Must Love Lycans

by Michele Bardsley

  “I like these pants,” he said. He shucked off his ruined shirt, and then removed his pants, boxers, socks, and shoes.

  As soon as he was naked, I pressed closer to him, ravenous, needy. My hands glided over his chest. My fingers danced along the ridges of his stomach muscles, the firm skin of his thighs, and the roundness of his ass. One hand cupped his buttock, the other touched his cock pressed against my stomach. With one finger, I stroked it from base to tip. Then I encircled the head, gripping hard, before releasing it and sliding my hand down its firm length.

  His hands drifted down my rib cage to my hips. Everywhere he touched made me tingle with heat. My heart was stuttering, and my breath rasping. I stroked his cock, reveling in the smooth, hard feel of it. Every time I reached the tip, it would jerk against my palm.

  Damian growled.

  God, I loved it when he growled.

  He lifted me to the countertop, wedging me between the wall and the ceramic sink. I blinked at him, wondering at this new position, and watched as he got to his knees. Oh, baby. I held on to the edge of the counter with one hand while using the other to grab Damian’s fabulous hair.

  His tongue ravaged my clit, a too-brief torment, and I got so excited, I yanked his hair. He didn’t seem to mind. Then he peeled back my labia and licked me with long, slow strokes. Every so often, his tongue would pause against my clit and flicker, causing all kinds of prickling sensations.

  Then he planted his hands on either side of my thighs and pushed his tongue inside me.

  I think I fainted.

  Okay, no. I felt dizzy and weak, though. I abandoned my hold on the counter and grabbed his skull with both hands. My fingers were tangled in the dark strands of his hair, and my thighs were quaking.

  Damian’s tongue darted in and out of me, the strokes rough and fast. I sucked in oxygen, but there didn’t seem to be any left in the room. Then Damian suddenly moved to my clit, drawing the pearl of tingling flesh into his mouth, sucking deep and hard. Just as an orgasm threatened . . . that rat bastard pulled away.

  “Damian!” I yanked his hair, but he only laughed. He grinned up at me, his eyes sparkling, and I couldn’t really be mad at him. He was having fun. And sex should be fun. However, the ache of unfulfillment settled between my thighs, and I kinda wanted to bash his head against the wall.

  “I demand satisfaction, sir,” I said.

  “As the lady wishes.” His head lowered and once again his mouth found my clit. He inserted two fingers inside me and curled them upward.

  The pressure he exerted with his fingers in that odd position offered a strange intensity. If I had been panting before, I was gasping now. It seemed that breathing wasn’t exactly an option when making love to Damian.

  Then he started to thrust his fingers in rhythm to the thrusts of his tongue against my clit.

  I shattered.

  I was barely hanging on as waves of pleasure shuddered through me, but Damian didn’t stop the movements of his fingers or his tongue. Seconds later, another orgasm built, released, and I’m pretty sure I left my body and floated up to the stars.

  It’s only a slight exaggeration.

  Before I had fully recovered, Damian rose and placed himself between my legs. His gaze was all heat, and the playfulness was gone. He cupped my breasts, pinching the turgid nipples, and I squealed. They were aching and raw, feeling overly sensitive, but he was relentless.

  “You need a break?” he asked.

  I lifted a brow. “Do you?”

  He offered me a smile, which wasn’t the reassuring kind or even the you’re-funny kind. It was more feral than that—more like a warrior would smile right before he slashed down with his sword to gain his victory. And yes, I understood the sexual connotations of my own analogy.

  “Sword” was definitely an appropriate synonym for Damian’s penis.

  He kissed me, one hard, quick meeting of mouths. Then he left me sagging against the wall, my back digging into the frame of the mirror above the sink. For all my bluster, I supposed a little break from his majesty wasn’t unwelcome.

  Damian opened the glass shower door and stepped inside. He fiddled with the knobs, and the large shower head spouted a practical waterfall. That shower looked almost as good as Damian. I hopped off the counter and joined him.

  He kissed me underneath the hot spray of water, his hands all over me, and then I felt him push that ever-present lust of his right into me.

  Red-beauty-passion.

  He turned me so that I faced the wall. Then he got behind me and lifted my hands, pressing them palm flat against the marble. My heart tripped over in my chest, my body trying to grapple with his lust and mine, but they were so intertwined, so much a part of the other, it was the same burning, bright flame.

  He sniffed my neck. Then he clamped his teeth on my nape and parted my thighs. I was flattened against the wall, and my heart hammered, and I think I was sorta afraid. The smooth tile held a residual chill even with the steam of the shower filling up the stall.

  Damian worked his cock inside me, nearly lifting me off my feet. I stood on my tippy toes. Once he was embedded, he adjusted our positions, and I was on my feet again, but not sure I could keep myself upright.

  Then Damian squeezed his hand between my body and the wall. My nipples beaded, and there was this great rush of soundlightfeeling as he started to move.

  He pinched my clit.

  Electric fervor zinged me.

  I was pinned too securely to fall, but it felt like I was at the edge of a cliff, and Damian was dangling me over the edge. The water sluiced over us as he pounded into me. And he kept pinching my clit.

  His teeth were embedded at my nape. His free arm wrapped under my breasts. And he took me hard and fast.

  I liked it.

  Pleasure gathered in a tight, hot coil. Damian ripped his teeth from my neck, and for some weird reason the pain of that zigzagged to the riot of agony he was causing by tugging on my clit. It was the absolute intensity of the sensations, not pain, but awful, terrifying pleasure. It was like my body didn’t care what he did to me because it would always interpret it as pleasurable.

  He pressed his forehead against my shoulder.

  “I’m coming, Kelsey,” he admitted in a rough voice.

  His words were the equivalent of shoving me off that proverbial cliff. Even as he stiffened and groaned with his release, I was falling into my own.

  We reached the pinnacle together.

  I don’t know how long it was before I came to and realized I was being squished against the wall by a very satisfied werewolf, but at the same moment, he released me. I slid boneless toward the floor, but he caught me, and gently turned me around.

  “You will never get clean until I vacate the shower,” he murmured.

  “I like getting dirty with you.”

  He grinned. He gaze dropped to the tattoo above my left breast and he swept his thumb across it. “I must admit that I like seeing my mark on you.” He looked at me through his lashes. “How did you get it?”

  “I was working as a vaquero in Mexico. One day, we were branding cattle, and I tripped. Landed ass over teakettle and bam—my shoulder hit the iron.”

  “Must’ve hurt,” he said.

  “Oh, it did, but I showed true grit.”

  He laughed softly.

  He kissed my forehead, and left. I watched through the glass wall as he toweled off and got dressed. He waved to me, and I blew him a kiss. He pretended to catch it; then, still smiling, he left and shut the door behind him.

  I got under the hot spray of water. The shower felt nice, but the being without Damian part sucked. I used the bath gel and the loofah (seriously, I couldn’t imagine Damian using a loofah, but there you go) to scrub myself clean.

  Then I went to work on my hair.

  One minute, I was scrubbing the shampoo across my head and humming, and then the next I was standing in a moonlit glen that I immediately recognized. My hands were still clinging to my soapy skul
l, but the Moon Goddess had thoughtfully draped me in a silk robe. I was wet, though, so the material clung to me like a second skin.

  Tark was in his human form, but at least this time he was wearing pants—though they were so tight, his impressive musculature and his genitalia were on display. I jerked my gaze away from him, and looked at the Goddess, who sat once again on her throne.

  “Couldn’t wait for me to fall asleep, huh?”

  “I’m afraid my impatience has gotten the better of me. How is Damian? And Drake? And Darrius?”

  “Um . . . okay, I guess. Damian’s not too thrilled about—” I pointed to the mark on my neck. “But we’re working through our issues.”

  Tark laughed. “Indeed.”

  My face went hot.

  “Don’t tease her, my love,” said the Goddess sweetly. “I’m sorry I surprised you, but I miss them so much, you see.”

  “Why can’t you just pull Damian here?”

  “I cannot call forth a lycan. For now, you are human enough to cross the barrier, but that is changing rapidly.” She shared a solemn look with her husband. “We hope that you survive.”

  “Thanks. Me, too.”

  She chuckled. “I do like you, Kelsey.” Her gaze turned earnest. “We want to help you, but our resources are limited—at least until the Winter Solstice. Then we will be free.”

  “You’re prisoners?”

  “In a way.” She studied my face for a moment, then appeared to come to a decision. “Nearly a century ago, I made a bargain. It was necessary, but part of the terms included my departure from the earthly plane.”

  “Forever?”

  “Only a hundred years—and I could not reveal the details of the bargain. The moment it was struck, I was barred from your world. But though I disappeared, my wolves did not lose their faith. Then several decades ago, I failed my children when they needed me most. Damian stopped speaking to me. Almost all of them did. Before that terrible night, you see, when they said their prayers or whispered their hopes, I could hear them. It gave us succor.” Tark clasped his wife’s shoulder. She offered him a grateful smile. “It has only been bearable because of Tark.”

  “He took the bargain, too?”

  “He was the bargain,” she said softly. Her expression shifted like mercury, and I knew I would get no further information. My instincts told me that was a conversation she wanted to have with Damian. I had no idea why Damian and the other werewolves had chucked their religion out the proverbial window, but if I knew anything about the man, it was not a decision made without cause.

  “Can you sense my emotions?” asked the Goddess curiously. “Or his?” She nodded toward her husband.

  “I wasn’t really trying.” I lowered my shields and attempted to discern their emotions. Nothing. It was exactly like trying to read Jarred. “Is that a god thing?”

  “In a way,” she said. “You’ve known someone else you cannot read.”

  I nodded, unsure where my ex-boss fit in to the picture. “Jarred Dante. He’s like you?”

  “He is . . . and he isn’t,” she offered. She looked at me apologetically, obviously ill at ease with her non-answer. Then she said, “You must convince Damian to go home, Kelsey—to Schwarzwald.”

  I blinked at them. “You want me to convince Damian to go to Germany?”

  “To the Black Forest, to the place and the hopes he abandoned there. You must both be at the temple on the eve of Winter Solstice—to prepare for our arrival. The few priestesses who still loyally serve me will know what to do.” She smiled sadly. “I once had many names, but my favorite was Aufanie. You may call me that if you wish.”

  “Okay.” My head was starting to itch from drying shampoo, and I felt chilled even though the air wasn’t cold at all. I wrapped my arms around myself as I felt a sudden, awful foreboding. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

  “You were never meant to be one of us,” said Tark kindly. He even looked a smidge sorry.

  “But she will be,” said Aufanie firmly. “Damian has chosen her. And we will not fail our son again.”

  Tark looked down at his wife, his gaze filled with tenderness. I didn’t have to be an empath to sense the deep and abiding love they had for each other. I felt a soul-deep ache as I watched them. I wanted what they had. And I knew—the same as I knew the earth was round and the sky was blue—that I could have that kind of love with Damian.

  You know, if I didn’t die.

  “Be well, Kelsey,” said Aufanie.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, I was back in the shower naked again, shivering under the now-tepid water with a crusty head and big wedge of foreboding lodged in my stomach. I guess Aufanie figured yanking me fully into her realm was better than leaving my body unconscious in the shower. I appreciated her thoughtfulness.

  I finished in a hurry. After I got out of the shower, I grabbed a towel from under the sink and wrapped it around me. I heard Damian’s voice—a one-sided conversation no doubt via phone—filter down the hallway.

  I went into the bedroom and saw that Damian had placed Elizabeth’s Louis Vuitton suitcase on the bed. I opened it and pawed through the designer clothing. Since Damian had shredded my bra and panties, I had no lingerie. I suppose going bra-less would be doable, but I needed panties.

  I looked at the tumbled covers on the bed and saw hundred dollar bills. What the hell? Then I realized I’d left the five hundred dollars and my driver’s license in the bra. Everything must’ve fallen out. Crud. I crawled into the bed, gathered up the bills, and looked for my license. I found it on the floor by the nightstand. I put the money and ID on the nightstand. I wondered where Damian had put my pants. At the very least I could wash and wear them.

  I saw a peek of red underneath a gold blouse, and I tugged at it. A halter dress unfurled. Nice.

  “Are you decent?” asked Damian. He strode through the doorway holding two sizable boxes. One was a pink rectangle, and the other a big white square.

  “That’s a loaded question,” I said. “What are those?”

  “Presents,” he said, showing me the pink box. Then he lifted the other. “And this is breakfast.”

  I could smell chocolate. My stomach rumbled.

  “Gimme!” I said.

  He laughed, and moved around the end of the bed so he could lay the boxes there. In black scroll across the top of the pink box was Agent Provocateur. I forgot about food. I gaped at him. “Shut. Up. You did not.”

  “It’s my policy to replace any undergarments I’m responsible for destroying.”

  I tore it open, and gasped. There were five bras and matching underwear, and underneath those a selection of silk stocking and garters. “Oh, my God. They’re gorgeous, Damian! How did you know my size?”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Never mind. How’d you get them here so quickly?”

  “I’m persuasive.” He seemed pleased with my reaction. His happiness unfurled like a flag snapping in a summer breeze. “There are more on the way.”

  I plucked out a red bra that had a scalloped edge and a thin black ribbon laced through the top. A tiny black bow graced the middle. I found the matching panties. “I can’t believe you—” The rest of his words filtered through my bedazzlement. “More? I don’t need more.”

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered one of everything.”

  “One of . . .” I trailed off, astonished. “That’s an insane amount of money to spend on underwear.”

  “Not if it pleases you.” His smile widened. “You will need an extensive collection, Kelsey.” He nodded toward the garments. “I can’t guarantee I won’t turn any of those into confetti.”

  “Good point,” I said. I put down the lingerie, and opened the other box. Inside were a dozen chocolate frosted cupcakes. “This is breakfast?”

  “Unless you want something nutritious and sensible.”

  “Hell, no.” I picked up a cupcake and then looked speculatively at Damian.

  He backed away, hands
up. “We cannot indulge ourselves now, Kelsey. The queen wants to see us.”

  “The werewolf queen?”

  “She rules lycans and vampires.” Some of his playfulness disappeared.

  “And she’s your mom?”

  His mouth dropped open. “What? No.”

  “But you’re the crown prince.”

  “That’s different. And irrelevant. At least for now.”

  I licked the frosting from the cupcake, and sighed with contentment.

  Damian groaned. “I’m going into the living room to think about the natural beauty and wonder of glaciers.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll smear you with cupcake and lick it off?”

  “Damn right, I am.” He crossed the room, pausing to kiss the crumbs off my lips. “And I’ll do the same to you. Later.”

  He grinned at me, and then he left.

  Then I ate my breakfast and got dressed.

  “I don’t have the boobs for this dress.” I glanced down into my sad cleavage and noted the way the front of it sagged. Elizabeth had a bigger rack than I did.

  “Please,” said Damian in a pained voice, “do not mention your boobs. It makes me look at them and want to see them.”

  “And do things to them?”

  He groaned.

  We were walking down a lushly carpeted hallway to a meeting room where we had been summoned by the vampire queen. Damian had filled me in, somewhat, about a few things. Vampires and werewolves were under the purview of a lycan-vampire named Patricia Marchand who ruled both species. Damian had not exactly clarified why he wasn’t ruling the lycans, and it didn’t exactly seem to be a sore point. But it did bother him.

  Then he’d told me that the headquarters of a paranormal conglomerate named the Consortium was located here, and its massive compound held most of the official buildings and some residences. Damian’s small, spare house was located within the compound. Most of the citizens lived in town like regular (if by regular, you meant were-cats, fairies, vampires, lycans, and dragons) people.

  I was still trying to wrap my brain around it all.

  “This dress was actually owned by Jessica Rabbit,” I continued. “It’s all boobs!”