HoneyIShrunktheWerewolf

by Dakota Cassidy

  “The side that has the least Dorito-flavored vomit on the floor after the party.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t want to help me?”

  “I’m saying no Dorito-flavored vomit.” She lifted her glass and slammed back her shot of tequila with a hiss of pleasure followed by a grin of satisfaction.

  Ella sat up now, too. A renewed sense of purpose. “So, where’s your laptop?”

  “What did it ever do to you?”

  “I’m not going to hurt it, silly. I just want to Google it.”

  “So you can leave a trail of your shit that leads right back to me. Perfect.”

  “Oh, stop. It’s not like I’m looking up ways to make nuclear bombs.”

  Lola grabbed her Mac from the far corner of the kitchen and slid it toward Ella with a wary glance. “Well, you’re sure not lookin’ up the Booty Pop.”

  “Nope, but I am looking up a booty that pops. Among other things that pop.”

  “Ah, yes. The other woman you like who has big brestesez and big brainz and big Barbie hairz.”

  Ella nodded, the clip in her hair swaying. “Yeah. It’s time I figure out who this woman is. How many Marina Prestons can there be in Gordon’s Crest?”

  “My impossible dream says only the one you’re looking for. My reality says that, while it’s not a common name, it’s not Moon Unit. So I call we drink while we surf your doom.”

  Ella held up her glass and chugged the liquid back, the stinging in her throat a welcome reminder she was about to embark on some therapeutic boozing. “I love you so hard right now. So. Hard. You’re a good friend, Lola-Falola.”

  “No. I’m an enabler. And give me that—you’ll scratch the mouse pad with your goofy fingers.”

  Ella gave her a wobbly hug, planting a kiss on her best friend’s check before refilling their glasses. “Thank you, enabling friend. You’re an enabler among men.”

  Lola waved her off, pulling her long thatch of hair over her shoulder and brushing her bluntly cut bangs from her eyes. She rolled up her sleeves and cracked her knuckles. “So here we go. Marina plus Gordon’s Crest.” She typed the words into the search bar with deft, pink-tipped fingers and clicked on the first link.

  Their mouths fell open simultaneously when they saw what the link had opened.

  “Hey, you know? She does kind of look like Barbie,” Lola muttered, chin in hand.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Ella agreed, clinking her glass with Lola’s.

  A very rich Barbie, in fact.

  Chapter Seven

  “Crosby?”

  “Do I know you? I’m not supposed to let strangers in or Nurse Ella will feed me to the vampires. She said so. Have you ever seen her cranky? She’d do it. I’m a believer.” He leaned against the doorframe, subtly sniffing the pretty lady with hair the color of a crayon and eyes so green, they reminded him of those green Jolly Ranchers he used to eat as a kid.

  He paused—another memory. They’d been batting at his subconscious like moth’s wings all day.

  “I’m Lola, Ella’s best friend. I have a package for you out in the car. I’d drag it in here, but why should I mess up a perfectly great coat if she decides to yark all over it? I have a date, and if you have to change your clothes, you have nothing but time on your hands and a TiVo to pause Cops on.” She eyeballed his flannel shirt and faded jeans.

  He motioned out the door. “Lead the way,” he offered, following her to a compact white Prius.

  She propped open the back door and pressed her knee against Ella’s slumped form to keep her from falling out.

  “Nice car,” he commented.

  “Nice chick in nice car,” Lola remarked.

  He grinned. “Drunk chick in nice car?”

  “Oh, Jesus and all twelve apostles, you have no idea how drunk. She slammed back like four tequila shots. Someday, you know, when you don’t have the amnesia funk, you’ll remember Ella’s a lightweight when it comes to booze. For now? You’ll just have to trust.”

  Crosby ducked around the car door and pulled Ella out by the arm, bending at the knees to place her over his shoulder. He scooped her up with ease and turned to smile at Lola. “Did I know you?”

  Her eyes took on that cautious look Ella’s always had. “Do you think you knew me?”

  He gave a disappointed grunt. “You sound just like Ella now.”

  She waved a ringed hand in the air, delicate and finely boned. “Fuck that. I’m no nurse. Yes. You knew me. We knew each other. But not intimately. That’s someplace I’d never go.”

  “I feel like you just called me ugly,” he joked, sensing something so distinctly familiar about her, it made his head hurt.

  “No. I just called you my best friend’s—” Lola stomped a leopard-print, high-heeled foot and hooked Ella’s purse over his shoulder. “No, no, nooooooo! That’s it. I’m out. You know, I’d suck as a spy, and I think I’ve just proven that. So do with that slip of the tongue what you will, but I’m not getting into trouble with the pack.”

  She ran around to the driver’s side of the car and shook a finger at him in stern warning. “Ella said you were asking a bunch of questions lately. No way am I going to be the one to trash your recuperation. So forget that shit, pal. Now you make sure she wakes up long enough to take an aspirin. She’s an unusual werewolf in that she suffers from hangovers. And put her to bed. Make sure she can’t fall off said bed. She’s a dead sleeper. Forget it, you already knew that, didn’t you?” Lola shook her head briskly and made a face. “Forget the answer to that. I don’t want to know. I’m out. Bye, Crosby!”

  Lola hopped into her car, slamming the door shut and taking off like a shot.

  Crosby stood at the end of Ella’s driveway while she hung over his shoulder.

  Huh. How could Ella’s best friend trash his recuperation?

  And what did she mean he was someplace she’d never go because Ella was her best friend?

  Yet more questions. Questions he’d become quite adept at shoving aside in favor of blissful forgetfulness.

  Turning, he strode up the driveway with a passed-out Ella. Popping open the front door, he ducked inside, protecting Ella’s head with his hand. The soft feel of her silky, dirty-blonde hair made him pull a strand to his nose and sniff.

  God, her shampoo was familiar, too, and not because he’d been using it for the past couple of weeks. Because it made him remember—something.

  Wandering to her bedroom, with its gray and teal throw pillows and matching comforter, he sat at the edge of the bed and slipped Ella off his shoulder gently. She molded to the bed, long and supple, curvy and fucking so sexy, so lip-smacking good, it was all he could do not to peel her clothes from her body and slide his tongue inside her. Just to have the smallest taste.

  She brought him to his knees whether he had amnesia or not.

  As Crosby settled her in, his eyes wandered to the slope of her breasts while they rose and fell in deep sleep. His tongue ached to trail across her nipples, lick the rigid buds until she grabbed his hair and arched her back, pushing her body into his.

  But there was more than just the sex. In all her cranky, standoffish mouthiness, there was something else about her.

  Lately, it seemed there was always something else. Something right on the outer-most fringes of his memory that just wouldn’t allow him to put a finger on it.

  He shook his head before lying down beside her and tucking the covers under her chin. He couldn’t take a chance she’d fall out of bed now, could he?

  She’d pitch a hissy fit if she found him in her bed. She’d been adamant about sleeping in separate beds. Crosby figured it had to do with boundaries and nurse-patient bullshit.

  Whatever. That wasn’t going to stop him from making sure she was his.

  So tough shit if she didn’t like it.

  Setting aside everything but the gentle inhalation of Ella’s breathing, Crosby closed his eyes and hovered between consciousness and sleep.

  That’s when it hit him.<
br />
  What was on the other side of the fence.

  * * * * *

  Ella woke with a slow groan, an arm around her waist preventing her from sitting up. She looked to her left to find Crosby nestled against her. Her body was instantly on fire—instantly needy and hungry.

  She stretched upward, hoping to ignore her out-of-control hormones, and realized she was still in her clothes. Slipping out from under his arm, she rose to make her way to the bathroom and grab a shower.

  Oddly, her head wasn’t pounding, a very rare occurrence for her when she drank, but she was grateful. She had a lot to ponder after finding so much information on Marina Preston—poor little billionaire heiress who’d been cloistered in one boarding school after another since she was a child by a father who was too busy to have tea parties and take her on trips to the park.

  Stripping out of her clothes, Ella turned the shower on and stepped inside, letting the water ease her aches. As she lathered with her favorite pomegranate body gel, she tried to piece together what kind of legal advice Crosby was helping Marina with that had kept him out all night.

  She might never know, if things kept going the way they were. Once Crosby’s memory returned, what would change except for the fact they’d had a lot of great sex? He’d still be unwilling to tell her what was going on, and she’d still be unwilling to remain married to someone who couldn’t be honest with her.

  While she dried off, the anguish of having him, and having to let him go again, left a sharp ache in her stomach.

  Too exhausted to give it any more thought, Ella spritzed herself with body spray, wrapped herself in a towel and padded back out into the dark bedroom. Crosby’s long body sprawled on her bed made her ache with longing. There was nothing she wanted to do more than burrow down next to him and have his arms around her all night.

  But it would only add to this new cache of memories she was making with him, and she couldn’t bear it.

  Crosby had to go to his own room. It was the only boundary she’d drawn that she’d actually stuck to.

  Ella put a hand on his arm, fighting the smile he brought to her lips. “Crosby? Wake up. Bedtime.”

  His hands reached for her so quickly they were a blur, and before she could stop him, her towel fell to the floor and she was on top of his chest.

  His naked, yummy, broad, thickly muscled chest.

  He lifted her hips and planted her on his waiting cock, drawing a gasp from her when he entered her pussy. Wiggling his finger, he motioned her to come closer.

  Ella leaned forward, unable to stop her hips from gyrating, loving the feel of him inside her.

  “Did you have a good time tonight?” he drawled, swiping his tongue over her bottom lip and making her press her forehead to his.

  Ella’s eyes closed as she hissed at his upward thrust. “I had a great time,” she murmured, widening her legs to let one dangle over the edge of the bed. It always made for the deepest penetration.

  Crosby licked his finger and circled her nipple with it, the bud responding by hardening instantly to his warm saliva and the cool air of the room. “Did you miss your ward?”

  Slumping into him when he pushed her breasts together and sucked both nipples at once, she gasped again. “God, Crosby…”

  “Say it or I’ll stop,” he teased from around her nipple.

  That made her sit up straight, taking all of him inside. “Oh really?” She gave him a coy, flirty smile she knew he could see, even in her dark bedroom. “I don’t think you will. In fact, I know you won’t.”

  Now Crosby countered by ramming his hips upward, driving deeper. “Okay, fine. I won’t stop,” he drawled then grinned maddeningly. “Now come here and let me make love to you properly.”

  Those words made her melt back into him and allowed her to seek solace in the shelter of his strong arms.

  When Crosby placed his wide hand on her ass and forced her down on his cock, she came hard, with a flash of white lights behind her eyes. The relief was welcome and sweet.

  Crosby came, too, rising on his heels and pistoning into her until they both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and sweat.

  Rolling off him, Ella panted, forcing air back into her lungs.

  He pulled her back against him, his cock hard and ready for more against her ass. “Oh, we’re not done yet, cupcake.”

  A shudder of anticipation raced along her spine. “More, you say? I don’t think you can top that last performance.”

  His lips pressed to the top of her head as his hands brought her body back to life. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that when you’re begging for more.”

  Her mind was exhausted, but everything else just wanted Crosby. “I never beg,” she whispered on a sated grin, cupping his hands when he captured her breasts.

  Crosby rolled her to her back, his green gaze hot and dark. “Tell me how you like it, Ella.” He drew a finger along the swollen lips of her pussy, tenderly tracing the outline. “Do you want my tongue in you, licking until you wrap your soft thighs around my neck and beg me to make you come—to fuck you?”

  Her breathing was choppy, but she couldn’t look away from his mouth, from the sensual words slipping from his lips. “Yesss.” She drew out the word. “God, yes…”

  Crosby’s chuckle had a confident cadence that left her shivering while he teased her until she wanted to spread the lips of her pussy herself and drive his fingers into the wet depths.

  He nipped her jaw, sending a hot ripple of awareness to her nipples while his fingers skittered back over her flesh and up along the curve of her hip.

  She arched into his hand, into his lips that were silky hot. His tongue slithered over her rigid nipple then snapped back. A groan of frustration escaped her throat in the way of a husky protest.

  His light licks continued, swirling the tight bud but not enveloping it in his mouth. Her hands clenched at his sides and her hips bucked when he moved to her other breast, repeating the agonizingly slow action.

  Every muscle in her protested—each nerve raw from his slow loving, overstimulated and desperate.

  His hair trailed along her fevered skin, brushing against it with silken friction as he slid back up to her lips. He pushed a hand into her hair, drawing her head back until her neck arched. “Touch me. Stroke me, Ella,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The demand made her that much hotter. It was like Crosby, even in his amnesia, knew what made her tick sexually. Slipping her hands between them, she dragged her nails in a light scrape through the thatch of hair on his chest, moving downward over hard abs and toward his cock.

  Hard and thick, it jutted forward, demanding she engulf it with her hands. When she tentatively grazed a finger over his shaft, he ground his hips against her. “Don’t play, Ella. Do it, damn it.”

  She followed his command, grasping him in a firm hold and circling his cock, twisting her hand in a spiral motion up and down while his breath fanned her face in choppy spurts. Ella cupped his balls, roaming over them until they were tight and he was writhing. He came in a steady stream against her hand, his cock pulsing with release, rocking into her hand, straining against her.

  Crosby pulled away, the thick cords of his neck bulging as he lifted her up, his hands forceful and hard when he pulled her to sit on his chest. Cupping her jaw, he asked, “What is it about you, Ella? Why can’t I get enough of you? Just when I think I’ve fucked you out of my system, you just leave me wanting more.”

  Ella’s breath caught in her throat. He’d once asked her that—a long time ago when they’d first started making love. She didn’t respond; couldn’t respond. Instead, she closed her eyes and slid up his chest. She wrapped her hands around his head and guided him to her cunt, relishing his hot breath on her abdomen. Soaking in the rich scent of him and his desire.

  She held her breath when he groaned his pleasure at the freshly waxed flesh of her pussy, and let it out when he slid farther down the bed so his mouth was directly under her.

  His so
ft hair brushed her thighs, tingling, taunting her. His lips trailed light kisses along them, licking and nipping as he went.

  Ella’s back arched and she reached for the headboard to clutch when he ran his tongue along her slit, flattening it, pressing against her throbbing flesh until she almost wept. He sipped at her clit, circling it, taunting her with anticipation.

  The sound of his mouth moving over her exposed flesh was titillating, making the experience that much more heady. His unshaven jaw rasped against her when he lifted himself on his elbows in order to gain leverage and opened his mouth wide.

  And then she was screaming his name—with the razor-sharp pleasure of it, the all-encompassing exquisiteness. Her hand went to the back of Crosby’s head, jamming him flush to her body while he swirled his tongue inside her cunt—while she called out his name and gyrated against his mouth.

  Her orgasm ripped from her with a fierceness that had a sweet burn and flowed to her every nerve ending. She stiffened as he wrought every last ounce of pleasure from her body, her muscles aching, cinching tight then releasing.

  Crosby reached upward, massaging her back, drawing his hands down over her ass and running them back along her spine again, soothing, bringing her back to reality.

  He coaxed her to let go of the headboard and ease down into his arms.

  Where they lay—together—in silence.

  The last thought Ella had was of peace.

  The first genuine peace since she and Crosby had parted.

  And it was good.

  So good.

  Chapter Eight

  “So. I have to go out for a little while. Can I trust that you won’t play with the TiVo again and mess up my taping of Dancing with The Stars? If I miss one more paso doble with that hot Tony Dovolani minus his shirt because of you, I’m taking away your Ice Road Truckers privileges,” she teased, making sure she kept her face serene with no hint of her real intent.

  Crosby leaned back in the recliner and smirked. “I can’t even believe you made such a boldly ridiculous statement as that. Maksim is so much hotter.”