Chapter Seventeen #2
He was driving me completely insane, and I wasn’t the only one. His wolf was too near the surface tonight not to take an interest in the proceedings, and he did not understand what the trouble was. He kept howling at Cyrus to please his lady already, which, yeah, what he said!
But Cyrus ignored him. So I woke up my own wolf so she could help my cause, only that wasn’t what happened.
She and Cyrus’s alter ego bounded around a little, as they always did when meeting each other, as if they’d been away for a year instead of a few hours or days.
And then, once she understood the problem, they decided that the best way to assist would be a demonstration, as they were also a mated pair.
And started proving that by getting busy in metaphysical space, which only made things worse!
Her boundless enthusiasm bled over into me, heightening my need, which was already intense.
Making me gasp and writhe and swear against the goddamned sofa back, while she, the wanton hussy, made no attempt to get Cyrus’s other half to slap him into shape.
Instead, she distracted his wolf, losing me my only ally.
And making Cyrus chuckle, because he was following all of this, too.
“Damn it!” I panted. “Stop being a dick!”
This brilliant argument did not appear to sway him. And just as I’d been able to tease him without finishing the job, he drew on extensive knowledge of my preferences to bring me to the brink over and over and over and over. But never letting me finish.
“Goddamn... you!”
“Think Marilyn Monroe,” he whispered, bending over to whisper in my ear—and changing positions yet again.
“No! Go back! Go back!”
“Or Betty Grable. Or Jayne Mansfield—”
“You know… those were all… blondes!” I snarled.
“Or the divine Betty Paige, the exquisite Jane Russell, the immortal Sophia Loren—”
“How are you able… to think… this clearly?” I asked.
“You know why.”
He did something that had my toes curling and my eyes disappearing into my skull, possibly permanently.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“Oh, God.”
“Sayyy iiiitttt—”
“You’re a bastard!”
“You know, I can do this all day.”
And the damned thing was, he could. Were stamina was legendary, but my patience wasn’t! Or my sanity!
“Fine! Give it to me, daddy-o.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I mean it! I mean it!” God, what the hell was he doing? I didn’t know, but I was losing. My goddamned. Mind.
“Say it!”
But I’d already forgotten what it was, along with my name, where I lived, and what year it was. I couldn’t have passed a cognitive test if my life had depended on it, much less remember whatever the hell he wanted to hear. So I screamed the only thing that came to mind.
“You’re the man!”
And I guessed that was good enough.
“You know it, baby,” he told me, in his best Frank Sinatra voice.
And what had I been thinking? Doing a fifties era challenge with a guy whose crappy apartment downtown—when he’d still had it—had been plastered with Rat Pack posters and lit by a lamp made out of a lady’s leg in a fishnet stocking. It was like I’d wanted to lose.
Which… okay, maybe, I decided, as he proved that he was indeed the man. Several times over. Until my eyes reappeared from exploring my cranium just so they could cross, and I was threatening to rip the couch apart, thrashing and screaming and crying and coming—
“Oh, sorry!” somebody squeaked, and the door quickly slammed shut. And damn it, I thought, trying to look over my shoulder but just seeing a sweaty and disheveled Cyrus. And being too lost in the afterglow to care all that much anyway.
“Who…. the hell… was that?” I asked when I could talk.
“Not sure. But I gave the clan a key card earlier.”
“Why?”
“The guys were supposed to drop off some supplies.”
Great.
“They mostly saw my bare backside,” he assured me. “My body was blocking you.”
“Oh, good.”
It took me a minute because my brain was busy riding a cloud of bliss. “Wait. Bare?”
“No underwear, either.”
I laughed. And then I thought about it and laughed some more at the idea of the scion of great Clan Arnou, the man who was helping to decide the fate of the Were world, going commando because neither of us had managed to source any underwear.
And the more I laughed, the funnier it got, after the stress of a very weird day, which only made me laugh harder.
Until I was crying and coming and giggling and gasping, which was an interesting combination of sensations.
“We’re both… doing great… at this whole adult thing,” I finally breathed, my exhausted head drooping.
“We do okay,” he said, pulling me back against him. And holding me tight as I shuddered through the last of the fireworks, which took a while. Then he turned me around so he could kiss me properly, now that the main event was over, although this was nice, too.
This was very nice.
He smelled like musk and sex, the faint chemicals from when the tux was last drycleaned, and the hotel’s bath products.
He tasted like mint chewing gum and whiskey, and he felt like my every dream rolled into one.
My last orgasm was still shuddering through me, but I decided I could go again as soon as I had my breath back—
Except that we probably had a knot of Weres outside the door, waiting for us to finish up for some reason. And yeah, I could just hear them if I concentrated, making awkward small talk down the hall and trying to act like they didn’t know what was going on. Wonderful.
“They want to know what’s happening downstairs,” Cyrus said softly, because he could hear them, too. “If those people are really part of the clan and where our older members fit, if so.”
I sighed. “Damn it.”
“You know, this is how it’s going to be all the time if we have children,” he breathed, his forehead dropping to mine.
“We have children. And you haven’t even met them yet.”
He pulled back slightly to look at me quizzically.
“You can leave the shmoozing to Sebastian,” I added. “He’s better at it anyway. And come have dinner with your new clan.”
“Dressed like this?” He indicated the ruin of a perfectly good tux. That was two in two days, which was impressive, even for a Were.
“We’ll find you something.” I looked over his shoulder to where two plastic bags from a popular local chain store lay by the door, spilling what looked like jeans and t-shirts onto the rug. The aforementioned supplies, I assumed. “Looks like the boys came through.”
“Yeah, but will it chime like cowboy spurs?”
I tilted my head because I hadn’t realized he’d enjoyed that. “Do you want it to?”
“Under the right circumstances, it could be interesting,” he whispered, nuzzling my ear. “Does Dante’s have a lingerie line?”
“Didn’t see one, but we can ask. Not sure if they’ll have much guys’ stuff, though.”
“I wasn’t thinking about for me.”
“Yeah,” I grinned. “But I was.”