blink.

Oh. Oh oh.

I narrow my eyes. “So, you and Corrian?”

Jax doesn’t even look at me, just licks his lollipop. 

“You want the deck or the kitchen first?”

Yep, I think my ovaries will burst out of my body. They fuck, 100% they fuck. There is no doubt in my sex starved mind. Oh it’ll be violent, spiritual, Corrian talks him through it for sure,. What I would give to watch that beautiful, sweaty scene.

I clear my throat. 

“Deck.”

“Atta girl,” he grins, and in one fluid motion he scoops me up over his shoulder in a fireman's hold like I weigh nothing at all.

“Jax!” I squawk, thudding uselessly against his back as I get an excellent view of his very tight joggers. “I can walk!”

“But this is more fun,” he laughs, planting a single slap against my ass cheek. 

I squeal, but don’t try to get away, because he’s just unlocked the key to my heart and that single spank sent lightning straight to all the right places. It’s taking every drop of will power not to beg him to do it again. 

My upside down view of the house as we move though doesn’t show much. But it’s obvious every room is massive and super modern. Moving through the kitchen last, we end up at the backdoors, which Jax kicks open. 

“Did you know your sweet ass smells like sugar?” He quips, as he whips me forward and plops me back upright on my feet. “I love sugar.”

I consider biting him. Briefly, but only briefly because my eyes pull behind him and I'm greeted with the deck of dreams.

It’s enormous, stretching out behind the house with plush outdoor couches, huge woven floor cushions, and a fire pit surrounded by low seats and fuzzy throws. Off to the side, nestled between two massive trees, is a giant hot tub. There’s a huge hammock strung just beyond it, swaying lazily in the breeze. A smoker grill, an outdoor mini bar, a freaking wine fridge tucked beneath a long wooden counter.

This palace isn’t real.

Jax spins me to face him, one hand still on my hip, the other dramatically sweeping toward the scene.

“Welcome to the Den,” he says with a grin, so wide all his teeth are on show. 

I’ve never seen anyone with canines that long in real life. 

“You like?”

“I…” All I can do is blink at the scene. “Honestly, it’s fucking beautiful. Is this place even real?”

“Baby, it’s as real as the semi I’m sporting from having your juicy cheeks at biting distance.”