by J. J. Massa
She moved against him, her parted legs hook around his. He massaged her mound with his thigh, pleased at the quiet moans of pleasure drawn from her. Carefully, he slid his hand under her parted blouse, covering a small breast.
“Ah,” she gasped, moving against him, her nipple against his palm. She hadn’t worn a bra, and he realized that she wouldn’t really need one. In fact, that would be one more piece of clothing to struggle out of when she transformed. “Yancey, what…” she began.
He nipped lightly at her lips, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Does that feel good, Little Mate?” he asked, his voice husky and thick.
“Yes, it does, yes,” she was panting now. He had dropped one hand to skim her tight abdomen and his fingers brushed under her loose pants.
Yancey was hard, so hard, and hungry, but careful, he had to be so careful. Every move, every touch had to say that he loved her, wanted to love her, needed her, valued her.
“Philomela, my beautiful mate,” he whispered, the pads of his fingers sweeping over tight curls and a small nub of flesh.
She was clinging to him now, her hands gripping his biceps, her back bowed as arousal took her over completely and she tried to press closer. “Yancey,” she breathed, her eyes falling closed.
He pushed the shirt off of her shoulders and let his hands travel down the soft skin of her ribs, unfastening her pants. When she moved urgently under him, he was at first concerned that she wanted to stop. He wrestled himself mightily to control the dominant beast that hungered to claim his mate a second time. This time would be good for her. He’d make sure of it.
Instead of trying to free herself, however, Philly clung to him, tugging at his shirt, her nimble fingers seeking skin, contact.
Yancey groaned, shrugging out of his shirt. “Touch me,” his voice was getting thicker. “Touch me, Little Mate.”
Philly didn’t need any further urging, an eager hunger driving her now. She felt her own juices surge in her as she reached up, stroking the wine red curls on his chest, the flat, pebbled nipple buried there.
She was a healthy adult woman who was naked in bed with the man she’d loved all her life. She wanted him, yes.
His large hands covered hers and together, they unfastened his pants and pushed them down over his hips. He rose to scoot out of them, his shoes already off.
Fighting a sense of déjà vu, Philly stroked over his firm stomach and down, following the soft line of dark red hair as it led to the nest of curls surrounding his thick, erect manhood.
“Let me love you the right way,” he breathed and she could hear the struggle in his voice as he controlled the wolf in him in favor of the man that he wanted to be.
Philly was very much a werewolf, but even so, she was still small and delicate. The problem was that he’d hurt her before, bringing her survival instincts to the forefront. Where she might have felt free to explore her passions, she now had to fight the urge to run from him, to protect herself.
“I want to,” she mumbled, “I do.”
Seeming to understand the battle she was fighting, Yancey stroked up and down her body, his large hands tracing her ribs, exploring her belly and thighs.
His mouth found hers again at the same time that his fingers made their way between her legs to her throbbing, weeping center. Instinctively, she spread her legs a little wider, making room for one seeking finger to find its way to her opening.
His thumb made its way up to her clit as his finger began to pump and she couldn’t control her breathing, gasping as she hooked a leg over his hip.
“Like that?” he rumbled, laboring against the animal in him.
“Yeah,” she gasped, her pelvis flexing up.
In one motion, he moved his finger and gathered her to him, sliding his thick length into her all the way to the hilt.
“Ah!” she yelped as he groaned loudly.
His mouth covered hers while at the same time, he rolled them until she was on top of him. She felt more in control then, less trapped. He took her hips in his hands and began to pump into her slowly and steadily from below.
It felt so good, all she wanted to do was hang on and move with him, pushing back against his strength. He slid one hand off of her hip and between her legs, his thumb finding her throbbing nub and pressing, massaging, as he continued to slide in and out of her.
“’S good, Mate,” he rasped, “so good.”
“Mmm,” she agreed, nipping at his chin, trying to keep up with the building explosion growing inside of her.
“Gonna come,” he growled, his thrusts jerky now, not steady any longer.
And then, the feeling, the orgasm building in her, erupted, and she buried her face in his neck as he wrapped his strong arms around her, emptying himself into her completely.
She lay there on top of him, trying to gather herself and figure out what had just happened, besides the obvious. A little shift caused his quiescent length to slip out of her.
“Thank you, Little Mate,” he mumbled on a sigh. “Thank you.”
Before she could respond, his steady breathing told her that he was asleep.
Chapter 16
Philly slipped quietly out of Yancey’s house, letting the door close quietly behind her. He was sleeping pretty heavily, but he was a werewolf. He had exceptional hearing.
She had no doubt that he’d be plenty angry when he woke up and she wasn’t there. Well, she was more than reasonably certain of it, anyway. While she did feel a little guilty about leaving without speaking to him, she just needed to go.
They hadn’t talked and she shouldn’t have had sex with him like that. Or made love…it did feel a lot like what she’d always hoped making love would feel like. That didn’t matter just now. She needed to think, to be alone, to not be with him.
A noise startled her as she reached Ashley’s car.
“Ashley!” she exclaimed in guilt and surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t make the party, I know…” and then she stopped talking. “Ashley?” Something was wrong. Something big.
“Can we just go home?” Ashley murmured, dipping her head and sliding into the passenger seat. Nobody locked anything on Montgomery Mountain. Only a fool with a death wish would attempt a break-in here.
Philly eyed Ashley in concern but just nodded, slipping into the driver’s seat. A flick of the wrist and the engine started with a reassuring hum. Flicking on the headlights, she put the car in reverse and tapped the gas pedal.
As the car made its way through the compound and down the lane of Montgomery houses, Philly ignored the feeling of being watched. Of course they were being watched. There were countless pack members around at any given time, usually in wolf form though not always. Whenever there was a family gathering, it was certain that other Weres were in attendance whether they could be seen or not.
She could smell that Ashley had mated. It was a dim and faded scent, but recent. She had showered.
“Myles or Kaden?” Philly asked, sure she knew the answer. She needed to rouse Ashley somehow. Her behavior was way off. Ashley looked askance at her, shaking her head. After a moment, Philly began to chuckle.
“Well, I had to try. And you do smell like both of them.”
Ashley shot her a look that could charitably called, a glare. “Kaden hugged me. That’s all.”
“But you did mate with Myles?” Philly made it a question, even though she knew the answer.
“Yeah. I did. For what it’s worth,” she said haltingly, her voice a choked sob.
Philly reached over, covering Ashley’s hand with her own. “I love you,” she murmured. “I love you, too,” Ashley sniffed, squeezing the hand covering hers. They were both quiet for a few miles. “So, you wanna get married?”
* * * * *
A low and mournful howl drifted on the clear night air and Yancey turned toward it, loping down the steep incline until he found his friend. Myles lifted his head and called out again, the music of an unhappy wolf swelling around him.
> His hair was long and unkempt, his teeth long and his face shaggy. “What happened?” Yancey asked, sitting back on his haunches next to him.
“I fucked up,” Myles choked out before throwing his head back and calling sadly once again.
Yancey heard the answering calls of Riker and Lakon coming from a distance away. A short pause and then Mik’s melodic voice flowed and filled the expanse, somehow reassuring.
Myles inhaled deeply and let out his breath slowly, wiping a hairy cheek on his shoulder. “What’s up with you?” he growled, his voice thick.
“Think maybe I fucked up, too. Again,” Yancey sighed.
“Shit,” Myles offered sympathetically.
“Yeah,” Yancey agreed. Both men sat in silence for a few minutes. “Talk first next time, huh?”
“Good advice, if there is a next time.”
“Shit.”
Nothing else to say, Yancey tipped his snout up toward the night sky and called out his frustration and unhappiness to the heavens. Myles joined him, Tav, Mik, Riker, and Lakon calling back.
We’re just missing Marc, Yancey thought, taking a deep breath and calling out his regret low and long once again.
An hour passed, maybe more, when finally Myles stood. “Wanna go?” he asked Yancey.
“Might as well,” Yancey answered, not dejected, just not sure how exactly he felt.
Yancey trotted back toward his house, Myles trotting along beside him. “Go back tomorrow afternoon?” Myles asked as they jogged.
“Yeah, I guess,” Yancey agreed, fixing his gaze ahead, not looking at his friend. “Gotta think I guess.”
“I don’t think I can stand to,” Myles said quietly, turning away toward his little cottage.
Yancey loped off toward his own small house, reassured somewhat. He felt bad for Myles, very bad. And maybe what he had done had been a mistake, making love to Philly without just talking to her first. He had dated in his life, had bedded other Weres, even human women.
Regardless of all of that, no relationship before this one had been as important. He wouldn’t get mad and he wouldn’t throw in the towel. He’d give his little mate, his wife, a chance to calm down.
On Monday, he’d talk to her. That was only the day after tomorrow. One single day. He could wait that long. He needed to do a little thinking of his own.
* * * * *
Stewie Timmons sat at the top of the rise overlooking the vacant little house. It was a pretty vista, a small valley with the neat cabin, modern conveniences artfully camouflaged. There was a little shed in back and then a grassy yard, giving way to leafy oak trees, maple, pine, a pretty mix as the leaves turned every year.
The girls--women, really, who inhabited the cabin, hadn’t been home the previous night. Stan wanted to keep watching, though, because women were funny. He told Stewie that you just never knew what women would do.
Once again, it seemed, Stan was right. A small car was turning up the drive from the road in front of the little house. As he watched, the car stopped and both doors opened at the same time.
He sat quietly, watching as the brown eyed and the blue-eyed girl both got out of the car. He didn’t care what their names were. They were just girls. He liked blue eyes the best. The brown-eyed girl…he didn’t care about brown eyes. Everybody had brown eyes, almost. No, Stewie wanted blue eyes under him, he wanted her the most.
The two girls talked quietly as they closed their car doors, going up to their house. Stan sat down beside him, looking on.
When they were inside, his brother turned to him. “So, they’re back.”
“Yup,” Stewie smiled. “And Dad isn’t. Wish we knew when he’d get back. Then we could…”
“We do,” Stan smiled, his expression smug.
“How do we know? You didn’t just ask him, did you?” Stewie was alarmed at the idea, but then Stan was so bold. He very well might just ask the old man when he’d be back. He supposed it wasn’t much of a secret to any of them what Stan and Stewie were after.
“No, idjit,” Stan bumped him with his shoulder playfully. “I didn’t have ta ask him. I just had to call Marylee,” he crowed.
Marylee was their young cousin, a generally very annoying twelve-year-old werewolf who had an enormous crush on Christopher West. She knew what the redheaded human was doing at any given time during any given day, obsessively.
“Marylee,” Stewie grinned. “And what did cousin Marylee have to say?”
“Well, it seems she was a little depressed,” Stan began, grinning back. “Turns out, today is his sister’s birthday and the whole damned family went up to Montgomery Mountain.”
Stewie faked a sad frown. “Bet they took Christopher with ‘em, huh?”
“Yup,” Stan chuckled. “So with those girls on Montgomery Mountain, Dad went home.”
“Only girls just aren’t predictable, huh?” Stewie nodded toward the little cottage below.
“Nope, completely unpredictable,” Stan nodded agreement. “The celebration was supposed to go on all day tomorrow, but it looks like the birthday girl called it early.”
“Only Dad won’t know that, huh?” Stewie observed. “Not unless they go home. And they wouldn’t, huh?”
“Hmm,” Stan looked at Stewie, eyes narrowed. “Let’s just keep an eye on them. You call Aunt Faye’s house in the morning, talk to Marylee, then we’ll see what we have,” Stan decided.
Stewie nodded. That made sense. Tomorrow sometime, he’d be looking into those pretty blue eyes while he satisfied his other needs. Yes, in fact, he would do it over and over. “You want the brown-eyed one, right?” He wanted to confirm things, just needed to be sure.
“Damned right,” Stan growled. “She and me, we’ve got a score to settle.”
Stewie smiled. No problem.
Chapter 17
“Where you headed, mate?” Yancey called out, stopping Myles mid-stride. Yancey had his cell phone out, but hadn’t yet dialed the number. He had a pretty good idea where Myles was going and could think of no reason why they shouldn’t go together. Teamwork and efficiency, he thought. They’d both screwed up at the same time--they'd fix it at the same time.
“Got it in one, old man,” Myles let him catch up. Maybe he had something similar in mind. “I’m headed to my mate.”
“You don’t want to call first?” Yancey thought that maybe a little consideration was necessary here. Whenever a woman was angry, he’d always believed lots of smiles and positive gestures were the way to go.
“Ring her up and give her time to skive off? I already know she’s blinkered on this and I mean to have it out with her today!” It had been some time since Yancey had seen Myles so worked up. In fact, it was only Ashley who’d ever caused him this much distress.
The two men were walking side by side now, and had arrived at Myles’ little sports car. Myles arched a dark brow at him when Yancey slid into the passenger seat.
“Hey, we’re going to the same place and I know exactly where it is.”
Myles rolled his eyes and got behind the wheel. It was Yancey’s turn to roll his eyes as he watched Myles tug on a pair of leather driving gloves before starting the car. Both men pulled the safety belts over their chests, snapping them into place, and Myles put his prized Bugatti in gear. Within seconds, Yancey was shaking his head ruefully.
When Myles did most things, he took them seriously. Yancey was reasonably sure that the greenish blurs outside the window were trees, but he certainly wouldn’t ask. In fact, he didn’t want to do a single thing to distract Myles’ attention from the road. If they weren’t going two hundred miles per hour, they were damned close to it.
Yancey kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, glancing from time to time at his companion. Myles’ full lips were pressed tightly together as mid morning traffic slowed him down and their speeds dropped to within nearly normal numbers.
“Call,” he snapped finally, when a wreck just past Winston-Salem, North Carolina, on US highway fifty-two north stopped them
altogether.
“Call?” Yancey teased; surprised that Myles would change his mind.
He was busy maneuvering his expensive car toward the side of the road now. “Call,” he growled. “Something’s squiffy with my Princess, I can feel it!”
Yancey stared hard at him a minute and then shrugged, pulling out his phone. “Damn sure wish you’d eventually learn to talk right,” Yancey mumbled, dialing the number as ordered.
* * * * *
Slowly, carefully, Philly inched away from Ashley, disentangling her legs from the other girl’s and easing herself off the couch.
They’d both moved into the living room by unspoken agreement. Neither had told the other what had happened with their respective spouses. And that’s what they were, Philly knew.
She didn’t have to see the bite marks on Ashley’s shoulder to know that Myles had claimed her. She didn’t have to hear the full story to know that it hadn’t been any more perfect than her own first time had been.
At some point, she knew, they would talk. Ashley would tell her what had happened, and she would tell her best friend of the beautiful, confusing, mixed up pairing she’d had with the Were that she was mated to.
Right this second, however, a very strong pot of coffee would make this day a lot easier to face. Philly squinted at the kitchen clock. Forget facing the day, they’d spent a remarkable portion of it on the couch already. It was nearly noon.
Coffee. That’s what she needed. That’s what Ashley needed, too. Philly grinned to herself as she pressed the button on top of the inexpensive coffee grinder. One quick tap, the resulting obscenity of what sounded like screws in a blender and then…
“Arahhh! What? What was that?” Ashley was up. A second or two later, she shuffled in with her light cotton robe hanging off her shoulders and dragging the ground.
Philly measured the coffee into the basket, slowly pouring the boiling water through. They had electricity and all the modern amenities, but both girls really liked an old fashioned, stronger-than-dirt cup of coffee.
