The Wolf Fount (5 page)

Morgan’s gaze wasn’t on his face when he was done. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips as she lifted one hand and just brushed the hair across his chest. From her expression, he felt certain he was pretty close to her ideal as far as her preferences for chest hair went. Possibly chests, too.

She raised her other hand and began exploring. His skin flinched at each soft touch and its accompanying flare of electricity. Keeping his mouth shut seemed like an excellent idea.
No sense distracting her right now
.

He’d need to make certain she was protected until her Awakening was complete. Afterward too; he wasn’t going to risk her being captured, tortured, and killed. Female Weres were just too damned few to allow that to happen.

Convincing her would be the tricky part, as he was certain she’d argue she was perfectly able to take care of herself. Sometimes he missed the old days, when most women hadn’t fussed much about being cosseted and protected.

It’d probably be easier just to put her on lock-down. Then he’d know exactly where she was at all times, and could be present for both her Awakening and first change.  Cal wanted to be there for them. Both events were painful, and he could help her through them.

He swallowed a groan as she trailed her fingertips over the thin line of hair that led down into his jeans. Morgan glanced up, her eyes blankly intent. The gray was fading from them.

In ten minutes or less, she’d be tearing off the rest of their clothes. He hoped.

Sebastian would see that no one disturbed them, even if he hadn’t thought to ask that favor. The huge windows were one-way mirrors and he didn’t bother with the interior lights when the club was open, so no possibility of Peeping Toms there. Checking to make certain she was fully absorbed with his chest, Cal carefully unbuttoned her jeans. She didn’t notice. Perfect.

His were next, while her fingers were on their way up. Her nails were short and manicured. Was the metallic blue they were painted her favorite color?

Considering the punch she could throw, her hands were rather small and fragile, with long, slender fingers. They looked made to wander the ivory keys of a baby grand, not to wield a blade.

Morgan chose that moment to lean forward and flick his right nipple with her tongue. His cock went hard so quickly, it hurt. She straightened, her eyes now bright green with a thin line of gold shining around the tiny dots her pupils had shrunk to. “Take off your pants.”

Hell, yes
. Cal nodded and she slid off his lap. They stood up at the same time, zippers making harsh burring sounds. Morgan paused, looked down, and sat to remove her boots and socks. He slowed, lifting each foot to tug off his own socks.

When she stood again, peeling her jeans off, he followed suit. She looked over. “Nice dick.”

“For future reference, a dick is six inches or less. I have a cock.”

Morgan laughed, and the soft, husky sound tickled through him. “Fine, Mr. Touchy. Nice
cock
.”

“Thank you. I’d make a return compliment, but ah,” he gestured at the black lace panties she still wore. “I can’t see my current first choice to heap compliments on just yet.”

She hooked her thumbs under each side and tugged the dark, silky material down. Cal sighed in relief. “I’m so glad you prune instead of scalp.”

Letting the thong slip down to her feet, she smiled while stepping free–and closer to him. He reached for her, but she caught hold of his wrists. “I have a rule.”

“No problem.”

“Me first. I don’t get off, you don’t get any.”

He grinned. “I love it when you get bossy. Bed, couch, or floor?”

Head turning, she surveyed the couch and then the king-sized bed against the far wall behind it. It was a surprise when she said, “Floor.”

“Works for me.” He’d paid a fortune for the black carpeting. It had a soft, thick pile that he knew from previous experience was easy on skin.

Still gripping his wrists, she walked backward, leading him around the coffee table and into the space between it and the center window. Catching a sudden flicker of expression from her that he took to be uncertainty, Cal went to his knees. He leaned forward and planted a kiss right above the top line of her neatly trimmed triangle.

Morgan’s knees buckled and she let go of his wrists. Quickly sliding his right arm around her, he lowered her to the floor while sneaking a look at her face. She was chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes vague. Second thoughts? If so, they needed to be headed off.

He scooted backward, nudged her legs apart with his right knee, and quickly situated himself. A look made it clear she was pretty all over, while a quiet sniff proved she had excellent hygiene. Smiling, he began with a slow, bottom to top lick.

Morgan sucked in a deep breath. Pleased by her reaction, he settled into the task with a will. Her hands found his head and gathered handfuls of hair. Her thighs quivered, slowly drawing together. Cal wrapped his hands around them to hold them apart.

She moaned, her hips making tiny jerks as he traced his tongue over each small petal of flesh, her opening, and then her clit. If her wiggling and soft moans of “yes” were any indication, he was doing a superb job.

His cock throbbed, trapped between the carpet and his belly. Cal did his best to ignore it, determined to play by her rules–at least this time. Next time, she’d be playing by
his
rules.

Though come to think of it, his weren’t actually different from hers: please the woman, then please himself. After all, it wasn’t much fun if both parties didn’t end up satisfied when all was said and done.

He’d been licking while thinking, and decided it was time for a change, moving to gently suckle her clit. That didn’t take long to do the trick; Morgan stopped breathing, her fingers pulling his hair, and then she came with a violent shudder and explosive sigh.

Edging his shoulders out from under her legs, Cal rose on all fours and eased up her body, depositing kisses as he went. He was sidetracked by her breasts for a couple minutes. Though a tad small for her height, they were nicely shaped and tipped with those perky, responsive nipples he’d admired earlier.

Morgan’s eyes, when he was finally high enough to see them, were dark. Her pupils had expanded, pushing green and gold to thin rings. He kissed her–no protest or cries of “Ew, gross” resulting, which he’d heard more than a few times the past couple decades–and asked, “How was that?”

“Yes.” She blinked. “What was the question?”

He fought a smile. “It was ‘do I get to pick the position?’”

“Oh, uh... yeah?”

“Thank you. Mind if we move to the bed?” She rolled her head from side to side. “Great. Up we go, darlin’.”

T
hings weren’t going exactly as planned. Calhoun was doing an excellent job of ringing all her bells, and it had been a while since she’d gone this far with someone who rang any, customer or not.

As a result, Morgan was having difficulty thinking, but she was trying. Was Calhoun one of “them” that Bully Boy had seemed afraid of? Or had he thought she was a vampire?

They were on the bed.

When did we reach the bed?
Egyptian cotton sheets, single-ply and high thread count–she knew quality linen when she felt it–were like cool silk under her. She was not beyond all rational thought. “You better have a condom handy.”

“Right.” He nodded and sat on the bed’s edge, opening the drawer of the nightstand. She heard the crinkle and rip of plastic before he moved to roll on the condom ... and looked to make certain that’s what he was doing.

Some men pretended to, or even removed them during position changes because they “couldn’t feel anything.” You’d think they wouldn’t because of STDs, but hell, most men were dumbasses when it came to sex.

Calhoun wasn’t pretending, and didn’t look miffed when he turned to her. He leaned down for a kiss, and just before her mind shut down again Morgan thought,
I’m making a huge mistake
.

Her body disagreed, quivering while he kissed and caressed it before sliding on top of her. Her legs were already spread, practically laying out the welcome mat. He accepted the invitation, shuddering as his cock slid in. “Ow.”

“Ow?” Not something she was used to hearing, at least not for plain old missionary.

“Foot cramp.” He smiled, his eyes showing streaks of orange, and began to move. It felt too good to be worrying about anything, so Morgan decided not to.

She hooked her legs over his, meeting each thrust, and burying one hand in his hair, pulled his head down for a kiss. Fire flared and flashed, pooling low in her body. Sex for fun was always better than sex for pay. Why was that?

Calhoun jerked as she dragged the nails of her left hand across his back. He nipped her tongue, shoving his left arm under her shoulders and curling his hand over one. His right hand caught hold of her thigh, pulling until he could fit his forearm in the bend of her knee to hold it up.

Another point of wonderful friction was the result, adding to what was already happening internally. Morgan hummed in appreciation at the sensations.

He broke the kiss. “Like that?”

“Yes.”

“We can do something different.”

“No.”

“Are you su-
mmph
.” She pulled his head back down. He was talking too much. She’d once read a scientific study that claimed women were noisier during sex than men were. Not in her experience. Men grunted, groaned, and generally yapped their fool heads off during and after. Wouldn’t shut up unless you shoved something into their mouth.

Being that this was recreational and not business, she wasn’t interested in spouting off practiced phrases to boost his ego. She just wanted him to keep going, as long as possible. The rest of the damn night, if he had it in him.

For the first time in weeks, the need wasn’t grumbling in the back of her mind. Her body was getting exactly what it wanted, after the string of aborted pick-ups. She felt strangely safe, under the growing pleasure.

Calhoun felt wonderful. He smelled and tasted good. His skin was smooth and hot against hers, except in one spot on his chest that rubbed against her left breast. Muscles, hard and powerful, moved under her hand.

A flutter, tensing, and then she came with a loud, gusty sigh as her body shivered in approval. He groaned, pressing his cheek against hers, but didn’t say anything. Good, he’d gotten that she wanted him to shut up.

And he didn’t stop. If he weren’t such an irritating dickhead with his clothes on, he’d make a great boyfriend.

I did not just think that
.

Except she had.

He began thrusting a little faster, his lips descending on hers again. Their tongues dueled, and she heard a faint tearing noise.

Calhoun suddenly growled. The deep reverberation of it startled her into opening her eyes. His were open, dark orange spiked with gold. He pulled away just enough for her to see that his canines were long, and then he froze, his cock jerking heavily as he came.

She half-expected him to bite her. Instead, he blinked, grinned, and smacked a noisy kiss on her lips. “Up for another round?”

“Uh-huh.”

––––––––

D
amn
. Cal glanced down at his cock, searching for worn spots. And possibly burns, from the weird shocks. Morgan lay sprawled on her stomach beside him, sound asleep.

Satisfied it wasn’t a bloody nub or fried, he checked the time. Five thirty-eight in the morning. His body protested when he rolled onto his side and sat up.

I’m out of shape
. Looking down at the floor, he counted seven wrappers.
Okay, maybe not that out of shape
.

His lips quirked as he looked over his shoulder at her. It had been a long time since he’d felt such a massive hunger for sex, or for that matter, been with a woman with such an appetite for it. She was voracious, willing to continue for hours–until she’d finally conked out twenty minutes or so ago, during a rest break.

Cal stood up, barely repressing a groan, and limped to the bathroom. A hot shower would take care of his aches, and then he could make the necessary calls so her stay was as comfortable as possible.

The shower did help, and he was feeling damn good by the time he wiped steam off the mirror over the sink. He took his time shaving, brushing his teeth and hair. After a splash of aftershave, he stepped out and checked on her.

Or would have, if she were still there.

A quick search proved she’d only left her ripped shirt behind, and that she’d taken one of his Chanteloup polo shirts from the closet.

Swearing under his breath, Cal yanked on some clothes and left the suite. The entrance doors were unlocked, and her car wasn’t in the parking lot. A whistle brought one of the guards on duty trotting out of the trees. “Did you see her leave?”

“No, sir. Heard it, about 15 minutes ago.”

With a sigh, Cal waved him away and went back inside. It looked like he’d have to hunt her down.

For her own sake, of course.