by MJ Compton
He still needed to dismantle his computer and take it to Granny’s house so nothing would be damaged during construction. And his drum kit—he’d need that for the tour.
As he helped Abigail into his pickup, he realized he’d have to exchange the vehicle for something a little lower to the ground in order to accommodate her. Marriage was changing everything about his life. Only one thing was for the better: he was finally getting laid.
Chapter 8
“I can stay here alone,” Abby told Luke as she watched him dismantle his computer. His set-up was at least as elaborate as Gary’s system, and Gary spent most of his paycheck to keep his equipment state-of-the-art. He needed all the bells and whistles for his . . . side gig.
“You’ll only be in the way of the carpenters.” He scowled at a tangle of cables. “Not to mention you shouldn’t breathe in all that sawdust, plaster crap, and paint fumes. Besides, Granny can’t wait to start dosing you with her herbal tonics and stuff. We’ll stay with her until the housing council finishes up here.”
There was that phrase again, something she didn’t understand. Code. “What’s the housing council?”
Luke paused and gave her his full attention. “Loup Garou isn’t like Oak Moon, or Fort Collins, or Denver, or Colorado Springs, or almost any place else in the United States. The profits from the brewery support the town.”
“Moonsinger doesn’t pay property taxes in Oak Moon?” That wasn’t right.
“Sure it does,” Luke said. “That’s not profit, that’s expense. Like payroll and benefits. The profit is what supports Loup Garou.”
“So you don’t own this house?” Abby was really confused.
“It’s mine,” Luke said. “But it’s not big enough anymore, what with Libby and the baby and even you. So the housing council will make sure it’s right for us.”
He didn’t sound happy. She had no right to push him.
Well, yes she did. They were married. This was her home now, too. She needed to have a say in making it right for them. Making a home for their new family. If the marriage was going to work, she needed to think in terms of what was best for them as a unit. She could make this snug cabin a home for them. They could become the family she’d lost when her father died. When her mother married Gary.
Abby cooked supper while Luke continued to fiddle with his electronics. Finding her way around the strange kitchen wasn’t that difficult. The space was small and ill-stocked. Luke had already warned her not to overcook the meat and that he wasn’t fond of plants as a food source. The smell of the raw meat turned her stomach, but she did what she could, cooking her own steak for several minutes before adding his to the skillet. She would have preferred chicken, but Luke liked beef, “the bloodier the better.” There were no vegetables in the house. Even she knew the baby needed more than red meat in order to thrive.
“We need to shop for food,” she said.
“I’ll leave the keys to my truck under the mat on the driver’s side. It’ll be at the lodge. Dad or Gramps can help you get it. But you don’t need food. You’re staying with Granny.”
He’d forgotten she didn’t drive, and she wasn’t about to remind him of her shortcomings. Maybe his father or grandfather could teach her now that Mama wasn’t around to object. “Feel free to use the truck,” he continued. “But stay away from the brewery and Gary’s house.”
The house on Silver Moon Terrace wasn’t Gary’s house. Joe Grant had purchased that house. His death had paid off the mortgage.
The realization was like a slap in the face. She and Libby had a home. The one her father had bought for his wife and his daughters.
She arched her back, trying to work out the dull ache at the base of her spine. Stretching didn’t help.
As soon as Luke was out of town, she was going to check her mother’s papers. The will and other documents were hidden. And yeah, while Luke was being nice, she didn’t trust him.
Gary didn’t need a house. He had a paycheck. He could pay her and Libby rent for living in their house.
But Abby didn’t have a clue how to go about making Gary pay or evict him. She didn’t know what to do with her mother’s will. Maybe she could ask Luke’s dad once Luke was gone. Marcus acted with more deliberation than Luke, which made Abby trust him more.
She poked at the meat in the skillet. The outside of Luke’s larger slab was barely gray. “Supper’s ready,” she said.
She didn’t know what Luke expected from her. Gary had been very precise about what she was supposed to do, since she’d been the one caring for the house while her mother was abed. But Abby had plenty of experience. All those miscarriages before Libby had finally come along. Three rough pregnancies—a lot of responsibility had fallen on Abby’s shoulders. Of course, Luke was young. No more than twenty-five or twenty-six. Never held down a real job, not like her dad or Gary. He played drums in a band. His mother still cooked for him.
She dished up Luke’s meal, then fixed her own plate. Luke dug into his meat as if he were starving.
“Did I get it right?”
He grinned. He really did have a nice smile. Sexy. Dimpled. Playful. That’s why she’d gone with him after the Moonsinger picnic.
“You’re doing good, Abigail.”
“Abby,” she said. “Everyone calls me Abby. Everyone who matters.”
He studied her as he chewed. “You don’t look like an Abby. You look like—” he hesitated. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were as pretty as a valentine. As breathtaking as a summer sunrise. All pink and golden.”
That might be the nicest thing anyone had said to her since her father died.
He ducked his head, as if embarrassed by the admission.
So she hadn’t been a convenience. He’d been attracted to her.
He finished his steak, then pushed away from the table. “I need to finish up with the computer, and then pack up my kit.” As if he had to explain why he was ignoring her.
She liked being ignored. Bad things happened when she was on Gary’s radar. “I’m okay. I don’t need entertaining.”
Luke didn’t have a television. She could clean up after supper, but additional cleaning wouldn’t matter because the construction crew was supposed to start work the next day. She needed a book or something. Her guitar. A piece of paper so she could try writing a song. Or maybe she should go to bed. The ache in her back continued to nag her.
Cleaning the kitchen took all of fifteen minutes. Darkness surrounded the cabin. Abby hated this time of year, when night sneaked closer every day.
She pulled out her pay-as-you-go cell phone, intending to call Libby and see how she was doing. Her mother had insisted each of the girls have a cell phone in case of an emergency. But there were no bars showing. Loup Garou was even more isolated than Oak Moon.
She climbed the steep stairs to the loft, not bothering with a light. Stripping out of her clothes and crawling between the sheets of Luke’s bed sapped her energy. She was chilly, but would warm right up when Luke joined her. The man gave off heat like the sun.
Luke didn’t need a lamp to find his bed. He’d dismantled his computer and driven it to his grandparents’ house. Then he broke down his drums, wishing he could take out some of his edginess with a stick of wood in his hand. But although Abigail was a sound sleeper—he’d try to say goodbye before heading to Gramps and Granny’s house but couldn’t rouse her—no one could sleep through the racket he made when he was venting on the drums. So he disassembled them and placed them in their cases, ready to go in the morning.
He smelled Abigail as soon as he hit the top step. Her scent turned him on. He was going to be gone for a month. Would he be a total vampire if he fucked her while she was sleeping?
He dropped his shirt to the floor, followed by his boots and jeans. His dick was like a rock
. He crawled under the covers next to Abigail.
She was naked, too. He took that as a sign from the Ancient Ones that Abigail, too, wanted sex before he left.
She was curled on her side, so Luke spooned her. She sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer.
Luke found a soft boob and started toying with the nipple, which hardened at his touch.
Abigail stirred. “Luke?”
“Who else?” he asked before chuckling.
She relaxed against him. He hadn’t realized she’d tensed, as if prepared to flee. Or fight. He rolled her onto her back and bent his mouth to her nipple. He loved her tits. They tasted better than a trout freshly ripped from a mountain brook.
Abigail moaned. She was turned on. He’d done that to her. He felt powerful. One of his hands drifted down her still flat stomach until he found the best bits of her. Then his finger burrowed into tight curls and even tighter flesh. Abigail was already wet. Ready for him. He slipped a finger inside her. Then a second one. He kept his thumb on the trigger. And boom. Abigail fell apart. She was so responsive to him.
He withdrew his hand and got onto his knees between her splayed thighs. A single beam of moonlight crept through the window and painted a stripe of silver across her face. Her eyes were screwed shut, as if she were focusing all her senses on how he made her feel. He liked that. A lot.
“Are you ready for me, babe?” he asked.
She nodded.
This was the part he liked best, slowly pushing his cock into her waiting heat. There was a moment of resistance before he sank his length into her. He rested a moment, savoring the snug sensation. His withdrawal was slow, but reentry fast and hard.
Abigail gasped. Her eyes flew open.
“You okay?” Luke asked.
She nodded again.
“Tell me,” he urged. “Say, yes, Luke.”
“Yes, Luke,” she repeated.
He repeated his motion. “I’m gonna miss you, Abigail. I’m going to miss being inside you.”
“Me, too,” she whispered. Her knees clamped his ribs. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
“Yeah?” Maybe they were a couple of crazy kids figuring out this sex thing together. He was glad she was his first, because if he’d managed to nail any of the honky-tonk angels, he might have messed it up bad. There was a great deal of difference between watching people on the Internet and actually sticking your cock into a woman and going at it yourself. No one ever told you how good it felt. No one ever said coming was as good as shifting. He’d once overheard Stoker trying to explain howling to his mate, comparing it to sex and now Luke knew what he meant. There was release. There was joy. There was the sensation of your body being too frail to withstand the sensations.
If sex was this good with Abigail, Luke couldn’t imagine what fucking a mate would be like. He didn’t know if he’d be able to survive something that intense.
He finally stopped teasing Abigail and began thrusting in earnest. The more they indulged, the more control he learned. He was lasting longer now than he had that night after the Moonsinger picnic. Not that he needed to. Abigail usually climaxed almost immediately.
The bedsprings squeaked as he drove into her. He reached beneath her, burying his fingers in the soft flesh of her ass and pulling her closer, so he could go deeper. She met him thrust for thrust.
Perspiration dripped down the sides of Luke’s face. He slowly withdrew. “Let’s try something else,” he muttered. There were so many things he wanted to try with Abigail before she got too big to have sex at all. When that happened, maybe she’d suck his cock, let him come in her mouth. Thinking about something like that made him even harder. He thought he saw shooting stars in his bedroom.
“Roll over,” he said. He thought they might have done it werewolf-style that night at the lake, but couldn’t remember everything that had transpired. “Hands and knees. Stick your ass in the air.”
Anal sex was something else he wanted to explore, but not tonight. Tonight he wanted her the way a wolf fucked. The angle of penetration was so different. Tighter. He grasped her hips, hard enough to leave bruises, and hammered into her vagina. Abigail cried out, and he felt another orgasm grip his cock. He fell forward onto her as he began to spurt deep inside her.
He nuzzled her nape, but clenched his teeth to keep from marking her. The urge to clamp his teeth on the ligament running down the side of her neck was strong. Primal. If she’d mistaken a little nibbling for a bite, who knew what she’d call a full-fledged marking. Probably accuse him of being a vampire or something equally disgusting.
It’s only the orgasm he reminded himself. This human wasn’t his mate, even if she was a female who could coax an erection from him. Didn’t mean another woman couldn’t do the same. And he planned on checking that out on this road trip.
Luke collapsed on top of Abby, his breathing as harsh as hers. “Am I too heavy?”
“I’m okay.” She was better than okay. This was one part of marriage she didn’t have to remind herself to work on. When he was on her like this, she could feel the baby, like a grapefruit to the left of her navel.
“I’m really going to miss this.” His breath was hot against her ear. “And you.”
But which would he miss more? The way he’d said it made her sound like an afterthought. At least fidelity was implied.
His penis shriveled. Slipped out of her. She could sense his semen dribbling from her. “Someday, I’d like you to be on top,” Luke said. “I’ll suck your tits while you ride me.”
Everything inside her paused.
“And oral sex,” he continued. “Maybe when I get back, you can give me a blow job. You know, suck my cock.”
Abby tried to suppress a shudder. She understood Luke wanted to experiment, and she certainly wasn’t against trying new things, but the way he expressed his ideas bothered her.
“I’ll do some research on the ‘net and see what else we can do.”
Falling. She was falling out of the bed. Out of the loft. Off the mountain. Even though Luke had her pinned to the mattress.
“I’d rather you didn’t.” She was having trouble breathing. She pushed at his shoulders. “Can’t we just figure things out on our own?” He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. He slid an arm under her shoulders and pulled her closer until he was on his back and her head rested on his upper chest. His heart beat a steady rhythm under her ear.
“The Internet has all sorts of interesting sites.”
What was that saying her mother used to spout? Something about a skillet and a fire. Now the adage made sense.
And maybe Libby was better off with Luke’s parents if Luke was one of those guys trolling porn sites on his computer.
“I know.” She wasn’t sure she could explain with betraying a million things she wanted to forget. “Gary is on the ‘net all the time.”
Maybe she could distract Luke. Show him she was willing, eager even, to expand their sex life. Because she was.
She brushed her palm across his belly, fingers lightly raking through the wiry hair sprouting there.
“Careful there,” he said. “You’re waking the beast.”
Her hand slid lower and encountered the head of his new erection. Thoroughly explored it from top to bottom, learning the textures and nuances.
Luke gasped, then groaned. “Wanna go for a ride?”
She hesitated only a moment before straddling his hips. His penis twitched against her thigh. She teased him, feeling awkward and silly, rubbing against his length.
“Abigail. Abby.” He grasped her hips. “Now, babe.”
She adjusted her position. Held his penis steady as she slowly sank onto it.
Chapter 9
Luke kissed Abigail goodbye. He’d dropped her off at Granny’s house before me
eting the tour bus at the lodge. Libby was still staying with his parents, but he wanted Abigail with Granny.
The band didn’t do a lot of long tours the way they had before they’d started getting radio play. Or maybe Tokarz mating had something to do with the extended stretches at home. Either way, Luke was grateful for a break. He needed to get away from Abigail, because the sex was addicting. He was only twenty-five. He didn’t want to settle down with one woman, despite his lycan tendencies. Once the baby was born, he’d convince Abigail to leave the baby with him—well, his folks or his grandparents, or even his Aunt Macy—and set Abigail free.
Tokarz had arranged for extra security around Luke’s parents’ and grandparents’ houses. Keeping the Grant sisters separated also worked in favor of security. Not that anyone expected Gary to try anything, but better to be safe than regretful.
Luke watched the roadies load his kit in the bottom of the bus. Stoker Smith, the keyboard player, joined him. “It’s always tough leaving our mates.”
Did Stoker think Luke was going to bond with him or something—The Mated Male Club for Musicians? Too much had happened between Luke and everyone else associated with the band for Luke to dismiss. Even before the band. Twenty-five years of being at the bottom of the hill scat rolled down.
“I’m not mated. There was a human ceremony, but I never marked Abigail.”
“She’s pregnant, and you act like a mated male.”
Luke didn’t know whether to be furious or insulted. “I do not. I like the sex. Because of that human blood you’re always mocking. I get to have sex when I want and with whom I want.”
