But her hips didn’t cooperate as she frantically drove her body toward the cock that filled her, stretched her, made her blood pound in her ears.
Derrick hissed a breath in her ear and her hands found the muscled flesh of his ass, digging her nails into it as he swelled within her and found his release.
Martine let go then, rode the wave with him, her nipples tightening sharply, scraping against his bare chest when she came with a fierce yell.
In his final thrusts, Derrick’s lips found hers, mumbling incoherent words she couldn’t make out, but she didn’t care.
She only wanted this man to stay inside her forever.
Martine frowned. No forever. She’d never wanted anything for forever. She chalked it up to the wine.
As Derrick settled against her, his large frame sagging in release, Martine allowed herself the simple indulgence of a last roam of hands over his hard back, reminding herself that while this lasted, she’d enjoy his incredible gift for lovemaking in between figuring out what she was going to do with her trashed life.
She’d enjoy his beautiful body, his insanely talented tongue, his amazing meals.
Period.
And that was the last thing she reminded herself to do before she disappeared into thin air.
Chapter Eight
Derrick’s eyes flew open when Martine’s luscious body simply evaporated from beneath him. He sat up, his eyes scanning the room for her. Was she some sort of magician? Since when did a shifter have the ability to vanish?
What the hell?
Stunned, he hopped off the bed, shoving the covers back as though she were hiding beneath them.
His gut tightened momentarily in worry then suspicion set in. Maybe this was why she hadn’t wanted him to ask any personal questions?
She’d mentioned spells in their earlier conversations, but he never guessed she was actually capable of them, and he certainly didn’t understand how they related to her. He’d thought she was just talking in general about her dislike for the paranormal.
So who was Martine Brooks really? Was she a witch? He’d heard plenty about witches and warlocks, but he’d never encountered any, not even here in Cedar Glen.
Was this the impossible part of his curse? That she’d just up and disappear on him when the time came to mate?
But what if she was hurt? What if this was something that happened against her will? Maybe someone had put some kind of spell on her? His lips tightened into a thin line, at a loss for what to do next.
Derrick ran a hand over his jaw, scraping the pads of his fingers along the stubble before heading back to the living room to put his clothes on and find his phone.
He jammed his legs into his jeans and went in search of his cell, poking around in the pockets of his jacket until his hand felt the hard square.
But wait. Who did you call when the woman you just made amazing love with vanished right before your very eyes?
Dean and Sam?
Nat. Nat knew all sorts of crazy shit. Maybe she’d know something about this. Using the pad of his thumb, he scrolled his contacts and sent Nat a text, trying to keep as calm as possible.
Need your advice ASAP.
Please tell me you didn’t yell at Martine and scare her off. We like. Don’t fuck this up.
Derrick grated a sigh. Him and the yelling again. He’d never once yelled at Martine. He’d pause for a moment to consider why he hadn’t yelled, because they were certainly in a frustrating position, but right now he just needed to find her and know she was safe.
This is an emergency. Come now, please.
A knock at his door was almost instantaneous before Nat popped her dark head in and took a peek around the room. “What have you done, brother?” she asked, pushing her way in and tugging at her scarf around her neck to drape it on the coatrack by the door.
“Why do you assume I’ve done anything?”
“Because Martine’s really nice and you’re not so nice?” She rubbed her hands together to warm them.
He rolled his eyes, pulling his shirt over his head and jamming his arms into it. “I am nice.”
“Okay, maybe nice isn’t the right word. You’re impatient. That’s the word, and when you get impatient, you yell—”
“I don’t yell!”
Fuck. He did yell.
Nat pointed her finger at him and grinned. “Just like that,” she pointed out. “So what happened? Did she touch your Cusinart? Ohhh, the horror! Does she still have fingers?”
Funny, but he wasn’t laughing right now. He needed to know she wasn’t hurt. “No. She disappeared.”
“You mean like left the house?”
“No, Nat. I mean like into thin air.” He snapped his fingers.
She cocked her head, her ponytail swaying. “Um, drink much?” she asked, nodding to the empty bottle of wine.