A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4) Page 8

  Now the man’s hand rested on the back of her chair and she’d turned, crossing one long leg over the other to chat with him. Another laugh and she lightly touched the contractor’s shoulder.

  Waylon’s tunnel stare nearly blocked out Langdon’s smug smile. The shifter was sly enough not to aim it at Waylon, but it was there. Langdon pushed away from the table. It must’ve been the signal to end dinner. The married guys each checked their watches and commented about kids’ practices and running an errand for the wife. The human woman in the group huddled with Langdon for a few moments before leaving.

  Shilo was absorbed in the discussion with Tim. The other gawker was checking his phone and would likely jet soon. The only others that remained were the two Covet shifters.

  Shilo’s throaty laugh was another kick in the groin. “I’ll meet you at the bar. Excuse me.”

  Blood rushed between Waylon’s ears. She would what?

  She slipped out of her chair and went for the door without looking at Waylon. He caught her tight expression. Her smile had faded and the lines at her eyes strained like they were holding back floodwaters.

  He started after her.

  Langdon’s faux-cultured voice carried above the others. “Surely she can use the restroom on her own?”

  Since Waylon didn’t answer to the shifter, he walked out.

  The echo of heels clicked down the tiled floor. Murals of women working on the shoreline decorated the walls on either side. The main part of the establishment was brightly lit, but the hallways were dim.

  “Shilo,” he hissed. Her hearing would be enough he didn’t have to shout.

  Her steps faltered, then sped up.

  He picked up his pace and turned the corner as she disappeared into the ladies room. Reaching the door before she locked it, he shouldered his way inside and let the door close behind him. Catching her eye, he locked the door.

  Her soft brown irises were a swirl of anger and panic. Was she afraid he’d make a scene and ruin it for her contractor?

  “What the fuck, Shilo?” He could barely keep from shouting, so he whisper-yelled. “‘Meet you at the bar’? Do you think I’m going to drive you to his house and stand outside the bedroom door while you’re fucking?” He shoved a hand through his hair. It was either that or hit a wall. She was picking a guy up in front of him? The separation between them had never been more apparent.

  Her nostrils flared and she poked a finger into the meaty part of his shoulder so hard he staggered back.

  “What else am I supposed to do?” Her whisper was harsh and ragged. “I feel like I can rip this restaurant apart brick by brick.” He didn’t mention the building was made of lumber. “It was all I could do not to throw the food against the wall and shatter the plates. All the ‘You’ll have to have this ready by the time we trench’ and ‘You’ll need to clear this with the mayor.’ I’m going crazy!” She stepped away, and he instantly missed the heat of her body.

  Spinning so her back was to him, she dropped her forehead into one hand, the other propped on her hip.

  “There are only so many options for a rogue and I’m running out of them.”

  His fury drained away. She didn’t want to sleep with that man, but she thought there was no other option.

  Grasping her elbow, he tugged her back toward him. “I have an idea.”

  Shilo’s back was against the wall and Waylon’s strong body lined up with hers. The hard length of him pressed into her and it was better than she remembered. She didn’t have to argue because the only thought going through her mind and body was At last.

  “I can give you relief.” Hot breath fanned over her face, sending shivers down her neck. “You don’t need him.”

  “This…” Can’t happen. Her chest was heaving. His head was tilted over her, his body primed to do a job it did excellently. She just had to get the rest of the sentence out. Instead, she tugged his head down and kissed him.

  He kissed her back, his erection grinding into her belly. She anchored herself on his shoulders and widened her stance. Her core needed that hardness rubbed against it.

  Why the hell had she worn pants today?

  He flicked open the hook and eye clasp on her slacks and shoved his hand down them. Hot fingers covered her sex, seeking her clit.

  Yesss.

  She rolled her hips into him and plundered his mouth with her tongue. Heat bloomed between them as her body opened for his touch.

  As soon as his fingers found her supercharged nub, she bowed against the door, ripping her mouth off him. “Yes!”

  He crashed his lips back onto hers. Oh, right. Discretion.

  Rocking her hips, she planted one heel against the door and supported her weight with her other leg and Waylon’s body. His expert touch and her raging hormones drove her toward her peak within a minute without penetration.

  She tried to open her mouth to call out as her orgasm hit, but he swallowed her cry. Helpless against the waves of pleasure and his immovable form, she shook her release.

  Sensing she was done, he removed his hand, released her mouth. Her head hit the door as her breathing caught up with her oxygen needs.

  Opening her eyes, she smiled, her body going molten from head to toe. “I liked the appetizer.” She reached for his waistband.

  He jerked away, backing up two steps. Any more and he’d fall onto the toilet. The stormy expression on his face registered.

  “No.” His jaw was tight, his eyes flashing.

  “What’s your problem?” Her hackles were rising and her defenses slammed back up. He’d just gotten her off and now he was acting like he couldn’t stand to touch her, that she’d done something wrong. He’d stuck his hand down her pants.

  “My problem,” he said in a low, hard tone that shouldn’t turn her on so much, “is that I’m not going to be the one to blame when your aggression dies down and you realize that we fucked.”

  He stepped to the side and then spun back the other way. There wasn’t enough room to pace in the bathroom. She sank against the cool wood of the door to wait for him to finish.

  She wouldn’t have blamed him for having sex with her. But…the spinning thoughts in her mind were slowing down, enough to admit she might have been horrified she’d jumped Waylon as soon as her guard was down.

  “So this is what you’re gonna do, princess.” He stabbed a finger toward the door. “You’re going to go to the bar and meet with that guy.” His lip curled to reveal a fang. “And you’re going to decide if you want to burn your rage on others or let me service you until we figure out how else we can help you. But I want this to be your decision, Shilo. No one is going to tell you what to do.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He was ordering her around and she should be pissed, her rage should be increasing, her inner wolf howling.

  He was right. Sex with him had the potential to ruin her. What if he walked again? With or without warning, if she couldn’t keep her emotions out of it, he could destroy her. She’d go from the edge of disobedience straight over the line into insanity.

  Worrying about what Waylon thought and how it might hurt him if she slept with someone else was a moot point. None of her concern. He was the reason she was bordering on madness.

  But right now, she was…calm. Rational. As close to her old self as she’d been for a while. This was the best moment to decide how she was going to carry out her future.

  Chapter 9

  Shilo threw her head back as she sank down on the hard length. Her body was greedy and ready. There was no foreplay, no waiting. This was hard, fast fucking in the backseat.

  She’d sat in the bar, flirting with Tim, taking her time to make her decision as Langdon’s cousin Oscar hit on a woman at the end of the bar. He’d been spying on her, so she’d flirted with Tim harder.

  The release was necessary, there was no question about that. She just had to choose who. Other girls might relish the decision, but not her. She hated being at the mercy of these urges, sk
ipping the getting-to-know-you phase and totally blowing off the can-I-see-you-again step. She missed cuddling, mourned the laughter and the heart-to-hearts, and dreamed of being able to act silly with a male she trusted.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she rocked back to keep her head from hitting the roof. She would’ve laughed but she was riding her partner too hard. He was happy to let her do all the work while he flicked her nipples through her still-buttoned shirt. They’d skipped foreplay. She’d made her decision when the clock had hit eleven, and she’d dragged him out of the bar to fuck in his ride.

  She tipped her head to the side to keep from whacking into the roof. Muscle memory. Is that what they called it? She knew exactly how to arch and stretch to keep from getting stuck between the front seats and giving herself a concussion while she threw her head around.

  “Fuck, Shilo,” Waylon grunted, pumping in and out of her with the inch of leeway she gave him.

  Her knees scraped against the upholstery of the Jeep. The poor slacks she’d worn were getting pummeled underneath Waylon’s boots, and Shilo thought she’d heard a seam on the shoulder of her jacket rip, but she didn’t care.

  Waylon was inside her once again.

  He hadn’t said more than “it’s unlocked” once she’d told him it was time to go. She’d handed Tim her number—not her real number—and made sure Oscar saw before she left. But Oscar had been too busy chatting with the blonde next to him while the young bartender glowered at them. Had the bartender been after the blonde or Oscar?

  Shilo twisted enough to lean forward over him, her ass grinding into Waylon’s thighs. He might’ve come once already, but he hadn’t slowed and she’d paid attention only to her own needs.

  “Suck on them.” She ripped open her shirt and thrust her chest in his face the extra half inch they had to spare.

  He clamped his teeth around a nipple through her lacy bra. Why the fuck had she worn a bra in the first place? It was piss-poor armor and she’d planned to get naked tonight anyway.

  Her second orgasm for the night slammed into her. It brought enough clarity to ponder whether the parking lot had surveillance cameras. What would they see? A black Jeep rocking at the edge of the light a weak street lamp threw off?

  Waylon wouldn’t have let this happen where perverts could be voyeurs.

  Another wave of need washed over her. And his T-shirt was in the way.

  She bunched the material in her fists and ripped it off. He did nothing but grunt and bite down harder on her breast.

  “More,” she said. Being demanding, verbalizing what she wanted, had never been a part of her relationship with Waylon. He’d always known what she needed. But she’d changed. This was new territory.

  She raked down his sides with her nails and rode him faster than she had before.

  It wasn’t enough. Grabbing his hand off her waist, she stuffed it between them. He had to adjust to keep tonguing her peaked nipple and find her wet sex. Her bouncing wasn’t helping things.

  With a frustrated cry, she wrenched herself off him. “It’s not enough.”

  He flipped her next to him, keeping her on her knees and wedged himself behind her. Why hadn’t they rented a room? She could’ve waited that long.

  He shoved inside of her from behind, and she rejoiced. No, she couldn’t have waited.

  Sweat beaded along her forehead, and most of her hair had fallen out of its clip. The windows of the Jeep were steaming. She kept her hand off the glass to keep some do-gooder from checking on her and interrupting this for one millisecond.

  This was too good to stop.

  He thrust in and out, hard enough to bump her head against the backdoor panel, but it gave him a little extra room to circle her clit with this finger while keeping her open to maximum penetration.

  This would do.

  She wrapped an arm around the headrest and nearly ripped it off as the climax hit. Waylon groaned and swelled even thicker as his hot release spilled inside of her.

  Oh yes. This is what she’d been missing. A male, not a man. A guy who could sustain multiple orgasms without resting in between. A guy whose length and thickness put her past human partners to shame. A guy who could give it to her just like she needed it.

  He withdrew and spun her again, spreading her legs until one hung over the backseat into the cargo area and the other splayed across the console in the front. She was wide open and glistening from all the sex they’d had in just a few short minutes.

  Shifting backward as much as he could, he pushed his way inside. They fucked like this for another release, then anther, until she was nearly howling with her euphoria. He dominated her. Intent, ruthless, he gave her orgasm after orgasm until she went limp. Only then did he collapse over her.

  “You didn’t come,” she murmured, her eyes barely staying open.

  “Hell yeah, I did. Just not that last time. ’Sokay.” His sides were heaving and his head rested on her chest. He was probably mooning whoever or whatever was outside the back window, but they were too boneless to move.

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “It was okay.”

  He lifted his head to scowl at her.

  She chuckled, surprised she had the energy for it.

  He was still inside of her. His twitches resonated through her fatigue. She could totally go again, but it’d be softer, more passionate. The serious threat of a more-than-physical feeling being involved was getting higher the longer they remained like this.

  She moved to sit up. He pulled out, still hard. She averted her eyes. Seeing his erect glory still wet from being inside of her wouldn’t help her emotions.

  While she located her slacks and straightened them out, he wrestled his jeans up and tugged at the ends of his shirt. He pulled it off and again; she couldn’t look. There wasn’t enough beer on the planet to give Waylon’s chiseled body a beer gut. She didn’t have to look to know he was as magnificent as he’d always been.

  He waited until she’d pulled her pants on before opening the door. The fresh, cool night air was a welcome relief. Strands of her hair were plastered against her face and down her neck. Buttons were missing from her top. She secured her one suit jacket button instead before getting out.

  Waylon opened the console and dug out a wrinkled white tee. He tugged it on and slid into the driver’s seat.

  A scan of the parking lot showed a car much like what the members of the Covet pack preferred still parked by the building. Good. Oscar hadn’t come outside. He might think she’d hooked up with Tim somewhere else, buying them time before Langdon figured out exactly how he was guarding her.

  She got into the passenger seat, brushed her hair behind her ear, and clicked her seat belt on. “Oscar is still here. His twin, Brynley, left before…” The most excellent bathroom encounter. “We can get a hotel. I have cash in case Langdon’s demented enough to trace my card.”

  “We’re going back to Ironhorse Falls tonight.” Waylon turned the key.

  “But it’s almost midnight.”

  “And he’ll be expecting you to stay over. He might have anticipated this.” Waylon waved to the backseat. “But he’ll assume you’re staying in Freemont whether you’re with me or…Tim.” The predatory reflection hit his pupils as he said the human’s name.

  “But I have supplies to pick up.” Supplies she’d had no intention of getting just because the list had been handed to her with strict instructions not to forget. She needed to capitalize on the urge to do what she was supposed to.

  “Then we’ll hit a twenty-four-hour box store and head out. Change the routine on him, Shilo.”

  “Can you drive all night?”

  He shrugged. “We can take turns. But if we get our shopping done and roll through Passage Lake when all the shifters have done their nightly runs and bedded down for the night, we can see what they’re like unprepared.”

  “I like that idea. Let’s go.”

  Waylon’s hands were still shaking as he loaded the last crate of canning jars. He’d laid dow
n the backseat and used every inch he and Shilo weren’t sitting in to store their materials. Canning jars, salt, sugar, and vinegar took up over half. Then there were emergency rations like packets of tuna and chicken and as many first aid supplies as they could handle, which included more salt. Waylon wouldn’t put it past Langdon to give Ironhorse Falls members a severe case of silver poisoning.

  Loading his vehicle at least took his mind off what he’d done with Shilo. He’d run a gamut of emotion tonight, from the euphoria of the bathroom incident to the sinking pit in his stomach as he’d sat a couple barstools down from her and Tim. And he’d been certain she’d go home with Tim. The feeling was enough to unsettle him for years.

  Her wild abandon… He’d never seen her like that. Sure, they’d been energetic before, but this had been raw. Primal.

  Then once she’d relaxed even slightly and they’d stopped, she was back to prim and proper. His princess. In the store, she’d had her list and checked it twice and sent him off to grab items that were close by. In and out in forty-five minutes, cash paid.

  Shilo walked their second cart back to the cart rack, her heels echoing across the nearly empty lot. The few people that were shopping had barely spared Shilo a second look in her shiny heels and rumpled business wear. She’d freed her hair, swept it back up in a self-contained messy bun, and she’d strutted around Walmart like the royalty she was.

  “Want me to drive?” she asked.

  “Nah. You rest. Maybe after Covet.” He needed to grip something to keep his hands steady. How easily he’d slipped back into mate mindset. Four times on the way to the store, he’d stopped himself from reaching over to stroke her thigh and smile at her and think how damn lucky he was a girl like her had chosen a guy like him.

  But she hadn’t, and he had to keep telling himself that. Fate had, and in the end, she’d chosen her parents.

  On the road, Shilo settled in, but she didn’t go to sleep. She waited until they got out of town before she spoke. “What’d you do the last five years?”