Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears #4)(28)

Loved him?

She slowed the pace as it hit her that this was something monumental. She’d accepted she would live a life void of love from a mate, but here she was, giving her heart to someone who was worthy. To someone she could trust with it.

“I love you,” she whispered against his ear, too scared to look in his eyes when she admitted it out loud.

Another deep pulse from Mason’s dick, and he relaxed. Easing back, he lifted those beautiful inhuman eyes to hers. Honesty pooled there as he smiled and said, “I love you, too.”

“Really?” Beck said, chest heaving with emotion.

Mason drew her into his strong embrace and rocked them slowly from side to side. He rubbed her back gently and said, “Yeah, really, but I was planning on telling you first.”

“Competitive,” she accused him through a laugh.

“Nah, I just had it in my mind that I was going to take you out and tell you at a nice dinner. Make it special. But you know what?”

“What?” she asked, squeezing his shoulders tight. She couldn’t believe he was really hers, and that she wasn’t dreaming this.

“Your way was better.”

“Naturally.”

Mason tickled her ribs and asked, “Naturally? Woman, that’s cocky.”

She was giggling hard now because he’d found her most ticklish place on her stomach and had dug in. “You’re the cocky one now. Stop it, you monster.”

“Mmm, I’m your monster, though,” he rumbled, flipping her over and pulling her beside him on the bed. “Five more minutes.”

“No! I only have forty minutes to get ready now, and I have to look professional today.”

Mason was nibbling at the back of her neck with those sexy nipping teeth of his. And oooh, now he was sucking on her, and the pull of her skin between his lips made her arch her ass against him instinctively. His grip on her waist was hard as he angled her farther back against him.

“Mason!” she yelped. He was getting riled up again, and as fun as it sounded to fool around with him all day, she really had to stop them at some point. Beck abandoned the covers and scrambled from bed.

Mason grabbed for her backside and missed, then grunted and lay limp, half off the bed with a sexy little pout on his bottom lip. She couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up her throat. “You owe me an alarm clock, by the way.”

Mason frowned at the destroyed appliance.

Beck bustled into the bathroom and called out, “And also breakfast since it’s your fault I’m running late!”





Chapter Fourteen


“Clinton, for the last time, I’m begging you…just take off the gym socks.” Eight in the morning, and Beck was already about done with this day thanks to the ridiculous man standing before her.

Clinton had done everything she’d asked: fixed his sandy colored hair into a stylish mess on top of his head, trimmed his facial scruff so it looked designer, and he’d even cleaned and polished both his chainsaw and his brand new white Ford Raptor, which she was pretty sure he bought just to compete with Mason’s truck. He’d started testing her with the jeans she’d asked him to wear, though. She’d said “sexy, with well-placed holes,” and Clinton had decided on redneck lookin’ cut-off jean shorts with a hole in his crotch that clearly showed his dick. And then to top off his look, a pair of atrocious yellow and white knee-high gym socks clung to his hairy legs. If the smile he was wearing was anything to go by, this had been the plan since he’d made the deal to take a picture for the calendar.

“Can we edit the socks out?” Beck asked the photographer, a sweet, mousy woman named Drea.

“It would be easier to just add jeans to him later.”

“No!” Clinton barked as he hit another ridiculous pose. He held his chainsaw up in the air, splayed his legs and yep, his giant dick flopped right out of the hole in his jean shorts. “Are you getting this one? This one will sell millions.” He was trying to contain his laughter, and Beck wanted to claw that stupid smile right off his stupid face.

Behind her, Harrison, Bash, and Kirk were chuckling, and it was all too much.

“This is shoot one out of twelve today. Twelve! And already we’ve wasted an hour staring at your dick!”

“Hey, I manscaped it, just like you asked!” Clinton yelled.

“I meant your chest, Clinton,” she gritted out. “This isn’t an R-rated calendar. Harrison,” she pleaded, turning to the alpha, “can you talk to him? Please.”

“Oh, no.” Harrison’s blue eyes sparked with amusement. “I don’t have any control over that *. I’m fine sitting back and watching someone else try to handle him for a while. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

She let off a screech that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. This was just great that Clinton was already working up her animal.

“Hey, you’re eyes are pee-pee yellow.” Clinton pelvic-thrusted and revved the chainsaw up in the air, waggling his eyebrows not-so-seductively, and she wanted to kick everything.

The photographer stopped clicking away on her digital camera with the long lens and arched her eyebrow at the images she reviewed. “I mean…we’d have to cut half of him out of the pictures. There’s not really a good angle for the shape we need for the calendar.”