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“Don’t go doing any more ‘therapy’ for a while, OK?” he grumbled, before observing in wonder, “You gave Trixie your cut.”
“Yeah, it felt weird taking money for beating someone up. Also, there were some questionable stains on some of the bills,” I said, shuddering.
It took some convincing to prevent Caleb from actually carrying me out of the bar. He drove me right back to the motel and started the shower, helping me out of my clothes and tsking over my bruises.
“I’m not going to just jump you this time,” he rumbled. “This is me, very slowly, very deliberately, going about the business of us having sex. We’re going to talk about your ‘no-fly zones’ and protection and the possibility of you getting pregnant, since there’s a really good chance of that happening, what with the werewolf sperm and all—”
I cut him off with a kiss. “Please stop talking.”
He nodded sharply, muttering into my mouth, “Oh, thank God.”
And with that, he lunged at my mouth, kissing and licking and biting, until he’d explored every inch of it. We slid under the blissfully warm spray, and I winced as it beat against my face. I braced my arms against the wall, letting the water sluice down my back.
Warm hands brushed down the length of my spine. I jumped, nearly knocking my head into the wall, but Caleb’s hand cradled my skull and guarded it from the impact. I turned, my feet slipping a little on the tub surface as I wound my arms around his neck. I pressed my head into the hollow of his throat while his hands stroked my back.
The water cascaded over us, rippling over his skin. I ran my fingers along the line of his ribs, making him jump. I giggled, making him grin as he gently poked at my ticklish sides. He swallowed my indignant squeal. His fingers curled around my hip, and he hitched my legs around his waist. Already encased in a condom, he lined up our bodies and slid forward with aching hesitation. I gasped, and his tongue darted into my mouth, the water moving over our mouths.
I tipped my head back against the door, breathing hard, pinned there like a butterfly. Caleb’s hair was dripping over his forehead, inky black, as he loomed over me. His eyelashes stuck together, spiky and wet. I nodded, moving my hips up to meet him. He relaxed, grinding me into the wall, sliding me up and down as we moaned in unison.
Just when we’d worked out an easy rhythm, the water ran cold, and I practically vaulted us out of the shower. Laughing, he carried me to the bed, gently dropped me onto the bedspread, and crawled over me.
As if he wanted to remind me that I was dealing with a dangerous supernatural creature, he bit down on my bottom lip. I dragged my nails down his back, making him hiss. His skin was so hot. It practically radiated against my palms as I stroked his back.
His fingers pressed down over my hips, pulling me back, aligning me with him. I felt him between my thighs, warm and hard and thick. I leaned forward and bit the skin of his hand, the delicate web between his thumb and forefinger.
He yowled in protest, but he didn’t stop. His fingers cupped the back of my neck, cradling my throat and pulling me back against his chest, nipping and biting the sensitive skin. His hands trailed over my arms, pressing my palms against the bedspread as his teeth sank just a bit deeper. I cried out, freeing one hand to reach back into his hair, and yanked before he could break the skin.
His hips pushed me into the rhythm he needed without keeping me from what gave me pleasure. His warm, deft fingers trailed down my back, around my hip, and between my thighs, to find that special little bundle of nerves. My hips stuttered as he teased me there, and the very small part of my brain still capable of thinking vowed horrible, anatomically specific revenge if he didn’t continue doing exactly that for, oh, maybe a month.
A wonderful pressure rippled down my spine, through my belly, and I was falling, rising, spinning, all at once. I lost all sense of balance, falling forward and clawing at the arm around my waist as dark, pulsing shudders racked my body. Caleb pitched forward and nearly knocked me facedown onto the comforter. He hitched me up, hugging me to his chest and balancing me on his lap, while he guided my hips up and down. Because I didn’t have the coordination to do that for myself.
I felt him shake and give a long, guttural moan before flopping to his side, pulling me down with him. Our breathing evened out, and I could move my legs again, rolling my ankles from side to side just so I could feel the pleasant little aftershocks that fired down to my toes.
Caleb was staring at me in that analytical way of his, trying to gauge my reaction.
“And suddenly, sex happened,” I muttered into the pillow.
Caleb’s mussed head popped up over my shoulder. “Slower, sweeter, romantic-comedy sex will happen later, I promise. Sorry most of it was against a shower wall.”>“Trixie!” I called. “Trixie, do you have any allergies?” The only response I got was a muffled grunt. I looked up at the bartender. “Do you know if she has any allergies?”
Pam shrugged. “Just shellfish. You know, shrimp and stuff? But she’s really careful to . . .” Pam glanced back at the remains of my sandwich and my hands, which were touching Trixie’s neck. “Ohhh.”
I raised my crab-contaminated hands away from Trixie’s skin and dashed for the bar. I grabbed a prepackaged pair of yellow rubber kitchen gloves from the bar sink. “Is there a clinic in town?” I asked. Pam nodded. “Call them and explain the situation. Tell the doctor that we’ve got anaphylaxis, plus a possible concussion. We’re going to need Benadryl and an epi shot, plus fluids. You got that?”
Pam nodded and dialed the phone behind the bar.
I looked to Abe. “Go into the ladies’ room and get Trixie’s bag. She probably has an EpiPen.”
“I can’t go into the ladies’ room!” Abe protested.
“It’s an emergency,” I told him, depressing Trixie’s swollen tongue with my gloved fingers. “And you own the bar.”
“Sorry, right,” Abe mumbled sheepishly, before booking across the room to the bathroom door.
Caleb dropped to his knees beside me, watching me with a confused expression. “Is she faking?” he asked.
“You can’t fake that,” I said, nodding toward her swollen mouth and face. I folded Caleb’s jacket and placed it under Trixie’s head, tilting her head back to keep her airway open. “She must be pretty sensitive if contact with my hands could make her react like this. Of course, I bloodied her lip, which may mean the shellfish contaminants got into her bloodstream.”
Abe jogged back to us with a pink camouflage canvas rolling bag. I unzipped it and dug through a rainbow of sateen bustiers, feather boas, and thongs, until I found a small toiletry bag kept separate from the enormous makeup kit stuffed inside the lid. The black nylon bag was cleaner and newer than the makeup kit and was clearly used less. I unzipped it and found a plastic tube with a purple label marked “EpiPen.”
