by Daisy Banks
Though he’d been so sick, near dying, Sian had turned up with the one responsible for his injuries. He had known the animal who’d attacked him. The one who had delighted in menacing him with veiled threats while he lay helpless in a hospital bed, and the horrific beast, they were the same.
He wouldn’t always be defenseless. Every day he got stronger. Soon he’d be well. The arrogant creep she’d taken up with would find out Franklyn Gorsewell was no one’s yes-man. He smiled.
Yes. Squaring up to that thing, even if it came in wolf form, would be a pleasure. The disconcerting sensation of constant aggression, his heightened hearing, the acute sense of smell, the shivery strangeness building inside him, it would pass or he’d find a way to deal with it.
No one and nothing would come between him and his treasured muse. From the first day he’d seen her, so vital and perfect, she’d been his “darling girl.” The emerald-eyed, naive, little teenage minx the job center sent around had mesmerized him. He had hired her as his assistant on the spot. She was all his to adore, to teach, to entertain, the flawless unformed clay he could mold into the perfect woman.
Sian. His Sian.
Perhaps he’d indulged her too much. He’d sent her on a two-day-a-week training course for two years, had found her a decent place to live, and had gotten her out of the poxy bedsit she’d been in since she came down from Bath. Discovering she had lived alone since her mother had died, he’d never been stern with her, always sought to ease her worries and fears, had done so much to make her smile. He understood his mistake now. All the indulgence had turned her into a spoiled brat. He’d been so busy this past year, and she’d rocketed out of control. The last few months she’d turned uppity, and had lacked his guidance while she was at Darnwell. She’d even forced him to threaten to fire her.
He should have had her sooner and made her his.
If he’d been sensible about things rather than quite so caring, he’d have put his foot down about boyfriends when she had first taken one. He should have fucked her silly little brains out on a daily basis as soon as she’d hit her eighteenth birthday, not left it to some other lucky bastard to claim her virginity. He recalled the disappointment when he had discovered what she’d done. That was the opportunity to show her who was really the boss, but he hadn’t taken it. Being a thoughtful gentleman didn’t always bring its rewards. The regrets didn’t do much to help his mood, but a new wave of determination squashed them. He’d make up for the three years he’d lost since he’d bought her the silver eighteen badge.
The first chance he got, his cute Little Missy Armstrong would be bouncing her sweet cheeks in his bed or on his office chair. Whenever and wherever he wanted her, she’d be willing. Once he’d schooled her wild side, they’d be married before next year was out. He smiled at the image of Sian, naked and sweaty, her pert little tits jiggling as she pounded out her long-standing dues by grinding on his cock. How sweet she’d look. He massaged his swollen erection as it strained up toward the waistband of his tracksuit trousers. Sian would grunt and groan for him, too, her tight pussy stretched and slippery hot as he filled it. She would moan her pleasure.
Later.
He’d finish a long wank with her in mind, later. He had things to do first.
Heading into the kitchen, he faced the lure of the half-empty Scotch bottle. It was only mid-morning, but he could do with a belt. The alcohol’s interaction with the painkillers might prove enough to finish him, though. The Scotch would have to wait for another day. He filled the coffee machine, then waited, tapping at the counter until it produced the brew he needed. The milk in the plastic bottle had blue veining like ripe Stilton cheese. There was no need to open the top to take a whiff. He binned the milk and two monstrous hairy things, which might have been tomatoes. He carried his mug of black coffee through to the desecrated lounge where he sat facing away from the worst of the damage. Before he took a mouthful of coffee, he opened his laptop. While the log-on took an age, fourteen lots of updates to download, he drank the first decent cup of coffee since the attack, but the taste wasn’t quite right. Maybe the coffee had gone off while he was away. Once he got in, e-mails jammed his in-box, but he ignored them.
First thing was to get this place cleaned up. He’d book into a hotel for the rest of the month while repairs and redecorating went on here. Scrolling, he dismissed his usual hotel haunts. He’d stay in a quiet place where he’d be able to sleep in peace, somewhere he could dream. Soon he’d be at the stage he wouldn’t need the mind numbing drugs to help him sleep. He punched in the credit card details as he booked a room. His muse—she better look out. He’d find her in the dreams, haunt her every moment until she opened her legs for him, and when she did, he’d make sure she entertained his cock majestically.
He’d start by giving her fantasy nights so she’d wake up wet because of him. That would do until he got to fuck her for real. His cock gave another throb as he stroked it.
Oh, yes, she’d love it all. Maybe he could manage more than once or twice if he flipped the dream sequences.
When she was back in the office, where she should be, he’d stifle any excuses, hold her tight in his arms and kiss her before he gave her pussy the kind of workout she’d never forget. Maybe he’d lift her shirt, stroke over her tits, or put his hand up her skirt to massage her ass, before he sent the other girls out of the office for a break. Either way, he’d make sure he did something to give Evie and Jess a good idea of just what Sian was about to get. She could babble as much as she liked about their relationship being solely business, but she’d never be able to deny he’d fucked her after the other girls saw her tits in his hands. Each single member of the Gorsewell production team would know she’d given him everything he wanted.
Perhaps if he timed things perfectly for their first fuck, when the other girls got back from their break, Sian would have her long legs hooked up over his shoulders. He’d be humping her ass on the desk. She’d come hot and hard, yelping and screeching her delight. She’d beg him to fill her. Fabulous.
His muse was going to wail like a she-cat when she came. He could hear the delightful sounds she’d make as he enjoyed a full recompense for all the fucks they’d missed the last three years. His breathing snapped to a faster rhythm. He dumped the laptop on the small table. He was ready for her so he eased his trousers down. He closed his eyes as he laced his fingers about his cock, pictured Sian, her face contorted in orgasmic pleasure while she rode him, naked, with her pretty tits bouncing. She’d hump like a bitch.
A fresh surge of blissful throbs pulsed the length of his cock in response to her trembling pleasure cries in his office. He’d have her legs spread so wide they’d straddle the arms of his chair to make a bold offering of her pussy for his pleasure. How she’d howl. “Ohh! Ooo! Ohh! You’re the best, Franklyn! Ooo. Ohh. Ohh. Yes! Franklyn, you’re the bessst!”
Tension swelled through him. He pumped hard at his cock, beating the meat as the up-swell of spunk burbled in his balls. He’d fuck her so she passed out, so she screamed in pleasure, so she came as hard and fast as he…. The cry of orgasm burned his throat. Hot, wet jets spurted through his fingers.
Even as a wank, she was perfect. He had to have her, he must, no one could match her. He wiped his wet and sticky palm on a wad of tissue and cleaned his stomach, loving her for the fabulous fuck she was.
As for the current hulk of a boyfriend, he may well wind up dead. Franklyn Gorsewell had friends, lots of them, useful friends who didn’t ask too many questions, and he always got what he wanted.
Chapter 7
Dressing for their Bonfire Night dinner on the 5th of November seemed an activity both familiar, yet also recalled from the distant past. Tonight, Magnus discovered his trouser waistband was a little loose. No doubt he needed a new dinner suit. He glanced to the jacket on the hanger. The lining, too, didn’t please him. The lime green satin, patterned with brown circles, no longer sp
oke of sophistication. He should go back into the local town to pick up the new jacket he’d ordered. In fact, he might order a complete new wardrobe.
Sian would forgive him his lack of current fashion sense as she had forgiven him in matters far more complex. She hadn’t fled at his confession of what he was, and even though she’d not hidden her natural fears at the prospect of facing “the beast,” she’d listened and accepted him.
Since that day, he’d done all he could to convince Sian that no matter what, she was and would always be his love.
Now there was the problem in a nutshell.
His reflection wavered in the ancient mirror as he tweaked to straighten his bow tie, and once more, he examined the options concerning Sian. He couldn’t give her up, such a course was impossible, but nor could he yet face taking the step to make her like him for eternity. She deserved choices, needed the time to experience more of the world, of life as a young woman without the burden of centuries to consider, and the trials of transforming to wolf-form with all the needs the creature demanded, satisfied once a month. She must have the chance to leave him, if she wished.
No experience had yet stolen her faith in the future. He’d not be the one to inflict that loss on her.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to accept my word for now and have a little patience for what you think you desire.” Her reaction would be familiar if he said those words to her tonight. The involuntary expression she was unaware she made and her wide appealing gaze would caress him. If he didn’t take care, she’d wheedle a promise of further discussions on the subject.
He no longer smiled as he set the silk cummerbund around his waist.
By making her wait, he risked losing Sian forever. He had to accept the possibility. The thought of her loss chilled his heart, but he had no right to demand more of her. Though she might believe she’d be willing to give him everything, he’d no wish to live with her bitter recriminations a hundred years hence if it turned out she wasn’t. They had years until the decision might become imperative to slow her aging. Somehow, when the filming was completed, he would take her mind from the worries that belonged in the future.
He pulled on his dinner jacket and shrugged his shoulders to make sure there were no wrinkles in the fabric.
No wonder Sian seemed tense at present. What with the discovery of his possible relationship to Martha Raynalds, the vile intrusion of Gorsewell into her dream, and all the preparations for the filming, she’d a lot on her mind. Her understanding of him as the wolf must also take a toll. Not many individuals could assimilate such knowledge without it twisting their opinion of him. Experience had taught him that much.
Tonight’s entertainment would take her mind from some of her concerns, perhaps. When they retired this evening, he’d do his damndest to use pleasure to blot everything from her thoughts. He pulled on his wristwatch, six-forty. There’d be time for a glass of sherry before dinner. The door to her tiny dressing room remained closed, and he’d no doubt she’d stay in there until he left their room.
“I’ll meet you in the yellow drawing room,” he called before he made his way out to the stairs.
* * * *
Sian squinted into the mirror, trailing her eyeliner along one lid. She double-checked, then swapped closed eyelids and did the other. The effect hit the spot she wanted. She’d not worn her evening face while she’d been at the house with Magnus. They’d both preferred to dine casually each evening. What with the preparation she’d done for the first transformation, and then the second, along with their discussions about the ongoing renovations to the house, the search for suitable antiques, there always seemed something to occupy them. Dressing in her best for dinner tonight would be a fun alternative. Even if she’d have to swap her heels for Wellington’s when they went to the firework display.
The gown she’d picked hung on a hanger on the door. Nothing too glitzy, nor her favorite leather dress, were right this evening. Tonight she wanted feminine with a bit of umph behind it. Too much time sloping around the house in jeans and T-Shirts, so easy to fall into that trap. Magnus, when she first called at the house, had worn flannels and his brass-buttoned blazer with a crisp white shirt and a cravat. A retro look she loved, but he’d succumbed to her influence with the jeans. Once this week was over, she’d talk to him about it. He didn’t have to wear jeans to convince her of anything.
She smiled. One of the funniest things had been the day she came back here for the second time. After the glances he’d given her tutu and leggings on her first visit, a week later for their next appointment she’d worn her best cashmere business suit in an effort to impress. But when he opened the door, he’d been wearing jeans. A softness warmed through her, followed by the glow of desire at the recollections. Her business suit hadn’t lasted long. The extremely expensive trousers ended up on the floor of the pagoda along with his jeans. That day, the dreams lived.
God, they had been good together right from the start. She smeared on some lip-gloss and grimaced to make sure it hadn’t gravitated to her front teeth.
They needed to talk about so many issues. With the big problem of his longevity and her wish to become like him looming over them, their day-to-day conversations didn’t focus on small points. Slipping into the dress, she hooked up the front of the corseted bodice. Cost a darn fortune, this dress, from one of her favorite designers, but it was worth it, because it made the most of her assets. She’d worn it to the award ceremony in January and turned heads, not bad in A-list company.
She stepped into her heels. Though Magnus hadn’t said, she’d picked up he liked them. Each time she’d worn the crimson patent stilettos, he’d spent a great deal of time focused on her footwear. Tonight’s gift for him, her heels, was a starter, at least. Somehow, she’d say sorry properly for being a bit crazy the other day about the Martha Raynalds revelation. She shouldn’t have jumped to the usual conclusions. There wasn’t anything to be jealous about in him having a brief relationship with someone seventy years gone.
He hadn’t cheated on her.
The hurt came because she wanted him, not just wanted to screw him. Though she’d be happy to treat him to a weekend of love-making in her flat in London, she wanted so much more.
Tonight she’d apologize, tell him she forgave him for dropping his bombshell of news, and she’d do enough to make certain the only woman on his mind was her. She hoped.
Bonfire Night was special, had always been a night to look forward to when she was little, before her mother got ill. Every year they’d gone to Bonfire Night parties or to the big displays in the parks in Bath. Once she’d moved to London, the parties and the displays got bigger and better.
A piece of normality for her and a reminder for Magnus of the fun activities the year offered. She clipped on the pearl earrings that had been her gran’s. The creamy gems gleamed with a fabulous richness.
One last glance in the mirror. Yeah, she looked good. Maybe later, after the fancy dinner, she’d convince Magnus it was all going to be okay. Somehow, she had to do that more than anything else.
She made her way down to the drawing room and paused at the small portrait of his parents, as she did each time she walked the long corridor. The proud faces, the medieval pose and demeanor, made her wonder if she might have ever connected with this couple. Why did they leave their son alone when he wasn’t much more than a boy? Magnus had never said, but he’d needed them. Surely, times were different back then in a way people wouldn’t understand now. She certainly didn’t. “Not giving any secrets away tonight, are you?”
The pair remained as inscrutable as ever.
She strolled on and into the drawing room. “Oh, my, you look wonderful.”
“Thank you. A stunning gown. You are beautiful.”
She smiled and moved across the room to join him. “I’m glad you like the dress.”
“Sherry?”
“Pleas
e.”
He poured her a glass from the decanter on the sideboard and handed it over. “It’s not the dress—it’s you who are beautiful.”
She sipped from the small nineteenth century glass before giving him a light kiss on the jaw. The lippy didn’t mark his cologne-scented skin. “I’m looking forward to dinner tonight. From what I gather, it will be a sumptuous meal.”
“I believe so. I don’t understand what has prompted the culinary experimentation, but I’m sure we shall be the beneficiaries of all the work.”
She laughed. “Perhaps the ladies want to show off a little.”
“Yes.” The haunted look flashed in his eyes. “I rarely give them the opportunity to do that.”
“Exactly. So tonight we shall enjoy a wonderful meal.”
“Do you think they mind?” he asked.
“Mind cooking?”
“No. Do you think it disturbs them that I don’t have guests?”
She shook her head. “I doubt they’ve thought about it before now. It’s always been that way. Me being here has kind of shaken things up a bit.” She flashed him a smile.
Magnus slipped his arm around her waist. “I am most thankful for your presence.”
She slid her arm about his hip and squeezed. “I’m glad about that.” She glanced to the clock. “It’s just seven. They will be waiting for us, so I suggest we go, but before we do, I want to say sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“Yes, I was an absolute—” She puffed out a breath. “Yea, I was stupid to react the way I did about your news. I’m sorry.”
“I was clumsy. It won’t happen again.”
She shook her head, sidling closer to him. “No, it was my fault. You see, I sometimes forget the timescale you work on. Next time I’m about to have a hissy fit, I’ll make myself count to a thousand.”
