Chapter Ten – Angela
Chapter Ten
Angela
I leaned against the far side of the door the second Jack left, my heart still in my throat.
My wolf—it’d been so strange—at first seeing Jack, my wolf had lunged like a dog on a leash, angry and afraid.
Of Jack, of all people, one of my oldest employees, someone I knew—and that she ought to recognize!
It’d been hard to carry on a rational conversation with him over her fear—especially as it twisted and changed through ten different other emotions, calming down to wind up at…
lust. By the end of our conversation, she’d wanted him.
I frowned at myself, as I pushed off the door and went to take the stairs. Maybe she wasn’t picky now that I’d finally let her out, and she wanted to catch up on all the life she’d missed while I’d trapped her with silver deep inside.
Or—I walked into my room, past the painting of a rabbit Jack had meticulously done as a gift for me—maybe my wolf sensed something in him, like I thought I did sometimes. Something bad…but also good.
I went to the window to peek through the blinds.
Jack was out in the parking lot talking to the guys Mark had left behind.
I wondered if he was getting interrogated on my behalf—one of my own employees!
How was I going to explain that to Jack if he asked later?
I couldn’t breathe a word of what Mark was doing for me, I’d have to come up with a decent lie by the time I saw Jack again tomorrow night.
The smell of sex here was still heady in the air—I crawled back into bed with my robe still on, one knee bent. Jack’s arrival had brought her back in full-force and now she was still roiling around inside, reveling in her freedom within me—and thinking about Jack.
“Don’t be silly,” I told her, pulling one hand up to my robe’s v-neck.
The skin there—my skin—was so soft. I wondered if I’d ever appreciated that before—and then realized that that was her thought, that just as I marveled in her fur, she could be mystified at my smoother parts.
My hand stroked out and down a little as if of its own accord, tracing up the slight peak to my still hidden nipple.
I opened up my mouth to chastise her—and then realized I’d never given her a name. Did she have one? Would I find out if I asked her? One fingertip played lazily against the cotton, relishing the sensations underneath.
“Girl,” I warned, and got a flood of impressions from her.
What if Jack were in the room, what if Jack was beside us, what if it were him here, doing this, to us?
Whatever affection she’d shown Mark was utterly redoubled where Jack was concerned.
I sidled off the shoulder of my robe without thinking about it, giving my hands more range.
“That’s impossible,” I told her. “And it’s silly.”
But I didn’t stop as we traced the outline of a breast. We wriggled, and the entire top of our robe came off, both arms free now, hands able to stroke and pull and touch. Sensations rolled over my body, electric because I was feeling them twice, once through me and once through her.
I closed my eyes as my hands crept south and imagined him behind me, that I could feel him breathing as he explored me, and my other knee came up.
I pushed the robe’s soft cotton away and down, so that the only bit of it still on me was the tie across my waist, and I imagined that that pressure somehow were his arms as one of my fingers reached my clit.
After everything that’d come before this evening I should’ve had nothing left, and yet—touching there, stroking gently on top of my hood—everything in me came back to life.
Oh, if only it were Jack’s tongue—I gave into my wolf’s imagination, letting her images roll through me—realizing that most of them were thoughts I’d already had before.
Him below me on the bed, kissing up, pushing his tongue in there—as I pushed eager fingers inside.
The way I knew he’d kiss my clit, rolling it against his tongue—as I used my own juices to smoothly slick it in his stead.
My left hand crossed my chest to grab at my right breast, stroking, rubbing, and pulling, as the other one danced in the rhythm of my imagination, using three fingers to rub myself luxuriantly in slow wide circles.
If it were his hands on me—I’d seen them often enough with their tattoos—if it was his body below me, so that I could look down at the markings on his chest—if it was his body above me, his cock thrusting in—I pushed my fingers lower to mimic the effect, feeling how wet I was, how ready, if only instead of sending him away I’d pulled him in.
But no—I belonged to Mark—even as I imagined Jack breathlessly kissing me, grabbing my hips, pulling me onto him as I rose up on my toes, our bodies joined. I kept my eyes screwed shut, picturing him taking me, the way his eyes would be looking down, so pleased to be inside me at long last—
And that was it, wasn’t it. He’d smelled of other women tonight—so many other women!
All the time! But he still wanted me. He’d never said anything about it after he’d started working for me, but I could see it in his eyes.
I could feel him watching me when we were both at the shop, when he thought I didn’t know.
On the surface we kept it professional, but underneath—he was a man who desperately wanted to fuck me, and I was a werewolf who desperately wanted to be fucked. Tonight had been no different.
My hands took on a life of their own, playing me, pulling me closer to the edge as I gave in—Jack’s lips at my neck, my hands in his hair, him hard inside—I went deeper, pressed harder and thought of him coming inside me with a wild cry, so eager to give me his load—it was that that made me come, my hips shaking as my breath hissed, the thought of me taking it inside, that final moment when his cock would be ramrod straight before coming in me.
My hands carried me through, and I pressed my knees together for a moment, sealing my fingers in and rocking myself. Pleasure and relief rolled through me in equal waves, until I collapsed. Instead of getting up to turn the light off, I put a pillow over my head and went to sleep, deeply satisfied.