by Carys Weldon
And truth? I love the pleasure it brings him. I smile like an idiot in wonderland the whole time.
There is nothing neater than feeling him rumble from deep down while he has me pinned. While he looks down on me in delight--at the prospect of all he wants to do to me--all he plans to do to me.
I revel in it. I just want to sigh, look up at the ceiling and thank Gaia. I never knew love--making love--could be so sweet.
Not that I’d ever tell him.
Sweet?
He wouldn’t believe I said the word.
The minute I thought it, I realized I had to do something. But really, that’s how fast he had me. How long had we known each other at that point? Not very long.
I screwed up my face and said, “Get on with it, or get off of me.”
So, you wanna see shock? You wanna see an instant change?
Chapter Five
Bark looked like he’d been slapped.
Then he tore into me. Lashed back. “You like it rough, puss? I can show you that.”
Let me tell you, I never knew what pawing was before that.
I panicked. I mean, he totally let loose. Flipped a fucking howl on me. That’ll chill a cat’s bones, get a girl scratching. And that--fighting back?--probably incited him more.
Not that he hurt me. Cause he didn’t. But I sure felt like he could, any second.
All I know is...it took nothing to get my clothes ripped off of me. Shredded. If I’d had my eyes open, I could tell you if he shape-shifted on me a little. I’m pretty sure he did.
I rolled, protecting, trying to draw my knees up, and kicked a little.
And he...not kicking me, just moving his legs over mine, trying to weigh me down. Probably protecting himself. Yeah. It’s a little funny when you try to picture what actually happened there. He growled repeatedly.
Go ahead. Laugh. It makes me snicker when I think about what I thought, and what I think he thought. Because, really, I don’t think either of us were thinking much at all. We were just reacting to one another. And the fact that we were nuts for each other....
And really scared about what we were feeling. I can admit that, now.
It took him a minute to get through his little mini-rage, and to realize that I was scared and clawing because of that. Next thing I knew, he had a hold on my wrists, nailed those above me, had his tree trunk body full down on me.
You see, until then, I never realized how much control he’d been using--how much physical strength he used just to keep his weight off of me. Anyhow, he effectively squashed me. Shut me up with another kiss. Blanketed me like a bear. Knocked the air completely out of me.
I can imagine what that sounded like to anyone outside. Like he was torturing me, or ripping me limb from limb. Before he got his lips back on mine, I mean. I can really squeal like a pained cat. Shrug. What can I say? I’m bastet. Comes with the package. Most guys like a little of that. So it works for me.
I never knew what hit me. It was like, wow, pow, bam, wham, squeal, squall. And then...collapse, shut up and then, oh my Gaia. He’s past the issue, forgotten it, forgiven me for whatever I did to set him off. And then, almost sad. Totally apologetic. Absolutely gentle. I fell in love with that expression, right there. When he lifted his face and examined my mouth.
Had to grab his face, look him in the eye, whisper, “I’m sorry, Bark.” I kissed him--sweet--back.
Never have I kissed a man like that. Usually, I go for the tongue lashing, verbal and physical. Snap, crack. A little pop.
Fuck me fast and get the hell off. I’ve got a quota to reach, remember?
But I lost track of the fact that Leo and Tommy were probably going frantic looking for me. I was too lost in Barklay’s world.
He surprised me by saying, “I want to make love to you.”
That’s what I thought we’d been doing. Or working up to.
What he was really telling me was to lie back and let him do the work. That was definitely a new one on me.
It took a few seconds for it to sink in, for me to put my head on the floor, relax and eventually close my eyes again. When I was limp beneath him once more, he eased his grip on my wrists, slid his legs, his whole body, lower--took his full weight off of me. I could breathe, but I wasn’t sure what was up.
Duh.
Barklay let out a little whine. He propped himself on his elbows and looked down at what he’d done, how he’d exposed me. Said, “I’m sorry, puss.” Spared a kiss here and there. Any place where there might be the slightest mottling.
I can’t say it enough. He never hurt me.
I’ve got natural mottling, comes out when I’m excited. So, he was kissing me everywhere, muttering, “I’m so sorry,” over and over again. Tells you about his real heart. He wouldn’t hurt a woman on purpose. I’ll never believe that. He didn’t even know me that night, and I was everything he should have shredded, and he gently...no, reverently, loved my body.
You get it, right? Barklay is a total body worshipper.
By the time he kissed his way down to my thighs, I sobbed for release. I didn’t care how I got it, either. He could go down on me, or enter me. I wanted it all. Whatever he wanted.
When he let go of my hands, I have no idea.
But I do remember feeling the fleshy depth of his muscular shoulders, kneading them rhythmically, encouraging him with words, whispered beggings, telling him how well he pleased me, and to keep it up.
Totally selfish.
Needy.
Desperate.
That elicited more whines. I don’t think he realized he was doing it.
There comes a point when you can’t take any more. Without getting mad. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t frustrated to hell and back. I was.
He kept bumping my clit with his nose, but he was kissing up the inside of my thighs, trying to lick and taste where my body and legs meet. I’m sure there was plenty to intrigue him. I hadn’t showered in way too long.
I forgot the other men by then. I want you to know that. I forgot them. Completely. And Daddy, and Tommy, and Leo, too. All of them.
Didn’t turn him off, though. If anything, I think it spurred his interest. Sealed his desire to put a firm mark on me. To claim me for his own.
Garou are very territorial. Extremely possessive.
Perhaps my nails finally dug in enough, through his shirt, to relay the brink he’d brought me to. He stopped moving. Pressed his lips to mine--down below. Held them there, with his eyes closed.
Savored the taste of me.
Talk about a sweet, sweet moment. I felt the pressure of his lips--up through the core of my body. It shot spirals of something warm through me. Speared me all the way to my heart.
That made my eyes pop open. Yes, I wanted to cry.
He must’ve felt my whole body heave in preparation, in fighting it. Another kiss followed, very soft, immensely brief, and then he sat up on his knees. Had to push himself up with some effort. Took a minute.
I hadn’t realized how his fingers had been sliding over my legs and my hips, holding me while he adjusted to the different angles required in his lovemaking kisses. At least, not until he pulled them from me, and rested them on his own hips, looking down at me. At the golden curls between my legs.
Gingerly, he reached out again, as if he couldn’t stand not touching me there. In awe?
He said, “You’re--” His voice trailed off.
I felt sure that he’d been ready to say 'beautiful'. I’d heard that before.
He seemed to be searching for a better word. It made me smile, a little. I couldn’t wait to see what he came up with.
“What?” My voice sounded husky.
Of course it did. I’d been purring for so long, it was amazing I could even form words at all.
It took a minute, but his brow furrowed, and he said with a hard swallow, “Taboo.” It made him sad, and self-deprecating. I could see it in his eyes. And I felt bad for that.
“I’m sorry.” It was the first t
ime I was ever sorry for being bastet.
But not the last. That’s another story.
In one fluid motion, I rolled up to a sitting position, slid up to him, wrapped my legs around him and cupped his face. It felt round in my hands. So...big.
His puppy dog eyes got me.
I kissed him, just a quick, plush sort of kiss. His lips were swollen-feeling to mine. Or maybe mine were. I don’t know. It felt cushy. Wet. Perfect. Very lovable.
Putting my forehead to his, I said, “Don’t think. Okay?” I knew he was having second thoughts, trying to get a grip, to remember how wrong it was for the two of us to be together. I had never felt anything so wonderful in my life, though. I couldn’t imagine stopping.
Which is why I started kissing him. Temple to temple. On his forehead. Climbed up onto my knees, holding him to my bosom, begging, “Please don’t stop making love to me.”
He shuddered.
There is nothing more...aching...than feeling a grown man, a man big enough to snap most other guys in half with his bare hands, feeling a man like that shake and tremble beneath your hands. He wrapped his massive arms around me and held on.
He couldn’t get any control, though. At least, I think that’s what he was fighting, because he turned his face upward and muttered, “Gaia help me. I don’t want to stop.”
My fingers slid to the sides of his face again, and my thumbs spread, smoothing his skin through the crow’s feet by his eyes. And I felt tears.
“Please don’t.” I started kissing him frantically, repeating, “Please, please don’t.”
Don’t cry. Don’t stop. Don’t say it’s wrong.
I don’t think he could fight me. Not that he really wanted to. But, he wouldn’t budge when I tried to lay him back, unbuttoning his shirt as fast I could, smoothing it over his shoulders, sliding and gliding my hands over him, feeling every contour. I couldn’t get enough of that. I was afraid that he’d push me away, so I put my lips to his and kissed him deep. Undressing him. Got the shirt off. Undid his pants. Fumbling effort, but I managed it.
When he didn’t help me with it, I knew he was still struggling with stopping the insanity. There’s a boost to a girl’s ego. He was thinking rationally while I was kissing his brains out.
Real desperation filled me, then. I got his pants open, spread apart, and his manhood sprang free. The head of it was slippery wet, bounced off my hand. I made a mistake--trying to get his pants down more. It made him get a hold of me, pull his head back, and look me in the eye.
“Look at us,” he said.
I was looking, wanting to cry. “Let me make love to you, the way you did me.”
“Puss--”
“Letha.” I had to get him to stop calling me cat, puss. I had to get him buried inside of me again, where he could forget everything but the way we fit together. “It’s Letha.”
He conceded that. “Letha.”
“Just let me love you.” Yes, I sounded desperate. It’s not really cat nature to want to please someone else. I’d never felt like that before. Rejection was something I did to people. Not received.
I tried to pull my hands free, but he held tight, brought them up between us, in fists. Held them to his chest. His burly, massive, wiry-haired chest. I realized that the fight was fruitless. I sighed into him, buried my head against the meat there. So bulky. I loved that!
Tried to breathe. Tried not to cry.
He put his chin on the top of my head, let loose of my hands, and wrapped his arms around me.
There’s no telling how long he held me like that. All I know is that, eventually, I smiled to myself, curled up into his neck practically with a purr and let him be strong.
Until he couldn’t stand it anymore.
My hands slowly found their way to his waist, rested a minute, maybe two or three. Slow seduction. No fast moves.
I exhaled on his throat, tasted, sighed against him.
Felt his arms tighten, his fingers stiffen. Heard him groan when I flicked my tongue out under his jaw, and purred louder. I don’t know how his knees stood it. All I can say is...garou are built different. His stamina is a...monumental thing. I had to climb up on his lap, one tiny, easing movement at a time.
When I slid down onto his shaft, I don’t think he realized what I was doing. I distracted him with kisses, touches, slow lip-slides over his throat, his cheek, up to his temples. Buried his nose against my chest again as I rose up. He just held tight. Didn’t give back.
But he let me settle.
That came with some serious, spreading pain. Had I been so...hot earlier that I didn’t realize how tight the fit was? The wince eeked from the corners of my lips.
He whispered, “See what I mean?”
“Shh.”
His mighty hands spanned my back, gradually finding their way to my hips. I can’t tell you how slow we moved. I was afraid he’d make me stop. And I think he was afraid to hurt me.
But a man is only a man. His self-restraint is only so tightly wound up. You can unravel it, given the right approach. With Bark, I realized that I couldn’t drag him kicking and screaming. I had to ease him into the water until he couldn’t turn back. Still, he let me do the work.
Nothing, nothing has ever given me more satisfaction than the feel of him erupting inside of me, crying out with an, “Aaah!” as his fingers bit into my hips, and he held me down, kept me from riding up one more time.
I found out what a turn-on it was to swallow someone’s gasp of climax. To fill it with my tongue. To perpetrate after-play that makes your head spin.
He fell back then. Carried me with him, still impaled, totally engrossed in being on top of him. And he rolled me, showing me what it felt like to be pumped. Thank Gaia for the lubrication he’d already shot into me. And for the bearskin rug beneath us. I found myself clutching at it, grunting with every solid thrust. He didn’t fuck me fast. Just...thoroughly. All the way to the hilt.
Until I was insane, to the edge.
He must’ve been watching my eyes, gauging my breathing, waiting for me to tense up even more around him. Because he held himself rigid within me while I bit into his bicep. Not drawing blood, just burying my mouth, and the screams of total satisfaction.
But I couldn’t stand it. I had to let it out when he moved one more time. My head fell back and I released the squeal of ultimate orgasm. The one you get when you’re hit deep-stroke with full-controlled impact.
He dumped into me, telling me, “Go ahead, scream...cat.” And I did. I know he was fully into it. Absolutely loving it.
But out of nowhere, his hand covered my mouth, clamped right down, and he went deadly still, saying, “Hush.” He winced, though, and I felt him spurting into me.
He didn’t get to relax then, because another noise outside--the slightest thing--barely more than a scratch, had his gaze darting around, to one side and then the other.
When he was sure I was gonna be quiet, he hopped off of me, bounding to his feet. “Did you hear that?” His voice was barely audible.
I hadn’t heard anything. I’d been screaming. Remember?
Chapter Six
Gaia, I’d never seen a garou from that angle before. His chest heaved. His cock throbbed, still dripping. Magnificent manhood. I gasped. I’d never felt awe like that before. I reached up--to catch a drop of fluid as it fell through the air.
That’s what drew his attention to it, I think. He looked down, tucked himself in his pants. Did them up.
Biting my lower lip, I sat up, rubbing the pearly drop between my thumb and forefinger, hugging my own knees. I could tell by the crouchy way he stood, and the tip of his head, that he was listening to something outside, so I waited for him to tell me what to do.
Or for it to go away.
But it didn’t.
There was another noise, very small, then silence.
Reaching down blindly, he grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me up beside him, into a protective circle. Before he could put me behind him, which I
felt him trying to do--while I was trying to get safe under his armpit--the door busted open.
Leo and Tommy, my retrieval team. Full crinos yellow panther bastets. Absolutely awesome in their own right.
I don’t know how they both got through the door so fast. They stopped, though--pulled up flat and hard, eyes bulging, noses taking it all in. Tommy’s gaze glinted, flashed over the liquid evidence of our sex, and then his head jerked at the dead body. To tell the truth, I’d been so wrapped up in Bark that I’d forgotten that. But suddenly, my stomach growled.
All three men tensed at the sound. Barklay said quietly, “Get behind me, Letha.”
“No.” I knew the minute I did, he was dead.
Leo never took his eye off Bark. I knew that look. It proceeded a shredding.
Tommy had his gun in his hand. He swung it around, aiming it at Barklay. Very succinctly, he said, “Move, Le.”
“No.” I tried to slip forward, put my arm around Bark’s waist.
He peeled me, growling--grew crinos beneath my hands. Full crinos werewolf.
Talk about a towering son-of-a-bitch. I was afraid to look up. I just hung on, made it impossible for him to get in front of me.
Yeah. Go ahead and laugh.
I watched Leo and Tommy’s heads go up, watching the transformation--calculating his weaknesses. Bark’s hulking shadow ruggedly crawled the wall behind them, dwarfing them--and their shadows.
Two bastets to one werewolf. They had the upper hand, even without Tommy’s gun. Never even wondered where Leo’s was. He was more a claw-man, anyway.
The only thing that slowed the action down was me. I was in the way.
Leo snarled, “Let her the fuck go.”
Barkley spit out, “Get off me, puss!” His frustration had changed hands, completely.
Now, Leo’s not exactly slow, but he wasn’t getting the whole picture. He said again, “Let her the fuck go.”
Thank Gaia, Tommy was with him. He put out a hand, right before Leo would have leaped at Bark’s throat. One more time, he insisted, “Move, Le.”
That finally got through to Leo. He broke eye contact with Barklay, found my eyes and flashed. Blazing, absolute, fury.
