Indecent Werewolf Exposure

by Eve Langlais

  “I swear, Pete, if you’re fucking with me, I will rip your dick off.”

  “It’s the truth. Scout’s honor.” He placed his hand over his heart.

  “You were never a scout.” More like the long-haired bad boy in the cool jean jacket who convinced girls to visit the spot under the bleachers.

  He chuckled. “Nope. But it sounds good.”

  I still found it hard to wrap my mind around that fact. Mental note to self: get a shotgun, with lots of ammo. The elephant-sized kind. No use taking chances. If I shot anything, I wanted it splattered into pieces.

  “Zombies exist.” Saying it didn’t make it feel any more believable.

  “They do.”

  “But they didn’t kill your neighbor.”

  “Not likely.”

  “So what killed the witch, I mean your neighbor?”

  “Dunno. What else have you heard on the grapevine?”

  “Pack of rabid squirrels.”

  Pete snorted. “No way.”

  Thank gawd. My parents had tons of them running rampant through their yard. Just the thought of them attacking in a pack made me glad I lived in a condo with no pets allowed—except for a hairy lover. I tossed out the next theory. “Vampire.”

  “They don’t eat meat, and they never drink from witches. Or so I’ve heard. Apparently, their blood disagrees with their digestive system. Something about the magic tainting it.”

  It didn’t surprise me at this point that he’d claim vampires existed. I, however, was still on the fence about whether to believe him or not. I mean, come on, just how many hidden species did he expect me to believe existed under our noses? Then again…

  I glanced at the werewolf across from me. Maybe not so farfetched.

  “Let me guess, vampires are waiting to come out too until they get their own laws.”

  “Those old geezers? Nah. They like living in the shadows and have no intention of letting the world know they truly exist.”

  Finally, a fairy tale that stayed true to form. I’d hate to think my childhood crush on Edward was misplaced. “Are the legends about them accurate?”

  For some reason, he seemed less keen on this topic than the zombie one, or so it seemed as Pete shrugged a massive shoulder. “Dunno. Don’t care. You’d have to ask one.”

  If I knew one. Which I hoped never happened. Becoming anyone’s dinner or snack didn’t rate high on my bucket list.

  “The last option I heard tossed around was that she summoned a demon and lost control of it.”

  “Unlikely.”

  Not, “Oh no, demons aren’t real.” Could this day get any more seriously fucked up? “Why unlikely?”

  “Aren’t you going to express disbelief they exist?”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Would I dare do that?” The innocent look on his face didn’t fool me.

  I gave him my best evil eye. He didn’t curl into a whimpering ball begging for mercy. Apparently, I’d have to work on it.

  “Assuming demons exist, what do they look like? Are they like the horned devils we see and hear about in religion and on television?”

  “Depends on which one is called.”

  “Called as in…”

  “Demons don’t exist on our plane per se. They have their own realm.”

  “Because, of course, Heaven and Hell are real.” Hello, sarcasm, my old friend.

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Now you’re just being silly. There is no such thing as Heaven or Hell. Or even limbo.”

  “Like fuck. You mean to tell me all this other shit exists, but the one thing pretty much every religion agrees on doesn’t?”

  “I didn’t write those bibles. Humans did. Misinformed ones. There are other planes of existence, or so I’ve been taught. They’re just not a place souls go to after death.”

  “I’m too sober to handle theology right now,” I mumbled as I rubbed my forehead, wishing for a bottle of Advil chased down with a few ounces of vodka.

  “Good because we’re getting off topic. We were talking about demons. You know, now that I think of it, the signs do point to them possibly being the culprit. Most of them enjoy killing, and they do have a varied diet, again, so legend states. I don’t know anyone who’s ever actually met one.”

  “So they don’t live among us?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then where do they live?”

  “In another dimension. They can only set foot in ours if called via some fucked-up ritual. The question is, who would be dumb enough to summon one?”

  “So find the guy who knows how and we find the demon who killed your neighbor.”

  “I wish it was that easy. Summoning a demon is a lost art. The church spent a lot of money and man-hours hunting down every single text pertaining to demons. After the great plague, brought upon by the demon of pestilence, they banned demon grimoires. As a matter of fact, they burned them. Burned the books, scrolls, and even those with the knowledge, in a massive purge to ensure no one could do it again.”

  “This whole purge thing is great and all, but all it takes is one idiot hiding the instructions for future use. The method or whatever to summon one could have survived.” Of course it could have. Just look at how many people on the Antique Road Show discovered relics in their attic when their great-great aunt Petunia died.

  “It’s definitely possible.”

  “What does a demon look like?”

  Pete spread his hands. “No one truly knows. As I said, the church destroyed all the information, leaving us only with fables and old wives tales. But, if I had to wager a guess, I’d say ugly with fucking big teeth.”

  “You’re not being very helpful here.”

  “What do you want me to say? I’m not a scholar. I’m just telling you what I know.”

  “Well, you seem to know enough to think the crime looks demon-related.”

  “Because from the legends I’ve heard handed down among the Lycans, only demons drink human blood and partake of the flesh. But, of all the theories, even if it fits, it’s the craziest. There hasn’t been a documented demon case in hundreds of years.”

  “That you know of.”

  “That I know of,” he admitted.

  “So it’s possible.” I hammered at him and he sighed.

  “I guess. Are you going to tell the cops?” Anxiety made his brows pull together.

  He needn’t have worried. “No fucking way. I don’t need them labeling me as a lunatic. It’s bad enough I came to the rescue of the wolfinator.”

  “The who?”

  “Wolfinator, your nickname at the station. As in the wolf who pees.” Too many coffees and donuts led to the brilliant combination of urinate and wolf. Not the most original of names, but one all the men seemed to find hilarious, including Pete.

  A snicker escaped him. “That explains a lot of the jokes I heard.”

  “What jokes?”

  “Never mind. They’re not fit for a lady’s ears.”

  How cute. He mistakenly took me for a lady. Did he not recall the wild sex we’d had less than two days ago?

  “So how do we recognize or stop this demon thing? Or whoever it was that killed your neighbor.”

  “We don’t. And you’re not going looking for it either.”

  My turn to laugh. “Look for it? Are you nuts?”

  “Then why all the questions about it.”

  “Simple curiosity and wondering how I can protect myself. I’m not Nancy Drew or some leather-wearing, ass-kicking Amazon heroine. I feel no need to go out on my own and fight crime or find murderers. I’ll leave that to the pros and idiots with a hero complex, thank you very much. Me, I just want to know what weapon to buy so, if anything comes after me, I can at least maim it long enough for me to run away screaming.” Eyeing Pete—his muscles, his white teeth, his size—it occurred to me he made the perfect defense system. And he gave great orgasms. “Speaking of screaming…what are you doing tonig
ht?” No, I hadn’t forgotten my date with Anthony, but with a killer on the loose, a girl needed to keep herself safe. Big bad werewolf or rich lawyer in a suit? No brainer.

  I’d expected him to jump on the chance to spend time with me, especially given his speech the day before at the diner. Instead, he squirmed in his seat, and did I detect a hint of red in his cheeks? “I might be a little busy over the next little bit, which will make it hard for me to see you. Not because I don’t want to,” he hastened to add. “Something came up at work that requires my undivided attention.”

  His work? He was a bloody gardener. What was more important than plowing my field? “You got a big contract or something?”

  “You could say.”

  I frowned at his evasive reply. “What happened to honesty?”

  “I haven’t lied to you. Have I not answered all your questions, even if you mocked some of them?”

  “You did. So tell me about this big job.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Does it have to do with yard work?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I fixed him with my sternest glare. “Pete. Are you or are you not a landscaper?”

  He caved. “I am. Most of the time.”

  “And the rest of the time?”

  “I’m the idiot hero who goes looking for monsters.”

  His sheepish grin, and admission, might have made my jaw drop, but it didn’t stop the laughter. Pete had even more layers than I’d given him credit for. I’m not ashamed to say, it totally turned me on.

  Good thing I knew of a broom closet off a little used hallway.

  Standing up, I came around my desk, all too aware of his heated gaze, which said without words that he’d caught my erotic interest. “Follow me,” I ordered.

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see.” I leaned out of my cubicle and peeked around, mostly because I feared Brenda lurked. I knew my BFF. If she saw us sneaking off, she’d probably sing a dirty ditty and ruin the mood.

  Coast clear, I dragged Pete down a hall lined with conference rooms to a door marked maintenance. He caught on to my devious plan and kicked the door shut as soon as we slipped in. Then he effortlessly shifted a metal shelving unit across it, removing any worry about interruptions.

  When he turned back to face me, I swear his eyes glowed. No doubt, he didn’t mind my impromptu need or less-than-romantic spot.

  Screw finesse. I threw myself at him, hands grasping at his hair, tugging his face down to mine so I could suck at his lips. He tasted sweet from the donuts, and I moaned in pleasure as I devoured him. Big hands cupped my ass, squeezing and massaging my cheeks as my tongue slid along the seam of his mouth. His lips parted, and his tongue joined mine in a sinuous dance that lit even more of my senses on fire.

  Like teenagers in the first throes of passion, we rubbed against each other, our clothing providing friction and giving it that extra element of taboo. I knew we shouldn’t be doing this, not in my place of work.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I panted. I’d never done anything so wild. What if we got caught? It cranked my desire up another notch.

  “I think you’re wilder than you think,” he replied in between fervent kisses. “Would it help if I told you that the entire time we were talking, all I could think of was how much I wanted you? How much I missed tasting you?”

  Words to melt me into a puddle. I sagged against him, the rush of heat from his words making my knees weak.

  But he wasn’t done. “All I could think of was how I wanted to get under that desk, hike your skirt, and lick you until you came on my tongue.” Brazen words, which he matched with action as his hands inched up the pleated fabric of my skirt and, with a firm grip, tore my wet panties free.

  I just about came at the decadence of it then squeaked as he cupped my mound, a sound he caught with his mouth. His hand covered my moist flesh and I quivered as he rumbled. “You are so fucking hot.”

  Ditto. Not that I managed to say it aloud, not with his thumb rubbing against my clit. I clutched at him, head thrown back, gasping for air as he played with my swollen nub. Gawd, how I wished he would suck on it, run his tongue across my heated flesh, make me clutch at his hair and scream his name, like he’d done to me a few nights before. The closet I’d dragged us into didn’t have that kind of room, though. Fuck, it didn’t even have a wall for him to prop me up against. Dammit. How would I get him inside me? I wanted him so bad.

  Screw the logistics. I’d worry about the “how” later. Confined space or not, I needed to touch him. Stroke him. Have him panting as hard for me as I was for him. I fumbled at the zipper for his pants, managing to get them open enough that his cock sprang forth. Hot, hard, and heavy. For me. What an empowering feeling to know I could make him so wild.

  Back and forth I stroked him, our pose kind of awkward but passionate as we both tried to caress the other to a higher state of pleasure. But I grew frustrated, needing more.

  I wasn’t alone.

  “Fuck this.” With deft fingers, he unzipped my skirt so that it pooled around my ankles. A moment later, I was aloft as he palmed my buttocks and hoisted me. Then impaled me.

  No wall to brace myself. No bed to dig my nails in. Just Pete. Big and strong, holding me up like a dainty little gal, fucking me like I’d always fantasized about. I clung to him, practically sobbing as he bounced me, up and down, a jiggling rhythm that seated him so deeply, each jounce, each thrust, each poke butting against my sweet spot. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me, it felt good!

  I practically bit him in my enthusiasm as I tried to hide the noises I made. He didn’t seem to mind my savagery. I think it actually turned him on because his tempo got faster, his cock thicker, until I shattered. And by shattered, I mean I creamed his cock with a bone-crushing orgasm. My pussy had never convulsed so hard. Never milked a dick with blissful waves and shudders like I did his. And he loved it. Loved it enough he bloody well howled when he came.

  A little disconcerting to say the least, but it also put a smug smile on my lips. What could I say? It wasn’t every day I made a werewolf lose control enough that he howled practically in public.

  Sweating, smelling of sex, and limp as a noodle, I still managed to muster a giggle when I heard the distant exclamations asking what the hell had made that noise.

  Nympho Chloe had struck again. Lucky for me, Pete and his wonderful ability to scent if people were around made it easy for us to escape without getting caught. We would have gotten away with no one the wiser but for one thing. Make that one person.

  Brenda.

  She cackled as she handed me my purse and coat in the parking lot where Pete had parked. Bitch. Wait until she needed me to cover up her sexcapade at the office. Then again, knowing her, she’d probably already had one, or two. She did so enjoy doing the naughty in public places.

  As for me, with my werewolf lover free of charges, my pussy sated for the moment, and my belly full—because he stopped for food—I was happy as a human girl could be.

  I should have known it wouldn’t last.

  11

  Somehow, we managed to make it to my place without ripping each other’s clothes off and having sex in Pete’s truck.

  Barely.

  By the time we reached my condo, we were ready for a quickie up against the wall before he took off to do his secret werewolf stuff.

  A more curious girl would have asked to go along. I preferred to remain the alive girl and not the stupid one in the movie who sticks her nose where she shouldn’t and ends up either dead, or kidnapped and tortured by the bad guy. To think, people thought watching too much television was bad. I’d have never learned this important life lesson if it weren’t for marathon horror flicks.

  Television might have just saved my life.

  It didn’t, however, give me someone to cuddle with or do anything to abate my worry over Pete. A behemoth such as him could probably handle anything that came his way—short of a Mack truck, and even then, I’d place bet
s on my werewolf lover.

  As for the fact I fretted over his safety? It didn’t mean a thing. Nope. I’d worry about anyone hunting a murderer who liked to eat his victims.

  The reminder made me queasy. So, as a snack, I stuck to a salad that night—without any bacon bits.

  Around nine o’clock, while dressed in my comfiest jammies—adorned with pink sheep jumping over fences—a knock came at the door. Grabbing my biggest kitchen knife, I peered through the viewing hole. Someone, or something, blocked it.

  “Who is it?” I asked in my best, I’m-not-afraid-of-you voice. It kind of sounded like a squeaky mouse on helium.

  “Open up and find out,” was the gruff reply.

  “Ha. Not likely. Go away before I sic my really big boyfriend on you.”

  “You mean the one who left a few hours ago?”

  Shit. Who the hell was at my door? And why were they watching my apartment?

  My grip on the knife handle got slick with sweat. I eyed my cell phone on the living room table. For some reason, I feared moving away from the door, as if by moving it might suddenly fly open and let in whoever threatened on the other side.

  “Open up.” Said in a low cajoling voice.

  No way was I listening. I wouldn’t even open it if they said they had candy. “No.”

  “You do know that if I was a real bad guy, you just put yourself in a vulnerable position for attack,” the unseen speaker mocked.

  “Says you. I say this door is reinforced, bullet-proof steel on the best hinges available. Short of a stick of dynamite, no one can get in.”

  Leaning against the door, I added my weight to the barred portal. As if it needed it. My fathers invested heavily in security when I bought my downtown condo. Nothing short of a bomb would let anyone in that door. My daddies made sure their little girl was safe.

  “Is that a dare?” The voice purred and goosebumps prickled my skin.

  “It’s a fact.”

  Click. Jingle.

  Eyes wide in disbelief, I took a few steps back from the portal as my dual deadbolts and safety chain moved, on their own I might add, unlocking my door.