Now McCabe is stuck explaining to an unamused Spooky how an alien virus has introduced her to the world of shifters. But everything should be fine so long as she avoids her lovelorn boss and takes her new situation and the shifter support group seriously. Matters of the heart are a tricky thing, especially when you decide to date a human.
"...this paranormal story has it all; great plot, plenty of humor and terrific characters. It's a perfect book for a lazy afternoon or for when you need a story to make you smile."
-- 4 Stars from Terri, Night Owl Reviews
How Not to Date a Human
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Stephanie Burke
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"Oh, God, yes." McCabe could barely hold in the moans that were rolling from his throat. And really, why would he want to? His lover's mouth was wet and hot on his cock despite the latex barrier that separated him from the real pleasure. But it was worth it to keep her safe.
Her fingers ran up his spread thighs, her nails scratching lightly at the sensitive flesh as his head rolled from side to side on the scattered pillows.
"Fuck, baby," he gasped as her fingers trailed high enough to cup his balls, tugging gently at the rolling orbs within his sac. "Gonna make me come."
Spooky, of course, was too polite to speak with her mouth full or too busy showcasing her oral expertise, but he really didn't care which. She was going to make the top of his head explode.
He licked his lips, still tasting the spicy flavor of her, recalling how she rode his face, fucked his tongue as he held her over him. He closed his eyes and shuddered. The memory of her thighs on either side of his head, squeezing as her hands fisted in his long hair, was enough to bring him closer to his inevitable climax.
He thought of the ring still sitting in his pants' pocket and almost cackled in glee. His plan was working, just not in the order he'd devised.
First, he was supposed to delight her with his culinary skills, which shocked most people. After all, who ever thought that a construction worker/show magician would do anything more than lift weights and practice sleight of hand? But he could cook, and the four-course meal he had produced more than proved it.
The next thing was confession. He had a doozy of a secret, bound to make any normal woman run screaming from the room. But his Spooky wasn't normal -- well, not average, at any rate.
Spooky Love was the best thing that ever happened to him. He met her when he and his crew were hired to design office space at a scientific lab called Deci Corp a little more than two years ago. His boss, knowing he held a master's degree in engineering, felt he could bridge the gap between the layman and the academic elite when it came to explaining the cans and cannots of their plan. At one of these meetings he met Ms. Spooky Love, who had three master's degrees and a disdain for anything or anyone not giving their all.
She had taken one look at his written proposal and wondered aloud why he wasn't publishing. "Publish or die," she reminded him, and he found himself telling her of his academic burnout.
"At your age?" She sounded skeptical.
"I got my bachelor's when I was thirteen, and then it was non-stop school, pressure from my peers when I was better than them, pressure from the schools who used me like a poster child for their training techniques, and finally not being credited for my theories because my academic advisor felt I was too young to understand what my name going on a study could mean. I found myself standing on the roof of the science building with the intent to take a long walk when I was almost beaned with a brick. I mean, not a small ornamental one, but a huge frigging foundation type brick. Then I noticed how ill put together the building actually was. So I came down off the ledge, put in a safety complaint with the powers that be, and walked off campus. I was twenty-two when I discovered that I felt a lot better about using my intelligence if I could make it so no buildings would collapse on people, and that was that. I never looked back."
Spooky thought his story was interesting enough to learn more over lunch, and then dinner, and then breakfast.
He'd thought she would complete her intellectual slumming and then move on, leaving him a little colder but grateful for the opportunity to get up close and personal with her, but within a month, shared breakfast was a common occurrence.
That she moved in with him was a miracle, and that she stayed was a blessing he never discounted.
So, almost a year later, he knew Spooky was the one woman he would spend the rest of his life loving.
And that was step three of his plan. But that kind of got sidetracked when he presented her favorite dessert. She made such erotic noises consuming the creme brulee that he had to take advantage.
She was no more than three spoons in by the time he had her panties tossed across the room and was between her legs, eating at her shaved pussy, sucking on her clit and drinking down her juices as she came spectacularly, riding his face on the dining room floor.
The condoms were in the bedroom so he slung her over his shoulder and tossed her to the bed, ready to wrap it and fuck her senseless, when she changed the rules. She grabbed the flavored condoms and began to devour him, trying to draw his soul out through his cock.
And now, as his balls drew up under her encouraging hand, as her finger between his spread cheeks traced over his hole, he knew he would drop down on his knees and beg her to marry him, even if he wasn't so damn in love with her.
"Spooks," he panted, his chest heaving as he tightened a hand in her hair. "God, Spooks, baby! Gonna come -- gonna come, baby!"
She increased her suction, her dark hair clinging to her forehead, and looked up at him, her golden-brown eyes glowing with pleasure.
Yeah, she had control of him, and she knew it.
She groaned as she shoved a finger in his ass, striking his prostate as she swallowed him down balls deep.
He was lost. He threw back his head and gave in to the urge to thrust deep and let go. He cried out as his hips thrust forward, his muscles tightened, and his nerves began a pleasurable burn.
He groaned as his cock spasmed, shooting his seed into the tight condom, the only sounds in the room his rough panting and her steady swallowing --
Swallowing? Fuck, no! The condom broke!
"Spooky!" he gasped, his post-orgasmic lethargy leaving him as he sat up and stared down at his lover.
"What?" she purred, looking like the cat that had run down, caught, and then ate the damn canary.
"The condom --"
"Not bad, Masterson." She chuckled, licking her lips. "Kind of like strawberries with a hint of lemon and a sweet aftertaste. Is this what you've been depriving me of all this past year? Now that I got it straight from the source, I'm going to want to do this again and again."
Then all hell broke loose.