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The Beta's Blind Date

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Reid Thomas is known for having a revolving door of females in his bed and for not wanting a mate. He's even created rules for himself to follow so he doesn't fall into the trap of a committed, long-term relationship. But when he loses a bet to his best friend, he's sent on a blind date. There, he meets Taryn Campbell, a feisty warrior with a personality to match, who has him questioning his strict rules. After all, aren't rules made to be broken? *This is Book 2 of the Crescent Lake series. It can be read as a standalone, however, for context and an introduction to the world and characters, it is recommended that you read "The Alpha's Pen Pal" before reading "The Beta's Blind Date."*

Chapter 1


I have three rules for dealing with females:

No kissingNo pack membersNo sleepoversNo fated mate.

Sh*t, that’s four rules. Okay, rewind. Starting over.

I have four rules for dealing with females.

Now, I know what you’re thinking — no kissing? How can you be intimate with a female if you don’t kiss them?

Well, when I say no kissing, I don’t mean no kissing at all. I just mean no romantic kissing. No long make outs, no sensual lingering kisses. No goodbye smooches or hello smooches or “oh, baby, I missed you so much!” kisses. I kiss as needed, as the sexual situation calls for it, and that’s all. Nothing more.

And there have been no complaints yet.

Although, I’ll admit, that could have something to do with rule number two — no pack members.

I didn’t have this rule before. Before, when I was younger and more naïve, I would totally sleep with a pack female without a second thought. But as I got older, I realized this could cause potential issues in the long run. They expect things. Like sleepovers. And romantic kissing. And relationships.

I shudder at the thought.

So I gave myself rule number two. Now I only sleep with females from one of the two other packs near Crescent Lake — The Amber Forest Pack and The Silver Ridge Pack — or humans from the nearby city.

With human females too, it is very easy to stick to my third rule, which is no sleepovers. I usually just f*ck them once or twice at their place, then I come home to the pack or find somewhere else in town to crash for the night.

If it’s someone from one of the other packs, well, then I find a guest room in the packhouse. We have our fun for however long we want, and then I go back to my place or sometimes Wesley’s house. Although, I haven’t gone there since Haven moved in with him three years ago. And definitely not since he marked her. I’ve let them have their little love bubble.

Which brings me to my last rule — no fated mate. Or a mate in general. I decided years ago that I wouldn’t have a mate at all.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the mate bond. Mates are fine for others. It’s just not for me.

Anyway, every female I’ve been with has been totally fine with these rules. I’m very up front with every single one about what they’re getting from me. S*x — wonderful s*x, I might add — and that’s it. No kissing, no relationship, no sleepovers.

So you can imagine my surprise when I wake up in one of the guest rooms of the packhouse, with a naked blonde female sleeping next to me.

F*ck. My. Life.

I freeze on my back, my hands trapped behind my head, no breath passing in or out of me as she rolls over to her other side, revealing full lips and long lashes. The dark green sheet tangles around her feet, showing off her petite dancer’s body to me.


Everything from last night floods back into my mind. The dinner at Haven and Wesley’s for their bridesmaids and groomsmen; Imogen flirting with me and making eyes at me all night; Imogen’s signature red nails grazing along my d*ck before her lips wrapped around the tip of it; Imogen sinking herself down onto my c*ck and taking everything I gave her all night long.

And Imogen collapsing in the bed next to me, saying, “I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute before I drive back into town.”

And now it’s… Well, I don’t even know what time it is, but based on the way the sunlight is peeking through the off white curtains, I can tell it’s definitely morning.

Which means I definitely just had a sleepover with a girl.

Which means I definitely just broke rule number three.

“I need to get out of here,” I whisper to myself.

I can’t get caught like this. I can’t let anyone know what happened last night.

I glance at Imogen again, at her tiny body and her chest as it lifts with each breath. Her small breasts are pale and smooth, with tiny pink n*ppl*s, both of them standing at attention, perked up by the cooler air of the bedroom. She isn’t my usual type — she is soft and small and delicate looking. But last night she showed me exactly what she could do with that flexible little body of hers, and d*mn, if she isn’t talented.

Both on the stage and off of it. Both in the bedroom and out of it.

I bite my knuckles as she shifts again. My morning wood makes itself known, hardening as the s*xy little thing next to me moans in her sleep, her lips parting with a soft sigh. Her hand rests on my chest and her breasts nestle themselves against my side, her thighs parting as her leg slides up mine.

I can’t see it, can’t see her shaved, pink p*ssy, but I remember the look, taste, and feel of it. The smell of her arousal releases into the room as she moves. And somehow, I am even harder.

Goddess, d*mn it.

“This is exactly why I don’t do sleepovers,” I mutter, frozen in place on the bed with Imogen sprawling almost on top of me.

What am I supposed to do now? Do I try to slide myself out from underneath her? Should I cover her up with the blanket when I leave? Do I leave a note or send her a text?

I am totally out of my element here. But I have to leave. I can not get caught having a sleepover. I can not get caught breaking one of my rules.

I grit my teeth and slowly scoot my body, pausing and holding my breath every time Imogen makes a noise or shifts. It is a slow game, a long game, but I have to make sure she doesn’t wake up.

Inch by inch, I make my way to the edge of the bed. Victory is within my sight. The finish line draws closer. I can taste freedom, sweet, sweet freedom and—

And Imogen’s eyes snap open, meeting mine.

We stare at each other — her, naked, still partially draped over me. And me, naked, trying to sneak away.

“Um…” I mutter.

She groans, rolling onto her back, her hands coming up to cover her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I don’t usually do sleepovers,” she continues.

I just stare, stare at her naked chest and her pointy pink n*ppl*s and her full lips, forcing my eyes to not travel to the apex of her thighs. To that tantalizing, tempting, delicious spot I found myself in several times last night.

I shake my head. “I don’t either,” I admit, scrubbing my hand over my face.

She peeks at me from behind her hands. “Yeah, I didn’t really peg you as the sleepover type,” she says.

She slowly rolls back to her side, sliding back over to me, giving me the same f*ck me eyes complete with fluttering lashes she gave me last night. Her hand glides down my abdomen, caressing every muscle with her small, delicate fingers.

“Since we’re like this, though,” she murmurs, licking her lips, “we may as well have a little fun.”

She finds my hardened p*n*s, and she scratches her nails lightly on it, the same way she did the night before. My head tilts back and I groan through my teeth, trying to hold it in. “Im-ogen…”

“Let me help you with this,” she coos, climbing on top of me, positioning me between her legs, right at her already dripping wet entrance.

She hovers over me, fist around my d*ck, waiting for me to say something. To say no so she can leave, or to say yes so she can sink down onto me, so she can envelop me in her warm, wet, and tight p*ssy.

F*ck it. She’s ready, and I’m ready. We’re already here, together, naked, so we might as well have a little fun. We might as well just go another round. It’s still early enough, and I’ll still have time to sneak back to my place undetected once we’re done.

I growl and flip us so she’s under me. Her long blonde hair fans out behind her, standing out against the green of the pillowcase, and those full pink lips of hers smile as she wraps her legs around my waist, opening herself up to me.

“I didn’t know you were such a little s*x kitten, Imogen.”

She gives me a sharp laugh, but it’s cut off by my d*ck sliding home, making her groan and arch her back, lifting those pretty little n*ppl*s into the air.

“Oh, that feels good,” she sighs, her hands sliding up to my chest. “F*ck me hard, Reid.”

I just grin and slam into her again, forcing another cry out of her, and I groan too. She’s tight and wet, and she takes every thrust of my pelvis into her like a champ, and even begs me for more. Begs for it to be harder.

Soon, the sounds of our moans and our bodies meeting fill the guest room. Her hands roam my body, fingertips lingering on my muscled abdomen. The light touches of her fingertips contrast with the wild bucking of her hips and the loud moans and cries she gives me as I f*ck her. It’s hot as hell, the way she’s soft yet wild.

I grip her thighs, removing her legs from my waist and spreading her wide, using her dancer’s flexibility to my advantage. I pound into her; her small breasts bounce around and she grips into the sheets, her moans continuing to echo and fill the room. My thumb finds her cl*t and I flick it — once, then twice.

“Oh, f*ck yes!” she cries. “Don’t stop!”

I’m relentless after that — slamming into her and strumming her cl*t, pushing us both to that edge, to our orgasm. She comes first, crying out and pulsing around me, driving me over my own cliff of pleasure.

I pull out of her fast, my c*m landing on her thighs. I stay there, panting, my thumb still playing with her little bundle of nerves, watching her as she twitches through the aftershocks of her release.

Once I know she’s finished, I jump up and go into the ensuite bathroom, grabbing her a washcloth to clean herself up.

“Thanks for that,” she says as we both dress.

“For what?” I ask as I pull on my t-shirt from last night.

“A good f*ck,” she laughs. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had one.”

I chuckle. “You’re welcome.”

“What brand of mattresses are these?” she asks, adjusting her black wrap sweater over her breasts.

“Um, I don’t know,” I shrug, pulling on my jeans. “I think all the guest rooms have the same type. They were all replaced after Wesley took over.”

“Well, it did WONDERS for my back,” she says, combing through her hair with her fingers.

“Hmm,” I grunt as my ears pick up footsteps in the hall.

I hold my breath and freeze, listening to the cadence of the steps, hoping to identify them, and praying to Selene that whoever it is won’t hear us and that Imogen will stop talking.

But no. She keeps prattling on and on about I don’t even know what because I am no longer listening to her. My focus is on the werewolf in the hall, the one taking their sweet *ss time to move from point a to point b.

“All right, well, I will see you later. The girls are all supposed to meet at Maya’s for our dress fitting, and I’m technically running late, but since I’m already here, I guess I’m not that late. I’ll just grab my extra ‘just in case’ toothbrush and toothpaste out of my car and freshen up and then be on my way.”

I’m so focused on that person in the hall, I don’t even realize what is happening until it’s too late.

Imogen puts her hand on the doorknob and I lunge for her, heart in my throat and stomach in my feet, but it’s too late.

The door opens, revealing Sebastian leaning against the far wall. His coffee mug steams in his hands, and a triumphant, self-satisfied smile curves his lips upward.

“Good morning, Imogen.”

Chapter 2


“Good morning, Imogen,” Sebastian says, but his gray eyes are looking at me.

And he definitely emphasized the word “morning.”

“Morning!” Imogen chirps, chipper as fuck.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, this time emphasizing the word “sleep.”

I glare at him, my jaw set. This mother fucker. Goading me. Poking at me. Gloating.

“Fantastic, actually,” Imogen tells him, oblivious to the stare down happening between Seb and me. “Oh! Do you know what brand of mattress you use?” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the bed. “I asked Reid, but he’s clueless.”

“I do not know,” Sebastian says, sipping his coffee.

“Oh, that’s fine,” she says, waving him off and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll just ask Haven. See you later!”

With that, she prances away, leaving me to face my worst nightmare by myself.

“Sleepover, huh?” Sebastian says, taking another sip of his coffee.

My fists clench to stop my


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