Pawn Among Wolves

PAWN AMONG WOLVES CH. 06

The coffee shop and internet cafe looked somewhat tatty and uncared for, the windows slightly smeared and the paintwork peeling lightly off the old boards. Tatty suited Gemma just fine. She'd blend in perfectly. She'd never wanted a bath and clean clothes so much in her life, her skin felt as if it was keening, pleading with her to get this cake of sweat and dust OFF. Plus certain other evidence of her perpetually aroused state. Weirdly, despite the Marsh wolves referring to this as her blood heat, there was at least none of that around - her body seemed to have gone off at a tangent from the normal course, and was trying to drag her with it into this uncharted whirlpool of pure, ferocious lust.

However, dirt was preferable to being caught, and while she didn't think her unwelcome suitors were going to be put off by a little sweat, she'd take any help she could get. It felt like she was tiptoeing through the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the second half to catch up with her. Any second. Shit.

She shivered lightly.

She was walking stiffly, footsore and aching, down the unpaved dusty slope of the hill towards the shop in the soft morning sunshine. Her legs were spaced slightly further apart than usual - it was just that they were stiff from all the running and didn't work properly. It had nothing to do with avoiding further unwanted stimulation. Not a bit. Nope. No.

When Gemma had finally spotted an Internet sign, she'd blazed straight past to the top of the hill on the bike, making a dazed, relieved beeline for the first likely-looking fence she could see. A fence that she'd be able to get back onto the monster bike from. There were disadvantages to borrowing (ahem) bikes off guys who were at least a foot taller than she was. Like not being able to stop without somewhere to prop the bike, as she couldn't reach the ground with even the tips of her toes, and knew the machine would probably refuse to stop keeling over when she finally could put her foot down, and would then use her leg as a nice pillow if she didn't jump fast enough.

She really didn't think lying trapped under a motorbike waiting to see who found her first would make her day any better.

Not that she didn't like the bike. She appreciated it, was exceedingly grateful for its existence and eagerness to sprint at the drop of a hat.

God, she was weary, her mind felt like it was dribbling little patches of disconnected idiocy, fudging coyly sideways whenever she tried to get it to focus on the problem at hand. Like how to escape the ravening wolf pack on her tail. Running all night after three nights of too little sleep was no joke - too little sleep due to somebody's idea of a good wet dream waking her up every few hours... Mac should really be ashamed of himself, some of the stuff he got up to in her dreams... no, don't go there. No. I said NO. Why are you not listening? No, I did NOT want answers on a pornographic postcard.

Ooh, she was so damn aroused. All the time. It was exhausting. Her skin felt like there were little feathers brushing over every single inch, softly, tantalising, unbearable. And her nipples were little hard bullets, rubbing against her t-shirt, while her clit and cunt throbbed, demanding touch, demanding attention. Incessantly. Increasingly insistently. This was why she couldn't think. Every thought led down to her cunt. What it wanted. Needed. Not even getting off the bike had provided any respite, she was going to have to buy herself a gag soon to stop herself from groaning. Screaming.

Mac. Mac. Mac. Get here. Now.

He didn't even know she needed him. Unless he'd contacted the cubs.

Internet, the faint spark of rational thought remaining in her brain squeaked at her, and she stumbled back into movement down the hill. She hadn't realised that she'd stopped. Or that her hands had been softly stroking southward toward the zip of her jeans. Doh.