by Shara Lanel
“Lift your legs. Put your feet on my ass.”
She obeyed and found that made the pleasure even more intense.
“Oh, God.”
“Yes.”
He pushed all the way in, so deep she felt him touch her cervix, bringing on an intense sensation that she wasn’t used to, like balancing on a cliff’s edge, scared, but ready to fly. When he pulled out, his cock rubbed along the walls of her vagina, stirring up pleasure every inch of the way. Almost out, he pushed back in again. Slow, slow, faster, faster, harder, harder. She pressed her feet into his ass cheeks and gripped his shoulders and rode the wave of ecstasy. Just when she thought she was going to explode, he stopped, like he could sense that she was on the cusp of an orgasm.
“I want to fuck you from behind.”
She couldn’t have said no. She needed to come, and he held the power. She couldn’t believe how quickly he turned her over, positioning her on all fours. She’d never realized how strong he was, but she hadn’t helped him change her position at all. He’d moved her easily, without any grunting or awkwardness. His barked commands should bother her, as should the fact that he interrupted her pleasure, but she was more turned on than ever.
He placed her hands on the top bar of the headboard. “Hold on.”
A thrill coursed through her body. She’d never done this before, and she couldn’t imagine how it was going to feel.
Haden slid one arm under her stomach while his other hand spread her knees farther apart on the mattress. It was a little awkward, but then his cock pushed against her wet entrance, and she forgot about awkwardness and gripped the metal bed frame. He slammed deep, hitting her G-spot dead on, withdrawing, and slamming in again. Kitty closed her eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t stop, that he would go faster, harder, that he would grip her waist tighter. The tips of her breasts swung against the stacked pillows, and she learned that if she arched her back, thrusting her butt higher, that he’d fill her completely.
He didn’t stop, even when Kitty’s orgasm scorched through her body, shaking her with wave after wave of pleasure. He kept pounding her until she was almost ready to tell him to get away ‑‑ almost ‑‑ but it still felt satisfying.
Then she saw an image of a wolf howling in his mind, and he came, hot and fast, inside of her. His body bucked against her. Her arms shook with the strain of holding the headboard.
“Can I let go now?” she asked.
Haden had to catch his breath before he could reply. “Only if you lower yourself slowly. I want to stay inside you as long as possible.”
Oh, man, did she like hearing that. She unclamped her fingers and inched them down the bars to the pillows, then she lowered her stomach to the bed with Haden heavy on top of her. She felt languid, adrift. His penis slowly softened, and he eased out and rolled onto his back. He casually removed the spent condom and tossed it into a trashcan beneath the nightstand.
Hmm, should she be concerned that the condoms and the trash were so conveniently placed? Did he bring many women here? He placed one arm under a pillow and relaxed, and his thoughts grew fuzzy. Classic male ‑‑ he was falling asleep.
Sated, Kit rolled away from him so she could hide her smile. He tugged her against his body in a nice spoon position, and it was in that position that she eased into sleep.
She smelled of good lovin’. Haden’s knees sank into the mattress. He’d thought of running out to Sammie’s and bringing back breakfast to share, but then memories of last night got to him and all he wanted to do was crawl back in bed with her. Leslie’s platinum locks splayed across the pillow calling up memories from the night before. Would she mind if he woke her up? Was she worn out? His cock was growing hard again. If she was too tired, he could just lie next to her and satisfy himself.
Selfish bastard. You should’ve gone for breakfast. Treat her well and all that.
He leaned in closer. Something wasn’t right about the smell. The scent of sex was strong, too strong, like it was smeared on her face, and there was that tang. A familiar tang, something that shouldn’t be present in the bedroom. Was she having her period? She hadn’t mentioned it, and wouldn’t he have tasted it last night? It never turned him off, but he could always tell, sometimes before the woman could.
“Leslie, sweet, would you like a bit more o’ last night?”
She didn’t stir. Haden laid a hand on her cheek. Cold! He yanked it back. Now he couldn’t mistake the metallic smell, like iron. He couldn’t mistake it because it tied in with the chilled skin. Oh, my God…
He leapt up from the bed and circled around. The white sheet covered her up to her chin, but it wasn’t white anymore. It was red and black and brown. Haden touched the edge and pulled slowly. What was it? What was it?
Her neck was like raw meat, ground, torn, and her stomach was open and…and…
He turned away as dry heaves wracked his body. What happened? What happened? He couldn’t think. The smell of flesh goaded him. The human part of him felt sick, wanted to run for the toilet, but the other part of him screamed to change, to feed.
No!
Had he done this? Had he changed? There were still two nights before the full moon ‑‑ had he waited too long? Had he played it too risky? Been too greedy for more time with Leslie?
The power roiled through his body as the beast fought to take over, demanded sustenance.
He ran to the bathroom, wanting to feel sicker, when instead he grew stronger, surer.
It was daytime. He couldn’t change now. He’d never once changed without the moon. He gripped the sides of the slick, cool porcelain of the sink, flipped on the faucet, splashed frosty water on his face and neck. But the mirror betrayed the truth. His pupils dilated, his brow ridged. He opened his mouth and panted as his teeth and snout lengthened.
Oh, God, oh, God…I can’t change. I need to call the police. They can’t see me like this.
But someone else saw him this time. Who was there? He felt her eyes on him, eyes that hadn’t been there before.
* * * * *
Kit screamed. Haden sat bolt upright, eyes adjusting immediately to the dark room. She screamed again, grasping at her throat, touching her forehead. He could hear her heart racing and smell her fear. She clutched the blankets to her chest, and tears streamed down her face. When he reached out to comfort her, she screamed louder and scrambled sideways until she actually fell off the bed. His own heart was in his throat. Adrenaline pumped through his muscles. He fought to calm down. Breathe, okay, once more. He was better, but Kit was not.
“Kit, it’s me. You had a bad dream.” At least he hoped that was all it was. He’d not been having a very good dream, either, but he’d long ago stopped screaming because of it. Feet on the floor, he leaned down to help her up, but she crab-walked away from him, not stopping until she reached the wall. Clearly she was afraid of him at the moment. Perhaps she wasn’t completely awake.
Or maybe she knows your secret.
For just a moment he flashed on his dream and the sense of being watched at the end.
Impossible. He scoffed at his paranoia and wracked his brain for a way to calm Kit down before she hurt herself.
“Kit, are you awake?”
She nodded, still crying. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them up to her chest.
“I want to help. It was just a dream, really.”
At least she’d stopped screaming, and her sobs were growing softer. He sucked at this comforting women thing.
“Do you want a hug?” She shook her head violently. “Okay, do you want me to leave the room?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
He stood up from the bed, naked, and noticed that she averted her eyes. Not a good sign after the explosive sex they’d had tonight. Maybe this was some kind of guilty reaction? He hoped not. She’d been a full participant, and casting him as a bad guy would be childish.
Where were his jeans? Ah, on the chair. He grabbed them and took a moment to yank them on. “I’ll l
eave you alone for a bit, if you promise me you’ll be okay alone. You seem a bit unsettled.”
She didn’t answer and she wouldn’t look at him, just remained huddled up against the wall, naked and shivering.
“Kit, you’re scaring me. Promise me you won’t do something stupid.”
She cleared her throat and in a scratchy voice said, “I promise.”
He hated to leave her, but if he was the source of her fear, then he had to. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Just yell. I’ll hear you.”
He didn’t know what else to do, so he left the room, feeling useless. He left the door cracked and waited in the hall for a moment. No movement and the sobs had changed to hiccups, so he decided it was safe for him to go to the kitchen. Once there, he opened and closed cupboards without really seeing their contents. He never bought chamomile tea, so he decided to make a pot of coffee. Maybe the alcohol had hit her suddenly. They’d only been asleep for a couple of hours, so it was probably still in her system. He glanced at the clock on the microwave. God, it had been a long night. He could already see the grayness in the sky that signaled daybreak.
“Work is not going to go well,” he mumbled.
He’d felt like someone had been watching him in his dream, though. He’d never felt that before.
He shook his head and poured steaming black liquid into two mugs.
What did the dream mean? Had the killer been there watching him and his subconscious was only now revealing it? He sipped. How many times had he had that nightmare? How many times had he analyzed his memory? He would have smelled someone else present in Leslie’s apartment, that’s all there was to it. No, this dream was different for some other reason.
When Kit appeared at the other side of the counter, she was fully clothed and clutching her purse to her chest. “I need to go now,” she said. Her skin was pale and her eyes red-rimmed.
“I’m pretty sure you’re in no condition to drive.”
“Fergie needs me.” She started backing down the hall.
“Marsha has him, remember? Come on, I made you some coffee.” He held out the mug without making a move toward her, but her eyes darted everywhere and she kept backing up. “Let me drive you, then.” He’d had the same amount of alcohol and sleep, but none of that would affect him the same.
“Several hours since my last drink. I’m fine.” But her hands shook as she lifted her keys from her purse.
He set the mugs on the counter and took a step toward her. “Kit, talk to me. What was in your dream? What’s making you act this way?”
A shudder ran through her body. He heard it on her exhale. “You were,” she whispered before turning and scuttling to the door.
He could’ve overtaken her, but he’d just had the wind knocked out of him.
He’d been in her dream.
And she’d been in his.
Blame It on the Moon
Chapter Eight
It was one day until the change. Haden was going out of his mind, but not because of the draw of the moon.
Blackie’s Pub brimmed every evening with merry patrons. There was always a line, and sometimes folks simply had to be turned away. Beautiful, as far as Haden’s master plan went. He’d hired on more staff and had the dinner service running like a well-oiled machine, but every time he left Angelica in charge ‑‑ usually during the lunch hour ‑‑ things fell apart. An appliance broke, a busboy quit, customers complained she’d returned the wrong credit card to their table. Small glitches that could cause big headaches, especially if a reviewer was in the crowd. The grand opening had been written up in the paper, but no review yet. With his luck, it would happen while he was chained to a barbell set in his secret room.
That thought made his head pound.
And Kitty…well, she was a whole different problem. She’d done her best to avoid him, but when he walked right up to her, she acted like a cornered snake, striking him in any way she could. She complained about the lines, the noise, the smells. She told him what the other store owners were saying. She worried about rats and roaches and rotted food. In other words, she acted as if they’d never slept together.
Insane!
He tried to judge how she felt about him, about the dream, by her scent, but usually she smelled aroused and embarrassed at the same time. And delicious. She always smelled delicious. He walked away from the least little encounter with a growing erection that he had to fight off, usually by thinking of Angelica’s ineptitude.
The one thing he could say about all of this was that he hadn’t been thinking about Leslie. A small benefit, that.
But why was Kitty avoiding him? He knew why he was avoiding her ‑‑ she’d somehow seen his memory, and that was very dangerous. Did she think he was a murderer? Did she know he was a werewolf? Would she see more if they were together again? Or did she simply think he was a cad because he hadn’t sent her flowers after their night together?
He had thought about it, but hadn’t wanted to encourage anymore togetherness.
Cretin.
So now he worked his ass off on the restaurant, while kicking himself for having the best damn night of sex in his life. Desire was a powerful thing, clawing at him, making him walk by her store more than necessary, bringing the memories back full-force in the middle of the day. And at night he could still smell her around his house. He’d washed the sheets, thinking then he could sleep. It didn’t matter. His were senses picked up the least little trace of her, then he remembered. He’d jerk off as he pictured her supple hourglass shape arched as he pounded into her. He’d been so demanding, and she’d never once complained.
If he couldn’t have that again, then he needed to forget about her because the fantasy was killing him.
“Haden, I already counted that stack,” Angelica said, her mere voice grating on his nerves. It was an hour past close, and he’d not really noticed the money in his hand.
“Oh.”
“And tomorrow I’ll be here by my lonesome, right? So you should probably let me handle this.”
He nodded absently. If only he’d hired someone else, someone who didn’t have that weird smell. It was familiar, but not in a good way. And when he sensed her arousal, it made his skin crawl. She’d have limited access to the cash, since there would be only enough for change in the safe, and he’d not signed her onto the bank account. The damage she could really do was to the pub’s reputation, and that wasn’t likely, so why did he have this horrible foreboding?
“I guess you’ve got the routine pretty down, right?” he asked, more to reassure himself than anything.
“Sure thing.”
“You can contact me in the morning, but then I’ll be away from cell service.”
“Gotcha.” Angelica glanced up from the ledger. “No landline number that you want to give me?”
“No, sorry. Just remember 9-1-1.”
“Gee, I’m abashed at your faith in me.” She rolled her eyes.
“And Emilio has a really good handle on things, too, so he can help you out front if you run into trouble.”
“Chill, darling. I’ve done this sort of thing before. I won’t start a fire or run off with the dough.” She said it with a laugh and a flick of her fingers, as if she were Audrey Hepburn, but then she bit her lip.
Haden nodded while a shiver ran down his spine. He wasn’t psychic, but he couldn’t shake this feeling of danger. He’d run a criminal check on Angelica, and in that regard, she was far cleaner than he was. Maybe his anxiety had to do with Kit and the dream, at least partially. Maybe confronting her before the full moon would settle his gut, keep the wolf calm. Sometimes his human emotions seemed to influence the wolf, evident the next morning by the number of claw and teeth marks on the wall and floor.
Or maybe that was just his excuse so he could see Kit again.
He really wanted to see her again, and that could only lead to trouble.
He studied Angelica’s scrunched brow as she concentrated on filling in the ledger wi
th neat, square print. “All right. I’ll let you handle the rest tonight ‑‑ keys, lights, and all.” He stood up and offered his hand. “And when I get back we’ll invest in an accounting program.” That was one of the details he hadn’t had time to deal with before the pub’s opening.
Angelica shook his hand and smiled. “Good idea, but don’t worry. I’ve got it all covered, boss.”
Just as Haden was getting ready to leave the room, he turned and saw her chewing on her lip as she counted the final stack of money.
* * * * *
Kit the slug. Yup, that’s what she was, lumped on the couch next to her lumpy dog, watching old horror flicks on cable. Since she owned a DVD store, it was particularly sad that she was too lazy to even put a DVD in. Instead she flicked channels during commercials, marveling at the creative selections of the program directors. She had her choice of The Mummy with Brendan Fraser, a fave, the first Children of the Corn, Godzilla in black-and-white and Japanese, and The Fog with Jamie Lee Curtis. The Mummy was the easy choice, but also seemed to have the longest commercials, so she spent some time yelling “Don’t go into the corn!” at the stupid people who insisted on doing so. Godzilla held no appeal, so she watched the slimy creatures march out of the fog, thinking it had been scarier the first time she’d seen it.
Fergie lifted his head from her knee and started growling seconds before someone banged on her door. Holy shit, the creatures were after her now.
It took her a moment to separate reality from TV. Once she did, she scrambled from the couch, smoothed down her pajama top, and went to look through the peephole.
Haden. Damn. The absolute last person she wanted to see.
On the one hand, she wanted to melt into a puddle of embarrassment for the hysterics she’d thrown at the end of their evening together. On the other hand, she wanted to grab a butcher knife and sic Fergie on him because of the dream, the dream that could have been his, could have been hers, or could have been some crazed combination of the two.