by Nix Winter
all rights reserved
It was four o’clock in the morning and they were late. What was worse, was they hadn’t actually slept, though that was part of what was wonderful too. Cora shivered, her back against the door, one hand trying to reach to the side to enter the entrance code to the back door of their bakery, but her husband leaned against her, kisses down her throat, his hand in her silky hair, another on her ass, lifting her a little. “Wally,” she groaned, dusty blonde hair clinging to her lips, to the fog that was her breath as her fingers stretched to the keypad, “Inside, let’s get out of the alley. It’s cold, baby.”
“I’ve always been partial to alleys,” Wally purred, voice deep and soft like he’d fallen out of a Shakespeare play. “There’s no one here. It’s fucking four in the morning, Mrs. Palmer. I promise we’ll get the cakes done.” His kisses went down her neck, kisses, gentle bites, and a hand that worked to slip under her shirt, letting frozen January air dance across her skin.
“Wally,” she moaned, protesting as she turned to face him.
“Yes,” he asked, leaning against her, one arm on the door above her head.
She shoved with her chest, pushing him back just a bit, both hands moving to cup his face. “You are the most beautiful man in the world,” she said, a calloused thumb running over his lip, her other hand into his dark chocolate hair. “I have no doubt that you can get all the cakes done. I’ve seen you do it. How did I get so lucky as to get you for my husband?”
“Oh,” he said, sweeping her up into his arms, to carry her over the threshold yet again, “I’m sure you’ve done many very bad, bad things for such a fate Mrs. Palmer. I may need to bend you over your desk, Miss.”
One arm around his neck, she keyed in the code for them and opened the door to their bakery. He pried it the rest of the open with a booted foot and carried her in. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind them. Lights came on, revealing a neatly modern stainless steel kitchen. Tidy and polished, it still smelled of cinnamon and sugar, but by now it should have smelt of cakes as well. He pushed her office door open with her still in his arms.
“Wally,” she said, face nuzzling his neck, “We really should bake. We’ll close early. Go to the beach.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We could open late too,” he said, giving her a little squeeze, before setting her on her feet, facing her desk.
He pressed against her, one arm going around her, his hand cupping her breast, tender and loving, and element of respect so profound that Cora had never known quite how to describe the sensation of being touched like that.
“You’ll be wanting to bend over now, Miss,” Wally growled in her ear, hard cock pressing against her ass. “I’ll be having what treasure now.”
“Oh god,” she groaned pressing back against him. “I’m gonna need fresh panties. Fuck you, Wally. Work, we have to work.”
His body pressed completely to hers, he leaned over, taking her over her desk as he reached to undo her pants. “Well, we should take care of your panties first, my lady,” he said, that Elizabethan accent so strong she only understood him because she’d been waking up next to him for five years. “Does my lady need the service of my prick or this man’s tongue?”
“God damn, it Wally,” she growled back rolling under him, as she shimmied her pants down, her lips seeking his. “Cock, you insistent bastard. Give me your cock.”
He growled into the kiss, pressing his tongue deep into her as he lifted her to the desk, pants only down to mid thigh on either of them. With a shaking hand, he lined up and joined them, hardness sliding into the home of her pussy. At the deepest, his thumb ran over her clit, already swollen, hot and wet, and stroked her with every thrust. She cried out, sensation throwing the cupcakes from the window, and she clamped tight. Her legs to her chest, her arms around his neck, running shoes bouncing against his sides as they fucked, she held to him, eyes closed, not making any effort to keep her sounds polite. “Wally! Harder,” she begged.
Breath short and fast, he thrust harder. He lifted her a little, an arm around her back, another on her firm ass, lifting and holding tenderly as he lost his mind in the last moments before release. When she came, his cock moving in her, her clit rubbed by their position, his fingers were between the cleft of her ass, touching tender pink, and she cried out, washing him in heat and tightness. He growled, fingers digging into her back, and came, harder now than the first time they’d paired, with more love and fire than he’d ever imagined.
They clung to each other as they caught their breath and he nuzzled her ear, licking slightly, “Now, you need new panties.”
She tugged at his hair, leaned back enough to look into his eyes. “I’m married to you, so I keep spare, you know. Let me grab a quick shower. You pull the donuts and start them through, uh?”
“Sure,” he said, pulling his pants back up. “I’l get right on that. Don’t you forget we’re leaving early tonight. Last person out after lunch and then we’re done.”
“There will be sex on the beach,” she said playfully as she slipped out of her pants, toeing her shoes off.
“No.” he said, the fear in his eyes that she expected. “Sex in a very nice hotel near the beach. “I got sand in my ass once. It was unfortunate.”
“Is that so,” she said, teasing, but also wanting to draw more information about that memory. “Who was fucking you?”
“Basile,” he said, smiling. He was just out the door, when he flipped the lock on the inside and pulled the door closed. “Basile Marlow. Don’t forget that name.” He smiled lovingly, but with some edge of sadness to him.
She peeled off her wet panties and tossed them towards the hamper. She almost let the whole Basile Marlow thing go. She knew her boy was bi and had lovers before her. She’d had lovers before too. There was something in the way he said it though, as if he missed him, that made her wake up her computer and search for him. Basile Marlow... the name sounded like a 1930’s movie star, or something.
Then there he was on the screen, a well built man in brown slacks a matching vest with elegant brass buttons, hair as red as a fox, golden eyes, brown, but very unusual and there was something timeless to him. She could easily see him in a sepia photo, well, it wasn’t for the cherry red Maserati that he was leaning against. “Marlow Motors, since 1955,” she read. For a moment, she wondered why Wally would be with her if he could be with a man like that, but as soon as she thought it, she felt bad. If she had to choose between a movie star with a Maserati and her donut frying husband, she’d take Wally. Of course fancy boy wanted Wally. Wally was fantastic.
She sent the machine to sleep and hurried off to take her shower.
In the bakery, Wally watched the shadows he thought he’d seen. He’d actually started to think that their life could last forever. He pulled his cell and hit the first speed dial, that he hadn’t used in almost six years. Mouth dry, he watched for the shadows that he was feeling ever more sure were there. There were so many things he’d thought about since connecting with Cora and this should have been one of them. Standing guard in front of the office door, he listened to Basile’s phone ring.
Then the shadow became flesh, leaning against the lunch counter, silver hair like a curtain by her face. She wore black leather, tear drops tattooed in an arc across her cheekbone. “Hello weasel. Where ya been? Did you steal the pretty lady?”
Wally swallowed, holding the phone tighter as somehow his old friend could feel the urgency. “She’s not here. Get out.”
A man, the size of linebacker, bare arms sleeved in inked forest, the moon, beautiful art, but his muscles flexed and his smile was a predatory warning. “Where is she then? I think you’re lying to us again, little weasel. You know you can’t lie to wolves, don’t you?”
Wally listened to the sound of Basile’s voice, sweet and inviting and how he had the best cars on the west coast. “I’d never lie to you,” he said, letting that be his voice mail to Basile. There wasn’t likely to be enough time to say all the things that needed saying. “Go ask Basile. He’s also in town. Maybe he saw her.”
“Right,” Luna said, hopping up onto the lunch counter, to crouch there for a moment before swinging her legs over. “Jack, I think the weasel is lying to us.”
“I smell sex,” Jack agreed. He opened the fridge, stared at all the bits that were meant for breakfast and the lunch rush, beautiful little cakes and fruit confections. “Like.. sex that just happened. Weasel boy, were you fucking the biochemist? You know she has to die, right?”
Wally lunged, grabbed a knife long enough to pass a decent dagger, except it was no where nearly as sturdy as a good old fashioned dagger. His eyes were darker now and he tossed the knife to his left hand while picking up the knife sharpening rod. “Get out of my shop, you fucking wolves.”
Jack reached to the small of his back and pulled a pistol. “I bet you’re jacked right now, aren’t you weasel? Getting shot is going to hurt. Why we gotta do that, uh? She’s just behind that door, isn’t she? We’ll make it fast. She won’t even know what happened. So easy. Just get out of the way.”
“No,” Wally said, a weapon in either hand like some old fashioned duelist. “I will cut your prick off though and shove it down your mate’s nasty throat.”
“Now is that anyway to talk to yer betters?” Luna said, dropping to the floor, a pistol of her own out. “What say I shoot you in the dick and see how bad you howl? Can weasels howl?”
“I’m a man, so I really wouldn’t know. I hear dogs try to howl. You look like an unkept poodle to me.”
“Wally,” Cora called, “Who are you talking to?”
“Stay in there, Cora. Keep the door locked! Call 911! We’re being robbed.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” Jack snapped.
“She’s not a danger to anyone! Just go! I’ll say it was robbers. Just go!”
“No.” Luna fired.
Her shot hit him in the thigh and he dropped, the blade and rod clattering to the tile floor, sliding on his blood. He snarled. Luna laughed.
The office door opened and Cora fired twice, dropping both the intruders with clean headshots. Pistol in her hand, still at the ready, she picked her phone out of her pocket. “I have shot both of them, in the head. They shot my husband. We need an ambulance! Oh god, baby, there’s blood everywhere!”
Wally sat up, wincing in pain. “We have to call... Basile.”
“No,” she said, brushing dark hair back from his face. “We’ll talk to your friend. I’ll call him, but after we get you to the hospital.”
His phone rang and he got it bloody as he pulled it from his pocket. Shaking, he answered and held it out to her. “Talk.. to him now.”
Now with a phone on either ear, she snapped, “Hi. Basile. This is Cora, Wally’s wife. He’s been attacked. We’re going to the hospital.”
“Bring him to me,” Basile said and his voice was suddenly the entirety of the world and going to the car salesman seemed like the very best idea she’d ever had. “Hurry, Cora. Bring Waldo to me.”
“Yes, cancel the ambulance,” she said to the 911 operator. Sirens were already screaming in the early morning, but she had such an intense sense of well being. Everything was going to be perfect, better than perfect, and all she had to do was do what the voice told her to do. “It’s all a mistake. They were just playing a joke on me. I’m terribly sorry!”
She closed the call with 911 and got an arm under Wally’s arm, helping him get to his feet. “Yes, I’ll just put you in my pocket, but I won’t close the call,” she said to Basile.
Just as they got Wally to his feet, a very threatening growl came from where Cora had dropped the woman. She looked back over her shoulder to find a silver wolf, a huge silver wolf with blue eyes staring at her.
“Run,” Wally said, doing his very best to not slow them down. He pulled pans off the tables as Cora half carried him towards the back door..
A second huge wolf slowly came around the work table, dark fur, missing a fang, murder in its eyes.
She screamed, hand slipping on the door, but then the most calming music came from her phone, sacred music that echoed the very halls of heaven and the wolves both laid down. She finally got the door open and after they were through, she slammed it shut with all her will. Still holding onto Wally as they made their way towards the car. “I think there may be a few more things than being bi-sexual that you have not disclosed to me, Waldo Percy Palmer!”
“Maybe a few,” he admitted, “but you need to know that I love you. There’s no edge to love and I love you to the moon.”
“Wonderful. Don’t fucking bleed to death.”
Tomorrow, I’ll get the second chapter up for my Patrons. :)