I didn’t think I would be able to fall asleep, but I must have managed at some point because I woke up.
With a smile already on my face.
Smiling because Sookie was officially mine.
And I’d made good use of most of the night, reminding her of that fact.
Drilling it into her, if you will.
But rolling over, with the intention of drilling for more oil than BP could ever hope to spill – in her gulf – I found myself alone in the bed. A pang hit my chest – I ignored the hypocrisy, considering my past attitude – and I bolted upright about to ask Godric where she was when I heard the sound of the shower running.
Sookie. Naked. Wet.
The thought barely passed through my mind before I went running into the bathroom after her, hoping I would catch her before she got out. Instead I had to catch her when she screeched out a slew of curse words and jumped into the air at my overeager entrance, nearly slipping on the shower floor in the process.
Maybe it was things like this that made the bathroom the number room in the house where accidents occurred?
“You ass!” she yelled, trying to get her breathing under control, while doing a piss poor job of making me apologetic because in reality all she’d accomplished was reminding me of her ass.
Which was now my ass.
So I let her in on my dictatorial stance – something she may have already determined thanks to my dick pointing straight at her – and leered, “No. Your ass is my ass.” Turning her body to face the wall, so I could get another look at my ass, I held onto her hip and pushed at her back until she had no choice but to rest on her hands or faceplant. With my hands running all over her my mind wandered just as quickly, thinking amongst other things, aside from her obvious beauty and intellect, I’d always thought Sookie was unequivocally hot.
But I clearly hadn’t been giving her enough credit.
Sookie was positively divine. Every hill. Every valley. Every inch of her was a fucking masterpiece and all I wanted to do was worship her.
So I dropped to my knees, figuring that was as good a place to start as any.
But feeling the need to remind her this was a dictatorship – and I was an unequivocal dick – I barked, “Who said you could get out of bed, Miss Stackhouse?” I didn’t wait for an answer because I really didn’t care what it was and instead moved around to her front, diving forward and licking more than just the water dripping from between her thighs.
Ignoring my question at first, she was forced to move even farther away from the wall to account for me and my dick both trying to get closer to her. While I worked up her libido, she whimpered and moaned before working up her own fake indignation, responding, “You’re not the boss of me, Mr. Northman.”
Hearing her clipped tone, with my name attached to it, all but begged for me to just roll over and give in to her every demand. But since I’d received no reports that Hell had indeed frozen over at some point in the night, I asked against her other set of lips, “Aren’t I?”
But we both knew the answer.
She was the boss of me no matter whose signature was on her paycheck. The all-access pass I now had to her pussy made it doubly so.
I was so whipped my last name should be Crawford.
“No,” she replied haughtily, holding onto the top of my head by my hair and moving her hips against my mouth. Not satisfied with the amount of room I had to work with, she gave up on spreading her legs to accommodate me and my dickish ways, and instead threw one of her legs over my shoulder. But acting like she wasn’t wantonly riding my face, she used her Miss Stackhouse voice when she informed me, “I’m not on the clock for another hour. Until then, you’re my bitch.”
See? She knew.
But I knew another hour wouldn’t be long enough. Another day. A month. A year. It felt like an eternity wouldn’t be long enough.
But fuck if I wasn’t going to try and make it worth her while to play hooky again.
Fuck the werewolves.
Slipping a single finger into her, she moaned again while her muscles contracted around me. The feeling brought back her words from the night before about fucking and forgetting, but she was too tight to have fucked many.
And with any luck, she’d forgotten.
About every last one of those no good mother fuckers.
And I would be more than okay with that. Besides, I’d forgotten plenty too. Just like I decided to forget the word hypocrite existed in the English language.
Or that my picture could rightfully be placed alongside of it.
I continued to work her body like it had been mine all along. Like she’d been made just for me. Hell, maybe she had been because being with her was like nothing else I’d ever experienced before.
And I had a lot of experience.
Something Sookie already knew since her salary had tripled from her starting pay three years earlier, thanks to all of the raises she’d demanded for having to take out my trash. I felt bad about it now, of course, but if she bitched about it later, I would just blame her.
Because the word hypocrite no longer existed.
And after all, if she had agreed to fuck me from the start, then none of that would have ever happened.
Why have takeout when there’s a gourmet meal to be had at home?
But, no matter. She was mine. And now that my head was out of my ass, it could be in between her thighs.
Where it belonged.
And when her knees finally gave out after her third orgasm, I caught her by the waist and turned her around to put her back against the wall. I’d been ready to go as soon as I’d heard the water running, so all I need to do was lift her up, with her legs automatically wrapping around my waist, before lining myself up and sliding inside of her.
“Fuuuck,” I moaned as soon as her heat enveloped me and I held still to just enjoy it for a moment.
“No,” she whimpered, sounding both turned on and distraught. “You’re dillydallying.” Squeezing her inner muscles around me, while she leaned forward and lightly bit my chest, her voice took on a demanding tone when she ordered, “Now fuck me.”
Dominatrix Sookie was fuck hot, but I was an Alpha Male by nature, so while I gave her what she wanted, I still attempted to show her who wore the balls when it came to this part of our relationship.
After all, she had to feel them slapping up against her right now.
“If you weren’t so fucking short, I could fuck you from behind in here,” I gritted out, while pounding into her. The truth was I didn’t care how we fucked, so long as we fucked.
I was easygoing in that way.
“If you weren’t so fucking tall, I wouldn’t need a harness, rope, and carabiners to keep me in place,” she huffed back. She jerked my head to hers by my hair and her lips met mine in a kiss that was all teeth and tongues. When she pulled back, her eyes were unfocused – or maybe it was my eyes that were unfocused – but her mind still appeared sound when I watched her hand slip in between us to work her clit, as she smiled back at me and taunted, “Beat you to the summit.”
It was a photo finish, but it was a tie.
She laughed at my obvious pout that only grew with every article of clothing she put on, but with her hawk-like eyes, even the slightest movement I made in her direction made her hold her hand up and say, “No. Work first. Fuck later.”
If only we could agree on which word should be emphasized, there wouldn’t be any issue.
“Play hooky again,” I offered, ignoring the pleading tone in my voice.
She ignored it too and replied, “I can’t. I have meetings I can’t miss today.”
“Then you’re fired,” I shot back playfully. “Now you have the whole day to spend with me.”
“I can’t,” she smirked. “Now I have to go look for another job.”
“Why do you have to be so fucking responsible?” I asked, saying it like it was a bad thing. In this moment, it actually felt like it was. And while I appreciated the fact she wasn’t like any of the other women who had dollar signs in their eyes when they looked at me, I certainly wouldn’t have minded if she had fuck me eyes right now.
“Because someone has to be,” she glared, but her expression turned into one of equal parts pissed and worried when she added, “Speaking of which, Bruce came to me the other day. Over the last month, some piece of shit pilfered money out of a few different accounts to the tune of three hundred thousand.”
“What?” I asked, with my want for her fuck me eyes temporarily set aside. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He did,” she challenged. “If you bothered checking your emails, you would’ve known about it before I did.”
There went my fucking mood.
The mood to fuck that is.
I’d known I was wrapped up in my work on Operation Werewolf over the last month, but I didn’t think I’d gone so far off the deep end that I could’ve missed something like that. While the amount of money was negligible, that wasn’t the point.
The point was I’d dropped the ball.
And some other fucker noticed and took off with it.
Before I could say any more, Sookie spoke up adding, “I hired an independent firm to audit the books. I’m meeting with their representative this morning, so we should know something soon.”
“Should I be there?” I asked, with my fucking mood making a swift return. All I had to do was picture Sookie bent over my desk as she took my dick-tation.
She’d take it like a champ.
Her eyebrow rose up, telling me she knew exactly what I was thinking – fucking telepath – because she immediately responded, “No. I’ll handle it.”
Her choice of words – specifically handle – only made me think of her hips gripped in my hands.
While she was bent over.
With me fucking her.
‘See?’ my cock wept. ‘Not helpful at all.’
“Oh boy,” Sookie muttered, her hearing apparently just as good as her eyesight to have heard my crying cock, now that her eyes were staring at my crotch. “On that note, I’m getting out of here before I get nailed for being late.”
She only made it halfway to the door before I caught her around the waist and her giggle made my smile automatic when I said, “Stay here and I assure you, you will be late, getting nailed.”
“That’s what I said,” she laughed before I cut it off by shoving my tongue into her open mouth.
I eventually relented when she began pushing at my chest to separate us, but I spun her around to rub my cock against her ass to remind her who it now belonged to. In her high heels, she was tall enough to make my fucking-her-bent-over-my-desk fantasies come true. So I nipped at the shell of her ear, enjoying the affects her shiver had on me as it worked its way down her spine, and whispered, “You’re wearing those shoes tonight.”
In my mind it was a given she was coming back, but hearing myself say the words out loud made me wonder if maybe I was making an ass out of me for assuming.
But I didn’t have to wonder for very long when she deliberately rose up and down, pressing her ass against my cock as she did it, and purred, “Well then you’re rubbing my feet when we’re done.”
“I’ll be rubbing more than your feet,” I promised.
I’d be rubbing her inside and out.
Watching her leave.
Starting the clock the moment she shut the door behind her to wait for her to return.
Pure fucking torture.
I was so fucked.
But thanks to Sookie, I had been fucked so good as well. So well that as soon as I made it down to my lab, it was as though tiny elves had come in at some point since I’d last been forced to leave it, thanks to a mutinous (and smitten) AI and his sexy cohort in Operation Counting Sheep. Only instead of cobbling shoes, those ingenious little bastards had somehow cleared a path in my mind.
Maybe twenty-first century elves had evolved with the times and into nanotechnology?
That thought tickled something in the recesses of my brain and searching through all of the possible avenues, born of a nineteenth century Grimm’s Fairytale, made the next few hours literally fly by. No longer distracted by thoughts of Sookie, possibly being out and about making friends with purple pansy-eyed pussies, my mind was free to concentrate on the tasks at hand.
I’d been at it for hours when Godric finally spoke up saying, “Eureka!”
I missed that show on Syfy. It was corny, but I’d liked it.
“Are you referencing vacuum cleaners or fictional towns in Oregon?” I asked without looking up.
Who would I look at?
“I should be referencing the fact you and Miss Stackhouse finally stopped dancing around one another to tango in between the sheets,” he replied smoothly and then snickered, “And in the shower.”
Stupid all-seeing all-knowing busybody.
Why did I think he was such a great idea again?
He reminded me of why he was a fucking brilliant idea when he added, “But my ‘Eureka’ was in reference to the fact I’ve finally located the identity of the man from the video.”
“What?” I asked, looking up.
Ignoring the fact he was invisible, I added, “Who is he? Where did you find him?”
I’d uploaded the files from the thumb drive Flood had given me the moment I’d gotten home and tasked Godric with searching through every database, video file, and camera feed he could worm his busybody into across the planet.
Did I care?
My calculations on the smartboard in front of me minimized, as he put up a still shot of the man-turned-wolf from the video. Alongside of it another image appeared, one that had been taken from a camera feed at a gas station and showed him entering the adjacent convenience store.
It was undoubtedly the same man.
And he’d grown.
While I tried to calculate the approximate mass that he’d somehow added to his frame in the last two months, Godric explained, “The gentleman pumped 15.6 gallons of unleaded fuel into his vehicle and paid using the credit card of one Patrick Furnan.”
Thinking I must have gotten my figures wrong, I said, “Compare his mass now to the video and calculate the difference.”
“The man known only as Furnan has added approximately 30 pounds of muscle mass and four inches in height,” he replied.
I’d call it impossible, but I watched the guy turn into a fucking wolf for Christ’s sake.
It would take a lot for me to call something impossible ever again.
Godric added another picture to the screen, showing a Louisiana driver’s license and depicting the same man.
And the same name.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I spoke my thoughts aloud, while my mind ran back over the video we’d all watched. “He spoke Russian.”
Like it was his mother tongue, not like it was a second language. He’d been delirious at the time, so I doubted he would have the fortitude to keep up a faked heritage. And it made no sense anyway, considering no one believed the video had been shot with the intention of feeding anyone else false intel.
Like the fact he was Russian would keep our attention over the fact he could turn into a wolf.
“From the data I’ve been able to gather, his identification appears to be forged. There is no record of a Patrick Furnan born in Shreveport, Louisiana on May 17th, 1972 that exists prior to six months ago.”
Bogus ID’s were easy enough to get in this day and age, so I set all of that aside for now and asked, “When and where was that video shot?”
One of the many questions we didn’t have an answer for was whether or not the change was permanent. There wasn’t any proof any of the men we’d witnessed turning into wolves had the ability to turn back into their human form. But seeing how much bigger he was in the video Godric had found, I would guess it was taken after the transformation. But my gut flip flopped when he answered, “One week ago, just over the Mexican border in San Ysidro, California.”
Everything visible told me it had been taken somewhere in the US, from the Chevy pickup he’d been driving to the American flag decal on the store’s window front, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it. Each of the markers on Flood’s map where the werewolf camps had been located were all well outside of the United States.
Now they were on American soil.
At least one of them was, and considering wolves traveled in packs, I wouldn’t fool myself into believing werewolves would be much different.
The questions now were, how large was their pack and what were their intentions?
“Get Flood on the phone,” I ordered and started getting my thoughts in order. My calculations. What I’d learned thus far about werewolves and the effects silver would have on them.
Because it looked like the wolves would be bringing the fight to our doorstep and we needed to be ready for them.