SCOTTISH ROMANCE: My Sinful Surrender to a Highlander Werewolf (Scottish Werewolf Pregnancy Romance) (Historical Medieval Shape Shifter Paranormal Science Fiction Short Stories) (12 page)

Marie piled her long blonde hair on top of her head and shoved the helmet downwards, snapping the face guard into place.  It had been years since she had been on the back of a motorcycle and she hoped it was like riding a bike.  She smirked at her internal pun.

She slung her purse into a cross body position behind her and scooted up behind the man in front.  She turned her head towards the house and saw Chris gaping at them in the window and momentarily feared for her life more upon her return to that house than upon the motorcycle.

She spread her thighs wide around his and felt momentarily grateful for the loose fitting skirt.  As she settled in to the seat, she wrapped her arms around the man’s surprisingly trim waist and inhaled the Ivory soap scent that wafted off of him.  When she closed her eyes, she was back in high school and clinging to her then platonic boyfriend as they rode through the back streets of town.  She could see him clearly, despite the almost twenty years of separation, and instantly knew who the rider in front of her was.  She spread her palms flat against his chest and stomach and felt the muscles twitching and bulging.

Her breath caught in her throat as the memories flooded back into her; how she had always had a crush on him, how he had taken her to prom and got a wonderful laugh as she bunched her evening gown up to accommodate the motorcycle between her legs, how he always deferred any suggestion that they might actually date instead of just hang out.  He had seemed like the dangerous biker boy back then, and apparently had grown up into the dangerous biker man.  His muscled body felt all masculine to her and she gripped his waist tighter.

The motorcycle roared to life between her thighs and she jumped at the sudden vibrations against her sensitive areas.  It had been a lifetime since anyone had been interested in her pleasure, and the intensity of the engine’s stimulation was almost too much for her body.  He screeched out of the driveway and they disappeared from Chris’ view.

She had long forgotten the experience of riding a motorcycle, so the twists and turns seemed exaggeratedly sharp and dangerous.  She tried to lean with his body but that only made her more aware of each lean muscle in his body as it flexed and bulged.  It had been so long since she felt any tingle in her own body other than fear, that it felt foreign as heat surged through her bloodstream.  She felt safer on the back of this speeding monster of a vehicle than she did in her own living room.

Her thighs and everything in between felt almost numb by the time he coasted to a stop outside an older rickety apartment complex.  He turned the machine off and kicked it to one side, leaving her in place as he quickly dismounted.  Her body felt cold and empty at his departure, but he then turned and offered a large hand to help her down.

His thick rough fingers enclosed her delicate hand as she tried to climb down without flashing him.  She smoothed her skirt into place and shook her blonde hair loose from the helmet.  His eyes sparked with something she could not quite distinguish, but instinctively knew she should have recognized.  Her senses were on overdrive and she tried as best she could to make sense of where they were.  Looking into his tanned and weathered face, she searched for a sign of the boy she had known, or even an indication that he knew who she was.

“I knew you as soon as I saw you,” he answered, startling her with his psychic abilities.

“You did?  How?”

“It was your eyes, like I said.  They used to be gentler, more exposed I guess, but I can still see you in there somewhere.”

“I don’t know about that.  I don’t know if there’s anything left of me in this old body.”

His eyes scanned down over her conservative suit and back up to her face.

“You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.  And stronger than that asshole I was pounding.”

Her soft lips parted into a grin, “I have to admit, I did like seeing that.  But I’ll catch hell for witnessing it later.”

“For witnessing it?  How could you be in trouble for that?”

“Cause he’ll be upset that I saw him like that, even though that’s always been pretty much a dream of mine for the last several years.” She let out a small giggle, and then clapped her palm over her mouth.

“I’m Slate, by the way.”

“Slate?  What a nickname for someone named Howard.”

“Yeah, well, no one calls me that around here.  No one’s called me that for years.”

She giggled again, “I promise, it’s our secret.  So how did you end up in a business like busting people’s faces?”

He narrowed his eyes and studied her.  “I could ask a rude question, but I won’t.  And it’s better if you don’t ask them either.”

“Oh.” Her giggles dissolved and her face went blank.  It was a well-practiced defense mechanism when she got reprimanded, Slate could tell.

“So where are we?”

“My apartment complex.”

“Why?”

“I just thought you could use a night off from that asshole.  Although really, Marie.  I could tell at your house that you didn’t really recognize me, so I’m a little shocked.”

“Shocked?  I walk in to my own living room and find you wailing on my husband, and you’re the shocked one?”

“I meant, shocked that you would agree to ride off with a stranger.  I should take you over my knee just to teach you a lesson.”

“Oh that.  I figure, you could hardly do any worse than what I faced there.  Wait, what?  Take me over your knee?  Good heavens!”

His eyes softened at first as he shook his head, and then they slowly morphed into steel.

“Marie…”

“Yes?”

“How the fuck did you get mixed up with him?”

Marie sighed softly and shrugged noncommittally.  “Who knows how these things happen?”

“C’mon Marie.  I knew you years ago and even back then I knew you were going places.  Based on your suit there, it seems you probably have a good job.  So why that piece of shit?”

“Can we go inside?  I don’t really want to stand around out here anymore.”

“Oh, yeah.  Sorry.  C’mon up.”

Slate turned on the heel of his black leather boot and headed away from her as she tottered behind him, still shaky from the ride and the suddenness of her evening.  Her body still hummed from all of the vibrations and the nearness of her muscle bound friend.

He strolled to a nearby doorway and unlocked the first door they came to.  She followed him into the apartment, and he reached behind her to flip on the light switch.  As he shut the door behind her, he rested his palm flat against the cracked wood, right next to her head, and leaned towards her face.  His scent, of leather mixed with Ivory, actually smelled intoxicating to her.

“Slate?” she whispered.  “Howard?”

“Please don’t call me that,” he admonished.

“Sorry, I’m still adjusting.”

His eyes had softened again and he searched hers for some sign of who she used to be.  Marie could not handle the intrusion and averted her gaze away from his.  His fingertip was rough against her cheek as he turned her face back towards him.

“Marie?”

Slate inhaled deeply and filled his lungs with the smell of her.  He pulled his finger away and ran his hand over his sleek shaved scalp.  Her hand crept up tentatively and she ran just her fingertips over the bristly skin.  He almost shuddered at the feather touch but bit back the urge.  Marie felt a forgotten surge of heat in her veins as his bicep bulged and his jaw tightened.  He did not pull away but every muscle in his body clenched as he struggled with his self-control.  He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered.

“S-S-Sure,” she replied in a voice that was barely over a whisper.

He pulled back from her and strode to the kitchen to pull two beers out of the fridge.  She wrinkled her nose slightly but took the bottle from him and popped it open.

“What’s with the face?” he challenged.

“Oh that.  Sorry.  I just, I guess I don’t much care for the smell sometimes, after everything.”

“Ah, well, I don’t have anything else except tap water.  I’m not what you call domestic.” He gave a half-grin.

“Oh no, this is fine.”

“You keep using that word, ‘fine’.  I’m not sure anything is
fine
in your world.”

A sudden spark of anger flickered in her hazel eyes.  “Oh really?  What’s so normal about your life?”

He chuckled wryly.  “Oh we’re not talking about normal here, and we’re certainly not talking about my life.”

Marie picked at the label on her bottle of beer and looked down at her shoes.

“C’mere,” he said softly, taking her by the elbow and leading her to the couch that sagged against the wall.

She followed dutifully and sat down next to him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She could hear her own voice wavering with uncertainty and disbelief.

“Why shouldn’t I be?  You haven’t done anything wrong and you’re an old high school friend.”

She tightened her lips, “Do we have to use the word ‘old’?”

He laughed, “No.  How about ‘former’ instead?”

“That works.”

Marie sat perched on the edge of the couch next to him as he lounged against the back of the couch with his legs sprawled apart.  Several times he raised his hand to her back but dropped it back down before making contact.  As though each of his motions sent out physical electric sparks, Marie shivered every time but did not look back at him.  She kept her back stiffened and her eyes down at the beer bottle.

She inhaled sharply as she felt him move more intentionally behind her.  Slate slid out of his leather jacket and laid it on the arm of the couch.  This time, when his hand lifted, he lightly touched her back and she jumped.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just need you to relax,” he said softly.  “You’re making me tense here.”

She rotated her torso around to look at him, and her eyes drifted over the grey sleeveless muscle shirt, down his hard chest and flat stomach and back up to his bulging arms.  A dark green snake curled around one forearm and gripping the opposite bicep was a black skull with a flaming knife through one of the eye sockets.  Her hand drifted up and her fingertips traced the snake’s twists and turns over his skin.  He did not move, letting her touch send ripples of desire through his own bloodstream.  As her hand shifted to the other arm and outlined the skull and knife, he raised the snake arm and tipped her chin upwards to look at him.  In his lifestyle and line of work, rarely did he feel any gentle touch, let alone that of a woman.

“Marie?” he asked quietly.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“I-I-I don’t know.  What are we doing here?”  Her breath escaped her lips in tentative gasps.

“You tell me,” he countered.

Deep inside her belly, she felt the spark of a long forgotten desire.  It had been so long since she had been actively interested in sex or even intimacy, yet she could not stop touching this man she used to know as a boy.  She felt more connected to him in the last hour or so than she had with her husband in the last ten years.

She slid her fingertips up his arm until they tickled the back of his neck.  She felt his broad shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh.  He rested both of his hands on her hips gently and turned her entire body towards himself.  Her hands landed flat against his chest and rested there, keeping their bodies apart but not pushing him away.  Slate slid his hands from her hips up her sides and down her arms until his large hands covered hers and held them to his own chest.

“If someone had asked me,” he started, “I never would have imagined finding you in that house with that guy.  I can’t imagine what path your life presented to you that landed you in that dark hole.  You do remember that you deserve better, that you can do so much more?”

She sighed and tried to push back the stinging tears.  “I was dating him while I finished paralegal school and I ended up pregnant.  We lost the baby after we got married and I guess he’s never forgiven me.  Or maybe I’m still punishing myself for everything.  I don’t really know.  It’s not straightforward.  It’s complicated.”

Slate exhaled slowly and squeezed her hands gently against his chest.  He lightly gripped her wrists and pulled her closer until their lips were merely inches apart.

“Marie, stop me anytime,” he whispered.

She held her breath for a suspended moment while her mind reeled with the options and the consequences.  And she closed the inches between them as she brushed his lips with hers.  He returned the tentative motion with a more assured one, pressing his lips firmly against hers.

She pulled back but only minutely.  “What are we doing?” she whispered.

“Anything we want.  Anything you want.”

She studied his pale blue eyes as they swirled with desire and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him back to her.  His passion was strong but reserved as his tongue tasted the sweetness of her lips.  Marie felt her head swim with heated thoughts that she could not untangle.  The heat in her bloodstream surged downwards and collected between her thighs.

“Howard,” she whispered, “it’s been so long.  I didn’t even realize I missed you.  That I missed us.”

Deep inside, the tiny remaining spark of that high school boy flared and he remembered who she had been and how badly he had wanted her back then.

His hands stopped their roving at her waist and he lifted her up to set her on his lap.  In her dizziness, Marie straddled his lap without conscious thought and let her hands stroke down his back.  He pulled back from the kiss and peeled off her suit jacket.  The swell of her full breasts surprised him and he let his hands drift over them as they rose and fell with her breathing.

“I don’t remember these,” he chuckled.

Marie giggled, “They grew in later.”

His rough fingers were surprisingly nimble as he unfastened her blouse buttons, and he slid the top off her body, dropping it to the floor with her jacket.  His eyes widened at the firm curves of her breasts under her white satin bra, and her trim waist as it disappeared into her skirt.  He winced at the faded bruise on her ribcage and ran the back of his hand over the area as if to wash away the pain.  He bowed his head to her collarbone and left a trail of warm damp kisses along her creamy skin.

“Why are you hiding in that bulky oversized suit?  You’re gorgeous.”

Marie felt her cheeks flush and she shook her head.  “You’ve lost your mind,” she whispered, “I’m just a dumpy housewife who can’t stand up for herself.”

He leaned back into her and left more damp kisses along her neck and throat and chest.  Each of his gentle touch nudged the sparks into flames and her belly swirled with neglected desires.  Her fingers tickled his stomach as she tugged at his tee shirt, and lifted it up over his head.  She ran her fingers through the sprinkle of dark curls and traced the red dragon imbedded in his pec.

“I don’t remember all of this ink,” she laughed.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, I find it… sexy.” her voice trailed off into almost a breath.

Slate grinned at her, “You say that to all the bikers.”

“Nope, just the ones who rescue me,” she teased him back.

He deftly unclasped her bra and let it fall to the wayside with her other clothes.  As her breasts fell into view, his hands could not stop themselves from tickling the delicate skin.  Marie gasped softly and arched her back to push them into his hands.  He pulled her chest against his, trapping one of his hands between them.  His fingers teased and tickled her nipples until it threatened to pierce his skin.  Her gasps escaped her full lips in breathy little puffs.

“How long has it been?” he groaned against her neck.

“Since when?”

“Since anything.”

“Oh he has sex with me whenever he wants, but it’s been years since… since someone really touched me.”

“Mmmm, his loss is my gain.”

Slate buried his face in her breasts, letting his hand torment one while his tongue teased the other.  Marie felt her thighs tighten up and suddenly she became aware of the large stiffness that pressed up into her from Slate’s lap.  As he drew her nipples into stiff peaks with his attentions, she discovered that her hips would not sit still.  She writhed and squirmed until one of his hands was pressing her down into his groin.  Her loose flowing skirt had settled around the two of them, and the coarse fly of his jeans rubbed against her satin panties and against the sensitive places underneath.  She felt the spreading dampness inside the satin and was startled by how much she wanted the man underneath her.

“Marie,” he rasped, his desire flowing from his swelling cock into his voice.

“What?” she gasped.

“Stop me now if you want to.”