by Michele Hauf
He picked up the goblet, and before she realized what he would do, he poured the remaining wine down the front of her chest, soaking into her silk shirt and down her belly. She jumped, but he caught her by the wrists, drawing her close and pressing his tongue against her slick skin.
“But my blouse—”
“Fuck the silk,” he growled. “I’m going to mess you up, glamour girl.”
* * *
Stryke pulled her blouse off and Blyss let it fall to the floor where the wine had puddled. The shirt was a loss. And the man remained determined as he lapped his tongue up her stomach to her breasts, where he circled around one nipple and then the other. She almost wished there had been more wine. She would have poured it over her skin.
But what he did next made her shriek and struggle to get away from him. He reached for her plate, slapping his fingers on the food. White cucumber sauce coated his fingers. He then smeared the cool goop over her stomach.
Blyss backed up against the fridge, moaning at the ickiness of it—until his tongue lashed over her hip and up along her side where the sauce had been painted.
She couldn’t prevent a satisfied moan. Even as she gripped his head, wishing his hair was longer for a good hold, and tried to pull him away, with her other hand, she pulled his shoulder closer, wanting him there, everywhere on her skin. Tasting, licking, teasing.
“I like the red sauce, too,” he murmured.
When he reached for the plate again, she grabbed a handful of the finely shaved chicken and fries and tossed it at him.
Stryke gave her an incredulous gape. “Really?”
“You want to get messy?” she challenged.
Her clothes were ruined. And she didn’t see a way out of this mess unless she fought. So fight she would. She grabbed another handful of lettuce and sauce, and lobbed it against his neck and shoulder. She dashed away from him before he could grab her.
Pulling off his shirt, Stryke licked his fingers. “Now you’re in trouble.”
“Oui? A little food never scared me.”
She was bare-breasted and smelled like Greek food, and something had dripped down behind her skirt, but she kept an eye on Stryke’s hands. She grabbed the wine bottle, which had about a goblet remaining in it and, holding the base, flung the neck outward, catching Stryke across his chest with the wine.
“Mmm,” Blyss cooed. “I could take care of that for you.”
“Then come here.” He gestured with his fingers. A teasing grin enticed her around the counter to drag her fingers through the sauce and wine on his chest. He grabbed her by the wrist and spun her around.
She didn’t hear him open the fridge until it was too late.
“Oh no.” She struggled, but slipped on something.
He hugged her against his chest with one arm, while he drew something out of the fridge with the other hand. The cream was cold as it hit her skin, tightening her nipples to hard buds. His tongue followed closely, warming them and sucking at the cream. He hummed and dropped the cream carton on the floor, pulling her to him and sliding his hands down to grab her derriere.
“This needs to come off.” He tugged at her skirt and found the zipper at the side.
While he slid down her skirt, Blyss managed to wrangle the can of whipped cream she’d bought to top some petit fours she’d ordered last week. A bend of the nozzle delivered a froth of white whipping down the side of his face, and when he realized what she was doing, he pulled back. She blasted his chest with it and drew lower.
“You’re going to need to strip too, mon amour,” she said. “I know where I want to taste this.”
He didn’t argue. He zippered down, his pants dropped and he kicked them aside. Splaying his hands to display ripped abs, defined hips and an upright erection, he said, “Bring it.”
“Ooo la la!”
Blyss squirted whipped cream down his stomach and drew a line along the length of his hard shaft. Dropping to her knees, she lashed her tongue down his stomach. Tasted amazing and she didn’t even think about calories. This was crazy. But it was kind of fun not caring what anyone else would think of her.
Pulling him toward her by his cock, she licked the head of him, tasting the whipped cream and sucking until his moans deepened and his sticky fingers threaded into her hair.
“Blyss, that’s... You are one hungry woman.”
It didn’t take long to bring him to a shuddering climax. Stryke cried out in pleasure, his hips bucking. The sound of his pleasure was a wicked delight in and of itself.
Blyss sat back against the open fridge, her hand landing in a puddle of cream and her head tilting against the stainless steel.
Her lover was covered with smeared whipped cream, wine and cucumber sauce. As was she. And he looked amazing, his muscles tight and flexing as his body shook with the tremendous force of climax. A beautiful man.
That had messed her up. And she had enjoyed the messing. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d forgotten to be perfect, to not worry about her hair, and certainly not about getting food on her clothes. Or face. Or... Oh, that couldn’t be good to get between her legs.
Standing, she slid her fingers up her lover’s abs, greasing the wine and whipped cream in a finger-painted design. “Shower,” she said and pulled him down the hallway.
* * *
They lingered under the hot shower. Stryke soaped up Blyss from head to toes. He even sucked her toes into his mouth and tickled between them with his tongue. She hadn’t expected such an erotic thrill from that touch. And he licked between her fingers, kissing them from tip to hand. Another delicious sensation that skittered throughout her system. She came three times in the shower. She never wanted to leave.
Why did the man have to be a werewolf? He was the perfect lover, even the perfect partner—except for that one small detail.
A huge detail.
The water shut off and Stryke wandered out onto the tiled floor to claim a fluffy white towel from the warming rack. But instead of handing it to her, he teased her with a matador’s flick of cape. “Come here, glamour girl.”
Normally the moniker would annoy her, but coming from him, in his teasing tone, Blyss loved the way he claimed her. She stepped into his arms and he wrapped her up in the warm towel and hugged her.
“Sorry to have messed you up,” he said.
“I’m not sorry at all. I needed that.”
“I’ll clean up the kitchen for you.”
She’d forgotten about that mess. Now would have been a terrific time for the maid to stop by. But she’d had to fire her three weeks ago when her savings had dried up.
“We’ll do it together,” she said. “It’ll make faster work.”
The doorbell rang, and Stryke’s head went up. He sniffed the air instinctually. Something she had never seen previous lovers do. The move was so alpha, so commanding. It excited her all over again. “You expecting someone?”
“No.” She grabbed the silk robe from the hook on the bathroom wall and wrapped it around her body. Hair still wet and dripping, she squeezed it over the towel she’d dropped. “I’ll see who it is. You...”
His clothes were a mess. She intended to put them in the wash before sending him away today.
The doorbell buzzed again. “Just stay here,” she said and headed to answer the door.
She hadn’t a peephole to look through, and at times like this Blyss really missed the werewolf’s heightened ability to scent others. Clenching a hand in a nervous fist, she opened the door. “Oh. Hey. I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Blyss. Sorry to stop by like this, but I’ve been thinking about you. Just catch you in the shower?”
“Yes—”
“Who the hell is this?” Stryke strode up behind her, his hips wrapped with a towel and his chest puffing up as he eyed the tall man in the doorway.
“Who the hell am I?” her visitor asked. “Who is this, Blyss? And why...?” He sniffed and tilted his head curiously. “Is he a wolf?”
Chapter 14
“Kir, this is Stryke Saint-Pierre.” Blyss could feel Stryke’s posture stiffen in defense behind her. “Stryke, this is Kirnan Sauveterre. My brother.”
“Brother. Nice to meet you.” Stryke offered his hand and Kir shook it. “Uh, sorry.” He wore nothing but the white terry-cloth towel around his waist. “We were just, uh...”
“I don’t want to know.” Kir stepped inside, his long casual strides moving him down the hallway. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but— What the hell?”
The kitchen looked as though the fridge had exploded.
“You don’t want to know,” Blyss singsonged as she gestured her brother to head toward the living room. “Give us five minutes to put some clothes on. If you’re hungry...” She glanced over the mess on the floor.
“I’m not,” Kir said. “You two do what you gotta do. I can entertain myself.”
The wolf chuckled as Stryke and Blyss headed into her bedroom. His clothes were wet and covered in food, but that was the only option for now. He snapped his jeans out over the shower and scraped away the cucumber sauce. A sniff took in only faint scents. “Not too bad,” he decided.
“I may have a men’s T-shirt that will fit you,” Blyss called from the depths of her closet. “Ah, here!” A blue shirt flew out from the closet and landed on Stryke’s head as he returned to the bedroom.
He didn’t want to know who this had once belonged to. He sniffed it. Smelled like fabric softener and not another man. Whew. He pulled it on and the cotton fabric stretched over his biceps and pecs. Tight, but he’d survive.
Blyss appeared in a soft red jersey dress that hugged her curves and looked like something he’d like to snuggle up against and never let go.
“You’re gorgeous, as usual,” he said. “And your brother is going to wonder if I peed my pants.” He looked over his soaked jeans. “I remember you mentioning you had a brother, but I didn’t think you and your pack...?”
“He stops by a few times a year. We still love one another, but he had a hard time accepting my choice to leave the pack. And, well, I’m glad when he visits. He reminds me of things and makes me question myself. But you do that, too.”
“I make you question yourself?”
She nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Stryke decided if she questioned her decision to not be wolf then he was damned glad to stir that up in her.
“He’ll stay and chat for a bit.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” She tucked a few pins in her hair, making it look as if she’d styled it up just so. “I wish you’d stay. Please?”
“Good, ’cause I really don’t want to go outside looking like this. And I’m going to need another shower after he leaves. I smell like a chicken gyro.”
“And wine,” she said, then kissed him. “Kir may have some info on the demons in the area. He once mentioned to me that the Enforcers run into them at times.”
“Then I’m all for a chat.” He followed her to the kitchen, where they veered around the food puddles, and into the living room, where Kir stood looking up through the skylights.
Blyss’s brother was tall, had light, curly brown hair and wore a leather vest over a long-sleeved shirt. A gun holster was strapped across his chest, but there was no weapon in it. Not that Stryke could see. The wolf stood with hips squared and hands akimbo. Imposing. And rightfully so, because surely the brother would be suspicious of any half-dressed man he found in his sister’s house. And smelling like cucumber sauce didn’t help either.
“Food fight, eh?” Kir asked. His grin was easy and not at all accusatory, even when he slid his gaze down Stryke’s attire.
“A little fun,” Stryke offered. “You ever eat at the Greek places in the 5th arrondissement?”
“Love those chicken gyros. I thought that’s what I smelled. Good choice. Stryke, was it?”
“Yes. I’m from Minnesota. My family is—or rather was—in town for a wedding. I’m sticking around awhile longer. Rhys Hawkes has some work for me.”
“I’m aware of Hawkes Associates. The pack keeps some valuables with them. Hawkes is half werewolf, half vampire?”
“Yeah, but it’s weird because when he’s vamp his werewolf brain is in control, and when wolf, his vamp brain wants him to drink blood. That would be a hell of a condition to keep in check.”
“No doubt.” Kir glanced to Blyss. “So how are you, sis?”
“Très bien. As usual. What about you? How is ma mere?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Stryke sat on the couch while the siblings remained standing. He wanted to learn more about Blyss but he didn’t want to intrude on anything private. ’Course, he was stuck here until his pants dried out.
“She’s still harsh and judgmental,” Kir offered with a chuckle. “Good ole ma mere. I wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything. But it looks like all is well. Okay, I’ll just ask.” Kir turned to Stryke, but addressed his sister. “You’ve hooked up with a wolf. Does that mean...?”
“Non,” Blyss said quickly.
Stryke looked aside. Yeah, he was the mistake. Much as he liked to believe they were growing closer, he knew it was all an illusion. Wishful thinking on his part.
“I didn’t know she was wolf,” Stryke offered, “until...well.”
“My senses are as a human’s,” Blyss offered to her brother. “I’ve explained this to you before. Stryke is, well, he’s a good man. But I didn’t know he was werewolf when we first met.”
The brother was understandably confused, but to his credit he didn’t push the issue. Probably he’d been dealing with his sister’s refusal of their breed for a long time.
“So Blyss tells me you’re with some kind of enforcing team?” Stryke tossed out in hopes of warming the chill that iced the air. “What’s that about?”
Kir sat on the chair opposite Stryke. Blyss lingered by the wall, arms crossed, yet her gaze lingered on her brother.
Kir said, “The European wolves police their own. Various enforcements teams are spread throughout the countries. My pack, Valoir, is responsible for policing Paris. We keep an eye on those packs that may be gaming, victimizing vamps. Lately there’s been a weird uptick in demonic activity in the city. We don’t police demons, but we like to keep an eye on everything.”
Stryke stabbed a look at Blyss. She shrugged and nodded. An approval to ask what he really wanted to ask.
“Did you hear about Hawkes Associates getting robbed a few days ago? We think it was demons because all that was taken was a demon scepter.”
“No, but I did hear something about a demon attack at a vampire wedding?”
“That was the wedding we were at.” Stryke again exchanged looks with Blyss but she flickered her gaze aside. Apparently whatever she was involved in she’d not revealed to her brother. “They were after a demonic diamond.”
“Like Kir said,” Blyss broke in, “he doesn’t police demons, just werewolves.”
“It’s all right.” Kir leaned forward, interested. “I had no idea it was a demonic artifact that was the lure to the wedding incident. A diamond? Do you know anything about that, Blyss?”
She sighed and her shoulders dropped. Stryke sensed she didn’t want to discuss this with her brother, but if the guy could help, wouldn’t she welcome his knowledge on the local demons? Time was ticking away. The full moon was fast approaching.
“It is called Le Diabolique,” she offered. “It is a rare black diamond that contains an all-powerful demon. Edamite wanted me to obtain it for him.”
“Thrash?” Kir turned to face his sister. “He’s the one, isn’t he? The demon’s a good guy, but—is he your supplier?”
Blyss nodded and bowed her head. Apparently her brother had not known that information. And it was difficult for Blyss to reveal that part of herself to him.
“Come here,” Stryke said gently, and she sat down beside him. He wrapped an arm about her shoulder and nuzzled her against his chest. She relaxed against him. Felt
good to know he could be the soft place she needed to land.
To Kir, he said, “Thrash has threatened her because she owes him money. She was trying to hand over the diamond to him and everything went wonky. And now we know the diamond fits into the stolen scepter. The demons who have both pieces can release the demon within once they collect twelve rare demons and make a blood sacrifice.”
Kir whistled and shook his head. “Blyss, why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because this isn’t your problem. I know what you think of me. I try not to bother you or ma mere. I made a choice when I walked away from Valoir. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t want you to have to take care of yourself,” Kir said tightly. He shoved his hands over his scalp and shook his head. “You helping her, Stryke?”
“I am. Or I’m trying to. I’d like to track down the demons and return the diamond so Blyss can get Thrash off her back. And there’s always the bonus of preventing demons from releasing some insane evil on the world. What did the witch call it?”
“Xyloda,” Blyss provided.
“If you have any information about the local demons,” Stryke said to Kir, “I’d appreciate your help, man.”
“There is a group that has been particularly rampant lately. I don’t know locations or even names, or if there’s a specific leader. Like I said, the Enforcement team keeps tabs, but it’s not high on our priority list. But I can certainly look into this further.”
“I can tell you everything I’ve learned so far,” Stryke offered. “I tracked the scent the night of the wedding to Club l’Enfer.”
“Yeesh.” Kir stood and began to pace. “That’s Himself’s territory. I can’t imagine The Old Lad would have an interest in something like unleashing a demon. Sounds like competition to me. You want to head over to the club and have a look right now?”
“Great idea.” Stryke stood. The tight shirt stretched across his chest. “I think I need to stop and get some clean clothes along the way. I’m staying over on the island behind Notre Dame. Blyss, do you mind if I go with your brother? I promised I’d help you clean up.”
“I’ve got it. But, Kir, I don’t want you getting involved. You’ve enough to do with the Enforcers.”