At the first stroke of his tongue over her throbbing clit she arched off the bed, pushing herself against his mouth. Clint used his forearms to hold her down, keep her in place while he lapped at her bundle of nerves with excruciating slowness. Electricity shot through her, sizzling her nerve endings and striking sparks into the coil of lust low in her belly. He held her helpless as a pinned butterfly while he tormented that hard little knot, pulling at it with lips and teeth while frustration pounded through her.
When finally he thrust his tongue inside her, a long, slow glide, an orgasm broke over her, her inner muscles clamping down on his tongue. She clutched the covers in her fists while the spasms shuddered though her. Clint never stopped the thrust of his tongue, in and out, as she poured into his mouth, over and over.
She had barely recovered when he rose enough to push her farther back on the bed and climb up to stretch out next to her. In a moment his fingers were playing at her very sensitive clit, teasing it lightly, while his mouth took hers in a predatory kiss. She tasted herself on his lips and tongue, her own musky flavor blending with his.
She was still so sensitive from her climax that just the touch of Clint’s fingers stroking the lips of her pussy and whispering over her clit fired every nerve dancing beneath the surface of her skin.
“Mmm,” she moaned, trying to twist away from him. Catch her breath. Give her body a moment to recover.
Apparently that wasn’t even close to what Clint had in mind.
His clever fingers pinched her clit and thrust into the hot swell of her cunt, urging her up the spiral again. Her body responded to his silent coaxing, the muscles of her lower tummy clenching and tensing. Another orgasm was building slowly inside her, like the flame of a newly built fire as it catches on kindling and dry tinder.
But just as she began to ride his hand he stopped, sliding his fingers from her body. They glistened with her juices. He carefully painted her nipples then her lips with her cream.
“Taste yourself,” he growled, eyes heating as he watched her slowly run her tongue over her lower lip. Then he pressed his mouth to hers. “I love kissing this sweet mouth of yours,” he whispered against her lips, “but I want to feel it on my cock, too.”
With an efficiency of movement he rearranged them so they were lying on their sides, her mouth at his shaft, his at her cunt.
“Now, Sophia.” His voice was hoarse. “Let me feel you now.”
She wrapped the fingers of one hand around his throbbing cock, licking the velvety head, dragging the tip of her tongue through the slit. At the same moment his fingers slid into her pussy again, curling to reach that sweet spot, the hot button that kicked her into overdrive.
When she slid her mouth down the length of him, feeling the hot steel beneath the velvet skin, she reached between his thighs and cupped the heavy sac with his balls. Clint groaned in response, rasping his thumb over her clit then setting up a slick movement of his fingers in and out of her clutching pussy.
She was so aroused she could hardly focus on what she was doing, moving her mouth and hand in rhythm up and down his erection. He filled her mouth, stretching it to capacity, just as he’d filled her cunt the night before. Gently she squeezed his balls, extracting another groan from him. His lips closed over her clit as his fingers pumped in and out of her.
She was startled when, without warning, he shifted his hips and jerked his shaft from her mouth.
“Savin’ it,” he gasped.
But he wasn’t saving her. Shifting his body again, he closed his mouth over one stiff nipple and sucked on it hard, as his fingers stroked her to another orgasm. She cried out, the release shattering her, his fingers relentless in their plunging and stroking, scraping that very hot spot again and again.
She was limp and gasping for breath, eyes closed, her body covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, when she felt him leave the bed. Before she could ask him where he was going she heard the familiar crinkle of foil over his rough breathing. Then he was back, poised between her thighs, legs bent back to open her wide to him. The head of his cock pressed against her opening, thick and hard and hot.
And then with one swift movement of his hips he pumped into her, filling every space. He paused for a moment, his breath a harsh rasp in the still air.
“Look at me, chere,” he commanded. “I want to look into your eyes when I take you.”
She opened her eyes and looked into his, seeing them hot and hungry. “I think you’ve already taken me,” she gasped.
“Not even by half,” he told her. “Wrap your legs around me.”
As soon as she did he moved, driving in and out of her cunt, slow then fast, hard then pulling all the way out only to drive into her again. Unbelievably she felt an orgasm gathering power inside her drained body again. Somehow this man had the power to arouse her over and over.
And then she couldn’t think anymore, only feel. Feel the power of him inside her, the strength around her. Plunging into her again and again.
“So hot. So wet. So tight. Hell, chere. You might burn me alive.”
No, he was burning her. From the inside out. He rode her and rode her, his eyes like hot coals mesmerizing her.
When the orgasm came it shattered them both. One minute he was driving into her, the next he stiffened and as he did her body convulsed, her pussy clutching as his cock, dragging every drop of semen from him into the latex sheath. She wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into the small of his back, pulling him into her as tightly as she could. Riding that hot, hard shaft as it throbbed inside her.
She had no idea how much time had passed before she finally felt her muscles go lax and she let her legs fall to the mattress. Her heart was beating like a trip hammer and she couldn’t seem to get enough air in her lungs. Clint rolled to the side, taking her with him, his cock still inside her, his hands stroking her back even as he struggled to get his own breathing under control.
Sophia was completely undone. No man in her life had ever taken her on such a sexual roller-coaster ride, ever given her so many orgasms, or devoted himself to her pleasure the way Clint was doing. But what happened when she left here? Or was she getting ahead of herself? Was this just a few hot nights in sweaty sheets for him and then she’d be a faint memory? What did she really know about him, anyway?
“I hear your brain clicking,” he murmured against her ear. “I must not be doing my job if you can lie here thinking.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “You’re doing your job very well. I just…”
“Just what, chere?” He licked the outer shell of her ear.
“This all just happened so…fast. So quickly.” She wound her fingers into the thick softness of his hair.
“Life’s quick,” he told her. “When something like this comes along you have to grab onto it. You never know when you might get another chance. Or when it might fall apart.”
She stilled in the circle of his arms. “Are you trying to send me a message, Clint? That I’m just some temporary amusement for you?”
She tried to pull free of him but his arms just tightened around her. And his cock still rested inside her, locking them together.
He tensed. “Not even close.” He bit the lobe of her ear. “Just…sometimes life gets in the way.”
“Like how? I’m just trying to tell you I don’t fall into bed for wild sex with every man who comes along and you’re trying to tell me the meaning of life.”
His hand slid up her spine in a slow caress until his fingers were at her nape, his mouth coasting over her face. “Forget I said anything. For however long you’re here I want us to be together. Beyond that? There are some things you’d have to know that I’m not sure how to tell you.”
She studied his face, so close his breath warmed her cheeks. “Are you married? Have a string of women hidden away somewhere? On the run from the law?”
He gave a short laugh. “No, nothing like that. I promise you.”
“Then what could be so te
rrible?”
He brushed his mouth lightly over hers. “Nothing we need to think about now. We’ve got something very strong here, Sophia. If it takes us where I hope it will, then we’ll talk. Okay?”
He slid from her body very carefully and padded into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. Sophia lay there still limp, unable to move, her brain whirling but her body telling it to shut up. In seconds he slipped under the covers beside her and lifted her so she was straddling his chest.
“Hold on to the headboard, Sophia.” His voice was deep with a dark tinge to it. “You’re gonna need it.”
He shifted her so her pussy was poised right over his mouth, his tongue snaking out to lick slowly over her swollen lips, and she fell right back into the raging heat of erotic haze. By the time he was finished with her she didn’t have a thought left in her head except about this sensuous man and what he could do to her.
Finally he rolled her to her back, his mouth whispering kisses over her face, the swell of her breasts, her tummy.
“I have to go, Sophia. You have no idea how much I’d love to curl up around you and sleep with you in my arms, but you have a team member right next door to you. I don’t think you want to start answering his questions.”
“You don’t think he noticed you pull up or heard you knock on my door?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I was careful. And I parked farther down in the lot.” He kissed her again, just a touch to her forehead. “Maybe tomorrow night you can tell me more about the details of this killing and why two investigators from Texas came all the way to Maine to look into it.”
She stared up at him. “Why? You think you can help?” After all, he was trained military. He might have a different perspective on things. And he was French in ancestry. Cajun, maybe, judging from his soft drawl. They believed in things like the devil beast.
“Think about it,” he said, and rose to pull on his clothes. “Be careful, Sophia. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Before she could respond he opened the door and slipped quietly into the night.
* * * * *
In less than twenty minutes Clint was home. Frenchy was sound asleep, thank the lord. He didn’t want to have to think up answers as to why he was so late getting home two nights in a row. The old man was far too smart to see through any flimsy story.
Clint stood in the darkened kitchen, ran a glass of water from the tap and drained it completely, then filled it again. Sex always depleted him, and sex with Sophia Black just about destroyed him. It took every bit of discipline he could muster in the heat of orgasm to keep the wolf at bay. The animal growled constantly inside him, aroused by Sophia’s sensuous heat.
He could just imagine her reaction if he laid it all out for her. In Louisiana it might not matter, a place where secret creatures and legends of all kinds lurked. Especially in the bayous and swamps around New Orleans and Acadiana. The rougarou—half man, half wolf—was a legend told and retold. The generations of his family, tracing all the way back to when the English had chased the French out of Acadia in Canada, had wrapped themselves in the legend, using it to conceal their particular heritage. The Beaudines were shifters, a condition Clint had grown up with and learned from his parents how to manage and control.
But when a bunch of drunks had burned down their fish camp and most of his family with it he’d set out to get as far away from the people who constantly tormented the swamp dwellers as he could. His thumb had taken him all the way to Maine, close enough to where his family had come from to give him a feeling of connection.
But outside Presque Isle he’d run into trouble hanging out at the back door of The Crown. Frenchy had caught him trying to lift someone’s wallet and for whatever reason taken him inside, fed him and taken him home to sleep. Steeped himself in the legend of the rougarou, Frenchy hadn’t been the least dismayed to discover Clint’s true nature. Instead he’d homeschooled him, taught him how to survive in the wilderness, and when the time came helped him enroll in the Army.
Frenchy’d also looked up what herbs Clint would need to keep the wolf under control since he couldn’t necessarily rip off his uniform when the urge hit him and go racing around in wolf form. Clint had handled it for four tours of duty but at the age of thirty-six decided he wanted something else out of life. He just didn’t know what, except maybe a place to belong once and for all.
He had a sense he could find that with Sophia but after only two nights he wasn’t nearly ready to broach the subject. No, he couldn’t chance it. Not yet. And he also wanted to find out more about this killing she and her partner had stuck their noses into. A lot of the detectives from CID ate at The Crown and he’d heard enough gossip to know they hadn’t exactly been invited in.
What he really needed to do right now was go for a run and clear his head. Leaving his clothes folded on a chair in the kitchen, he opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch, closing his eyes as he allowed the change to come over him. Dropping to all fours, his thick pelt covering his skin and shielding it from the chill air, he leaped from the porch and headed for the trees.
These woods blended into the forest that ran all the way to the rear of Skye Motel. Clint liked to make the circle, hidden by the woods but still close enough to Frenchy to scent trouble if there was any. He was partway through the circle when his nostrils caught a different scent and he stopped dead still.
Wolf!
But not quite. Different, just like the night before.
He waited, and finally through the trees he saw a magnificent gray wolf racing along with smooth, even strides. He knew gray wolves showed up now and then in the area, but this one was bigger than the others he’d seen, and there was something different about it. Something he couldn’t quite assess.
Surely not a shifter. He liked to think if there were any others in the area he’d have connected with them by now. Still…
For a moment the animal stopped and turned in Clint’s direction, as if seeking him out. Clint moved behind two thick trees, carefully concealing himself.
And then it was gone, almost as if it had never been there.
Well, shit. He’d have to find a way to dig into this and get some answers. He didn’t like mysteries like this. Not when they might affect him and Frenchy. Abruptly he turned and headed for home. Time to get some sleep.
* * * * *
Logan found his clothes where he’d left them in a waterproof sack up in the crotch of two limbs in a tree. Not that he expected anyone to be out wandering in the woods at this time of night, which was why his body usually woke him and told him it was time for a run. But he didn’t want to take a chance of leaving them where they could be found and having to walk back to the motel room buck naked. That would definitely be hard to explain.
Harder to explain was the giant black wolf he’d glimpsed again tonight. Tonight in his room he’d used his laptop to do an internet search for black wolves in Maine, but he couldn’t find a mention of them anywhere. Besides, the scent he’d caught had a different tinge to it than pure wolf.
The thought that there could be another shifter around here puzzled him. Usually his internal radar was very good at sensing that but he hadn’t gotten any signals. Was it related in any way to the Chupacabra? Farfetched but not impossible. But if not that then who or what could it be? And why here? Tomorrow night he’d wait for the wolf to appear again and track it to its lair.
It was time for some answers.
Chapter Six
Morning came much too early as far as Sophia was concerned. It wasn’t that she hadn’t survived many times on very little sleep. But usually it was because she was out chasing clues or criminals. By the time she fell into bed she usually fell into a deep, dreamless sleep and woke at least mildly refreshed. But last night had been a whole lot different. She’d been drained all right, from the most exhausting sex she’d ever had in her life. Whatever energy might have been left in her body was completely wiped away by Clint and his educated
tongue and fingers and that last shattering orgasm.
And when she had fallen asleep her dreams had been anything but restful. Instead they’d been filled with images of Clint Beaudine and herself in every kind of erotic scene imaginable. Standing beneath the shower spray, she willed the hot water to pound energy into her sore and aching muscles and rinse the haze from her brain.
While she dried herself and brushed her teeth she replayed over and over in her mind that short snippet of conversation where he’d hinted at something she might not like. Or understand. Or both. He swore he wasn’t married or involved, that he wasn’t looking for meaningless sex, and he didn’t look as if he had a fatal disease. Maybe after they quit for the day she could beg an hour for herself and pay a visit to Frenchy. See if she could tease some information out of him.
A heavy pounding on the door shook her out of her daydreaming.
“Hey, Soph,” Logan called. “You decent? Can I come in?”
Sophia hastily wrapped a big towel around herself and pulled the door open just the length of the security chain. “Not yet. Give me five and I will be.”
He grinned at her through the narrow opening and held up two Styrofoam cups with lids. “I made fresh coffee. Will that help?”
“You have no idea,” she laughed, reaching out a hand to snag one of the cups. “But it does bribe me to hurry. Warm up the SUV and by the time it’s heated I’ll be out there.”
The liquid was hot and strong, just the way she liked it. She blessed Logan for his excellent taste in coffee as she sipped it. Yanking on her clothes, she pulled her hair back into a tail, stuffed her feet into fleece-lined boots and shrugged into her jacket. A scarf around her neck, a wool cap stuffed into her pocket, her tote and she was ready.
“I think you’re the only woman I’ve ever met who actually can get ready in three minutes,” Logan teased as he backed out of the parking space.
“No makeup,” she pointed out. “I’m not on a date. Then I take little more prep time.”
Like last night when I spent an hour getting myself ready for Clint.
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