5. Eli

"Ineed to take ten," I grind out from behind clenched teeth, ignoring the curious look Adam gives me as I say it. In all reality, what I need won't take more than five minutes, I expect, if that. But a little extra time never hurt anyone.

"Sure. Whatever. I don't care if you take a cigarette break. Especially if you need one that badly." Adam chuckles, clearly taking the taut, almost desperate sound of my voice for the signs of a nicotine craving instead of what it actually is.

I'm so fucking hard that it hurts. Hard enough that my cock feels like it might snap in two if I don't do something about it, and quickly. And all because of that pretty dark-haired girl who sat down at the end of the bar.

I'd just meant to flirt with her a little. That's what works in this job, and it's what I'm expected to do. She seemed more susceptible to it than most, but that just made my job easy. It wasn't until I got close to her and smelled the scent coming off of her that I knew it was more than me being her type.

She smelled like arousal. Like lust. By the time I brought her that drink, it was so thick on the air around her I could taste it on my tongue, sweet and syrupy like the honey in her whiskey, and my cock was stiff enough to break. I looked at her, and all I could think of was bending her over the bar and pushing myself so deeply inside of her that she'd feel the imprint of my cock for a month.

I thought she was going to ask me for something along those lines. Not a public fuck, obviously, but maybe to meet her out back for a "smoke." And the way she smelled, I wouldn't have cared that Adam would have been furious with me for fucking a customer behind the bar. I would have been balls-deep in her within minutes. Knot-deep, even–and that's the thought that sends me out back for the supposed cigarette break, at the same time that I see the girl fleeing to the ladies' room.

Surely she can't be–

But I suspect she is. I have a feeling that she's got one hand in her panties right this minute, fingering herself to a climax while I shove the back door open and burst out into the crisp night air, sucking in lungfuls of it in hopes that maybe getting out of the cloud of her scent will be enough to ease my aching erection.

It's not. My cock throbs stubbornly, pushing against my fly until I think my zipper might break, and I grit my teeth. Knot-deep, I think again, imagining that, and I know I've got to take care of this problem.

I've never knotted a woman. Not ever. It's not that I'm sentimental about it, exactly–not one of those guys that thinks giving a woman his knot is the equivalent of proposing marriage or some shit–but it's more the idea of being locked together with someone like that. I typically enjoy having someone in my bed right up until the moment I come–and then I want to be alone again. Knotting someone means hours of having them against you, skin to skin, tied up together in an intimacy that usually makes my skin crawl the moment I've gotten off. I've never met anyone who I wanted to be that close to for that long, even if in the heat of passion, I've been often tempted. I know as well as any wolf that it's a kind of pleasure that can't be compared with anything else. I get a taste of it every time I jerk off this close to the full moon, and I can only imagine how much better it would be if it were an actual woman squeezing me, tight and hot and wet–

There's a stand of trees at one corner of the bar, dense enough that if I slip into them I can't see the road and no one can see me, not unless they came out of the back and walked right around this corner. Right now, I'm so turned on I don't give a shit if the cook comes out back and catches me jerking off. I need to come, before I make the kind of decision I can't take back, and ask that girl to come home with me.

The way she smells, the way she made me react–I'd end up knotting her. And there's few decisions a wolf wants to make less than ending up knotted to a woman he's going to want to get away from right after.

My breath comes out in a tight hiss through my teeth as I yank my zipper down, freeing my cock. The night air feels cold against my hot, straining flesh, as does my palm when I wrap it around my length, but somehow that only adds to the pleasure. I can't remember ever having been this hard. My tip is swollen and red, leaking a stream of pre-cum, my shaft taut and the thick veins along the top throbbing visibly. Just the touch of my hand makes my cock jerk and lurch against my palm, the sensation sending a shock of pleasure down my spine to my toes. My balls are tight, and this close to the full moon, my knot is fully swollen. When my fist presses against it, I nearly let out a howl of agonized pleasure, pressing the knuckles of my other hand against my lips to stifle it.

It won't take long for me to come. I can't remember the last time someone turned me on like this. And what even was she? I didn't catch a single whiff of shifter on her–I'm not even sure that she was anything supernatural. She didn't smell of the kind of magic I've encountered in the past–before she started to smell like nothing but lust, I caught a breath of something soft and floral, a bit of an herbal tinge, but nothing that made me think she was anything more than a human. Probably a mundane one. But her scent–

She smelled like a shifter in heat. Stronger than that, even. I've come across a few of those in my day–some of the best fucking sex I've ever had–but this was something more. My hand stutters along my cock as I suck in another breath of the chill night air, but I still smell her, as if she's clinging to my senses. As if I can't shake her.

I thrust into my fist, the base of my knot hitting my hand with every rocking motion of my hips, making me see stars. I've already made a mess on the dirt in front of me, and I haven't even come yet. Every time my fist brushes my knot, more pre-cum streams from my cock, and all I can think is that I want that girl spread out in front of me, naked under the moonlight, her pretty lips open so I can stroke my cock over her mouth, letting it pool on her tongue. I want to slide my cock over her pussy, fuck her clit with the tip of it, let my pre-cum mix with her slick until we're both wet with it.

"Christ." I hiss out a curse, my hand squeezing reflexively, the urge to come building until I can't take it any longer. I feel my cock swell in my fist, feel the growl erupting in my throat as the first spurt of cum spills out onto the ground, and I jerk my cock hard, stroking with a ferocity that I think might leave me raw after as I come hard. My teeth graze my knuckles, biting down to keep from letting out the snarling moan that threatens to spill out along with my cum, and just when my orgasm feels as if it's ebbing, I wrap my hand around my knot and squeeze.

I've done this before. Right before the full moon, it's almost a necessity, without a mate to knot. Short, hard strokes, squeezing the swollen flesh, cum pouring out of my cock in spasms as it pools in the dirt. I can feel my body almost rebelling against the waste–this should be inside a woman, a mate, filling her up, breeding her until there's no question that she'll be pregnant when this is over. The primal need matches the need to hunt that will overwhelm me in a few days, when the moon is entirely full and half of Bayton will empty out to roam the vast woods beyond it. This is what it is to be a shifter, my mind screams at me, as I bite my knuckles hard enough to make them bleed. This is what it is to be a wolf. Fight. Hunt. Fuck.

I want to go after the girl, and the thoughts running through my head are enough to stop me. I shudder as the last of my cum drips out of my cock, my knot softened, and tuck myself back into my jeans with shaking hands. I realize, dimly, what I just did–jerked off behind the bar without much of a thought as to who might walk by–and I know Adam would have been furious with me if I'd gotten caught.

But I didn't. Just don't do it again, I tell myself, an idea that's easier to swallow now that my arousal has eased and I can think clearly again. I wonder if the girl will be back at the bar, if her scent will have calmed down, or if she's going to smell twice as sweet now. I feel my cock twitch again when I remember her rushing off to the ladies', that she almost certainly was in there making herself come at the same time that I stood out here, doing the same thing.

Down, boy,I tell myself wryly, walking towards the back entrance of the bar.

As I suspected, I was gone less than ten minutes. I take my remaining few to go into the office to clean and bandage my bleeding knuckles, and just as I'm taping a bit of gauze over them, Adam walks in. He raises an eyebrow as he looks at my hand.

"Get into a fight with a tree?" He smirks, leaning against the door. "That girl you were talking to ran off like she got burned. Your "ten minutes" wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?"

"Just needed a cigarette, like you said." I secure the tape. "I should probably get back–"

"Funny," Adam muses, that smirk still on his lips. "You don't smell like smoke."

"Excellent senses. Just what I'd expect from one of my kind. Now–"

"You smell like something else." His gaze hardens a little. "Eli, what did I say about fucking, and my bar?"

"Not to fuck the waitresses?" I grimace. "Jesus, Adam, lighten up. I didn't screw anybody. I just got a whiff of somethin' good and needed to take ten, that's all. Surely that's happened to you before. I don't know where the girl went, hand to my heart."

Adam rolls his eyes, but he doesn't contradict me. I'm sure that he can't–I don't think there's a single one of our kind who can honestly say that they haven't caught the scent of someone who made them need to take a private moment. "Just get back out there," is all he says, shaking his head at me as he sits back down at his desk.

The rest of the night passes in something of a blur. I almost think I can still smell her when I go back out to the bar, that thick sweet scent of her arousal mingled with that clean herbal smell. I do my best to ignore it, serving drinks and offering flirtatious smiles, but my thoughts keep drifting back to her–and whether she'll come back.

It's best if she doesn't, the way she makes you feel.I remind myself of that as I close out the last tabs for the night, sending back a tray of glasses to the dishwasher and starting in on the night's cleaning as Adam closes the heavy wooden doors at the front of the bar. By the time I'm finished, he comes around behind the bar and pours himself a stout, nodding to the taps.

"Pour one for yourself," he offers. "Let's sit and have a chat."

I eye him, but don't argue. If Adam wants to know more about what I've been up to since we last saw each other, I can hardly tell him no. He's given me a job, after all–one that, based on tonight's tips, will keep my room paid for and give me a healthy savings by the time I figure out where it is that I plan to be off to next. So I pour myself a red ale and take a seat across from him at one of the long wooden tables, leaning back as I raise an eyebrow at him.

"So? Interrogation is better with alcohol, I'll admit that, at least."

Adam lets out a huff. "I'm not trying to interrogate you, Eli. Just thought you might like a drink and to talk to an old friend about what it is you've been up to. You said you got into trouble with the law." There's a slight furrow between his blond brows. "That can't have been a good experience."

The expression on his face says what every shifter knows–we're all under suspicion, all of the time. None of us want to get so much as a speeding ticket, because every fucking cop and judge who sees the marker on our license has a hard-on to put us behind bars. There's nothing mundane folk love so much as an animal in a cage, and to most of them, that's all we are. To the rest, we're a novelty. Even someone who keeps his nose clean as well as Adam does knows that his good-boy record means nothing if the wrong person in authority decides they would rather he not walk free at all.

"It wasn't." I take a long sip of my ale. "I'm lucky I got off as easily as I did. Spent three days behind bars and was let off with a fine and a warning. A fine that drained my bank account," I add grimly. "So the job is much appreciated."

"Why'd they let you off?" Adam looks genuinely curious. "Guy like you, caught up in a bad drug deal–seems like they had all the excuse they needed to throw away the key."

I grimace. "Rub it in, why not?"

"Just curious." He shrugs. "You got a lucky coin or something? Always seems like you slip loose of what means to trap you just before the jaws close."

"Maybe the judge wanted to take a ride." I make a lewd gesture, taking another long draught of the beer, and Adam makes a face.

"You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"Not in any ways you'd find noticeable." I let out a sigh, setting down the mug. "Truth is, I just got lucky, like you said. The public defender they assigned me was fresh out of college. Real eager to do his job well, I guess. He found enough reasonable doubt that I knew what the hell was going on with that shipment to get me off with nothin' but a fine. Made it sound like I never knew what was in the trunk of that car to start with." I shrug. "A load of horseshit, but it got me walkin' free, so I had no complaints with it."

"Lucky, indeed." Adam chuckles. "No one waiting on you? No one disappointed you decided to come to Bayton instead of heading back to them?"

I snort at that, shaking my head. "What do you think?"

"You're right. Silly of me to even ask." He glances back towards the hallway, where the two servers are still standing and rolling silverware. "Marley took a shine to you. I'm starting to think she likes to give me grey hairs by flirting with my bartenders."

"I thought you said you had to fire the last one because he broke her heart?"

"Yeah, well, he took her flirting too seriously–and then not seriously enough." Adam raises an eyebrow. "I trust you're not gonna do the same?"

I raise my hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "You told me hands off. You're the boss."

Adam smirks. "Just checking, that's all."

I glance towards the hall as we return to our beers. Marley, the waitress in question, is a pretty blonde with a slender figure and wide blue eyes, and an energetic presence. She smells like prey, which I imagine must have been at least a part of the appeal for the former bartender Adam mentioned. I don't know exactly what kind of shifter she is, but it's not something with claws and teeth. The scent of her stirs me, makes my wolf twitch and rouse with interest, but what I smelled on that girl earlier was too delicious for me to take much note of Marley.

I can guess what happened with that former bartender, though. There's a certain type of shifter who would chase Marley down, figuratively devour her, and then toss her aside. Hell, in other circumstances, I might be that kind of shifter. But I know better than to risk what I've got going on here.

Adam and I finish our beers in companionable silence, with him handing me my envelope of tips when we're done. "You're on afternoon shift tomorrow," he tells me as I rinse out my mug and stack it on the drainboard. "I wouldn't expect it to be quite so lucrative, but there's a decent influx of customers."

I shrug. "Fine by me." What he's handed me tonight is already a decent start towards replenishing what that fine took from me, and enough to start saving for some improvements to my bike before I take off again.

The moon shines overhead, bright and full as I swing my leg over my bike and start the engine, feeling the comfortably familiar thrum of it beneath me. I feel my skin prickle as I look up at the moon, a reminder that in two days, Bayton will feel like a very different place. Not every shifter in Bayton will make their way out to the woods–I imagine the ones who change into small creatures and prey animals will stay within the safety of their homes, and some shifters choose to take manufactured drugs these days, drugs that stifle the change and mask their scent. But the rest of us–

I lick my dry lips as I rev my bike and turn it in the direction of the lodge, already feeling the urge to run, to hunt, to mate. I saw more than one gorgeous woman in the bar tonight that I'd happily take to bed, flirted with a fair few of them too. But there's only one who sticks in my mind–the dark-haired girl who smelled like sin and syrup. My mouth waters just remembering it, and I grit my teeth, focusing on the quick, cold bite of the wind instead.

Any girl who rouses this much interest in me is one to be avoided. I've never been known for making the smartest choices–and the only reason I haven't gotten myself into more trouble before this is because I've never met anyone I couldn't walk away from, or anyone who pushed me past the point of my own common sense.

Whoever this girl I met today is, she made me feel as if she might do just that. I'd be better off if she didn't come back to the bar. Depending on how long she's in town for, she might not.

But even as I go up to my room, tired from the long day and eager for a shower and my bed, I can't get her out of my mind. And as bad of an idea as it is–

I can't keep myself from hoping that I'll see her again.