Werecats and Werelocks (Collection) (7 page)

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Frankie stretched with a wide yawn, rolling as best she could in the confines of the cage to her back, giving it a good scratch. As her head lolled upside down, she caught sight of the cage door.

It was open.

Fly
.

Flipping over to her belly, she tentatively poked a head out of the opening and sniffed the air, her whiskers fluttering. The room was dark and there wasn't a sound coming from anywhere in the house.

How generous that her new master had decided she could have free rein. He might regret that when he sat on his boring leather couch tomorrow.

But that was spiteful, wasn't it, she thought, hopping down from the shined to within an inch of its life desk and onto the plush carpeting in Sam's office. She padded out and into the entryway, ignoring the call of a box of takeout that, to her nose, undoubtedly had veal cordon bleu in it. She should get up on the countertop and yark up a hairball or two just to show him who's who ‘round here, but she opted against it because the scent of something else was far more enticing.

It made her cock her head in question and follow its heady path down a small hallway and up a flight of stairs.

A door stood open at the top of the stairs and it was exactly where the delicious scent was coming from. Frankie's nose dragged her into another thickly carpeted room where she stopped dead as the familiar surge of flesh and bone shifting overtook her.

Two things happened at once.

She saw a naked man with a bunch of muscles, lying face down on the bed and at the most inconvenient of times, she began to shift. After five bloody days of degradation and torment, now—
now
she was shifting?

Which would be cause for a
yippee skippee
if not for the fact that clothes were crucial after shifting. Oh, and sex. If she hoped to remain in human form, boinking had to happen ASAP.

Squeak.

Okay, so from where she stood, naked as the day she was born, this Sam was daggone hot. But then, in her human form her eyesight sucked big, fat man hooters and her glasses were probably somewhere off the coast of Oregon by now, lost in her flight to get away from Harry. So maybe he was a total toad and she just couldn't see it well enough to tell. Her glimpse of him before she'd shifted
had
been brief...

She squinted, moving closer to the bed. Damn, it was dark.

The incessant roar of her nerve endings increased, tugging at every cell in her body like she was a tightly strung violin.

Holy fuck.

If she didn't do something to get the hell away from this poor, unsuspecting soul, he was
prey
. Ohhhhhh, prey was so not okay. She didn't even know this man, but her body didn't have its listening ears on—because it kept creeping closer to the bed.

Her hormones called to her, screaming in agony for satisfaction, every muscle in her newly shifted body on fire with uncontrollable need. Her steps to the edge of the mattress were slow, cautious, but the nearer she got to the bulky outline under the sheet, the harder her heart slammed against her ribs and the stronger her hormones demanded attention.

Her nose twitched, his scent filling her nostrils with luxurious, raw, sound asleep man.

Frankie's legs trembled when she inhaled, letting the smell of his natural odor permeate her senses. Waves of his personal aroma, spicy, male, decadent, bathed her nostrils.

This was bad. Bad. And getting worse.

An arm snaked out, grabbing her around the thighs and pulling her to tumble onto the crisp sheets covered in that delicious scent that had drawn her here in the first place.

Oh, and what an arm, strong, firm, muscled with just the right amount of ripple. Frankie shivered, the shudder twitching along each available inch of her body.

And then his lips were on hers, crushing her mouth, slipping his silky tongue in to stroke hers. Fleeting denials came and went. She was kissing a stranger. And it was an amazingly good kiss. So she was sharing an amazingly good kiss with a stranger.

Hellllooooo, stranger
, her cautious half whispered sinisterly.

I know his name, so he's not totally a stranger
, her logical side chimed in
. Seriously, Glynice gave him a cat for a Christmas present. He couldn't be Attila the Hun if Glynice thought he'd at least entertain the notion of owning a pet, right?
Pet lovers were good peeps. Obviously Glynice had a good heart. She had saved her from smothering via the stench of garbage. She wouldn't just give her to someone who was a fucktard.

Fire shot to her pussy, sweet, hot, pangs of wanton need spiked in her gut when Sam dragged her to him, shoving the sheets away and pressing his flaming skin to hers, making her forget that he was a stranger for a moment. God, that was so good, flesh against flesh, molten, sizzling, overwhelming.

If she didn't consummate soon...

And now she was contemplating having sex with a stranger.

Sweet mother.

But if she didn't have sex with him, the mere scent of him would make her explode. When the fever of mating took hold it clouded your thinking, turned you into a total sexual animal. A body without a brain. Chemistry and scent were everything in her world and Sam had both in spades.

But she was contemplating having sex with a
stranger
.

And this stranger, whether she knew his name or not, didn't much seem to mind. In fact, he'd started it.

Neener, neener, neener
.

This thing she was thinking about doing was like indiscriminate bar sex without the benefit of the booze. She couldn't even see what he looked like. Yet her hormones demanded she submit.

But then she forgot everything when moisture gathered between her thighs instantly at the feel of flesh-against-flesh.

Sam's flesh.

His skin was smooth but for a patch of hair on his chest, rubbing against her breasts with enticing friction. He curved a hand over her hip, stroking it, pulling her against the rigid outline of his cock—from the feel of it, a cock that was thick, but perfectly proportioned to his long, lean length.

Frankie fought to keep from gasping when his fingers slipped between her thighs and delved into her cunt. His rough-tipped fingers, a contradiction to his cushy office job, stroked her aching clit as his mouth devoured hers.

Her thigh went around his hip to allow him deeper exploration. Sam obliged by inserting a finger into her swollen passage, plunging deeper with each thrust. Frankie's hips bucked upward then rotated on the digit, clinging to his shoulders, digging her nails into them as she clenched her jaw tight.

Sam tore his lips from hers, skating along her neck and shoulder to end at the hard tip of her nipple. His hot breath lingered over it and Frankie lifted herself up, begging for him to pull it into the hot cavern of his mouth.

He took a long pull on it, then twirled his tongue over the pebbled flesh, making her suck in a sharp intake of air. Pleasure, wet and electric sizzled along her veins. The grip her hormones had on her leaving her dizzy and weak. His fingers left her body, making her cry out her disappointment, but there was more when his hair scraped her breasts as he moved downward.

Sam slid along her body, dipping his tongue into her navel, nibbling at her belly, lifting her leg up over his shoulder and burying his face in her cunt.

Frankie clung to his shoulders as waves of anticipation made her impatiently squirm, writhing with agonizing need. She took hold of his hair, lacing her fingers through the thick strands and spreading her legs and when his tongue took its first, long, silky swipe, Frankie clenched her teeth, clamping her jaw shut.

Sam stroked her clit, slow, lazy, long and wet. The decadent slurp of his mouth against her cunt made her quiver. He slipped a hand beneath her ass, pressing her flush to his talented mouth, laving her with his tongue until she dug her fingernails into his scalp and her heel dug into his shoulder.

A small, hissing noise erupted from her throat when she came. The orgasm ripped through her, caressing each nerve ending as it went with a forceful, yet gentle hand. Her legs tightened, her body clenched and she reared up against the rasp of his tongue, coming with a burst of air from her lungs.

Sam crawled up her body, rolling her to her belly with forceful hands, dragging her by the waist to prop her hips up and positioning himself between thighs she willingly spread.

Frankie had long left her doubts behind. The fever of the mate burned white-hot, and if Sam didn't drive into her now she'd lose her mind.

And he did just that. His cock, thick, wide, hard as steel speared her with a jolt that made her head rear back and her neck arch as a silent scream of pleasure she couldn't seem to vocalize fought to be released.

Sam's hand went around her neck, sliding down along it to tug at her nipple while his other hand held her hip tightly against him. The slap of flesh increased its rhythm, the tempo growing frantic as Sam thrust his shaft in tight pulls and draws.

His hand squeezed the flesh of her hip, gripping it as he drove into her, rocking his hips in small circles. Her heart crashed, her limbs ached, yet she lifted her ass higher, taking all of him. Thrust after wet thrust, Sam was relentless and Frankie reveled in the force he put into each stroke, her passage aching, thrumming with the delicious drive of his cock.

His hiss of completion was followed only by the tightening of his hands on her. The long pull he took at her nipple with his fingers, making her lift her hips higher until she let her lower body sink to the bed.

A hot ripple of wanton lust swept over her and as she clung to the bed sheets, she muffled her orgasm into the mattress. The spiral of desperate, clawing need lifted her higher, her pussy soaked and slick, convulsed around his cock, milking the pulsing shaft.

The tension of his body, hard and angular, tightened, tensing for a jaw clenching moment, and then releasing as his hot seed spilled into her on a grunt.

Sam collapsed onto her, a tangle of limbs and sheet, his grip loosening, his breathing evening out.

Frankie gasped for breath, it wheezed in and out of her lungs with a rasp, and the rebel yell of her hormones had finally quieted. Thank God.

Yeah, your hormones are in good shape there, Frankster, but what about your morals?

Shame closed in on her. Shit, she had to—to—well, she had to something. What something was, had yet to be determined. Apologize? Did you apologize for that kind of hawt, nasty, Earth shattering sex?

She reached behind her for Sam, his limp form curled inward. She rolled over to find the rise and fall of his chest was even.

He was asleep?

After
that
?

Peering down at him, she squinted harder, trying to see what he looked like, but failed miserably.

Maybe it'd be best to shift back to her cat form. Then she didn't have to explain anything. Yeah, problem solved. That is, if she could shift back.

Things to ponder...

And she'd do that—ponder—right after she napped.

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Sun poured in and fell on Frankie's face, making her pop an eye open. The window on the far side of the room dripped, melting away the ice from the night before.

She burrowed deeper into the warmth of the body next to her.

The body.

The hard body.

The hard, naked body.

Frankie sat up like a shot, taking the blanket with her. Leaning over that hard body, she was finally able to see the owner of it in the daylight. She squinted. Without her glasses he was hard to make out unless she got closer. Memories of last night came back with a rush of visual aids careening through her mind's eye.

She'd had sex with a complete stranger. The man she was supposed to be a gift for.

Hoo boy.

It'd all happened so fast, but her hormones had been out of control. There was just no stopping the call of mating.

Like you tried to stop it? Uh, yo. Wasn't that you all thrusting and heaving?

Frankie scrunched her eyes shut. Okay. Guilty. She hadn't tried to stop it, but when her hormones screamed like that, it was like a freight train. Reason gave way to her uncontrollable urges and nothing short of death could stop it.

She squinted again and looked at the man lying next to her. He had dark chestnut hair, perfectly cut, perfectly conservative. When he rolled over, she jammed a fist in her mouth to keep from screeching in mortification.

Sam. Omigod. It was
Samuel Carster's
bed she was in? Jesus Christ in a mini skirt. She'd slept with the guy she leased her flower shop from. The guy she'd occasionally gabbed with in the elevator when she was making a delivery to his office.

The guy she'd always thought was smokin’ hot, but had never had the guts to introduce herself to.

Why in theee hell she hadn't put that together after hearing his name escaped her. She could only claim malnutrition and sleep deprivation. And how the fuck had she missed seeing his secretary Glynice for all these months? Where did the woman hide? Didn't she say she was Sam's secretary?

Sam pulled the sheet up and looked beneath it to see her in all her naked glory. “I think we had sex,” his voice startled her. When she didn't immediately reply, he repeated his words. “Did you hear me? I think we had sex."

Hell and yeah. Rockin’ sex. With the guy who owns your flower shop.
She fought a groan. “Um, yup."

"And you are?"

Wow. He was like the iceman cometh. He didn't even blink, seeing her in his bed. He gave good game. No wonder he was a lawyer. “Frankie.” Maybe he wouldn't remember her. She did work downstairs in the lobby and, really, she had little if nothing to do with his law practice other than to supply flowers to the employees there.

Something clicked in his brain and it was all over his face. “I know you. Francis Lane, right?"

In every carnal way imaginable
. “In more ways than one now, and everyone just calls me Frankie.”
Atta girl, you stir that pot of shit right
.