Page 32 of The Beast's Baby
“I was wrong about you,” she said.
“In what way?” he asked.
“All the ways,” she said, a smile splitting her face.
He returned it, but there was soft pain lacing it, as though he was already regretting what he was expected to do to her. She reached out her hand and clasped his. “If you don’t,” she said, “they’ll send in Christopher.”
Her dire tone teased a laugh out of him and she chuckled, suppressing the urge to kiss him. She would rather have sex with Jay again than have some stranger come in and claim her as though she was no more than fodder for an experiment. She would rather have his hands on her, feel him inside of her. She would much rather have his skin underneath her fingertips again than have some wolf do her against a wall.
“This is so fucked,” he mumbled.
She nodded. “How did we get here?” she asked.
“Well, you needed the money,” he said.
“Right,” she nodded. “And you wanted the… glory? No, there was no glory. You wanted to change the world?”
“Save lives,” he said helpfully.
“Oh, right, that,” she said, another smile on her mouth though this time he didn’t return it.
“I really believed in it,” he said. “I hope you know that.”
“I do,” she promised.
And she did.
***
The sheets of her bed were changed every day. They were cool under her skin as she lay down on top of them, slowly. First her butt, then the back of her thighs, then her elbows and lower arms connecting with their softness. She had thought she’d be sleeping on motel sheets. The comfort of her bed was the only perk to being back. And, of course, the fact that she wasn’t sleeping in it alone.
Jay pulled his sweater over his head. The blue one that he’d been wearing all day. That she hadn’t gotten to remove in the car, both of them too eager to get undressed. His eyes were on her nakedness, gaze sliding over her breasts, stomach, the patch of dark hair between her legs. It rested there and she could tell just the sight of her was getting him hard. It excited her.
She slipped a hand between her legs to show him.
He bit his lower lip at the sight, and she felt herself get even wetter. She slipped two fingers inside of herself, moaning softly as encouragement for him to hurry up.
He unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down along with his underwear, his erection coming into view making her lick her lips. He was big and veiny and delicious. By the time he’d removed his shoes and socks she’d already come under her own eager fingers.
He reached the side of the bed, about to move between her legs, but she stopped him by placing her hands on his hips. She guided him up until he was kneeling, one leg on either side of her, and then she raised her head so she could close her mouth around the tip of his cock. When he moaned, she opened wider and swallowed him down.
“Fuck,” he murmured, and she could tell he didn’t use that word often, but that the moment called for it. “Oh, fuck,” he repeated when she started bobbing along his erection in earnest.
A part of her wanted him to come in her mouth, but another didn’t want to have to wait for him to get hard again before she could feel him pushing into her, so she ended the blowjob with a moan of her own.
“I want you,” she breathed.
She didn’t have to say anything; he was already sliding down and lining himself up. She shouldn’t want him this much. She didn’t know him, but maybe that was why she did want him this much. Or perhaps it was because she did know him. She’d seen him in the silence he kept, in the patience he showed, and in the open mind he’d proved to have when he actually questioned his whole belief system the very second he saw due cause to do so.
Why was that so hot?
Why was that such a turn on?
She couldn’t explain it herself. Was it Stockholm syndrome? Had she been so starved for a connection that she’d simply fallen into this one without any real say in it?
But then his mouth was on her neck and then his lips found hers and when his tongue teased hers into play, she thought that no, that wasn’t all there was to it.
It was as though they had closed themselves off from one another because of the circumstances through which they’d met. If those circumstances had been different, she wondered if the way they related to one another wouldn’t have been as well. If they’d met at a bar, half-drunk and singing karaoke, she had a feeling those glasses of his, that smile, and that awkward shyness—still streaked with confidence—would have won her over in a heartbeat.
