Chapter Eleven – Jack
Chapter Eleven
Jack
I pulled my car into the parking lot at my own apartment complex wondering if Paco was right. I only had a few hours left till dawn if I was going to shirk kid-duty. I didn’t want to be an asshole and cancel late—but how hard could watching one seven-year-old be? I put my car into park and got out.
A red Honda civic turned to pull in and park right beside mine, the only other vacant spot. I got out of the way and gave a neighborly nod—to Florida.
“Hey,” he said, getting out of his car quickly.
“Hey,” I said back. He was wearing an outfit, the livery of some hotel downtown, and he noticed me noticing.
“I’m on lunch break.”
“So you are,” I said, gave him a companionable grin, and started heading for my number.
“It’s thirty minutes,” he said, almost to the back of my head. I could’ve kept walking but—Paco had a point. If I wasn’t going to get the chance to feed tomorrow night, I needed to die at dawn full.
And also he looked fucking good in black.
I turned very slowly, walked back to the space between our cars, and got far too close to him. “How hungry are you?” I asked, my voice low.
His lips parted in anticipation. “I don’t need to eat any food,” he said, and reached for my belt. He had it unbuckled and was about to kneel down when I remembered where I’d been earlier.
“Come here,” I said, pulling him up and closer to me, undoing his own belt and pants.
He made a small noise as my hand sank in, and as I found the heat of his cock I felt it swell.
“I don’t have much time, again,” I said, whispering, pressing his head to mine, nuzzling his ear.
“So this is going to be fast, yeah? Lips later, sucking later—fast for now.”
He nodded—and then his own hand pushed into my jeans to grasp me. I was instantly hard and heard him moan, thinking of so many other things we could do. “Not today,” I whispered, and pulled his hand out as I began to stroke him.
Florida was easy to read—between his posture and his breath, the way his blood flew around inside him like he was a snowglobe, the thickness of his cock against my palm—he was mine to control, and I could make this experience last as long as it pleased me or make him instantly come.
I played with him, bringing him close, listening to his breath catch and him almost whine, taking him further and further repeatedly—it was like his orgasm was a ripening plum—I wanted to push it to the limit until it was the right time to taste.
“Please, please, please,” his hips beat against my hand, begging as he did for release.
“Okay,” I breathed, and gave him it, two more firm strokes from hilt to head and—he gasped and sagged against me, curling up, making all sorts of soft noises.
“Shh,” I counseled, feeling his cock go rigid and then hot cum spill into my hand in pulses.
Life reverberated out of him like a firmly plucked bass string, deep and true.
I basked in it as I pulled him forward, so his cum would fall between us, missing his crisply ironed slacks.
Then I gently let go of him and flicked my hand to knock the rest of it to the ground.
He stood there, balanced against his car, hands on his thighs, panting. “What’s your name?”
“Zach.”
“We’re not going to make this a thing okay, Zach? I have friends and obligations.” I wiped my hand on my jeans as he caught his breath. He nodded.
“I just feel bad,” he said, and made a gesture towards me, where I was redoing my belt, clearly hard myself.
“Don’t,” I said too firmly, and he looked hurt. “Maybe I like having you owe me,” I added, to soften it.
He almost laughed then. “If you say so.”
“I do. Have a good night, Zach,” I said, going for my keys with my clean hand.
“What’s your name?”
“Maybe I’ll tell you next time,” I said, without looking back.
I took the long way to get to my apartment, not that he was in any shape to follow me, and locked myself inside with an irate Sugar.
“I know, I know, I was gone all night, I’m sorry, okay?” I apologized as she wound against my calves, meowing. I washed my hands and was booting up my computer to kill time till dawn when on my desk my phone buzzed. A text, from Paco—hopefully apologizing for being a jerk.
I opened it up and read:
Hey, new intel from coroner’s office.
I was typing out Yeah? when his next text arrived.
Bella was knocked up.
I replaced my Yeah? with a Thanks.
Bella was pregnant? How far along was she when I was with her?
I tried to think back. She’d always had a few curves, but nothing I would’ve asked about—and it would have been none of my business besides.
But if she’d really known what the Pack was, and had somehow been impregnated with a werewolf child, that might explain why she’d gone on the run—and why Pack members would want to chase her.
I tried to braid the threads together in my mind, Bella’s death, Angela hiding out from the Pack—was she pregnant with a werewolf’s baby too? No. She’d been with Mark for months, and while he had a jaw like a lantern, I felt confident that if I punched it hard enough it’d shatter.
But she did already have a child—Rabbit. And she had gotten that strange letter from prison….
I had a wild hunch—and suddenly it was a good thing I was watching Rabbit tomorrow night—all the better to try and touch him with something silver.