High Moon (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 4)

by Jennifer Harlow

  “I love you,” he says between deep kisses. “God, I love you so much.”

  Our fingers entwine and he forces my arms down, pinning me to the mattress. He pulls his mouth away again, kissing down my neck, between my breasts, down over my not so flat stomach, and further south as those expert hands squeeze and tease my exposed, feverish flesh. His body forces my legs apart, and that’s when I regain my senses. I have literally dreamed of this very scene and it ends very well for me but badly for him. Like howling in pain, rush to the hospital bad. In all my planning I forgot one very important fact. If we have sex, I can kill him. One little orgasm and his internal organs can pop like a balloon. He’s about to take my pants off when I say, “Stop!” I sit up, meeting his confused eyes centimeters from my pelvis.

  “What? Why?”

  “You—you can’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “You know. Oral.”

  “Do you…not like it?”

  “I-I don’t know,” I chuckle nervously. “I’m sure I would. A lot. But I can’t, um, have an orgasm. I mean I can physically, but…not with another person in the room.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  His confusion is making me feel more naked than the fact I am almost naked. “I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you,” I whisper.

  Then he does something totally unexpected. He chuckles, relief washing over his face. He sits next to me. “Really? I’m worried I’m going to hurt you too.”

  “You are?”

  “Well, yeah. I’ve never had sex as a werewolf before. I’m scared to death I’ll forget how strong I am and break something in you. Or I’ll lose control and change when I’m about to…you know.” He actually blushes. “I mean, I think I have control over the change. Jason really helped me out when I was visiting.” Jason is the Eastern Pack leader. Will visited the pack this summer, I guess to learn how to be a better werewolf or something.

  “Did you go there for me?” I blurt out.

  “Yes,” he says immediately.

  “And did you treat me like crap all those months because you thought I was sleeping with Oliver? Because you were jealous?”

  “Yes. It physically hurt me to look at you and not be able to touch you like he could.”

  “I never slept with him.”

  “I know. I was just using it as an excuse to push you away from me because, you were right. I was afraid.” He closes his eyes. “And I am so sorry I hurt you. I would rather cut out my own heart than hurt you.”

  We sit in silence, letting those words heal any rifts left. I reach across and take his hand. He opens his eyes and watches as I lean in and lightly kiss his lips. I rest my forehead on his and whisper, “I forgive you. Now, make it up to me.”

  Never taking my eyes from his, I stand. Will watches as I pull down my pants. My panties. I stand there completely and utterly naked in every sense of the word. He can see all of me. The scars. The cellulite. All my bumps and bruises, every imperfect inch. “It’s time we stop being afraid and trust each other. And ourselves. Come here.”

  He slips off the bed, slowly walking toward me until our flesh almost touches. My body reacts as if it has, a shiver coursing down. His index finger finds the bottom of my jaw. He lifts up my chin, gently kissing me, but only for a second. Just the beginning. Those lips move down my neck, butterfly kisses barely connecting continuing down my collarbone to my arm, to the meeting of veins on my wrist on that thin skin. He’s torturing me with tenderness. Finally his rough calloused hands touch me, cupping my breasts, thumbs then tongue toying with my nipples until he gets the desired effect. I toss my head back and moan. The moment I make the sound, his lips begin their assault down my stomach. He kisses the underside of my tummy, tracing the soft curve with those velvety lips. If he minds the extra mound of flesh, it doesn’t show.

  “Lay down,” he orders in a husky voice.

  He helps me to the floor, and just as my butt hits carpet, he buries his face in me. No preamble. No more tenderness. I gasp in surprise and pleasure as those lips and tongue begin their task of driving me over the edge. I writhe and nip my own wrist to muffle the screams and moans I feel like shouting at the top of my lungs, especially as he kisses the outside of my pulsating opening. His tongue darts inside me, exploring as his thumb caresses my clitoris like a master. Round and round, fast then slow in time to the invader’s strokes inside me. Then they change places, hard thumb thrusting inside me until it locates that sweet spot while his tongue flicks that sensitive bud. This time I don’t stifle my moan. My back arches to draw him in closer. Deeper. I touch his bare back just to find an anchor in case I’m imagining this. But he’s there. In me. Loving me.

  Finally.

  How long he continues, I don’t know. Time doesn’t exist right now, only the pleasure. And him. Every massage, every press, the tension grows inside me desperate for release. His thumb leaves for a maddening moment, only to be replaced by two other plunging digits massaging my G-spot, retreating, then forcefully impaling me again. And again. And again in time to his equally maddening tongue until I can’t bear it anymore. With that last invasion, I cry out. My body vibrates and I dig my nails into him while the most intense, beautiful wave of heaven cascades through each pore of my being.

  I can’t move. Heck, I don’t think I can remember my name right now. I am vaguely aware of something smashing onto the floor inches from our heads. Will lies down beside me on the floor. He wipes my stray tears off. Oh God, I’m crying. “Did I hurt you?”

  “God, no,” I say with a sniffle. This is so embarrassing.

  “Why are you crying then?” he whispers, cupping my face in his rough hand.

  “I just, I never…I don’t know. This is just so much. I mean, you’re here.” I kiss the palm of his hand. “I’ve wanted this pretty much since the moment I met you.”

  “Me too.”

  “Really?”

  “When you opened that door the first day…it took every ounce of willpower not to throw you against that wall and screw your brains out right then and there. And it’s been pretty much the same every time I see you, or smell you, or hell just think about you.”

  “Ditto.” I lean over and kiss him, tasting myself on his lips. “Guess we have a lot of time to make up for, huh?”

  I unbutton his jeans, but he pulls my hand away. “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “We can’t. Not until after the full moon. I’m barely containing the wolf now.”

  “Days? We have to wait days?”

  “Believe me,” he says with a chuckle, “I like it less than you do. But I know I couldn’t control the change if we made love.”

  I pout. “Well, I don’t know if I can control myself around you that long. What are we going to do with ourselves?”

  We both smile mischievously before he puts those lips to good use once again.

  *

  This is almost better than sex. Almost. We lie in my bed, me curled up against him, head resting on his chest with his arm around me. We’re cuddling, and he doesn’t seem to mind. I’ve found the rarest of men: a cuddler. Steven put up with it for about fifteen minutes before finding an excuse to pull away. But the man who killed him loves it. Go figure.

  And he even let me pick what we’re watching. I was shocked to find he’s never seen one of my favorite movies, The African Queen, about a mismatched couple who fall in love battling Germans along a river. Will seems to be enjoying it, and I’m just enjoying having his body next to mine.

  “What about when you found me in bed with Oliver that time in Dallas? Kiss me or kill me then?” I ask.

  “Definitely kill. Both of you. A lot. And when I had your vampire admirer by the throat at Christmas? Kiss or kill?”

  “Kiss. When you were standing across the billiard table during our peace accord?”

  “Both.” He pauses and strokes my hair. “What about in the cave with Steven? Kiss or kill?”

  There goes the fun. “I don’t
know,” I answer truthfully.

  “I scared you.”

  I gaze at his saddened face. “He was trying to kill me. Would I have preferred you not to have ripped his heart out right in front of me? Yes. Does it make me love you less? No. He tortured me and was going to shoot me. You saved my life. And I love you for it.”

  He actually smiles. “Say that again.”

  “What?”

  “That you love me. Say it again.”

  “I love you, William Price.”

  “And I love you, Beatrice Alexander.”

  He grasps my tangled hair as we kiss again. My lips are sore as heck, but darned if I’ll let that stop me. Close to ten months, countless fantasies of this very situation, a little bruising means nothing. I also know he’s doing this to avoid the conversation, but it feels too good. Time for round four.

  But the knock on my door kills that possibility.

  “Trixie, dear?” Oliver asks in the hall.

  Crud. I’ve lost track of time. In my bliss bubble I hadn’t noticed the room getting darker as the sun set. “Shoot,” I whisper. “Don’t come in! I’m not dressed!”

  “I do not see a problem, my darling.”

  Will tenses up against me, his signature scowl affixing itself. “I need about half an hour,” I call. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “Very well, then.” I hear his footsteps walk away.

  “What was that about?” Will asks.

  “Um…Oliver is taking me out,” I say.

  “Where are you going?” he asks as the scowl tightens.

  “To see a play.”

  “That should be fun.”

  “You’re okay with this?” I ask.

  “Well, I would much rather be the one showing you off, but I know he’s your friend. He’s a part of your life. I might not like it, or him, but I can accept it. I trust you. Him, not so much.”

  “Thank you. I know you’re not his biggest fan.”

  “I can tolerate him for your sake. But if he so much as touches you…”

  “Will, if he so much as touches me, there won’t be anything left for you to pummel after I’m done with him.”

  “I forgot my girlfriend is such a tough broad.”

  That word brings a smile to my face. “Is that what I am? Your girlfriend?”

  “Would you prefer lady friend? Main squeeze? Lover?” he asks that last one in a silly voice.

  “Lover,” I say in the same voice.

  He stops stroking again, but his hands remain in my hair. “Or mate,” he says, now serious.

  Werewolves, with their keen senses and animal instincts, have an edge when it comes to dating and love. Call it pheromones or connection to the magical, probably both, when they meet “the one,” or their mate, that’s it. They know. I’ll bet their divorce rate is a heck of a lot lower than ours.

  “Do you think I am? Your mate?”

  “I don’t know. I think so. Since we met, I have this…need to touch you. I know I’m in love with you. I just don’t know that much about werewolf mating. Even after eight years there’s still a lot about this werewolf deal I don’t have a handle on.”

  “We’ll figure it out as we go along. Together.”

  He kisses me again. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of those lips of his. “What do you say tomorrow we go out? To a movie or lunch. Whatever you want.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date? A real, live, honest to goodness date?”

  “I promise to be a gentleman.”

  “I certainly hope not.” I tug on the collar of his shirt toward me, kissing him with gusto. His hands rove again, and move south of the border but I push him away with a whimper. “I have to get ready. You have to go. You do. You have to go.”

  Will extracts himself from my clutches and stands up. I watch with a pout as he moves toward the door. He opens it, smiles, and looks back at me. “Say it again.”

  “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Still smiling, the man of my dreams walks out and shuts the door behind himself.

  Happy Birthday to me.

  Chapter Three

  The Gentleman and The Wolf

  After cake and presents, where Will and I can’t stop exchanging flirty glances, I climb into Oliver’s Aston Martin and make the hour trip to Wichita. The play is awesome, just pure sugar and pink, though not even Hamlet could bring me down. I fall asleep on the drive home, but wake up as Oliver carries me up to my bed. The perfect end to a perfect day.

  The subject of Will never came up. I wanted to tell him and almost did a dozen times, but the words wouldn’t come out. Guess I didn’t want to ruin the night. We have this weird relationship that defies definition. Friendship doesn’t really begin to do it justice. At times he’s my confidant, others a spur in my side. Most of the time he’s like a gay husband. We go shopping, to the movies, or just hang out and watch TV. But occasionally, far more times than I’m prepared to admit, something passes between us. A look, a word, and I want to throw myself into his arms. His bed. It doesn’t help that he looks like a Disney Prince and on rare occasions acts like one too, saving my life or sanity. He’s held me when I cried, suffered torture for me, and at times been my only champion. We’d die for each other, no question, but would he attend my wedding or even offer me congratulations? I truly don’t know.

  I wake up in the morning, and for the first time in a long while, I don’t dread the day. In fact, I can still faintly smell my lover on the pillow and smile almost immediately. Not even here and he brightens my day. My lover. I sit up in bed, pick up the phone, and have an hour long squeelfest with April. She doesn’t even mind I woke her. I go into detail about everything until she has to get the kids ready for school. I’m sure my X-rated escapades will be circulated around San Diego by tonight. I hope to provide her fresh material tomorrow.

  At eleven o’clock, while I’m reading one of Emily Bronte’s poems to Andrew in the library, Will strolls in. Thank goodness Andrew’s blind and Nancy and her tutor Payton are on the other side of the room working on Geometry because with one look I feel myself blush from head to toe. Will’s gaze finds me immediately, but his face remains neutral. I should have him teach me how to maintain a poker face between our make-out sessions today.

  “Morning all,” he says, strolling over to Nancy. “How goes the schoolwork, Nance?”

  “Boring,” Nancy says.

  “She’s coming along great,” Payton says.

  Payton, along with the rest of Stoker, KS, believes this is a halfway house/rehab center for people coming to terms with trauma. In a way, not a lie. No one in town asks too many questions, and in turn we sponsor the Fourth of July parade and fireworks show every year. Win win.

  I continue reading through the exchange and even as Will crosses the room toward Andrew and I. He stops right behind my chair and puts his hands on the back. “Hi, Andrew. Bea. What are you reading?” he asks, petting my hair with his finger.

  “The book Connor sent me,” I say. “Bronte poetry.”

  He parts my hair with the finger and caresses the back of my neck. “Oh. Is it any good?”

  “It’s beautiful. Vivid,” Andrew answers.

  “Then I’ll have to read it sometime. Or you can read it to me as well.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “You’re more than welcome to join us now,” Andrew says.

  Will pushes himself off the chair. “Afraid I can’t. I have errands in town.”

  Pretty sure this is my cue. “Really? Me too.”

  “Well, you can come with me. We’ll save on gas.”

  I stand up. “Is that okay, Andrew? We can finish the book tonight.”

  My friend smirks. I don’t think our charade is fooling even the blind man. “That’s fine. You two enjoy yourselves.”

  Will gestures to the door, and I follow him out of the room. As soon as we’re out of eyeshot, he takes my hand with a glowing smile matched only by mine. But when Carl comes
around the corner, he drops my hand and is all business.

  “Give me a few minutes to get ready,” Will says when we reach our rooms.

  I change out of my sweats into a cerulean sweater and beige wool slacks, brush my teeth again, and fix myself up. I have no idea where were going, but I should be fine. He knocks on my door as I pull on my boots.

  My boyfriend—God, I love that word—stands in the hallway in dark blue trousers, dress shirt, and brown suede jacket, holding a cactus in one hand and Kit Kat bar in the other. “I’m here to pick up my date?” he asks as he steps in. He gives me the gifts. “It was the best I could do on short notice.”

  “I love them. Thank you,” I say, setting them on my desk.

  Before I can turn around, Will grabs my wrist, spins me around, dips me down, and plants a deep kiss on my lips. We come up for air a few seconds later. “I’ve been waiting to do that since yesterday. I could taste you on my lips, on my tongue all night. It drove me nuts.” I push his mouth back to mine and match the fervor of those words. We kiss like it’s going out of style until he pulls away with a groan. “No. We’re doing this right. A meal and a movie.”

  Me and my bright ideas.

  The consummate gentleman, he helps me on with my coat, opens the car door for me, and even pays for my ticket and snacks. Call me old fashioned but I do love chivalry. Shows a lady you respect them. He’s so respectful the only physical contact is holding my hand in the SUV. At least until the lights dim in the movie theater. Before the trailers end my head rests on his shoulder. By the opening credits, he kisses me and doesn’t stop until the end of the movie. I’ve never made out in a public place before but don’t feel one ounce of shame, not even when his hand reaches under my bra. April would be so proud.

  We don’t make it to the restaurant. On the road, after just a kiss on his cheek, Will whips the car down a desolate dirt road. The moment he puts the car into park, we go at it again. Touching, exploring, kissing. Not near enough. He pulls my sweater off, yanks down my bra down on one side, and roughly kneads my breast until I moan. With the stupid gearshift in our way, we fall into the backseat, him on top of me. He caresses my bare skin with one hand and undoes my pants with the other. Those deft digits thrust inside me again, immediately finding that sweet spot and playing it like a fiddle. I move in rhythm to his fingers until those beautiful sensations crescendo, and the whole car literally shakes. He collapses on top of me, both of us laughing.