Crow's Caw at Nightmoon Creek Page 17

  He shrugs free of his coat and peels off his long sleeved shirt, placing them on top of my clothes, like lining a nest.

  His torso is impressive, even though it’s dabbed with mud from his recent endeavors. I love his muscular vitality and the swirls of artful color that mark him. I love the reddish brown curls that line his chest. I adore the tiny red buds of his nipples.

  I reach for him but he stops me, clasping my hands behind my back, saying, “Wait, Mercedes. I’ve got things I need to attend to.” His mouth drops to one breast, closing over the areola, sucking sweetly.

  Suddenly, I forget all about being cold. The sensation is sweetly arousing, like being teased into longing. I let my head fall back on the thick, knobby tree trunk and let out a moan.

  As his ardor increases, he releases my hands, grinding his substantial length into my pubic bone and belly. It feels thick, solid and hot.

  I stretch my arms overhead and grab a branch. The air’s cool and chilly, accented by a soft breeze, and it urges gooseflesh to pepper my skin. I pay it no mind. Lennon’s mouth creates a different kind of pucker as my nipple forms a tight bud.

  He gently nips at the bud, causing sweet little sparks of sensation, while his free hand massages my other breast, twirling and fingering the nipple into a matching set.

  Unable to resist touching him, my hands drop from the gnarled branch and glide up his strong back. He’s skin-soft, muscle strong, hard and ripped. Pure yum.

  His little nips turn into short, hard bites that both sting and arouse like the nipple clamps one of my sport fucks used on me once.

  When I protest and try to move his head away from me, he swiftly grabs both hands and cinches them behind my back again, held in place by two powerful blue-collar hands.

  Again he nibbles and bites, making my nipples hard as little rocks.

  “Ow,” I say, but I don’t try to knee him in the groin or do some other stop-action maneuver. Instead, my head falls back and I quiver like a little bitch and moan.

  He quits biting and blows warm breathe along the nubs, followed by slow, sweeping licks.

  The sensation is narcotic.

  Releasing me, he slides his large hands under my arms and easily hefts me into the crook of the tree, nestled in our clothes.

  Surprise, surprise…my pussy’s in line with his face.

  He unfastens my pants and urges them free of my legs, leaving me exposed, vulnerable, and aroused.

  “Mercy. Would you look at that?” Lennon says, resting his forearm against my very wet, terribly hot, extremely wanting sex.

  I’m on my back experiencing the need of needs. I want Lennon so badly, it’s like I’ve never had sex before.

  “What? I can’t see what you’re looking at.” I try to position myself on my forearms but there’s not much room in the crook of this tree.

  “Stay,” he says, holding his palm up. “It’s only…well, it’s a perfect match.”

  “What is?” I glance at the tattoo lining his forearm. I laugh. “Oh, you think it’s a sign of a good match because your pussy pink water lily matches my pink silk.”

  “Good a sign as any. This, Mercedes, is a beautiful kitty cat.” He wets his thumb in his mouth and slowly draws it between my honeyed folds.

  I shudder and then a wave of uncharacteristic shyness washes over me. “You’re just saying that.”

  “Nuh uh. You’re a work of art, sweetheart.” His forest dark eyes seek mine. He lets out a chuckle. “I feel like I’m about to take some new drug and experience what bliss is about.”

  “Well, take your expectations down a notch. Better to keep them low and be surprised,” I say, in deflection. Still, I swear sparks arc between our eyes and my inner heat ramps up a few more degrees. I admit it…what I’m feeling for this guy is like besotted craziness. It’s all new and strange and exotically delicious. And the funny thing? I don’t care…sort of…not in a way I would have before.

  Still locked with my eyes, he lets his thumbs trace lazy lines along the outside of my throbbing need. “Shit, Mercedes. The way you’re looking at me makes me crazy. You’re so goddamned beautiful. There’s a wildness to you…an untamed wilderness in your soul that scares the shit out of me. I could never have gone this far with a civilized, tame woman.”

  I bite my lip. It feels astonishingly delicious, entirely unfamiliar to be so vulnerable and adored when engaged in sex. This doesn’t feel like a sport fuck – with Lennon, it feels like the art of intimacy – an art I’ve yet to master. It makes my stomach quiver and kinda dries my mouth. I swirl my tongue inside my cheeks, willing moisture back. “Get busy making me come,” I say, not wanting to feel so goddamned needy. “Or I’m going to launch myself at you, not caring if you detonate like a rocket.”

  Lennon laughs. His hands trace my sides. They draw along my tummy with firm strokes.

  Everywhere he touches me, flares ignite just below the skin. His touch is exquisite. Sure and strong. Caring. I’ve never been touched the way Lennon Lusk touches me. It almost makes me whimper in pleasure.

  His hands part my legs. His tongue extends. And he licks. God, how he licks. His tongue caresses me like he’s tasting the finest bourbon or the sweetest chocolate or maybe both in one tantalizing bite. No one’s ever sampled me so thoroughly or with as much enjoyment.

  I arch and gasp, grabbing his hair, still damp from his mud play, dotted with dirt.

  He flicks my clit with the tip of his artful tongue, making me quiver and moan. He nips it with his teeth, making a nearly unbearable sensation pulse through me. Then he plunges his tongue inside my core, sweeping it out and between my pink lips…the lips that are the same color as his water lily tattoo. He continues with a fury, both playful and intense, driving me over the edge of sanity.

  I pant and moan. I’m losing my shit, big time, about to explode all over this guy’s face, and I love the letting go. “Lennon!” I yell. “Sweet God almighty,” I moan. I come and I come and I come, streaming with bliss.

  He only lets me ride the wave for a bit, before scooting me from between the boughs of the oak tree into his arms. His pants are somewhere in a muddy mash and I feel something good and hard, hot and ready knocking at my door. Pressing me against the ancient, gnarled bark of the tree, he reaches down to grasp his erection, slides it along my folds, positions it at the opening, and holds me against him. “Ready?” he asks.

  I nod as he stretches me wide and fills me plenty. “Oh, God,” I moan, as he enters. “Fuck me good and hard, Lennon.”

  He thrusts inside me like a madman, his arms cradling me from colliding with the rough bark. His teeth clinch my neck, the sweet, intense pain causing a jolt of sensation, and pumps inside me, rocking and rocking and rocking until he roars with pleasure. His face becomes a mask of tormented bliss as he nears orgasm. “Mercedes!” he calls, when he’s climaxing.

  And I’ve never liked the sound of my name so much as when it’s rolling off of Lennon’s tongue in a moment of pure ecstasy.

  The weather becomes a study in opposites, as a drizzling light rain wets our skin while the sun peeks through the clouds in the distance. I pull Lennon’s face toward mine for another kiss.

  He loses his balance, slips and we both fall onto the dirty, leaf strewn ground.

  Rolling around like kids, laughing, getting good and muddy, sated with sex, I climb on top of him and gaze at his dirt streaked body, his face alight with joy. His hair is disheveled, wet, laced with leaves, yet he looks so goddamned delicious my heart could burst with happiness.

  “We’re wild things, you and me,” he says, pushing a wet strand of hair away from my cheek. He kisses the corner of my mouth.

  “Yeah, we are, Lennon.” I paint artful mud streaks along his cheeks. “It’s a good fit. Can you be with someone who deals with death on a regular basis?”

  “If you can deal with someone who kills when needed, doesn’t follow the rules, and plays hard the rest of the time.”

  “Sounds like bliss to me.”
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br />   “So, I’m the only guy who’s ever been allowed to spend the night and live, eh, oh Phantom Queen?”

  “Huh?” I blink my eyes, trying to wake enough to sort what he’s saying. I’ve got a leg thrown over his warm one, and we’re all tangled up in the sheets. “Results aren’t in yet,” I say, running my tongue around my mouth. I reach for a glass of water near the bed, swish and swallow, trying to present a sleep-breath free mouth to my lover of the last couple weeks, Lennon Lusk. “I’ll need a few more weeks before we can be sure.”

  “Only a few? How about several months to be really certain?”

  “One day at a time, stud.”

  He guides me on top of his hips. “You drive.” His warm, calloused hands sweep up and down my sides, tracing my skin like he’s the potter and I’m the clay.

  “Aw, jeez, Lennon,” I say, running my hands across his chiseled chest and abdomen, kneading and shaping his exquisite form. He’s soft where it matters and hard where it counts and he likes it dirty and rough, same as me. “So good.” His cock knocks against my ass, seeking an invitation to enter. I sit up on my knees, and without preamble or foreplay—since we’ve been going at it for days—guide him into position. “Oh, God,” I moan, when he slides home. “You’re my drug of choice, without a doubt. I’ve got it bad for you, baby.”

  “And I’m going to give it to you good.”

  It’s pure cheese, him saying that, but I don’t care.

  His hands grip my hips, grinding me against him. And we’re off, continuing our discovery process of the Lennon and Mercedes combo.

  Our rhythms seem to fit in countless ways. Even when we’re not sexing, there’s a sense of comradery as well as playful regard toward the natural world and toward each other. Hawke, too, is coming to accept me as more than a rival for his uncle’s affection. He sees the effect I have on his uncle and he’s grateful to have him stick around. So he has to learn to share. He told me he’ll deal if it means not losing his uncle L.

  After a couple hours of sweaty, dirty-talking, crumpled sheet lovemaking, we hop in the truck to head out to his place. He’s still getting the Great Shifter Underground Railroad back to operating. He and Hawke have been working hard. I’ve been assisting as well – my time away, however brief, showed me shifters need a safe haven. And while Woodland Creek isn’t exactly “eyes open welcoming,” it beats what lies outside our borders.

  When we arrive at the house, we emerge from the truck to see two hawks flying overhead.

  “What’s this? Does the kid have a girl of his own?” Lennon says.

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” I say, looping my arm around his side.

  Lennon whistles.

  The two hawks spiral and drop into the back yard.

  “Let’s go see who’s joined our merry crew,” Lennon says.

  When we open the gate to the back, I see a tall, older brunette standing next to Hawke, tying her belt around her long terry robe. Her hair’s a deep bronze and she looks like she could have been a model when she was younger – she’s that pretty. But way too old for Hawke—old enough to be his mother. Is he wanting a sugar mama?

  Hawke’s wrapped a towel around his hips, oblivious to the November chill. The boy’s going to be a super stud. He’s filling out nicely.

  “You must be Mercedes,” the woman says to me, her voice melodic and husky.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I say, reaching out to shake her hand.

  “I’m Julie, this goofy guy’s sister.” She pokes her thumb in Lennon’s direction. “I’m so glad to meet you. Hawke’s been talking about you nonstop.” Her eyes are a lighter green than Lennon’s. Wrinkles spider web at the corners of her eyes, testimony to the strain she once knew.

  “Mom…” Hawke groans. “I have not.”

  Oh, she is his mother. Thank god.

  Julie smirks, then spreads her arms wide, and twirls in a circle. “So, little bro…what do you think? When my ex disappeared thanks to you two, I felt the stirrings of flight. Apparently my abilities lay dormant when under the control of him who shall remain nameless. Your nephew’s been my guide. He’s a good teacher.”

  “You have powers, eh, sis?” Lennon looks like he’ll bust with joy. “I’m so happy for you.” In two quick steps, he’s in front of her, giving her a big squeeze. Releasing her, he says, “Let’s head in the house. I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “The wizard? I’ve been hearing all about him, too.”

  “Come on, Mom, cut it out,” Hawke groans.

  She winks at him, snakes one arm around Lennon’s waist and the other around me, while Hawke trails behind.

  It feels warm, wonderful and a bit strange. I’ve never been a super touchy kind of woman, but I like touching her. I sure like touching her younger brother.

  When we enter the house, Lennon calls for Mr. McMurphy.

  “In here,” he says. He stands near the strange portal we found him in as his skeletal self. It shimmers, still looking like a small room instead of a twelve-inch space between the walls. He’s dressed in formal looking wizard garb, some long silky robe and a coned hat of wisdom, like you’d see in a Harry Potter flick.

  “What’s with the costume?” Lennon asks.

  “You’ll see. I wear it for formal occasions.”

  “Okay. I’d like you to meet my sister,” Lennon says.

  “Oh, what an honor. Your team is complete.” He removes his hat and sweeps it in front, as he bows low.

  “Why thank you,” Julie says. “I’m the one who’s honored.”

  “You’ll be needed with the operation of this shifter safe house. I wondered who the fourth pillar would be.”

  “Fourth? Aren’t there five of us?” I count each of us. “One, two, three, four, five. And what do we need pillars for?”

  “For the magic to work,” he says, as if I should know this.

  I study him for a second until he swishes his hand at me, dismissively, as if getting me off the trail of some mystery.

  “My skills lay elsewhere. For this, four posts are all we need, dear.” Mr. McMurphy’s face holds a definite secret. “I’m just about finished with the magic code map. We’re doing it today. Hence, the formal wear. That’s the last piece you’ll need to be open for business. Then, you’ll be ready to go. Give me a second.” He holds a hammer and something like a divining rod.

  “Can I help you?” Lennon asks.

  “Yes. See this filament I’ve placed in the portal?”

  Lennon peers in the opening. “It looks like a spider’s web.” He reaches a finger to touch it.

  “No, no. Don’t disturb it.” Mr. McMurphy bats his hand away. “It took me all night to build it. It won’t have any tensile strength until the spell is cast.”

  “Sorry,” Lennon says, looking chagrined. “So, what can I do, then?”

  “Very gently, very delicately, tap the corners of the support into the floor.” The wizard points to four golden nail heads at the corner of a shimmering golden block resting on the floor.

  I squat to look at it, craning my head inside the opening. The spidery strand extends from the block to the ceiling, where it disappears into unseen dimensions.

  Lennon lowers to his knees, sitting next to me, and positions the hammer. He delicately tap, tap, taps the nail closest to him. Then, he does the next one.

  “Easy boy. If you break it, I have to start over.” Mr. McMurphy stands over Lennon, crowding him.

  “Give me a little space then.” Lennon eyes the nails in the back of the golden block, then glances over his shoulder. “Get me the ball peen hammer out of my tool box, kid. The smallest one. I’m afraid to move and I can’t reach the back with this huge thing.” He gently rests the metal hammer on the floor.

  I move out of the way, not wanting to disturb his efforts.

  “On it,” says Hawke, scurrying to find the toolbox. When he returns, he hands the smaller tool to Lennon and crouches next to him.

  Lennon gently maneuvers the hammer
head into place.

  “Easy, easy,” Mr. McMurphy says. He wrings his hands, leaning over both the teen and Lennon.

  Tap, tap, tap. “One more.” Tap, tap, tap. He expertly guides the tool out of the portal opening, backs into Mr. McMurphy’s legs and lets out a long sigh. “There. What next?”

  “We have to put this shield in place.” He points to the wall.

  “What shield? I don’t see anything,” Lennon says.

  “Me, neither,” Hawke says.

  “Oh, it’s there. It will take all of you to move it into position. And you’ll align your energies with it so it knows who its masters are. That’s what I meant by the four pillars. I don’t want to take any more chances that ARC or some other corrupt organization will destroy what we’ve created. No, sir. I like to think I put my time as a skeleton to good use. I had a lot of time to ponder and I mean a lot.”

  “Why were you a skeleton, if you don’t mind my asking? And why did you never appear when Elena and I came over?”

  “Oh, that’s kind of a long story and we don’t have much time. The energy is perfect at this hour. Suffice it to say I tend to glow and it freaks people out. When I was at home, I preferred to not have to draw my power in because it was needed for the energy map. So, I hid when guests arrived. As for my skeletal appearance, that was the work of Octavius Devilshorn. I had more than enough motivation to help you kids, as if getting back to Marge wasn’t enough.”

  I wonder what he means about getting back to Marge. Is he talking about us freeing her soul so Odin could do his thing?

  Lennon, Hawke, Julie, and I look at one another, shrug, and move closer to the wall.

  “What do we do?” I ask.

  “Your hands go here.” Mr. McMurphy points to a place I can’t see.

  “Uh, okay.” I move my hands to where he’s indicated and holy moly. Something like a thousand volt electrical shock sizzles through my fingers and palms, my arms…my entire body. My molars grind together from the force of impact. “Shit,” I say, through clenched teeth. My fingers seem to fuse with something solid, yet invisible.