by Tina Donahue
“Not if you holler. Fran and Olive already bitched at me for hammering too loud.”
“Pooh on them. Next time they need their pipes cleaned, I’m going to overcharge.”
His shoulders shook with laughter, his face so red it practically glowed. “Huh?”
She flushed at what she’d said. “You know what I mean.”
“But will they?” He removed her other shoe and sock.
Portia hoped he wouldn’t have too much trouble with the laces on her blouse. If he ripped them off to get to skin, she wouldn’t mind.
He took off his boots and socks then dunked his feet in the water. “Aw God, that feels good.”
Them naked on his tee doing the nasty would be even better. She sucked her lip, reminding herself not to push. Small steps might be best and the only option available at this point besides the food.
Every woman had heard the sage advice about the way to a man’s heart.
She filled a plastic plate with his sandwich and sides, each mound larger than the last. “Here you go.”
He swatted at a bee. “Did you save any for yourself?”
Food wasn’t what she needed. “Sure.”
He peered into the basket, then piled half his portion onto a new plate, and handed it to her.
“You don’t trust my cooking? You want me to taste this first? If I don’t gag, you’re safe?”
He scraped a blob of cole slaw from her thigh, where it had fallen, and licked the food off his fingers.
She leaned close. “Good?”
He finished chewing, swallowed then scrunched his face. “Shit.”
“What?”
His eyes rolled up. He slumped to the ground.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong?” Couldn’t he eat mayo? Were carrots or sugar poisonous to his system? Good God, she didn’t know. They were from different packs. “Nick!”
She shook him.
He laughed. “God, you’re easy.”
Damn right, but only with him, and he wouldn’t take advantage. She slapped his shoulder. “That wasn’t funny. I thought I’d poisoned you.”
“Naw.” He pushed up and grabbed his sandwich. “But we’ll see.”
Portia eyed him carefully, smacking him every time he pretended to choke or cough. Finally, they both settled, digging into her feast. His satisfied grunts matched the sounds he’d made last night while making love to her. They hadn’t merely screwed. They’d connected.
“Damn, this is good.” He shoveled in more applesauce and beans.
She bumped his shoulder with hers. “You like, huh?”
“Fuck yeah. You have a little….” He wiped something from her bottom lip and sucked it off his finger.
“Thanks. You have some….” She leaned over, tonguing Worcestershire from his mouth.
The persistent bee buzzed near. Ignoring it, Nick kept close. So did she, smoothing back his hair, tucking the strands behind his ear.
They sagged to the ground, not caring about the dirt or bugs, their lips brushing, kisses searching. A far gentler exploration than the last time, but enormously satisfying. She breathed him in. He did the same with her. They made out like adults who’d rediscovered sex. No rush. Easy. Slow. Seductive.
She cupped his balls and stroked his cock, making it rise beneath the rough denim. How delightful. He slipped his hand under her blouse and bra, claiming what was his, because she’d willingly given herself to him. Her nipples tightened painfully, her very being aching for everything he had to offer.
Nick mounting her was the only conclusion she’d accept, along with them sharing their lives. They rocked in place with her finally rolling them over and straddling him.
Sharp knocks rang out.
She jerked. He looked over.
The knocks sounded again, a fist hitting wood. “Portia. You home?”
Ty’s shout surprised her. Nick pulled down her bra and top, swung her from his lap to the ground then lifted his face. “Over here. What’s going on?”
By the time Ty had rounded the vegetation, she had on her socks. Nick shoved on his boots.
Ty gulped air and pointed over his shoulder. “I just came from Matt’s bungalow. Fran was straightening up.”
Yeah, so? Fran did housekeeping to earn money. Everyone here had a job, whether it was construction-maintenance in the community, running the general or convenience stores, Moonlight Diner, or working with Derek at The Defenders, a security agency. Portia couldn’t figure out why Ty was so agitated. Water dampened portions of his jeans and tee. “Is something wrong?”
“Fucking A. I heard Fran shout. She must have just turned on the water in the bathroom. It was shooting to the ceiling when I got there. The pressure blew off the knob or handle, whatever you call it. The thing struck her between the eyes. There’s blood everywhere.”
Chapter Three
Fran wasn’t a gentle soul when she was in a good mood. For Portia to catch her at a time like this….
The older woman sat on the commode, rocking and moaning like a victim in Hostel or any number of Saw flicks. Her salt-and-pepper bob was wet and tangled, clothes soaked. She pressed a wad of toilet paper to her forehead. Blood snaked down her prominent nose, the skin beneath her eyes already blackened.
With her being a shifter, the injury would heal swiftly though not instantaneously. Definitely not fast enough for Fran.
Despite the water-soaked floor, Portia sank to her knees, trying to remain calm, forcing herself to be exceedingly gentle, too. At this point, no one needed more turmoil. “Did you lose consciousness? Can you see all right?”
Fran sobbed, deep, wrenching sounds.
Crap. “Maybe we should take you to the ER, have them check you out, get some X-rays.”
Her shoulders trembled.
“Fran?” Portia touched her knee.
The woman reared back, teeth bared. “Stay away from me. Don’t you ever put your filthy hands on me.” She punched Portia’s wrist.
“Hey.” Nick sloshed through water. “We know you’re upset, and with good cause, but there’s no reason to act like that. Portia’s only trying to help.”
“How? By killing me? I said get away.” She kicked her foot, forcing Portia to crab back. Fran’s expression got uglier, her upper lip curled. “You’re either too dumb to know how to do your job or you did this deliberately to hurt me.”
“What? No. I would never try to hurt you or anyone.” Portia got to her feet, her eyes stinging with tears. “This has never happened to me before. I installed the fixtures correctly. I don’t know what could have gone wrong.”
“I do. You don’t belong here. You’re not one of us. You’ll never be one of—”
“That’s enough.” Nick stood between them. “It was an accident, all right? Stuff happens.”
“Not to me. Not before she came here.”
“I’m sorry.” Portia wrung her hands, not knowing how to fix things between them or how this could have happened. It was nuts. Handles didn’t shoot from sinks like projectiles, except in cartoons or horror films. “Maybe the part or screw was defective.”
Fran leaned over to see around Nick. “Only one thing’s not fit to be in Moonlight and that’s you.”
He growled. “Knock it off.”
“No. Someone needs to tell the truth around here.”
Portia bounced on her heels. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you or anyone. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for your ER visit. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“How about you leave for starters? Why are you still here where you’re not wanted?”
She’d never been wanted anywhere. Moonlight had been her one chance to belong and be accepted. What an idiot she’d been. She ran from the room.
“Portia, wait!”
Nick called again, but she bolted out of the cottage, stopping abruptly. Three female pack members stood near the steps that led to the porch, their expressions concerned or wary. They stared at her face then her blouse.
Blood streaked the mater
ial. She had no idea how it had gotten there.
Inside, Nick and Fran argued, her comments shrill and accusatory, his so low, Portia couldn’t make out the words but they were curt with anger, defending her, an outsider, refugee, someone who’d never belong.
She dashed from the scene, racing into the vegetation. Leaves brushed her legs, branches whipped her torso and arms. The sting scarcely registered. Dappled green turned dark and uninviting, the area shadowed from the heavy sun, not allowing the smallest thread of light or hope inside.
What had seemed such a promising afternoon had turned hideous so quickly. No different from the day her parents had died. They’d left to go grocery shopping. A routine trip that should have taken less than an hour. After two hours had passed without their return, she’d called their smartphones to see if they’d stopped at their favorite diner for lunch before getting the other food. The call to her mom went to voice mail. A gruff voice answered her dad’s phone, the man identifying himself as a cop, asking who she was.
She hadn’t wanted to say, afraid to know why he, rather than her parents, talked to her.
Portia’s attempt to duck reality hadn’t changed what had already occurred. The driver who’d T-boned her parents’ car had been texting and walked away without a scratch. Lucky her. She had two kids at home who needed their mother.
Portia was an adult who could easily take care of herself. She had. Finding the pack, begging them to take her in, craving nothing more than a sense of belonging with kindred souls who wanted and loved her.
She dodged bushes and trees, putting distance between herself and pain. Wasn’t enough. She tore off her blouse and bra, tossing the garments aside, not caring where they landed. She had to change and keep running. Returning wasn’t possible. She’d never be able to forget Fran’s disgust, the others’ wariness, or Nick’s sweet protection that could cause the pack to turn on him next.
Oh God, no. Not that. He’d lost so much already.
An anguished sob caught in her throat. She staggered to a stop and ripped off her shorts, thong, boots, and socks. Before they hit the ground, her transformation began. The surrounding air stilled and the world blurred, like an image seen through a rain-washed window.
Within seconds, it was over and she ran on all fours.
She darted into the undergrowth, not caring about her direction, escape her only goal. When she didn’t return, the pack would be relieved. Nick, too. She’d pushed him too hard. If he hadn’t been such a good guy, he would have told her to knock it off. They’d never had a chance. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.
Running hard, she changed directions. At her advance, a cottontail rabbit froze. Portia veered to the right to avoid hitting the poor thing, having caused enough destruction. As she passed, the creature zipped to the left, spared to live another day.
Others of its kind wouldn’t be as lucky. She’d have to live off the land from now on, staying clear of humans and other shifters. There wasn’t a single place she’d ever belong. Another fantasy she shouldn’t have hoped for.
With a wolf’s eye, she took in the surroundings, knowing this area would never do for her home even though there were plenty of hiding places and game to feed on. Staying here would put her too close to Nick, his scent permeating the air. She shot through the foliage, determined to travel hundreds of miles, if need be, to stop smelling or thinking about him.
Her sides ached from the exertion, lungs burning. No matter how far she ran, he still seemed to be everywhere.
She collapsed and rolled onto her side in human form, naked and miserable, knees pulled to her chest, lids squeezed to hold back tears. They dampened her face, throat, and chest in great gushing waves she couldn’t stop. Between gasps of air, she cried herself out, grieving her parents, her stillborn relationship with Nick, her sorry future. Never seeing him again was too terrible to consider, the same as her trying to survive. She might not find another pack. Even if she did, there was no guarantee they’d want her either.
That left her with living among humans, struggling to fit in as she had when her mom and dad were alive. Not something she wanted to do after living in Moonlight.
She rocked worse than Fran had, unable to make a decision or plan.
A twig snapped.
Portia jerked to a sitting position, skin crawling at the possibility of a hunter approaching, assault rifle in hand to prove what a badass he was. Although humans didn’t normally roam this area, there was always a first time.
To the side, leaves rustled wildly. A large, black wolf broke through.
Nick.
He transformed within seconds as she had, arms held out, inviting her within his embrace.
Tears clouded her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself within his protective heat but pushed up and edged away.
He followed. “Everything’s all right. Come back with me and you’ll see.”
“No. They want me gone.”
“That’s not true. Fran’s Fran. If anyone’s lucky to call Moonlight home, it’s her. She probably drove her mother nuts with her constant bitching. Just because she mouthed off, doesn’t mean—”
“What happened could have killed her. I would have been responsible.”
“It was an accident. Shit happens.”
“Not that. Not to me. You shouldn’t have talked to her like you did. Now, she’ll hate you, too.”
“And I should care, why?”
She flapped her hands. “Moonlight’s your home.”
“Yours, too.”
“No. I can’t go back. You heard her, I’m an outsider. I’ll never belong.”
“Bull.”
“Everyone hates my guts.”
“Not me.” He gathered her into his arms, stroking her back.
Portia slumped against him, tears streaming down her face. She hated herself for being so freaking emotional. Hell, she was a damn fool for touching him. This was crazy wrong, but she couldn’t find the strength or courage to stop.
They kissed, their desire eager and hungry, his breath still scented with Italian spices, hands roaming her ass, dipping to her cunt and breasts.
She pulled free and sank to the ground.
“Hey, what are you doing?” He reached for her. “Get back here.”
“In a sec.” Okay, more than that. She needed lots of time to do what she wanted. With his balls cupped in one hand, she held his hot, hard rod in the other.
Nick sucked air, his long toes splaying then curling.
His pleasure didn’t begin to touch upon what she’d desired for months. Never had she known a more spectacular man. His musk enthralled her. His warmth was thrilling. His rigid cock and fleshy sac were sinfully wicked. No normal woman could have resisted his male allure. Portia couldn’t begin to try.
His nuts rested heavy and hot in her palm, stoking her desire. Gently, she fondled his sac and swirled her tongue over his beefy crown, dipping the tip into his small slit. His salty pre-cum tasted better than anything she’d ever had. His groans were pure delight, lover’s music she’d longed for.
They shouldn’t be doing this, or at least, he shouldn’t. Good sense demanded he run from her without regret, giving his loyalty to the pack, including Fran. Not a newcomer. Worse, an interloper.
Rather than putting distance between them, Nick pressed closer. Rarely had Portia experienced such acceptance. He gripped her head to keep her near.
There wasn’t anywhere else she’d rather be.
She took his cock into her mouth, opening her throat so he could tunnel deep as he would in her pussy. He cried out. She suckled, drawing him in, not satisfied until she’d reached the root, her nose buried in his dark curls. Musky. Male. Magnificent. She squeezed his ass, pleased at his taut cheeks.
He dug his fingers into her scalp.
With a gentle sweep, she tongued his length, easing back gradually, finally trapping his crown between her lips. Slavishly, she explored his satiny flesh, gradual
ly travelling toward the back. There, she flicked her tongue on the uneven skin.
He shuddered. “Fuck.”
In time, even though they shouldn’t. Somehow, doing the sensible thing seemed unimportant here. They’d claimed this area as their world, a slice of heaven she’d fight to keep. Pleasuring him mattered more than anything.
Portia parted her lips, allowing his rod to slip free.
“No, wait. Don’t stop.”
Never. She guided his shaft aside and eased his left ball into her mouth.
“Holy mother fucking shit.”
Yeah, she ruled. He did, too.
***
Hot didn’t adequately describe her mouth, while her tongue…. Damn. Wanton as hell, sweeping over his hairy ball, delivering pleasure every-fucking-where, even his lashes and nails. Nick shivered, not certain he could withstand the delight. For him to come now would be worse than his rod going limp. He had to hold off for at least ten minutes. Okay, five. Maybe two.
Argh.
She suckled his nut carefully, stroked his shaft hard and quick with piston-like precision, and brushed the furrow between his cheeks, pausing to toy with his anus.
He wanted to scream, cry, come. No. For her, he had to last longer than any guy on Earth, prove he was the man, and could do something right. He hadn’t scared Fran one bit. Despite his repeated warnings to the old bat, she’d still run Portia off. If he couldn’t prove himself here, he wasn’t worth a damn.
Portia slipped her finger into his tight ring and turned her digit, familiarizing herself with the passage.
His legs sagged. Sweat dripped from his chin to his chest.
She suckled his nut more firmly, though not enough to harm. His hair stood on end, vision blurring. Unexpectedly, she released his ball and panted hard. He couldn’t snatch one meager breath. Dizzy, he dug his toes into the dirt and plowed his hands through her hair, holding tight.
“You doing okay?” She patted his leg.
“Uh-huh. You?”
“Great.” She took his rod back into her mouth.
Jeez-us. Florida summers had nothing on her inner heat, her fervent embrace precisely what he needed. He understood that now. Witnessing her sorrow and loneliness from Fran’s ruthless bitching had been more than he could bear. Until that moment, Nick hadn’t understood how unwanted Portia felt. How lonely she was. He’d been nicer than Fran about pushing Portia away, but he’d also behaved as cruelly. Not opening his heart to her, even refusing to be friends.