Secret Wolf: A Steamy Werewolf Romance

by Dancer Vane

  But then, I would have some flashback of the night before punching me in the stomach - oh God, his face as he thrust and shoved his cock in this girl, rough and dirty - and would almost moan aloud in dismay and lust. Whenever I remembered him naked under the harsh light, the planes and angles of his body, it was so easy to believe he wasn’t quite human.

  There were moments I wanted to drop on my knees in front of him, and moments when I huffed at him because he had forgotten a tray below, or brought up more ganache éclairs when I had told him we needed more of the pistachio ones. What people saw in this pale green cream, I wasn’t sure, but the fancier confections were the ones that sold best. And Blake, I swear, was distracted.

  Then again, if I was sleep deprived, so was he. The difference was probably that I felt sexually frustrated as well, all hot and bothered around him, and he clearly wasn’t.

  I wondered about the girl from the night before. I didn’t get the feeling there was a relationship there, a real connection. Because… wishful thinking will do that.

  I felt a desperate need to talk with him about all this — and by this, I mean the werewolves stories, of course, not the part where I spied on him in a private moment.

  What did I expect, though, that he would reassure me? If he realised I took seriously such crazy stories… worse, that I believed he could be some kind of shape-shifting monster… it was not reassurance, that he would give me.

  A scorning look. A spanking? Really, I was becoming crazy. And uncomfortably aroused. Working shoulder to shoulder with that man was bad for my sanity.

  I knew he wouldn’t spank me, no matter how appealing the idea — just joking… of course — but I even missed his clipped tones and harsh comments.

  I realised his voice, when it became stern and demanding, went straight through my belly. No… lower. And if he made me wet when he chided me, or ordered me around, then I had a serious problem. That went beyond the fact that I owned very little underwear and had to do laundry every day.

  And I couldn’t leave the job. That would have been safer, no doubt. But I felt despair, real loss, at the idea of looking for another job. I wasn’t trained or qualified to do much, so it was unlikely I would find another place easily, but… it wasn’t even the point. I couldn’t bear the idea of not seing him every day anymore.

  Mid-morning, Blake sent me downstairs to bring up more croissants. But then he must not have trusted me to know what a croissant was, because suddenly he was just behind me in the basement baking room, seeming to have forgotten what he had come for.

  Yet, he was the one to say:

  “You’re distracted today.”

  “You too,” I replied evenly.

  He scoffed, and his gaze ran along the countertop, clearly looking for something, but then he replied: “True.”

  “Girlfriend trouble?”

  “What makes you think I have a girlfriend?”

  I made a face:

  “Nah, you’re right. I don’t believe anyone could stand this temper of yours.”

  There was a flare of something in his eyes, something dangerous, and suddenly I had my back to the wall, and his tall, hard body in my personal space. His voice was a dry whisper against my ear:

  “Watch out for my temper.”

  Right. I only meant… but suddenly, with his body heat so close I could practically feel it in my cheeks, and his breath making the fine hair on my neck take flight, I wasn’t sure what I had meant.

  I felt the dangerous temptation to goad him, to push him further. It felt suicidal and turned me on. The clear mark of a crazy mind, or a body that didn’t know when to back off.

  “What should I be afraid of?” I asked jokingly — though my throat felt a bit tight. “Just to know the warning signs.”

  He took one small step forward, and now he wasn’t just in my personal space, his body was practically brushing against mine. My own body took notice.

  He lowered his head against my neck. What was he doing… inhaling my scent? Could he smell pheromones? His teeth grazed the lobe of my ear.

  God, he smelled good. He still hadn’t had that shower he took in his office in the morning, and he smelled like woods in the rain and wilderness, with a hint of musk and clean sweat. His hair looked like he’d been in a fight, and his white shirt was open on his chest maybe a button more than usual, revealing silky skin and a few blond hairs — it felt so intimate I had to look away.

  “I need to get some manners into you,” he growled.

  Yeah. Manners.

  In a second, he was going to recover his senses and leave me there. The idea seemed so painful, I found the courage to reach for him. My fingers found his belt, and pulled him slightly against me.

  He didn’t need more of a hint. His crotch pressed against my lower belly — oh God, no, his erection pressed into me, and I heard a tiny moan I hadn’t meant to let out.

  He thrust his hips softly, playfully, and I welcomed this hardness against my stomach… His eyes were closed and he bit his lower lip. Maybe he was thinking of that other girl, picturing someone else as he placed his hands against the wall on each side of my head, trapping me between the wall and his heat. Not that I was trying to escape.

  Although… why did I feel this need to provoke him, to make him force me, restrain me? I was an adult and I wanted him, I could live with that. Why was it then that I wanted him to be harsh, to take what he wanted, or… to punish me? Gentleness was good, but I wanted him to let go of his control, his self-possession, and give in to his need to dominate me, to demand and be obeyed…

  “Be careful what you start,” he whispered in my ear.

  And before I could react, he straightened, readjusted his jeans, and took two wide steps away from me.

  “Don’t forget what I sent you here for,” he snapped, and he left the small room in two easy strides, running his hand through his hair. And I’ll be damned if that didn’t look a lot like running away.

  Chapter Eleven

  BLAKE

  I almost lost my self-control. Almost.

  I wish I could say it was her fault. That she was provoking me on purpose, goading me. But I’m the one in charge here, and I have no excuse. That kid trying to make me lose my shit isn’t an excuse. I’m older. I know better.

  And I spent the night fucking. Shouldn’t that be enough to make sure I can keep it in my pants today? Because that was the whole point of it, and apparently, it only made things worse.

  I was counting on being sexually sated, but I should have known that never lasts.

  I made a point of finding a girl who wouldn’t remind me of Alanna, who didn’t look at all like her. I thought I was doing well. Not having a ton of fun, but I love sex anyway, so not exactly complaining, either. But when I looked up and I saw her…

  Hiding in the dark beneath the oak tree, as if she thought she was a fucking ghost, as if she believed she was transparent enough, and to human eyes I guess she was. But I hunt in the dark, and when I saw her standing there, eyes wide and breasts heaving, I suddenly remembered what I am. A predator. Top of the food chain.

  I saw her looking, watching us, and my cock seemed to swell and harden even more. I closed my eyes and it was her I pictured when I fucked that girl, knowing Alanna was watching, and pretending to myself it was her. I’m not encumbered by modesty — and I wanted to show her what she was missing.

  Cari seemed to love it. She likes it rough and hard, she likes it when I’m angry, that’s why we always get along so well. I tend to be angry a lot.

  That wasn’t a good idea, because now memories get mixed in my mind, of Cari, and of fucking the little white rabbit who watched us with wide blue eyes.

  Her mouth was slightly open as she stood under the oak tree and I wanted to force her on her knees and shove my cock in this pretty mouth, make her take it and suck me. And of course, after that — after coming pretending it was her I was burying my cock into, and her who gasped and her walls clenching over it — I had to come to
work this morning and here she was, and all I wanted to do was to grab her and ask her how she enjoyed the fucking show.

  But I’m stronger than that, am I? Just when I was going to my office to shower and calm down — it has become a habit recently, to take advantage of that early shower to “calm down” — I noticed Grant’s message.

  I wanted to kill the two assholes who tried to rape her. Go hunt them and see them bleed. But instead I had to ask her to a table with me and tell her these two guys had managed to hurt her more, deeper, than I ever expected.

  I thought they would scuttle away, with the imprint of my teeth in his leg for one, and the smell of his own piss for the other, and would never dare again.

  But they did worse. They took from her her home, her safe place, and all she owned. Including her wardrobe. Not that she was parading around, in her charity-shop version of last year’s fashion — or ten year’s ago fashion, to be accurate — but as long as she could dress herself in the morning, she had some normalcy in her life.

  Now I want to raid some designer for her, but she would never accept any of it. I want to give her a gift card from some clothing shop women like, but it would be completely inappropriate. I want to buy her lingerie and I can imagine how that would look. Not creepy at all.

  So I sat her down and inhaled her fresh scent — not trembling rabbit, in spite of how she looked last night, but clean skin and warm blood pulsing in her neck, arousal and a hint of fear, that scent — and I had to tell her that in some ways, in many ways, the lowlives had won.

  For now. Wait until I find them.

  Down there next to the ovens, later, I almost lost it. I can’t even say why; maybe because she’s never given me an overture, and suddenly she was… what? Flirting? Provoking me? That girl has a death wish. Or… a fuck-wish. I’m strong, but I’m no saint.

  I want to protect her. With claws and teeth. But at the same time I want to hear my skin slap against her ass when I take her, and be rougher and harsher with her than with anyone before.

  That girl wakes up something in me that I’ve known for a long time, but that I kept under control, under wraps, never let free completely. She makes me want to force my cock inside her, and slap this creamy ass, and have her squeal and squirm under me. She makes me want to hurt her and make her come in my arms in a little shuddering puddle.

  At first I thought she was weak, but she isn’t. There’s no fun in bossing around someone who will just take it. I like how she resists, how she talks back, how she scoffs at me, not suspecting how close I am to bending her over the countertop and ripping her panties under that thin dress of hers, and slapping her ass until she begs me to fuck her.

  When my heart is pounding so hard she should hear it and be afraid, with my cock struggling against my jeans, the only thing I can do to keep myself calm is think “later.” Later. Someday soon. Then guilt strangles me, because she’s so young, and alone in the world, and she needs her job and a roof over her head.

  I can’t ask anything from her because she can’t refuse. I can’t, because others have before and I want her to know another life, to be safe, to know she’s safe. To know I’ll take nothing she doesn’t want to give.

  But she can’t know anything of the sort, not when I’m the one paying her salary and owning the house she lives in.

  I’ve been strong last night. I’ve been strong, because all I wanted was to walk to that bay window, slide it open and grab the little rabbit cowering outside, and show her who’s her boss, in every meaning of the term. Stuff her full of me until she came for me, her pussy grabbing my cock as she came.

  I’ve been strong, but how long will I be able to?

  Chapter Twelve

  ALANNA

  After such a day, it was a relief when Blake left for the evening, and I was alone in the shop. I was glad we had a lot of clients this afternoon, keeping me busy right until closing time.

  That evening, I could feel how little sleep I had had the night before, and the nervous tension of the day. I skipped dinner, replaced it by a glass of milk, and went to bed early, too tired to think about my frustrating boss anymore.

  The next morning was a Monday, so I didn’t work. I woke up late, and stretched luxuriously in my bed. It was good to not be up at dawn. If I hadn’t been hungry, I would have stayed in bed with a book, just enjoying not being on my feet, for once.

  I made myself some cheese on toast. Contrary to Blake’s beliefs, I didn’t have a sweet tooth. I just hadn’t been raised to turn down free muffins.

  Then I showered and put my pyjamas back on.

  But then I remembered all the good stuff that I hadn’t sold the day before. Most of it wouldn’t hold.

  I had frozen a few muffins and French madeleines, knowing they would be fine once toasted; but now I knew Blake’s views on frozen muffins… as for the most delicate stuff, the flaky, creamy, subtle one, I had placed the few pieces that were left carefully in the refrigerated cabinet, but there was little chance they would hold until we reopened. The crust would be soggy, at least, and some of the creams had a tendency to separate overnight.

  So I decided to ride the bus to the bakery, after dressing quickly. I let myself in with the key still hidden in the alley, and I prepared an XL-box for my friends at the trailer park. No need to let good food go to waste.

  Mr. Burr and Mrs. Betty were sitting outside the trailers when I walked by. They both sat at Mrs. Betty folding camping table, on her faded striped camping chairs. They both tried to rise to greet me, but the chairs didn’t quite allow for ease of movement. I hugged each of them while telling them not to stand, and left the big box of the table.

  “We’re not opening today, and this won’t keep…”

  Mrs. Betty opened the box, and they coed over it like you’d expect over a newborn. Both of them were slim, trim, and diabetes-free, but even then, I felt guilty about bringing them the equivalent of three pounds of sugar and cream.

  “Stay with us a moment, darling, will you? I’ll make coffee.”

  Mrs. Betty left us to climb the steps to her trailer. Mr. Burr sat back and turned his face to the pale autumn sun, eyes closing. He had a dry cough, that sounded painful.

  “There have been people around, asking for you.”

  Taken aback, I didn’t hide my surprise.

  “Seriously?”

  “A ton of people. First the police; I wasn’t there. Mrs. Betty will tell you more. The next day, that guy. That one wasn’t police. He wanted to know about you.”

  I thought of the two drunks and shivered. The police must have spoken with them, since they had given an alibi; they must have been seriously pissed-off. If they hadn’t set my home on fire in the first place, being accused of it wouldn’t have endeared me to them.

  But Mr. Burr didn’t say more. Eyes closed, he seemed to enjoy the sun on his face. It might be one of the last sunny afternoons of the season. The sky was blue, but there was already a shiver in the air, a smell of snow brought down from the mountains by a slight breeze. Autumn was going to turn soon into something harsher.

  Mrs. Betty came back after a while, Italian coffee-maker in hand, and I rose to help her get the cups. She went back for sugar lumps and spoons. Mr. Burr didn’t move.

  “Tell her about the police, darling.”

  “Yes! There were two of them. A young pretty one, and one of Tom Decca’s boys. The eldest, I think. He’s a good kid.”

  Mr. Burr coughed. “Well, the kid is over fifty now, so for a girl like Alanna, it’s just old geezers, I guess.”

  “I went to school with Tom Decca,” Mrs. Betty protested. “They were good kids, the whole family. Anyway, you shouldn’t be worried; we didn’t tell them anything.”

  She served the coffee. I waited until everyone had their sugar, their spoon. Rituals. You’ve got to respect them.

  “What do you mean, you didn’t tell them anything? I have nothing to hide.”

  “Well. No.” They exchanged a glance.

  I h
ad to insist:

  “I’m not hiding anything from the police. They came because they’re looking for the guys who burned my trailer, I guess.” My voice sounded more nervous than I would have liked.

  I knew I had done nothing wrong; but I was still an outsider, the new person in town. I knew from experience how quickly things could sour in small towns. I couldn’t afford suspicion.

  “We know that, darling,” Mrs Betty soothed me. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Mr. Burr didn’t seem so sure. “Well girl, you sure run with a strange crowd.”

  I gaped at him. He went on, his hoarse smoker’s voice marginally softer.

  “Not that I judge.” His face clearly expressed that he did. “I imagine they were born like that or something. But it’s not natural, I say.”

  “Them?”

  “You know what I mean. Who I’m talking about. There’s nothing wrong with them. I’m not judging. But we don’t have to… mingle with them. To each their own, I say. We shouldn’t mix. It’s not right.”

  I felt my heart miss a beat. Who was he to say what was right and what wasn’t?

  “To each their own? You’re speaking as if they had some strange perversion, or something. But they do nothing wrong. They’re just people.”

  Sure, yet neither him, nor me, could bring ourselves to say the word. What it was, that they were.

  “People with claws and teeth, my dear.”

  “Like humans don’t have them!”

  I guess his experience of humans wasn’t the same as mine, because he scoffed. “It’s not right,” he repeated.

  “Now let’s all be nice with each other,” Mrs. Betty scolded us, turning her spoon in her cup nervously. I made an effort to smile.

  “So I had a lot of visitors,” I guessed. “Just now that I don’t live here anymore.”

  “Well, yes, darling.” She turned her spoon in her cup with enthusiasm. “People looking for you. Did the police find you?”