SEAL Wolf In Too Deep(38)
I want you, he wanted desperately to say. He craved her now and forever. Did he want her because she was human and he couldn’t fully commit to her?
She began stroking his back and he rubbed his cock between her legs, feeling her moisten for him, smelling her pheromones, and wishing she could smell his like a wolf could.
He dipped his hand between them and began to stroke her to bring her to climax while he kissed and licked her neck, then nipped at her chin. Her breath was nearly suspended, shallow, her heartbeat rapid as he stroked her into ecstasy. But his thoughts were moving to the dark side—he wanted to bite her and turn her.
She breathed deeply, held her breath, and let it out in a big sigh.
He began kissing her again, so eager to push into her, he almost forgot to grab a condom. As soon as he’d sheathed himself, he pushed inside her, filling her, enjoying the way she closed around him in a heated, tight embrace.
Driving home, he thrust deep inside her until he came, cognizant of her hands stroking his back and buttocks, the way she met his thrusts with eagerness, the way she gloried in the feel of him inside her. Spent, hating that this had to come to an end, he sank down on top of her. He wished she was a wolf and all his.
But after their late-night discussion, he had a new concern. What if she was right about the dead man in the lake being a werewolf? When Allan had helped pull the man from the car, he’d had his face mask on and couldn’t smell anything. Once they had deposited the man on the shore for the coroner to handle, he and Debbie had returned to the car, searching for any other clues and taking more photographs. Before they resurfaced, the body had been removed. He would never have considered that the dead man might have been a wolf. Allan had to get word to Paul as soon as he could and have someone run down to the morgue to check it out.
Chapter 12
Debbie swore Allan had been fighting with himself over making love to her. She couldn’t pinpoint why it appeared to give him such trouble when he seemed to enjoy it as much as she did. But she sensed disquiet in him. She was probably overanalyzing the situation, but he just seemed worried somehow. And yet he didn’t just have sex with her and leave. He always treated her as though he truly did care for her.
Every time he left the bed to dispose of a condom, she worried he wouldn’t come back to her. Yet every time he did, pulling her into his arms and holding her close the night through, as if he truly didn’t want to lose her while they slept. She couldn’t understand what he seemed to be concerned about.
He’d stroke her arm or back as if he liked to continue to show how much pleasure he took in being with her. And then they’d sleep and wake to more lovemaking.
She thought he’d go to sleep after a while, but this time he asked, “Where did you get the other scars?”
She hated talking about this. She let out her breath. She hated that she still felt responsible to some extent, despite receiving them in her youth.
Allan continued to caress her arm gently, not pressuring her to talk.
She let out her breath in exasperation. “My father was drunk most of the time or sleeping it off. He could barely hold a job. He’d have blackouts and night terrors and think he saw demons. I must have heard something, got scared, and went in to see my mother. He thought I was something evil. He had a hunting knife by the bed and cut me. Mom rushed me to the hospital and made up some story that I was making myself a sandwich, slipped on water on the kitchen floor, and cut myself.”
“And they believed it?” he asked, his voice incredulous.
“Social services were called in. But either I was a good actor, or they didn’t have enough proof to go on because I wouldn’t tell them the truth.”
“Nor would your mother.”
“She was an enabler extraordinaire. Anyway, Dad’s dead, so”—she shrugged—“it’s over.”
“And your mother?”
“We don’t speak. How could she not protect her daughter better? She’s in denial that he ever did anything harmful to me. Sometimes I think she actually believes the story she made up.”
Allan shook his head. “You shouldn’t have had to suffer through that. But you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I shouldn’t have gone into their bedroom…”
“You were a kid and scared. It wasn’t your fault.” He caressed her skin with a light touch. “You’re beautiful.”
She wrapped his arms around her, glad he was in her life but wishing he wanted more, like she did.
*
That morning, they made love one more time and then had a light breakfast before hitting the road for Helena. They stopped for hamburgers at a fast-food restaurant for a quick lunch, since Debbie wanted to get on with the investigation concerning the shooter, pronto. She was so glad they might finally have a lead in the two cases.
Zeta was the organizer of the Wolf Zone LARP game and was happy to meet with them when they told her they worked for the sheriff’s department. When they walked into her apartment, they saw playbills of small-town theater productions posted all over her walls. She looked like Little Orphan Annie with bright orange curls, her lipstick the same color as her hair.
Debbie studied the posters while Zeta offered seats in her living room on the brown velour wraparound sofa.
“Another man came asking about Sarah Engle and Lloyd Bates. Otis Lister too. They’re all members of the Wolf Zone but have disappeared. I was afraid something bad might have happened to them.” She handed Debbie and Allan photos of each of the three people. “I take pictures of the players, and then we pass them around so that everyone can decide who the wolves are. Oh, and when a person dies, as in a werewolf kills a hunter or a hunter kills a werewolf, then everyone knows and that person no longer plays the game. They can watch but not participate. They’re dead for the purposes of the game.”