Touched by the Moon Pt. 05

05.

The Ride Home

The rain had started to slow as Wren's truck rolled up the highway, which was a good thing, considering his windshield wipers didn't work. Neither did the central air, and the seatbelt fibers were so frayed it looked like a strong breeze could've severed them. The passenger window got stuck halfway down, but at least Sam got a little fresh air. And the whole cab stank of engine fumes and even worse--fast food burritos.

"Holy hell, Wren, how can you drive this thing? This contraption is a death trap."

The mechanic shrugged. "She's bought and paid for, and I reckon gets me where I wanna go. Ain't nothin' wrong with that, is there?"

"Not if you've happily lived to ripe old age of twenty-one," Sam said with a sidelong glance, "which I'd like to reach without getting into a car accident, thank you. You're, what...thirty?"

The truck gave a sharp swerve as Wren jerked on the wheel in surprise. "I'm twenty-three, thank you. And you worry too much."

"You met me all of a couple of hours ago," she objected. "You don't know how much I worry, thank you."

Wren didn't have hackles to stick up, but the look on his face told Sam she would've seen them. "Look, I'm doing your Daddy a favor. Least you could do is be grateful for it."

Sam opened her mouth to argue further, then shut it again. Instead, she closed her eyes and took as deep a breath as she could stand beyond the stink of burning motor oil and the smell of him, which she found enticing and distracting.

"You like talking about yourself, Wren?"

Now it was his turn to give her a side eye. "No ma'am, not really."

Sam lightly drummed her fingertips atop the helmet in her lap. "Humor me. Least you could do after a pretty girl sucks you off is make conversation."

Wren was pale enough that she could see him blush, and it made her smile without meaning to. He pulled his cap a little farther down towards his eyes and hiked his shoulders up. "You came onto me, as I recall."

"And I liked it."

One second, Wren was walling himself off; the next he was looking over at her, too surprised to keep those walls up. "Beg pardon?"

Sam leaned over, extended a forefinger, and tapped him on the tip of his nose. "I. Liked. It." Three taps for three words. "And so did you--like I need to point that out."

Wren blushed again, but now without the stink of hostility about him. "Well...yeah. 'Course I did."

"So did you and Rebecca used to be a thing?"

The man squirmed in his seat, looking very uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Rebecca likes to dabble, ya understand. I had a case of puppy love, and I got over it quick once she told me it weren't gonna last."

"You sound like my Dad, a little."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"It's a long story," Sam said, unsure how much she wanted to share. "My Mom did the 'puppy love' thing her whole life. Dad wanted more; she didn't." She shrugged.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

It was quiet in the cab for a moment, aside from the growl of the engine. "So tell me how a good ol' boy like you got mixed up with Tennessee Watkins." Sam knew it was a risky question, and expected him to become hostile again, but she had to ask it all the same.

As expected, he hiked up his shoulders and clenched his jaw, but the anger wasn't directed at her. "Tenn's just a dumbass bully who's got too much weight to throw around, so when he throws it, you feel it. He treated the pack like his own private booty call service, or got off watching the rest of us." He turned his head and spat out his window. "Getting shot was too good for him. I wouldn't piss on that motherfucker if he was on fire--I'd just pour on more gasoline."

"That sounds a little harsh."

"You don't know him," Wren countered, giving her a hard look. "You ain't seen what he's capable of yet. Hopefully, you never will, neither."

By that time, they'd reached Phil's house. The rain had slowed to a misting trickle, and after killing the engine, Wren climbed out and took a step back for Sam to exit. Helmet in hand, she slid out to a rattling of half-crushed cans and crunching paper bags.

"Thanks for the lift," she said, looking up at him. Wren wasn't as tall as Tennessee, but was still tall enough that she had to make effort to look him in the eye.

"My pleasure," he said. For a moment, she thought that he was going to climb back in the truck, but instead he glanced at the house, then back to her. "You...planning on sticking around for awhile?"

"Maybe." Sam felt that sensation again, the one she'd sensed when Wren was standing close to her during the Meet--she might've called it greed, except Sam wasn't his to covet. Not yet. "Why do you ask?"

"Because your Daddy's good people--I've known him for years." He set an arm atop the rusty pickup and leaned against it, keeping his eyes trained on hers. "He was excited when he told me you contacted him, more than I've seen him in awhile."

"Really?"

Wren nodded. "Honest 'n' true. If there's anything you two need, just ask--Phil's got my number."

Sam considered that offer. "Do I get your number, too?"

He blinked, surprised again. Then he smiled with a little laugh. "You California girls move fast, y'know that?"

"Is that a yes, then?"

They'd just exchanged phone numbers when there was a loud rumbling of an engine at the road. "Oh, Dad's back already."

Wren paused, tilting his head to one side. "Phil's got himself a British bike. That ain't his...and there's more than one."

Sure enough, moments later, a pair of bikes appeared on the gravel drive, pulling up behind Wren's rust bucket. They were painted black with long chrome pipes and high handlebars; one of the bikes was playing music at a painfully-loud volume, a tune that Sam vaguely recognized as being older than she was. It wasn't her style of music, that was for sure: it was too Americana, too rock 'n' roll.

The men who climbed off were dressed in studded black leather, wearing round helmets strapped under their chins and a single, metal spike sticking out the top. Sam didn't recognize the riders, but Wren stiffened beside her.

"Who're they?" she asked.

"Trouble," he answered. To the men, he kept his tone neutral. "Dez, Jeff. Been awhile."

The shorter of the two men was also the fatter, dark skinned with a trimmed goatee and mustache. He wore a leather vest decorated with more studs. "Well if it ain't ol' Wilbur! Good to see ya, buddy." He was chewing gum, and snapped it between his teeth while scanning the house and it's grounds. "Phil around?"

Wren went tense and bared his teeth; Sam was reminded of a wrestler, like Wren was ready to jump into the ring. When Sam looked between the men and set a hand on Wren's arm, it had an immediate effect, and the mechanic let out a short breath through flared nostrils. "Sorry Dez, you just missed him," Wren said. "Something I can help you boys with?"

Dez eyed Sam in a way she wasn't particularly keen on, giving her a toothy grin before looking back at the house again. "Nah, ain't nothing you can help us with. Tenn might be interested to know you were here, though." The fat man gave a pair of snorts, imitating a pig; Jeff--taller than Dez, with a long salt-and-pepper beard that stretched down to mid-chest and standing silent the whole time, snickered but didn't say anything.

When Wren started to get heated up again, Sam decided to speak up: "Something I can help you with, then?" she said. "Because if not, get lost."

"Oh, you can help us out, sweet piece, that's for sure." Dez's grin grew longer and lewder. "You wanna take a ride with me and Jeff? I got all sorts of sights I can show ya." Dez slapped his crotch with one hand, and both riders had a good laugh. His hinting was as subtle as a two-by-four upside the head, but given that Tennessee Watkins had been mentioned, Sam wasn't at all surprised.

"What do you want?" Sam said, keeping a firm grip on Wren's arm.

"Nothing special," Dez said. "Just to tell Phil that Tennessee's recommending he find a new change of scenery for the next little while--the next six months, give or take."

Jeff laughed.

"Tenn's calling it a peace offering, ya see--one leader-type to another." Dez shrugged. "It'd be a shame if something happened to Phil--or his house, or anything else of his--if he happened to stick around with the full moon coming."

"Are you threatening him?" Sam frowned. "Why would you do that?"

"We're not threatening him," Dez objected, raising his hands, palms out. "We're just offering some friendly advice, darlin', that's all! What are friends for?"

"You yokels are giving me a headache." Sam wasn't lying about that, either; her head was throbbing almost as fast as her heart was beating in her chest. "And you're trespassing on my Dad's property." She fished her phone out of her back pants pocket and held it up with all the theatre of brandishing a gun.

Dez looked surprised, barking a laugh. "Philly got himself a kid? Where've you been hiding all these years, sweetie?"

Sam ignored him. "Get out of here or I'll call the cops."

That stopped the men from laughing, and earned her a scowl from Dez. "That ain't the way the game is played, girlie--humies don't get pulled into pack business. Get your boyfriend there to tell you how it works around here before you open your mouth about anything." He wasn't much taller than she was, but the way Dez stepped towards her was threatening enough that Wren tried to step around Sam, to insert himself between the two of them.

Sam didn't let him. "Bullshit," she said. "I ain't part of any pack, and I don't give a fuzzy-tailed fuck who I talk to about it." She narrowed her eyes. "Go away and don't come back." Quickly, Sam dialed the emergency number and held it up to her ear. Nobody moved. "Phone's ringing, Jethro," she said, staring Dez down, before holding the phone out and hitting the speaker function.

"911, Operator 14, what's your emergency?" said a voice.

No one spoke for a moment.

"Hello?" the operator said.

Dez glared at Sam. "You'll tell your Daddy we was here if you know what's good for you." He glared at her before quickly turning and walking back to his bike.

When the men started up their motorcycles, Sam disconnected the call, but held the phone close while they turned in a tight circle, rolling down the hill to the road and rumbling quickly up in the direction they'd come from. Then she stuck the phone back in her pocket and turned, grabbing the first solid thing she could reach while fighting the sudden, overwhelming urge to start shaking. That thing she got hold of were Wren's coveralls--she coiled her fingers into the folds of his clothes, clenching them into fists.

Wren rested his hands atop her shoulders, giving a good-natured squeeze. "Dez is right, Sam: you can't get the cops involved. All it'll do is rile Tennessee up even more than he already is."

Sam didn't answer.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Fuck no, I'm not alright!" Sam said, only managing at the last second to not shout it at him. She'd witnessed fights before, but had never been in one herself--realizing just how close she'd come had Sam fighting off the fading rush of adrenaline, trying to calm her pounding heart and her own instincts.

She pressed her face to his chest and breathed in his scent like smoking a whole cigarette in one, long pull. Wren smelled of cheap shampoo and grease, of sweat and soda pop; she could still smell his moist musk, leftover from the Meet, remembering how the salt of his skin slid across the length of her tongue. He was hot flesh and cool polyester, and Sam wanted him.

"You alright?" he repeated, leaning in closer, burning her scalp with his hot breath. She wondered what fucking a werewolf might be like, if he'd be wilder in bed than a human lover--maybe he'd leave long, bloody scratches down her back while she rode him, or howl like a beast when he came.

"Kiss me, Wren." Sam knew it was irrational, that her moon-lust was growing again. Sam didn't give a damn. Looking up through heavy-lidded eyes, she twisted her hands in the rough cloth of his garments, the ones that stank of lubricant and the rain.

Wren looked uneasy, raising his head back, but he didn't pull away entirely. "Sam, I don't know if--"

When Sam pulled Wren down hard and pushed up onto her toes to meet him halfway, the pressure of his mouth to hers made her want to sigh with delight. Instead, she opened her mouth wider and tasted the tip of his tongue, probing his warm mouth. She heard him take a long breath through his nose and he quickly began to kiss back with more hunger and need, showing more of that honest, naked desire she'd seen in the light of the bonfire.

He pulled back from the kiss to take a breath, and his eyes flashed in the evening light. "Sam."

"Yes?"

"Are you sure that this--"

"Fucking hell, don't you start lecturing me about the moon, too." Sam grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him to the front door--as expected, it was unlocked, and she pulled him inside before shutting and locking it as Phil had directed. Leaving him there, she crossed to the back door and locked it as well, then went to her little bedroom and left the door open. "You coming, Cowboy?" she called.

There was a split second of hesitation, then Wren answered: "Yes ma'am!" By the time he showed up in the doorway, Sam had shed her coat into a damp pile on the floor, kicking it away to be forgotten for awhile. When she turned around, the sight of Wren standing in the doorway--staring at her, uncertain of himself--seemed so different than the memory she had of him from their time in the woods. It made Sam want to grab him by the coveralls and throw him on the bed, or fall to her knees and slide that zipper down to find and take him in her mouth again.

Sam didn't do either of those things. Instead, she hoisted her shirt up and over her head, watching his face and eyes as she let it fall to the floor. One by one, piece by piece, Sam discarded the garments she didn't want and observed as Wren's hesitation turned to surprise, to fascination and intent, and last to hunger. The moon might've been hidden behind lingering storm clouds, but she could feel its power all the same: Sam didn't need a burning bonfire and press of bodies to let her desire go out of control.

Wren stepped inside of the little guest room and shut the door. "What if your Daddy comes home?" he asked, speaking softly, as if they already had unwanted company listening in.

Sam bent her head down, reaching behind her back and unfastening her bra. "Wren?"

"Yes ma'am?"

She held up the thing--black cotton and lace--and stared him in the eye before letting it fall to the floor. "Lock the door, shut up and get over here."

Wren was smart enough not to hesitate again. The lock gave a soft, metallic click before he stepped up and bent down, kissing Sam again with as much need and latent hunger as she'd sensed in him earlier. Her strong pose and demanding words seemed to unlock something in him, freeing him to give into the lust he was experiencing--Sam wasn't the only one feeling the moon's power in the air, after all.

The feel of Wren's hands made Sam moan: they were tough, textured, with grit and grain--working hands, and strong. Dressed in nothing but a low-cut pair of black panties, she was thrilled to find out he knew what to do with those hands, at least: grabbing at her shoulders and sliding down her back, his thumbs teasing the curve of her breasts, while his fingertips toyed with the elastic edge of her underwear. At her urging, he pushed them down further and she shimmied her hips to let them fall to the floor where she kicked them away. Now the nudity was her choice, something she'd anticipated and welcomed with a little shiver as her lover squeezed her ass in both hands for a moment, touching her for nothing but the pleasure of doing so.

But she wasn't going to be the only one, since Sam finally had the opportunity she'd been waiting for all afternoon: she grabbed the zipper of Wren's coveralls and drew it down, down, down past his waist. Then she slid her hands over his shoulders and pushed the suit down and off his arms. Once that was done she could sense a new excitement in Wren, that what had started as an invitation and a kiss had a promise of something much, much more.

Pushing his t-shirt up, Sam got a glimpse of his bare chest again, the warm skin she'd seen dripping and slick in the rain. She wanted to slide her tongue across its surface, to feel one of his nipples tighten under her tongue. "Get these damn clothes out of my way, Cowboy," Sam growled, kissing under his chin and suckling hard on his neck.

Wren managed to peel off his shirt and kick off his boots at the same time, which Sam thought was a neat trick. A moment later, he was standing in front of her in a pair of boxer-briefs that she hooked and pushed over the curve of his ass, baring him to her eyes once more. Pulling at him, urging him to follow her, Sam sat back on the bed and laid down on it, watching him crawl after her--it was only a twin, barely big enough for them to share the space together, but Sam had slept on less and managed to share it with someone. She resolved to make it work because she wanted it to work.

The moon's energy made the room seem sweltering, like an uncooled room on a hot summer's day. Sam took a deep breath and gently lifted Wren's head, kissing along his bare neck, imagining she could taste his pulse under the surface of his skin. He sighed and curled his fingers into the sheet below, eyes closed, mouth open, moaning low and slow. His cock was thick and ready, eager, impatient, twitching against her lower belly.

"You're sure?" Wren asked, giving his hesitation one last time to voice itself, to let Sam back out if she still wanted to. It didn't sound like fear, not to her--it sounded like he needed her approval, her permission.

Sam bent her legs wide open, rocking her ass on the bed, using her scent and desire to push him over the edge. "Fuck me, Wren," she said, breathing long and deep, grabbing his shoulders. "I want that cock inside me. Take me."

He moaned while pushing up higher on his knees, using one hand to guide his aching shaft to the soft, hot slit that was waiting for him. Wren pushed into her with a sigh, feeling her cunt swell and tighten around him, welcoming him in, not wanting him to pull away. The sensation made Sam shudder and whine with pleasure, the sweet feeling of fullness she'd been craving for too long.

"Oh, fuck," Sam said, squeezing his shoulders tighter. "Fuck. Fuck!" When he had every inch buried inside her, she took a breath and pressed her thighs in tight against his, rocking her hips again, urging him to move. "Fuck me!" she whispered, wanting more, needing more. "Fuck my little pussy, fuck it and don't stop!"

Arching his back, groaning against her neck, Wren set his hands and started thrusting back as he'd been told, giving her all the effort he had; the sound of their skin coming together, slapping with a hard, fast rhythm could be heard. That curious hard lump Sam had noticed in the woods at the base of his cock began to compress and push against her, a sensation Sam had never felt before.

"Yes," she told him, "yes! That's good, Wren, just like that! Is my pussy good? You gonna fuck me even harder?" Sam grinned and ran her fingers up into his blonde hair. "Gonna ride my cunny good, Cowboy? I'm on the pill--you can cum inside me all you want, fill my little kitty up good. Fuck me, Wren, don't stop!"