Sheila huffed. She patronized panthers’ businesses whenever possible, shopping at their stores or using their services, but it didn’t necessarily mean all involved were up to the tasks set out for them. Everybody in her circle recommended Hinkley House Painting, but after their first day she’d begun to regret making the call.
“Human painters would have been done by now,” she said, hugging herself in a gust of wind. “My whole house reeks. I want to sleep in my bed tonight and not wake up dizzy and disoriented. I can’t eat in my kitchen; I’m a prisoner on my own deck, in freaking December!”
“Come on, it can’t be as bad as all that, and global warming, remember? You know you can stay with Calla and me until the job’s done,” Caleb fixed his stare into the house, “and I really don’t think it’ll be much longer.”
“Another day and they might as well move in,” Sheila grumbled.
❄ ❄ ❄
Jonah Hinkley inspected the back wall of Sheila’s open living room and frowned. “This color look all right with you?” he asked his brother Grant.
Grant, two years younger than Jonah’s thirty-one and lighter in coloring with blond hair and pale blue eyes, looked up from the baseboards where he knelt. “It’s what came out of the can, isn’t it? She picked the color, it’s what she wants.”
“It doesn’t look right,” Jonah insisted, and looked around him at the covered furniture and the broad, splattered cloth protecting the Pergo flooring. He hadn’t had much interaction with Sheila Houlihan since coming to Bliss to stay close to their aged mother, but he remembered her previous home appeared stately with cool colors and decor to match. This marigold color she designated for the first room visitors would see gave him a headache. He wasn’t sure it was marigold at all, regardless of what it said on the can. It looked more like neon mac and cheese.
“Yo,” Grant called to him. “You going to help here and get this job done, or you gonna breathe in the fumes like a rehab-failed junkie?”
Jonah shook his head and ambled up the main stairway. “Yeah, yeah. Lemme go use the bathroom first.” They had finished the downstairs half-bathroom earlier, and he didn’t want to mess it up. Sheila Houlihan would certainly give them grief if she found a bubble or crack in a newly dried coat of paint. Stories of the matriarch panther circulated around shifter packs from here down the East Coast—she was a minor celebrity in that respect. Some things said about her, particularly her ferocity, Jonah knew as exaggerations.
People simply mistook her familial loyalty for meanness. Jonah knew from his encounters that Sheila believed in perpetuating and strengthening their race. He found her confidence sexy as all hell, but no longer thought it out loud.
“Really?” Grant had spouted in disbelief one night at The Wall, a local nightspot the brothers had helped rebuild after the storm. “She’s like...old and shit.”
To Grant everybody over forty might as well move to Florida and shout at kids to get off their lawns. “She’s older,” Jonah corrected, “and so what? Since when are you so particular? You don’t have a problem sharing Demi Moore bikini selfies, and she’s no younger than Sheila.”
“Sheila Houlihan don’t have Demi Moore money. Or her body.” Grant shrugged and tipped up his bottle of Stella until he drained it.
Like Grant would know. Shifters had to strip in order to make the change to their respective animals, and while Jonah had seen Sheila in panther form more than once trotting up the shore, he’d never had the opportunity to witness her transformation. She always looked great gussied up in her skirt suits and formal wear, for all the charity galas and society events she attended. Jonah didn’t doubt the older woman could give Demi Moore or any other over-forty Hollywood actress a run for her money.
Jonah paused a moment to study the family photos stacked atop a dresser in the guest room, which held the only bathroom Sheila would let them use. Sheila had a pre-teen son, staying with a friend until the paint job was completed, and a young married daughter who lived in New York City. He recognized a few people in some group photos—mainly panthers from various circles—and at the bottom of the stack rested an older wedding shot. Sheila hadn’t aged much since the day it was taken, and Jonah thought she looked beautiful in her long white gown, standing next to the former head of the Houlihan family.
Jeez, guy, get a grip. In his head he sounded like such a girl.
He did his business and washed his hands, then checked himself in the mirror. A bit of paint had splattered in his hair, but he’d cut out the clump if it didn’t come out with some shampoo later. Nothing in his teeth, a quick side-check of his torso to tuck in his gut for a model-like pose, and he started back downstairs.
Another set of photos, these tucked halfway under a pile of books on a coffee table, caught his eye first. Jonah knew he shouldn’t snoop, but with Sheila in the backyard playing hostess to that loud-mouthed wolf lady he figured it wouldn’t hurt to peek. Pictures fascinated him, and he often wondered why many of the panther families around Bliss never snapped shots of relatives in animal form. Grant joked once that a panther could barely manipulate a camera. He chuckled at the memory.
He rubbed away a flake of marigold paint from his fingertips and cut the book stack in half. He lifted the last two, set them aside, and tugged a corner of photographic paper. The gilt logo of a photography studio shone and it took him a moment to process that Sheila had gone in on one of those budoir packages. The picture appeared recent—Sheila posed provocatively in a spaghetti-strapped red nightgown slit up one side. She reclined on a curved plush settee with the red silk dripping over one side to expose a shapely, smooth leg.
Damn. The woman looked good. Of course, she’d been made up and her hair teased out to make it appear fuller, but Jonah could tell it wasn’t an old picture. Underneath that, the stack of photographs were progressively racier—the outfits shrank and the setting changed from a bordello-style lounge to a lush bed.
Jonah’s pulse quickened a bit as he shuffled the snapshots before replacing them. His cock stiffened and he reached with his free hand to shift it for comfort. How long since he had sex? He couldn’t remember, and seeing any woman with a come-hither expression helped matters none. Why did Sheila pose for these, he wondered. Maybe she intended for them to be a gift to a suitor, but according to local gossip the widowed she-panther wasn’t attached to anybody, and hadn’t been since her husband died.
He knew some women did the budoir thing for self-esteem, but couldn’t think that Sheila needed that kind of boost. She was a brassy broad—his mother’s words, anyway. It wasn’t like he could ask her, either.
He wished a woman would give him such pictures. When he did date, he ended up with the demure type. She-panthers in particular weren’t willing to put out if they knew they weren’t going to be mated to you. Since Jonah’s family lacked the status of the Houlihans, it reduced the number of prospects. He tried dating fully human women, too, but many of them only wanted the thrill of being with a shifter—as though he had supernatural sexual powers. He’d lost count of the times he had to explain to a woman that fucking her wouldn’t give her his supernatural abilities.
Lost in thought, he looked down to see he was stroking himself. It felt good. Damn. He missed having a woman’s lips wrapped around his cock. Warm and tight and wet, pulling with enough suction to get him to come. Then he’d wait a short while and he’d be hard again, ready to lay back and have her ride his cock, bouncing up and down so that her tits swayed and shook. He’d reach up to pinch those thick, pink nipples and watch her moan.
The drawstring keeping his work pants secured loosened now, and Jonah’s hand slipped under his briefs and took hold of his balls. They ached for satisfaction and he rolled them over his fingers for a few seconds before he snaked upward to rub his shaft. The soft skin pulled easily despite the lack of lubrication, but he kept working on his cock and encouraging the tingle of a growing orgasm.
He closed his eyes and pictured Sheila—a sexy cougar in panther�
�s guise—naked and bent, pressed against the wall with her ass pushed back. He’d seen her around in a swimsuit on the beach, and the differences in their ages didn’t matter to him. Her body certainly defied her years, for she looked fitter and toner than any of the bikini babes trotting along the shore in the peak of summer. Winter meant coverage, though with the recent warmth it called merely for light jackets, but it didn’t stop Jonah from fantasizing about Sheila’s exposed pussy, wet and waiting for him.
“What are you doing?” cried a high-pitched voice.
Jonah’s heart exploded, right at the same time he came in his pants. He hadn’t intended to finish right here, but move to the bathroom and squirt the evidence in the toilet. He definitely didn’t expect to open his eyes and find a very shocked, and clothed, Sheila gawking at him from the open doorway.
Her gaze panned his body, and Jonah looked down at the fist covered by his stained pants. Yeah, it would be a challenge coming up with an excuse for this.
“I asked a question, Jonah,” she said. “What are doing in my study fondling yourself? I am paying you to wrap your hand around a paintbrush, not your dick.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, and released his sticky cock. He brought up a shining trail of cum with him and Sheila groaned at the mess. Without another word he dashed into the bathroom to clean himself.
“We’re almost done with the front room,” he called out, and felt silly if she wasn’t standing there listening. “We’ll start on the hallways next.”
“I was hoping to have the whole house finished today, but I see that’s not going to happen. Just get back down to work. I’m sure Grant’s not happy carrying the whole...ah, load.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Fuck, he felt like he was ten years old. He wet a few squares of tissue paper and scrubbed his cock, used the toilet, then flushed everything away. After washing up and straightening his appearance, he loped into the study to find Sheila gone.
In the upstairs hallway, he caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full length mirror of her bedroom. She paced slightly with her hand covering her mouth. Even so, he could tell she was smiling.
Chapter Two
Sheila’s fingers itched to call a friend and talk about her day. Hours after the painters had left she sat on her back porch with the space heater warming her feet. She still couldn’t believe she’d walked in on Jonah Hinkley jacking off in her study.
The more she thought about it, she realized some of her pictures were laid out in full view. She had stored them so they wouldn’t be bent when she finally bought frames for everything—luckily her procrastination had preserved them, because they survived the storm. With her son out of the house most of this week and Caleb and her daughter Trisha no longer living there, it stood to reason that Jonah had been poking around instead of working.
And stroking himself to her old wedding photos? Who did that? Honestly!
She drained the last of her wine and set down her glass on the deck. Gossip like this couldn’t stew in her mind too long. She had to call somebody, but immediately dismissed family. Caleb would tell her to fire Jonah, then maybe give him a hard time about it. Trisha would probably find the story disgusting, and Sheila knew if she told her nephew’s wife, Calla would tell Caleb. Forget that.
There was Lorraine, but they’d only recently buried the hatchet. Would the wolf think Sheila was bragging? It wasn’t like they competed for men—Lorraine had a faithful, if dull, husband and no desires to stray. Even if she did, she wouldn’t touch a panther.
Maybe I’ll write it on a bathroom wall. For a good time, call Jonah and ask him to paint your house. Sheila laughed to herself and loosened the drawstring on her yoga pants. Night brought on the cold, but in panther form she could revel in the brisk air without catching ill. She hadn’t shifted in at least a week, too, and the desire to run out her anxieties cried out in her bones. It wasn’t healthy to go so long without changing, even for a short time. She decided to take advantage of the empty beach and get some sand in her paws.
The newly built privacy fence blocked neighbors from watching her strip, as did the wooden overhang on the deck. Her son had wanted to string white twinkle lights in the eaves, but Sheila suggested they wait until the housewarming, when they could truly celebrate being home. She took pride in the fact that she’d been able to restore her house and her life in good time following Sandy, and she intended to help others in town who still required assistance to resume normal lives. Shifting for a run would help—she tended to think more clearly as a panther.
Now naked, she shivered for a moment in the cool before closing her eyes and centering her concentration on shifting. Many panthers could transform in the blink of an eye, typically while leaping in midair so as to land on four paws and take off in a run. Of course, those panthers were young and enjoyed the strength enhanced by their abilities. As a panther aged, however, it took time for some, and Sheila preferred to keep her body healthy. In any form.
The heated sensation tingled in her toes first, and mentally she drew it upward—past her knees and hips, up her belly to her breasts. It lingered for a moment in her pussy and she held it there as long as possible. It felt like a caress, something she hadn’t enjoyed since before her husband died.
She opened her eyes at the completion of the shift and let her enhanced panther vision adjust. With night falling early this evening, the beach was empty. Of course, who would want to go for a stroll in colder temperatures? Even the hardiest of folks seemed to prefer a warm evening at home. Sheila bounded over her fence and landed on the soft sand. She gauged the distance and took off.
Everything magnified in panther form. The tang of the salt air smelled sharper, the water felt even wetter if possible. Sheila kept to where the low tide kissed the muddy sand and left deep paw prints behind her. Her first landmark—The Wall night club her daughter used to frequent—stood a few miles away and it didn’t take her long to reach it. It had just reopened for business, which gave Sheila the idea of hosting a grand reception to welcome Bliss back to entertaining locals and tourists.
Maybe a New Year’s party for the whole town? New year, new resolutions, new beginning. It’s certainly big enough.
She saw no cars in the lot above the dunes, so as she slowed to a trot she approached The Wall. The club had been rebuilt with a larger deck overlooking the ocean with an outside tiki bar. The tinted windows proved too dark even for her acute panther vision, and she made a mental note to stop by in the daylight. The owner must have decided to open tentatively until he felt comfortable keeping regular hours.
Suddenly her ears pricked up and she fixed her gaze on the distant shore. She heard something, like an approach. She couldn’t tell if a human had come upon her during an evening walk. Most locals knew of Bliss’s open secret and left any large animals alone. Sure, once in a while a teenager might antagonize a panther or wolf out on a run, but it took only a nip on the leg or the swipe of a paw to discourage future harassment. Sheila couldn’t imagine who’d be out at this time of night in the cold, so close to the water.
Then she sniffed the air. Another panther watched her. She sensed it.
Who’s there? Caleb? She couldn’t quite discern the scent. Usually she picked up on family and certain friends easily, but this...she figured a stranger. She hadn’t heard of anybody from the outer packs coming to Bliss, but rather than sit there and deduce she moved closer to the where the odor strengthened.
Answer me. She wasn’t in the mood for games. She didn’t want to start for home just yet, either. Not without learning the identity of whoever watched her. If it was a strange panther, she certainly refused to lead it to her house.
From the shadowed recesses of the dunes underneath The Wall’s massive deck, a dark tan panther trotted under a patch of light coming from a nearby lamppost. His fur was matted from the air and ocean water, and he—Sheila could detect gender by scent alone—regarded her with all seriousness.
Just out for a run. Like you, I imagine.
>
Sheila thought a moment, then… Jonah?
In the fur. He gamboled closer to her. There’s a spot by these dunes where I like to rest after a run. I was just heading home anyway. I expected everybody else to have done their shifting for the night. It’s quiet, and I don’t usually see you around this part of the beach.
When Sheila shifted for exercise, she tended to stick to trails further inland. Bliss had a nice, woodsy park for that sort of thing, though the wolves tended to monopolize it. Jonah didn’t need to know that, though. He was just somebody who worked for her temporarily. Not a confidante.
I should be going myself. I’ll see you tomorrow, usual time.
Shall I accompany you, he asked. It is darker now.
I’m a panther, Jonah. I’ll be fine. Honestly.
She trotted in a circle and started back to the house, and seconds later sensed movement behind her. She sighed inwardly as Jonah caught up to her. So much for quiet time. She wanted as much as she could get. Soon her son would come home, once the house was finished, and Trisha intended to make an extended visit to reconnect with friends. Caleb and Calla stopped by often on the premise of various excuses, though she knew her nephew liked to check up on her. She wasn’t an invalid, for Pete’s sake! She didn’t even consider herself middle-aged. She’d married young and had her babies soon afterward, so she wasn’t even concerned about approaching fifty.
Even if she was close, so what? The Catholics elected a seventy-year-old as their Pope, and a friend remarked that seventy was the new fifty. That meant she was a teenager again, and panthers aged slowly anyway!
So, any Christmas plans? Jonah asked her as they meandered along the shore. Don’t think we’ll be seeing any snow this year, with the global warming and all.
Like she cared about the weather. Bad weather got everybody in town into a pickle. Bad weather lost her a house and quite a few precious mementos she couldn’t replace. Baby pictures, warped clay ashtrays made for Mother’s Day and birthdays...gone forever. Thank goodness she’d managed to get those few albums and scrapbooks into Ziploc bags before the rains came. Some of those pictures she kept in the study.
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