Werewolf in the North Woods

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “I was headed in that direction.” And now that the ibuprofen had hit her system, she might be able to do that without hobbling around like a cripple. She managed to stand upright with only one tiny gasp. She was proud of that.

  “You’re sore.” Roarke took a step toward her. “I wondered how you were doing, but when I heard someone outside the cave I got out there as soon as I could to keep them from potentially coming in.”

  “And I appreciate that. Who is it?”

  “His name’s Donald Smurtz and he’s looking for Bigfoot.”

  “Is he still out there?” She eyed her panties, which lay on the stone floor halfway between her and Roarke. Walking to the spot wouldn’t be so bad, but then she’d have to bend down and get them, and that kind of effort would hurt.

  “Yes. I invited him to join us.”

  “You what?” She forgot all about her panties. “Are you insane?”

  “Often, especially when you’re standing there without a stitch on.”

  “Sorry about that.” She started for her panties. “I’m moving a little slower this morning.”

  “Then let me help.” He reached the panties before she did and scooped them off the floor. Then he closed his eyes. “Oh, man. Maybe I won’t help, after all.” He looked directly at her.

  The intensity in his green eyes made her breath catch. Right on cue her body grew moist and ready for the kind of pleasure only her werewolf lover could provide. “I thought you said this Donald person was still out there.”

  Roarke stepped closer. “Yeah, but I told him we were honeymooners.”

  “Cute.” She backed away. “But I’m still not having sex with you while some stranger can listen in. Go be kinky with someone else.”

  Roarke kept advancing. “He won’t hear us. We’ll be quiet.”

  “Says you.” Her back met the cave wall. She was out of real estate.

  Roarke unzipped his fly as he closed the gap. “He’s not standing by the entrance. He’s relaxing on a rock a good fifty feet away eating fruit leather and checking his GPS.” He propped both hands on the cave wall, effectively caging her in as he leaned forward to kiss her. “Good morning, Abby.”

  What little resistance she had vanished the moment his lips touched hers. She kissed him back, and he absorbed her soft moan as he slipped a hand between her thighs.

  He lifted his mouth a fraction from hers as he caressed her. “Are you sore here?”

  “Not anymore.” Funny how the prospect of a climax could make a girl forget those pesky little aches and pains.

  His hand stilled and he drew back to look into her eyes. “What do you mean, not anymore? If you’re the least bit sore, then maybe we shouldn’t.”

  “For your information, I took ibuprofen, and if you don’t do me after getting me all worked up, Roarke Wallace, I’m going to march out of this cave and tell Ronald—”

  “Donald.” His eyes narrowed. “Just what are you threatening to tell Donald?”

  “That you’re—”

  “Careful, Abby.” His words vibrated with warning. “Don’t mess with me on this subject.”

  “Gay.”

  He snorted. “Allow me to neutralize that threat right now.” Grasping her hips, he lifted her against the cave wall and thrust home.

  She gasped, simultaneously wrapping her legs around his waist and clutching his shoulders to make sure she didn’t fall. She needn’t have worried. His steel grip held her perfectly in place. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  He stood there, his massive chest heaving and his cock buried to the hilt. “What was that again?”

  God, he was virile. She might be able to come just looking at him. “I retract my threat.”

  “I should hope so, but just in case…” Both his grip and his gaze were steady as he began to pump. “This should take care of any doubts.”

  “Go for it, professor.” She returned his steady gaze, but the rest of her spiraled quickly out of control. Each time he pushed deep, the friction sent waves of reaction through her quivering body. At first she felt the brush of denim along her thighs, but soon the furnace of her needs burned away every sensation except the rapid slide of his penis. As he stroked faster, she began to pant.

  “I love making you come.” He shifted the angle slightly and increased the tempo as his own breathing grew ragged.

  Ah, there. Right there. “And you…do it…so well.”

  “Your pupils are huge.”

  “Because I’m…oh, Roarke…” Her climax swept over her, wringing cries of delirious pleasure from her lips, cries that she was powerless to hold back.

  Roarke’s laugh of triumph changed to a groan of satisfaction as he drove forward once more and came in a hot, pulsing rush.

  Leaning his forehead against hers, he swore softly and breathlessly. “Too damn good,” he murmured. “Too effing good, Abby.” Slowly he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “And I’m not sure what we’re going to do about that.”

  She struggled for air and sanity. “Doesn’t look like…Ronald will be much of a…deterrent.”

  “Donald.”

  “Donald won’t be much of a deterrent.”

  Roarke sucked in air. “Apparently not.”

  “Did you think he would be?” Her breathing grew more even. “Is that why you invited him to tag along?”

  “Partly that.” He cleared his throat. “But mostly because he has some high-tech listening device that might track Bigfoot’s movements even better than I could. I was afraid he’d get there first, and we can’t allow that.”

  “How do you know he hasn’t taken off already?”

  “Because he’s lonesome and seemed thrilled to hook up with somebody, even if it turned out to be two honeymooners who would be shagging every chance they got.” Roarke leaned back and glanced at the spot where they were still joined. “Look at us. You’re soaked and I’ll have to change out of these jeans.”

  “And no rain to wash off in.”

  “No. It’s cleared up some.” His gaze returned to her face. “I didn’t count on this.”

  “Clear skies?”

  “Smartass. You know what I’m talking about. Sex so good I can’t stop.”

  She stroked a finger along his prickly jaw. “So don’t.”

  “Obviously I’m not making any effort in that direction.”

  She took a deep breath. “The way I look at it, we both know the parameters. You don’t want to hook up with a human, and I don’t want to hook up with a wolf. But for now, while we’re thrown together, we either give in to the chemistry, or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Go crazy.”

  He nodded. “Yep, that’s about how I had it figured, too.” He eased her slowly back to a standing position. “You okay?”

  “Wet but happy.”

  He pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to her. “You can use this, seeing as how we don’t have any rain. We do need to get back out there so I can introduce you to Donald.”

  “And who am I supposed to be, other than your bride?”

  “You can be Abby.”

  “Then I’ll be Abby Winchell.”

  He gave her an assessing look. “You’re not into taking your husband’s surname?”

  “No, as a matter of fact.”

  “Not even if we’re only pretending to be married?”

  “Not if we’re pretending and not if we’d done it for real. Not that we ever would,” she added immediately. She could feel tension in the air, both hers and his, and yet they were only talking hypothetically. Strange.

  “All right.” He didn’t sound pleased.

  “I’m guessing in your world that’s frowned upon.”

  “In my world you would become a member of the Wallace pack, and you’d be expected to take that name to designate your affiliation.”

  “And if you had a sister? Would her husband become a member of the Wallace pack and take her name?”

  He paused as if
considering that possibility. Finally he shook his head. “If I had a sister, she’d be strong like my mother, which means she’d need a dominant alpha by her side, someone who’d never settle for a subservient position in the Wallace pack. She’d join his pack and take his name.”

  “Well, seeing as how I’m not joining your pack, I’ll just be Abby Winchell, feminist bride.”

  He shrugged. “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “But it’s probably better if you don’t mention your connection to Earl.”

  “That goes without saying. That could lead to all sorts of problems. So, does this Donald person have a tent?”

  Roarke seemed happy to leave the subject of surnames and family connections as he took off his shoes and began shucking his jeans. “Does he ever. And he’s also the worst harmonica player in the world.”

  “How do you know that?” Abby wiped her thighs with Roarke’s extremely soft handkerchief. She glanced at the corner and saw that it was monogrammed. His middle name began with an A, and she made a mental note to ask about that later on.

  “I came upon the guy’s camp last night when I was out roaming the forest. I meant to tell you about him, but he soon became less important than…other things.” He sent her a heated glance.

  “Speaking of those other things, what should I do with this?” She held up his damp handkerchief.

  “I’ll take it. Carrying that in my pocket all day will keep your scent with me. I like that idea.”

  She shook her head in bewilderment. “I suppose it’s a werewolf thing.”

  “Yep. We’re all about enjoying the earthy scents.”

  “Seems to me the less we’re reminded of sex today the more likely we’ll get to the business at hand.” She began collecting her clothes from the floor of the cave.

  “You’re right, but if I have to put up with Donald, I’ll need to inject a little joy into my life. Especially if he pulls out that harmonica. Ayiyi.”

  “So you heard him play last night?”

  “Yes, if you define the word play very loosely.” Roarke pulled on the sweats he’d worn the night before. “He has a tin ear, but he’s convinced the sound of a harmonica will bring Bigfoot running, or rather his mate if she’s pregnant. He read somewhere that her hormones make her crave harmonica music.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Not that I know of. There are tons of crackpot theories out there, and this is one of them. I don’t think his damned harmonica will do anything except annoy the hell out of you and me.”

  “Then again, maybe his harmonica playing will effectively block out the sound of two people having sex.”

  Roarke gazed at her and slowly began to smile. “On second thought, I love that stupid harmonica.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Roarke got dressed faster than Abby did, so he quickly hauled out his safety razor and managed a quick shave. He’d worried about scratching her this morning, but he was also thinking of the future. He still had much to explore when it came to Abby.

  He’d promised himself to kiss all her freckles, and he hadn’t done that yet. He also had hidden riches to taste. He’d hate to irritate her sensitive thighs while he was savoring those riches.

  By the time he’d finished with his shave, Abby had her clothes on and was putting her hair in a ponytail. The gesture reminded him of last night in the rain, when she’d worked shampoo into her hair and caused her breasts to quiver with the motion.

  He’d be wise not to spend too much time thinking about last night, or the hot wetness of her this morning, when she’d insisted she wasn’t willing to have sex with him. She’d been more than willing, and he’d known it. She couldn’t fool him when his excellent sense of smell gave him all the information he’d ever need about her readiness.

  To think he’d expected Donald’s presence to slow them down. Hell, he’d very quickly realized he wanted to make Abby cry out during sex so that Donald would have no doubt Roarke was the alpha male around here. Even someone as geeky as Donald brought out Roarke’s need to mark his territory.

  But he hadn’t gone into the cave with sex on his mind. He’d only meant to see if Abby was awake so he could let her know his plans regarding Donald. Then he’d walked in on a werewolf’s fantasy—a naked, voluptuous woman on her hands and knees, facing away from him on the stone floor of a dimly lit cave.

  On top of that, her scrubbing action had made for some interesting hip movement, almost as if she were taunting him with her availability. Of course she hadn’t been. She didn’t understand the sexual subtleties of a werewolf’s mind, and probably wouldn’t have time enough to explore them.

  But thinking about Abby on the cave floor still got him hot, even though he’d just had sex with her. She had no idea what a temptation she’d unwittingly presented this morning. He deserved credit for not taking her on the spot.

  Sure, that action would have had serious consequences for both of them, but unexpectedly discovering her on all fours had awakened powerful instincts that he had trouble taming. He was already half in love with her, and that combined with lust could easily have trumped logic.

  Somehow he’d controlled himself. But when she’d continued to stand there in all her naked glory, he’d decided to claim his consolation prize. As consolation prizes went, it was a pretty good one, and certainly a safer route than the action that had instantly flashed into his head when he’d first glimpsed her bare and very provocative backside.

  “All righty.” Abby walked over as he was stowing his razor in his backpack. “I’m ready to meet Donald.”

  “Okay. I’m thinking after we get the introductions out of the way, the next step is coffee and breakfast.”

  She smiled at him. “Worked up an appetite, did you?”

  “You could say that.”

  “You shaved.” She touched his jaw. “Was that on my account?”

  “As a matter of fact.” He cradled her face in both hands and tipped it up so he could examine her freckled skin. “I irritated your skin a little when I kissed you this morning. I feel bad about that.”

  “No worries. I think you look kind of dashing with stubble.”

  “Thanks, but stubble gets in the way of certain activities.”

  “Like kissing?”

  Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over hers. “Like that. And…other fun stuff.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

  “Then imagine this.” He put his mouth close to her ear and told her in graphic detail what he had in mind for the next time they were alone and naked.

  “Roarke!” She pulled away from him and pretended to look shocked, but her eyes grew dark and sparkly. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

  “I never claimed to be. I’m a werewolf, Abby. We have voracious sexual appetites.”

  “That’s an understatement.” She fanned her pink cheeks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you of deliberately planting that idea in my head so I’d think about it all day.”

  “Me?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Will you think about it all day, Abby?”

  “Probably.”

  “Good.”

  Abby stepped out of the cave into the pearl-colored light of an overcast day. Mt. Hood, the most dominant feature of the area on a clear day, was still covered. But no moisture fell from the sky. She almost missed being pelted by raindrops. From now on, a rainy day would remind her of being here in the woods with Roarke.

  “Ah, there you are!” A pudgy guy in a bright orange sweat suit jumped down from the rock he’d been sitting on and walked toward her. His fluorescent green ball cap carried the slogan Bigfoot Lives! across the crown.

  She stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m Abby Winchell. And you must be Donald Smurtz.”

  “You’ve heard of me?” He pumped her hand enthusiastically. Behind thick lenses his eyes were a pale gray with surprisingly beautiful dark lashes.

  “From Roarke.”r />
  “Oh. I thought maybe you’d read some of my articles in Cryptozoology Today. I’m multi-published in that journal.”

  “Sorry.” She extricated her hand from his grip. “I’m new to the study of Bigfoot. So you came up here all by yourself?”

  “I did.” He puffed out his chest. “I thought of taking along my peeps on this quest, but then I told myself Donald, my boy, strike out on your own.”

  “Self-reliance is a good thing.” Abby glanced over at Roarke, who was standing to one side, arms folded, as he watched Donald’s performance.

  The performance obviously wasn’t over. Donald lifted one finger toward the sky. “I said to myself, be your own person, Donald Smurtz! Take that equipment you invented and prove that you’re an engineering phenom. Follow your heart!” Punching his fist into his chest, he promptly doubled over in a coughing fit.

  Abby moved toward him. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. Probably got some fruit leather caught in my throat.”

  “Let me help.” Abby moved into position and whacked him between the shoulder blades, but nothing popped out of his mouth. She pretended not to notice. “Better?”

  “Much.” Donald took a deep breath. “That fruit leather can be wicked stuff if you get a piece crosswise in your windpipe.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Donald straightened and adjusted his ball cap. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  “For what?”

  “Hel-lo. Marriage? Holy matrimony? The tie that binds?”

  Roarke stepped forward and put his arm around Abby. “You’ll have to forgive my bride. She’s still not accustomed to thinking of herself as a married woman, probably because the rings I ordered never arrived. So no engagement ring for Abby and no wedding rings for either of us.”

  She took note of how easily he created that story to explain the absence of rings. He was a smooth one, this Roarke Wallace. His story about not needing condoms better not be just another smooth lie. If she turned up pregnant with shape shifters, there would be hell to pay.

  For the time being, though, the arrangement was pure heaven. For the first time in her life, she could enjoy spontaneous sex. She thought about what had happened recently in the cave and wondered if Donald had heard any of it.