[Ménage and More: Erotic Paranormal Consensual BDSM Ménage a Quatre Romance, M/F/M/M, shape-shifters, public exhibition, flogging, sex toys, HEA]
One damaged dungeon puss, three ravenous beasts. Bound by BDSM, role-play, voyeurism and sin, Willow Isabel Catelli needs help, a quick marriage and quicker heir. But Cameron Scots are a crude, stubborn clan—their wolves wicked, carnal creatures. Their price—her body to be shared by the pack. Feeding on her flesh will hold these greedy beasts at bay. But for how long? Can she afford the ultimate price they will demand from her? Dare she?
Altair Cameron has his own agenda. His brother’s scarred widow now belongs to him. She just doesn’t know it. With his brethren, Cameron cousins Jhor and Garret, they must bend her will. It’s no easy task. She’s feisty and presumptuous. Scarier still, she’s been broken. It’s a tricky path, two steps forward and one jump back, which requires wit, ingenuity and his unbridled dominion. Hunting is the right of an Alpha—submission, his prey’s duty. The pack always wins.
Note: This book contains double anal penetration.
A Siren Erotic Romance
Weeping Willow (MFMM)
5 Ratings (3.8)
In Bookshelf
In Cart
In Wish List
Available formats
Cover Art by Harris Channing
I really loved this book.




Saint Andrews Cross. That’s was what Jhor had called it. This was a toy she hadn’t sampled yet. It seemed far more ominous, an intimidating metal contraption with manacles of tanned leather and silver buckles. Altair removed the leather strip binding them and looped it around his neck. Was that symbolic? He then poured a glass of ruby wine, lit a cigarette and sank into an ottoman. Unsure, Willow stood at the center of the hubbub going on around her.

Jhor set the table—hand dagger, antiseptic, swabs and bandages—minor things any boy scout might carry in his first-aid kit, except this wasn’t a boy looking to score brownie points. The arsenal continued—a narrow band of scarlet velvet, a bottle of peppermint liqueur—capped with a tot glass—and three whips of varying widths.

These articles didn’t concern her. Garret’s did. He lined up six, straight-back wooden chairs before the cross. On each seat, he placed a neatly folded black robe with matching hood. They gave no explanations, allowing her imagination to run rampant. The scene was set. Altair rose.

He removed his coat and placed it over his chair’s back. Heavy cuff links thudded as he tossed them onto a small table. The act of rolling up his sleeves was precise, unnervingly patient. He studied each item, caressing random pieces. Willow swallowed thickly. She couldn’t have envisioned a more nerve-wracking wedding night.

“Come.” Her hand was engulfed by his large one. He led her to the cross. Her wrists were fastened, restraints tugged and double checked. Her ankles received similar care, leaving her vulnerable and spread wide open for their viewing. Dressed as she was in the warm tartan wedding dress, she felt somewhat safe—until he picked up the dagger.


“Hush. Ye willnae deny me.” The tip of the blade touched her only enough to bring forth shivers. The horizontal cut from neck to hem line was carried out slowly, un-gluing her bravado with each shredded thread. Meticulous attention was given to the lace between her breasts and on either sides of her pelvis. Her back didn’t escape notice. Like its front, the dress posterior split and fell agape, exposing her nudity.

Jhor and Garret took up positions at the doors. The evidence of their arousal tented their kilts. They removed their shirts. Restraint was evident on sweaty, flexing torsos, anticipation punctuated by shallow, irregular breaths. Altair’s voice whispered from behind, “Tonight I boast. Let them salivate over what is mine. Mae wife.”

“Them? Jhor and Garret?”

“Perhaps a mon ye ken. Perhaps not. Tis something ye shall always wonder.”

Pride she understood, ownership too. She wanted everyone to know it was she who had the privilege of calling this great specimen “husband.” Mine. But something told her Altair’s bragging wasn’t as docile as hers. It scared her. It also made her feel incredibly special. His pride didn’t just match hers. It superseded. Soft velvet slipped over her lashes, the tapered ends fastened. Everything went black.

Her senses flared, compensating for the loss of sight. Feet shuffled. Gasps and hoarse whispers were acute. Chair legs rasped over stone. Altair’s satisfied voice entered her mind, “Show them, Willow mine. Tis nae just the mon ye accept but all that I am.”

The low growls and the scent of wolf reached her before her eyes were relieved of their blind. Standing between the white and black beasts, Altair dropped the velvet strip and transformed. Beyond their impatient pacing, Willow spotted them. Six, dressed in flowing robes with faces concealed beneath shapeless hoods. Shadowed eyes peered intently through each single jagged tear as they sat erectly, judging her every move.

“What—who are they?”

“Tis the men who willnae leave yer side in times of need. Ye have but tae show them your faithfulness, yer obedience tae Cameron—tae ye pack.”

“You just want to boast your power over me.”


Damn Altair and his obnoxious arrogance. What if she faltered? Nameless, faceless, yet these strangers would have a say in her worth. What if they found her wanting? Self consciousness evaporated as the wolves advanced. They sniffed and licked at her trembling body. They circled, nipping and scratching at her bare flesh. Willow arched her back. Her fingers curled. She wanted to run her fingers through their splendid coats, feel their strong sinews bunch beneath her hold.

The gray wolf tugged the rags hanging off her. Willow had a moment’s panic as material ripped. Her scars were being displayed to unknown witnesses. Leather bruised her straining hands. She was desperate to hide the shame. Wordlessly the trio halted before her. They dropped first to their haunches, then all the way to their white under-bellies. It was a blatant act of honoring their mate. Scars and all, they accepted her.

Tears gathered. Her audience hung on the edges of their seats, enthralled as she was by the mighty beasts’ sincere worshipping. “Ye see my weeping Willow. Tis as much fer ye as tis fer us.”

They pounced as one. Fangs sank. She screamed.




Willow came awake slowly. Hearing voices, she tried to move. She couldn’t. She tried to call out. It was impossible. Her shoulder stung. The smell of antiseptic and perfumed soap permeated the air. Suddenly Altair’s face appeared above her.

His lips moved with excruciating tenderness over hers. “Welcome to our world wee Willow.”

“Are ye alright baby?”

Oh my God. That was Garret’s divine voice in her head. “Did you... am I?”

“Nay Red. Ye cannae shift. But we can all communicate intimately now. Ye blood. Tis sweet excelsior.”

“Jhor?” Having three voices in her mind was anything but intimate. It was crowded leaving little room for her own thoughts.

“Hush sweetling. Doonae panic.” Altair kissed a sensual path along her jaw, nibbling at her as though she were a tasty snack. “Ye’ve been a naughty puss. Didn’t I tell ye to stay in role? Twas a two legged kitty that waltzed in here.”

“You made me nervous.”

“Good.” He moved away, leaving her cold and abandoned. “It wouldnae be right tae leave ye unpunished.”

The promise of punishment brought Willow to full awareness. “What the hell? You tied me.”

“Naturally. I wouldnae want ye tae hurt yeself.”

She wrenched but it was useless. She was fastened to a chilly metal table, hands and legs widespread. It was a vulnerable position. “Or you.”

He thought that was incredibly funny. Laughter clouded her thoughts as he picked up a flogger. Jhor and Garret appeared at her sides. They wasted no time. Her breasts were hungrily devoured, first with their eyes, then tongues and teeth. Willow arched into their eager mouths.

Their bodies were glorious, tanned to golden perfection and sculpted with tightly packed muscle. They were beautiful creatures and even more magnificent men. Altair touched the flogger to her exposed clit. She moaned.

The strike came fast. She gulped down a scream, which eventually released on a gasp. His wet tongue soothed the burning flesh. Widely stretched legs left her pussy uninhibited. He easily parted her petals for a deeper taste. His cruel tongue tormented her bud in quick succession He teased her entrance with the flogger’s stiff handle. She tottered on a precipice. The cunning mouth left her. Bereft, she wept in desperation.

“Nay I willnae have ye cum on my tongue. Tis Garret’s beautiful mouth ye crave sucking ye cunt?”

“Yes. Oh yes, please.” His vulgar words and Garret’s sly smile turned her on.

Garret’s mouth wasn’t just gorgeous to look at. It didn’t just sprout beautiful words. His talented plump lips and greedy tongue coaxed her once again to the edge.

The strap came down hard, singing the tender flesh on her mons. Altair warned her, “Eat wee puss. I want my cock deep inside ye sweet mouth.” He lubricated her lips with sticky pre-cum and fed her a generous mouthful of delicious molten steel. Altair wasn’t patient. He grabbed a fistful of hair and aided as he pumped furiously. He tasted of wild-grass, exotic spice and pure man.

Having had his fill, Garret slid over her body. Jhor left her breasts for Garret to feast and moved to the table’s end. “Fuck Garret. I cannae wait all night.”

Garret centered his throbbing erection and thrust into her starved pussy to the hilt. Willow whimpered against Altair’s thick base. He smoothed her hair back and ordered, “My naughty kitty has misplaced her tail. Jhor has something better fer yer luscious fanny.”

Jhor pulled until her buttocks dangled off the metallic edge. He positioned and sucked his fingers. Sleek with saliva his digits tantalized her back entrance. His tip was blunt and burned his way into her. Each time he slipped out, he entered to explore deeper. Garret and Altair paused allowing her full attention to be held by Jhor’s invasion of her tight posterior.

Finally he was fully submerged. Sweat peppered Willow’s flesh. Her every orifice was crammed. She was complete.

“Ye willnae come until I give ye permission.” Altair splayed the flogger over her nipples, adding its torture to Garret’s bruising teeth. “Ye will wait for my command sweet puss.”

Willow mumbled incoherently. It took all of her strength not to wiggle and tempt the men to move.

“Nay, my puss. Ye will be patient.” The cold tip passed over her nipples—once, twice. Garret’s arms strained as he lifted and held his weight above her. His eyes were squeezed shut, the veins on his neck bulging. She knew he waited. They all waited. Their laird master decree was held in an iron-clad fist. The anticipation built and burned to snapping point.

“Now.” Tension broke as the strap whipped across her erect nipples. As one they withdrew and plunged, her ass, pussy and mouth—perfect synchronizing, sleek and fluid. Deep within her the pressure imploded. “Aye. Weep fer me, sweet Willow.”

Read more