Waking the Wolf (Coup de Foudre)

by Amanda Sandton

  She dropped her hands to her lap. He unhooked her bra, lifted it up and cupped her cold breasts with his warm hands, then drew her in tight against him and nuzzled gentle kisses along her nape.

  “You’re so cold, ma Sylvie. Come, slide back down under the covers with me and I’ll warm you up in no time.”

  She lay with her head turned to the side, her soft breath tickling his ear. He held her tightly against his body running his hands up and down her back in a friction rub to warm her up and to smooth away her tension. The goose bumps disappeared leaving her skin silky smooth to the touch.

  “You have beautiful skin, ma chérie,” he said, his rough strokes giving way to softer caresses as he feathered up and down her spine with the tips of his fingers.

  A quiver shook the length of her and he caught a soft mewl in his ear.

  “I was afraid you were falling asleep, ma Sylvie.”

  She gave a quiet little laugh and raised herself up on her hands to look at him eye to eye. “Not a chance,” she said.

  Jean-Luc was overcome by choice. Her mouth with its full red lips was soft and inviting, asking to be kissed, but her breasts, oh, her breasts, now they were something: pearlescent in the dim light inside the tent, full and pendulous, tipped with carmine. Just seeing them made his cock twitch and swell even more. Like Tantalus, he stretched up to take a nipple in his mouth when Sylvie spoke.

  “I’m enjoying every second of the foreplay but when does the real action start?”

  Jean-Luc needed no prompting; he took hold of her buttocks and ground her against his erection, taking pleasure in the sensation of the softness of her belly and breasts against his hard male body.

  “Is that hard enough for you, ma chérie?” he asked.

  He flipped her over onto her back and knelt astride her. Dragging the cover back up over their heads, he cut out the chill and enclosed them in a pocket of warmth and intimacy. Now he could carry on where he had had to break off before and pay homage to the beauty of her breasts, even if he had to do it in the darkness by touch alone. Their substance and texture were a marvel to him; her skin so fine he felt he was in danger of licking it all away; her flesh so soft and yet resistant to his touch. He smoothed his hands around them, gradually centring in on her nipples. They hardened at his touch and Sylvie arched her pelvis up to rub against his erection, taunting him to take her but he wanted to enjoy her breasts a little longer and he buried his face between them.

  Sylvie ran her nails hard down his back and clasped his buttocks, pulling him in even tighter against herself. The sensation took him by surprise and he looked up. “Don’t be so impatient, ma Sylvie, I want to love you properly this time.”

  He traced his hand lightly down to her sex lips, parted them to stroke his fingers up and down. He brought the moisture up to her nipple and wet it before blowing across the tip. Sylvie moaned and bucked beneath him. He didn’t think he could keep her waiting much longer. He slipped his hand back down and teased the tight little nub of her clitoris and she moaned, “Please, Jean-Luc. Stop torturing me. It’s wonderful but I want you inside me.”

  They were warm enough now for him to pull the cover down off their faces. He reared up and looked down deep into her eyes, her pupils so large they appeared dark and mysterious. How could he ever know what she was feeling? Why did he suddenly care? She stared back and the hint of a smile touched the corner of her mouth. Could she read his mind? An intense stab of recognition shot through him. This was what he had been looking for all his life. He had found his soul mate, the woman who would make him complete.

  “Kiss me, Jean-Luc,” she breathed as if she wanted him to seal a secret pact. She ran her fingers into his hair and, parting her lips, enticed him to kiss her. They kissed long and deep.

  Unable to postpone the final pleasure any longer, he grabbed a condom from his pack and donned it before nudging her legs apart with his knee. He entered her slowly, prolonging the sensation of her warm wetness on his cock. He withdrew to the brink and then returned, making slow shallow passes and teasing them both until he felt Sylvie straining to take him in deeper. He pushed in to his fullest extent and she gasped. She was breathing fast now and her skin was rosy. He increased the speed and power of what were now full thrusts. He thought she was keeping pace with him, but he wanted to be sure. Finding her clitoris with his hand, he slicked it with the moisture of her arousal, tweaking and rubbing until he felt her love muscles tightening against his cock. He let go and with a final thrust he cried out, “Jouis, mon amour, jouis!”

  He reached his climax but didn’t know whether Sylvie had joined him.

  As he recovered his breath he looked down at her and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Did you come, ma Sylvie? I couldn’t tell this time.”

  She gave a slow shake of her head. “So sorry, I must be too tired or too stressed.”

  “It’s good that you tell me the truth, mon amour, then I can do something about it.”

  He bent down between her legs and tongued her little nub slowly and then faster and faster until she arched her back and a great shudder ran through her body. Jean-Luc eased himself down beside her and pulled the covers up over them again.

  Sylvie kissed him. “Thank you, Jean-Luc. David never cared whether I orgasmed or not and he certainly never took the trouble to make sure that I did.”

  They cuddled together bathing in the warmth they had generated. Jean-Luc’s thoughts turned to the man who had killed the wolves, the man who had dared to come to their camp earlier that morning and rifle through Sylvie’s belongings. What a good thing she hadn’t been there? What would the thief have been prepared to do if Sylvie had been in her own tent? He dreaded to think. At the very least the man would probably have knocked Sylvie out. He may even have had a gun.

  Jean-Luc told himself Sylvie was his friend. He wouldn’t have wanted anything to happen to her. What was he saying? Friend? She was more than just a friend. Lover? Yes, that certainly, but he remembered calling her ‘mon amour’ while they were making love. It had been good, their lovemaking: pleasurable and intense. Lovemaking? Not just sex? Had he fallen in love with her? He remembered the sense of connection he had felt, the realization that he found his ‘one and only’.

  Jean-Luc propped himself up on one elbow and ran his fingertip along her lip. He was collecting his thoughts and Sylvie stayed still and quiet, giving him time to sort them out. He studied her face for a moment before bringing his eyes up to hers. “Where does this leave us, Sylvie? Are we friends, lovers or business associates?”

  Despite the forewarning, his question surprised her. In her experience it was usually the woman who wanted the relationship classified. She realized that a considered answer was required and not a flippant remark and so she paused before asking in her turn, “Where would you like us to be?”

  He broke eye contact and his gaze wandered all round the inside of the tent before coming back to focus on her lips again. He put his free hand under the covers and drew his fingers up her body, up over her belly, between her breasts, up over her chin to rest them on her mouth in a gesture of silence. “Sylvie, ma chérie ...” he began, emphasizing the pressure of his fingers on her lips. “It’s hard for me to say this after all that has gone before ... but I think I have fallen in love with you.”

  Sylvie couldn’t stop herself from blinking her astonishment and her inner core steeled itself for it to be a joke. Jean-Luc was saying he was in love with her. Love? Not just fond but in love.

  “But you don’t even like me!” she said at last when he removed his fingers.

  “I certainly haven’t given you any reason to think so, have I? I was pretty nasty to you when you first arrived.”

  “And afterwards. Every time I thought we were getting on well together something happened. Like that dreadful Morisette woman.”

  “But you minded about her, didn’t you, Sylvie. Doesn’t that mean you care for me a little bit?”

  “Maybe. But what about your coldness towards
me after we spent the night in the car that time?”

  “Sylvie, what can I say. I’m a guy. I thought we were rushing things and had been led by circumstance into something neither of us wanted. And you were stand-offish, too; you have to admit it.”

  Sylvie didn’t answer. She didn’t really know what to say. She had been conscious of the magnetism between them long before Jean-Luc was. If she was honest with herself, she had been falling in love with him ever since she first saw him leaning against the bar in Le Chien Ivrogne. She had damped down her feelings because she knew, or thought she knew, Jean-Luc did not feel the same way and she was afraid of losing her heart again so soon after everything with David had fallen apart.

  “Sylvie, say something please. Have you any idea how difficult it was for me to say that I am in love with you? Me, the guy whose girlfriend left him for a better career, and you, the great highly qualified veterinary surgeon from America.”

  Her future sat balanced on a blade of grass: on one side lay love and happiness and on the other sadness and loneliness. But which side was which? Which side was Jean-Luc on? If she didn’t choose Jean-Luc she could regret it for the rest of her life but then, if it didn’t work out between them, she would be unhappy anyway.

  It wasn’t fair to keep him waiting for her reply. She was being selfish, but more than anything she was allowing what had happened in the past to make her reluctant to take risks with her emotions. She should not allow David to have that power over her future. She was in love with Jean-Luc, wasn’t she? She didn’t want to lose him. Enough introspection. Dare and win, she told herself.

  All the stiffness left her as she made her decision. The center of her being softened into an overwhelming feeling of love and longing, and a desire to meld herself with her beloved enveloped her. A warm and tender smile broke across her face and she reached up to pull Jean-Luc’s down to hers. Her lips parted and softened as she welcomed him with a kiss of surrender: a surrender to the power of love and the willingness to chance all for the love she was being offered.

  When Jean-Luc broke away he said, “Is that a yes then, ma chérie. You do love me?”

  Sylvie dug him in the ribs and made him laugh but he insisted on an answer, a declaration of love.

  “Answer me, Sylvie. Do you?”

  “Of course, I do. I love you, Jean-Luc du Lamond. I fell in love with you ages ago but I’m not sure when, so don’t ask.”

  “I won’t. It’s enough for me to know that you love me now. Come here, let me hold you tight and show you how much I love you.”

  “Jean-Luc, we must take things slowly between us. We are both on the rebound and we’ve been thrown together a lot. We need to be sure this is the real thing.”

  “I know this is the real thing, ma Sylvie. When I think what could have happened to you if you had been there when that man searched your tent, I can barely breathe.”

  23 : Breaking Camp

  Jean-Luc was the first to wake up. It was already eleven and the helicopter was due at noon. He gave Sylvie a nudge, dressed quickly and went outside to start the gas stove for coffee. He didn’t notice it at first but then as he put the coffee pot on the stove he saw a trail of paw prints some way out from the trodden snow immediately outside the tents. They had had a visitor while they slept. He walked over to check. Yes, they were wolf prints. A single wolf. A wolf with a short right hind leg. It could only be P’tit-Loup. So he was still alive and doing fine. He looked all around him but there was nothing but pine trees and snow. No sign of P’tit-Loup.

  He called Sylvie out for coffee and showed her the tracks.

  “It was P’tit-Loup, I’m sure. He came to visit us.”

  “I suppose he didn’t come any closer because of me.”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve seen him around several times. He never comes closer than that even when I’m on my own. He recognizes my scent but he still keeps his distance. We can be glad our efforts to re-introduce him to the wild were successful and he is wary of humans.”

  “Wolves have good cause to be,” said Sylvie, crouching down to drink her coffee. She bent over her mug and inhaled the aromatic steam.

  Jean-Luc reached down and tapped her on the shoulder. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered. “Look” and he pointed towards the pine trees.

  A wolf stood on the edge of the clearing. He came forward down the slope towards them, stepping high in the deep snow.

  When he reached the circle of prints he had made earlier he dropped into a submissive crouch, his lips and ears drawn back and his tail between his legs. He tilted his muzzle towards Jean-Luc and looked off into the distance.

  Sylvie whispered, “He’s displaying submission to you, Jean-Luc. That’s unusual.”

  “Not really,” Jean-Luc whispered back. “I’m a sort of surrogate pack leader to him. Watch.”

  Jean-Luc hunkered down slowly beside Sylvie. He clicked his tongue, calling out softly, “P’tit-Loup, mon pote, comment ça va? Tu vas bien, hein? You all right?”

  At the sound of his voice, P’tit-Loup brought his yellow gaze round to Jean-Luc before scanning the area around them. Apparently satisfied that there was no danger, he sprang up to his full height and wagged his tail. Bowing down with his front legs he stuck his rear up in the air and made several little bounces.

  “See, he’s displaying friendship and playfulness. He’s not above showing off.”

  Jean-Luc clicked his tongue again and P’tit-Loup danced round in circles then just as suddenly he stopped and looked straight at Jean-Luc before turning to leave. He retraced his steps in the snow, looking back over his haunches now and then.

  Sylvie stood up slowly. “Oh, what a pity. He’s going.”

  Jean-Luc put his arm round Sylvie, drew her into his side and gave her a squeeze. It was good to have her close and know that she loved him and that they could share such a precious moment. They remained standing there together for a few minutes, holding hands and wishing P’tit-Loup had stayed longer.

  “Attends, wait,” said Jean-Luc. “Just keep still. Maybe he’ll come back again.”

  They kept their eyes on the opening in the stand of pines through which P’tit-Loup had disappeared.

  “Wow!” he whispered in Sylvie’s ear. “Look. I can’t believe my eyes.”

  P’tit-Loup had returned to the edge of the trees. He stood there sussing out possible danger.

  Sylvie gave a little jump of excitement and Jean-Luc steadied her. “Shush!”

  The young wolf turned again and slunk back into the trees.

  “Oh no” said Sylvie. “I must have scared him off. No, wait ... look, he’s coming back.”

  P’tit-Loup stepped out into the clearing again. He yipped and spun around and then yipped again.

  Jean-Luc and Sylvie kept still and silent, their hands tightly clasped together.

  A low gray shape appeared beneath the trees. It slunk to the edge of the clearing and then stopped. Another wolf. P’tit-Loup went up to it and kissed its muzzle to encourage it to follow him out into the open snow. With one slow step following the next, it crept out behind him until it was standing out in the open.

  “It’s a female,” said Sylvie. “Look, he’s found a mate in spite of his bad leg.”

  Jean-Luc gripped Sylvie harder in his excitement. “Fantastique!”

  The two wolves entered into a dance of flirtatious fun, spinning round and chasing each other’s tails, mock fighting and then running away to come back and prance about again.

  Sylvie stood on her tiptoes and kissed Jean-Luc. “See, you do make a difference. You saved his life and now he has found a mate and they’ll have cubs this spring and help to replace the wolves that’ve been killed.”

  The wolves stopped their frolic and the female ran off quickly into the trees. P’tit-Loup turned to face Jean-Luc and gave a long deep howl and then he, too, vanished from the scene.

  Jean-Luc tipped his head back and let out an answering howl. He and P’tit-Loup echoed each other
back and forth until the wolf could be heard no more.

  Sylvie had ducked out from under Jean-Luc’s arm when he let out the first howl. Jean-Luc laughed at the look on her face. “Haven’t told you about that, have I? One of the ways we find out where the wolves are is to howl, and if the wolves answer we jot down their approximate location. So we have to learn all the different wolf howls and what they mean.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” said Sylvie.

  When Jean-Luc nodded his head she asked, “But can’t the wolf-killers copy you and do that to find the wolves?”

  “They could but they don’t. They are opportunists and not prepared to put in the hard work, fortunately for us and the wolves.”

  “I’m familiar with the howls of the North American wolves in Yellowstone but this was different: more melodious and more drawn out. Is that typical?”

  Jean-Luc bent to kiss her. “I’d say so. We’ll make you an expert on the European gray wolf in no time, ma Sylvie. For now, we must pack up. The helicopter will be here soon.”

  Sylvie threw her arms around Jean-Luc and hugged him. “Thank you, Jean-Luc. That was one of the best experiences of my life. How many girls are told that the man they love is in love with them, and then see a show of live wolves? All on the same day. I am so lucky, and you must carry on with your work. You have the magic touch.”

  Sylvie and Jean-Luc decamped and were down at the den with their camping gear waiting for the helicopter when it arrived. It didn’t take long for them to complete the unpleasant task of loading the black bags into the helicopter. Jean-Luc called ahead to Robert asking him to meet the ’copter at the emergency landing pad in Nice and take delivery of the grim cargo. Then he asked the pilot if he would give them a lift back to their vehicle, explaining that they didn’t want to spend a second night out in the cold, as they wanted to get started on the post mortems as soon as possible. Minutes later they were winched down to their car, had stowed away their gear and were back on the road down to Nice.