Bad Cat Baby Blues (Shifter Squad Six)

By: Anya Nowlan

BBW Interracial Navy SEAL Werejaguar Forbidden Pregnancy Romance




A LITTLE TASTE…

Ariadne barely realized the moment when Dutch took the rifle out of her hands completely and set it down on the bunk, forgetting it there. She got the feeling that he had probably never simply left his gun like that, or been too preoccupied to pay attention to his equipment.

Her body twisted to face him and her hands wrapped around his neck, practically pulling herself up and closer to him. He growled into the kiss and Ari had to stifle a giggle as his hands cupped her ass and hauled her into his arms. The low sound drove through her like a solid current, making everything shudder in response.

Her legs were around his waist as he slammed her back against the concrete wall, the cool surface chilling against her slick, damp skin. Dutch’s hand was on her chin, dipping it and holding her head still so he could violate her mouth, and she loved every damn second of it. Her nails raked at his strong neck, making him grunt, and she mewled into the crushing, violent kiss, all raw emotion and desire.

“Fucking hell, you’re so hot,” he rasped, his other hand traveling up her side, kneading her tits, making her buck against him.




CHAPTER ONE

Dutch



Everything was quiet. The only things disturbing the peacefulness of the thick jungle around Dutch were the sounds of insects chittering and buzzing around in the distance. He scrunched his nose, shifting his weight on his hips a bit as he settled in on his stomach at his post high up in a thick tree.

He’d been there for three hours and it felt like little more than a minute. It was nothing, really. The only reason he chose to move at all was because he could and he figured he might be in for the long haul, depending on how the night played out. The sniper rifle was set up, concealed by branches, and sweat trickled down his neck and back, leaving hot trails in the unbearable heat.

They were somewhere in the middle of a South American jungle in a country that Dutch neither cared about nor remembered to name. After a few years with The Firm, all of these haunts started looking the same. The only difference was the length of the flight and what kind of a nest he’d have to pick, depending on the mission.

Dutch scanned the compound again far below him in the dip of a valley. Small, squat buildings were nestled amongst the thick forest, almost indistinguishable from the greenery surrounding them. There were a few guards posted at the doors, most notably at the longest and the narrowest of the houses. The warehouse, they figured. Lights flickered through holes that doubled as windows, either candles or oil lamps. Nothing looked like it was meant to stay there for very long. The whole camp could be packed up in half a day and moved somewhere else if need be.

Drug dealers. Couldn’t they pick better climates to do their shit in? Dutch pondered morosely.

Two tours in Afghanistan had given him a strong aversion to heat. Though his jaguar seemed to be purring contentedly, ready to roll as soon as the call came, the human side of the ex-SEAL was not too happy about the wet, sticky warmth. It wasn’t as bad as the dry, suffocating scorch of the desert, but werejaguar or not, he’d come to appreciate more temperate climates recently.

Dutch smirked to himself. If he was on the topic of weather in his internal monologue, the mission must have been dragging on for a while.

He touched a finger to his ear, activating the comm unit. “Cat Three. All clear here. Any update on when we hit?” he asked, trying to cover the mild irritation in his voice with something more akin to eagerness.

“Cat One. Cat Four hit a snag, will keep you posted,” Connor relayed.

Dutch suppressed a groan. Cat Four was Tex, and if he hit a snag, it meant that one or more of the bombs hadn’t been set yet. He and Grim had been slinking around the perimeter of the campsite, setting up small explosive devices on the outermost buildings with the intent to disorient the thugs when they decided to hit.

Taking a deep breath, Dutch reminded himself that he was a patient man. He had to be. It came with the territory of being a sniper. But truth be told, he’d lost a lot of his cool over the last few years and he wasn’t entirely sure how to regain it. Methodically, he pressed his eye to the scope again and rounded through the buildings and the guards one by one, making note of their positions in an effort to keep himself occupied.

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