Chapter 14

fourteen

DEE

I can’t stop thinking about Russ all night. In fact, I call Robbie and tell him I’m not feeling that great after the attack today, and though he’s concerned about Boomer, he agrees to meet up with me tomorrow, instead.

I hate that he asks if I need anything. The way I’ve already fantasized about wolfman cock tonight, it’s not fair to him. But I tell him we’re both all right, and we had some help along the way.

That night I pull out the dilator that DreamTogether gave me, and use it on myself. This time I’m thinking about Bill, and then about Russ, and the two blend together in my imagination.

They do have similar voices, if I remember Bill’s right. But Russ had no clue what I was talking about when I mentioned DreamTogether, and maybe I don’t know him that well, but it seemed like genuine surprise.

I mean, there’s more than one wolfman in the tri-county area. Of course he’s not the same guy .

But damn, do I wish. Do I wish more than anything that Bill would magically reappear. That he would find me, somehow, amidst all this chaos that is civilization, and make me his in real life, too.

I wonder how much he and Russ look alike. Does Bill have those same deep, amber eyes? I imagine Russ pushing me down on the bed, caging me in with his huge body. It’s easy to remember how Bill lavished attention on me, licking me everywhere, shoving his tongue inside me and fucking me with it until I squirted into his waiting mouth.

Oh, and then his cock. While my pussy was still swollen, he would slide it into me slowly, the way he did at DreamTogether. He would let me adjust to him before he really let me have it, burying himself deep and then yanking out in a steady, perfect rhythm.

Not to mention that knot. Fuck, I could never forget how Bill had worked it inside me, lathering me up and softening me until it fit through. Nothing again could compare to the way he plunged it inside of me, over and over, then pulled it free again. And once he got it all the way in...

I orgasm thinking of him coming inside me, filling me up with his warm seed, which then found its way deep into my womb.

Surely Russ would have a knot, too. I wonder if he would feel just as good.

When I’ve cleaned up, I pull out my phone and the business card Russ gave me, and draft a text message. I feel bad about how I reacted in the car today, how I shut down when I realized just how attractive he was and how much it stirred up in me.

Hi, Russ, it’s Dee. I just wanted to give you my phone number so you have it .

A few moments pass, and then I see three dots appear.

Nice to hear from you, Dee. I’m glad to have your number now. Are you feeling better?

I smile down at my phone. He’s so polite, and yet I can already tell he has a hidden, dominant side to him.

Yeah, much better.

How was visiting with your friend?

Fuck. I forgot that I’d lied about that.

It was nice to see her.

Good. Reach out to me anytime you need to talk.

I heart his message, and I begin writing something back when I stop myself.

I have a boyfriend, like I told him, and I shouldn’t cross the line. So I leave it that way and crawl back onto the couch with Boomer to finish watching our movie.

But when I’m in my bed that night, I imagine Russ’s long snout, his intense, yellow eyes, and his big, clawed hands. I imagine him fucking me the way Bill did, and it’s easy to meet my climax again.

RUSS

The days of waiting are agonizing.

I’m patiently allowing Dee to come to me first, giving her room to sort through things. Maybe she won’t call on me after all, deciding what I’m offering hovers too close to the edge of platonic—though I tried my best in my texts to keep it light and friendly.

That doesn’t mean I don’t continue my watch. Already I’ve managed to protect her and our cub once, and I will do it again in a heartbeat, should I need to. But then the days turn into a week, and it’s crushing my soul knowing that I have her phone number, right there, and I could call her at any time. But I don’t want to come on too strong and then push her away.

But after two weeks, I can’t bear it any longer. Even if it’s just pixels on a screen, I need to talk to her.

I know that she’s often with her friend Liesel or her boyfriend in the evenings, so I choose midday to send her a message.

I hope you and the cub are well. Make sure you’re getting enough vitamins.

It’s not a direct ask for a response, but one would be nice.

I watch through the window as she rises up from her couch. I can see inside through the sliding glass doors that lead onto her balcony, which affords me a view at her television over the back of the couch and part of her kitchen.

Dee paces back and forth in front of the glass, clearly looking down at the phone in her hand like she’s trying to decide what to say.

I wonder what makes one innocuous message so fraught for her.

Hey Russ. Thanks for reaching out. I’m sorry I haven’t called. The nausea has mostly gone away, but now I feel achey all over.

I sympathize with this—it’s a common complaint we get from expectant parents. I quickly type out a reply.

We use a topical muscle relaxant at the hospital. I can get some for you, if you’d like.

She pauses in front of the doors, then leans against her couch. I wish I could make out her facial expression as she writes out her answer.

Thank you. I would really appreciate that. Can I treat you to coffee this time?

I wait a moment before answering so I don’t seem too eager.

Sure, sounds good. I’ll meet you at the place we went last time, tomorrow at noon?

She flips over the couch, and for a moment I think she’s hurt herself. I jump to my feet, but then I see her heels kick in the air.

Great. See you then.

I think this is a good sign.

Like I promised, I pilfer some of the muscle relaxant at work that night, and come prepared with it to the coffee shop the next morning. I park beside Dee’s little white sedan and shake my head, thinking how I might go about getting her a new, safer car.

If she were mine, I would make sure she had a vehicle with a perfect safety rating.

Inside the coffee shop, I find Dee waiting at one of the tables by the door. She hops out of her chair and smiles a wide smile when she sees me.

She lights up the whole damn room with that smile.

“Russ,” she says, and the sound of my name coming out of her mouth absolutely electrifies me. “I’m happy to see you again.”

I try not to admire her too obviously as she saunters up to the counter, but seeing her from behind like this, it’s easy to picture her like she was on the bench, her ass bare and up in the air, her pink cunt shining for me.

When I take her again, which I will, I want to take her that way.

I order my drink, and Dee shoots me a look when I reach for my wallet. I hold my hands up in surrender as she whips out her card and pays for our drinks.

“It’s that ‘carrying a wolfman’s baby’ money,” she says quietly, and a laugh bursts out of me. I’m glad she feels like it’s hers, and I’m ecstatic that she’s comfortable enough with me to make a joke.

We take a seat nearby, and I bring out the reusable tote bag where I stashed the cream. Then I slide it across the table like we’re doing a drug deal.

“Don’t tell anyone I brought you this,” I say conspiratorially, and Dee giggles.

“I won’t, I won’t.” She sticks it into her purse and snaps the top closed, glancing around like we’re being watched. “Thank you. That was really nice of you.”

“No problem. The aches and pains are normal. Be sure to use a heating pad on muscles that?—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving me off. “I know all about the heating pads. This ache feels deeper, though, like it’s in my bones.” She lets out a defeated sigh. “Is it going to be like this the whole time?”

A sadness washes over me. I know it’s often an unpleasant thing to carry a child, but when I see parents together, often I see such joy, too. I wish I could share that with her, and be there every night to soothe away her aches and make her see stars, instead.

“No,” I answer at last. “It won’t always be like this. You’ll find moments of happiness, too. You’re doing something amazing.” I lean forward on the table to lap up my drink. “It’ll be worth it.”

Dee nods slowly, then smiles up at me. It’s a fake smile, a forced one, but I return it anyway. “Thanks for the words of wisdom,” she says.

I try to veer the conversation away, somewhere safer where I can put my best foot forward as “platonic friend.” I even inquire a little about her boyfriend, but she hesitates before talking about him.

“He’s a good guy,” is all she says. “Does some kind of computer thing.” Then our conversation turns to Boomer and how well he’s recovered since the attack, and Dee brightens up as she tells me he’s good as new, minus a scar on his ear.

Eventually, the late morning becomes lunchtime, and she sighs over her empty iced coffee cup.

“Thanks for going out with me,” Dee says. “I needed to leave the house. ”

“I’m happy to do it anytime. I don’t usually work until the evening.”

“You work night shift?” she asks. “That’s rough.”

“When you’re a resident, you get used to it. And then I never really left.” I don’t tell her that I’m taking the night shifts because it pays better and I need the money for future childcare.

When we’re finally at our cars and it’s time to leave, Dee hesitates at her door.

“I’d like to do this again,” she says, almost shyly. “I don’t have a ton of friends, and definitely none who really understand what I’m going through.”

I sure haven’t spent much time with my own friends since I started my diligent watch over her, but I nod along.

“I’d be happy to,” I say. “You have my number.”

With that, we each get into our respective vehicles and wave goodbye.

Today feels like a good step. Now I understand better how she feels about her boyfriend, and I certainly wouldn’t call it passionate . But I hate that she hurts, and carrying my cub is so physically and mentally draining for her. I’m nearly overwhelmed by the need to go after her as she drives away, to tell her that I’m Bill, that I’d care much better for her and our cub than that pathetic human man.

But I need her to trust me as Russ, to like me as Russ, to decide that Russ is a better fit for her.

Maybe soon, the next step will come.

DEE

The things that wolfman makes me feel should be considered criminal.

Just standing near him at the coffee shop, fuck. It was difficult to keep my hands to myself. I just wanted to run my fingers through his soft fur. His t-shirt complemented his broad chest perfectly, and he even had a pair of prominent pectoral muscles straining the fabric. His jeans were tight, showing off his ass while still leaving a slot for his big, fluffy tail. And his high ankles with the huge paws?

I can almost hear Bill’s claws scraping the floor as he fucked me hard.

When Robbie comes over that night, I’m awash in guilt. I know I should break it off with him. We exchange a kiss when he comes inside, but I feel nothing behind it. He’s become more like a friend, someone I can trust and rely on—but I find I lack any attraction. Especially now that I’ve met Russ, I can’t say that the prospect of any human really draws me.

Robbie glances around my apartment as he sets down a bag of groceries. I’ve become a decent enough cook in the last few months, trying to meet the nutritional needs that DreamTogether has set out for me, and I’m planning to try a new recipe from my book tonight.

“Have you ever thought about getting a maid?” he asks, unpacking the bag. I frown, then pick a few stray objects off the counter to put them away.

“I can clean just fine myself,” I say, a tad affronted by the way he’s judging my lifestyle. I’m a little messy, sure, but it’s not that bad. Maybe not as clean as Robbie is, but he keeps his home unnaturally clean and polished. I’ll never be like that .

“There’s dirty laundry all over your couch,” Robbie points out. “Do you want me to work on that while you do dinner?”

As much as I don’t like the idea of him dealing with my dirty clothes, if he wants to do it... I guess I won’t stop him.

“Sure.” He gathers up the clothes while I start chopping, and hustles off to the laundry machine. I should be grateful, I suppose, that he comes over and helps me out—but it feels almost hostile, like I’m not living up to his expectations for me.

With the machine going, he returns to the kitchen while I get the vegetables steaming. He runs a hand across my hip and down my ass, peering over my shoulder at what I’m cooking.

“Steamed again?” he asks, a trace of disappointment in his voice.

“I’m seasoning it after,” I say defensively.

“Hmm.” Robbie sits at the table and waits while I finish cooking. He pours himself a glass of wine from the bottle he keeps in the house, and I look on it with envy while he sips over dinner. He can do what he wants, of course, but sometimes I wish he wouldn’t do it in front of me, at my house.

He doesn’t say anything about the meal while we eat. I want to ask him if he likes it, but I find I don’t care that much.

While he cleans up, the laundry machine goes off, and I go swap the clothes over to the dryer. When I get back, Robbie’s cleaning more than just the dishes—he’s scrubbing the counters and the cupboards, too. I find myself surprisingly insulted. It’s not like the counters were all that dirty.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I just thought I’d help while I had the chance,” Robbie says, but I know it’s not just that. It’s judgment, an implication that I can’t take care of myself.

“Well, you don’t have to.” As I put everything away, he looks rather irritated.

“If you move in with me, though, you’ll need to be a lot cleaner.”

I balk. “Who said anything about moving in together?”

He blinks at me like the thought of me refusing never even occurred to him. “Well, we see each other every other night. I thought it might be easier if you left this little apartment and moved in with me at my townhouse.”

Fuck. Neither of us has dropped the “L” word yet, but I’ve gotten the sense recently that it’s coming. Robbie’s much deeper in this than I am, and has even hinted at meeting his parents.

“I like my apartment,” I say defensively. “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

It looks like I’ve slapped him. “Oh. I thought that would be, you know, the end point of this.”

“Well, it’s not.”

He’s quieter after that as we sit down to watch a movie. That night, I have to focus hard to orgasm while he’s on top of me. Afterwards, I head to the bathroom to pee and clean up, and when I get back, he’s passed out cold.

Part of me, the selfish part of me, wants to hold onto Robbie until I find out whether Russ is an option. And that feels cruel and unfair, but so does breaking up with him when I know it would inevitably hurt him.

That’s probably the biggest reason I should stop this now. If I care about Robbie, I should end it before he gets too deep. And yet, the prospect of being alone again feels even bigger and uglier than that.

Maybe I don’t have to be alone though. I’ve never even asked Russ if he’s single, because at our level, it doesn’t feel appropriate. He’s made it clear that he’d like to be friends, but hasn’t indicated anything else. It makes him feel both safe... and dangerous. I could see myself falling hard for him, but it might not be reciprocated.

I should probably never have invited Russ out with me, but damn if that cream doesn’t work wonders. My aches don’t keep me up late that night like they have for the last week, and I sleep like the dead.

The next morning, as Robbie gets dressed for work, he stops at the front door.

“I know you’re going out at night a lot since you’ve had insomnia,” he says. “But don’t walk alone, okay? I don’t want to worry about you when I’m not here.”

I grumble something in agreement, but it’s not like he can stop me. And I have Boomer.

Around lunchtime, I pull out my phone and hover over Russ’s contact card. I should delete this. The longer we stay “friends,” the more I’ll become interested in him. Maybe I should introduce him to Robbie, and propose we all hang out. That would assuage my fears about going over the line, right?

Who the fuck am I kidding? I want to climb Russ Cohen like a tree.

And yet, that’s only because of Bill. So here I am, holding onto Robbie because I crave company, and then holding onto Russ because I crave Bill—just using other people left and right.

Man, I’m a shitty person. A selfish, shitty person who can’t seem to get over a stranger I met twice, and I never even saw his face.

I take out my phone and type a message.

Thank you for the cream, it helped immensely. But I probably shouldn’t see you again. I’m sorry, Russ. I really enjoyed getting to know you.

I hover over the arrow that would send it. Can it still be considered a break-up text if we were never dating? That would be the end of whatever this is, and it won’t go any further.

But what if there could be something there? I quickly delete the message, then smoosh my face into my throw pillow and wriggle on the couch. I don’t want to utterly destroy something when I don’t even know what it means yet.

The whirr of my robo-vacuum starts up, signaling the beginning of its scheduled, late-night trip around the house. I bought it to try to assuage Robbie, and now I simply watch it traverse the room, picking up one dust bunny after another while the television plays an infomercial.

Boomer gets up and nudges me, looking for a pat. He’s not a big fan of our new friend. “Good boy,” I tell him, scratching him behind the ears but avoiding the wound. “You always know when I need you.”

Maybe I can divorce my libido from my interest in Russ. Maybe I can get to know him, on this platonic level, and see if what I feel for him is because of Bill, or because of him .

Still, strangely, it feels like cheating on Bill to even consider another wolfman. That’s the most irrational thought in all this, and yet I still can’t stop thinking about him.

Hoping for him.

Waiting for him.