Bayou Loup

by Lynn Lorenz

  Mark sipped his whiskey. Well, at least Bobby, if it was him, frequented the place. How determined was Mark about finding him again? Willing to come here every Friday night for how long? A month? Two months? Six?

  The waiter returned. “So, this guy? About six four? Silver-gray blond?”

  “Yeah.” Mark pushed his glass forward. “Another, please.”

  “Give the man another drink,” a deep, sexy voice said from behind Mark. Shivers rippled through Mark’s body, straight to his cock, and his heartbeat staggered.

  Bobby slid onto the chair next to him. “Hey.” He motioned to the waiter to bring him one also.

  Mark caught the silly grin on the young man’s face as he headed off for the drinks before he turned his full attention to the big man next to him.

  “Hey.” Their gazes locked, and Mark’s body went up in flames, the fire licking his balls and dick as if Bobby’s tongue were on him.

  For a long moment, that fire danced between them, until Bobby stood, threw a twenty on the bar, and said, “Let’s go get a room.”

  Mark downed the last of his drink, winked at the bartender, and followed Bobby like a dog follows his master. If he had a tail, he’d have wagged it in sheer anticipation of what the two of them would do together.

  Chapter Seven

  Bobby opened the door to the room and then stepped inside. Mark didn’t hesitate; he just threw himself onto the big man. Bobby caught him, twisted around, and pinned him to the closing door.

  The walls of the room shook with the force, and Mark’s head hit the door. White stars circled in his vision, and then Bobby was on him, mouth pressed to Mark’s, barely allowing him to catch his breath.

  Mark’s belly fluttered. Nothing before moved him like this man and his aggression. His utter and complete possession of Mark’s body turned Mark on and got his dick painfully rigid.

  He opened for Bobby, and Bobby claimed him with his tongue, burying his hands in Mark’s hair, holding him in place so he couldn’t fight.

  Not that Mark was going to put up a fight. Christ, he’d been dreaming of this for weeks, of the touch of Bobby on his body, the taste of the man.

  As if he was addicted or something.

  The way Mark wanted this man was crazy.

  And maybe Bobby felt the same, if his moans were any sign.

  “Damn, I missed you.” Bobby raked his teeth over Mark’s throat, sending another shiver down Mark’s body.

  “Missed you. Jerked off thinking of you.” Mark got out the words before Bobby reclaimed his mouth.

  They kissed, licking and sucking, biting and lapping at each other as if neither of them could get enough.

  Bobby let go of Mark’s head, but only to fight with Mark’s shirt, trying to get it off without making room for it. He’d plastered his body to Mark’s without a hint of space between them.

  “Back off,” Mark whispered. “Let me get out of…”

  Bobby let him go, and Mark almost fell to his knees. He had no idea how much the man had been holding him upright. His knees had weakened at the very first touch.

  Mark staggered, trying to pull his shirt over his head. Anything to get naked faster.

  Bobby had his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor. Mark’s joined it. Then Bobby was on him again, this time Bobby’s large hands unbuttoning Mark’s jeans.

  Mark laughed. “I can do that. Do you.”

  “Fuck. Need you. Damn clothing.” Bobby growled, and the sound just melted Mark. What was it about this man and his damn alpha ways? Mark had never been crazy about the show of force, the show of dominance, until now. Until Bobby.

  Mark kicked off his shoes, stripped out of his jeans, and jumped onto the bed with Bobby right behind him. Bobby stalked up the king-size bed to where Mark sat, his back against the pillows, waiting.

  Bobby grabbed Mark’s foot by the ankle and bent down. He inhaled deeply, eyes closed, and moaned. “Yes, God, I love the way you smell.” Then he licked Mark’s toes, up his ankle, and laid long, wet strokes up Mark’s calf.

  Mark struggled against Bobby. Not that it hurt or tickled, but he couldn’t keep himself from crying out, begging for more. Bobby lapped at him as if he were the best-tasting thing ever.

  No one had ever done the shit Bobby did to him. And until he’d met Bobby, if someone had told him that he’d love it, he’d have told them to fuck off. No way.

  He wanted Bobby to do everything to him. Whatever the man wanted, Mark wanted too.

  Bobby worked his tongue over Mark’s knee, behind it, and to the inside of Mark’s thigh.

  “Yes, God!” Mark cried out, clutching his dick, stroking it.

  “Don’t!” Bobby rumbled as he looked up into Mark’s eyes. “That’s mine.”

  Mark froze, locked in the man’s gaze. He let his cock go and grabbed the covers instead.

  “Damn right.” Now Bobby’s deep chuckle, coupled with that smile of his, about undid Mark, but he held back coming. Not until Bobby told him. Ordered him.

  Bobby lowered his head and resumed licking up Mark’s thigh, his hand sliding along before his tongue, setting the hair on Mark’s leg tingling only to be soothed by the wetness of his tongue. He nipped at the tender spot just below Mark’s balls.

  “God! Fuck me!” Mark couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

  Bobby shook his head. “I say when I fuck you. Right?”

  “Right,” Mark gasped, his chest heaving as he gulped in air to keep himself under control.

  “I say when you come.”

  Mark nodded as he bit down hard on his bottom lip.

  “Say it.” Bobby licked Mark’s nut, his tongue teasing it.

  “You tell me when to come.” Mark nearly ripped holes in the bedspread, he clutched it so tightly.

  “Damn right.”

  Bobby licked Mark’s other nut, then laid the flat of his tongue against the fat underside of Mark’s cock, tracing the bulging vein up to the tip of his shaft.

  “Please,” Mark whimpered. His balls tightened up, and the familiar tingling started at the base of his cock. “Soon.”

  Bobby wrapped his hand around the base of Mark’s dick and then swallowed the upper half. Mark cried out, banging his head against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to keep from coming, as Bobby sucked him hard.

  Up and down, Bobby slid Mark’s cock in and out of his mouth. And watching it, damn, that only made it worse. Made him want to shoot so damn bad. Made him want to give Bobby every drop of his cum.

  “Bobby. Gonna…wanna…” Mark panted, unable to finish a sentence.

  “Not yet.” Bobby sucked on the fat head of Mark’s dick, now red and growing darker as blood infused it.

  Up. Down. Swirl.

  Bobby drove Mark insane. This was insanity. Begging to come and praying not to, to let it last, until Mark lost his mind.

  Bobby popped off. He looked up at Mark, and Mark stilled.

  “Come for me, baby.”

  Mark’s body went tight. Then he arched off the bed, letting the command take over him, letting go, coming at last.

  “Yes! Fuck, yes!” Mark shot hard, the streams of white cum jerking his body each time one left, arching into the air. Bobby’s knowing stare, saying, You’re fucking mine, and I own you, just dragged out the orgasm until Mark, spent and wasted, collapsed onto his back on the bed.

  “Oh God,” Mark whispered when he finally caught his breath.

  Bobby chuckled. “I needed that.”

  “I’m the one who came.” Mark pushed up to look at him.

  “No. I came too. Watching you.” Bobby blushed. “Never did that before.”

  They lay staring up at the ceiling of the hotel room.

  “I have to go back home tomorrow.” Mark wanted to get that out first before he said anything else. “I have work.”

  “Okay.” Bobby nodded. “We have until eleven tomorrow morning.”

  “Let’s not waste the time, huh?” Mark gave Bobby a hungry stare. />
  “Hey, give a man some breathing room.” Bobby laughed. “You’re younger than me, remember?”

  “I never noticed anything wrong with your recovery time before.” Mark wiggled his eyebrows at Bobby.

  ∙•∙

  “Yeah. Well.” Bobby cleared his throat. How could he ever tell Mark about being a werewolf and having more stamina than a normal man? Even in his weakened condition, he could last longer, go harder, than a man Mark’s age.

  Mark looked at him as if he were a god. Bobby felt ten feet tall, and then he crashed. Those looks would change damn fast if Mark knew the truth of who Bobby was. And Bobby wasn’t ready for that.

  He wanted Mark. He needed Mark. More than Mark would ever need him. For Bobby it was life and death, to find a new mate. He’d resigned himself to death, until Mark. Now he hoped. But at what price?

  If Mark was truly his mate, then he’d feel the same way about Bobby. He’d want him, crave him, no matter what. Carol had. She’d completely accepted Bobby’s wolf, that part of him kept hidden from all but their closest friends and relatives.

  Mark rolled over and threw his arm over Bobby’s chest. “Hey, where’d you go?” His brows furrowed.

  “Just thinking how damned lucky I was to find you here again.” Bobby wasn’t ready to spill the beans.

  “Damned lucky, if I say so myself.” Mark ran his hand over Bobby’s chest, fingers playing in the blond hair around Bobby’s nipples.

  “Want to get lucky again?” Bobby growled, pulling Mark closer.

  Mark licked around one nipple, then sucked it into his mouth.

  “Yeah, I do.” Mark breathed against the already tight bud.

  Bobby rolled him over, covering his man, pushing Mark’s legs apart. They rubbed against each other, their cocks dancing back and forth, teasing each other until both men were moaning and cursing and Mark begged Bobby to fuck him.

  So Bobby did.

  »»•««

  Bobby woke up the next morning with a warm man plastered to his chest. He puffed out his breath, ruffling Mark’s hair on the back of his neck. Mark murmured something and adjusted his ass into Bobby’s crotch until Bobby’s morning wood snuggled between Mark’s ass cheeks.

  “Damn, babe. You know how to wake a man up.” Mark caught Bobby’s hand and brought it around to his mouth to kiss.

  “I think I woke up hard. My body just knew it wanted you.”

  “Mr. Romantic.” Mark nudged back against him as he laughed.

  Bobby inhaled, memorizing the scent of his man. His mate. He’d have to broach this subject soon. They couldn’t keep meeting like this, but if that was all Mark wanted, Bobby would have to deal.

  For now, their pact of no personal information still stood. But for how long? Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but Mark spoke first.

  “Maybe we could make this a regular thing?” Mark sounded uncertain.

  “Is that what you want?” Bobby let Mark lead the way. No way would he force the man or lay some guilt trip on him about needing Mark or he’d die. If he did, he’d never know if Mark was with him out of guilt or fear or love.

  And it was way too soon to talk about love.

  This was nothing more than animal lust. His wolf lusted for Mark. And that shocked him to no end. He’d never expected his wolf to be in sync with what he wanted; it hadn’t before with Carol. What had changed? He’d never know since there was no way he could ask his wolf about it. He’d just have to be happy they both wanted Mark.

  But what did Mark feel? Lust probably. To Mark, Bobby was a good time. A great fuck. No strings attached.

  “Yeah. Don’t you?” Mark asked.

  Bobby nodded. “Yeah. I want to see you again.” Maybe if he moved slowly, took his time, and let Mark’s feelings have time to grow, in a while it’d be easier to tell him that he was a werewolf.

  “Great. I’m free in three weeks.” Mark got up and headed for the bathroom.

  “Okay. It’s a date,” Bobby called out over the sound of Mark pissing. The toilet flushed, and Mark came back to the bed.

  Bobby’s turn. He passed Mark, hooked his hand behind Mark’s neck, and pulled him in for a good-morning kiss, bad breath and all. Their lips met, and Mark melted into him. And despite it, he tasted great.

  Bobby broke the kiss, slapped Mark on the ass, and sauntered to the bathroom.

  They only had a few hours left, and Bobby wasn’t finished with Mark yet. He knew too soon it’d be time to say good-bye. Time to leave the room and the man he thought of as his.

  Mate or not. Declared or not.

  Mark was his.

  Chapter Eight

  Darlene Dupree, Sheriff Scott Dupree’s mother, stubbed out her cigarette and pushed the ashtray away from her. She looked down at the black cat sitting at her feet. It looked back at her, its green eyes glowing as if lit from within.

  “I’m going into town. I need more candles.”

  The cat meowed, then started to lick its paw, unconcerned by her pronouncement.

  “While I’m gone, stay off my sofa.” She gave the cat the evil eye. It stood and soft-footed to the sofa in question, and with one graceful leap, landed on the arch of the back. It settled there, wrapped its tail around its body, and closed its eyes.

  She could hear the damn thing purring from the kitchen.

  “Pfftt.” She gave it a raspberry. The cat had to go, no doubt about it. When she got home, she’d kick it out. Toss it into the swamp. Let the gators get it. That’ll show him. Stupid cat.

  She stood, went to the chair in the living room, and stepped out of her pink fuzzy slippers with Princess embroidered across the tops, and into her sensible shoes. After gathering her purse and her car keys, she went to the door.

  Just as she was about to close and lock it, she told the cat, “Stay outta my booze.”

  The cat purred louder, if that was possible.

  She shut the door and locked it, then went down the steps to her car. She got in and adjusted the mirrors, checking her lipstick in the mirror on the back of the visor. Not bad for an old broad. She flipped it back up and started the car.

  She’d been looking forward to shopping today, going into St. Jerome and picking up the candles she used for her prayers. She used a lot of them. There were so many people to pray for now. Not like a year ago.

  Back then she’d prayed for the sick of the parish. Now her special prayers went out for the men of the pack, her special men. Ted Canedo her son Scott’s partner. Deputy Billy Trosclair and his partner, Peter. Cute little thing. So sweet.

  Such nice men. And so in love.

  That her son wound up gay—or as he liked to correct her, just in love with a man—should have come as a blow. She rolled her eyes at her son’s mental maneuvering. He still couldn’t get over being with Ted, but she’d accepted it, even if it meant she might not get those grandkids she’d longed for. Then again, look at the guy who played cute little Doogie Howser and his boyfriend and their twins. There was still hope. And there were still her special prayers.

  She sighed as she turned onto the highway from the gravel road that led from her house, and headed toward St. Jerome and the church’s store. Maybe she’d stop by the sheriff’s office and see Scott.

  The town was up ahead, and she followed the main street to the big Catholic church and pulled into the parking lot. The door to the little shop adjacent to the rectory stood open. The weather had turned cooler now that October had arrived, and a little fresh air never hurt anyone, she always said.

  She got out and entered. “Hey, cher, how you makin’?” she sang out.

  Muriel looked up, smiled, and stood. “Hey, Ms. Dupree. I’m doing just fine. Whatchu need today?”

  “Some nice candles.” Darlene wandered over to the counter. Behind it, the candles, about twelve inches tall and housed in glass, decorated with images of Jesus, Mary, Jesus and Mary, God, and the Holy Ghost stood lined up like Christian soldiers on three shelves. Each shelf had a different price on
it.

  “I got some real nice ones of Mary and Baby Jesus.” Muriel pointed to them. “We just got them in. You doin’ a novena or what?”

  “No, nothing special. I just like to light them when I say my prayers. You know.” She shrugged. “They’re nice. Let me have one of them and one of the Mary.” Of course, she’d never tell Muriel most of her prayers were done at midnight in the swamp on an old cypress log. That Muriel couldn’t keep her mouth shut to save her soul.

  “I like that one. Mary always listens, don’t she?” Muriel sighed, and her eyes welled with tears.

  Darlene patted Muriel’s hand. “She does, cher.” Poor Muriel. She could light all the candles in the world but that wouldn’t change the fact that her daughter was a slut. Three babies and three daddies. Merde!

  Muriel took the candles down and then began wrapping them up.

  Darlene gave it a second thought. Maybe she needed one more. “Let me have the one of the Holy Spirit too.” If anyone needed a prayer, it was Muriel and that wild child of hers.

  “That’s a good one. Who you going to use it for?”

  “I’ve got an idea.” She winked.

  Muriel didn’t press any further. She placed them on top of a roll of bubble wrap and taped it around the candles. “This should keep them safe.”

  “Is Father Peder in?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. Did you notice his car in the parking lot?” Muriel asked.

  “I didn’t, cher. I’ll check on my way to my car. If he’s here, I’ll want him to give these a special blessing.”

  Muriel nodded. “A little holy water never hurt anything.” She handed Darlene the white plastic bag with the church’s name and a large cross on it in blue.

  “Have a blessed day!” Muriel sang out.

  “You too, cher!”

  She made her way back to the parking lot, stopped, and scanned it. The priest’s car was parked under the huge old oak tree. She squinted at it. Something was different.

  She moved closer and went around the car. One of the lower branches had been removed, and the freshly cut light oak rings drew her attention.

  “What the he—” She stepped onto the grass.