That has to be the biggest dick I’ve ever seen…

I raised a brow and stared down at the massive thing, all thick and brown and filled with creamy goodness. They expected me to fit the entire thing in my mouth? Yeah, right. Seemed more likely I’d go down as the first woman to die choking on a dick. Cause of death: cock. Was that even a thing?

We were about to find out.

“Oh, come on already,” someone shouted over the thumping music.

I waved a dismissive hand, then rubbed my chin as I contemplated the task at hand. One big swallow. Just open your mouth, stuff it in, and ride it out. Oh, and try not to embarrass yourself. I rolled my eyes. I honestly couldn’t see a way around that—considering the objective.

“Hurry up, woman!”

“Hold your damn horses,” I shouted back.

This sort of thing required extreme concentration, and I only had one go at this. If I failed, I had to face the consequences.

All right. Now or never.

I spread my knees beneath me and clasped my hands behind my back. Then I bent at the waist, closed my eyes, and took the plunge. My lips slid down the length and the sweet flavor of chocolate cake and vanilla icing danced across my tongue. Mmm, delicious. Far more tasty than the real thing.

“Come on, Reagan!” My best friend, Lucy, shouted. Didn’t matter that we were opponents in this competition, she still cheered me on. “Deeper, girl! Deeper!”

I snorted around the phallic-shaped cake. Oh, God. Don’t laugh! Focus on winning.

The tip of the chocolate dick brushed the back of my throat, reminding me of my limits. This was as far as I went. I unleashed the chompers and bit right through the engorged width. Vanilla icing exploded in my mouth and coated my tongue. I moaned and started chewing, enjoying the scrumptious treat. Why couldn’t every cock taste this good?

I dropped back onto my haunches, savoring every bit of the triple chocolate fudge cake. Kudos to the baker. She’d balanced the weight of the cake with the perfect amount of icing to help it slide down the throat.

Once I swallowed, I shot to my feet and punched my fist into the air with a loud cheer. I’d done it! I’d tackled the blow-job cake challenge without any embarrassing choking or slobbering on myself.

“Yeah!” I shouted, riling up my girlfriends.

A few of them threw back their heads and unleashed a chorus of high-pitched howls. Grinning, I thrust my other fist up into the air and howled with them. Every woman here belonged to my pack. When one howled, we all howled. Though, our deafening cheers seemed to attract unwanted attention.

In all the excitement, I hadn’t noticed how quickly the club had filled up. We’d first arrived before the bouncers had even opened the doors, but as members of the great North American Pack, we always received a royal welcome no matter where we went. The club had only been too happy to host the impromptu bachelorette party Lucy had drummed up for me. Any werewolf publicity markedly increased their clientele, especially when the Reagan Compton and Benjamin Mathers wedding was all anyone could talk about.

We’d sequestered ourselves in the VIP section—as per the owner’s instructions—and had soon devolved into the type of debauchery expected when dealing with rowdy werewolves. But it seemed the rest of the city had similar plans. The thrumming crowd pressed against the red velvet rope as the place practically burst at the seams. Hundreds of humans and werewolves alike stood on the other side of the rope, watching with amusement as we each lined up in front of our own dick-cake.

“Don’t get too excited, hot shot,” Lucy shouted over the music, her voice dragging me back to the competition. “I still have a turn.”

Which, in layman’s terms, meant I was fucked. As her best friend, I’d been subjected to every single one of her kinky stories—from the men she took home from clubs like this, to any coworkers she’d taken for a test-drive. On the scale of sexiness, she rated femme fatale, while I was little more than a blip on the radar. And I was all right with that. As the heir to my father’s werewolf pack, I didn’t have time to contemplate men or the art of seduction. It was my job to protect the pack. While Lucy had been out perfecting her flirting, I’d attended combat training.

I could kill a werewolf a dozen different ways in under a minute, but Lucy knew how to swallow more dick than anyone I knew.

With a saucy wink, she pulled back her long blonde hair and dropped to her knees in front of the cake. As part of the bachelorette party, the women in my pack had decided it’d be fun to try this challenge. Whoever bit off the largest chunk won the game. Thankfully, they’d opted for cake as opposed to bananas or carrots. I was getting married, I wasn’t dead. I’d take cake over fruits and vegetables any day of the week.

Lucy barely took a breath before she bent over and engulfed the cake. I swear to God, her lips brushed the base where the bakers had cleverly crafted two chocolate balls. No doubt about it—Lucy had won. I only hoped she didn’t choke, but she downed that cake like a pro.

A raucous swell of laughter rose above the music. The girls all jogged over to me and patted my back.

“Good try!”

But before I could respond, two others sauntered over with three martini glasses in hand. As expected, the consequences were shots. And Lucy, as the organizer of this event, had chosen the most embarrassing one she could imagine: the Muff Diver.

She handed me the long-stemmed glass topped with an excessive amount of whipped cream and giggled. “Bottoms up, Reagan!”

Bottoms up, indeed. I should have expected this.

Sighing, I grasped the bottom of the glass, the only part I was allowed to touch, and shoved my face into the cream, careful not to inhale. After a few moments of blindly rooting around, my lips closed around the shot glass. I lifted my head and tipped it back, the thick liquor pouring down my throat.

“Woo!” Lucy shouted. “A pro over here!”

I plucked the shot glass out of my mouth and slammed it down on the counter. “There! Now, get me something real to drink.”

Chuckling, Lucy handed me a chilled bottle of beer. “Already did.”

Ah, she knew me so well.

I grabbed the nearest napkin and wiped my face clean. A part of me feared asking what she had in store next. Lord only knew with Lucy. I loved her spontaneous and carefree nature, even though it often landed me in situations like these. Hand me a dagger or a sword, and I was unstoppable. But Lucy was fearless, even when faced with the most terrifying things. Like love.

Thankfully, I never needed to worry about that.

Loving Benjamin Mathers wasn’t on my to-do list. Our upcoming nuptials were nothing more than a political maneuver. A means of joining his European pack to our American one. It was an arranged marriage, but Lucy had insisted I still deserved the same treatment as any other bride.

A familiar rhythm thumped through the club’s impressive speaker system. I knew it was Lucy’s favorite song the moment she squealed, snatched my hand, and wrenched me out onto the dance floor where a writhing mass of sweaty bodies awaited us. Lucy ruthlessly plowed her way through the crowd until she found the best spot right next to the speakers. I could barely hear a thing above the heavy beat vibrating beneath my feet. Not that it mattered. Lucy wanted to move, not talk.

She swayed to the music, her eyes already closed as she lost herself to the sound. I wasn’t as quick to give in to the rhythm. Someone’s thigh brushed against mine, while another woman pressed herself flush against my back. Unknown fingers caressed my hips and slid up to my waist. I’d been trained to fight at close combat, but this was more than I’d bargained for.

Ah, screw it. Tonight was my bachelorette party. And even though the marriage was a sham, I still wanted to go out with a bang. Forget my hang-ups and simply lose myself to the music. Drink to my heart’s content. Eat cake and be merry. All the things I typically didn’t engage in.

I moved in time with Lucy, swaying to the familiar melodies and heavy bass. When one song ended, we moved seamlessly into the next. Our admirers came and went, their bodies a constant reminder that we weren’t alone. I’d stopped caring, though. For one night, I intended to forget all my worries and enjoy the here and now.

After the umpteenth song, I tapped the back of Lucy’s hand and gestured toward my empty beer, drained as we’d danced. Then I pointed to the bar. She nodded and we shuffled our way out of the throng.

Perhaps a tad more blitzed than she’d let on, Lucy tripped on the last step. She laughed as she toppled into me, her hands gripping my arms. For a moment, I knew this was it. We were going down like the proverbial Titanic.

Until I felt my back collide into someone else.

“Hey!” Rough hands shoved me from behind. “Watch where you’re going!”

I turned, ready to apologize. But as I pivoted, my hand knocked his beer from his hand. It fell to the ground, the glass shattering and spilling booze all over his shoes.

“You kiddin’ me?” he shouted.

Lucy gripped my arm and circled around me. “Sorry about that! My fault. I stumbled into her.”

“Stupid bitch,” he snarled.

I gave a slow blink and lifted my gaze until I caught his bloodshot eyes. “Now, is that any way to speak to us? She apologized.”

The asshat contemplated me with a pursed mouth, clearly wondering how far to push this. Not only were we women, but werewolves, too. And every last person in the joint knew it. With the throng of people surrounding us, I couldn’t pick up on his scent. But I would have bet my last dollar he was human. Sometimes that worked in our favor, sometimes it didn’t.

When he straightened to his full height and stepped closer to me, I knew this would be one of those moments.

“You owe me a beer,” he rasped in my face, his breath rank. “Bitch.”

I caught movement from the corner of my eye—the bouncer ready to jump to our aid. I lifted a hand and shook my head. “You know, I really don’t like that word. I’m not a dog, and I’m not in heat.”

He quirked a grin. “Then buy me a beer and we’ll call us square.”

The logical part of my brain told me to do it. Cave to his demand, spend the seven dollars, and walk away. But damn it if the other half wasn’t itching to put him in his place. Lucy had apologized, after all. Maybe he needed to be taught some manners.

“Reagan, don’t,” Lucy shouted, her fingers digging into my arm.

See—she knew me well. She didn’t even need to see my face to know the thoughts running through my head.

“It’s not worth it. We’re here to have fun.”

Sometimes fighting was fun. A rush of adrenaline, a release of tension—almost as satisfying as an orgasm. But Lucy was right. Tonight wasn’t about fighting. She’d brought me here to celebrate, and I didn’t want to ruin that.

Holding the shithead’s gaze, I slipped my hand into my back pocket, fished out a crisp new ten dollar bill, and slapped it against his chest. “Here you go, big guy.”

The second I turned away, I caught the distinct sound of his voice. Pros and cons of preternatural hearing. Had I been human, I might not have heard him above the racket.

“Pussy-ass werewolf.”

I froze, my pulse drumming in my ears.

“Reagan, no,” Lucy shouted. “He’s drunk. He’s just being an ass to show off for his buddies.”

I knew that. I really did. But my years as one of the highest-ranked wolves in North America had taught me one thing. You never walk away from a challenge. This fucknugget was human—but that didn’t change anything. He wanted to prove he was better than me, stronger, more dominant.

He didn’t stand a chance.

“Reagan, please…”

With a sweet grin, I turned back toward him. “You know, on second thought…” I plucked the ten dollar bill from his hand before he could so much as blink. “I think I’m going to use this on another round of drinks for me and my friend here. You know, your way of apologizing for being such a prick.”

His gaze dropped to his hand and his face purpled. “Hey! That’s mine!”

I unleashed the alpha stare I’d perfected many moons ago. “Then come and get it.”

He hesitated, a flicker of unease shadowing his face. His focus darted to his buddies, as though wondering whether or not he should push any harder. I could have told him not to bother, but some decisions people had to make for themselves.

“Keep it,” he grumbled after wisely assuming I’d wipe the floor with him.

I flashed him a smile. “Thanks!”

“Yeah, whatever.” He turned away, subjecting himself to his friends’ jeers.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lucy called over the music.

I shot her a droll look. Yes, I did. I was Reagan Compton—daughter of Gabriel Compton, the alpha of the North American Pack. And I was his heir. Putting people in their place was my job.

“Come on, I’ll buy the next round,” I told her, waving the money in front of her face.

The moment she cracked a smile, I knew she’d forgiven me. Booze and men—the surest ways to Lucy’s heart. And I loved her dearly for it.

We sidled up alongside the bar, about to order our drinks when someone caught Lucy’s eye. Flirt mode activated, I chuckled to myself. I gestured for my own fresh drink when a single shot slid my way. The glass glided over the wooden counter and came to a stop right next to my hand. Impressive. Not a drop spilled.

I glanced over, expecting to reject the offer, but found myself stunned into silence instead. There leaning against the counter was a man I could only describe as sex on a stick. Jesus. The wavy dark hair, the piercing blue eyes…everything a guy needed to make the ladies swoon. Which, I would never—not in a million years—even if my legs did feel a little wobbly. It didn’t help that I’d always had a thing for chiseled jaws, and man-candy here seemed to be carved from stone itself.

“For you,” he said, his voice much deeper than I’d expected.

I eyed him up, drinking in the sinfully fitted jeans and white t-shirt that strained across his shoulders. Just…wow. I’d never been struck speechless by the sight of a man before. Then again, I’d never met the living embodiment of a wet dream before. Not that it mattered. The wedding was tomorrow. My single days were numbered.

When I didn’t immediately respond, he quirked a crooked grin, one that drew my attention to his mouth. The slightest scar slashed his upper lip—a curious thing since werewolves rarely scarred. And he was definitely all werewolf. It didn’t matter that we were surrounded by a massive crowd of sweaty bodies—I could smell his wolf. His unique scent teased my senses until I couldn’t smell anything else. It stirred my wolf, beckoning her out of the darkness as though waking her from a deep slumber.

“Well?” Hottie with a Body asked, gesturing toward the glass.

I should have shook my head, told him I was spoken for, and handed back the shot. But was I spoken for at this very moment? Until I said my vows, I wasn’t tied to anyone. Hell, I’d only met Benjamin once. And in that time, I’d never made any promises.

And it’s only a drink…

Ah, the devil on my shoulder come to play.

I waited for the other, quieter voice to kick in—the one insisting I smarten up and remember my commitments. Except, it never spoke up, and the devil continued to whisper provocative little thoughts in my ear. What was one drink in the grand scheme of things? One final night to enjoy a little flirtation.

So, with a wicked grin, I picked up the shot, toasted the gorgeous man, and tossed it down the hatch.

The devil was a conniving little bastard.