Motley Crewed Shifters - Chapter 126: Chapter 126

ZEKE
She’s soft beneath me.
Warm.
Wet.
Willing.
And mine.
The air between us crackles—hotter than fire, thicker than smoke.
I press my lips to her skin like I’ve been dying of thirst, hungry and empty for centuries, and only she can satisfy the ache.
And maybe that’s the truth.
Maybe I have been waiting lifetimes to taste her. To have her.
And now she’s here, moaning beneath my mouth as I worship every inch of her with lips and tongue and hands that shake from the effort of not losing control.
My Dragon is pacing in the back of my mind, molten and wild.
Watching.
Growling.
Wanting.
He sees her just as I do—glowing, perfect, threaded with power she doesn’t even know she has.
He whispers to me to take. To mark. To claim.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Not without her knowing what it means.
Still, I can’t stop the way I devour her.
She’s honey and fire and heaven on my tongue.
Her thighs tremble around my shoulders, hands fisting in my hair as I press my lips down her ripe flesh.
“Zeke!”
“Shhh. I got you, Petals. Got what you need. First, I’m gonna taste you.”
I slide down, pressing my tongue into her belly button before wedging my shoulders between her creamy, thick thighs.
She smells so fucking delicious.
Like sweet honey, sex, and need.
She smells like mine.
I spread her glistening folds and press my lips to hers, pushing my tongue deeper inside her needy pussy.
Fucking. Perfection.
This woman is going to kill me.
I do it again, slower this time, hungrier for her.
She’s so wet for me.
Her ready submission is my fucking undoing, and I go at her like a wild man.
I can’t help myself. Eating her out is all I want to do. Making her come on my tongue is my top fucking priority. And she’s close. I fucking know it.
Her cries curl down my spine like lightning and I don’t stop until she’s arching, breaking, coming undone on my mouth like a prayer answered.
And it truly is the answer to one of my prayers.
My name on her lips is a growl, a gasp, a benediction.
And still—it’s not enough.
I want more from her. So much more.
My cock aches to be inside her, and I know if I don’t move now, I’ll come on the sheets like a green ass virgin.
I move fast. I rise above her, watching her flushed face, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the dazed hunger in her eyes.
“I need to feel you,” I rasp.
She nods, reaching for me, guiding me in with hands that shake but never falter.
I don’t even think about slowing down.
And when I sink into her—slow, deep, complete—I see stars.
Casey’s amber eyes go wide and she gasps in response to my invasion.
She’s tight. So fucking tight. But she’s wet from coming on my tongue, so I slide into her with little resistance.
I groan.
She feels so good.
And my Dragon roars.
Better than good, she is perfect. Made for me.
Her walls flutter around me, wet and welcoming, and I have to bite down on my own wrist to keep from saying the words my soul is already screaming.
Es meus. Mine. Mate.
Because I can’t. Not yet. Not until she knows.
I’m not in the right headspace for confessions. Instead, I move.
Long, slow strokes that make her whimper and writhe beneath me.
But this is so much more than sex.
Every thrust is a vow.
Every kiss is a brand.
I worship her with my body because it’s the only language I am capable of right now, and Casey, well, she answers with her own sweetness—her throaty cries, trembling thighs, and whispered yeses.
This woman is magic.
She must be.
She strips me bare without even trying.
And when she shatters again—wrapped around me, clutching me like I’m the only solid thing in her world—I follow her straight into oblivion.
Into the fire.
Into us.
By the time I can breathe again, I know one thing for sure. I didn’t have to bite her to claim her.
Casey is mine.
It’s just a matter of time before she understands it, too.
CASEY
Doing the walk of shame at the ass crack of dawn is never a good time.
But doing it across a ranch—with the distinct scent of sex, wood smoke, and six-foot-five inch cowboy still clinging to your skin—while birds chirp aggressively like they know?
That’s a whole new level of mortifying.
To make matters worse, I’m pretty sure a loose cow saw me tiptoeing out of Zeke’s cabin and just face-planted.
Like, stunned into bovine collapse.
Just keeled right over.
I blinked at it. It blinked at me.
Then it made a sad little moo and wandered off like it wanted no part in my bad decisions.
Or maybe it couldn’t wait to tell the other cows over in the dairy or something?
Whatever.
But also relatable.
“Should I call someone?” I muttered to myself, hugging Zeke’s oversized flannel tighter around my body. “Wake Dante up? Is this a cow-related emergency?”
Because honestly? I’m not altogether sure a cow should be just wandering around the place.
Oh well.
That could wait until after I got a shower.
I needed soap.
Possibly holy water.
And underwear. Let’s not forget the fact that I had none.
Just my dress and Zeke’s flannel.
No bra. No panties. Which is not a vibe I’m emotionally prepared to rock first thing in the morning while walking into Avery’s house like a hungover Disney villain.
I didn’t even have more than two beers.
Biting my lip, I slip through Avery and Dante’s front door as quietly as possible, padding toward the guest bathroom like a ninja in borrowed lumberjack couture.
The water pressure was glorious.
The soap smelled like honey and sage. And for about five whole minutes, I forgot that maybe this could get weird.
I mean, I just slept with a man whose eyes literally glowed, who made me feel things that would probably make a nun combust, and he was kinda sorta my friend’s hubby’s friend.
Geezus. Someone get me a family tree to fill in, quick!
But so what? It didn’t matter whose friend he was.
Last night was just a moment out of time.
No big deal.
Not like Zeke would want to announce it to the world that we spent all night boinking at his place.
I was stressing for no reason.
Of course, the second I stepped out of the bathroom—clean, damp, wrapped in a towel and armed with the idea that I could slink back to my room unnoticed—everyone was there, just waiting.
Avery. Penny. Jezebel. Arliss.
All perched around the kitchen island with coffee mugs in hand, cute little robes—seriously, where could I get one—and matching smirks.
“Oh good, Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” Avery chirped.
“Actually, she looks well rested for someone who didn’t get much sleep last night,” Jez drawled, taking a pointed sip of her mug.
“I’d even say she’s glowing,” Penny added helpfully.
Arliss arched a brow. “And walking like a woman who’s finally found religion.”
I froze, mid-step, hair dripping onto the hardwood floor, the second towel I have draped around me slipping just slightly off one shoulder.
“I—what,” I stutter, “Oh, um, good morning?”
“Oh, honey,” Penny said with a grin. “From the looks of it, it’s a great morning.”
My face is flaming.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right,” Avery deadpanned. “Because you definitely didn’t sneak out of Zeke’s cabin at sunrise wearing only last night’s regrets and a flannel that’s clearly three sizes too big.”
“It was not a flannel,” I muttered, clutching that and the other clothes I wore back to Avery’s place a little bit tighter. “It’s a security blanket with buttons.”
It started slowly then. A snicker. A chortle. But it was literally seconds before they all started howling with laughter.
I was just about to make a run for it—straight back to the shower where I could hide forever—when the front door slammed open with a bang that made the coffee mugs rattle.
Zeke.
Hair a little wild.
Shirt half-buttoned.
Jeans slung low on his hips.
Eyes dark, stormy, and laser focused as they scanned the room like he expected me to vanish.
“Casey?” His voice was a growl.
Low. Rough. Possessive.
All four women stopped laughing.
So did I.
He spotted me—wet hair, towel, flushed face—and let out a breath like he’d been holding it since I left.
“You weren’t in my bed,” he said, stalking toward me. “I woke up, and you were gone.”
“I—I needed a shower,” I stammered, heart thudding as he reached me.
His hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face up.
“I have a shower. In my cabin.”
“OH, um, but⁠—”
“You disappeared on me, Petals.”
“I just went for soap.”
“I don’t care why you leave—if the car alarm is going off. Or you need to use the phone. Or if the fucking President of the United States is demanding to speak to you. You leave my bed, you wake me up. Period.”
Someone made a choked noise behind us.
Probably Arliss.
Or Jez.
Or all of them.
But I barely heard them.
Because—holy fucking shit.
Zeke just read me his version of the riot act, and I swear to fuck my pussy is dripping in response.
He knows it too. I can tell by the way his eyelids drop to half mast.
Next thing, he’s leaning down, kissing me like we’re all alone.
Like the whole world has gone quiet just for us.
Slow and deep and filthy with promise.
By the time he pulls back, I’m breathless and boneless and half-melted into his chest.
“Okay,” I breathe the word.
“Good.”
Then he glares over his shoulder at the rest of the kitchen. “Y’all can stop staring now.”
Avery cleared her throat. “Too late. That imprint’s burned into my soul.”
Penny fanned herself. “I think I need a mimosa.”
“Goddamn cowboys,” Jez muttered, grinning. “Y’all come with a warning label?”
Zeke just grins and tucks me closer to his side, growling low in my ear, “You’re not going anywhere, Petals. Not ever again.”
And maybe I should be embarrassed.
But mostly?
I just want him to take me right back to that bed.
Then I remember—the cow.
“Hey, I think a cow was wandering around outside when I, um, left your cabin,” I whisper, trying to sound casual as I address the group.
Some of the guys walk in right on cue, boots thudding, shirts slightly rumpled like they also didn’t get much sleep—but definitely not for the same reason.
Kian, I think, is the one who nearly chokes on the sip of coffee he swiped from Arliss.
“A cow?” he coughs, eyes wide.
Arliss bursts out laughing. “Oh my God.”
The rest of them follow, chuckling into their mugs, trading glances that I can’t quite decipher but know—know—are absolutely about me.
“What?” I ask, frowning as I turn to Kian, hoping for some kind of clue.
“Was that not a thing? Do cows not roam here or⁠—?”
But I don’t get a straight answer.
Because Zeke is suddenly there, at my side.
Close enough that I feel the tension radiating off him like heat.
He’s not laughing.
He’s not even smiling.
He’s glowering at the room, jaw clenched, arms crossed, and his whole body radiates one very loud, very clear message.
Mine.
And only then do I realize—I’m still in a towel.
A towel.
A freaking fluffy towel, and nothing else.
His hand comes to my lower back, nudging me gently but firmly toward the hall.
Not a word.
Just pressure.
Direction.
Intensity.
And inside me, something old stirs. Something I don’t like to look at too closely. That voice that always waits just under the surface.
You’re too much.
Not enough.
You’re embarrassing him.
You’re a mess.
I start to pull away, embarrassment flaring hot and sharp.
But Zeke stops me with a hand on my chin, tilting my face up to meet his.
His expression softens—but just barely.
The fire in his eyes still burns, and his voice is low, steady, rough like gravel coated in honey.
“Just so there is no misunderstanding,” he says, “I’m not pushing you to get dressed for any other reason than because I fucking love your body.”
I blink.
“You’re so goddamned perfect, Casey. Every fucking inch of you is designed to bring a man to his knees,” he continues, like it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. “But that’s the thing. I am the only man for that particular job.”
My breath catches.
“And I’m a possessive prick,” he adds, and before I can speak, he leans in and steals a kiss.
It’s quick, but hard enough to leave me stunned, dizzy, hungry for more.
I’m still catching up when he turns me around, gently, but firmly, and points me down the hall like I might actually remember how legs work.
“Go on and get dressed, Petals,” he murmurs, his hands warm on my hips.
And then he leans in, breath grazing my ear, voice a velvet promise.
“Put on something comfortable, and I’ll make us a picnic basket so I can take you riding with me.”
I swallow.
Hard.
And yeah. I am a total sucker for that idea.
Something about the way he says it—like riding could mean a dozen different things and every one of them ends with me forgetting what sadness feels like—has me nodding before I even realize it.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Because maybe I’ve been tired of running for a long time.
And maybe this is where I stop.