“Fuck!” he grumbled, glancing around to make sure no one witnessed his inexperience. The other driver honked like the end of the world had come. “Yeah, that’s really helping everybody.”
Blending into mid-day traffic was far from easy. He jammed his finger into the power button to turn off the radio in the middle of ‘The Piano Man’ chorus. “Shut the fuck up.”
Since Dontae was technically inclined—it was he of the pack who hacked computers when they looked for bad guys—it didn’t take him long to get the general hang of driving. In silence with full concentration employed, he took the 95 Freeway out of Manhattan, heading north. He wanted to go back to where they’d grown up because his wolf was in need of running free, anything to get that woman out of his mind. He was on his way to Maine.
As Bridgeport, Stratford and Milford rolled by, Dontae felt the edge smooth out in his spirit. The clouds in the sky helped. They mirrored his emotions, and there was something comforting in that. Driving a long distance alone with no music turned out to be surprisingly therapeutic, as well. He could see why men loved their cars sometimes more than their homes. The power of the vehicle mastered by him and him alone, driving forward at whatever speed he wished into an unknown future, held a certain appeal for the masculine need to discover and conquer.
As the hours passed, clouds darkened with the waning sun. They gathered, moving too quickly. He leaned forward to inspect the sky through the windshield, pursing his lips and considering how difficult this trip might prove to be for a first-time driver. From his experience living in the woods as a young wolf, he could tell that Mother Nature was about to show him what she was made of.
“Okay, I can handle this,” he said, under his breath, not really believing it.
As though on dramatic cue, lightning illuminated the heavens followed instantly by powerful claps of thunder. In heavy undulating sheets rain exploded from the darkness, assaulting his Audi A4 Sedan. With every curse word he could think of he searched for the windshield wipers. He hit the turn signal, accidentally turned off the lights and put them back on, hit the cruise control. “For what I paid for this piece of shit, the wipers should be zipping on their own at the first drop of rain.” Finally the wipers moved and he cranked them up full gear. Exhaling, he sat back, gripping the wheel. “If Eli could see me now. He’d never let me live this ineptitude down.”
For two miles he drove fairly quickly despite the storm until suddenly red taillights illuminated the darkness. Stopped traffic. “SHIT!” He slammed the brakes and hydroplaned to a diagonal stop, narrowly missing the rear end of a Subaru. Panting, he stared ahead, gathering his adrenaline back to a normal level. “I like this driving thing,” he laughed.
Amusement didn’t last long. The cars inched forward at two miles an hour. Patience is never a wolf’s strongest trait. After eleven minutes of this bullshit, he said, “Fuck this,” and cranked his wheel to the right, pulling into the shoulder to bypass all the foolish, law-abiding citizens. Cars honked at him. He growled through his window, and kept going. He chuckled at their inability to think outside the box, completely oblivious to the reason why driving in the shoulder is never smart—it’s where debris flies off the main freeway to live. In the darkness of the thunderstorm, he barreled over large, busted tire shards like he was in a Jeep. It only made him laugh harder. Having no clue his car was fragile, he then charged over an old ‘57 Chevy front fender left behind from an accident three years ago. It lodged itself and rattled around his engine’s underbelly. Then it made a terrible grinding noise.
“That can’t be good.”
The foreign object spun around like a spike high on cocaine, popping both front tires at the same time. Dontae shouted, “OH SHIT!” as he careened into a ditch. His head bounced off the steering wheel. Instant headache. Unable to go anywhere and as pissed off as he had been in a long time, Dontae glared at the mischievous rain, hearing Mother Nature whisper that he was a pride-filled numbskull. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered to the useless wipers whisking left and right, the view of a dark, grassy field ahead.
Within four seconds of climbing out he was drenched, jeans and black button-up clinging to his body, blonde hair flattened against his skull. He squinted against the violent downpour as thunder vibrated his sensitive eardrums.
Calling out for help, no one was impressed. The same drivers who’d seen him cheat traffic were the ones offering no help now. One even rolled down his window and shouted, “Serves ya right, ya selfish prick!”
Dontae dropped his arms and snarled at them. The torrential rain drowned his volume as he said, “You’ll move along soon enough and someone will help me. So fuck you all.”
He paced. The cars inched by. People stared at him through liquid windows. He grumbled obscenities the entire time. It was the longest fifteen minutes of his life. Finally an elegant older model Mercedes pulled over to the shoulder, headlamps trained on him. He blinked into the refracted light, the rain glowing in it, and held up his hand with a grateful wave. “Oh, thank God,” he mumbled, looking inside the passenger window as it electronically rolled down.
“Hello Dontae. Need a lift?” Catherine asked with an amused smile.
He stared at her, stunned. Raking both hands through sopping wet hair, his eyes were abnormally wide, eyelashes dripping. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“Okay, never mind then.” She hit the button and the window began its ascent.
He grabbed the glass. “No! Stop!” She hit the button before the window attempted to cut off his determined fingers. He stifled a sneer and through gritted teeth, said, “Yes. I need a lift.”
“It’s your lucky day.” She pointed at him. “Ah ah ah! Don’t say it!”
He swallowed his snarky retort, and his pride, and went back for his things. Brilliant lightning flashed above, taunting him as he leaned inside the car to pop the trunk and grab his coat from the passenger seat. Slipping the keys into his pocket, he grumbled as he procured his suitcase from the trunk and carried it through the downpour to her car’s backseat. Hurling it in without care, he shut the door and slopped himself into the front seat, slamming a barrier between him and the blasted rain.
He was suddenly very aware that he looked like a wet rat, and very ridiculous.
“You’re welcome,” she chuckled, hitting the turn signal to rejoin the line of crawling traffic. “You know, I saw someone in an Audi escape to drive on the shoulder, but I had no idea that asshole was you until I saw you standing there all…”
“Can we just drop it?” he muttered, looking out the window. “I need a ride to a mechanic or something. Or a phone.” He turned to her with hope. “You have a phone?”
“Don’t you?”
“No. I…it’s broken.”
Her eyes flickered and she looked back to the windshield. “Well, we’ll have to find one then. I left mine at home.” She turned up ‘Take Me To Church’ by Hozier. Her fingers tapped the wheel in time with the song’s heartbroken beat, and then suddenly she reminded him of an old habit he’d loved of hers—she always hummed with music. He glanced over, remembering, sneaking a quick glance at what she was wearing. Tight, dark blue jeans and no shoes, feet cozy in white ankle socks. Tips of yellow sneakers waited beneath her seat. His gaze darted to her white V-necked T, the pale straps of a light blue bra visible underneath. Looking back to the passenger seat, he saw for the first time her coat cramped underneath his suitcase. He hadn’t noticed it when he’d thrown the thing on top. As he brought his gaze back, she met his eyes for a brief moment.
“Wish I had a towel,” she smiled.
He stared at her until it faded away. “What are you doing up here? Is this your car?”
“It’s my parent’s car, which you would know if you’d ever come over to their home. And I’m going to Maine.” She paused at his expression. “What? Why the face?”
Jarred, he stared at her. There’s no fucking way. He pushed wet hair away from his forehead and asked in a very low v
oice, “Why are you going to Maine, Catherine?”
Flustered she blinked back to the road. “Lobster. I’ve never had it there, and I’ve always wanted to.” Pointing ahead, she glanced over to him, “Oh no, looks like an accident.”
He turned and saw ominous lights of both fire engine and police cars spinning through the storm. He and Catherine were quiet as they waited to see how bad the damage was. A car was turned over, the driver nowhere to be seen. Probably already taken away by a speeding ambulance. Two more driverless cars lay on one another in the fast lane. A tow truck was busy pulling the upturned vehicle out of the slow lane. The cars inching by had been doing so by way of the shoulder and now that one lane opened up, traffic increased from two miles an hour to ten, the curiosity getting the best of them as they passed.
Catherine sighed, “I hope everyone’s alright.”
Dontae pointed at another tow truck waiting by the side. “Maybe that guy can get my car.” She shot him a look that made him instantly regret having said that. He dropped his hand. “But I’m sure he has better things to do right now.”
She looked back at the road and increased her speed, now finally able. The rain came harder and she checked the wipers but they were already doing their best. There were no lights on the side of the road to guide her. “We’ll take the next exit and get you help.”
He heard her tone. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him. He pulled at the sticking fabric on his legs and, feeling like a real asshole, looked out his window in silence.
Chapter Nine
There wasn’t even a gas station at the next exit, much less a repair shop. But there was a motel complete with stereotypical red neon sign and back-roads diner attached. Catherine pulled into the overflowing parking lot.
“I guess people are getting in out of the rain, huh? It’s packed.”
She found a space that wasn’t meant for parking, but with the lot full, it would do. She turned off the ignition, struggling for her next move. Part of her wanted to drop him off and let him fend for himself. Part of her wanted to help. All of her didn’t want to leave him. Ever.
But what a fucking jerk he can be sometimes. I’d forgotten all about that.
“I’m going to get a room and clean up. Maybe by that time the weather will have let up and I can take care of the car.”
She blinked at the steering wheel. “Okay.” He was staring at her. She could feel it.
“You coming in?”
She touched her tongue to the roof of her mouth and deliberated. Just drop him off, Catherine. Keep going to Maine and have a good time. No good time will be had with this man. You know this. Don’t do it.
“I don’t bite,” he said with an unexpected bit of flirtation.
She glanced over to discover a slightly entertained gleam staring back at her. He looked ridiculously handsome with his clothes plastered to his body, his hair pushed up in a goofy way, all wet. The hair askew made him seem charming, but she knew better.
I am going to regret this. “Sure. I’ll just make sure you’re okay.”
Off her tenseness, he lost his amusement. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you. I don’t want to.” He turned and was instantly enveloped in the torrential downpour.
Catherine sighed and slipped on her sneakers as he grabbed his suitcase from the back and tossed her coat to her over the seat, shutting the back door with more effort and noise than was needed. She climbed out, doing her best to hold her coat up as a shield. The cement was flooded and her shoes were instantly drenched. She ran to catch up to him and he paused at the door of the pathetic motel office, holding it open for her. A surprise.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, hurrying inside.
He said nothing as he followed her to the plexiglass that stood between them and the bored employee, a twenty-something man with pasty skin and dead eyes. Behind him hung normal keys on rusty hooks. No modern credit card style keys here. These were probably the very same ones as when the place had opened in the mid-seventies. The man of few words gave them a room and watched Dontae tuck his credit card back into his black leather wallet. “How come you’re wet and she’s not?”
She watched Dontae glance up as he signed his name. “Rain can’t touch an angel.” As Catherine’s jaw dropped, he laughed and added, “And tonight it was too thick to see she ain’t one.”
Steam exploded from her ears as she stared at the back of his big, stupid head. She reached over and swatted it.
“What the fuck?!” He turned, eyes on fire.
“I just saved your ass so the least you could do is treat me with a little respect, you sonofabitch.” She spun on her heels and headed for the door. “See ya.”
“Catherine!” He reached her in a flash, grabbed her arm and spun her around.
With his fingers clamped onto her forearm, she glared at him, her coat dangling from her other hand. “WHAT? What, Dontae? Why stop me? You obviously hate me!”
His cheek twitched and he cracked his neck. “Don’t hit me again.”
“I barely touched you.”
“I don’t care. Don’t do it.”
Her jaw clenched on grinding teeth. “Fine.”
He released her, glanced to the guy behind the gun-proof glass watching the scene with interest. “Come on,” Dontae grumbled, reaching for his suitcase. The fact that he held the door again was a miracle but that’s just what he did. She hesitated. He cocked his chin as if to say, Well, what are you waiting for?
“You never cease to amaze me,” she snarled at him, walking cautiously past like he might slam it on her if she wasn’t careful. As soon as they were outside, he led the way with the self-confidence of someone who knew she would follow. “Why am I staying here with you? Am I a glutton for punishment or what?” Under the minimal shelter of an insufficient awning they made their way to Room 7, millions of drops hitting them from the left. Without finesse he jammed the key in the lock and again held open the door for her.
“Since when are you a gentleman?”
“I’ve always been a gentleman. Have you really forgotten that?”
She shrugged and walked inside, looking around the original décor of brown-glass lamps, a single queen-size bed with a hideous quilt, and a tube T.V. on a brown dresser shoved in the corner. She cast a look to him to see what he thought. He was clearly just as disgusted as she. He tossed the large suitcase on the bed as though it weighed nothing and unzipped it quickly, pulling off his sopping wet shirt like he was alone.
Surprised, she turned around, but not before the sight of familiar muscles on his back and the deep, strong line of his spine burned itself into her brain. She stared at the shiny orange and cream wallpaper, heart skipping despite herself. I’m in trouble. Get out of here. Leave now! “There’s a phone here. Want me to call a two truck…I mean, a tow truck?”
“In a minute,” he said over the sound of wet jeans tugging down his legs. She shut her eyes and shuffled soggy feet. “You want a new pair of socks?” he asked her at the sound of sloshing.
She waved over her shoulder. “Huh? Oh, no. I’m fine.” She could feel him standing there naked. Her body knew it no matter how much she stayed glued to the horrid wall. Her cells had lit up with that old fire and she kneaded her coat with both hands, bobbing in place like a child.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay. I’ll be here,” she squeaked.
Footsteps. The bathroom door opened and shut. Released from suspense, she deeply exhaled and turned around.
There he stood naked and hard in front of the closed door, having tricked her. She gasped, her hand fluttering up to her parted lips. His eyes were filled with the old lust she remembered so well, and they seemed lighter than they usually were. He strode swiftly to her and pulled her up by the backs of her thighs as he shoved her against the horrible wallpaper and enveloped her mouth with his own. It was the roughest, most passionate kiss of her life.
With her heart gripped in pain, she slipped weak arms around his neck as
her body eagerly responded to him. All the years they’d been apart were spoken through rough, gasping kisses. They grunted and moaned as he grinded against her jeans desperately. He set her down with a thud and hurriedly ripped her t-shirt. He groped her breasts and pulled them out of her favorite bra, then broke it, too, tearing it in half, all the while panting against her open lips. He lunged down to take one pink, tight crest in his mouth, biting it before he moved to the next for a moist hot lapping. She couldn’t breathe. The longing between her thighs was so insistent she wrapped a leg around his hip to grind on it, clawing scratch marks into his shoulders. He groaned as she broke skin, and came back up to take her mouth in his like he hadn’t kissed anyone since he’d been with her.
He pulled away to yank off her jeans. She helped him, kicking them off as he literally tore her matching blue panties right off her body. In an instant she was lifted up again, her naked legs wrapped around him, her pussy drenched and throbbing. He entered her in one very deep thrust, both of them crying out in their own unique ways.
He wouldn’t look at her.
She knew why.
She’d betrayed him. How she wished she could take it back now.
She closed her eyes and took his kisses when he gave them, knowing the best way to say she was sorry was to open her whole body to him to be taken as roughly as he wanted. He began to work her with circles then hard plunging beats, then side thrusts and more circles, faster then slower then faster again. His body dictated all of it. His mind was no longer in control.
He pulled out, picked her up and threw her onto the bed. Stunned that he could toss her like a rag doll and for such a distance, she bounced on her stomach and looked over her shoulder as he advanced on her. He grabbed her feet, flipped her around so they were facing each other and entered her on his knees, bringing her ankles to rest on his collarbone. He could reach so much deeper in this position and she could barely take his length. Barely able to handle his hard length, she threw her hands over her head and grabbed the bed frame. He rammed her so hard the bed jammed against the wall over and over. People banged on the other side until he shouted with authority, “Shut the fuck up!”
Werewolves of New York: Dontae Page 4