It was my turn to let out a moan between clenched teeth.
I pushed myself back up, letting the toy slide out of Elliot’s body. It took every ounce of concentration I had to keep myself under control as I unrolled the condom and slicked myself with lube. I groaned loudly when I looked up and found Elliot, his legs spread wide, body still a little open, his hand closed around the dark, flushed skin of his cock.
“God, Elliot,” I gasped out, pinching the base of my erection to hold back the threatening tide.
“Fuck me,” he demanded, his voice rough and breathy.
Ignoring the distant pain of my knee, I knelt over him, and he gripped his legs under his thighs, pulling them back to give me room, opening himself even wider.
I made some sort of sound, although I couldn’t quite tell what it was, even though it came from my own throat. My skin prickled, my vision a little blurry, and I drew in a long, deep breath, pushing the surge of emotion down, keeping the shift at bay.
“Seth,” he gasped. “Please.”
Muscles shaking, I lined myself up, pressing the head of my aching cock against him, then pushing, feeling the tightness of the ring of muscle resist, then give way. I closed my eyes with a heavy moan as the heat and pressure of his body closed around me. Not wanting to hurt him, I pushed slowly—gently, but steadily—easing myself in deeper and deeper until our hips met, my cock fully sheathed inside his body.
Trembling, I opened my eyes.
Elliot’s chest heaved, his eyes locked on mine. “More,” he whispered.
Just as slowly as I’d entered him, I pulled back until I felt the tightness of his muscle on the ridge around the head of my cock, the nerves hypersensitive, my stomach tight with need and hot with want. And then I pushed back in, faster than before.
And again.
And again.
“El—” I gasped out.
“Fuck.” He sucked in a breath, the air catching in his throat. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”
I drove myself into him, gasping out a “Fuck, Elliot,” as his body clenched around me, his orgasm pulling mine along with his as cum pumped out onto the planes of his stomach.
I let my head drop until my forehead touched his, the warmth of our breath mingling between us.
I felt him shift, and I began to ease back, but he stopped me—“Stay.”
His hands slid up my arms, and he pulled me down, bringing my lips to his and drawing my weight against his body. I ran my hands over his hair, his face. “Okay.”
27
Elliot Crane
Ma and Pa want us to come over for Thanksgiving.
I frownedat the text message. I didn’t actually object to the idea of having dinner with the Harts, but I felt weird about the idea of doing Thanksgiving there. It would be the first time in my entire life that I wasn’t going to be with Noah, which was going to be weird enough. Ever since we’d run away, Noah and I had spent Thanksgiving at Hands and Paws with the other homeless shifters—even once we weren’t homeless.
Even if I wasn’t going to be with Noah, I’d intended to do the same thing this year, alone if need be. I’d just sort of assumed Elliot would come with me, but the text made me realize that we hadn’t actually talked about it.
I’d been busy with work—both the old cases and new ones, although nothing particularly noteworthy. A couple car accidents, a robbery, several bar fights, and two fires, both of which had been accidental.
Elliot had been doing work on the reservation at the Resort and Casino—they were redoing some of the ballrooms in preparation for the holiday season, and they’d wanted extensive carving put in. Elliot had been happy about the money, and I’d been happy that he had to work on site, since that meant he wasn’t going to be spending a lot of time alone at the house.
There hadn’t been any more dead animals, and Smith hadn’t had any new developments on that case—and neither had I, despite going over the particulates twice more. It was both frustrating and nerve-wracking. Without progress, there could be no resolution, which meant that we were just waiting for the next time one of these assholes decided to leave Elliot another dead animal—or do something worse.
At the same time, of course, I didn’twantanything to happen. But as long as it didn’t, all that I managed to do was become more and more anxious about what would happen when something finallydidhappen.
“Hey, Seth,” Lacy walked into the office and handed me an envelope—the thick brown kind that usually meant test results. “This came for you.”
“Thanks.” I took it from her, ripping the top open. It was the test results from the various barn victims—no additional IDs, but more information, including DNA, blood type, dental records, approximate age and weight, and approximate time of death—or, rather, year of death. Flipping through them, I saw that our victims—other than the most recent, of course—had died five, nine, fifteen, and seventeen years ago. Hopefully this would help Smith to pull the right missing persons cases so that they could get those families some closure.
