Snipers often construct a fantasy about themselves and their target, something they can keep going for twenty to sixty hours, if necessary. Some imagine building a car from scratch with the target, but I imagined Junior and me building a house from the ground up. The point of this is to keep the target in your mind so you’ll see them the instant they appear.
Sniper tricks don’t usually work when bodyguarding, but since I knew what Junior and his wolf looked like, it’d worked for this job. I’d just needed to integrate the wolf, which meant the odd colored wolf had retrieved things for Junior and me as we built the structure.
I brushed my teeth at the little sink and looked at myself in the small, faded mirror on the wall. I’m pretty much always clean-shaven, but I hadn’t taken the time since my last change, so I had a bit of a beard.
By the time I’d shaved and finally made it to bed, Briana was sleeping soundly and I couldn’t help but smile at the angelic look on her face. I knew she wasn’t an angel, knew she’d probably been passed from biker to biker and had likely been used by a number of them at the same time. She was right about the double standard though, and — as counter-intuitive as it seemed — I had the distinct impression she’d taken control of her sexuality by giving it to the MC. She’d told me she likes sex, so kudos to her for finding a relatively safe way to be sure she got a lot of it. Not to mention the fact a single phone call when she’d landed in trouble had brought the president of the MC, the sergeant-at-arms, and two enforcers.
Most twenty-five-year-old women don’t have their heads screwed on as straight as Briana’s, so who cared if she was too young for me?
I slid between the sheets and she snuggled against me in her sleep. There’d be time to properly introduce her to my brand of sex later. For tonight, I held her.
Chapter 10
Briana
I knew Patrick had slept with me, but he wasn’t in bed when I awakened. I rolled over, and smiled as I took in the handwritten note on his pillow.
I’ve gone for a run. We can make breakfast together when I get back. You should wear jeans today instead of your dress.
Did I dare wear jeans? I hadn’t shifted without meaning to in days, but it still seemed risky. I’d only brought two pair with me, and I put on my least favorite of the two.
And then stood looking down at my stomach for a good minute as I realized how much weight I’d lost. These jeans are a size seven and have always been comfortably snug, but they were at risk of falling off my hips if I didn’t find a belt.
I’d been eating pounds and pounds of food every day, but apparently it still wasn’t enough. What the fuck. I’d budgeted so I could pay my rent and car payment a few months and still have enough for groceries and gas, but I hadn’t budgeted for having to buy new clothes.
The belt worked to keep them up, and I grabbed a thin, stretchy, low-cut t-shirt. Apparently, I was going to have to figure out my new wolf metabolism a little better. I wouldn’t necessarily mind being a size three, but I’d been happy as a size seven.
I took care of the barnyard animals, checked on the rabbits, and came inside to fix my hair and make-up. I texted Angelica to let her know I was still alive and had gone two days without changing. I’d been texting her morning and night at her request, and we’d had a few phone conversations as well. I hadn’t actually talked to her since Maggie had gone to Randall’s though. It wasn’t my place to tell anyone Maggie’s business, and I didn’t want to have to lie to Angelica if Maggie had told her something other than the truth.
I’m not a morning person, and if Patrick weren’t there I’d have likely taken care of the animals and gone back to bed. I wanted to make the most of the little bit of time we’d have together, so I took my e-reader and a quilt to the swing on the front porch, and was all cozy and warm, engrossed in my book when I heard footsteps coming toward me on the driveway.
Patrick in bodyguard mode when fully dressed is about as sexy as I thought possible, but I hadn’t seen Patrick in shorts-and-running-shoes, glistening from sweat with the newly risen sun shadowing all the ridges and valleys of his muscles.
As he neared, my focus went from his abs and chest to his legs, and I watched his muscles shift under his skin for probably a lot longer than was polite before I lifted my gaze to his face.
His smile told me he liked how much I’d obviously enjoyed watching him run, and he came up the steps as if they were nothing.
“Do I dare ask what you have on under the quilt?”
“I’m apparently not eating enough. Any chance you and I can make a trip to the grocery store this morning? I don’t want to make a list and send you, I want to go.”
“Not with the full moon tomorrow, but I think you have enough control for me to leave you alone without locking you up.” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “You still haven’t told me what you’re wearing.”
“Yeah, I did.”
He stood and cocked an eyebrow at me, and I said, “How would I know I’m not eating enough unless I’d put my jeans on and seen how big they are?”
He turned towards the front door as he rolled his eyes. “I don’t think with female logic — you have to spell it out for me. I’ll get a quick shower and we’ll do breakfast. Make a grocery list and I’ll go after we eat.”
* * *
I’d put a ton of comfort foods on the list, now that I knew I could eat like a wolf without gaining weight. I tried to give Patrick two hundred in cash, but he said he’d take care of it.
I felt the moon when it tipped into whatever degree to the sun it had to hit to make it full. Astronomers say it’s actually full a minute or two, but wolves know it’s full enough to affect gravity a certain way for three days. It didn’t matter it was on the other side of the world and I couldn’t see it — I knew when it shifted into full.
I wiggled my fingers like Angelica told me, to remind myself how it feels to have them, but the moon’s pull had me remembering how it feels to run with four feet in the woods. With a sigh, I changed out of my jeans and back into a dress, and I took several pounds of potatoes to the backyard, along with a paring knife.
I focused on everything I planned to cook — and how it was going to taste — as I peeled potatoes, and my wolf backed off a little. I’d been told the three nights of the full moon are the hardest, but I hadn’t banked on the fact the moon would go full before noon and I’d feel the pull so hard during the day.
I had one potato left when Patrick returned, and I quickly peeled and cut it, tossed my potato peelings into the pasture for the cows to eat, and carried everything else to the kitchen. I kept the items out I’d need for dinner, and helped Patrick put everything else away.
“You’re back in your dress.”
“Is it normal to feel the moon like this? Before it even rises?”
“Perfectly normal, but it’ll get easier. Tell me what you did to stay human.”
“Imagined how dinner’s going to taste, and how it won’t get made if I don’t have fingers and thumbs.”
He chuckled. “Smart, but we have a long while until dinner.”
“No, we don’t. I probably jumped the gun on peeling and cutting the potatoes, but I can keep them in water in the refrigerator until it’s time to cook them. In the meantime, I’m going to cook a few desserts ahead of time, before I get started on dinner.”
“What can I do to help?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You can go watch TV or something. Today, this is my kitchen, and I’m the Queen of the Kitchen. If you’re okay taking orders you can stay and help, otherwise you just need to leave me be.”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Pork chops and gravy, mashed potatoes, fried squash with onions, mac 'n cheese, sliced tomatoes, cornbread, chess pie, Mississippi mud cake, banana pudding, and peach cobbler — which is why you had vanilla ice cream on your list.”
“You’re missing fried okra.”
“I don’t like okra and I didn’t put it on the list.”
“I bought some. I’ll cook it up when dinner’s closer. I’ll also do the cornbread, the macaroni and cheese, and I can cut and chop, and clean up behind you as you cook.”
I shook my head. “I want my granna’s cornbread and I don’t know what yours’ll taste like.” I realized I sounded petulant, and I added, “I’m focusing on comfort food today to stay human. I’ll gladly let you take on the cornbread if you’ll use my recipe.”
Surprisingly, Patrick knew his way around the kitchen, and he chopped, diced, peeled, and sliced like a pro. He left me alone while I did most of the desserts, though he’d wander back in when the sink filled, and wash dishes while I mixed, stirred, buttered, and baked. He also peeled the peaches for me, which was a huge help.
The chess pie was finished first, and I ate half of it while I cooked the other desserts. Apparently, the noises I made when I bit into my first, warm mouthful of chess pie worked for Patrick, because the spicy-sweet scent of his arousal hit me like a truck, and then I was suddenly smelling my own arousal as well.
We both stopped what we were doing and looked at each other, but he shook his head. “You need to stay human today, if you can. I know you said you’ve managed your other orgasms without changing, but let’s not risk it with your wolf so close to the surface. We’ll have plenty of time to play once we get past this full moon.”
“Maggie comes home the next day and you won’t have to stay anymore. Are you telling me you’re planning to see me when you don’t have to?”
He looked at me through a dozen of my rapid heartbeats before nodding. “Yeah, I guess I am. Where do you live?”
“North Chattanooga. Where do you live?”
“Just north of Ringgold on old forty-one highway. I own a good bit of acreage and I’m in the process of having a tall fence built around it so I don’t have to worry about rednecks with guns going wolf hunting.”
I turned back to lining the banana pudding bowl with Nilla Wafers as I realized I’d be able to stay with him if I wanted, instead of here with Maggie. Of course, he’d have to invite me first.
“You’re welcome to dig into the chess pie if you want. I don’t think either of us is going to spoil our dinner.”
“I’m waiting for the cobbler and the banana pudding. Have you talked to your parents at all since you were changed?”
“I haven’t talked to either of them since my dad’s birthday dinner two months ago. It isn’t that I’m refusing to talk to them, it’s just that I don’t feel like a part of the family. My older brother changed on schedule, but then my wolf never came. My mom was a wolf by the time she had my younger brothers, so they’re all wolves, too. I was the only human of the six of us.” I shrugged. “My parents and all but one brother moved to Atlanta when my dad got transferred down there a few years ago. I came back to Chattanooga when I turned eighteen. It isn’t like I can just stop by their house for dinner, but we still celebrate birthdays and holidays together.”
“I hope ya’ll can find a way back to each other.”
“Are you close to your family?”
“My dad still lives in Ireland, and my mom’s back in Eastaboga, Alabama. I see her for holidays when I’m not working, and we talk on the phone once or twice a week.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“My mom was visiting her grandmother in Ireland when she met my dad. They were only there for a summer before going back home to Alabama. My mom was a virgin but she loved my dad and knew it would be at least two years before she’d see him again, so she had sex with him on her last night in Ireland. She had me in Alabama, so I’m a U.S. citizen, but my dad saved every penny he could to pay for her to come to him in Ireland with the baby. Mom and I lived there until I was thirteen, and they split up and she went back home to Alabama with me.”
Well that explained the touch of an Irish accent I occasionally picked up. “Are you still close to your dad?”
“We see each other once or twice a year — either I go to him or he comes to me. We don’t talk a whole lot in between, but we aren’t estranged. He cheated on my mom and I was pissed at him for years, but as I grew older I heard the whole story, so I can kind of understand now.”
“I always had the impression you were born and not bitten.” Werewolves are loyal to a fault and never cheat, once they settle down. If his dad had cheated, did that mean he wasn’t a werewolf?
“I was born. My dad had fallen in love with someone else in the months between when my mom left Ireland and he found out she was pregnant. He turned his back on his true love to do what was right by mom. The other woman married someone else and they stayed away from each other, but when her husband was killed, my dad went to her to comfort her and… well, it’s a sad story all around.”
“Fuck. Did your mom remarry?”
He shook his head. “She’s recently made contact with her best friend from high school, and she’s been driving to Atlanta and spending time with her. I’m hoping with the two of them doing things together, she might meet someone.” He looked around the kitchen, and back to me. “What’s the deal with the farmhouse? It’s well constructed, but old. The cell in the basement’s pretty ancient, and possibly one of the most valuable things on the property.”
“It was her late husband’s grandparents’ farm and home, and he bit her so I assume the grandparents were set up to take in all of the grandkids as they hit puberty, since most of their kids moved to the city. Her husband was willed the farm and house, and she lived here with her husband until he was killed at work. The company says he didn’t follow safety protocol and fell into the smelter, but Maggie thinks someone pushed him in.” I shrugged. “She says she couldn’t prove anything, so she barely got enough money from the company to pay off their debts.”
I finished putting the banana pudding together, put plastic wrap over it, and stuck it in the fridge so I could put the peach cobbler together. The cake portion of the Mississippi mud cake would be ready to come out of the oven about the time the cobbler went in, and then I could put together the toppings for it and slather them on top.
“Angelica is Bash’s ol’lady, right?”
I nodded and he kept his back to me as he washed the large mixing bowl. “I thought the ol’ladies didn’t associate with the sweetbutts.”
“Which MC have you hung around?” Most civilians don’t know about ol’ladies and sweetbutts.
“My uncle was in one, in Ireland. Lost my virginity to a sweetbutt.”
“There’s a pecking order in all MCs, but you don’t need to know where I fit into it with the RTMC.”
“Okay. No pressure, but I want you to be aware I know how things are behind closed doors in an MC. I haven’t joined one, but when I was thirteen I thought I wanted to join my Uncle’s club as soon as I was old enough.”
“And yet you say you want to spend time with me once you don’t have to anymore?”
“You were right about the double-standard. You like sex, and you found a way to get a lot of it and stay relatively safe. You’re nineteen and — as you said — still figuring out what you want to be when you grow up. You own a car and you have an apartment, and you were able to save enough so you can keep what you have if you can’t work for a few months.” He set the bowl on the draining rack and turned to me. “No judgements. I just want to know what you like, what turns you on, what you do and don’t have experience with.”
I was quiet as I considered my response, and he gave me time to put it together. I really didn’t feel right talking to him about the MC, but after he’d basically just told me he’d accept me even though I’ve been passed around a bunch of bikers, I should probably give him something.
“If you have specific questions to ask about my experiences, without bringing the MC into it, I’ll try to answer them. No promises, but… I’m willing to give it a go.”
“Spanked with a hand?”
“Yes.”
“How about you answer yes or no, and then what you liked or disliked about
it? Or, maybe just whether you liked it or not, if that’s too much?”
“Okay — yes, and I liked it, but only because it wasn’t terribly hard at first, and by the time it was hard, I didn’t mind.”
“There are no right or wrong answers, but for the record, that’s exactly what I’m looking for in an answer.”
I was busy mixing the ingredients for the mud pie topping, so I mercifully had an excuse to keep my back turned.
Thankfully, he didn’t expect a response, and he asked the next question. “Spanked with a belt?”
“Yes, but it was a special circumstance and I’m not sure it’s relevant to our conversation. For the purposes of kinky sex play, I think I have to say no. Next question, please.”
He was quiet a moment and I worried he wouldn’t let it drop, but he asked, “Anal sex?”
“Yes, and I don’t always like it at first, but once I get into it I really, really like it.”
“Butt plug?”
“Yeah, and I wasn’t a fan. I mean, I was horny, but I still didn’t like it.”
“Watersports?”
I didn’t say anything and he clarified. “Have you ever been peed on?”
“Have you ever peed on anyone? Are you asking me about stuff you like? Or just random shit?”
“Yes I have, and yes, I’m starting out by asking about stuff I enjoy doing.”
“Then yes, but it was a wolf thing. I didn’t like it, but I understood it meant I was being marked. I’d rather not do it again.”
“Enema?”
I sighed. “I’ve had to give them to myself. So far, no one’s given me one, but I know that’s a thing.”
“Does the idea of someone giving you one turn you on?”
Careful What You Ask For Page 6