His gaze lingered over the lace-ups on my top, then really narrowed when they settled, again, on the way the pants sliced me up the middle. They weren’t indecent, exactly, but they certainly outlined my features with some hip-hugging accuracy.
After a snorting draw on his cig, he said, “You’re gonna get raped down here.” He blew it out.
“Is that a promise or a threat?”
Chapter Two
Promise or threat. I know it sounded cliché. Rape me, my ass. You can’t rape the willing, can you?
He didn’t miss a beat, though, in saying, “Promise.” And adding, “A pretty little tail like you, wandering in the lane...people are gonna assume you’re looking for it.”
“People die for assuming things.” I pulled my shoulders back. “Some cats don’t mess around.” I don’t know why I sounded like I was hard to get. Or that I’d put up a fight. Maybe, suddenly, I wanted to be different?
I know one thing, I didn’t like the speculation in his eyes, like he’d pegged me the way I’d pegged Ali. It made me uncomfortable, and a little snitty. I wanted to reach out and put a claw in him, make him shut up.
Make him kiss me again. But then he said, “Some cats don’t have enough sense to stay out of places they don’t belong,” and I didn’t want to kiss him.
I snarled, “You know, you garou need to stop thinking you own the world.” Spinning to walk away, I muttered, “Stupid ass son of a bitches.”
He yanked me back by the scruff of my neck. Well, the collar of my jacket. Right up against his chest, and, with a really low, and dangerous growl, he said, “I’m taking you home.”
I clawed a little bit, but he had me, pure and simple, by the fact that he was bigger than me. I knew I couldn’t crinos on him right there on the street, and he knew it, too.
Crinos: shapeshifted form between my natural cat and human. Definitely something you don’t want to meet in the dark.
Truth was, I started to shift without thinking, and twisting in his arms, letting my claws out, and a few squeals. But he tossed me up against the door. And, in his own half-crinos, he postured over me--nailing my wrists above me, skewering me with some seriously deadly eyes. With a curled lip, he said, “Don’t push me, cat. I’ll fucking eat you alive, right here.”
So, okay. That had my heart going a mile a minute, and me thinking,
shit.
But I’m totally impressed. I mean, I sliced him a few times. That usually makes guys let go.
Worse, I could tell he was turned on by my little fighting act. Only, it wasn’t an act. I was sneaking glances left and right, thinking about how to get away. See if he’d chase me. I like cat and mouse games.
He must’ve read my mind. Fucking garou are brainiacs. Always trying to get into your head. The minute I felt him probing that way, I kneed him. Damn if he didn’t have a stump between his legs. Didn’t hardly even move. Oh, he made a noise, an “Oomphf”, but he didn’t let go of me. Just said, “Careful, puss. I might like that.”
“Stop calling me names,” I hissed.
He thought that was funny. Hoarsely chuckled. “So tell me what you like to be called. Hellcat?”
I debated on saying yeah to that. It sounded good, tough, like it deserved a little respect. Before I could answer, he scrutinized me a little harder and asked, “What are you? A cougar?”
Like I said, bastet come in all forms of cat. All colors of the rainbow. He’d guessed it in one, so I shrugged and said, “Good guess.” It wouldn’t have been so easy for him if my hair had been another color.
“This is what gives it away.” He touched the skin of my belly, right below my navel. Soft velvet. I wanted to purr instantly. But he checked that thought by tucking his fingers inside the waistband of my pants and tugging hard, which drew the seam right up into my crotch, made me grunt.
Insulting him, I asked, “What’s that make you? A hound?”
His eyes blazed and there in the dark, I got a glimpse of the wolf he was. Full freaking canus lupus. He let his nose out, showed me some fang.
In the face of that, you have only a few choices. Wet your pants. Cringe. Claw. Or pretend it doesn’t mean shit. So, I smiled and said, “Hm. I would’ve figured you for a spaniel.”
Real tightly, he said, “Not even close.”
The thing with men in general is...you gotta keep surprising them. It doesn’t matter what breed or what race they are. I said, “Good,” stretched my tongue out and licked his jaw.
He blinked and pulled back. Dropped me fast.
I tugged my shirt down, kind’ve pushed him, so I could get a little breathing space. It wasn’t like he stepped away, really, but he gave me an inch or two. He couldn’t figure me out, I think. And that’s probably why he was hanging around. At least, that’s what I thought.
It surprised me when he let out a piercing whistle. I winced and reached up, covering my ears. Five seconds
maybe,
a sedan pulls up to the curb. So, yeah, that tells me something. He’s not just some ordinary dog on the street. He didn’t give me any more discussion, or any choices. He put me in his car.
I crawled to the other side of the seat, wondering where the hell Leo and Tommy were, knowing they’d follow my trail to the bar, and the doorway. But now...?
“I’m taking you home,” he told me.
“Mine or yours?”
“Yours. Where do you live?”
Clamming up, I wrapped my arms around myself and looked out the window. Daddy would not be happy with me if I showed up in a garou-mobile. He
would
kill me for that.
“Look. I don’t want a fight.”
I thought he meant
with me
, but he was talking about a full-scale war between families.
“So, let’s not fight. Take me to your place.”
The driver sat patiently, eyes straight ahead. Barklay threw his head back, closed his eyes and I think counted to ten. That reminded me that I was only up to eight, and I’d promised myself at least a nine. I sidled right up to him, slid a leg over his and before he knew what hit him, I had my hand down atop his manhood, asking, “Show me what you’ve got.”
Yeah, I was purring, nuzzling his neck, letting my tongue out a little.
I’m quick. Thought you knew that. Grab them by the balls or the stick, they’ll follow you anywhere--probably come in your hand. Certainly not turn you down. They want that, you know. Men play grab ass because that’s what they crave. I just play their game. It’s fun. Try it.
He would have set me off of him, probably, if I hadn’t taken a firm grip. That’s the trick. I’m sure it felt good to him, because he groaned and let me massage through the fabric. That emboldened me. Before long, I was kissing him full out. And he was kissing me back.
One more pussy victim. The thought skipped through my brain.
He’d probably been skimming and not liked that thought because suddenly, he had me pressed onto the seat and took control, pushing my hand off of him,
screwing me
with our clothes on. I tried scrambling out from under him, but he was too heavy, too persistent, not taking my gasping, squirming squeals for what they were.
That’s when I noticed the roughness growing on his cheeks and the growling coming from deep in. I pried at his shoulders, but remember? He’s built like some kind of army tank. My efforts were totally ineffective. Even when I went to smack-thumping his shoulders, yelling, “Stop!”
He was just playing with me, though. Kept it up long enough for me to really panic, before he went completely still. I was pinned beneath him, too tight to crinos--or I would have, believe me. That’s when he brought his head up, pushed his nose to mine, and said, “You are
no match
. Do you understand?”
Oh, I had it.
My eyes were bugged out, and I was afraid to move. I did swallow rather heavily, though. And nod.
Afraid to breathe.
His cock throbbed between us, heavy, rock solid.
When he was sure I’d gotten his message, he asked, “Now that we have that straight...see what you did to me?”
I didn’t know if he was talking about bringing out the wolf, his ardor, or what. But I figured that going for humor to relieve the situation between us was probably my best bet. I smiled, “Not really. If you recall, I asked you to show me.”
That must’ve unleashed his restraint. He reached down between us, felt my crotch through the pants, rubbed a few times--watching my eyes the whole time. I’m guessing he watched the fear slip right out and the desire creep back in. He knew what he was doing. Rub a pussy’s pussy and you’ve got her looking for cream. It’s as simple as that.
He told me, “There’s not enough room in here for me to get your pants off of you.”
I arched beneath him. Man, I wanted to be fucked so bad I couldn’t stand it. My fingers, which had been pushing him just minutes before, were clawing into him. I begged, “You can do it. Just rip them off.”
See how I like it? A little rough, without real pain. I like to walk the edge. I’m a cat, I like to play at balance, tiptoe the tight rope.
“Don’t tempt me,” Bark said, but he didn’t stop rubbing. He just kept enjoying the writhing I was doing.
When he had me half out of my mind, he asked, “What’s your name?”
I moaned, “Wha--what--?” Nah. I wasn’t thinking at all by then.
“Your name, pussy.” He swallowed my next moan, kissed me plenty, all the way down my throat, and back to my mouth again.
I came up for air, gasping, “Letha. My name’s Letha.”
Mr. Tongue deep-throated me a little, rewarding me for that information. I like necking and petting, and the tease was what I lived for, so it was all good. But, eventually, there comes a point where you gotta ease that itch completely. I had to beg, “Let me up.”
Surprise of surprises, he did. Just at the asking. Like all that intensity from before was gone completely. Not that we weren’t both hot, ready and rocking. But the minute he backed up the slightest bit, I put my hands to my pants, undid the closure and was squirming them over my hips. Didn’t get them past my knees, though.
I don’t care how big that car was, it wasn’t big enough. The windows were tinted, though. I liked that. And the seats were custom leather, broad. Roomy. Thank Gaia.