It had been such a relief to find a man who didn't find his altered state so frightening. Mr. Wolfe had tried desperately, just as he had with all the other men he'd loved and lost, to keep his true nature hidden. So passionate had their love affair become however, that when Mr. Wolfe disappeared once each month, Ambrosio suspected infidelity.
He'd followed Mr. Wolfe late one full moon into the Angeles National Forest and watched as his lover went through his ghastly metamorphosis and attacked a wolf hunter intent on ensnaring a female wolf.
Ambrosio had watched the whole thing. He'd seen Mr. Wolfe, his Wolfie, attack and chew a human being as the female wolf made her escape.
Mr. Wolfe had been traumatized that Ambrosio now knew his secret.
Ambrosio had been traumatized that the wolf trapper had such lousy fashion sense.
After that, there were no more long, painful nights spent in agonizing solitude. Mr. Wolfe never could decide with change was worse; going from human to were, or back again.
He stood now, Ambrosio's arms around him, his lips at his temple.
"Somebody here mentioned wanting to get fucked," Ambrosio said, moving his mouth around Mr. Wolfe's face.
"And so I did." Mr. Wolfe laughed, the sound ringing out across the sky. Until he'd met Ambrosio, he had never been one to laugh much. Now he did all the time.
"Do you remember the night we met?" Ambrosio asked, pressing a hot kiss on Mr. Wolfe's cheekbone.
"Of course I do." The mere thought that he could possibly forget almost made Mr. Wolfe choke. "I still remember what you said, too."
Ambrosio chuckled, picking up the pace on his kisses. He was the most passionate kisser and wicked lover Mr. Wolfe had ever known.
"What did I say?"
Mr. Wolfe inhaled sharply when Ambrosio's tongue touched his jaw.
"We were at that concert." His cock twitched in his pants. Ambrosio's warm breath on his skin made his thoughts spin. "We went to see Bon Jovi..." He started to chuckle. We both hated the costumes." Mr. Wolfe gasped as Ambrosio licked his Adam's apple. It had never even been a remotely erogenous zone for him until the night he met Ambrosio.
"Who hated the costumes more?" Ambrosio asked coming up to Mr. Wolfe's ear and nuzzling him.
"I think you did because you said he was wearing too many clothes." He swayed a little as Ambrosio palmed his cock now. Oh, man, the things Ambrosio did to him...
"You said you hadn't paid seventy-five bucks for Jon Bon Jovi to keep his shirt on!"
"My, what a memory you have." Ambrosio finally kissed him fully on the lips and just as Mr. Wolfe was starting to enjoy it, Ambrosio took his mouth away from him.
"Speaking of clothes, you're wearing way too many."
The two men stared at one another. Mr. Wolfe practically swooned in his husband's arms. No man had ever had the effect Ambrosio had on him. Mr. Wolfe, exacting, precise, cold and calculating was a hot mess when it came to his man.
"I think I can do something about that," he said, when his voice finally worked.
"Make it fast, Wolfie."
Wolfie. From another man's lips it would have enraged him, but he now craved this simple term of affection.
Ambrosio's mouth crushed his once more, the heat flaring between them.
"Tsk," Ambrosio murmured against his lips and picked him up. Mr. Wolfe loved the feel of Ambrosio's strong arms engulfing him and settled his head against his man's chest. Ambrosio managed to press the key code on the backdoor and it swung open.
Inside the kitchen, Mr. Wolfe could still detect the lingering smell of their bacon and egg breakfast and smiled, remembering how Ambrosio had fed him the rashers with his fingers.
They'd lingered over coffee and kisses, showering together as always. Mr. Wolfe had gone to the warehouse first, Ambrosio driving off a little later to meet the others. The rest of the crew had no idea that Mr. Wolfe and Ambrosio were life partners. Mr. Wolfe felt the men would not respect Ambrosio's authority if they knew. He was aware that Vez, the most senior of the workers, had a crush on Ambrosio, but Ambrosio seemed not only oblivious but was absolutely trustworthy.
Mr. Wolfe was certain of that.
Inside the kitchen, Ambrosio kick-shut the door, lowered his Wolfie to his feet and said, "Get naked. I'll meet you in the bedroom in two minutes."
Wolfie ran to the room, keeping an ear out for the fridge door opening and closing.
It did.
Oh, he's bringing champagne to bed!
Mr. Wolfe switched on lights as he barged down the hall. Not that he needed them. His eyesight was always sharp thanks to his inner wolf, but he turned them on for Ambrosio, who had many astonishing attributes but, alas, night vision wasn't one of them.
Upstairs in the bedroom, he lit only candles, and there were many of them. He gazed out of the window at the view of treetops and the sprinkling of stars in the sky. It was the only thing he disliked about LA. The smog obscured most of the stars.
He began to remove his clothes, badly wanting to hang things up, or toss them in the laundry hamper, but if he wasn't fully nude by the time Ambrosio arrived, there'd be hell to pay.
Mr. Wolfe sat on the edge of the bed and began removing his boots. He gasped when he saw Ambrosio standing in front of him. Even with his acute hearing, he hadn't caught his husband's footfall on the stairs.
"How do you do that?" Mr. Wolfe asked for about the thousandth time in their relationship.
Ambrosio just shook his head. He set the tray with champagne and glasses on the vanity table and put his hands on his hips.
"I thought we agreed you were going to make it fast, Wolfie?"
"I, ah...I'm sorry, baby. I'm trying."
"Well, it's not good enough." Ambrosio dropped to his knees and began massaging Mr. Wolfe's cock through his tight pants. Mr. Wolfe leaned back. Maybe it
