by T. S. Ryder
“Mr. Caveman, are you?” she crooned.
“You bet I am. But I’m a caveman that will treat you like a queen.”
“Show me how that works, then,” she whispered, letting her legs fall open. She found herself wishing that she had put on the sexy nightwear that had made him ogle her that morning.
Everett, however, didn’t need sexy nightwear to have that same heated look in his eyes. His gaze trailed down her body with so much desire that it made her feel like the sexiest woman alive. When he draped himself over her, his heat soaked into her body. They ground at one another through their clothing as they kissed, hands wrapped in each other’s hair, gasps and soft moans filling the space between them.
Everett’s touch was heated but gentle, firm but not rough. His big hands kneaded at her breasts until her bra was askew under her shirt and then he pulled back.
He grinned at her as he grasped her by the hips and pulled her pants off in one smooth motion. Marguerite took off her socks as he shucked off his shirt, then he pulled her to the edge of the bed and propped her up into a sitting position.
“This is how a caveman will treat you as a queen,” he said as he got to his knees. “By worshiping you.”
His tongue flicked over her mouth, down her neck, and over her clothed breasts. His hands never stayed still, tracing over her thighs and butt before there were a sharp tug and a ripping noise.
The cold air between her legs was quickly replaced by his warm breath as he tossed her ruined underwear aside. Marguerite couldn’t stop herself from giggling, strangely nervous about this all of a sudden. It had been a long time. What if she had forgotten what to do? Her fingers tightened in his hair as his tongue flicked out again. The giggles turned into a throaty moan as the tightness inside of her began to burn.
Thought quickly fled and Marguerite let herself get lost in the sensations as he feasted on her. Her head fell back, fingers tightening in his sandy-brown locks. She began to roll her lips, slowly, to increase the pressure that he was giving her. The heat inside her flared to a fire and she felt so tight that she thought she might just snap if she didn’t have him – and soon. She closed her eyes and mewled as she fought against her building orgasm, determined that this wasn’t going to end so quickly.
Sweat beaded her brow. Her mewls turned to soft cries that tore from her with every stroke of his tongue, and she alternatively panted and held her breath. When she tried to squeeze her thighs together, the pleasure so intense that she could hardly stand it, Everett took her shoulders and pressed her back to the bed before pushing her legs further apart. He continued his work, faster and harder now.
“I need you,” she cried out. “I need you now.”
Everett moved back and let his hand take up his work, keeping her on the edge, but slowly now. Her vision was tunneled into him as he smiled at her. “You’ll have me. But we have an hour and it’s only been . . . ten minutes. Trust me, this is the first of many, many times you’ll beg for me.”
And she believed it. He delved back into her and her back arched. The tightness snapped, sending bolts of fire down her legs. She shook with the exertion of trying to stay still and slapped both hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Everett didn’t ease up, not until she collapsed back, panting and groaning.
He released her then and moved her more fully onto the bed and laid beside her. At some point during that maneuver, he had undone his pants and poked into the small of her back. Marguerite groaned, then smiled and laughed.
“Cruel, cruel, talented man. I’m going to have to repay you for that.”
“I look forward to it.” He nuzzled the back of her neck. He pressed against her. “Condoms are in the nightstand.”
Marguerite reached for them, excitement building inside her again. So what if they only had an hour? She could bet that it was going to be an hour to remember.
Chapter Eight – Everett
Sunlight streamed through the window, but it was the stirring of the soft, warm body in his arms that woke him. Everett smiled sleepily as Marguerite mumbled something about wicker baskets not holding kittens. She’d been muttering in her sleep all night.
Both of them were fully clothed, as after Elena had woken up and torn around the apartment after the change, they were too tired to continue their earlier lovemaking. They had gotten quite a lot out of that one hour, though. The intensity would have been difficult to keep up. Luckily, they’d had enough time to shower before Elena was up. It was something he hadn’t considered before, how sneaky one had to be in order to keep kids from finding out how they were conceived.
Marguerite yawned. Her eyes fluttered open, then they shut again and she burrowed deeper under the blankets. Everett chuckled as he ran his fingers through her hair. It was a nice feeling, waking up with a woman in his arms. He’d never had that before. Maybe, as things continued, he and Marguerite would be able to continue on with this . . . as long as they were careful and didn’t build too much emotion on a relationship that couldn’t work long-term.
After all, he was still a monster.
“You said you were going to leave before you fell asleep,” he whispered in her ear.
“Changed my mind.”
It was the same as when they had been together for the first time. She had been insistent that she wasn’t going to fall asleep next to him, but she had anyway. It had been him slipping away before three in the morning.
He nuzzled into her hair. “Want some morning sex?”
“Shut up and let me sleep.”
Everett couldn’t help but laugh at that. The movement jostled her, and so he slipped out of the bed to let her rest. He was still laughing as he went to the kitchen. He hadn’t felt this happy and relaxed in . . . well, forever.
It wasn’t long before Marguerite joined him. Her eyes were squinty and there was a pronounced pout on her face that was just too adorable for words. One of his oversized sweaters hung loosely around her frame.
“It got cold when you left,” she pouted, cuddling in close to him again. “I don’t like it.”
“I’d better warm you up, then.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve got the day off work, so there’s no rush in doing anything.”
Marguerite glared at him. “Then why did you leave the bed?”
Everett laughed and kissed her. “Because I was awake and I haven’t been to the gym for a couple of days, so I thought it was about time that I hit it again. This muscle doesn’t come from pure genetics, you know.” He flexed his pecs, making them ripple. “I need to keep up my stamina for you.”
She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and he tensed. He shouldn’t have said anything. Last night was one thing, but he knew why there couldn’t be a future between them. She was human and he was . . . something else. No, he should have just left it at that. Now she either had to tell him that she didn’t want commitment, or he was going to have to tell her that nothing could be between them.
“Last night was amazing,” she started hesitantly. “For only an hour, it was . . . overwhelmingly good.”
“Right. But that’s that, right?”
“Well, condoms are only effective like ninety-seven or ninety-nine percent of the time. I love Elena with all my heart. But I’m not ready to have another child, and until I know more about how the change is going to affect her as she grows up . . . ”
Everett nodded, understanding where she was going. At the same time, the risks were so low as to be almost non-existent. “Yeah, but you’re also on birth control.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry.” He ducked his head. “Women on birth control have a certain scent to them. I can smell it on you. You were the only one I wasn’t careful with, just so you know. I quickly figured things out, and I never have sex with women who are ovulating, who aren’t on the pill, or without a condom.”
“I don’t sleep around,” Marguerite blurted, as though she hadn’t he
ard everything else he said. “I’m on the pill for hormonal reasons. I get bad cramps. It’s not because I sleep around.”
Everett sighed. “I didn’t say you did. And your life is your business. I do sleep around, so it’s not like it’s some huge awful thing if you did too. You talked about the stigma against mental illness, well maybe we can talk about slut-shaming and—”
“It’s too early for politics.” Marguerite shook her head, a pained expression crossing her face. “Look, Elena’s still in bed. She’ll be asleep for hopefully another couple hours. Why don’t you and I just go back and cuddle and pretend like it’s not some temporary thing? It’s been a long time since I’ve woken up being held and I could really use the oxytocin.”
“We shouldn’t. Like you said, last night was amazing, but it needs to end there. Even cuddling is tempting fate.”
Marguerite snorted. “Tempting fate? Cuddling won’t get me pregnant again.”
But she had to understand what else was at stake, didn’t she? “I didn’t mean that. It’s just . . . if we spend time together like that, it does things, you know?”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
Everett ground his teeth. “Forget about it.”
“Hey.” She placed a small, cool hand on his arm. “Listen. I don’t understand, but you can tell me. I promise I won’t laugh or anything like that.”
He kicked the floor and shrugged. “I’ve never had a long-term relationship. At least, not that I can remember. But I think it would be far too easy for me to fall in love with you. And there can’t be any future here, not when I’m a monster.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So—”
“Wait.” Marguerite held up a hand. “Don’t I get a say in that?”
Everett looked up, hardly daring to understand what he was hearing.
“To start with, you’re not a monster. No more than my baby girl is a monster. You’re a person who has an unusual condition. Now, I don’t want to make out with you when you’re in your animal form, but that doesn’t mean you’re a monster. The bigger concern would be hormones and emotions blinding us to our personality differences.”
Everett didn’t respond, uncertain how to respond to that. It was such a common part of his life that long-term romance was impossible because of what he was that hearing Marguerite state that it wasn’t even a consideration left him at a loss. But . . . was she telling the truth?
“Well, now that you’ve woken me up so much and I’ve had to use my brain to think, I won’t be able to relax again.” She sighed. “I’m going to shower and head out. Elena’s going crazy without her toys, so I’m going to see if there are things at the library that we can bring home. If not, I’ll have to pick her up something. Are you good being by yourself with her?”
“Uh . . . ”’
“I can take her with me if you’re not comfortable.”
“No.” Everett shrugged. “She is my daughter, after all. I don’t remember what sort of childhood I had, but I do want to be a positive part of hers. Especially since . . . ”
Marguerite stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “You’re not a monster. And we can work on how to change that thinking. But I really should get going, I guess. Elena can have pancakes, but I’d like her to eat a few blueberries or strawberries or a banana as well. Oh, and not too much syrup.”
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry.”
She looked hesitant for another minute but nodded. Within a few moments, she was gone and Everett started to mix up some pancake batter. By the time it was done, Elena was up. She didn’t ask where Marguerite was as she took her regular spot in her chair and watched him work.
“Make mine look like Elsa.”
“Elsa?”
Elena nodded. “Anna’s sister. You can give her the white hair with whip-cream.”
Marguerite hadn’t said anything about whipped cream, but Everett took out a can from the fridge anyway. His artistic endeavors left much to be desired, but with two blueberries for eyes and a strawberry for a mouth created a product that seemed relatively like Elena.
“So, who is your favorite princess?” Everett asked as he prepped his own breakfast.
“Moana.”
He arched a brow in surprise. “Then why’d you have me make Elsa?”
Elena licked some whipped cream off the pancake and smiled angelically at him. “Because Moana doesn’t have white hair. Whip-cream is white, so it has to be Elsa. But Elsa isn’t a princess, you know.”
“She’s not?” He hadn’t seen Frozen or any other Disney movie, for that matter. He just knew that when Halloween rolled around, little girls were always dressing up as Belle or Cinderella or Elsa. The sheer amount of market saturation was enough to put him off watching certain movies, though there were a few of his coworkers who raved about them.
Elena rolled the blueberries off her plate. “Elsa is a queen. My friend Marcy, she always talks about Elsa being a princess, but she’s not a princess. Are you a prince?”
The question surprised him so much that he choked on the pancake bite he had just taken. He stood as he coughed, to help open up his airways. His eyes watered, but the moment passed quickly enough. “No, I’m not a prince.”
“Oh.” Elena ripped off a piece of pancake and licked off more cream. “Can I have syrup?”
Everett gave her a little bit, then put the blueberries back onto her plate. “You need to eat your fruit.”
“I wish you were a prince.”
“Why?”
Elena rested her face in her hands on the table. She looked so much like the epitome of defeat that Everett was tempted to tell her that she didn’t need to eat the fruit and that she could have a cookie just to see her happier. He had a feeling it wouldn’t go over too well with Marguerite, though.
“My mommy’s a princess. And if you were a prince, then you could get married and you could be my daddy.”
Oh. Oh, boy. Everett tensed up as he considered the small girl. What was he supposed to say to that? Hadn’t Marguerite told her that he was her father? He couldn’t recall the conversation happening. So, did she not want Elena to know? He squeezed the back of his neck, trying desperately to know what he needed to say.
“Elena . . . I am your father. I didn’t know it until your mom came here, but I am your dad.”
Elena looked at him and wrinkled her nose. “But you and Mommy aren’t married.”
“No,” he said slowly. “No, we’re not. Sometimes families are like that. Sometimes it’s a mommy and a daddy who live together, sometimes it’s just a mommy or a daddy, sometimes the mommy and daddy don’t live together. Sometimes it’s two mommies or two daddies.”
The five-year-old considered him for a moment, then shook her head. “Do I turn into the puppy because you’re my daddy?”
“Yes.” Everett held his breath, heart hammering as he thought of what accusations she could sling at him now.
But Elena only nodded, as though satisfied, and rolled her pancake up and ate it like a free sample at a grocery store. That was the end of it. Everett ate slowly as Elena started to chat about her favorite movies, only half paying attention to what she said. If only everybody could accept differences as easily as children. The world could be a much better place.
Chapter Nine – Marguerite
There was no reason to feel guilty.
Marguerite checked the directions that she had printed off at the library again, nerves bouncing around in her stomach. She never promised Everett that she was going to drop her investigation. Never even hinted at it. She understood why he couldn’t be part of it, but that didn’t mean that she had to sacrifice her chance at answers. Or risk Elena’s future.
What if he finds out, though? She grimaced. They weren’t a couple, although his reasons why they couldn’t be were flawed – calling himself a monster? No. Although she understood why he would think that, even why he’d think she thought that of him. After all, she did say she wanted
to ‘fix’ Elena. But it had been a poor choice of words, nothing more. He wasn’t a monster.
Nevertheless, the chances of a future between them? Minimal, especially when she didn’t know what Simon Bell did to him and how that would affect Elena and whatever children might come from this day forward.
The information that Kristen had given her had allowed Marguerite to find a promising lead. Dr. Simon S. Bell had been a lead researcher at a medical institute not far from here. Everett hadn’t told her where he had been when he escaped from the lab, but when they had met, they were on the other side of the continent. Ironic that he’d end up in the town over from Bell’s old stomping grounds.
Marguerite had called him to make sure that he and Elena were still doing well before heading over. She was going to be home later than she anticipated. It would be good for father and daughter to bond, though. And she had nothing to feel guilty about.
At least, that was what she kept telling herself as guilt cramped her stomach.
Blowing out a soft breath, Marguerite headed inside to talk with the man she had spoken on the phone to earlier. Dr. Jeffery Moose wasn’t as large as the image the booming voice on the phone had conjured up, but he was still a fairly large man. His handshake nearly broke her fingers.
“Dr. Ward,” he greeted. “I was surprised to get your call. I haven’t heard anybody mention Bell in, oh, nearly a decade now.”
That was a long time. “Well, I was doing some research for a patient of mine and I came across an article he published on amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. It was an old one, but there were a few things he wrote that I thought might be relevant for the psychological profile of patients who are affected by ALS.”
She had spent half an hour perfecting her story. Patient confidentiality would prevent too much pushing and she had found an article that Bell had published. Her hands went cold, though, at the thought that this doctor might know even more about ALS and push for more information. Moose scratched his head and shrugged.