The detectives asked some very detailed questions of Tank and myself, and they went back over the statements that Jody and I gave last night to "clear up" some vagueness in what the responding officer wrote in his report. They asked a couple questions about our interactions with my cousin, but nothing that seemed all that ominous.
On one hand, I wanted them to be out there finding the creepy guys instead of asking us seemingly pointless question so that Jody and I could go home and sleep in our apartment without worrying that they would come and kidnap us. On the other hand, the detectives were doing their job, and I knew enough from talking with a few of the MPs and SPs and county LEOs who frequented Ladies Night and liked to impress the girls with shop talk that people lied to the police all the damn time. Going over our statements was part of the check for "is this a legit case or just some attention seeker with a (sometimes elaborate) hoax". And, really, without good information, how would they find creepy guys? All the initial clues they had access to was pretty much us.
Still and all, I was not feeling particularly perky when they left.
Tank escorted the detectives out the house, and Jody retired to her room with a "gotta get some rest for tonight" comment. She was working starting at nine that evening, but she wanted to rehearse a new dance she was working on at the studio she belonged to, Light as a Feather. The studio specialized in "exotic dance styles" from belly dancing to pole dancing. I know because Jody dragged me there once, in disbelief when I warned her that I have no sense of rhythm. I felt horribly awkward as I proved it there, too. The belly dancing isn't that difficult but it is a work out. What I can do is pretty much standing in one place and shaking my hips like they're hooked up to one of those 1950s vibro-belts for "shaking the fat off".
Much like many of my father's long term students, performing dancers don't stop taking classes after they have learned everything their teachers can impart. The class fee pretty much covers the use of the facilities for on going muscle training while providing the artist, whether martial or performance, with a community of like minded artists that can appreciate and kibitz on the artistry of what they do.
I gathered up the dishes and started washing them. It's not like there was all that much. Just six mugs, some spoons, and an empty insulated thermos for the creamer. Tank returned to the kitchen as I was in the middle of rinsing everything off.
He didn't say a word, just came up behind me, turned the water off with one hand and slid the other into my hair, cupping the base of my skull. I started to sputter, but before I could think of something worth saying, he had turned my head to the side and was kissing me like everything I had dreamed of being kissed like.
His hips ground against my ass, a very firm length of him nesting between my lower cheeks and rocking me into the edge of the counter. I had to grab on to him to keep some semblance of balance. The hand he had used to turn off the water came around my ribs, just under my breasts. I'm pretty sure the keening moaning noises came from me as my entire nervous system blew sky high.
He readjusted his grip on me, trailing his lips to my jaw and over my ear then down my neck. I was panting and had no words to tell him if he stopped I'd kill him. Then his arm under my breasts shifted to my hip and he pulled me up tighter against him while his thigh slid between my legs. I couldn't not grind down against him. Both of his hands slid under my shirt and up to massage my breasts while he humped my ass and I humped his leg.
My shirt came off and then my bra, and he was turning me around, sitting my ass on the counter, stepping between my legs and I could reach him, and my hands ran over his head, and his length, trapped behind the fly of his jeans, ground into the seam of my leggings, and his mouth trailed down to my breast, and I was moaning and near to weeping with wanting, my hands frantic on him, his shoulders, his back, reaching for the hem of his T shirt, and then he was stepping back, the shirt going flying, and he was back, kissing me, lifting me up and my legs were wrapping around his hips and we were moving, and I couldn't stop rubbing myself against him, wanting a hell of a lot more of his skin on my skin, in my skin.
We kissed all the way up the stairs, each step bouncing me against him, my nails digging for purchase into the meat of his shoulders. A pause while he opened the door to his room, stepped through, and kicked it closed. Then a few more steps and he tossed me on to his bed, a cloud of that magic and sunshine scent swirling up to just increase the heat in my blood, fresh oxygen to the flame.
Zoe fell quickly into slumber after the sex, which amused and concerned Tank at the same time. His wolf insisted she was fine, tired, but in good health for a human, and now she bore his mark in her scent. Tank's wolf was satisfied for the moment.
He hadn't meant to kiss her, to lay a hand on her, but the sight of her falsely covered legs, and the jealousy his wolf felt that the detectives, Lewis in particular, had paid attention to her, had flared with a renewed arousal at the sight of her delicious ass partially proffered his way while she bent over his kitchen sink. Then the way she reacted to his kiss, so eager for his touch, and the scent of her arousal, the flavor of it in her Peace, and he had lost himself to the frenzy of their lust.
He felt a tingle along his spine at the thought of it, and smiled ruefully to himself.
Tank kissed her forehead, and rolled off the bed, moving on still shaking legs to the en suite bathroom. He grabbed a wash cloth, wetted it, and gave himself a cursory cleansing, not enough to remove her scent from his skin, but enough to keep her from thinking he was an uncouth bastard.
There was a faint pink tint on the wash cloth. Tank frowned at it, wondering if he had hurt Zoe during their intercourse. Her sheath had been blessedly tight, and there had been no scent of another man near her feminine parts, nor of a vaginal wash, and he had not encountered any great resistance to his penetration. Given her response to him, that might not mean much. She had been as fiercely eager for their sex as he.
While he readied another wash cloth to take into the bedroom, he thought back on the qualities Zoe had displayed during their frenzied love making and realized that she had been frenzied, but submissive to him, taking his lead until near the end when he had begun to gain some control over himself and tried to slow things down. Her own fervor had reawakened his own, and he had lost himself to the sensation of their skin.
He had climaxed inside her without a condom. He wasn't worried about sexually transmitted diseases. For one, her scent was healthy, and for two, the magic of his vradinnaar made him as close to immune to illness as a living being could be. If he had been with a diseased woman within the past month or so, he might have had cause to worry about giving Zoe that burden, but he had been between lovers for over three months before meeting Zoe, and had taken no lovers since their meeting.
No, there was no real worry about S.T.D.s, but if she were a vradin, he might have been concerned that her frenzy was a sign of fertility. She could still be in a fertile part of her cycle, regardless.
If she became pregnant by him, that would be another hook to keep her with the pack. And the thought of her blue, blue eyes looking up at him from the face of his child made his wolf damn near purr in contentment, if wolves knew how to purr.
Tank heard a small voice in the back of his head calling himself a bastard, but the louder desire to see her belly rounded with his seed pulled him back to his bed and the woman curled up within it.