Chapter 13
The attacks at the office buildings happened on Monday three-and-a-half weeks after the first attack at City Hall. In those three weeks, six attacks against shifters occurred and were claimed by The Human Order. In the week following the office attacks, four more shifters were attacked.
Brock was starting to jump at shadows. He’d hardly slept. Between keeping up on the news of the attacks, conference calls with the clan because Remy deemed it too dangerous to meet in person, business calls dealing with the attacks and the frozen assets, and his work as mayor, the stress had him too tightly wound to sleep.
He could see it taking a toll on Gia as well. She didn’t smile as much. She drank more coffee than he suspected was normal for her. She stood too close to him in elevators and had lost her cheerful, animated personality. He missed the real her, and it was hurting him to watch her retreat into a timid shell.
Worse, on two other occasions, he could have sworn he’d seen his ex-girlfriend hovering. Once, when he came out of a coffee shop with his hands full, he thought she was standing across the street in the doorway of a business, and once as he was leaving work he thought he saw her at the far end of the parking lot. He kept telling himself that she was in Baton Rouge.
It was a week after the office attacks, only a few days until the full moon, and Brock was already exhausted. He came into Gia’s office and said, “What does Friday look like?”
“Busy. Why?”
“Anything we can’t reschedule?”
“No, I can move it. Are you going to make it until Thursday?”
“I’m tired. Tired is good.”
She tilted her head to the side, and for a moment she was there, bright and curious, waiting for an explanation.
“Tired is safe. We’re less likely to shift when we’re tired.”
“Well you look exhausted,” she said. “And if you’re going to be up all night Thursday, you’re going to be passed out Friday. I’ll move the schedule around. You’ve earned a day off.”
“Just don’t tell the taxpayers, right?”
That got a little laugh from her, and then her shoulders drooped and she retreated again into her own stress and exhaustion. That visible pulling back hurt him. He wanted to keep her safe, keep her happy, and with everything going on he was failing miserably.
“You should take Friday off too. Go get your nails done, have dinner with your dad…”
“I’m having dinner with him Thursday, actually. But I might take you up on that. I’ll hang the ‘gone fishing’ sign on the door and we’ll both try to shake this whole thing off.”
“If only it were that simple.” He started to walk away and then he paused. “Gia, I’m sorry you had to get stuck in this job during this whole mess.”
“Well, I’m learning a lot. Mostly I’m learning that politics is not for me. Have you heard anything from Marsha?”
“Not in a few weeks. I’m going to look over that school board proposal.”
Alone in his office, he reached for the phone instead of the file on his desk and dialed Marsha’s cell number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Marsha, it’s Brock. Just thought I’d check in.”
“Oh, hey, uh, you’re not going to ask me to come back right away are you?”
“Gia is holding down the fort just fine.”
“Gia?”
“The temp. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Yeah, sure, we’re holding up okay. Scary shit on the news, right? How’s the business coping?”
“The board of directors is furious, but the company will survive. The cops froze our assets. Under any other circumstances I’d be pissed about that, but I think it saved us a lot of money. We’ll lose a few clients we were after, but it can’t be helped. But I didn’t call to complain. How’s your sister?”
“My sister?”
“Yeah, the one you’re visiting.”
“Oh, yeah, well we’re still waiting to see how things turn out, and maybe we’ll stay a while longer, you know, just to be here for her, in case.”
“Marsha, what’s wrong?”
Marsha broke down sobbing. “I’m sorry Brock,” she wailed. “I had to leave. I have to stay here. They threatened my sister if I didn’t take a leave of absence. Please don’t be mad at me.”
He didn’t need to ask who. “I’m not mad. You stay in New York until this is sorted out.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m telling the police. They need to know. They’re…”
“No! Please! They’ll hurt her. They’ll hurt my husband… my family. Please, don’t tell—not yet.”
He sighed. “Okay, but at some point I have to tell them. It could mean the difference between catching these bastards or letting them hurt someone else.”
“I know. Thank you, thank you.”
Gia banged on the door and stuck her head in. “Call on four—Remy. He said it’s urgent.”
“Marsha, I have to go.”
“Thank you, Brock.”
“I will call you again soon.” He hung up and hit the button to switch lines. “This is Brock.”
“There was another attack,” Remy said.
“Where?”
“Here. New Orleans.”
“Shit. Who?”
“Patrick. And Philippe.”
Gia heard the phone hit the cradle and went to the door. Brock was pacing, doing laps around the office and covering each length in three strides. “You don’t look tired anymore.”
“They attacked my clan,” he said. His voice was low, calm; it didn’t match his body language.
“Do you want to go see him?”
Brock shook his head, still pacing. “They’ll be waiting to see who visits him. They may use him as bait. Remy says none of us can go. They hit his friend too—a wolf. Remy says the pack is pulling together to grieve.”
“I know this is close to home…”
“And days before the full moon. They want a massacre at the fucking hospital! They think they can force the two to shift in the hospital.”
“Will they?”
Brock shook his head. “Remy relayed information through the police. They’ll be sedated and moved to a reinforced location in the psychiatric ward. There’s almost no chance they’ll shift, and even if they do they should stay sedated in animal form. At least the wolf will—he’s smaller. The bear gets so large, sometimes the sedatives don’t work. Sometimes some shifters don’t react well to the drugs. We have to take that chance. We can’t have them ripping the hospital apart.”
“You could take the week off. I’m sure, all things considered, people would understand.”
“I will not run with my tail between my legs,” he bellowed.
She flinched.
Before she could move he was in front of her, her hands tight in his. “I’m sorry. It’s the stress. It’s getting so heavy. I can’t believe this is happening. Philippe, he’s my friend. We grew up in the same clan. He’s a little younger than me, and I was there the first time he shifted with the clan. He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve this.”
She stared up into his face with wide eyes, and a soft, gentle smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I believe you. I’m sorry your friend got hurt. They’ll get this under control soon. They have to.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Gia left City Hall Thursday afternoon and went straight to the Greek diner where she was meeting her father for dinner. He was waiting for her and stood as she came over. “You look tired,” he said. “What news from City Hall?”
“It’s getting worse. This Human Order business has everyone on edge.”
“And you keep getting in the middle of it. You should quit.”
“Dad, it’s a good job. It’s stressful right now, but the work itself is good. The whole point was for me to get experience, and I’m getting it. I don’t want to leave the job now.”
“Gia, I don’t want to see you get hurt. You need to distance yourself from Brock Tandell before he gets you killed.”
“He’s not doing this, Dad! It’s not his fault some people are violent assholes.”
He sat back, studying her while she focused on her napkin. Finally, he said, “You’re right, of course. This was not Brock’s fault. No, he’s not the one to blame. Still, I would feel better if you’d come back to Carosa Holdings. I’ll give you that promotion, give you a few clients of your own. I know your mom would feel better about that too.”
Leave City Hall? Leave Brock? But if I leave my position, then Brock and I could see each other without risking scandal.
She sighed. “Look, can I think about it? I don’t want to give up—that’s not good work ethic, but it is stressful. I just need to consider things.”
“Of course. Full moon tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Brock borrowed my car so the reporters wouldn’t follow him to the safe house. He’ll be exhausted tomorrow. Hell, he’s been exhausted all week. I don’t know how he’s holding it all together.”
Brock arrived at the warehouse early Thursday evening. Remy was the only one there. They nodded to each other from across the room and Brock went to hang up his coat and put his shoes away.
“I wanted to show you this,” Remy said. “I’m glad you were early.”
The folder had a simple typed label that said ‘Julius Beauregard’. He flipped it open and read the first page then looked up at Remy. “Is this saying what I think it’s saying?”
“The police think that The Human Order supplied Julius with those pills. They set him up, turned him into a ticking time bomb. I’ve already warned the clans and the packs I have contact with. Word will spread through the network. We can’t trust anything that comes from outside anymore.”
“Is it safe to leave Philippe in the hospital? What if they try to kill him? Or force his change?”
“I only got this an hour ago. There is no more time to fetch him. Jules and Jane will be here soon. We are all stressed. We cannot safely delay the change tonight.”
Brock nodded. “I hope nothing more happens to him.”
“As do I, Brock.”
The bears were restless that night and they fought more than usual, their great paws swinging, their voices bellowing in the night. Four barrels were shattered, and the stack of chairs against the wall was toppled. It was dawn before they shifted back to human—hours later than usual.
They dressed in silence without the usual banter and Remy called the hospital. His smile was thin as he turned to the gathered clan. “Philippe and Patrick are safe. Thank God for small blessings. Go home and sleep, all of you. You are not going to work today.”
They nodded and filed out.
Brock woke to a pounding on his bedroom door which was odd. He always left the laundry out in the hall and he cleaned his own room, even did his own vacuuming because he didn’t like the housekeeper coming in his room. He rolled over and looked at the clock. He’d been home two hours, been asleep most of that. It wasn’t enough.
The pounding continued.
“Who is it?” The words slurred together.
“Mr. Tandell, you’re home, thank God. On the news. City Hall was just attacked by those dreadful people.”
Brock was out of bed and in a bathrobe in one fluid motion that revealed nothing of how tired he was. He stepped out, nearly colliding with his housekeeper, an older woman named Connie who had been keeping the house clean since before Brock’s father died.
“Sorry to wake you. I had to know you were safe.”
He patted her shoulder and said, “Is James around?” James helped Connie with the heavier housework.
“He is, why?”
Brock rushed to the kitchen with Connie following behind him. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed while Connie hovered nervously in the doorway.
A sleepy voice answered with a slurred “Hello?”
“You’re home. Good. Pack. You can’t stay where you are.”
“What? Brock, is that you?”
“Yes. They hit City Hall. I want you where I know you’ll be safe.”
“Brock, you’re the shifter they’re after. How would I be safe at your house?”
“I’m sending James down in your car to pick you up. Leave my car at the condo. That should fool anyone trying to follow me around for a little while. I’m going to call Officer Jameson and have them post a car outside the house here until further notice. You and I are on lockdown here until the mess at City Hall is cleaned up. Understood?”
“You’re a pushy asshole.”
“Are you packing?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m up and moving. Send the damn car.”
She hung up on him.
Brock scribbled down an address. “Send James here. He’s picking up my assistant.”
“Yes, sir.”
He called Officer Jameson who agreed that police security at the Tandell estate was a good idea, and by the time Gia and James pulled through the gate there was a marked police car sitting on the street with two cops inside.
Chapter 14
Gia had never seen a house quite like Brock’s before, not up close like this. Her father was a self-made man. He’d started flipping houses at twenty-one, started a renovation company, got into leasing properties—apartments, condos, small houses, trailers—soon after that. From there he’d begun buying land and building condos and office spaces. In the last twenty-five years, Carosa Holdings had made Giancarlo Carosa rich, respectable, and successful. He lived in a big house, a modern sprawl on the lake with a steel and glass balcony, a swimming pool, and all the modern amenities. He’d had it custom designed and custom built.
This house was old, probably as old as New Orleans herself. It too had all the modern amenities, and she wondered what was more expensive in the long run, building new, or upgrading a building like this to include indoor washrooms and electricity. Expense be damned. Anyone who wants to tear this building down to rebuild is a fool. You can feel the history in the very walls.
The kitchen looked like it had last been updated at the turn of the millennium—there wasn’t even a hint of past decades in the room. The strong lines and dark colors offset by silver suited the character of the house. Every room she wandered through was like that—rich dark wood, large windows, and furniture that was either modern or timeless antiques. She was certain the coffee table was mahogany, and the fireplace dominated the room.
Above the fireplace was a beautiful painting that looked like something straight out of Interview with the Vampire—those scenes in old New Orleans, when Brad Pitt had wanted to die. She shivered. If werewolves and werebears exist, do vampires? I wonder if Brock knows.
The handrail going up stairs was smooth from years of hands passing over it, up and down. The varnish was probably reapplied every few years, but no one had replaced it—of that she was sure. The wood looked too soft, as though it had been molded like child’s playdough, no longer perfectly straight. It was warm to the touch and made the house feel more like a home and less like a museum.
Upstairs had a more conservative look, like they had tried to keep more of the original feel of the house. Like the history of New Orleans, full of voodoo and slaves and French refugees and hurricane after hurricane, the upstairs hallway was dark and richly colored. The bottom half of the walls was done in a dark wood paneling. The upper half was done in a maroon wallpaper and was dotted with paintings and wall-mounted lights that looked like old gaslights. The carpet was maroon and wine red with hints of brown and looked expensive, not like the thin crap in the lobby of her condo building or the cheap ivory acrylic carpet in her living room.
A woman stepped out of a room and Gia hesitated. A part of her wondered if this woman was a ghost of some former servant. This was a house that she could easily imagine being full of ghosts and memories. But then she had short hair with a purple streak in it and wore capris and a sleeveless floral print shirt that flattered her fuller figure. Gia was pretty certain that ghosts didn’t dye their hair.
The woman saw her and smiled. “You made it. He was afraid you had gone in to work today.”
Gia shook her head. “I didn’t even know about the attacks until after he called.”
“Well, I was just getting your room ready. Come in and take a look. James can bring your bags up later.”
Gia could hear the lawnmower out the window and shook her head. “No need to bother him again. Getting picked up was enough. I didn’t bring much. I can bring it up myself.” She offered the woman a smile. “I’m not used to having people wait on me.”
“We’re not used to waiting on people. We take care of the house. Aside from laundry, Brock takes care of himself. I’m Connie by the way. I’ve been working here since I was about your age and Brock was just a child. He has always been independent, that one. And a good man, like his father. Didn’t know his grandfather, but from what I’ve heard he was a good man too. The Tandells is good folk.”
“I’m not going to blame this mess on Brock,” Gia said. He’s still a pushy asshole though.
“I’ve seen his past girlfriends,” Connie said. “Now, the house staff is not supposed to talk, but you need to know.”
“Brock and I aren’t …”
“I know. But I saw his face this morning. You need to know; most women see him as a secure future. They’ll deal with the shifting, an inconvenience, an embarrassment to be hidden, because they want the financial security of marrying a billionaire. And Brock, he’s as devoted as they come. He never once ran around on a girl he was dating. To him, loyalty is as important as love.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why do you think I need to know this?”
“I do his laundry and he came home smelling of perfume a few weeks back. I’m betting that whatever is not going on between you, it isn’t because you aren’t attracted to each other.”
Gia blushed.
“Exactly. But are you attracted to the man? Or to the money?”
Did she look like a gold-digger? Gia didn’t think so, not wearing her weekend casual clothes and her finger nails needing to be repainted. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to be too upset at the housekeeper. She’d dated her fair share of jerks in the last five or six years. “My father is a successful business man, not old money like the Tandells, but I’ll inherit my own financial security. I plan to take over as CEO of Carosa Holdings someday. I mean to work for my fortune, just as my father did. Brock is… I don’t know, but he’s not a meal ticket.”
“Good. Get settled. On the main floor at the east end of the house there’s a door leading to another hallway, that’s the guest wing. James and I live down there now. That’s really the only place in the house you probably shouldn’t be wandering.”
“Where’s Brock?”
“In his office on the phone. I don’t know how long he’ll be. He’ll find you when his business is done.”
He found her in his mother’s chair in the library flipping through one of his father’s mystery novels. From what he could see of the cover, he guessed it was an Agatha Christie. He preferred science fiction. She looked up as he came in and smiled. He relaxed. She was dressed more casually than he’d ever seen—yoga pants and a loose shirt. Her hair was pulled back, but it looked rushed. She wore no makeup.
“Sorry to wake you this morning.”
“Well, if I have to be in lockdown again this is a lot more comfortable than a crowded board room. Any word on what’s happening at City Hall?” She uncurled, setting the book on the table and stretching. Her shirt clung teasingly to her breasts.
“The Human Order are still occupying it. They are calling for a vote of non-confidence. They want a new mayor.” He forced his eyes to stay on her face. Her skin was darker than he’d thought, but then makeup did that, disguised a woman’s face. How much of the real Gia had been hidden beneath the business clothes and the makeup? And would he like what he found there? “I’m about ready to sell everything I own and buy an island somewhere. This is not what I signed up for when I decided to run for mayor.”
“How did they take City Hall? They must be more organized than everyone thought.”
“More organized and much better armed. They froze my corporate accounts. I’ve looked at the records, not a dime has moved. If they aren’t stealing money from me then where are they getting their funding?”
“A lot of people have guns.”
“They have tech too though, enough to hack my corporate computers, plus some military grade barricades at City Hall, and Jameson says they have at least one rocket launcher and really good bulletproof vests. The guns are all high quality too, not just hunting rifles and side arms.”
“How many?”
“Almost a hundred, give or take. Probably every nut job in the state who knew how to handle a gun, if they haven’t brought in reinforcements to pull this off. They’ve been planning this from the shadows for a long time before they ever showed their faces. We thought we were dealing with a fledgling grassroots movement. Instead, we’ve got an organized, funded, group of like-minded whack jobs with a purpose and a lot of guns.”
She stopped chewing her lower lip and said, “You know you can’t resign, right?”
“Not at their insistence, no. I could call for a general election and invite all the candidates from the election to put their names back on the ballot for a recount, prove to them that the city still wants me as their mayor.”
“No. That’s what they want. They’ll probably rig it. They may use force or intimidation to throw the vote.”
“Shit. You’re right. I never thought of that. When I called Marsha, she said something but everything else happened so quickly I didn’t give it much thought. They threatened her sister, told her to quit her job and get out of town. It wouldn’t take much for them to intimidate enough people to swing the election.”
“They threatened her? Why?”
“Because she’s sympathetic to shifters. When my ex-girlfriend revealed my secrets to the media a lot of my campaign staff resigned, but not Marsha. She made it very clear that she didn’t care what I turned into on full moons—she still thought I would make the best mayor for New Orleans. That’s another reason for you to stay here. They can’t threaten you too.”
“It doesn’t make sense. What do they gain by pushing her out of the way like that? Wouldn’t they want her by your side so they could make an example out of her? Humans who like shifters are going to get it too, that sort of thing?”
Brock stared at Gia for a long time as emotions warred inside him. He trusted her, gods he wanted to trust her, needed to. Fear, anger, suspicion, disbelieve, hope—he was sure he’d be sick all over the antique rug. She was handing him the answer, so it couldn’t be the right answer, could it?
“Brock, what’s…”
“Are you with The Human Order?”
“No.”
It was the way her voice went flat, that quick change from concern for him to ‘fuck you,’ that set his mind at rest. He smelled no lie on her, saw nothing in her face to suggest she had anything to hide, and she met his eyes, holding his gaze. She was pissed. Angry was good.
“What do they gain, Gia?”
“You think I’m a spy?”
Oh yes, she was really angry with him. “No. You weren’t lying. You aren’t with Human Order. But I needed to know, needed to be sure. If you had been…” He stopped, took a deep breath, looked away from her.
“What? If I was with The Human Order, then what?”
“Then it would all have been a lie. And I didn’t want that.”
“Then what would all have been a lie?”
He moved fast and deliberate and crouched in front of the chair, his hands on the arms, his body in that vulnerable, intimate spot between her legs, blocking her in. Before she could protest or react at all he was kissing her. From the way he had moved, she expected passion—she expected him to bruise her lips and she expected to be left breathless. Her heart was already pounding in response. But the kiss was gentle, almost chaste, and very short.
“This. Us. Your reaction to me. I told you I would pursue you, Gia, that I would wait for all this to be over, for Marsha to come back, but I was wrong. I don’t think I can wait. I need you.”
She reached out and touched his face and felt tears spring to her eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a steady relationship. When you kissed me in the warehouse, I wanted to be kissed. Afterward I tried to tell myself I was just lonely—that dating you, falling for you, was a bad idea. You said it yourself, we didn’t want a scandal in City Hall. Now there are terrorists in City Hall and I want you to kiss me.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, another short, chaste kiss that tasted too much of restraint.
She leaned her forehead against his, her eyes closed. “Not like that,” she whispered.
“Don’t,” he growled. “You’ll snap my control if you ask for more.”
“And then what will happen?”
“I’ll do more than kiss you.”
She ran her hand along his jaw and smiled. And then she kissed him. She slid forward on the chair, wrapping her legs around him. For a moment, he was stiff against her, and then he reached out and grabbed her ass, pulling her off the chair and onto his lap. There was only one part of him that was stiff now. He ran his hands over her back and thighs, up and down and up again. She had one hand in his hair, the other on the side of his neck. She bit his lower lip and he groaned.
Somehow, they ended up stretched out on the floor, their hands and lips exploring each other’s bodies. They stopped touching each other only long enough to pull clothes off. Her shirt went first, a quick tug over her head and it was gone, revealing a lightly toned body and firm breasts. They fit perfectly in his hands, and he cupped them as she straddled him, working on his buttons.
“Don’t you own anything but button up shirts,” she growled.
He sat up and pulled the shirt over his head. It was snug—she should have undone another button or two—but it was off and that was enough for her. She touched his chest, marveling again at how smooth and strong he was. It was hard to imagine that twelve hours ago he’d been a bear.
Straddling him as she was, sitting on his lap, it was impossible to ignore his need. She reached down and undid the button on his pants. “How do we get these off you?” she asked with a wicked little smile, and she ground her body against his.
His movements were fast but controlled and she ended up on her back. She laughed as he shoved the pants down past his ass, taking his underwear with them, and suddenly his cock was free and too close to her face. She looked up at him then back at his cock. Technically, she’d seen him naked before, but she hadn’t really taken that close a look. Now she took the time to appreciate the view.
She reached out and wrapped one hand around his shaft, looking up into his eyes as she did so. His gaze was intense. He nodded slowly and she started moving her hand up and down. His eyes fluttered shut. She shifted back away from him a few inches so she wasn’t sitting uncomfortably on her tailbone all the while stroking his cock. And then, since she was right there anyway, she leaned forward and licked the tip of it.
His eyes snapped open and he touched her face. They stared at each other for a long time, and then she licked him again without breaking eye contact. He shuddered. She was loving it.
Slowly, deliberately, she licked the tip again and then brought her lips against him. He waited, letting her set the pace even though she could see his body trembling with the strain of keeping his desire leashed. She didn’t relish the idea of his control snapping. She liked giving head, but she liked being in control when she did it. Teasing him now, when he was already on the edge, wouldn’t do any good. She took him into her mouth and closed her lips around him.
He groaned. His hand slid into her hair and stayed there, but he didn’t push her or direct her. She started sucking and moving her head up and down his shaft, enjoying the size of him. He was easily the biggest man she’d ever been intimate with.
She only stopped when her jaw began to ache. He was panting by that time, his eyes closed and his body rigid. She sat back, gasping, and he dropped down and kissed her hard. There were no words after that. He kept kissing her, his tongue exploring her mouth before he kissed his way down her jaw and her throat.
He kicked free of his pants and then pulled hers down over her hips. She got tangled trying to kick free, his legs kept getting in her way, but finally she was naked. He lay down against her, careful to keep his full weight off her but letting his whole body touch hers from shoulder to knee.
She spread her legs for him, pushing herself off the floor and pressing her body against his. She thought he would take her then and there, but he kept kissing her, seeming to ignore what she was offering. Instead, he kissed her shoulders and then down to her breasts where he paused to tease her for a while.
One breast disappeared under his hand while he sucked on the other. When her nipple was hard in his mouth he switched. After a long time spent playing with her breasts while she moaned and ran her hands through his hair and over his neck and shoulders and arms, he moved lower, trailing kisses over her stomach.
By the time he reached her hips she was moaning. He worked his way down one thigh, all the way to her knee and then back up the other.
His breath was hot between her legs, and she could feel her whole body trembling. Every time his lips touched her skin she moaned softly. She couldn’t reach anything more than his hair, so she touched herself instead, her hands kneading her breasts and stroking her stomach while he teased her thighs with slow, hot kisses.
He brushed his lips against the heat between her legs and her moaning got louder. He teased her, keeping his touch light and fleeting. Her fingers curled in his hair and she pushed her hips up, urging him to go further.
The scent of her was intoxicating, and he could no longer resist her. He planted a firm kiss between her legs and then began to explore her soft folds with his tongue. The eager, desperate noises she made encouraged him, and he was exceedingly thorough.
She shut her eyes tight and threw her head back. It had been far too long since any man had paid any sort of intimate attention to her, but this was more than she had expected, more than she had dared to hope for. She loved this, the feel of his tongue on her skin, dipping inside of her, the way her fingers dug into her thighs and hips.
She wanted more, but words were beyond her. She reached down, fumbling with his hand, pushing his fingers away from her hip. He released her hip and dragged his fingers down her leg. It felt wonderful, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She made frustrated grunting sounds and thrust her hips up. Frustration quickly gave way to pleading as her body twisted in pleasure as his tongue flicked over her again.
He brought his hand up her leg again and gently touched her where he was kissing her. She nodded and whimpered. Thankfully he didn’t tease her this time and gently slid a finger inside her. She moaned in delight, her hips moving against him, urging him on and seeking an angle that would give her the greatest pleasure.
With tongue and finger, he pushed through pleasure toward her climax. He could feel her heat, smell her arousal, and he wanted to push her over that edge; he craved her release as much as he craved his own. She reached down and grabbed his hair in both hands. Her shoulders came up off the floor and she climaxed, a groan escaping between hard breaths. When she slumped back, he came up gasping for air. He wiped his chin and grinned at her. She smiled back, giggling. He crawled up, positioning himself between her legs. He paused, searching her face. She nodded.
He took himself in hand and pushed the head of his cock inside her. She sighed and bit her lower lip. The first time he went slowly, sliding his whole length into her. Each thrust after that gained speed and strength until he was pounding her. She moaned and grabbed his arms, her nails biting into his skin. Her legs were wrapped around his waist. He lifted her hips trying to get a better angle, but on the floor it was too hard to keep her up like that.
He pulled out and she whimpered, pouting. He moved her where he wanted her, rolling her on her stomach and tucking her knees up. She obeyed the directions without resistance, even wiggling her ass in the air, looking over her shoulder at him with a smirk. He bit his lip and restrained the urge to spank her. Instead he pushed inside her again and grabbed her hips.
In just a few thrusts he had her screaming, and he held her tight, enjoying the slap of skin on skin every time he bottomed out in her. Her screaming was pushing him toward that edge in a dizzying rush, and it didn’t take long before he felt the pressure signaling his climax.
“I’m going to come,” he said. She slammed her ass back against him and sent him over the edge.
He collapsed on top of her for a moment, and then they both rolled onto their sides, their legs tangled together.
“I hope Connie was outside,” he muttered.
“Can’t be the first girl you’ve had in this house,” she said.
“First one in the library.” He kissed the back of her shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about them. I just want to hold you.”
She nodded and snuggled back against his chest.