When Will I See You Again (5 page)

Grabbing the globes in front of him, he spread them farther apart, revealing the pink pucker he sought. He rubbed at it with fingers moistened with his own pre-cum, then pushed his thumb inside. He quickly added two fingers to the mix, intent on coaxing the sphincter muscle to relax so it wouldn’t bar his entrance.

“Yessssssssss.” Louis dropped his head back, but Raoul pushed it down once more.

The man’s channel was hot and tight around Raoul’s fingers.

He could tell others had taken this path before him, he felt it in the grip of his muscles—he would have it no other way. Raoul refused to ever take a virgin, or to accept responsibility for one. It went against his personal code. Luckily, the situation had never arisen.

Raoul slapped the quivering flesh once again as he continued to scissor his fingers inside.

“Say it again,” he hoarsely commanded.

“Fuck me,” Louis begged. “Please fuck me. Hard.”

In one swift move, Raoul impaled him, filling him hard and filling him completely. He was in so deep, his balls slapped against
his wet flesh.

Louis moaned his pleasure, but he obediently kept his head down. “So big,” he gasped. He gripped the arm of the sofa, his hips thrusting backward, as if to encourage Raoul to move. “So good.”

Raoul grabbed those hips, stilling them as he pulled out and thrust back inside. “Don’t move,” he growled.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the myriad reflections that surrounded him. His need was too strong to deny. He needed relief—now. Needed to lose himself in a place where emotions didn’t exist, where pain became pleasure, and pure animal instinct ruled. In and out, over and over, he set a driving pace, pounding inside of Louis, giving himself over to the animal within. The same animal that would claim him shortly in their monthly merger.

Yes, yes, yes, he was almost there. Raoul could feel it begin, a sensation that originated deep inside his body and spread like wildfire to his extremities, sending out signals that portended the end. His balls tightened, drawing back against him. His fingers dug into Louis’s hips.

“Now move,” he instructed him in a voice gravely with lust.

Louis’s hips began to wildly churn, meeting Raoul’s thrusts.

Raoul threw back his head, releasing animalistic noises with no resemblance to any sort of human language. He came, fast and furious, releasing his pent-up demons and all his lost passions, a purely physical response, one that never touched his heart, only meant to assuage the demands of his aching cock. He came until he was drained, then he fell backward onto the cushions, panting, severing the physical connection between them. Louis pitched forward, clinging to the couch, dripping onto the cushions.

Raoul reached between his legs and removed the full condom.

He twisted his body over the arm of the sofa and threw it into the
small waste can there. Then he wiped his hand across his sweaty stomach and lowered his legs to the floor so he could stretch them out, ease the tight muscles. He dropped his head into his hands, before pushing his hair back, out of his face. He liked to leave it loose on full moon nights. His long hair swept down his bare back, almost to his ass. Even at forty, the dark strands showed no signs of gray.

He jerked his head up at the sound of a cash register. His phone was ringing, someone from the club. Pink Floyd’s “Money” was the ringtone for Charisma—evidence of Raoul’s warped sense of humor. Now, where was it?

He began to hunt about the office for his clothes, ignoring the man on the sofa. He found a pair of pants, but they weren’t his—he tossed them in Louis’ general direction. His own lay on the other side of the sofa. He reached into the pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

“Yeah?” he growled.

“It’s Francesco. Sorry to bother you, boss, but I have a slight situation down here.”

“Can’t you handle it?” Raoul darted a glance at the clock. The time was drawing near. He’d rather not get involved in anything lengthy if he didn’t have to.

Another voice broke in. Paolo. “We have two guys here and a questionable ID.”

“So why bother me?” Raoul paced about the office. A shower sounded good, but he wouldn’t get one if he had to dick around with this.

“Because one of them says he knows you. I’m sorry to bother you, so close and all—”

“Never mind, I’ll be right down.” Raoul cut him off and hung
up. He turned to find Louis staring at him.

“I have to go.” He gestured toward the door. “Which means you have to go, too.”

“I could wait here,” Louis offered.

Raoul shook his head. “No, we’re done.” His voice was cold and unemotional.

“Okay.”

Raoul watched impatiently as Louis pulled on his trousers in silence. When he was done, Raoul padded across the carpet and opened his office door. As Louis passed through the doorway, he looked at Raoul, his lips parting as if he intended to speak.

Raoul’s eyes flashed, and the words remained unspoken as Louis closed his mouth and headed toward the elevator. Once the doors had closed behind him, Raoul turned and headed for the walk-in closet behind one of the mirrors. He kept a complete wardrobe there, just for times like this. He would have been more annoyed at the interruption, but it had actually been serendipitous.

He hated messy good-byes. Or good-byes of any type.

He quickly dressed in a pale blue button-down shirt and dark gray trousers. The shower would have to wait, unfortunately.

Definitely first thing in the morning, though, once he got up.

Nothing worse than wolf funk.

He glanced in one of the mirrors, then headed toward the elevator, gathering his hair into a ponytail that stretched down his back. When the doors opened into the club, he noticed that the crowd seemed to be thinning. The werewolves were no doubt departing for the evening to their own private occupations, those carried out beneath the auspices of the full moon and not for public consumption. The human staff would continue to serve the needs of the customers that remained. Raoul had no doubt that some
would end up leaving with the lycanthropes.

The situation, whatever it was, had been shunted into a small room away from the entrance of the club. Standard operating procedure, so as not to form a bottleneck or cause a scene. Raoul entered the room, closing the door behind him. Inside he found Paolo and two men. Of the two, there was no question that one was old enough, at least thirty. It had to be the age of the second man that was being challenged. This man looked young—he had thick red hair and blue eyes, and he looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlight.

“Okay,” Raoul barked. “Now that you’ve got me down here, will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Alexx had caught detention once, back in high school. He hadn’t even committed the infraction he’d been accused of—just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the teacher refused to listen, and he was forced to endure two hours of monitored tedium, sitting in a small room after school under the bored aegis of the swim coach. The overly suspicious man had spent the entire time staring at the detainees, watching for the slightest sign of seditious behavior.

This felt a lot like that.

Charisma was situated on the eastern outskirts of Crescent Bay, close to the woods and far from the ocean. As they’d pulled into the packed parking lot of the brightly lit nightclub, Alexx had thought Miller’s idea was nebulous at best. The security staff was
too sharp to fall for a fake ID, no matter how genuine Miller claimed it looked. But he didn’t have any better ideas at the moment. He’d been so determined to write this story and present it to Mr. Randolph and earn his place on the writing staff—and he sure as hell wanted to get inside Charisma and experience it for himself. This was the logical jumping off point for anything involving the supernaturals in Crescent Bay.

The line to get inside had been damn along—not surprising, considering what night it was. Alexx had felt a shiver of anticipation. Although he’d been in Crescent Bay for two years, and was used to living among werewolves, knowing it was one thing—seeing it was something else.

Alexx couldn’t help but notice that some people passed right by them, straight to the head of the line, and were quickly permitted inside.
Must be nice.
Someday that’d be him, he vowed. One glance at his press pass and he’d be able to get in wherever he wanted, like he belonged there. Nightclubs, fancy restaurants, or crime scenes—they’d all be open to Alexx Jameson, International Crime Reporter.

Alexx’s reverie was broken by a nudge from Miller. They’d reached the front of the line. They pulled out their IDs—one genuine and one not quite. Alexx tried to look nonchalant, as if this was something he did every day, or at least on a regular basis, rather than being his first time inside a bar.

“How’s it going?” he asked the bouncer that was built like a mountain. He felt Miller’s foot on his instep and mumbled, “Ow.”

What the hell, man?

The bouncer made a guttural response that defied translation.

He took one glance at the IDs they held out. Instead of handing them back, he looked first at Miller, then at Alexx. Then beckoned
a second man over—standing together they resembled a mountain range—and before they could mumble out any sort of excuse, they’d found themselves quickly and quietly yanked out of the line and into a room just inside the nightclub. They’d been motioned toward a wooden table and asked to take a seat. So here they sat…waiting. Alexx had seen interrogation rooms in police dramas that looked cheerier than this place.

One of the bouncers leaned against the wall. The other had probably gone back to safeguarding Charisma from the dregs of humanity. Arms folded across his chest, he studied them. He’d looked less than impressed when Miller claimed to know somebody important at the club. No doubt that was the very person he’d called, to verify his assertion.

“Who’d you say you knew again?” Alexx lowered his voice, trying not to be overheard. Miller leaned in to him, dropping his own.

“Raoul Marchand. His dad owns this place. He runs it.”

“So if you have friends in high places, why didn’t you just ask—”

Miller put a finger to his lips, jerking his head toward the bored bouncer. “I didn’t say he’s a friend. I said I know him. Big difference.”

Alexx nodded. Maybe their situation wasn’t entirely hopeless then. Depending on this Marchand guy and what kind of mood he was in. It was full moon night, after all. Alexx had been in Crescent Bay long enough to know that the Marchands were the leading family of lycanthropes everyone talked about. They were the werewolves that drew the tourists here in droves, therefore he considered it more than likely this Raoul was one himself. He hoped the man wasn’t on edge right before the impending change.
Might be a bit prickly. Of course, if he knew he was about to turn into a wolf, like it or not, he might be a little cross himself.

He opened his mouth to make a comment when the door burst open as if struck by a sudden squall. Alexx froze, his command of the English language suddenly becoming extinct at the sight of the man standing there.

The newcomer filled the doorway, not with mass but by sheer presence alone. He was tall, dark, and utterly intense. There was something about him, a wild, fierce beauty that enveloped the room and held Alexx in its grip. His heart stopped for the space of several beats, and he forgot to breathe, staring at the man that possessed the bearing and mien of a god.

Closing the door, the newcomer advanced into the room. Alexx noticed the bodyguard instantly leapt to attention, all signs of boredom dispelled.

“Okay, now that you’ve got me down here, will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Raoul,” the bodyguard began, but Miller interrupted smoothly.

Alexx looked between them, unable to speak, his heart beating out of control.

“Miller Fenwick, Mr. Marchand. We’ve met at some of the
Chronicle
functions.” He held out his hand, but Raoul made no move to take it. After a few seconds, he withdrew it.

“I don’t remember,” he growled.

Alexx drew in his breath in dismay. This wasn’t going well.

Even so, he could not stop staring at Raoul. His eyes met the other man’s. Raoul’s were very golden. He wasn’t aware such colors even existed in the spectrum of the human eye. But then again, he didn’t have any friends who were werewolves either. He wondered if this was a sign that perhaps this man was about to change, right
here and now.

The thought was both exhilarating and frightening.

Alexx’s vision telescoped until he wasn’t aware of anything but the gorgeous man in front of him. Blood pounded in his ears and his mouth felt suddenly dry. Having lost all sense of the others in the room, he was surprised when he felt his chair yanked out from under him. Before he could fall, a hand grabbed the scruff of his neck, propelling him to his feet. He glanced at his companion.

Miller was being subjected to the same surly treatment.

“You waste my time for this?” Raoul’s upper lip curled back in a snarl. Alexx found himself wildly attracted to him. “I have somewhere I need to be. Paolo, please show these
gentlemen
out.”