Page 8 of Can't Help Growling in Love
I stare at the messages I’ve exchanged with June over the past days, wondering how we got from me begging for her discretion to messaging about my fear of needles. But this way of communication is easier than talking to people face to face. I don’t know why I’ve never attempted it before. Probably because the only people who text me are strangers on the internet and Marcos whenever he needs me to cover his shift.
June was a stranger on the internet a week ago, and now…
Now every text she sends is a tiny window into her world. So are the photos she posts on her profile. Yes, I checked it out—of course I did. She admitted to stalking me, so I returned the favor, then confessed it to her, like she did to me. I didn’t tell her I thought she was pretty. That would be creepy. I only said I’d seen her photos. She hasn’t stopped writing to me, so I don’t think I scared her off with that one.
I explained where my fear of needles comes from, too. Her easy acceptance prompted me to tell her about my knee and the way my career in the service ended, an honorable discharge and a lifetime supply of trauma my gifts for the road ahead. Leo told me it would be good for me to open up to people about my experience. I’m not sure he meant this. But it’s a start.
I try not to creep over June’s profile, even if it’s set to public. But when she posts a selfie of her sitting on a sunlit park bench, head tipped back to enjoy the sunshine, I can’t stop staring at it. She’s got her headphones on, big lilac ones that suit her really well. Her brown hair hangs over her shoulders in twin braids, and her cheeks are a delicious shade of pink.
It’s that flush that has me going back to the pic again and again. And the caption beneath the photo.
Enjoying the sun & one of my favorite audiobooks, mmm.
I’m a depraved, starved man because thatmmmhas my cock thickening every time I see it, which is more often than I’d care to admit. I don’t even know if it was one of my recordings she was listening to. But she said she enjoyed my reading, didn’t she? So in the dark hours of a rainy October afternoon, I let myself imagine it’s my voice in her ears as she sits there, all pink and beautiful.
Guilt washes over me as I take my cock out of my sweats and grasp it firmly, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I wrap one hand around the shaft and another around my knot, already full and throbbing with the need for release. My imagination takes over,and I picture June under me, going soft and warm as I pin her to the bed. She sighs with pleasure. I lick her neck, then travel lower to suck on her nipples. In my mind, they’re a dusky pink color, the same as her lips, and she arches off the bed. I close my mouth around one stiff?—
The orgasm slams into me, and I bite down on my growl. Cum shoots all over my t-shirt, and damn, I really should have planned for this better, but I didn’t think I’d come this fast. My entire body tingles, and I can’t resist squeezing my knot again to draw out the pleasure.
“Fuuuuck.”
I tip my head back, briefly dipping back into the fantasy. In that perfect world, June reaches out and swipes her fingers through the mess, then licks up a drop of my cum, grinning wickedly.
I roll over to my stomach to muffle a groan in my pillow, then remember my front is covered in jizz. Damn it. It’s only been four days since I changed these sheets. I lie there for a long moment anyway, trying to process what just happened.
The reality spoils the aftermath of my climax. If I came this hard, this quickly, just thinking of sucking her tits, then I’d for sure embarrass myself in front of her. Which should come as no surprise to anyone given my track record with women.
So—I’m definitely attracted to a woman I’ve never even met. For all I know, this could still be a catfishing scam, some asshole preying on my idiot brain with these messages and images that seem perfectly tailored to draw me in.
Almost too perfect.
It’s my natural suspicion kicking in. I shove myself off the bed to stop that train of thought and remind myself that I don’t have to be paranoid anymore.
June is real, I know that. An ER nurse who likes audiobooks and sunshine, who finds time to enjoy life despite her difficult job.
I want to meet her.
It’s a constant thought replaying in my mind. I have no clue what I’d even say to her if I saw her in person, but I haven’t had the urge to meet a woman in ages. I just hope I won’t immediately drive her away if it happens.
Coffee machine broke. Can you swing by Cool Beans before the meeting? I already placed the order.
Stella’s message pings on my phone as I’m getting dressed.
I changed the sheets and hopped into the shower before work, because one does not simply walk into a meeting with three other supernaturals still smelling of cum and sex pheromones. I mean, in this community, we’re all pretty discreet and don’t pry into each other’s lives just because we can sense more detail about others than humans can. But everyone knows I’m single, so coming in without showering would have been a dead giveaway for what I was doing.
Sure. Might be a few minutes late, though.
I lock up, arming the alarm, then jog through the rain to my truck and veer toward the coffee shop. Finding a parking space on the busy Grand Street isn’t easy with the afternoon crowds. I squeeze my truck into a spot just around the corner and hurry down the street, my shoulders hunched to keep from bumping into people and their umbrellas.
I push through the door of Cool Beans, and sound assaults me. The first is the jingle of the bells above the door, tinny and loud. Next comes the jazzy music, which I’m sure is calmingto humans, but only adds to my confusion. The tables are all taken, apart from one right next to the bathrooms. I don’t know why anyone would want to be here voluntarily—it’s too hot, and privacy would be impossible with so many supernaturals crammed in next to each other.
Bracing myself against the noise, I stand in line behind an older woman with tightly permed gray hair. The door opens again, and a lion father holding his daughter’s hand steps in, an impatient toddler squirming in his arms.
“I can’tsee,” the little girl complains. “You said I could have the one with the sprinkles if I behaved at Grandma’s.”
The younger child babbles something that sounds like “cup-ache.” From the way he’s staring at the giant frosted pastries in the display case from his higher vantage point, I can tell what he’s set his mind on.
The father lets go of the girl’s hand to reach for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, but the toddler bounces in his arms, and he fumbles, dropping the wallet rather than the child.
