Sanibel Heat -Werewolf Menage

by Scott, Talyn

  “I could spend a slow afternoon nibbling on your body, starting with your adorable ankles. It makes me rock hard looking at them. But then again,” he took a relaxing inhale against the crotch of his new, trophy panties, “your ankles aren’t the tastiest area of your body, are they?”

  She had had sex with Troy for years. He had never turned her on, over and inside out as Bren had. Never. A fully dressed Bren had accomplished it in less than five minutes. He shoved the panties in his front pocket.

  “What are you going to do with those?”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Tell me.”

  His voice strained. “You know what I’m going to do with them. It seems as though you just want me to say it out loud and give you the intimate details.” He lightly trailed a finger across her bottom lip. “Well, I’d rather show you. No? Then let’s get you back.” Without another word, Bren straightened her skirt and brought her to the table.

  Gage MacGelton was annoyed, more than annoyed. He was over the top enraged. Was not getting what he wanted, what he needed. She got him through the night, night after night. He had a taste for the real her, although he could never find her.

  He rolled in his king-sized bed as silken sheets draped his chiseled stomach. Gage was laden with a curse, one so bold yet so weak. Okay, so tonight it was weak. He craved her. It had been months since he had seen her live, more than twelve months. Months were too long, and the nights were too lonely. Where was his little plaything? He had watched her shower, dress, sleep, read, apply her makeup, paint her nails, talk on the phone, and masturbate. What more could a man need? After a year, he had traced her. Then, there was nothing. She was gone. No one in the house but her loser of a husband and his weekend flings.

  None of them was his golden princess. He should kill the asshole for scaring her away…should. He was still thinking about it. Because, if she were not where he could see her, then someone else must be with her, and that just wouldn’t do.

  No one could watch her, apart from him.

  Begrudgingly, he reached for his laptop and one of his hard drives. He wanted his live feeds, not reruns. However, this one was his favorite, a classic: vanilla sex. His golden princess appeared bored, almost sad. He peered closer and stilled the image on a teardrop that wet her cheek. His tongue darted out in response. Licking her would not be as enjoyable as watching, yet the saltiness of tears could always stimulate. Especially, if the tears were from his princess, he pressed play.

  “I just…I need release.” How sweet, she was desperate. “Please, I can’t wait.” She was begging.

  “Stop complaining.” Loser husband grunted between her legs and rolled on his back, all finished. “I’m tired and have an early day tomorrow.”

  “What about me?” She started to touch herself, but stopped.

  “I did you right, baby./fon Snores ensued.

  Ah, don’t cry princess, but she did. Every. Single. Time. Troy Hillman was a dick. That’s right Gage had a name. He had located his home, office, and girl friends’ shacks, church that he worshiped at; Gage had to roll his eyes on that one, and where he stored his speedboat. He understood that the speedboat was a necessity. Where else would the bikini-clad bimbos bounce their tits for Troy in public? After all, they had quit their stripper careers to work for Troy in his law firm. You had to hand it to a girl who gave her all.

  The silk brushed against Gage’s angry cock. It was gratifying to have loads of money that enabled him to buy the best private detective in the country. It was worth tens of thousands of dollars just to put a name to that sweet, angelic face. She was relaxing now, however, fitfully. Poor thing was horny as an eighteen-year-old boy. Unable to satisfy herself, she looked over at her husband’s sleeping form. Resentment wrinkled her precious nose.

  Gage blew a kiss at the screen. “I could help you, golden princess.” He rolled her name around on his tongue. Three months had passed since he had been enlightened with the information. Even though he still saved it for a particular occasion such as this. He rocked, stiffened, shuttered, and roared to the ceiling. Closing his eyes in orgasmic bliss, he called to her over the cries of his climax. “My Tatum,” he drifted off to sweet dreams.

  Ahead, they reached a clearing in the forest. Jayce’s smile twisted into a smirk as he stepped aside and revealed an angry Bren.

  Chapter 3

  Tatum was experiencing an asthma attack. With the pressure on her chest, she struggled to reach her purse. She hoped that it was on the nightstand. Up, up, plop. Plop? Instantly, her bronchial tubes cleared as she cracked open a sleepy eye to an angry hiss.

  “Julius,” Renee scolded from somewhere above. “Mommy wants you to be polite to our guest.

  “I thought I had an asthma attack.” Tatum’s lips were dry.

  “No, Julius needed to bond.” Renee plopped on the end of the bed. There wasn’t much room considering that it was a twin.

  “He slept on my chest?” She cracked open the other eye.

  “I forgot how cranky you were in the mornings.” Renee sat a cup on the nightstand. The smell reminded her of prunes, cabbage, and a touch of cardamom.

  The only way that Tatum would handle that cup was if it contained a double dose of caffeine. “What’s planned for today?”

  “You can start by brushing.” Renee arched a black eyebrow in her direction. “Then, get this; we are spending half the day at a spa.”

  “Neither one of us can afford that, try again.” Tatum was half-tempted to take a sip of the stinky whatever that was floating in the teacup.

  “Of course we can’t. Molly can…well now she can, since she’s marrying a partner in DiBosa and Associates.” Renee offered her a weak smile. “She’s paying for everyone, so, we’re not being singled out.”

  “Of course we’re not. I’ve never been to a spa.” Tatum thought about the spa bills that she was currently paying for such as derma something or another, waxes, massages, and pore vacuuming. If she were smart, she would ask her future brother n law to confront her ex toe to toe in a court of law and climb out of this mess. She wasn’t as smart as she thought, and humiliation carried a lifetime sentence.

  “I,” Renee looked sheepish, “have a Brazilian wax.”

  “Which means?”

  “Zip.”

  “Nada?” Tatum’s mouth formed a perfect o.

  “It’s silky, smooth and helpful.” Her sister waggled her eyebrows.

  “Helpful?”

  “You are the older one.” It was a matter of fact statement. “Why am I the one to explain?” She sat her matching, stinky cup down with a huff. “There is nothing in the way, sensitive. You’re guaranteed to go from zero to sixty in less than three minutes.”

  “Guaranteed?” Tatum reached for the cup. Desperate times called for anything with caffeine, even if it tasted like the bottom of a trash can.

  “You were restless last night.” Renee studied the circles under her sister’s eyes. “Kept kicking the walls, I’m surprised you’re not all bruised up.”

  “Yeah, well, we can blame that on the teeny mattress.” She swung her legs over the side for an experimental step.

  “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “I do. Let’s trade tonight, and I’ll sleep in the queen.” Tatum’s knees cracked in protest as she reached the door.

  “Bren Walker.” It hung out in the air.

  A stale moment separated them. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know him, and he’s interested. You could do worse you know.”

  “What you mean is that I have done worse. Listen, you do not need to match-make. I have other things to worry about, since I can barely cover my bills and need to work on myself.” Okay the last part was a little cliché.

  “Uh huh, he’s a hot piece of tail, and I would show him my Brazilian wax any day of the week, especially Saturday. I have extra energy on the weekends,” Renee smiled sweetly.

  She was not going to bite. “I need a shower. Please, t
ell me that you walked Sugar Baby.” There was no point in stepping into a pile of crap, since she had done enough of that already.

  “Yeah, but I haven’t run any bleach over the surface. Don’t worry, it wasn’t mushy.”

  “I can’t believe you have only one bathroom.” That was rude. “Never mind, I’m a bitch.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  Jayce was not in his jet. That made for an unhappy Jayce. An unhappy Jayce needed a sexual outlet. “Some clearance issues at Southwest Regional Airport. Yeah, I hate flying commercial.”

  “The flight is minutes, not hours. This does not sound like you, Jayce. It’s as if someone dropped an anvil on your balls.” Bren was overseeing the wedding planner, as she made the final preparations for a mid-morning beach ceremony.

  “You saw her.”

  “Ah, and now we get to the root of your ill mood.”

  “I don’t need a shrink,” Jayce snapped. The hottie sitting next to him tightened the hold on her purse.

  “I tasted her.”

  “Asshole.”

  “All night,” Bren turned his head left, then right to ensure his privacy, “it was innocent candy sweetness with a just a hint of salt.”

  Jayce groaned, “I officially hate you.”

  “Don’t put the hate to me, I only had her panties. Of course, they were soaked after our brief liaison on the deck. Still, I shot off like an animal, many, many times. And you know what, it was better than any lay.”

  “That’s pathetic.”

  “Not really. When you’re free of the metal bird, you’ll notice that Southwest Florida has brightened considerably in the past twenty four hours, more beautiful, incredibly sultry.”

  “You’re still in love.”

  “Sure am,” Bren nodded at the florist as he moved aside. The flower arrangements were hideous. He had a tense discussion with Madeline that morning when the delivery trucked arrived. She had assured him that the client had sent explicit instructions for color and flower combinations. It was an unfortunate case of floral indigestion, and he sincerely hoped that Gulf Shore Today didn’t show up to take photos.

  Silence.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, so you really never stopped loving her.” Jayce should be ashamed of himself. No self-righteous ex-jock would be caught having such a girly conversation with his best friend. Here he sat, six-four, two hundred and thirty-two pounds of emotional bondage. His heart was involved, and his mind was on overload. He had never stopped loving her, either. Problem was he hadn’t known until it was too late. She had married an asshole and moved away. Jayce had screwed her over. If she ever were to forgive him, he wouldn’t deserve it.

  “I thought I had. She was always in the back of my mind.” Embedded into his soul, Bren silently corrected. “When I touched her last night, hell, when I saw her last night, I knew.” He grew hard again, even though he was sated, repeatedly, through the night. Bren edged towards a hibiscus bush and prayed that no one noticed the monster. That’s right, he had been nicknamed monster dick in college and why dispute rumors? After all, they were true. He glanced around nervously. “I could make a surfboard with my dick right now.”

  “You can‘t surf on the gulf side.” Why weren’t they disembarking? “You’re that bad, huh?”

  “You‘ll know, when you see her.”

  “I don’t have too. Your voice is tight, and your patience is on a thin wire.”

  “You can detect that over the phone?” Bren squinted in disbelief. Were they actually to be serving chocolate-covered bananas at a wedding?

  “Listen to me. Do not touch her again until I’m with you. With the mood that you’re in, you will scare her away. We can’t afford a repeat of a bad performance.” Jayce signaled for a flight attendant. He had to get his ass off this plane, yesterday.

  “So, we’re playing the blame game, again? I thought that was over with years ago, guess I was wrong.” Bren curled his lip as he examined the tables’ centerpieces. Why were, pink, penis shaped candles flickering in the Sanibel breeze? “I have to go. I have to avert another disaster.”

  Jayce pocketed his phone and disembarked. Just as long as the disaster didn’t involve Tatum, then everything was fine.

  “Ladies, the bride has chosen Perfect Peppermint Pink for your nails. Please, follow Trixie to your party.” Tatum didn’t appreciate the look or tone that the salon owner was using with her. With perfectly waxed eyebrows, one look could speak volumes. “Swim, was it?”

  He let out a short huff, “Sven.”

  “Seriously, I’m not feeling it.” Tatum studied the vein that started to bulge at Sven’s temple. With his faux Norwegian accent and black roots, she figured him for a Steve. “I think this is more of a Trailer Trash Tulip.” Tatum placed a thoughtful finger on her chin and smiled.

  Impatiently, he snapped his fingers at Trixie. “Please, they have a wedding to attend this evening. Someone must take it seriously.” Okay, so they were a couple of hours late.

  “Come on, Tatum.” Dutifully, Renee pulled her behind Trixie and headed where she didn’t want to go: to join her family.

  “Well, well, well,” her mother had started in before the air kisses. “I had to hear from Mother that I was not invited to The Blue Pelican for dinner.” She clucked her tongue and tightened the white, terry-cloth robe over her chest. It was a strange sensation for her Mother to scold her when she was thirty. Tatum’s mind drifted to her eighteenth birthday, when her friend had divulged the intimate necessities of grinding on the swimming pool’s jets. Caught around midnight after her Mother had made a bed check, she discovered Tatum missing. Those were the days.

  “Good to see you, Mom. Molly, I am truly sorry about missing the rehearsal dinner. It was work related. Not that that’s an excuse, but it was necessary to...”

  Molly waved a hand in a grand gesture. “Honey, please, all under the bridge. Give us a hug.”

  Tatum squeezed her sister. At least she thought it was her sister, as she wasn’t sure with the Mrs. Howell impression.

  “Did you see it?”

  “I don’t think so.” Tatum looked at Renee for translation. Renee shrugged and plopped down on a chaise feet up, as Trixie and staff started painting.

  “My wedding gift from Wilson,” she beamed. Tatum scrunched her eyebrows. What was Molly doing with veneers on her teeth? She was only twenty-five, and Dad had spent thousands on braces.

  Molly caught her inspection. “It’s outside.” She had the most dramatic eye roll this side of Georgia. “The cute, silver Porsche parked in front.”

  “Missed it,” Tatum shrugged. “Sounds nice, though, maybe I can borrow it when you’re on your honey moon,” she added. “I didn’t pick up a rental yesterday and could use it before I fly out.” Okay, she truly had to stop with the bitchiness. Even so, Renee’s car smelled like a kennel, a kennel in need of extensive hosing. She wasn’t sure, but she thought her hair smelled like cat shit. When they arrived, Renee had thrown a bottle of body spray at her kept in the glove box for such purposes.

  Molly’s impeccable face turned a shade of crimson. “I’ll get you a rental.”

  “It was a joke. Remember jokes?”

  “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Not really.”

  She twisted her Perfect Peppermint Pink mouth into a snarl. “I think that you had best come clean about Troy. We need to get it out in the open, so that we can better understand and help you heal.”

  “Your degree is in business law.” Tatum had brought it on herself.

  “We’re family.” Mom interjected. “Your pain is our pain. I have spent countless nights worrying for you, my dear, countless. Look at these bags.”

  Tatum didn’t see anything, although what did she know? “No one leaves a marriage of considerable means without an excellent reason.” They shook their heads in agreement, all except for Renee.

  Trixie piped in. “I know why she isn’t talking.” She pointed a fingernai
l file at Tatum’s nose. Men were for less. “It’s sexual. She’s embarrassed to admit that the marital problems stem from the master bedroom.”

  “Who are you, again?” Tatum didn’t believe in armchair psychology delivered by a bubble gum popping manicurist.

  “Trixie,” She shook her head, and she tapped a base coat on her palm. “I see it all the time; you have the look. The look of someone who was sexually devastated by the man she loved.”

  “My sincerest thanks,” Tatum snipped.

  “Continue, Trixie,” Molly encouraged. “We don’t need to analyze your credentials; your reputation speaks for itself, right girls?” Too many people agreed.