Her shoulders slumped in regret. Morton was right. It wasn’t his fault. “Sorry. This whole thing has me on edge. Do you have any idea how utterly fucked up it is to have Crosby look at me with anything other than bulging-eyed rage? I’m a little flipped out by it.”
Morton’s gray gaze softened. “It’s a little like starting over again. Isn’t it romantic?”
Ella flipped him the bird before she could stop herself, catching a glimpse of her now ringless finger. “The. Hell. There’ll be no starting anything, over or otherwise, Morton. So if that’s the pack’s hope by asking me to do this, they can blow me. The second Crosby remembers who I am, shit will surely fly. I can promise you that, and it’ll be loud, loud shit. I’m doing my duty to the pack because for the most part, they’ve let me be lately, and they said if I did this they’d return the favor by letting me move on.”
His chuckle was deep and amused, making his barrel-chest bounce beneath his suit. “Your duty… So it has nothing to do with the fact that when you heard Crosby was in a coma you were here in five seconds flat, the hair from your haphazard shift still poking out of your cotton nightgown and pink bunny slippers?”
She rolled her tongue in her cheek, her eyes shifting to the shiny floor to avoid Morton’s gaze. “The pack, especially Ernie, made it sound like he was going to die, for Christ’s sake. Crosby has in the past, and still can be, a complete and utter douche, but I don’t want him to die because of it. Well, not today anyway. Besides, at the very least, I wanted to punch him in his egomaniacal head one last time before he hit the great beyond. Just so he’d always have something to remember me by. You didn’t think I’d pass up a shot at that, did you?”
He chucked her under the chin with thick fingers. “You go right ahead and soothe yourself with whatever lie works. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about the close quarters you’ll be in together while Crosby remembers who the hell he is.”
“Look. The fact is, Crosby needs a babysitter. I’m the logical choice because I know him best, and I am a nurse—or was, until I took a leave of absence. I know how to deal with the potential for flashbacks and nightmares and all the stuff associated with an amnesiac paranormal. If I can help him return to his former arrogant, assaholic ways so the women of the world won’t be out one bad boy playah, I’m down.”
Mort cocked his silver-dusted head to the left. “You know, Crosby wasn’t the only one involved in that little misunderstanding.”
Ella’s spine stiffened at the memory. “I wasn’t the one who classified it as a ‘misunderstanding’. He was. I personally classified it as bullshit. So moving on. Forget about the close-quarters thing. Forget about the fact that Crosby Nash is a shit like no other. Let’s just focus on getting his memory back so he can remember whatever it is the pack so desperately needs to know.” She whipped a hand up, palm forward. “And no. I don’t want to know what pack business he’s got locked up tighter than Fort Knox in his head. It’s probably the longitude and latitude of Jimmy Hoffa’s resting place.”
Morton chuckled with that deep, indulgent warmth she was so familiar with. “Just remember I warned you this wasn’t a good idea. You’ll only be dredging up your own painful memories right along with his. You know; the ones you clearly like better left buried?”
Ella’s lips thinned and her head pounded out a beat she could dance to. “If doing this means the pack will grant me this one last wish, then I’m all in.”
“This magical thing you call a pack grants wishes?” Crosby asked, poking his head out of the bathroom door before strutting to stand beside her, tall, muscled and lean. “Badass… So how do I get in on that gig, and what do you want the pack to grant you?”
A guarantee there’d be no jail time for Crosby-slaughter? “The chance to spend every spare moment I have with you,” she said sweetly then shot Morton a glare to quiet his blustering cough. “C’mon, Oh Forgetful One. Group therapy awaits.” Ella pointed to the door and Crosby obediently loped out.
Mort grabbed her by the arm just as she was about to follow suit. His face had concern written into the wrinkles of his forehead and etched in his warm, sympathetic gaze. “I don’t like this, Ella. I’m worried you’ll kill Crosby before he has the chance to get his memory back. Or that you’ll end up hurt again.”
She shrugged, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “I’m going to be fine—I’m doing this for a reason, Mort, and one reason only. The pack and I have an agreement. Besides, I’ve already begun to move on. Nothing Crosby does will change that.” Yeah.
“By moving on, do you mean your little Twitter romance?”
It wasn’t little. It was just in the early stages. Though it had cooled a bit this week because her Twitter hottie had informed her he’d be away on a business trip with spotty Internet. “How do you know about my Twitter page?”
“You asked me to follow you, silly.”
Her grin was sheepish. “I only had three followers. I needed an even number or my OCD kicks in.”
Morton chuckled, pulling her into a tight hug. “I see all that flirting you’re doing with Hairofthedog.”
Ella grinned. Yeah, thank God for Twitter—The Paranormal Edition, where the rest of the world who tweeted thought the members were all just crazy supernatural wannabes who role-played.
Some wannabes, kids who thought it would be cool to be a vampire or a werewolf, had joined, but the genie with the high IQ who’d created the paranormal version of Twitter had a program to smoke the fakes out.
Morton looked down at her phone. “You don’t know a lot about him. How could you, in one hundred forty characters or less? Yet I can almost hear your girlish giggles when he tweets you.”
Ella blushed then frowned, tugging on the ends of her jacket. “Well, I knew plenty about Crosby, and look how that turned out? Our relationship was like Chernobyl and the Titanic mated and had evil twins. I figure it’s time to be less cautious and have some fun. My Twitter romance, as you call it, is fun.” And noncommittal. And, if she wished, easy to turn off with the click of her mouse. “And it’s not a romance. It’s just a flirtation as it stands right now. You know, dipping my toes into the shallow end of the single pool to see if the water’s fine.”
Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Morton chucked her under the chin once more. “I’m just asking you to be careful—on both the Crosby and the flirty Twitter front.”
Patting him on the back, Ella smiled, forcing her pending fears about Crosby coming home with her to STFU.
She was taking one for the team because, if she did as they asked, the pack was going to give her what she needed to end this once and for all.
Then she could Twitterpate to her heart’s desire.
Because she’d be free and easy down whatever road she chose.
Oh, and divorced—not a simple feat within all those pack rules.
Her stomach clenched as she left to find Crosby while she forced herself to summon up the memories of the Crosby of old. Cranky, stressed-out and uncommunicative.
That Crosby was going to be the end game.
She’d do well to keep that shit in mind.
Chapter Two
“Blood,” the pale, dark-haired man in the center of the “safe-share circle” began on a shiver, his robust body shuddering in ripples of his belly’s flesh, “makes me feel faint. I can’t even look at it. How am I supposed to live for an eternity if I can’t drink what keeps me alive?”
“Technically you’re not alive, Bernie,” Dr. Ellicott, a rare mixed species of vampire and werewolf, pointed out, calm and serene.
The scrape of chair legs resounded in Ella’s ears, alerting her to trouble.
“Yeah. And you blow chunks as a vampire, Bernie! I swear to God, one more session with the whine about sparkling in the sunlight and I’m takin’ you on your own personal Jesus trip,” a group member who was struggling with ogre anger management warned with a stubby finger, his enormous body full of palpable tension.
Dr. Ellicott whip
ped a warning paddle upward—the word “Caution” in bold black letters on a red background—making a whizzing noise of air. “Giuseppe,” he admonished, his sharp yet kind gaze darting in the ogre’s direction. “Everyone should feel safe when we’re in the circle. That includes Bernie. If you need to step outside the circle and go to the Contemplation Corner to direct your rage toward the punching bag, that’s certainly acceptable. However, I will warn you, pillaging the nurses’ station ever again while bellowing, ‘Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of Nurse No-Fun’ is absolutely unacceptable, and will bring with it solitary repercussion.”
Giuseppe grunted his displeasure, shrinking his at-least-seven-foot body down in his chair. “I’m just saying, not everything’s always about stupid Bernie. We all have problems and if I don’t get a grip on my anger, I can’t go back home to my farm, and I really want to go—home!” he shouted, stomping his foot, making the floor quake beneath their feet. “I can’t get better if we don’t stop letting Bernie and his fear of blood be the center of attention at every dumb session we have,” he huffed, crossing his massive arms over his chest and planting a pout on his wrinkled ogre face.
Crosby leaned into her during the disruption, the scent of the shower he’d taken with institutional soap wafting beneath her sensitive nostrils. His bare arm, sprinkled with dark hair, brushed hers. “There are ogres here,” he whispered, his tone tinged with obvious awe. “This—this—is all kinds of awesome.”
All kinds. Ella forced herself to remain still and ignore his boyish glee. “You’re up next. So prepare to share how frustrating it is to not remember who you are.”
“I’d rather share how frustrating it is to sit so close to you and smell your perfume. I can smell everything. Everything. It’s niiiice.” He sniffed her to make his point and grinned, sprouting deep grooves on either side of his mouth.
Ella lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with stern nurse eyes. “Would you like to also share with the group how frustrating it is when a woman kicks your ass because you can’t behave and show some courtesy to your fellow group members?”
“How did I luck out and get the thug babysitter?”
“Thugs R Us had an overstock sale. I was part of a twofer deal. The other thug was sent on a much more exciting thug mission, I hear. I knew I should have chosen paper instead of scissors. I could be in an opium den right now with a big, big gun. Instead, I’m in werewolf therapy with an amnesiac.”
Crosby’s grin widened rather than waned when she chastised him. “You have a great sense of humor. I like. It’s pretty hot.”
“You have amnesia, which I’m sure you don’t like. In fact, I’d bet it’s not so hot, either.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. Shitty, that. Hey. Who’s Hairofthedog?” He pointed to her cell phone and the tweets she’d been scrolling to see if anything new had come in from her budding Twitter wooer.
How awkward to be looking at old tweets from your potential Twitter-fair while your soon-to-be ex-mate looked over your shoulder but had no clue he was looking at his possible successor. “My OBGYN.”
“Your gynecologist’s Twitter user ID is Hairofthedog? Worse, you actually tweet your gynecologist?”
“You actually know what tweeting is?”
His mouth fell open in a perfect O of adorable confusion she had to look away from for the adorableness of it. “I guess I do.”
Dr. Ellicott’s voice thwarted further conversation when he called Crosby’s name. “Crosby Nash?”
Ella watched him closely for any response to his name, but he was slow to realize the doctor meant him. She nudged him with an elbow, waving a finger in the direction of the doctor. “That’s you, werewolf.”
Crosby instantly straightened in his chair, raising his eyes. “Um, yes. That’d be me—I think. I mean, that’s what they tell me. Everyone else seems to agree—so I’m going with the popular vote. Yes. I’m Crosby Nash.”
Ella fought a giggle, sliding down in her chair to check her Twitter account for any sign of Hairofthedog. She needed a diversion from this uncomplicated, happy-go-lucky Crosby. He was too much like the man she’d once fallen in love with, and instead of all the renewed boyish charm he was oozing grating her last nerve, it was giving her that butterfly effect in the pit of her belly.
Much like the ones she’d experienced when Hairofthedog had first tweeted her just a couple of weeks ago. Giggly, stupid, giddy, girlie butterflies.
Note to self. Buy sledgehammer and beat those Crosby butterfly bitches down.
* * * * *
Precisely one week later, Ella gasped for breath, clinging to the edge of her kitchen sink while Crosby drove his thick cock into her, stretching her, leaving her pussy greedily clenching around him. She wanted him to consume her, get under her skin and crawl in beside her. His lovemaking, his talented tongue and hands, hadn’t changed one iota since the last time they’d been intimate.
And she wanted it all. Now.
His large hands dug into the swells of her hips, pulling her tight against him with each slick thrust. The ripples of his sculpted stomach rasped against the flesh of her back, making her nipples hard with a sharp sting of pleasure. Sweat pooled between them and the slap of skin on skin was driving her mad, rushing to her ears and settling there in all its eroticism.
Crosby drove a hand into her hair, pulling it into his fist, tugging on it until her neck arched and his lips were at her ear. “God, you’re so tight—hot—wet,” he said on a harsh gasp, his voice warm and chocolaty in her ear.
Ella groaned, lifting herself on her toes to take in all of him, wrapping an arm around his neck, grinding against him while her cunt throbbed a white-hot, rhythmic beat of hopeless need. The lips of her swollen flesh pulsed; her clit ached for his fingertips.
His teeth grazed her shoulder, sinking into the flesh with a satisfied groan, making her buck against him with a husky scream. The edge of the sink dug into her abdomen; his thrusts were so forceful, yet she enveloped him like she was his personal glove. His cock grew inside her, swelling, stretching, filling, until the sweet pleasure-pain of orgasm began to tear at her gut.
Crosby’s breath grew choppier, hot and silky against her ear when he slid one hand around the front of her body. “Open your legs wide, Ella,” he demanded, sending hot ripples of anticipation straight to her nipples. “Spread them until you can’t spread them anymore. I have to put my hands on your sweet, sweet pussy. I need to feel how hot you are for me. I need your cunt,” he ordered on a rasp, spiking her desire to a new, frenzied height.
She did as he demanded, spreading her legs wide, arching her lower back so his cock was still imprisoned, and then his hands were all over her. Slipping between the folds of her lips, fingers gliding between them, spreading them open, dragging back and forth over her engorged clit until she straightened swiftly, the electric sizzle of sensation almost unbearable. Her moan was a whimper filled with a plea when he removed a finger and put it in his mouth. She heard him lick it, and trembled helplessly when he said, “So sweet—hot and sweet…”
Her arm tightened around Crosby’s neck, silently begging him to let her come or she’d die. Surely she’d die without relief within the next second.
But Crosby appeared to believe otherwise. He slowed his thrusts, leaving her mewling, tears stinging her eyes. His hands went to her breasts, cupping, rolling them in his big palms, tugging her nipples until her head thrashed against his. His mouth circled her earlobe. His next words were sinful and thick with desire.
“Bend all the way over, Ella. I want to see your pretty pussy when it sucks my cock dry.”
She fell forward upon his words, her body tight with tension. The cool steel of her sink against her arms and breasts brought with it her hiss, but Crosby made her forget the momentary discomfort when he planted his hands on her ass then reached between their bodies.
A brief moment of recollection hit her just then and it pierced her heart for mere seconds before she did what she knew Crosby wanted. S
lipping her hands between her legs, she felt for his fingers, fingers that would aid in driving his cock into her. Their fingertips touched and then he was jamming upward against her—into her, while they both caressed the base of his hot shaft with each stroke.
The memory flooded her senses, invaded them until she couldn’t see straight, couldn’t do anything but feel. Crosby used his free hand to give a light slap to her ass, leaned forward and nipped her back, letting his teeth run along the sensitive skin until she shuddered. She was so close—so close her chest burned and her heart thrashed a harsh beat.
As the tension coiled so tightly in her belly threatened to explode, Crosby leaned into her ear again. Nipping the lobe, he gritted out, “Suck my cock into your pussy, Ella. Fuck me hard. Make me God damn well come. I need you to…”
His words were the catalyst for the ticking time bomb within her. Rearing up against him, she drove her hips back, dragging his arms around her waist and pressing his hands to her breasts, entwining her fingers with his while she bucked wildly.
Crosby stilled inside her, the moment suspended, lingering, full of bittersweet memories. His whole body tensed, flexed so tight she felt each of his muscles react in increments, and then he was driving into her again, stealing her breath.
Her orgasm was a scream of pent-up need. It roared through her, tore upward until she almost couldn’t stand the pleasure it wrought. It was hard and edgy, with no light or shade to the full-on assault of pleasure. There was only the blazing sear of relief—a relief so sweet, her uterus clenched as she clung to his forearms and sweat blinded her vision.
Crosby’s body was heavy against hers, his chest heaving in and out against her back. He ran a hand over her forehead, pulling her head back to capture a kiss that made her heart clench with the tenderness of it.
Ella began to tremble, shudder after shudder racking her deep in her bones until she couldn’t hold on any longer. She sank to the floor, her fingers still clutching the countertop, and took deep, cleansing breaths.
Honey,I Shrunk the Werewolf Page 2
