Moonshine (4 page)

He arched an eyebrow
and watched her, balling his hands into trembling fists and pressing
them onto his thighs. He wouldn't touch her. He
wouldn't
.

She licked her lips and
dropped her eyes to his lap, her mouth curling in a tiny smile. When
she talked, it was a teasing whisper. "You wanted me to let her
out to play. You really think you can handle her?"

"It's what I was
made to do," he rasped, hoping she understood the truth in his
words. "But if
you
can't handle it, I'll call you a cab right now."

Claire was on him
before he finished speaking, knocking him back onto the floor. She
straddled his chest, her ass just out of reach of his aching cock.
Her blue eyes were dangerous as she reached down and wrapped her
fingers around his wrist, dragging his hand back to her pussy.

When she spoke, it was
a command. "Make me come."

Lars didn't argue. He
just moved her back until he could thrust his fingers into her. He
thumbed her clit, watching her face carefully.

"Ride my hand."

She did. Her hips
moved, awkwardly at first, but with growing confidence. She had an
almost innocent glee about her as she sought her own pleasure. It was
clear that no one had ever accepted both sides of her before, and she
seemed drunk on the idea that he wanted her wild side.

When she came it was
with a low, almost surprised sound. Her pussy gripped his fingers,
and her inner muscles tightened. Her body arched backwards until her
unbound hair brushed his cock, teasing him as she rode out her
orgasm
.

He flipped her onto her
back while she was still coming, replacing his fingers with his cock,
and she screamed her pleasure in a ragged voice. He fought back a
relieved groan as he buried himself to the hilt, immediately setting
a hard, fast rhythm, driving into her.

Claire went wild
underneath him, responding to every thrust with a satisfied cry. He
didn't have to worry about hurting her; short stature aside, she was
sturdy and sleekly muscled under all of her curves. She wrapped her
legs around his hips, tightened them, and encouraged him to fuck her
even harder.

He tried to hold out,
but he'd spent too much time arousing and teasing them both. The
moonshine hummed through his veins, and Claire’s essence soaked
into every pore in his body. His muscles tensed, the world went white
around the edges, and he threw back his head and howled his release.

Her voice joined his,
low and desperate as she came again. Her body squeezed him, her inner
muscles hugging his cock so perfectly. Their voices twined together
like their bodies, filling his trailer with the sounds of pure,
unadulterated satisfaction.

He had freed her from
her stifling existence, had shown her who she was and who she could
be. The strongest female in their territory was beneath him, her neck
arched in unconscious submission.

Submission to
him
,
and no other man.

He lowered his head and
closed his teeth on her skin, drawing a bruise as his hips slowed and
then stilled. He twisted one hand into her hair, bent her head back
even further, and bit her again. She let him, making a quiet noise of
satisfaction as he marked her as his.

His
.

It was an odd thought.
Lars had always scoffed at the shifters who were convinced they'd
forged a mystical bond with another and were mated for life. His
sudden possessiveness of Claire probably had more to do with the fact
that she was going to be scorching hot in bed when he managed to free
her from her inhibitions. Someone had brutalized her instincts,
beating her down until she thought she needed drugs to find herself.
He wanted to help her change that. And he could protect her, because
if she kept wandering unaccompanied into bars like Dos Culebras, she
wasn't going to
get
a chance to grow into her power.

The thought made him
want to snarl.

Instead, he relaxed his
hand and released her hair. "Do you want to stay?"

She wiggled underneath
him, her arms coming up over her head in a lazy stretch. "Mmm.
Can we have more sex? I had no idea how much I was missing by only
fucking humans."

He
wanted to take the credit, but Lars had never been one for lies, so
he told her the truth as he levered himself off of her and reached
into a nearby laundry basket for a pair of shorts. "It's not
about whether you're fucking humans or shifters. It's about being who
you are, no matter who's in your pants."

“
I don't know if
I could do it without the moonshine.” Claire watched him get
dressed without moving from her debauched sprawl. "It was nice
and all, but I'm still sort of waiting for you to throw me out for
being a freak."

He looked at her for a
moment and shrugged. "I'll call you a cab. Come back when you
don't need to be high to fuck me."

"Wait—"
She scrambled to her knees and grabbed his hips. "Why do you
care? I'm probably a better lay when I'm high, anyway." He heard
the pain beneath the words, felt her confused fear in the way her
fingernails dug into his waist.

It made him hesitate.
Why
did
he care? He pondered the question as he shook free of her grasp and
walked to the refrigerator for another beer. "The 'shine is fun
sometimes. But I'm not interested in someone who
needs
it. Get your clothes, and get yourself straightened out."

For a few seconds, she
didn't look like a powerful woman. She looked like a hurt, confused
college kid who needed someone to hold her. Someone to
protect
her.

Then that look was gone
and she was on her feet, jerking her clothes on with rough
efficiency. Her anger filled the room, so strong he could almost
taste it. "Fine. I'll leave you alone."

While she dressed, he
called the first cab company listed in the phone book. Then he
grabbed a pen and scribbled his number on the back of an old receipt.
"Look, take this. If you need anything, call me."

She looked like she
wanted to tear the paper in two, but he didn't miss how carefully she
folded it and tucked it into her wallet. "Fine. Thanks for—"
She waved her hand vaguely, looking embarrassed.

"Yeah." He
knew what she meant, and wished to hell he was handling the whole
situation better. "You, too."

Awkward silence
stretched between them, measured by her rapid heartbeats as she
stared at him with nervous, confused longing. She opened her mouth to
speak, but snapped it shut again without saying a word. Then she was
gone, leaving the trailer door hanging half open.

He stared after her,
wondering if he was doing the right thing. He wanted her. More than
that, he'd
marked
her, which meant she was his. But he didn't want someone who had to
lie to herself, to be under the influence just to
touch
him.

He only hoped she'd
come back.

Claire resolved not to
call Lars. She didn't need him. Didn't need his dark, brooding eyes
or his wicked smile or the way he brought her body to life like no
man had ever done before.

She even tried to fuck
another coyote. His name was Charles, and he was nice and funny and
held the door for her after dinner. After four dates, she accompanied
him back to his place, where he gave her the romance of which her
mother had always spoken so highly. Flowers and candles and
missionary sex beneath the sheets with the lights off. He seemed
determined to please her, but she found his careful, shy fumbling
about as arousing as the nightly news.

In the end she faked
it, just to get him to stop trying. He invited her to stay and looked
hurt when she rose instead and pulled on her clothes, not quite
meeting his eyes. "I've got a test tomorrow," was her
excuse, and she turned down his offer to drive her home with a smile
that probably looked a bit guilty.

As well it should. She
called Lars from a pay phone two blocks from Charles's apartment, her
heart pounding in her throat when he picked up on the second ring.
Even his voice made her tight with desire, something Charles had
failed to evoke no matter how hard he tried. She clutched the phone
to her ear, ignoring the sounds of cars rushing by and the cool rain
that had started to fall. "I need you."

His voice tense, he
asked, "What's wrong?"

Claire pressed her
cheek to the cold metal phone booth and closed her eyes. "I
don't know if I can let go without being drunk or high, but I want to
try."

Lars was silent at
first. Finally, he said, "Do I need to come get you?"

"No." She
took a deep breath and let it out. "My address is three-seventy
Fifteenth Avenue South, apartment five-ten. I'll be home in ten
minutes."

"I'll be there."
The phone clicked in her ear.

He was waiting on the
stoop outside her building, cigarette in hand, when she pulled up in
her sensible, boring compact car. "Nice ride."

"Thanks." Her
hands shook as she fumbled for her door key. "I'm on the fifth
floor."

He didn't say anything,
just crushed out his cigarette on the brick wall next to him and
followed her inside and up the stairs. When they reached her landing,
he wrapped his fingers around her arm and tugged her closer. "It's
been two weeks."

He smelled like
cigarette smoke and leather, and underneath was that spicy male scent
that made her wet. She pulled out of his grip and moved to her door,
shoving the key into the lock.

"Had to go out
with another guy four times before he'd put out." It was a
dangerous statement, rubbing his nose in the fact that she smelled
like sex and another man.

"Yeah, so I can
tell." Lars stripped off his jacket and followed her inside. "He
must have been one hell of a lousy lay if you had to call me before
you even showered."

"He wasn't bad, he
was—"
Boring
.
She bit her lip to keep the word from spilling out. Then she slammed
the door shut and dragged her little black dress over her head,
leaving her in the expensive black lingerie Charles hadn't even seen
in the dark. The look she gave Lars challenged him. "Weak. He
was weak."