Sheer Bliss

by Leigh Ellwood

  He offered her a wicked grin as she slid off him to undo her own jeans. “Not even going to lock the door? You’ve become more dangerous.”

  “If somebody walks in, I suppose I’ll become more popular, too.” Jeans and thong pooled at her feet, she stepped out of the puddle and helped the more reticent Caleb undress. “Lord knows I could use the business,” she added.

  Caleb’s jeans being tight around his thighs, they took a minute or two to work loose. Once free of them, the man had no trouble stripping off his briefs to reveal a long, thick cock bobbing to attention in a nest of dark curls. Delicious and dark, it glistened at the tip, which alerted Calla to the urgency of their desires. A long, slow oral orientation would have to wait…assuming the benefits stretched into the future.

  He rested back against the low chair, supporting his upper body by grasping the armrests. “You don’t need a reputation, however,” he said.

  “If it makes you feel any better, nobody can really see us for the register counter and other stations along this wall, and I’ll keep my shirt on. Okay?”

  If he appeared disappointed that she chose to keep her breasts covered, any hint of a frown twisted into a pleasured moan when Calla straddled him again and mounted his cock. No question, she wanted this—her wetness made it easy for his shaft to fill her.

  She balanced her frame on the balls of her feet and grasped the lip of the sink behind his head. Confident she wouldn’t collapse, she thrust her lower body up and down and squeezed her pussy muscles around his cock. The sensation of the raised veins and soft skin creating friction against her slick inner walls ignited a tingling that pooled more heat in her belly. Her clit, just brushing against Caleb’s curls with every downward turn, itched for more pressure.

  Caleb must have detected her frustration, or else watched her look down at where they were joined. One hand cupped her ass as though to guide her while the other reached under to fondle the burning nub. “Next time,” he said, his breathing labored, “in bed, and taking it slow. I want this sweet pussy in my mouth, bucking against me as you come again and again.”

  She focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as they fucked, and unconsciously picked up the pace. She wanted to come now, yes, but his words bothered her. If the idea of a “next time” encouraged her to end this time more quickly, she wished she could control herself. Between a desire to draw out their passions and plan future trysts, Calla’s feelings twisted in her mind and overloaded her senses. The faster she bounced on his cock, though, resolved everything for her.

  “Shit.” Caleb hissed through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m coming, babe.”

  He wasn’t kidding. Caleb stiffened like a board under her and, with a guttural roar that implied how strongly he held back his inner panther, pulsed hot seed into her. Calla arched back, pushing her filled pussy into his hand to cajole her orgasm, which teetered close to the edge. When she fell, her channel contracted and tightened around his cock, milking him to spent softness.

  Her feet slid from under her and she fell against his chest, heaving along with him as they embraced and kissed with parched lips. She listened to Caleb’s heart, a rapid tattoo that rivaled the loudest bass drum.

  “I think,” Caleb said slowly, sliding his hand up the inside of Calla’s blouse, “you should close the salon early.”

  “Yes,” said Calla, still leaning on him. “I think so, too.”

  Chapter Seven

  Calla taped a handwritten sign to the glass door, explaining how a “family emergency” forced the early closure of Shear Bliss. Whether or not anybody bought the mysterious excuse didn’t bother her, but she saw easily that her post-work plans disappointed Caleb.

  “Why won’t you let me come home with you?” he asked after she locked the door. “I was half-joking when I suggested this, but when you flipped over the Closed sign—”

  “I know, Caleb,” she broke in, “and believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to jump into some hot and heavy marathon sex.” She looked around the busy sidewalks quickly to make sure no passersby had overhead her, then checked her blouse for the umpteenth time to see it rightly secured. She hadn’t, though, bothered to smooth the tousles from her hair—nice way to advertise herself as a stylist.

  Caleb drew closer and slipped an arm around her waist. “I’m not done making love to you, Calla,” he said, low, in her ear. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and we’ve wasted enough time denying our feelings.”

  “I know.” She glanced at her watch—seven hours until the ball. She really hoped nobody thought to come over for a last-minute ’do for the big event. “It’s just…” she pulled away and beckoned him to follow. “Trisha left you high and dry, at least let me drive you home.”

  Calla watched him contemplate the offer. No way in hell would he shift in broad daylight to charge home. Eventually he agreed with a silent shrug and walked with her around the building to where all shop employees on the block parked their cars.

  Inside her two-door compact sedan, Caleb idly thumbed through the CDs in the center console. “Haven’t made the jump to satellite radio yet?”

  Calla caught his sideways grin. “Satellite radio is worth more than this car,” she shot back, “and I’ll thank you not to distract me. I’m driving you to your home then leaving.”

  “Calla.” Caleb sank back into his seat and tapped against the head rest. “Please don’t deny your feelings. What happened back there in your salon? If it didn’t feel right to either of us, I’d say yes, let’s just cut our losses and part with a decent memory. There’s more we have to explore here.”

  “I’m only driving you home, I’m not leaving town.” Calla idled at the edge of the small lot and checked for approaching cars before pulling out onto the main road. “I never said this would be a one-time thing, either, but I don’t want to rush back into something and risk getting hurt again.”

  “I promise, I won’t hurt you anymore.” Caleb sounded exhausted by the implication.

  Calla briefly reached over to squeeze his thigh. “Maybe that didn’t sound right. Caleb, the sex was amazing. I don’t regret it at all, but I don’t want to live the rest of my life thinking that I’m either serving as a substitute for Teresa, or that you only thought about me the whole time you were married to her. I told the truth earlier, I liked her. As much as I loved you, I didn’t want to be a home wrecker.”

  He said nothing in response. After two lengthy stoplights he drew in a heavy breath and exhaled, as though mustering courage to speak.

  “I never compared the two of you,” he said finally. Through her peripheral vision, Calla caught his sad smile. “If anything, I considered you and Teresa my two greatest loves, each coming at different, crucial stages in my life.”

  She returned full focus to the road in time to make the turn onto the road leading to the Houlihan home. She relaxed a bit, content that Caleb at least hadn’t spent his marriage stacking Teresa up against her in the lovemaking department all these years.

  His question, though, sent her foot to the floor and the car to a grinding halt.

  “Are you bisexual?”

  The sedan screeched to a stop in the middle of the street, and an angry horn blared from behind them. Calla sat numb and unmoved by the middle fingers thrust out from all windows of the pickup truck that swerved around them.

  Slowly she maneuvered the car over to the curb. “What makes you think that?”

  “Well…people talk. You know how it is in a small town. Blind items are easy to see.”

  “Yes.” Calla wouldn’t have doubted Maya contributed a few gems to the local grapevine. She bit her lip and mulled a way to dance around this sensitive subject, but saw no reason to close any doors. Caleb might learn the truth elsewhere, anyway.

  “No, but I have…experimented,” she said finally. “I guess it didn’t take.” She checked his face for a reaction—jealousy, interest, anger—but the man just nodded and gave a small smile she co
uldn’t quite decipher.

  “Just curious,” he said. “If you were, and wanted to further your exploration—”

  “Thanks, I’ve seen plenty.” Calla shifted back into drive and didn’t say another word until they pulled onto the Houlihan’s carport. Should she take his remark to mean he didn’t want an exclusive relationship?

  Or, did he hint at wanting to participate in Calla’s “exploration”?

  Ugh. Definitely, she couldn’t jump back into bed with him again, not right now. She had so much to sort out mentally.

  She turned to him with a benign grin. “Out you go,” she said. “Tell Sheila and Trisha I said hi.”

  “I won’t have to,” he said, getting out of the car and nodding toward the front of the house. Calla followed his gaze to where Sheila peered from living room window with a smile to rival that of Alice’s loony Cheshire.

  “Why does she look so damn happy?” she wondered aloud.

  “She must like my new shaven look.” Caleb rubbed his smooth chin. “Speaking of shaving—”

  “Close the door,” Calla said, weary. Caleb complied but didn’t back away.

  “See you tonight?” he called through the closed window.

  Calla nodded and put the car in reverse, still deciding how much of her he would see tonight.

  Chapter Eight

  Caleb entered the house and appraised his grinning aunt, who was still standing by the living room window, with an arched brow. “Should I expect any concerned calls from our neighbors about missing canaries?” he asked her, with no hint of amusement to his voice.

  Sheila Houlihan mock pouted and moved closer, taking care to exaggerate sniffing the air between them. “Why the sullen mood, Caleb? Given your recent, ah, activities, I’d think you’d go floating up the stairs, not caring what’s on my mind.”

  “Right.” Caleb backed away, though he knew damn well there was no use in lying about what transpired with Calla. Her scent lingered on him, plain as day for any shifter to detect—hell, even humans with good olfactory senses could tell.

  “I’d like to get in a shower before tonight,” he told her by way of a graceful departure. If his younger cousins were still at home, they didn’t need to pick up on this.

  “Don’t let me stop you. Is Calla coming back to pick you up?”

  “No.” Caleb started up the stairs.

  Sheila paused at the foot of the banister. “So you’re going over there.”

  “We aren’t going together, Aunt Sheila.” Caleb didn’t turn back. Wrong move on both counts—talking and walking. Soon heavy footfalls sounded behind him and Sheila tailed him to his bedroom.

  “Why not?” she demanded. “It’s obvious you two made some kind of connection. What did you do?”

  Caleb turned on her. “What makes you think I did or said anything?” He truly hoped to keep this tenuous relationship with Calla quiet. God forbid Sheila should meddle. “Calla asked that we take things slowly.”

  “You don’t smell slow.” Sheila smirked, folding her arms.

  “Calla and I have a history, you know that,” he said, calm. He loved his aunt, but damned if she didn’t get on his nerves. “There are parts of it she’d rather not repeat.”

  Sheila nodded. “I can understand that, but you aren’t promised to anyone now. There’s nothing standing in your way this time.” She moved closer to brace Caleb’s shoulders. “That Calla carries a recessive shifter gene is so fortuitous for us, Caleb. She’s still at an age where she can bear young, and your feelings for her have obviously resurrected. If she didn’t return them, I certainly wouldn’t detect her scent on you! What’s the holdup?”

  “Aunt Sheila.” Caleb gently shrugged free of her touch. “If it had been known when Calla and I were dating that she carried this gene, would Uncle Jim have released me of my arrangement with Teresa?”

  The question caught the older woman off guard, and her arms fell slack against her sides. She looked thoughtful, then frowned. “I-I don’t know,” she began, then with more resolve, “No. Teresa was full-blood. That trumps all.” She looked at her nephew with a long sigh. “You know, you never should have led Calla along in the first place.”

  “I loved her.”

  “She’s wonderful. I don’t blame you for it, but you’d always known your destiny.”

  Caleb nodded.

  “If it’s some comfort, though I know you also loved Teresa in your own way, you have this second chance. Not everybody gets one.”

  “What about you?” he asked suddenly.

  That caused Sheila to take a step back, as though threatened. “What? I’d only ever loved Jim, even before I knew we’d be mated.”

  Caleb shook his head and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. “No, I mean do you believe you will marry again?”

  “What’s the point? My childbearing days are over.”

  “Then marry for love,” Caleb pressed. “Let your children marry for love. When they’ve left the house maybe you won’t be alone because you’ll have somebody.”

  Sheila looked at him as though he’d slapped her. He should have expected such a reaction from his hard-line traditional aunt, but perhaps if he spent more time bringing her into the new century she might bend, and influence others in the pack to modernize as well.

  “I can’t believe you’d suggest I help in our extinction,” she said, obviously appalled.

  “Try to think of it more as sharing the best of ourselves.” Caleb kicked off his shoes and eyed his private bathroom, wanting a shower but still savoring the memory of Calla on his skin. “If Calla is recessive for shifting, other people are, too. Let Trisha, Dawn, and Robbie find one of them and fall in love.”

  Sheila scowled. “What if they find people who aren’t?”

  “Let them be happy, and live their lives.”

  “I need to get ready for the ball.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away. “I will worry about my children while you do well to court Calla Savitch.”

  “If I pursue Calla it’s because I love her. I couldn’t give a damn about her genetic makeup!” Caleb called after her.

  Sheila’s bedroom door slammed in reply.

  Chapter Nine

  An hour before the ball, Calla lingered in her shower. She’d just switched off the water and now stood tall and contented, allowing the steam to evaporate off her body. While the remaining water beaded on her skin, she reached for a half-empty bottle of baby oil and squeezed a generous amount in her cupped palm before splashing it across her opposite shoulder. She repeated the process over the rest of her body and took her time rubbing down her arms, legs, back and torso to silky smoothness. Satisfied, she quickly toweled dry and padded into her bedroom for an outfit to wear to the ball.

  Pausing just inside her walk-in closet, Calla let out a sad sigh and backed away. While the Indian Summer Ball represented an engagement party of sorts for select shifters of Bliss, local non-shifters attended as well to revel in the joyous occasion. Calla hadn’t attended every party, but when she did she knew not to expect anything to influence her love life. Tonight posed a problem.

  Matings between shifters were arranged early, sometimes when the prospective marrieds still wore diapers. The ball served mainly to present couples in a formal setting, not unlike a coming-out party. Nonetheless, it occurred to Calla that Caleb might use the event to coerce her into a commitment of sorts. Seeing Sheila when she dropped Caleb off at the house reminded her of the lady panther’s not-so-subtle encouragement—the woman wanted her at the ball tonight. Wanted her with Caleb, though she hadn’t said that out loud.

  She didn’t put Caleb up to taking Trisha to the salon today, did she?

  Calla shook away her suspicions. With Bliss being such a small town, she expected to run into Caleb often. Perhaps with her nephew on the market again, Sheila sought to pair him with anybody halfway acceptable just to get him out of the house. With three growing kids running around, the woman no doubt had enough headaches.

 
Calla, on the other hand, had no kids and nothing new to wear. Choosing to let fashion inspiration strike on its own, she remained nude and went downstairs for a glass of wine. She saw no need to be at the ball right when it started. Let Caleb stew a bit, she thought with a smile.

  Glass of Chardonnay in hand, she drifted over to the back glass doors and gazed with awe at the cloud-streaked sky. Cirrus strips cut soft swaths into deep shades of red and magenta—a true sailor’s delight, if Calla remembered her nautical lore. In the distance, gentle waves lapped against the empty shore, reminding Calla again how lucky she was to live in such a lovely part of the Garden State. Normally she’d see a die-hard beachcomber or two at this time of night, waving a metal detector over the sand, but not a soul occupied the area now. Everybody was probably getting ready for the ball or already there.

  A nice opportunity for fresh air, she realized, and took her wine out into her enclosed back yard. She relished the breeze coming in from the ocean as it washed over her bare skin. One thing she liked about living in this non-touristy part of the shore was the freedom to walk out in her altogether and not worry about attracting an audience. Her immediate neighbors rarely appeared outdoors on the beachside—and Calla often questioned why anybody would buy an oceanfront home and not take advantage of it—but if they saw her they kept quiet.

  Perhaps, she wondered, if they said something she’d put clothes on next time. Calla laughed aloud at the thought and drained her wineglass.

  Stepping closer to the brick wall, she recalled when Maya trotted up to her home in wolf form. Thinking about what she’d gleaned from shifter friends about how they lived and how shifting affected them physically and mentally, Calla nonetheless fantasized on occasion of transforming easily into a sleek, jungle cat and tearing down the shore. She loved to jog on the beach and did so early each morning, but imagined the added feline strength could propel her a greater distance, to the point where she felt she could soar.