Read Online Seduced By The Rogue Alpha (BBW Shifter Romance) by Amira Rain - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amira Rain
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ignore the insult. Instead, she resolved to be who she desired to be, as well as, to be with the person she wanted. She didn’t care if she wouldn’t be wed to the most charming blacksmith’s son or the wealthiest heir in the village. She wanted a boy, no, a man, to be as gallant as the greatest of all the kingdoms’ knights, yet still wild and ferocious.
It had been nearly nine years since Annabel had become a woman, and, in that time, she was forbidden to consort with the lads of her choice. Beatrice insisted Annabel’s suitors be chosen by her, for the sole purpose of acquiring the most land and wealth for their family. Unfortunately, Beatrice’s efforts had been unsuccessful. Between suitors finding Annabel’s added girth undesirable and everyone finding Beatrice down right unbearable, no match had ever been possible. For Annabel, the frustration of handling the deep, repressed carnal urges had become another chore, as well. But recently, she had learned to cope by taking advantage of her time alone in the open grass fields.
Annabel tossed her basket aside and threw herself down into the soft grass while imaging her ideal suitor, some type of out-of-place rapscallion. She desired someone who was unencumbered by what custom dictated or paid no mind to the petty opinions of tradition. But, most of all, she wanted a man to take her into the lush, dew soaked field, tear her dress to pieces, expose her flesh to the raw soil below and the high winds above. She wanted someone to spread her legs and plunge deep; to deliver the savage, unmentionable pleasures men give to women; to touch her in ways her mother would never approve even within the strict confines of a marriage. Annabel began to lose herself in the carnal whimsy, guiding her hands up and down her plush torso, as she imagined her ideal man would. With one hand, she caressed her neck, and the other she planted to her nether, slowly spreading apart the folds in her dress to reach down into her sodden loins. As she closed her eyes, she could see him, this elusive, heroic lover, dark-haired and burly, coaxing wide her legs all the while licking, sucking, caressing every inch of her figure. A soft sign of ecstasy escaped Annabel’s mouth as her fingers fit where her fancied partners sword would find its sheath and the two of them would create a perfect moment in time when everything else would fall together in its perfect place.
Unfortunately, with cruel timing, the droning bells of the village tower rang. Annabel’s eyes snapped open as her fantasy was waylaid. The rhythmic chimes signaled the sun was setting and wild things were to come out. Fierce animals of the night, and things far worse: skin-changing folk who could transform from beast to men under the cover of night. They came in all manner of folk and forms: the Lycans who became wolves, the Vixen who became fox, the Miun who became cats, they were only recognized by the small tail they bore, even when disguised as men. Or so she had been told. All children in the village had heard stories of strange tailed-men who could alter themselves into the shape of animals and would carry women out of their beds into the wilds of the Mist. Annabel laughed aloud, wishing if only they would whisk her away. Upon reaching the cottage, just before the sun fell completely from the sky. She could see her mother hurriedly putting the horses and cattle into the stalls.
“I’m back, Beatrice. I’ve got some thyme, Valerian, and a bag of poppy seeds,” Annabel announced. Since her father’s death, Annabel was required to call her mother by her given name, and not mother.
“Well, it’s about time. I’ve been back here finishing your work and what’ve you been doing? Skipping around, picking flowers like a half-witted child.” Then, she changed her tone. “You know I only want the best for you. I give you my love and you do these things. Why do you do this to me, making me worry
It had been nearly nine years since Annabel had become a woman, and, in that time, she was forbidden to consort with the lads of her choice. Beatrice insisted Annabel’s suitors be chosen by her, for the sole purpose of acquiring the most land and wealth for their family. Unfortunately, Beatrice’s efforts had been unsuccessful. Between suitors finding Annabel’s added girth undesirable and everyone finding Beatrice down right unbearable, no match had ever been possible. For Annabel, the frustration of handling the deep, repressed carnal urges had become another chore, as well. But recently, she had learned to cope by taking advantage of her time alone in the open grass fields.
Annabel tossed her basket aside and threw herself down into the soft grass while imaging her ideal suitor, some type of out-of-place rapscallion. She desired someone who was unencumbered by what custom dictated or paid no mind to the petty opinions of tradition. But, most of all, she wanted a man to take her into the lush, dew soaked field, tear her dress to pieces, expose her flesh to the raw soil below and the high winds above. She wanted someone to spread her legs and plunge deep; to deliver the savage, unmentionable pleasures men give to women; to touch her in ways her mother would never approve even within the strict confines of a marriage. Annabel began to lose herself in the carnal whimsy, guiding her hands up and down her plush torso, as she imagined her ideal man would. With one hand, she caressed her neck, and the other she planted to her nether, slowly spreading apart the folds in her dress to reach down into her sodden loins. As she closed her eyes, she could see him, this elusive, heroic lover, dark-haired and burly, coaxing wide her legs all the while licking, sucking, caressing every inch of her figure. A soft sign of ecstasy escaped Annabel’s mouth as her fingers fit where her fancied partners sword would find its sheath and the two of them would create a perfect moment in time when everything else would fall together in its perfect place.
Unfortunately, with cruel timing, the droning bells of the village tower rang. Annabel’s eyes snapped open as her fantasy was waylaid. The rhythmic chimes signaled the sun was setting and wild things were to come out. Fierce animals of the night, and things far worse: skin-changing folk who could transform from beast to men under the cover of night. They came in all manner of folk and forms: the Lycans who became wolves, the Vixen who became fox, the Miun who became cats, they were only recognized by the small tail they bore, even when disguised as men. Or so she had been told. All children in the village had heard stories of strange tailed-men who could alter themselves into the shape of animals and would carry women out of their beds into the wilds of the Mist. Annabel laughed aloud, wishing if only they would whisk her away. Upon reaching the cottage, just before the sun fell completely from the sky. She could see her mother hurriedly putting the horses and cattle into the stalls.
“I’m back, Beatrice. I’ve got some thyme, Valerian, and a bag of poppy seeds,” Annabel announced. Since her father’s death, Annabel was required to call her mother by her given name, and not mother.
“Well, it’s about time. I’ve been back here finishing your work and what’ve you been doing? Skipping around, picking flowers like a half-witted child.” Then, she changed her tone. “You know I only want the best for you. I give you my love and you do these things. Why do you do this to me, making me worry
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