The Alpha Men's Secret Club 4: Intrigue: A Shockingly Hot BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance (6 page)

15

They moved Rust back to his old bedroom in the
O’Brien mansion. Kate asked Moira’s permission to move in with him with her suitcase and all.

Moira gazed at her. “You’re a good girl, Kate. I don’t know if my son deserves your love.”

“Everyone deserves love, Mrs. O’Brien. Especially your son.”

Moira smiled.
“I do believe he loves you. Doesn’t mean he knows how to show it, though.”

I’ll get through to him,
Kate avowed.

Rust did not speak much. He slept most of the time for those first
two days. When he awoke, it was to stare listlessly at the wall. He had to be coerced to eat and drink. He could walk around the room, and when he did, he paced around restlessly, almost bumping into objects. He recognized no one and did not speak to anyone.

When he slept, he had dreams which made him cry out.

Kate was worried about him. She was afraid the ECT did something to his shifter brain – made him into a living zombie.
She slept beside him in his bed while holding his hand and listening to his labored breathing in the dark.

She had to do something! He was so alive, so much larger than life!
He couldn’t stay this way for the rest of his life. She wouldn’t let him!

Despite being
not much more than a glorified zombie, Rust was still beautiful to look at. His face had taken on a pale, ethereal look, and he seemed almost angelic – like what a fallen angel would resemble. As he gazed out through the window, his mind churning with goodness-knows-what, the light reflecting on his almost perfect features, Kate felt her heart contract with desperate love.

“Rust?”
she said, cradling his face tenderly in her palms. “Rust . . . do you remember me?”

His green eyes clouded over. He was breathing hard and his nostrils flared.

“Do you remember this then?” She leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

He did not respond, and so she was kissing his hard
, unyielding mouth. Her heart clenched.

She did it again and again. Over and over. It was like kissing a cold, beautiful statue. Like kissing Michelangelo’s David.

Her hands explored his chest beneath his thin flannel shirt. She could feel his hard nipples underneath the cloth. Perhaps if his mind could not remember her, his body would. She kissed him again, brushing aside her distress when he did not kiss her back. Her hands reached for his buttons, and she undid his shirt, exposing his smooth chest.

He still did not respond. So she peeled away his shirt and undid his trousers in a similar fashion. He wore nothing underneath. She should know. She dressed him.
His cock was not hard . . . but it was not completely soft either. She grasped it. There was a certain turgidity of the flesh there, which was promising.

She groped it and squeezed it and massaged it. Back, forth, back, forth. A des
perately administered hand job in a heartbreaking situation. She caressed his tip, rubbing the crown in the way she knew he liked. His crown was always so sensitive. So susceptible to excitement.

She bent her head and placed her mouth on his cock.

She could hear him breathe sharply.

Surprised but pleased, she raised her head to look at his expression. His eyes were still blank and uncomprehending.
But his nostrils were flared and he was breathing harder. His body was starting to respond to her.

She circled her mouth around his cock again.
Her mouth welcomed the familiar comfort of his flesh, which was beginning to harden – and harden rapidly. She quickened her movements, sliding her mouth up and down his cock. She plied it with licks. Gentle licks. Harder licks. Extremely wet licks.

She was
getting excited herself. Her pussy contracted and her juices pushed out.

She
stopped fellating him to pull her blouse over her head. She slid down her shorts and took off her panties. She was not wearing any bra.

“Rust?” she said. “Look at me. Touch me.”

She thought she saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Or maybe she only saw what she wanted to see.

Undaunted,
she took hold of his hands and placed them on her breasts. Her nipples were already hard. His hands folded and grasped her breasts.

“That’s right,” she said. The elation surged within her. She was not sure if
his response was a purely physical one. “Feel them. Remember them. You loved sucking them.”

She was in the unusual position of being the sexual navigator now.

His grip was rougher than usual, without his usual temperance. But she still hungered for his touch. His hands groped and kneaded her generous breasts, seeming to find solace in rubbing her nipples with his palms. He had soft, uncallused palms. The palms of a sophisticated man. A university professor. But his needs and his touch were focused, infused with a hunger that was primal and bestial.

Had the ECT really burned the bestiality
out of him?

“That’s right,” she encouraged him. “Suck them. Take my teats in your mouth.”

She had to mount him for him to do so. She placed her left nipple into his mouth. She was a little afraid of what he would do, actually. In this state, would he exercise caution? Or would he be as feral as the night he ran away from her?

She had to take the chance. She loved him enough to endure
any pain.

His mouth closed in on her nipple, and he was surprisingly gentle.
He sucked at her teat, moistening it with his tongue, taking more and more of her flesh within. A beatific expression came over his features. He was at peace with this act.

“Oh, Rust,” she whispered. With every suck he administered to her teat, she felt her womb contract. “I love you. I love you so much.”

His hands curled around her waist. This couldn’t be purely physical now, she thought with mounting excitement. He had to understand what she was saying to him.

“I love you,” she said to him, over and over. “I love you.”

His cock was hard and standing. She raised her hips and eased her pussy hole onto the head of his cock.

“Rust, take me, like you always do. It’s me . . . your Kate.”

She lowered her hips.

“Uhhh,” she couldn’t help crying out as he entered her,
pushing apart her pussy walls until his cock was embedded deeply in her.

Here she was, in an unaccustomed position. He usuall
y liked to take her from behind or in the missionary position – always dominant, always in control. But now, she was on top. She was in control of how deeply and quickly he penetrated her.

And she wanted him. Her entire body ached for him.
She savored the feel of his flesh within her slick, wet tunnel.

“I love you,” she kept murmuring. “Remember that. Come back to me . . . please.”

She held on to his shoulders for leverage as she pumped her hips up and down against his. She rocked herself against him in a variety of movements – up, down, back, forth, grinding and rotating. His hands clasped her waist, her sides, her breasts, her hair.

His eyes
stared at her face. His lips formed a word. She thought it was
Kate,
but she couldn’t be sure.

She needed to do this. She needed to meld her body against his until he remembered . . . or his body remembered this. Remembered
her
.

She pumped him until his face was flushed and his breathing grew more ragged.

“Come for me, Rust,” she panted.

It took two whole minutes more of pumping before he could do so.
His semen shot into her, as hot and plentiful as always. In that, he hadn’t changed. The rush of life-giving sperm filled her womb and her mind with satiety and pleasure. She hadn’t climaxed, but that was all right. She wanted to do this for him this time – it was not about taking her own pleasure.

It was blissful. For the past few days, she had thought that she would never experience his semen inside her body again.

Rust sank back into his pillow, satisfied. The hair on his forehead was damp. He was still studying her face, although the confusion on it had not abated.

She gently tuc
ked the hair away from his face as she eased his leaking cock out of her pussy.

“It’s OK, Rust. You
will
remember me. Slowly. I’m not that easy to get rid of. I love you, and I’ll make you remember you love me too.”

She arranged them both so they were side by side on the bed. He closed his eyes, and from his breathing, she could tell that he had fallen asleep.

If only it were that easy for her to sleep.

16

Rita Cunningham
got the phone call before the incident even happened, as the best investigative reporters often did.

“They’re going to arrest Rust O’Brien,” said her informer.

Her pulse leaped.

What she had seen at Aaron Mitchell’s estate played very clearly in her mind.
The thing was . . . what was she going to do about it?

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m on to it.”

She grabbed her jacket and her purse.

And
also her handgun.

17

There was a
wall of darkness around him, one that was not made of brick or steel but a cloudy vapor of some sort. Rust could not grasp it in his hands, but he could not break out of it either. He hurled himself into it endlessly, and yet escape eluded him. He neither felt warmth nor cold, and he was not sure he could experience normal sensations through his entire body.

The beast!

The beast that was a part of him was trapped behind that wall. It was like excising an organ from him. An organ that was part of his brain and his soul. Without it, he felt stunted, deformed, confused – as though he had been lobotimized. The beast was a cancer which consumed him, and yet it had nourished him, sustained him.

And now he was lost and bereft without it.

Had he made a terrible mistake?

But the beast was lethal. It was making you into something less than civilized. It was making you
a killer.

I don’t know
about that.

You don’t know that you didn’t kill Teddy Mitchell either.
But you do know that you were on the verge of tearing Kate apart.

Kate!

His beloved Kate.

He loved her.
It was predominantly her that he had done this for – so that he would no longer be driven by his lust to possess her and mate with her and rip her from limb to limb.

This was a good thing.

But now he was lost. A wanderer in the dark fugue of his mind. He hadn’t counted on being lost. He had counted on being cured.

Maybe it took a few more times.
He might as well be an inmate at Bellevue for as long as it took him to be cured. If he ever got cured.

Sometimes, he heard voices in that dark tunnel.
He thought he heard his father’s voice. And his mother’s. But most of all, he thought he heard Kate.

“I love you,” she said, and the sound of that
filtered through the fugue and expanded his soul.

“I love you too, Kate,” he tried to say, but he didn’t think she heard him. He wasn’t sure
she was really there either. After all, hadn’t he pushed her away for her own good? “I love you. I have loved you for a long time. But I didn’t know it. I didn’t recognize if for what it was. I’m sorry I failed you, Kate. I don’t deserve you. I’m weak now. I can’t protect you.”

At least he had done one thing right. He had protected her from himself.

But still, he clawed through the walls to reach her voice. Or at least, he tried to claw through them. Was she there or had she long returned to campus to forget she ever knew him? Was he chasing a fragment of his dream?

18

When Connor O’Brien opened the door to Lance Horner and Geraldine
Brickford, Lance flashed the warrant before him.

“Is your son at home, Dr. O’Brien?”

Connor stared at the warrant.

“Yes,” he said. “But he’s not in a fully coherent state of mind.”

“So I heard,” Lance said. “He was at Bellevue Hospital for the Criminally Insane a few days ago . . . as
your
patient.” He paused. “Why did you admit him, Dr. O’Brien?”

Connor hesitated.
“He suffered post-traumatic stress from his recent resignation. He was having trouble sleeping. I admitted him for a day for some psychological tests and prescribed him some drugs to help him sleep.”

“
If he pleads not guilty, his case would go to trial and the prosecution will ask for his case records, though I suppose you’d already thought of that.”

“I didn’t think my son would be arrested
for circumstantial evidence.”

“His pubic hair was found on the murder victim at the scene of the crime.
It will be up to his defense lawyers to prove that it is indeed circumstantial.” Lance stepped in through the doorway. “Now, I’ll have to insist you show me where he is.”

“Wait, you can’t,” C
onnor said, holding up his hands. “He’s not . . .
well
. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. O’Brien
, I’m going to ask you to step aside.” Lance looked up and saw Kate Penney on the stairway, looking alarmed.

“Are you going to arrest Rust?” she said in a frightened voice.

“Yes, Ms. Penney.” Lance started up the stairs, Geraldine in tow.

“But he’s not well.” Kate blocked the stairway with as much of her diminishing bulk as she could.

“So I’ve heard. If he isn’t well, then he should be in a hospital. As long as he isn’t in a hospital, as certified by an independent court-appointed doctor or psychiatrist, then I have reason enough to arrest him.” Lance smiled pleasantly.

Connor and Kate exchanged glances.