Bewitch The Dark - Racing The Moon Part 2

"What makes you think I need to catch them?"

"So they fall all over you? I can see that. Can't understand why a s.e.xy looker like you is stuck in this dirty old garage in the middle of nowhere."

"What, you think I should be wearing a little black c.o.c.ktail dress and flirting over an appletini?"

"Works for me."

Sunday rolled her eyes. "If that's your taste-"

"My taste is for gingerbread, kitty cat." He winked and took her empty bottle from her.

"Because you've no other options. Tell me you'd even be interested if you weren't in such a dire situation."

"I would." He stepped close, and the heat of him radiated to permeate her thin shirt and tease her insides. Gold eyes took in her features, slow and sure. "Not too many women can pull off the greasy mechanic look as well as you. And I gotta guess this is like a dream of yours. You really love your cars, and this is what makes you happy, and screw anyone who scoffs."

She lifted a brow.

"I like a woman who knows exactly what she does and doesn't want. You don't want me? I can dig it."

"I didn't say I didn't want you." It wasn't even the werewolf that disturbed her. It was the familiar.

"Yeah," he said, leaning in closer. "I kind of thought you liked me."

He brushed his cheek against hers. The soft stubble sent a tickle tracing from Sunday's face down to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Goose b.u.mps p.r.i.c.kled her skin in the wake. Her fingers curled but she resisted reaching up to pull him closer."d.a.m.n, you smell good. Sure you won't let me have a taste?"

Oh, h.e.l.l yeah. But tastes always led to sips and suckles and then to something akin to devouring. Which sounded so not bad that Sunday blurt out, "I've never kissed a wolf."

"I've never kissed a familiar." Ambient light glinted in his eyes. Too warm and inviting for a man who was still a stranger. "Is it true what they say about familiars?"

"What is it you've heard?"

"About the s.e.x thing and...you know, the demons."

Relieved she didn't have to introduce that 600 lb. gorilla, Sunday nodded.

"We are a bridge for demons to this mortal realm, yes. But familiars can control that entry, and usually need a conduit to bring the demon through, like a witch to conjure a summoning or speak a spell."

"That's what I've heard. So you, er...do that a lot?"

"Does it creep you out?"

"No more than a werewolf clawing at your back door would creep you out."

Which put things in perspective.

Sunday tugged the pop bottles from his grip, and spun to go toss them in the recycle bin at the back of the garage.

Four.

Dean paced before the truck. Every bone in his body wanted to run away, to lope across the fields and put himself as far as possible from the s.e.xy woman behind the office window.

But an even bigger part wanted to remain with his boots planted on the garage floor.

When he'd stood close to Sunday, rubbed his cheek against hers, he'd tasted her sweetness with every pore. Her gingerbread and calendar-girl, come-give-me-a-try essence had moved slowly through his veins, thickening his desire. She wasn't one of those fragile tea sippers who worried about lipstick or runs in their nylons. Cell-phone texting and c.o.c.ktail hours were way off her radar.

Her naturally red lips and sensual energy put all the women he'd had previously to shame.

And that excited him.

If he closed his eyes he could already imagine running his hands over her supple body. Sloping them down her neck and taking a dive from her shoulder, he'd trace the smooth insides of her elbows down to her wrists. With his tongue, he'd stake claim to her nipples, stroking the rigid peaks and feeding upon her excited moans. He'd ease his hardness inside her, pulling her roughly to his hips so he was fully hilted.

Such thoughts only made him harder, if that was possible.

A sharp crack and a spray of sparks jolted him out of his reverie. Swinging around, he scanned outside. A burning odor invaded the curtain of rain. A snapped power line snaked upon the ground. The lights in the garage blinked to darkness.

Sunday's vision adjusted to the dark. She found a flashlight in the top desk drawer and walked out to hand it to Dean. His mirrored eyes flashed as the light swept his face; she knew hers flashed as well. "So you don't trip and fall."

He pulled her toward him and whirled her to land against his chest, the flashlight pressed along her spine. "Bet I can find you faster in the dark than daylight, kitty cat."

She turned to face him, and placed her hands on his muscular upper arms. Her fingers curled and she vacillated, digging her nails in, but the hard pecs beneath her palms invited interest instead of retreat. Flesh like suede warmed under an oppressive sun, pearled with dew. One lick would never quench her thirst.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked.

"I am the cat," she whispered. "And don't you forget I snarl and scratch when I'm put in a position I don't like."

"You seem pretty comfortable right now."

His hand glided up her back. At the illicit touch, her spine curved, arching her torso and pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against the fire-honed sculpture of his chest. The thought niggled that she still hadn't gotten that kiss.

Dean murmured on a husky growl, "Your hard t.i.ts feel good against me. And I can smell your want."

Sunday didn't move from his embrace. "What does want smell like?"

"Gingerbread, motor oil and s.e.x. G.o.d, Sunday, if you're not interested then you should stay back. Go on up to the house. I can't touch you and then stop. You don't understand what's going on inside me. When the werewolf is so close, it ratchets everything up a notch. Every touch is felt tenfold, and h.e.l.l, my c.o.c.k just can't stand the pressure."

She nodded over her shoulder. "You need to go take care of business in the office?"

A growl preceded the hard kiss. It was a blissful attack of want, desire and raw need. Such demand at his mouth. Did he seek to control her?

Sunday answered with equal determination. She would not be owned.

The hand at her back skimmed lower, cupping her a.s.s. Dean lifted and set her on the wood pallet without breaking the kiss. Root beer tainted his breath and the surprising sweetness spurred her to take as greedily as he did.

He bruised her defenses. Softened her will. He wanted to possess, to get inside and stake a claim.

Sunday wrapped her legs about his hips. He growled and shoved his hard-on against her pelvis, grinding, making her know he was in this for the payoff.

But she couldn't deliver.

"No." Sunday pushed away and leaned back. There was nothing but a stack of car parts behind her.

Dean caught her before she fell. "Yes, say yes, please."

Her legs still clasped his hips. His hardness pulsed against her groin, insistent and needy. Sunday wanted to unzip him and put her hands all over the rigid prize. But if she couldn't deliver then she had no intention of teasing.

"I can't." She extricated herself and jumped down, fleeing to the edge of the garage, where one dash into the downpour would keep her safe from the l.u.s.ty wolf.

Outside, the live wire lay coiled on the ground, snapped from the overhead lines. Would it spark all night, even in the rain? It was how she felt. Sparking and coiling inside, one ember away from igniting a fire.Dean remained bent over the pallet crate, head bowed, hand easing down the front of his jeans. She'd already stirred him into some kind of frenzy. She took no satisfaction in being a tease.

Stepping out into the pummeling rain, Sunday shouted out her frustrations.

Strong arms grabbed her in from the rain. "Are you crazy? There's a live wire out there!"

Hugging her, Dean possessed the shivering woman, wrapping his arms across her back. He pressed his nose into her hair, closing his eyes. She'd been so close to getting electrocuted. d.a.m.n, he hardly knew Sunday, but his heart pounded as if he could have lost a mate. A real mate. Someone he could grow old with.

Was that some kind of crazy thinking? The last person he should take as a lover-let alone a mate-was a familiar.

"I wasn't thinking," she said. "Let me go."

If only she'd let him go. Because he was bound here by something beyond the rain and a malfunctioning truck. The beating of his heart measured the minutes he wished to remain.

One, two, three...endlessly.

Was it l.u.s.t? He should have taken off walking in the rain. He might be far from any humans by now; the werewolf would just have to deal with the storm.

The two squared off at the edge of his flimsy prison. Soaked, water streaming down her face, Sunday didn't make a run. Her shirt, completely drenched, caressed the pebbled texture of her nipples.

Dean sucked in a breath and stopped his twitching fingers from reaching for her and then he said a mental screw it and did reach.

His thumb rolled over her hard nipple. Her startled gasp ended in an abrupt cry as he clasped her hip, claiming her, keeping her close. He was ready to discover what it was that wouldn't release him from her ineffable draw.

"What are you struggling with, Sunday?" He leaned in and nipped her hard bud.

"Talk to me. You know my deal. No s.e.x? The werewolf comes out. What's yours?"

She squirmed as he slid a hand under her wet shirt and rolled it up to expose her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "G.o.d, they're perfect."

Her fingers snaked across his scalp and pulled his head in as he licked her. The move said don't stop. And yet she wasn't making this very easy.

"I..." The sc.r.a.pe of her nails through his hair sent shivers down his neck. Do it some more shivers. "That's so good. I need this."

"Then let's do it. No more fooling around." He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it out into the rain. His shirt followed.

Sunday lunged to press her hands to his pecs. The touch snapped through him as if the live wire outside had tapped flesh. He wondered if he wouldn't give off his own sparks from the electric connection.

"Tell me you want this," he begged. She grazed his nipple with her teeth. Dean sucked in his upper lip. Mercy, what a wicked feline. "I'm going to take no answer as a yes," he warned.

She shot away from him. The shadows held color. Even in darkness, his acute vision found her. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were high and rosy, and long white hair spilled wetly over the gorgeous globes.Shoulders back and a wistful look casting her eyes to the side, she said, "It's not right. I can't do this. I'm so sorry."

She turned to walk away, but Dean raced after her. Pa.s.sing her by, he pressed his back to the hood of the truck as she charged into him. "Look at me, Sunday."

Her blue eyes fixed defiantly on his. She sighed and hooked her thumbs in her belt loops.

"You're so gorgeous," he breathed. Half bared and proud of it, she defied his need for command, for mastery over others. A fine match to his aggressive nature. Most others usually took what he gave, and didn't ask for more. Yet her reluctance fed his eagerness.

"It's because this feels wrong to you, right? Like you're just servicing a need I have?"

"No, I have that same need."

"Then let me take care of it." He dropped to his knees, licking down from her belly b.u.t.ton as he did. Her shivering skin softly abraded his cheek. The softness of her seemed surreal as he knelt here in the shop perfumed by motor oil. Pressing his stubbled jaw to her zipper he raked his fingers around and across her a.s.s. "Kitty cat sounds real good to me right now."

"Yeah, well demons don't." She lifted a boot and kicked his shoulder, landing him against the wheel of the truck.

"I can't do this," she said, turning to put her bare back to him. "Because I can't control it. If I have s.e.x, a demon will bridge to this realm. And there's no telling if it'll be good, bad or homicidal."

Five.

Sunday stared at the power line coiled on the ground before the garage. Sparks had ceased, but she was all too aware it could prove deadly. The world stood in darkness, save the pale flashlight beam that glanced across the floor from under the truck where it had rolled.

She contemplated fishing for her shirt with a long stick, but it was muddy. She wasn't cold, and the fine mist that hissed out from the rain curtain felt like faery kisses against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

It would feel much better to have Dean's mouth at them again. His strong arms embracing her, moving her to positions that pleased him. Drawing from her kisses the energy he gave back to her threefold.

A wild animal proved mysterious, graceful, bewitching to behold. Dean was electric, spellbinding. Feral. She'd never imagined what it might be like to make out with a wolf. In her lifetime she'd had one demon lover; the rest had been mortals. Scared witless mortals after the climax part.

She didn't think a demon would scare Dean. But dealing with the brimstone b.a.s.t.a.r.ds after they'd bridged here was no day at the park. And when she did climax, she then usually shifted to feline shape-without volition.

This was why she didn't do boyfriends.

Yet why should she be cursed to not enjoy s.e.x?

"Gotta get that bridging thing under control," she muttered.