Howl at the Moon

by Christine Warren

  Since she hadn't touched him, he did the honors and touched her, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her close, relishing the feel of her wet, naked body pressed full-length against his. She didn't melt the way she had before, but she didn't rip his arms off, either. He could live with that.

  They stood in silence for a few minutes until Noah broke it. "If you want me to apologize again, in daylight and to your face, I've got no problem with that."

  Her hands hung at her sides, not touching him and not pushing him away. "Do you think the number of times you apologize really makes a difference? It doesn't make what you did suck any less."

  "No, it doesn't." He rested his chin on her shoulder and looked at the tile in front of them that seemed to have her so fascinated. "We both know well enough that there's nothing I can do to change it. Trust me, in this case, hindsight is better than twenty-twenty. But it's still hindsight."

  "So do you want me to just go on and pretend it never happened?"

  "I don't, because that would be a lie. I don't want any more lies between us. If I can help it, there won't be any more lies within fifty feet of us, ever again."

  "That's quite an about-face."

  "Actually, it isn't. Or if it is, it's the second one, 'cause all it's done is bring me back where I started. I've always hated lies, and whether you blame Mom and Dad or the church or my own stubborn hide for that, I don't suppose it makes a difference. What does matter is that I realize that the one time I let myself think that lies were okay because the end justified the means is the time I almost ruined everything that really mattered. You can bet your ass that I won't make the same mistake twice."

  She made a little noncommittal humming sound, but her hands lifted to clasp his wrists where they lay against her stomach, and she wasn't trying to pull them away. "You won't, huh?"

  "Not a chance."

  She was silent for a minute, leaving the sound of the water to fill the air around them. "I think you should tell me what's on the list of yours, the one where you put the things that, quote, 'really matter.'"

  He lifted his head so he could look at her. Her expression was neutral, carefully so, but he could feel her attention fixed on him.

  "It's pretty short," he said, just as carefully. "My country is still on it, because I'm a soldier, and I've been one too long to think that one man's actions negate the greater good, but it's not in the top spot."

  "One item doesn't make a list."

  "My friends are on it, too. Provided I have any left after this little incident. I can't blame any of them for wanting nothing more to do with me." She hummed, but she was listening, her face turning just a little, not to face him but moving closer to it. "My family, too. Abby and my parents. They mean a lot. Of course, the good thing about them is that they love me no matter what, even when I do something monumentally stupid."

  "How generous of them."

  "Oh, they'll make me pay," he assured her, beginning to smile. "I hesitate to even think what penance Abby is thinking up for me right now. She hit me, you know. Last night. She smacked me upside the head and told me I was a 'big old idiot' and 'a giant twit.' She also told me I should grovel."

  "I've always admired your sister's intelligence and talents of perception."

  At that point, he actually let out a chuckle, and he couldn't stop his arms from tightening in an affectionate squeeze.

  "Is that the whole list?" she asked carefully.

  He shook his head. "Oh no. I haven't gotten to the top yet. That's the space occupied by my woman, and I'd be an even bigger fool than my sister called me if I let my own bad decisions ruin what I have with her."

  "I'm sure that when you meet her she'll be happy to hear it."

  "Well?" Grasping her chin, he gently turned her head until their eyes met and he looked into those sticky honey pools. "Are you happy?"

  For a long minute, she didn't answer him. She looked into his eyes, searching his expression, while he waited on pins and needles. He had reason to be cautiously optimistic, since she was here and wasn't fighting to get away, and there had been that kiss this morning…

  But he wanted to hear her say that. He needed to hear her say it. Only when she'd admitted it to both of them did he think he'd be able to really breathe again.

  Finally, she pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "I'm still waiting for my groveling."

  Giving a shout of laughter, a sound replete with joy and relief, he turned her around, sank to his knees, and buried his face in her stomach. "Sweetheart, I will grovel every day of our lives, if that's what it takes. Just let me run out and buy some knee pads."

  She ran her hands over his short-cropped hair, smoothing away beads of water. "No one said this was supposed to be comfortable for you."

  "Oh, I'm not thinking about comfort," he said, and lifted his head to flash her a grin he figured probably rated its own wattage label. "I'm thinking in terms of staying power. I blow a kneecap and I won't be able to grovel. This is all for your benefit, babe."

  She smiled at him, and his heart nearly stopped. Gods, he hadn't even realized it until then, but if she'd never smiled at him again, he'd have died. The expression had become like oxygen to him, a nonnegotiable necessity.

  Her hands ran down to the sides of his face, cupping it and keeping it turned up to her. Her eyes narrowed in a mock glare, but he could see the sparkle had come back into them and he knew everything would be okay.

  "And don't you forget it!" Her voice rumbled with a playful growl, but all Noah could do was kneel in front of her wearing a shit-eating grin and being happy about it.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, and turned his lips to her stomach.

  His arms wrapped around her hips and held her to him in a possessive embrace. Finally, with her in his arms and her hands stroking and kneading his shoulders, he felt the pieces of his universe settle back into their proper places.

  He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but he did know he should be grateful for the club's generous hot-water system. He almost thought he could have stayed that way forever as long as the water didn't turn cold, but then he took a deep breath and filled his senses with the scent of Sam and soap and clean, damp skin and he realized maybe he didn't want to stay exactly like this.

  Turning his head, he placed a kiss to the spot on her tummy that barely, gently curved. Her skin was soft against his lips, soft and warm and tempting. His tongue darted out to taste, dragging through beads of water, and he felt her draw in a breath of surprise. Surprise and something else. He repeated the caress and got the same response.

  Oh yes. Surprise and desire.

  He felt his mouth curve and tried it a third time. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, no longer kneading but holding on. He loosened his grip around her, not moving away but giving his hands the opportunity to roam over her damp skin. They went immediately to her bottom, drawn like magnets to the soft, giving, fascinatingly rounded flesh. He stroked, kneaded, and felt the curious tightening and softening that signaled her arousal.

  Fingers curved, cupped, then slipped down to tease the backs of her thighs and make her shiver against him. He liked that so much he did it again, savoring her involuntary reaction to his touch. He slid his hands inward, fingers gripping between her thighs and gently parting them. She shifted eagerly, widening her stance, a soft moan breaking from her lips as he slid his mouth slowly down the curve of her belly to the warm welcome below.

  The first touch of his tongue tightened her like a bowstring. He flicked the nub of her clitoris with teasing pressure and heard her breath hitch in her throat.

  He caught the sweet scent of her growing stronger and wondered if she was wet, if already her body had begun to prepare itself for him.

  Fingers biting into her thighs, he dipped his head and prepared to find out.

  His tongue slid into hot, flowing cream, thick and sweet and scalding to his senses. He explored the slick folds, teased the entrance to her body, and felt his powers of self-control
fraying. She felt and smelled and tasted like heaven and he needed to be inside her more than he'd ever needed anything in his life.

  Her nails bit into his shoulders and he shuddered helplessly. He wanted her like a house on fire, but more than that he wanted to give her pleasure. He wanted to show her that she meant more to him than the pleasure he gained in the hot clasp of her body. And damn it, he wanted to make her crave him. He wanted to give her so much pleasure that she would feel his touch all the time, even when they were apart. He wanted her to ache when he wasn't inside her and to dissolve when he was. He wanted her to be as much at the mercy of her desire as he was.

  One hand moved, grasping her leg just above the knee and lifting it over his shoulder. It left her open to him, balanced on one foot, completely at his mercy when he wasn't sure if he had any.

  He feasted on her, devoured her like the last meal of a starving man, so intent on consuming her that the entire world faded away and there were only the two of them in the close confines of the shower, water beating down on his head and the sweet, wild taste of her coating his tongue.

  "Ah… Noah…" he heard her whimper, and the sound of it was like a fist around his cock. And around his heart.

  His hand released her leg, leaving it draped over his shoulder, and his fingers slid up the curve of her thigh, teased her soft folds, then shifted and parted her. He heard her moaning, felt her tremble, and slid a finger into her snug opening.

  She cried out, arching into his touch, into his mouth, then nearly jerking away when he gently captured her clit between his teeth and flicked the tip of his tongue repeatedly over the little bundle of nerves. Her grip on his shoulders turned almost painful, but he couldn't have cared less. His finger thrust, stroked, then withdrew, and two returned, pressing high and hard inside her.

  He heard her incoherent cries, felt her trembling like a live wire beneath his hands and mouth, teetering on the edge of orgasm. He wanted to feel her go over.

  Curing his fingers into a hook, he rasped the tips over her inner walls and felt her clench around him. She cried out, meaningless, incoherent sounds, but he knew what she needed. He played with her clit, torturing it with alternating hard and soft touches while his fingers thrust back and forth within her swollen passage. He found the spot that made her scream and ruthlessly worked it, fingertips pressing and scraping over and over until her entire body tensed and then dissolved in his arms.

  She was sobbing, struggling for breath, her inner muscles still rippling with her climax when he withdrew, but he couldn't wait another second. In one smooth motion he rose, turned, lifted and pinned her against the tile wall. His mouth came down on hers, hard and possessive, and his hands brooked no argument as they slipped between her thighs, catching her knees in his elbows and holding her spread wide and helpless before him.

  He lifted his head only because he could feel her struggling for breath, but he had no power to slow down, let alone stop. Shifting her weight, he fitted himself to her entrance and thrust ruthlessly inside her.

  God, she felt like heaven.

  His head fell back against his shoulders and he had to grit his teeth against the instinct to come. He didn't want it to end this soon. He needed the balm of her body wrapped around his cock, accepting and pleasuring him. He needed to feel the connection, to know she was with him, and to imprint himself like a brand on her flesh.

  He heard her whimper, and his eyes shot open to lock on her face. "Am I hurting you?" he growled, and he hoped she could understand his harsh, rasping voice, because he barely could.

  She shook her head. "No. Goddess, no." She was panting, her breath sawing in and out of her lungs as if she'd just run a four-minute mile in two minutes. "I just…" She broke off. Whimpered. "How can I need you again this soon?"

  If she expected a verbal answer, she had a lot to learn about men in general and about him in particular. At least him when he was buried hilt deep in her sweet, tight little body.

  He braced his hands against the tile beside her ribs and flexed his hips, stroking himself with her clinging flesh. Already he felt his balls drawn tight against his body and he knew he had only seconds before he came. He was determined to savor every single one.

  In her present position, she couldn't move, couldn't distract him, so he took shameless advantage, holding her still and tight against the cold tile as he began to thrust hard and rhythmically within her. She fit him like a glove and squeezed him like a fist, and he was surprised the top of his head hadn't blown off the minute he'd gotten inside her.

  Every thrust took him deep. He felt himself nudge her womb and had a wild, primitive thought of making her pregnant. Before Sam, any such thought would have filled him with horror, but in that moment it filled him with lust. He imagined her belly round with pregnancy, imagined his child suckling at her breast, imagined a part of him joined forever with a part of her, and his last hold on control snapped like a rubber band.

  He slammed into her, over and over, trying to get to the heart of her, forcing her to open for him so that he could spill his seed at the very mouth of her womb. He felt her hands clutching at his upper arms, heard her frantic, breathless cries in his ear, and he knew that if his cock didn't explode, his head would. No one could survive this kind of pleasure for long. Certainly not him.

  "Noah!"

  He heard Sam scream, saw her throw back her head, and felt her buck wildly in his arms. Her body clenched hard around him, milking him, squeezing him with powerful contractions, and he gave one last, mighty thrust, driving to the very heart of her and spilling himself with a rough, ragged groan of perfect completion.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sam felt extraordinarily… clean. She'd seen her face in the mirror while she dried her hair after their incredibly long and thorough shower, and she knew she glowed. Part of it was a blush she wasn't sure would ever fade, but the rest was something more. Something she still didn't want to examine too closely for fear it might melt out of existence.

  Noah hadn't stopped touching her all morning. Even after they'd made love so completely she thought it might be months before either of them mustered up the energy for another round, he'd constantly had his hands on her. He'd washed and dried her so tenderly, then combed the tangles from her hair and stood close while she dried it. He'd been the one to dress her and had held her hand while they ate from the tray he'd asked the kitchen to send up. He'd kept his hand at the small of her back as they walked down to the second floor to meet the others in the War Room, and now he'd folded his long frame into the corner of the sofa and hauled her up against his side, his fingers playing with the bare strip of skin that the too-wide neckline of her sweatshirt kept revealing.

  "I see you still have all your parts," Tess said, strolling into the room ahead of her husband. She gave Noah a quick once-over and cast Sam a curious glance. "Are you sure that was the best decision?"

  "Leave them alone, my love," Rafe scolded mildly, placing a hand on his wife's back to guide her to the love seat at a right angle to the sofa. "Whatever decisions have been made, they are their decisions."

  "Oh, I know." Tess settled herself on the cushions and crossed her legs. "But that doesn't mean I can't make suggestions."

  "I have a few suggestions myself." Graham and Missy entered as well, with Abby and Rule trailing right behind. The Alpha looked calmer than he had last night but not significantly happier. "Care to hear them?"

  "Not really," Sam said, catching his eyes just long enough to gain his attention before she shifted her gaze to his chest. "I think I can guess what they would involve."

  "Really? Frankly, I've been surprised by the depths of my own creativity."

  Missy hushed him and leaned down to brush a kiss over Sam's cheek. "Ignore him. It's what I do. Are you okay?" She glanced from Sam to Noah and back again, and her brown wore a furrow of concern.

  "A little bruised, but yeah, I'm okay," Sam answered, reaching out to squeeze the Luna's hand. "Tha
nk you."

  "If you need anything, you let me know, understand?"

  Sam smiled. Missy might have grown up human, but she'd also been born with a maternal instinct ten miles wide. She'd taken to her role as pack Luna with impressive skill and enthusiasm. "I understand."

  Satisfied, Missy grabbed her husband's hand and towed him to the farthest chair in the room and toppled him down onto it. Then she crawled onto his lap as if she could pin him in place. Like all mothers, Missy believed in the saying about better safe than sorry.

  Abby moved to gaze down at her and Sam with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. "I'm not sure whether to be relieved she didn't hurt you or disappointed," she said, her gaze roaming her brother much as Tess's had. "Now he's going to think he got away with that junk."

  Noah snorted beside Sam and she just grinned. "I wouldn't say that," she corrected, pasting an innocent expression on her face. "He got a stern talking-to, but he's already made great progress with his groveling lessons."

  She jumped a little when his hand slipped down to pinch her bottom, but she was still grinning.

  "I'll show you exactly how much progress I've made the next time I get you in a shower," he growled into her ear, keeping his voice low. But he'd obviously forgotten he sat in a room full of Others.

  "I'm gonna kill him," Graham announced, bracing his hands on the arms of his chair and preparing to rise. "Did you hear that? You have to let me kill him."

  "Stay right where you are," Missy ordered. "There will be no killing. I thought I made that clear to everyone last night. Don't make me go over it again."

  "Even though we missed it? Sorry we're late." Fiona Walker stepped in with her big Lupine husband right behind her. "I have to say, though, after we missed the excitement last night, it seems pretty unfair of you all to start without us this morning."