The Cat Cheers Up The Canary

His text wakes me in the middle of the night. I can feel the soft buzz crawl over my skin despite the phone is on the dresser. I squint at the clock with an internal groan and close my eyes again.

What the hell? It's three in the morning. Is he kidding?

I re-open an eye to look at the pile of people on my bed, feeling defeated.

There's no way I can sneak out of this, right?

My tension is because the date night was strained. Dinner, the movie, and the bedroom were filled with random questions, thinly veiled jabs, and pretended affronts. It was more obligatory than enjoyable. I didn't realize that until now how dirty I feel for letting it happen. I'm sure Rafe feels the same way, but we've gotten so used to allowing Wilde and Sari to do whatever simply to avoid worse fates.

Why isn't he home with Talia? What does he want with me? Why I am answering a middle of the night beckoning?

I scrub my hand over my face, trying to decide if I'm going to answer him. Should I go to him in this state? I'm emotionally exhausted and I feel like shit. But don't I deserve to have fun once in a while? I'm living life as if it's a habit, not an adventure, and I hate that. Things that were once fun are now a chore and emotions that were bright and colorful are ashy. I have nowhere to escape because we've always kept an open door policy at The Maison and changing it will draw attention. That means anyone can show up anytime, and we are expected to entertain.

It used to be chaotically exciting and spontaneous. Now it's constant anxiety because it might be them. Our lives are a prison of our own making and I don't know how to fix it without hurting so many people who aren't at fault. I look around, chewing my lip as I consider the text and the stupid phone.

Am I really doing this?

Wriggling carefully out of bed, I tiptoe to my closet. I drop the kitty face so I can see in the dark. If I'm caught leaving, there will be hell to pay, especially if they find out it's for Taurus. Fuck it. I'm going. I pause as I touch my clothes.

Hell, if I'm doing this, why not go whole hog?

I pull an outfit off the hangar quietly. It's a leftover from a bet I lost years ago—silly and over-the-top in the role playing department. I remember how hard we laughed and how much fun we had when I first wore this. That feeling is long gone now. Shaking my head to clear out the ugliness, I head into the bathroom to clean up. I can't go there smelling like my previous guests.

Delilah O' Hara, secret shower freak, reporting for duty.

When I finish, I sneak over to the phone. Pushing the button, I take a deep breath and appear in his space.

Rah. Freaking. Rah.

"Those are ticklish, Mister. What are you doing?"

His hand pauses for a moment. He was playing with my silver ringed toes contemplatively as he told me about the job he just finished. Talia's out of town and he didn't feel like going home to an empty room, which is why I got a three a.m. booty call.

Is it good that I'm better than no company at all?

Taurus hasn't commented on the cheerleader uniform I donned specifically for him. For someone who was interested in flipping me over and shagging me senseless, we're doing a suspicious amount of not shagging. I haven't even gotten a little second base action and my beast is cranky as fuck.

Maybe he's rusty with the whole dating thing because he's been exclusive with Talia for so long?

"You should work on that ‘giving info to the enemy' concept, pet." He tickles the arch of my foot purposefully this time, and it makes me squirm.

Giggling, I retort, "It tickles and you're going to get something unp-p-p-pleasant if you don't stop!"

Halting, he lets go and flips us, pouncing on me instead. Grinning wickedly, he bobs his brows at me. "What might that be?"

I try to catch my breath as the tickling moves to my sides. "I might lose control of things." I wriggle more, trying to get away—sort of—as he pauses.

"Promise?"

I snicker and nod. "Oh, yeah, bladders are like that."

His eyes pop open and he moves off of me like lightning. His expression makes me laugh—a deep belly laugh that makes my sides hurt—and I cover my mouth as his scowl deepens. "Oh, goddess. That... was... amazing."

Taurus checks himself out in a panic, as if looking for wet spots. I roll my eyes, waiting for him to unruffle his metaphorical feathers. He keeps huffing and looking at his clothes for a missed spot. I reach out and tug on his sleeve. "Come back. I was only yanking your chain."

He narrows his eyes before doing something I never thought I'd see—he pouts. "I'm pouting, just so you know."

I blink, certain this could be the first time he's ever made this expression. I guess can play along if he's game. "Aww, I'm sorry." I bat my lashes and scratch his stomach. "I didn't mean to throw you off guard." I scoot closer and rest my cheek on his chest, looking up at him with big eyes.

Snorting, he shakes his head. "I'm not falling for those eyes. I'm not daft, woman." He blinks and grumbles. "I'm pouting again."

"I said I'm sorry. How else can I make it up to you?" I tilt my head, trying not to smirk. He might not fall for the eyes, but I'm not falling for the pout, either.

I have quite a few clones in my household; I know what it means.

"I'm thinking... nasty, naked thoughts." In a blink, he's pinned me to the couch, ready to play. Grinning as his body slides along mine, he nuzzles my shoulder. His frame is like the other clones, but he's more lean and muscular. He feels like someone who works out often, but not for pleasure as much as survival.

My hands slip over tight sinew to glide down to squeeze his ass. When he groans, I murmur in his ear. "I might have been looking every once in a while."

He tugs his shirt off with one arm and his low chuckle buzzes against my earlobe. "No shit."

"You caught me. I've been a bad, bad girl. Whatever will you do with me?"

His eyes flash, and my shirt flies over my head before I can smirk. "I'll think of something." Burying his face against my skin, his lips roam over the curves of my breasts, teasing stiff peaks and nipping at the underside of one curve. He grunts as I shift my hips and I smile in satisfaction. When he looks up at me, my eyes flutter open, sensing his gaze. He tugs at the waistband of my pants questioningly.

I'm a little surprised, as it has to be the first time he's asked someone that question in an exceptionally long time. It's definitely been a while since anyone's actually asked me. I dig my nails into his shoulders, praying for control. The beast inside me is raring to go at the drop of a hat, so when I answer, it's a throaty growl "Off. Get them off."

His head lowers to my nipples again, and his hands are everywhere. Tugging and a light scrape of his teeth makes me writhe under him, arching my hips restlessly. His growling reverberates against my skin and I shiver, loving the feel. The animalistic side of the clones is fucking hot and even before the beast, it was one of my kinks. When he doesn't move from my chest, I squirm impatiently.

I need more.

Fingers trail up my thigh and I glare down at him, teasing more than I can take after waiting all damned week. His lips curve as his hand cups my pussy, teasing the slit slowly. I whine—to my absolute mortification—and his growl rumbles over my body. "Touch me. Move with me," he commands, his voice low and raspy.

I comply, grinding against his hand like the needy strumpet that I apparently am. The beast paces inside, looking for an escape. Knowing I can't let her out or this will all be over, I focus my fuzzy brain on a mental cage to keep her at bay. I've screwed up more than one relationship recently by letting her out to play; I'm desperate to keep this from going sideways.

My hands slide over his hips to the waistband of his pants, brushing over his cock. His snarl encourages me, and I flick the buttons open, yanking the zipper down. My skin tightens with the heat sizzling through my veins as I stroke him in time with motions of his fingers inside me.

"I want to make you fly, baby," he murmurs, dipping his head to nip my hip bones.

My entire body shudders when I feel the heat of his breath as he moves lower.

I guess even the big bad has a thing for cheerleader uniforms.