Beauty in Winter (Beauty #4)

My legs are even shakier than before, but the excitement is pushing me on.

That’s how we spend the rest of the full moon—him chasing me, only to give me a few thrusts before he sets me free again. By the time I’m exhausted and promising him I’ll never run again, he’s making slow love to me by the river.

As the sun comes up and he snuggles me close, my eyes are heavy with sleep.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing me softly. “Thank you for making my world beautiful.”

“Beauty is found within,” I say, leaning into his touch and drifting into the most perfect dreams.



THE END





Riding Red


Fairytale Shifter Book 1


by

Alexa Riley





Gray Ridge, Colorado is a quiet town, but this Halloween there's a mating moon, and the shifters' need to breed their fated mates runs strong.

Ruby is the proud owner of Red's Goodie Basket, and as the new girl in town, she's looking for business. But when the local sexy sheriff, Dominic Wolfe, keeps the customers away, she finds it's hard to stay mad when burning with desire.

Dominic is a shifter, and his wolf wants Ruby. Since the second he laid eyes on her, he's been fighting the need to mark her as his. But when the mating moon is full, he won't be able to control his wolf any longer.

Tricks and treats are the last things on his mind when the mating heat takes over, and his obsession is put to the test.



Warning: This story is a sexy twist on a classic fairy tale, complete with a red cape, a basket of goodies, and a hungry wolf. It's written to make you smile, turn you on, and help you celebrate Halloween!





Copyright ? 2015 by Alexa Riley. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to [email protected]



http://alexariley.com/

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Edited by Aquila Editing





To the hubs: my life, my love, my mate.





Chapter 1





Ruby





“We can't serve those!” I look down at the cookies, which are shaped like tiny dicks, and I try to convince myself I’m seeing things. It’s 5:30 in the morning, and I haven’t had any coffee yet, so maybe my brain is still putting things together. I scan the tray again, hoping I’m wrong. Nope. Definitely little cocks.

“Why not?” Gwen picks up one of the cock-shaped cookies and bites off the head, making me cringe. I don’t have a penis, but I can imagine that would hurt. “They taste delicious. I added a hint of pumpkin spice. Bitches love pumpkin spice.” She nods her head like it’s a fact that bitches love pumpkin spice. She finishes the cookie, moaning appreciatively. It gives a whole new meaning to ‘swallowing’ here at Red’s Goodie Basket.

“Do bitches like biting the heads off dicks too?”

Gwen scrunches her nose and looks down at the batch of cookies on the prep table. “They don’t look like dicks. They’re broomsticks.” But even as she defends herself, she tilts her head to study them.

“Pubic hair.” I point to what was supposed to be the bristles of a broom, then slide my finger across what I’m guessing should have been the actual broomstick. “The cock.”

She bites her lip, and I can tell she’s trying to find a way to prove me wrong.

“Gwen. If it’s a freaking broomstick, why is it cumming?” The end of the cookie has white icing shooting out of it and clearly looks like cum.

“That’s the magic coming out! It’s a witch’s broomstick!” She says it so earnestly that I’m not sure who she's trying to convince here, me or herself.

“Yeah, something’s coming out of it all right.”

Suddenly, we both bust out laughing. I should be frustrated, but laughing feels good. It’s something I haven’t done in a while, and I let it out, enjoying the silliness of the situation.

When we finally stop laughing, a worried look crosses her face. “It’s fine.” I try to reassure her. I only opened the bakery a little over a week ago, and I’m sure she thinks I might fire her. What she doesn’t know is, she’s the only person who applied for the job. For some reason I had a hard time transitioning to this quiet little town in Gray Ridge, Colorado.

If it wasn’t for the tourists who pass through, I wouldn’t have any business at all. Lucky for me there’s a national park nearby that keeps my little shop busy. I’m just not sure how long it will last once the snow starts hitting the mountains and the line of tourists slows down. I was told some of the roads get shut down around here after the first snow. Maybe by then the people who live here will start to warm to me. Otherwise it’s going to be a tight few months, and I’ll have to pull more from my savings. As the holidays are fast approaching, I’m hopeful everyone will need desserts.

It’s coming close to the end of October, and I thought some festive Halloween treats would be a good idea. When I mentioned it to Gwen, she jumped all over it, wanting to make them herself. She always seems to want to stay here as much as she can. I had a pile of paperwork to cover last night, so I gave her a shot at the cookies on her own. I went upstairs to my little apartment/office over the bakery and left her to it. This morning I’m seeing the error of my ways.

When I hired her, I knew she didn’t have any experience, but she seemed eager to learn. Whenever I made stuff, she watched my every move, absorbing all the information she could. I had gone to culinary school and was more than happy to teach her all my tricks. It’s been nice having someone to talk to who shares my interests, but she still has a long way to go when it comes to culinary crafts.

“Okay, we don’t have to serve these. What else did you make?”

Gwen makes her way over to the cooler, pulling out more cookies. She walks back over to me, putting down a huge tray of orange pumpkin cookies that read ‘EAT ME’ in giant black lettering.

“Why ‘eat me’?” I ask, looking at the perfectly made pumpkins. Perfect other than the message, of course.