Werecats and Werelocks (Collection)

by Dakota Cassidy

  Sam slid along her body, dipping his tongue into her navel, nibbling at her belly, lifting her leg up over his shoulder and burying his face in her cunt.

  Frankie clung to his shoulders as waves of anticipation made her impatiently squirm, writhing with agonizing need. She took hold of his hair, lacing her fingers through the thick strands and spreading her legs and when his tongue took its first, long, silky swipe, Frankie clenched her teeth, clamping her jaw shut.

  Sam stroked her clit, slow, lazy, long and wet. The decadent slurp of his mouth against her cunt made her quiver. He slipped a hand beneath her ass, pressing her flush to his talented mouth, laving her with his tongue until she dug her fingernails into his scalp and her heel dug into his shoulder.

  A small, hissing noise erupted from her throat when she came. The orgasm ripped through her, caressing each nerve ending as it went with a forceful, yet gentle hand. Her legs tightened, her body clenched and she reared up against the rasp of his tongue, coming with a burst of air from her lungs.

  Sam crawled up her body, rolling her to her belly with forceful hands, dragging her by the waist to prop her hips up and positioning himself between thighs she willingly spread.

  Frankie had long left her doubts behind. The fever of the mate burned white-hot, and if Sam didn't drive into her now she'd lose her mind.

  And he did just that. His cock, thick, wide, hard as steel speared her with a jolt that made her head rear back and her neck arch as a silent scream of pleasure she couldn't seem to vocalize fought to be released.

  Sam's hand went around her neck, sliding down along it to tug at her nipple while his other hand held her hip tightly against him. The slap of flesh increased its rhythm, the tempo growing frantic as Sam thrust his shaft in tight pulls and draws.

  His hand squeezed the flesh of her hip, gripping it as he drove into her, rocking his hips in small circles. Her heart crashed, her limbs ached, yet she lifted her ass higher, taking all of him. Thrust after wet thrust, Sam was relentless and Frankie reveled in the force he put into each stroke, her passage aching, thrumming with the delicious drive of his cock.

  His hiss of completion was followed only by the tightening of his hands on her. The long pull he took at her nipple with his fingers, making her lift her hips higher until she let her lower body sink to the bed.

  A hot ripple of wanton lust swept over her and as she clung to the bed sheets, she muffled her orgasm into the mattress. The spiral of desperate, clawing need lifted her higher, her pussy soaked and slick, convulsed around his cock, milking the pulsing shaft.

  The tension of his body, hard and angular, tightened, tensing for a jaw clenching moment, and then releasing as his hot seed spilled into her on a grunt.

  Sam collapsed onto her, a tangle of limbs and sheet, his grip loosening, his breathing evening out.

  Frankie gasped for breath, it wheezed in and out of her lungs with a rasp, and the rebel yell of her hormones had finally quieted. Thank God.

  Yeah, your hormones are in good shape there, Frankster, but what about your morals?

  Shame closed in on her. Shit, she had to—to—well, she had to something. What something was, had yet to be determined. Apologize? Did you apologize for that kind of hawt, nasty, Earth shattering sex?

  She reached behind her for Sam, his limp form curled inward. She rolled over to find the rise and fall of his chest was even.

  He was asleep?

  After that?

  Peering down at him, she squinted harder, trying to see what he looked like, but failed miserably.

  Maybe it'd be best to shift back to her cat form. Then she didn't have to explain anything. Yeah, problem solved. That is, if she could shift back.

  Things to ponder...

  And she'd do that—ponder—right after she napped.

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  Chapter Four

  Sun poured in and fell on Frankie's face, making her pop an eye open. The window on the far side of the room dripped, melting away the ice from the night before.

  She burrowed deeper into the warmth of the body next to her.

  The body.

  The hard body.

  The hard, naked body.

  Frankie sat up like a shot, taking the blanket with her. Leaning over that hard body, she was finally able to see the owner of it in the daylight. She squinted. Without her glasses he was hard to make out unless she got closer. Memories of last night came back with a rush of visual aids careening through her mind's eye.

  She'd had sex with a complete stranger. The man she was supposed to be a gift for.

  Hoo boy.

  It'd all happened so fast, but her hormones had been out of control. There was just no stopping the call of mating.

  Like you tried to stop it? Uh, yo. Wasn't that you all thrusting and heaving?

  Frankie scrunched her eyes shut. Okay. Guilty. She hadn't tried to stop it, but when her hormones screamed like that, it was like a freight train. Reason gave way to her uncontrollable urges and nothing short of death could stop it.

  She squinted again and looked at the man lying next to her. He had dark chestnut hair, perfectly cut, perfectly conservative. When he rolled over, she jammed a fist in her mouth to keep from screeching in mortification.

  Sam. Omigod. It was Samuel Carster's bed she was in? Jesus Christ in a mini skirt. She'd slept with the guy she leased her flower shop from. The guy she'd occasionally gabbed with in the elevator when she was making a delivery to his office.

  The guy she'd always thought was smokin’ hot, but had never had the guts to introduce herself to.

  Why in theee hell she hadn't put that together after hearing his name escaped her. She could only claim malnutrition and sleep deprivation. And how the fuck had she missed seeing his secretary Glynice for all these months? Where did the woman hide? Didn't she say she was Sam's secretary?

  Sam pulled the sheet up and looked beneath it to see her in all her naked glory. “I think we had sex,” his voice startled her. When she didn't immediately reply, he repeated his words. “Did you hear me? I think we had sex."

  Hell and yeah. Rockin’ sex. With the guy who owns your flower shop. She fought a groan. “Um, yup."

  "And you are?"

  Wow. He was like the iceman cometh. He didn't even blink, seeing her in his bed. He gave good game. No wonder he was a lawyer. “Frankie.” Maybe he wouldn't remember her. She did work downstairs in the lobby and, really, she had little if nothing to do with his law practice other than to supply flowers to the employees there.

  Something clicked in his brain and it was all over his face. “I know you. Francis Lane, right?"

  In every carnal way imaginable. “In more ways than one now, and everyone just calls me Frankie.” Atta girl, you stir that pot of shit right.

  "You run the flower shop in the lobby of my building."

  His building being the operative word. Damn. Foiled. “That's me."

  "I own the flower shop in the lobby. Along with everything else at Carsters, Weston and Felton."

  Eek. “Uh-huh. You do. You own the coffee shop and the newspaper stand too.” Lots and lots of ownership here. Oh. God. She'd slept with Sam Carsters. The man whose name was on her lease.

  "And you ended up in my bed how?"

  "Well, I was kind of scoping the place out and all of a sudden, er ... you grabbed me and then one thing led to another and we were all ... um, you know..."

  He eyeballed her with a cold glare. “Uh, yeah. I get the ‘you know’ part of this. Why did I grab you and how did you get in here to scope anything? I went to bed alone last night. That much I'm sure of."

  Frankie tightened the sheet around her and gave him her best innocent look. “I don't have a clue why you grabbed me, but you did. I swear. You were really woozy afterward, though. Maybe you thought you were dreaming?"

  Crossing his arms over his broad chest, Sam rolled his tongue in his cheek and cocked a dark eyebrow upward, arrogantly assessing her. “I took one of those pre
scription sleep aids last night. You know the ones that say you need to prepare for eight hours of sleep before taking it? I have insomnia..."

  And an awesome chest...

  His jaw squared. “Forget it. You do realize you just slept with someone you don't know."

  How kind of you to say it out freakin’ loud. Her lips puckered. “You did too.” So hah.

  "But I wasn't aware I was sleeping with you."

  That so sucked. To not remember such amazing sex was criminal. Heinous even. Fuck, what had she done? “Well, there were parts of your body that say different. You'll be happy to know all of your man-parts are in perfect working order."

  "Those parts of my body were drugged. Yours? Not so much."

  Hookay, he was making her sound fast and loose and she wasn't. All right, so she'd been a little fast and maybe even a little loose last night, but she had a reason. A good one. A human or perpetually feline one. So how would she explain this? “I do have an explanation."

  His caustic glare made her cringe. “And that is?"

  There was just no getting around this. None. She had no choice but to come clean. If she didn't, he might call the police or worse, not hear out her intended proposition. For shit's sake, of all the times for her hormones to decide to roar to life. It had to be her hormones on overdrive that had done it. The scent of an attractive man and all. Yet, she was in human form and she hadn't shifted back yet. This was promising, if not slutty to all outward appearances. “Look, I just need you to watch for a minute, okay? I say we get the freaked out shit over with now and move forward because my time is limited."

  He cocked a sleep-rumpled head in question. Gawd, he was sexy when he first woke up, all bleary eyed and naked. “Freaked out shit?"

  Frankie shook her head, pushing long, blonde strands of hair from her eyes and cracking her knuckles. “Yeah. Believe me when I tell you, you'll freak out. It's standard procedure. But when you're done with all the typical adjectives like disbelief, astonishment, denial and then finally horrified acceptance, it'll all be okay. I promise. Then maybe we can talk because I need your help and I don't have a lot of time to screw around."

  Frankie scooted to the end of the bed and slipped off the edge. Forgetting modesty, she let the sheet flow to the floor.

  Sam's gaze was many things. Confused was high on the list of things, but there was also a hint of appreciation for her nudity.

  "Ready?"

  "For?"

  Frankie held up a hand to silence him. “Just watch.” Thankfully, the shift was easy this time, probably due in part to the sex they'd had.

  For the love of dick. She'd had sex with the man she leased her flower shop from. Oh, if she lingered on that thought she'd hide in a tree for the remainder of her days. But she couldn't afford to do that right now.

  As her body took over, her human form melting away, she vaguely heard a yelp from where Sam sat, in all his yummy goodness, on the bed.

  But he didn't scream or anything and seriously, that was a testament to his strong constitution.

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  Chapter Five

  "More whiskey?"

  Sam held up a big hand and shook his dark head, plunking the tumbler on the kitchen counter. “I don't know that any amount of whiskey will ever be enough, but I'll be in AA after what you just showed me if I keep this up.” His voice was gruff, his face shell-shocked. He was sooooo cute, drifting in and out of disbelief like he was. Poor thing. She'd have liked to work up to that, but there'd been no time for easing him into her lifestyle.

  Frankie's smile was apologetic, concern for his mental health at the top of her list. “Sorry. I know it can be a shock."

  His lips formed a thin line. “A shock? A shock? You're a cat. A cat, woman, person ... cat..."

  "Which is better than a dog, don't you think? Dogs can be so territorial and they're much harder to potty train. Plus, sometimes they drool. I've never drooled. Not once."

  Sam's mouth popped open for a moment, just hanging there, then he closed it with a sharp snap. “Which is surely consolation for the fact that you're a cat. I don't think I can process this right now."

  Their silence ticked uncomfortably between them.

  "So you're my Christmas present from Glynice?"

  Frankie threw her hands up in the air as though she were throwing pretend confetti. “Yep. Just like I said. So yay! Merry Christmas and all that fa-la-la jazz."

  His gaze pierced hers, dark grey and stormy. Clearly, he wasn't feelin’ it. Scrooge. “I think I need a moment.” His hand tightened around the glass of whiskey, but she hadn't broken him yet.

  Such a man. Such a gorgeous, hunky, brick shithouse man.

  "But we have to talk.” It was probably too soon after her revelation, but she had no choice. She'd formed a plan in her mind and nothing would make her deviate. Well, unless he said no. Then deviation would be cause for Plan B. Which she hadn't formulated just yet, seeing as Plan A was still in the fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants stage.

  "Is anyone able to talk after seeing something like that?"

  Frankie grimaced, tugging his borrowed shirt closer around her. It smelled spicy and male. Soooooo male. “I guess it depends. I mean, there once was this kid who lived down the road from me and whenever I shifted to my cat form, in order for me to get to the field to roam, I had to pass his house. Christ, he was a total shit. I mean, he threw stuff at me, even shot me with his BB gun, the freak. So one day I just got tired of being tormented and I shifted—like in broad daylight. Risky, I know, but he was a complete tard who deserved it. Anyway, after that, I think he did time in the local nuthouse, but I'm not sure. I just know I didn't much see him around after that. And no, he didn't talk. He did cry, though. So you're right. We can wait to talk. Want to nap? Maybe sleep will help you assimilate this—me—our situation. Sometimes sleep is a defense mechanism against the unbelievable."

  Sam's brow furrowed, his broad chest expanding with air. “I have to be honest when I say I don't know that I'll ever sleep again. Not with my eyes closed, anyway."

  Frankie ran a sympathetic hand over his forehead. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were kinda glazed. “I really think you should lie down."

  His lips became a firm line again. Obviously, he was hanging on to his sanity. By a thread, no doubt, but hanging nonetheless. “Ooooh, no. Absolutely not. I'm all in now. I want to hear the full story. So let's begin from the beginning.” Folding his hands in front of his wide chest, he turned with expectation written all over his hunky face. It was clear he wanted her to make sense of the incredibly, and unfortunately for him that just wasn't going to happen today.

  Frankie saw his lawyer mind working all the angles and finally said, “Okay. Ask and I'll spill."

  "You're the cat Glynice gave me as a Christmas gift? The big, fluffy, white cat in the cage on my desk?"

  "I am. A Persian cat to be precise."

  "You were in a cage on my desk yesterday with a red bow around your neck? That was really you?” He sank back into silence.

  Her snort made him jump. “I so thought the bow was overboard and so did Beulah, but Glynice insisted. You know, I have to wonder something..."

  Sam's head cocked, his gaze bewildered. “You—you have to wonder something?"

  "Yeah. I mean, we see each other from time to time all over the building, but how did I miss ever seeing Glynice. She is your secretary, right?"

  Now he snorted. “Well, that's easy. She hardly ever shows up to work. I inherited her from my father and she really should be considering retirement, but she clings because she thinks she's helping me and I let her because I love her and she's been a part of my family since as far back as I can remember."

  The hint of affection in his tone for Glynice made her heart warm. “Ahh. Okay, anyway, yes, that was me on your desk. You want I should show you aga—"

  Sam flipped his hand up so fast it was almost Karate Kid-like. “No!” he cleared his throat. “Once was enough.” He p
aused and ran a hand over his stubble-riddled chin, the sound rasping in his sterile kitchen. “And why were you a cat? I mean, how..."

  "I'm always a cat. Well, half of one anyway. The other half of me is human. I'm what's known as a shapeshifter."

  His shoulders, broad and thickly muscled, flexed under bronzed skin, but his face remained calm with no outward signs of panic. If he was going to freak, he sure didn't show it. Dude was a man, through and through. Yum-my. “And you were in a Dumpster, why?"

  "Because I was stuck in my cat form while I was looking for food. Embarrassed as I am to say it, I was starving and I smelled food in the Dumpster. It was just my kind of luck someone would close the top on me. Truly, it was disgusting. I could have died of asphyxiation in there.” She made a face to emphasize just how disgusting.

  "And you couldn't shif—uh ... be a human because?"

  "I couldn't shift back to my human form because I got stuck and then I got lost and well, you know the rest..."

  His hard, chiseled, oh, so angled, fabulous face held nothing but bewilderment—disorientation. His luscious mouth—a mouth that had dedicated much time and pleasure to places on her body she didn't know could respond like that—fell open again.

  Frankie placed a hand under his chin and gently closed it, settling onto the barstool at Sam's breakfast bar. “Okay, here's the short story. I'll try to go slow so you can absorb everything. I come from a culture of shapeshifters. We can shift from human form to cat form. My culture believes procreation is the way to keep our breed alive. If we don't mate and begin to at least try and procreate by the time we're thirty, as sort of a punishment because we're not doing what's necessary to keep our breed alive and kicking, we're cursed to remain in our cat forms. It's some ancient bylaw or something. The time between shift from human to cat gets longer and longer the less I mate and inevitably, if I don't mate, I become someone's house pet—forever."

  Sam massaged his temples and muttered, “Jesus Christ."