Ruff Trouble

Chapter 1-2

The b***h snarled at him. Lips pulled back, teeth exposed. The sound rumbled out of her throat as she faced him. They’d barely made it through the front door without stripping. Bobby had spent the last five minutes chasing her around the bungalow.

They should pause, wash off the dirt of an honest day’s work, but the shower must wait. He’d take her for a second time under the spray.

Take her?

Yeah, good one. Like that ever happened. He was the Alpha male, but whoever came up with the term hadn’t read the manual on females. Every guy, even shape-shifters, understood when they had a good thing and letting this particular woman drag him around by his balls was fine by Bobby. Hell, if she wanted, she was welcome to put a collar and lead on his d**k, tag him along by a leash.

Not that he’d ever tell her so.

He was thinking too much. How was it his brain worked overtime?

Because if she wasn’t a supe she might have got hurt today.

True, but she was a supe. The likelihood she’d ever face a situation when a criminal such as the one they’d arrested today might hurt her, was slim. Not even if the man carried a gun, would he have shot in time, their speed and strength a blessing. Chantelle healed from most wounds as did Bobby. Still, some days he wished they carried firearms; other days he didn’t. Maybe the school of thought an increase in weaponry in the police would escalate weapons on the street had merit, maybe not, but Bobby wanted Chantelle to have more than a baton at her disposal. Not being an Authorised Firearms Officer, she didn’t so much as carry a taser, although more non-firearms officers were issued them now than ever before.

Knife crime was more of a problem than gun offences in Britain. The bastard today had pulled a flick-knife.

These ruminations came from his heart, not his head. Chantelle was stronger than most men and possessed speed greater than any human. She would say if a cretin like Manning bested her, she deserved what she got. He didn’t agree. No woman earned what the creep liked to inflict.

He tried to block out the photos of the women the man had beaten. There had to be all sorts of wrongness with a man capable of doing those things.

A lewd gesture from Chantelle brought Bobby’s mind back to better notions, none of which involved force, especially with this particular woman.

He let the moment—the events of the day—slip away. Taking a deep breath, holding it, and releasing, he forced out the anguish. Chantelle was her own defence and he needn’t have worried. She was his woman; he was her man.

His woman crouched on the sofa, naked, facing him. Well, almost naked. She still wore the bowler style hat female police officers donned, the one with the little chequered band. She also kept on the matching cravat so it hung between her breasts, but gone were the white shirt and blue trousers so dark as to appear almost black. Bobby wore his cap.

The fire in her eyes, the fullness of her breasts, wide hips, and a soft line of reddish-brown curls, pointed the way to his idea of heaven. What did they say? Something about every man spending nine months trying to exit the womb, and every moment of his adult life trying to get back in?

As if aware his mind wasn’t with her, Chantelle slipped lower moving her backside onto the seat, spreading her legs. Bobby prowled forward, taut, ready for her to make a sudden movement, spring away, for the chase to be on again.

“That’s close enough, big boy. Now how about you beg a little?”

Bobby growled.

“Uh-uh. That’s not begging. Sit, paws in the air. Tongue out and pant.”

He half pictured himself doing it, too. Did his muscles flex to obey? He wasn’t sure until Chantelle giggled.

“f**k you, woman.” He closed the distance, grabbing for an ankle.

Her soft brown eyes flashed. “Oh, I hope so. Stop waving your baton at me. Do something with it.”

In reply, he wrapped her legs around his waist, dragging her close by gripping her hips. One shove and he was in, Chantelle eager and more than ready for him. Still, she let loose a yelp. If she hadn’t clawed at him, he would have checked whether he’d damaged her. He’d not met a woman who appreciated s*x the same way as he before Chantelle. Not even another shifter had ever been in tune with his desires the way this female was.

She lay under him, but damn if she didn’t roll her hips, thrusting onto him as he pushed into her. An aching hunger took over the most intimate parts of their anatomies. The wait hadn’t helped, although part of him was glad. His c**k speared into her, their rhythm never faltering, yet it wasn’t enough. The wet heat he plunged into sent delight through the tip of his p***s, forcing delicious spikes of pleasure throughout his entire body, yet he didn’t have enough friction.

“Squeeze on me.”

“Bastard. Are you saying I’m not tight enough?”

“You’re like a warm glove, but can you say I’m filling you?” Indecision tightened the skin around her eyes; Bobby read her reactions well. “You’re not insulting me by being honest, love. You’ve got a hungry mouth there; it can’t get enough right now.”

“Love?”

At least the word distracted her from his unwise comments; otherwise, she might have penalised him for them. “Grrrrrr. Don’t screw with me, woman.”

“There…you…go…again…ahhh…with the…woman…crap…uhmmmph.”

They slowed, and she squeezed him on every inward stroke as he’d asked. She threw back her head as far as the sofa allowed, knocking her hat askew. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her beautiful face as she responded to his body dancing with hers. Her eyes closed. Although she wore her hair in a tight chignon for work, it now spread in a warm brown web, loose about her shoulders. With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her mouth took on a tortured appearance. Her lip popped free as her grip on his arms tightened. Her hands weren’t the only things squeezing him. “I…oh!”

The plaintive cry took him with her. He pushed as deep as the position allowed. The fluctuating waves of her orgasm beat against his c**k, Bobby already coming, so the ebb and flow threatened to milk every drop. Her eyelids fluttered as he sagged against her.

Her hands drifted, stroking his back. A vague impression told him he should withdraw, or at least ease his weight. He did neither.

“You didn’t knot.”

“Is it disappointment I hear?” His surprise made him move where gallantry failed. He propped himself up with an elbow against the arm of the sofa. “You know I don’t always.” If he were in dog form, he would, but it happened on occasion in his human shape, more often around the time he sensed Chantelle was most fertile. They weren’t trying for a family, but his animal half didn’t care about contraceptives and choices, simply responded.

“Maybe.” She grinned at him. “You were the one telling me I wasn’t full enough.” A trace of sarcasm emphasised the word. Oh, so she had noticed.

“Yes, well, as nice as it would be to tie to you, makes it awkward for me to put you in the shower and f**k you again.”

“Oh, is that what you’re going to do?”

“Hm…hmmm.” He made sure he sounded both decisive and appreciative. She tapped the peak of his cap.

“Not wearing this, you can’t.”

“It is removable,” he reminded her.

“I like it on you.”

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer the helmet?” He waggled his eyebrows, referring to the conical custodian helmets male constables and sergeants wore when on foot duty. His version came with plenty of innuendo.

“You get enough of boobs in your face; you don’t need to wear one on your head. As for helmets…” Chantelle glanced between them, although he remained inside her.

“I think I’ll leave my helmet where it is and carry you to the shower.”

She pursed her lips and c****d her head. “Fine, we can do that. Then you can do something else for me.”

“What?”

“You can end this fight with Sam.”

Bobby groaned. He pulled out of her, an emotion akin to homesickness striking him in the general direction of his d**k. The particular organ wanted to return to where it nestled so comfortably.

“We are not fighting,” he said, uncertain whether he addressed the Sam issue, or argued with his c**k. Down boy! No. You can’t go back there. Well, you can…in a few minutes, in the shower. Patience.

“Maybe not a fight.” Chantelle ignored the hand he held out meaning to pull her to her feet, oblivious to any concerns she might leave a wet patch on the seat. Great; even that mental picture turned him on. Both stared at his d**k as it betrayed him. Stop waving at her.

“Bobby, he’s miserable.”

“He’s moody.”

“Miserable.”

“Moody.”

“Well, yes, but more so since I came on the scene.” Chantelle toyed with her navel, one finger circling, drawing his gaze to the action. She laid nude, one leg out, one bent back, and a heel on the edge of the sofa, knee swaying side to side. He got little flashes of flushed and distended lips and fought not to fall to his knees to kiss them. If he did so while they were having this conversation, she wouldn’t let him worship her. She’d box him around the ears with her knees and clamp his head in the vice of her thighs. She pouted. “You know he loves you.”

Bobby took a deep breath. Not the first time she’d told him, but he’d heard it for the first time last week. “I’m sorry. I don’t see it. He’s said nothing, never given me any such sign.”

“As far as he’s concerned, you’re straight.”

Bobby deliberately glowered at her.

“Fine, macho man, but you know what I mean.” She kicked at one of his legs. “You’re policemen. How many gay police do you know who are obvious about it? It’s not as if another man would be a big deal for you, but Sam isn’t to know. He’s not about to tell you he loves you and end your friendship, or risk losing your respect. I know you won’t react that way, but he doesn’t.”

No way to argue. Sam had been…was an excellent policeman before some drunken bastard aimed a stolen car in Sam’s direction. Sam ended up with a pronounced limp and a desk job. Analyst. Yeah, right. The perfect job for Sam…not!

Chantelle had taken over Sam’s position in the department, and Bobby fell instantly and secretly in love with her—secret to anyone but Sam, who perceived it in his eyes the moment Bobby noticed her. Sam had warned him to tone down his reaction before everyone in the station realised, but had done nothing to come between them, when he might have blabbed. If Sam loved him as Chantelle claimed he did, Bobby called that heroic.

Undoubtedly sensing his emotions, Chantelle continued. “I know it eats at you. You wouldn’t have met me if Sam hadn’t been harmed. We both sort of owe him.”

Crouching, Bobby met her gaze. “What would you have me do?”

She shrugged. “If it were possible, would you shy from a relationship with Sam?”

“You mean if I’d known, would I have done something about his feelings?”

She hesitated, nodded. Bobby gave the idea his attention.

“I like Sam well enough.” Chantelle raised an eyebrow. “Fine, I love the guy, but I hadn’t thought of Sam sexually.”

“Because he’s a man?”

“Because he’s human.” Bobby spoke with care. “To be with Sam, I would have to explain what I am. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why.” His p***s sometimes behaved the way a canine’s did, and if he ‘tied’ to Sam while inside him, it would take some explaining. He imagined it now, having to hold the other man still while Sam spat and cursed at him, all so he wouldn’t injure himself or Sam by trying to pull away. The scenario was the best course of events he might hope for. He’d hate to spot fear in Sam’s eyes.

“So, you’ve as much to fear as Sam, maybe more.”

“I guess. It was never an issue because—”

“Because you were too blind to see he loved you. Hell, Bobby, I can smell his yearning every time he’s near you. Why can’t you?”

“I…don’t know. I mean I sensed arousal, but I believed he was—”

“Horny?” Chantelle gave him wide disbelieving eyes.

What to say? “I’m a man. I think that way. Sue me.”

“I’ll do more than sue you.”

“Darling, I’m with you now. I like women. I wouldn’t have minded fun with Sam, but…” He stopped talking. “Hang on. You said would I shy from a relationship with Sam if it were possible. You’re not talking past tense.”

She grinned. “Took you long enough.”

“You want me to…” He took off his cap, ran his fingers through his hair. Struggled to deal with this.

“What if I said the idea of you and Sam together gets me hot and bothered?”

“I’d say I like you hot and bothered. I’m not sure how Sam would feel.”

“What if I were to tell you he’s a little bi?”

Bobby blinked at her. He knew he was blinking. His eyelids bounced open and closed. The action made him more aware of the imbalance of having a contact in one eye even if it didn’t interfere with his vision. He needed to remove it and, oh…yes, f**k Chantelle in the shower. “I’d say I’ve missed a lot somewhere, and you need to get me up to speed.”

“We can do that, after our shower.”

“Shower,” Bobby agreed. He stopped thinking beyond f**k Chantelle in the shower.