I leaned over the bed, one hand down to hold myself up, the other reaching between my legs. I found him and tugged him to me. He tensed.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m being good. Just…teasing.”

He let out a low growl as I stroked him, still prodding against me.

“Teasing who?” he said. “You or me?”

I grinned. “Both. That’s the best kind.”

He shifted forward, pushing another half-inch. My eyelids fluttered, and I pushed back. Just another-

“Better stop,” he growled.

I slid my hand up his shaft, fixing a stopper for myself, and stroked him from there, letting him thrust just that inch or so, barely parting me, the teasing so exquisite that I had to dig my fingers into the bed to keep from losing my balance.

When it was too much, and I was ready to just let my hand “accidentally” slip off him and let him slip into me, I arched forward onto the balls of my feet, leaning farther over the bed, and slid his shaft down lengthwise along me. Then I held him there, tight against me, and let him thrust.

Didn’t take more than a few minutes. Then I slid face-first onto the bed, rolling onto my side as my belly touched down. He crawled in behind me, pressing up against my back, breath tickling the back of my head.

“Getting more inventive,” he murmured.

I chuckled. “By the time this baby comes, we’ll have figured out all the tricks.”

Too lazy to move, I pulled down a pillow, tucked it under my head and closed my eyes. Within minutes, I was asleep.

The next morning we headed straight to the airport to pick up Antonio and Nick, the two remaining members of the Pack.

At five, the Pack was at its lowest recorded size. Changing that wasn’t as easy as it might seem. In the past, Packs grew primarily through procreation, with werewolves fathering babies and taking the sons, the gender that carried the werewolf gene. In a modern Pack, with modern sensibilities and a modern Alpha, taking children from their mothers wouldn’t happen. Under Jeremy’s rule, Pack wolves had two options: surrogacy-and take the child regardless of gender-or joint-custody arrangements with the mother, since by the time a boy had his first Change, he was college-aged and old enough to keep that part of his life from his mother.

The problem was that, until Clay and me, no one in the Pack had showed any inclination to procreate. Antonio was content with one son-Nick-as Jeremy was with Clay. Maybe someday Logan or Peter would have had children, but they were gone now, killed in a mutt uprising five years ago. As for Nick, no one expected him to embrace fatherhood anytime soon, if ever. Although Clay and I were now doing our part, neither of us had any interest in replenishing the ranks by ourselves.

The other method of increasing Pack ranks was assimilation-taking in mutts who wished to join after theyproved themselves capable of following Pack Law. Again, this worked far better under previous Alphas. Back in the days when Pack wolves hunted mutts for sport, there’d been no shortage of mutts clamoring for membership.

Under Jeremy, though, the Pack only harassed man-eaters, who certainly didn’t qualify for Pack membership without serious rehabilitation. Most mutts who’ve developed a taste for hunting humans have no interest in being “fixed.”

So far, the only candidates had proven disappointing: a closet man-eater hoping to escape detection by hiding in our ranks, one randy SOB hoping that the Pack’s communal attitudes extended to communal sex privileges with the sole female werewolf, and a problem gambler hoping the wealthy Pack families would buy his loyalty by paying off his creditors.

Marsten finally seemed serious about getting off the fence and joining the Pack. So our numbers were likely to increase by one. Yet until then, we didn’t consider him full Pack, which is why no one had suggested calling him to Toronto with Antonio and Nick.

So, for now, we were five.

I was the first to spot Nick and Antonio, and I hurried over as fast as I could waddle. Bear hugs, kisses and backslaps ensued, and I’m sure anyone watching would’ve thought we hadn’t seen each another in years, instead of just a couple of weeks.

Antonio had been Jeremy’s best friend since childhood. Nick and Clay were also lifelong friends. Both Sorrentinos were dark-haired and dark-eyed. Nick was a half-head taller than his father, with the polished good looks of someone who doesn’t think hairstylists, fashion magazines and skin cream are only for women, but who draws the line at manicures and facials.

Normally, Nick would have swept me off my feet and kissed me in a way that wasn’t exactly fraternal. Today, though, he stopped short, and settled for a hug and a smack on the lips.

“Am I getting too big to pick up?” I said.

He smiled. “No, I’m just being careful what I do to a pregnant lady in public.” He leaned down to my ear. “Wait until later, and I’ll make up for it.”

“I heard that,” Clay said.

Nick grinned. “Of course you did. And you can see it too, if you want. Maybe learn something.”

Clay made a comment, and Nick turned to answer, but his gaze snagged on my stomach. A look passed through his eyes as if he still wasn’t quite sure what it was, how it got there or, most important, what it would mean.

I grabbed Nick’s hand and squeezed it. Our eyes met, and I smiled. He leaned down to kiss me again. I put my hands on his stubble-covered cheeks.

“Couldn’t find time to shave?” I teased.

“I’m growing a beard.” He tilted his head and posed. “What do you think?”