Her whole body tingled the moment he said it. Then somehow, it was all she could think about. What the potion was for. What he could do with it. How good it would feel. He even seemed to agree on that last part. He all but gasped his gratitude.
Then he disappeared into the bathroom, so quick and thrilled about it that it really should have been a relief. His problem was dealt with, he’d asked no questions about her touching him, and now he was far away from her. She could breathe. Calm herself down.
Everything was going to be okay.
But then she heard it.
A metal-on-metal sound, that had to be his belt being unbuckled. Hastily, like he just couldn’t wait long enough to do it at a normal speed. She’d put a hand on him, and talked about magical lube. And now he was so beside himself she wasn’t even sure if he had done much beyond that. If he’d actually taken the time to get his pants all the way off.
Because a second later he made the most ungodly sound.
A deep, guttural groan, so thick with desperation and relief and shock that she was able to clearly picture the probable sequence of events. He had slicked his hand, or maybe both hands. Then he had just stroked, over his no-doubt bursting cock. And apparently the pleasure had been so intense and so long-awaited, that he had made this sound.
The one seemed to grab her andsqueeze.
For a second she couldn’t breathe. Or think rationally.
It took her a good minute to comprehend that she needed to puton some loud music, right now. But before she could, she got another groan. Lots of groans, all as intense as the first. She heard him panting, and gasping, and choking out a longooohhhof pleasure.
And underneath it all, there was something else now, too: the slick slide of skin on skin. Sometimes slow and easy, like he was trying to savor it. Other times devolving into something more frantic, something more desperate, something that made his breathing high and tight.
And then, oh fuck,fuck, there were words.
“God, yeah baby, that feels so good,” he gasped out.
Like he was in there doing someone. Or someone was on her knees, sucking him off, and he had his hand in her hair. He had it right there, encouraging her to take more of his big, heavy cock, until finally he could hardly stand it. Whatever this imaginary person was doing, it was too much. He had to let it out. “Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me do it,” he groaned.
And just as Cassie tried to use that image to calm herself down—just as she thought of all the girls that make-believe person might be, and all the ways that meant she should stop, that she should not listen, that she was intruding—his voice dropped. It went low, almost too low to hear.
But not so low she could have ever missed it.
“Cassie,” he gasped. “Cassie, oh god, Cassie, make me come, oh yeah my sweet girl, make me come, just like that.”
Because, it seemed, it was only her he was thinking of.
Only her name he spoke, like a prayer. Like a promise.
And just for that moment, she could almost believe it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She knew she needed to do two things, before he came over.
One was to concoct some kind of anti-horny potion, for herself. The other was to find a way to get her hands on that one ingredient neither of the guidebooks was willing to describe. Because she felt pretty sure by now that it was key to cracking themake a werewolf stop feeling horny for mepotion. The idea buzzed in her head whenever she made yet another failed attempt to create such a blend.
So she did what needed to be done.
Even though doing it was fuckinghell.
She felt like a mass of quivering, overheated Jell-O as she biked into town. And not just because of the now-constant thrum of weird arousal. There was also just plain old embarrassment, trying to destroy her peace of mind. All she could think about was listening to him, like someone obsessed with him, and then doing the very dirty thing she had done a little later on, in an even more obsessed way than that.
And the memory made her face flame about every thirty seconds.
So of course Nancy was going to notice. But she plunged into the bookstore, regardless.If she asks, I’ll tell her I recently rode my bike up Mount Doom, she said to herself firmly. And she believed it would work, too. It sounded perfectly reasonable.
Until she got inside, and saw who was with Nancy.
Right there, leaning on the counter. Marley Maples. Marley Maples, dressed extra awesomely. Boxy little leather jacket, red distressed skirt, blue tights, chunky-heeled boots. And that sharplittle smile just to underline her probable intent:one wrong word, one hint that you’re doing anything as ludicrous as wanting to fuck the guy who called you a fat ass, and I’ll put you in the paper.
