#One of these days I’ll learn to render :pensive: | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

safarigirlsp · 3 years ago

Text

Bad Moon Risin’

Bad Moon Risin’

Werewolf Flip Zimmerman x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 41.4k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Lots of Smut. Romance. Drinking. Murder. Explicit Gore. Graphic Violence. Serial Killers. Horror Themes. Chasing. Angst. Werewolf Stuff. Lumberjack Kink. Dark!Flip.

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: October’s Full Hunter’s Moon seems perfect for Werewolf Wednesday! Here is the complete chaptered fic I started last Halloween, parts I - VI. For anyone who read the first parts of this, the new stuff begins at Part III.

Summary: When a spree of horribly brutal murders tear through the sleepy town of Colorado Springs, circumstance necessitates that you work together with the notoriously aggressive Detective Zimmerman. As the head detective in the murder unit, the last person Flip wants to deal with is you, a defense lawyer.

Part I

An early September frost lingered on your windshield as you sat parked at the Colorado Springs Police Department. You sipped your steaming coffee pensively, reviewing your cases in your mind.

You had been a criminal defense attorney for several years now. A few media covered wins on some high profile first degree cases had earned you a reputation as one of the top guns in town. Being an attractive young woman to boot set you apart and had rendered you something between a novelty and a spectacle, depending on whom you asked.

Women lawyers were supposed to handle divorces and custody cases, not violent crimes. Not that you minded the spectacle of it all. You enjoyed the spotlight. And you loved winning. Kicking ‘powerful’ men’s asses at their own game and in their own arena.

Murder cases were newest to you. You had three big wins under your belt, but you were still much less experienced at them than other lawyers who specialized in first degree cases, and less experienced than the District Attorneys who prosecuted them opposite you. Now, you had two new murder cases. Big ones.

Deciding to finish your coffee in the car, you fished your phone out of your purse and called the Detective you were here to see.

“Stallworth,” he answered.

“It’s me. I’m early,” you said, offering your name around a sip of coffee.

“Mornin.’ I’ll let you in. Give me two minutes,” Stallworth’s tone was friendly.

It was always incredibly beneficial to go directly to the officers involved in a case before talking to the District Attorney. You often learned things directly from them that the DA’s didn’t even know, or chose not to impart to you. At the end of the day, the DA had to keep the police and the sheriffs happy, or risk being unelected. Once you got the case officer’s blessing for a plea or an evidentiary issue, the DA’s were often all too happy to play ball.

During your time as a lawyer, you had made some friendly acquaintances in the department. One such contact was Detective Stallworth. He was a friendly, affable man. Fair. He always dealt with you reasonably on cases and the two of you closed out nearly every case you held jointly, almost exclusively settling them without a trial. Stallworth had recently been promoted to homicide, along with his partner Detective Zimmerman, who was the newly appointed Head Detective in the homicide unit.

Today, you came armed with two of Stallworth’s cases to settle so as to gain some ground in the Ortiz murder case. A drug case and a domestic violence case as peace offerings to lubricate Stallworth and, hopefully, get his assistance in dealing with his partner, Zimmerman. A man you had yet to meet in person, familiar with him only through his reports on mutual cases.

It was a Friday morning, a generally slow time for both cops and lawyers alike. You were dressed in what you liked to call legal casual, your Friday staple. A sharply tailored blazer over your v-neck pocket tee gave you a professional chic even when paired with your ripped skinny jeans, and your red-soled Louboutin stilettos added just the right touch of a man-eating edge that you enjoyed. You grabbed your legal pad containing your notes, the coffee you had bought for Stallworth, and headed into the station.

Stallworth was leaning out from a plain, nondescript door on the side of the building and waved you over. The personnel entrance. He gestured you in as he held the door for you.

“Here,” you smiled. “I got this for you. I already finished mine,” you said, handing him his coffee.

Thanking you, he took his coffee and led you down a short hallway. The walls were lined with thumbtacks holding up photos of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted, policy memos, old crime scene photos, holiday schedules, and police reports.

“You picked a good day. If we can agree on some pleas, I can stop thinking about these over the damned weekend.” Stallworth smiled as he took a sip of his coffee. “Flip might not even be as big of an ass as usual when I introduce you. Even he perks up a little on Friday’s. Not sure if that will hold when he’s dealing with a lawyer, though.” Stallworth let out a small laugh as he walked.

“Flip?” You questioned, grinning at the nickname.

“Zimmerman. His friends call him ‘Flip,’” Stallworth clarified. You made a mental note to inquire how the notoriously surly man had acquired such an airy nickname.

In your profession, it was common practice to refer to your acquaintances by their last name only, the same treatment you received in turn. This was how most cops, lawyers, and judges addressed each other. Mr’s and Ms’s were formalities reserved for court, and nicknames were almost unheard of.

“Have a seat,” Stallworth offered, once inside his simple office.

Standing in Stallworth’s doorway, you contemplated the chair that sat in front of the desk. It was a basic black vinyl chair. But folders and stacks of paper were littered throughout the office and piled high on the chair’s seat. You were afraid of accidentally kicking over a pile and disorganizing months of investigation.

“Oh shit, I’ll clear that off,” he said apologetically, grabbing the papers off the seat and clearing a path to the chair.

You shifted your weight between your heeled feet as you waited, unconsciously swaying your hips from side to side. Impatient. That was when you felt a pair of eyes on you.

Turning slightly, you saw a dark towering man passing through the station in long purposeful strides, veering toward your hallway. As your eyes lingered on him, you were met with a piercing gaze that skimmed your body, caressing you from the bottom up before holding your eyes firmly in his amber stare. The way that man looked at you was practically hungry. You might have been offended if he wasn’t so confident and unabashed in his appraisal of you, and it certainly didn’t hurt that he was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

As it was, he made your pulse quicken and your chest tighten. The whole encounter could not have lasted more than a few seconds as the large man entered an office just down the hallway from you, shutting the door behind him too roughly.

“That’s your man,” Stallworth stated, having followed your line of sight, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s Zimmerman.”

Beautiful. So much for gaining an upper hand easily. You cleared your thick throat and took your seat in the chair, discussing your cases with Stallworth and hoping he couldn’t see the heat you felt on your cheeks.

A few moments later Zimmerman burst into Stallworth’s office as if it were urgent, interrupting your discussion. He then proceeded to lean casually against the doorframe, his huge body taking up most of the space in the doorway, as he stared down at you. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t smile, but his hazel eyes swallowed you whole. You held his gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact and give him the upper hand in this wordless exchange, instead raising a cocky arched eyebrow at him.

“You know,” he began in a voice that was deep and honeyed, speaking to you and ignoring Stallworth. “You’re too pretty to be in a police station on a Friday mornin.’ What sort of a line did Stallworth use to reel you in? Unless of course you’re a pro…”

“Stop right there,” interjected Stallworth, waving his hand in irritation at Zimmerman. “She’s a lawyer. Fight your natural urges and quit being an ass.”

Zimmerman froze for a moment before crossing arms over his broad chest and straightening himself to his full impressive height before he continued, “Well, then, counselor,” he paused to flash you the most feral smirk you had ever seen. “I suppose you are a pro of sorts.”

“I’m certainly a pro, Detective,” you replied smoothly. “But I charge much more per hour than the rate I’m sure you’re used to.”

Zimmerman’s expression was hard and flat but you thought you saw his lips twitch, fighting another smirk.

“Counselor.” Zimmerman leaned toward you almost belligerently as he spoke, “What’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing such as yourself doin’ here so bright and early. Usin’ your smile to manipulate dupes like my buddy here?”

Pausing in his interrogation, Zimmerman stepped closer to you, looking down on you as if you were the tree at the base of a mountain. You swore you saw him inhale deeply through his nose as he leaned closer to you. Odd. But you weren’t going to give an inch, power plays were right in your wheelhouse.

“No offense, counselor, but someone has to look out for the rookie here,” he said coldly, his gaze holding yours unblinkingly.

“Admirable. But we’re settling cases today, not fighting about them. I shouldn’t think Stallworth needs a guard dog for that,” you returned with a sweet smile, only your still cocked eyebrow conveyed your sarcasm. “On the contrary, he’s doing quite well looking out for himself, ensuring he doesn’t have some losses in court against me.”

Zimmerman opened his mouth to retort, but you continued, speaking over him smoothly.

“You know, you and I have a case coming up. A suppression hearing Monday on Lawrence and soon after, his murder trial.” You were smiling widely now. “So, please advise me, Detective. Would you like to try to settle some cases with me too, or would you prefer losing in court to the wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

“I don’t lose my cases, honey,” Zimmerman almost snarled at you.

He was right.

You had worked a dozen or so Zimmerman cases, but had never needed to interview him and only knew him through his reports. You could learn a lot about a cop from their reports. Many cops were sloppy. Cutting and pasting from one report to another. Screwing up searches. Coercing confessions. Those were the good cops. The bad ones outright lied in reports and some fabricated evidence. These were all good things to a tenacious lawyer. They would ensure necessary evidence would get thrown out, leaving the state holding an empty bag. They meant you had a win in your pocket.

By contrast, Zimmerman’s reports gave you nothing. They were airtight, detailed, and solid as they come. His reports painted a picture of a diligent, patient, thorough, resolute man. And a smart man, at that. He didn’t fuck up. He didn’t get sloppy. And he didn’t lie. An honest cop who was focused, determined, and smart as hell didn’t give a lawyer much to work with. That was why you hadn’t met him previously, his cases were too strong and pled out quickly.

Cops and lawyers alike gossiped about Zimmerman; that he was solitary, sarcastic, aggressive, and by most accounts, an insufferable bastard. The word among the defense lawyers who had dealt with him was that it was a tossup as to whether it was more difficult to win a Zimmerman case or to deal with the man himself. By all accounts, both were Herculean tasks.

“I’ll be flattered to be your first.” You winked, enjoying this little exchange. “Oh, and your read on this whole situation is wrong, Detective. I didn’t come here this morning to corner your partner.” You glanced to Stallworth who was almost laughing at the whole exchange. “I came here to make your acquaintance, and talk about your case, Flip.”

Zimmerman’s glare flitted between you and Stallworth like a caged animal, shaking his head subtly at his friend.

“If you want to talk shop with me, you’re in the wrong office, honey,” he gritted at you his smug grin returning.

“Honey isn’t my preferred title in this context, Zimmerman,” you retorted easily, unaffected by his cocky sarcasm.

“I forgot that I was dealin’ with a lawyer and not a lady.” His lips twitched fiendishly. “I won’t ‘honey’ you again, Counselor, unless you really play your cards right.”

With a final huff, Zimmerman turned and walked back to his own office. You noticed that this time, his door was left ajar.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Stallworth told you as you rose from your seat, still laughing quietly to himself.

Walking confidently to Zimmerman’s office, you pushed his door the rest of the way open. You lingered in his doorway, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, mocking his stance from Stallworth’s office, a similar smirk now gracing your lips.

Zimmerman was now seated at his desk, leaning back in his chair, long legs crossed. His eyes were locked on you the way a predator follows its prey, his expression dark and glowering.

“I came here to discuss the Lawrence case with you,” you started in your friendliest tone. “That trial’s coming up fast. And with the suppression hearing Monday, I’ve put meeting you off as long as I can.”

“You’re supposed to go through the DA to have a chat with me.” Now it was Flip’s turn to raise an eyebrow at you as he rightly observed the normal police procedure.

“Technically.” You shrugged nonchalantly. “If you feel like you need him to look out for you.” You advanced to the chair in Zimmerman’s office before his desk, resting your hands on the back of it as you leaned forward. “Am I that intimidating, Detective?”

Flip inhaled deeply through his nose again, his eyes falling closed before lingering on you when they opened.

“Not much to talk about on him. He’s guilty as hell. Bashed his girl’s head in with a tire iron. And she’s not the only one. Real stand-up guy.” Zimmerman spoke to you in his rich voice while his eyes bore into yours. You were starting to wonder if the man ever blinked. “Have you seen the pictures? Gruesome stuff.”

“Sure. I have my own copies. And of course, he’s guilty as hell. I know that even better than you.” You paused, weighing your next statement. “I also know that court is rarely about what’s actually true- it’s about what you can prove.”

“Your client confessed. To me. I’d say this isn’t a case with proof problems.” Flip’s lips curled into a wicked smile with his words.

“Which brings us to my motion to suppress. I think the judge is going to kick his confession.” You flashed him an equally devious grin, confident in your statement.

Flip didn’t dignify that with a response beyond a bored, “Is that so?”

“I watched the video. You went too far. Not that I can say I blame you. In another context, it’d be admirable that you put the fear of God into that asshole. But, the truth is that you scared the hell out of him. That’s a coerced confession. Inadmissible.” You kept your tone even and friendly, not trying to provoke unnecessary emotions. “And his confession is the entire case. The rest is circumstantial. No murder weapon. No DNA.”

“Your poor little serial murdering client. Gettin’ intimidated by me.” Flip was beginning to find this exchange amusing, enjoying the banter you offered.

“I’ll admit, I did enjoy watching your interrogation.” You smiled genuinely, glad for the levity before you had to destroy it. “The reason I’m here is because I wanted to ask you point blank, to your face, if you’re going to lie under oath on Monday. In order to win.”

Flip’s expression shifted instantly, and for a moment you saw a darkness behind his eyes that was intensely feral. All good humor was gone when he growled his response through gritted teeth, “I’ve never lied under oath, Counselor. I get convictions because I’m fuckin’ good. Not because I’m a fuckin’ lair.”

“That’s what I’ve heard about you, or I wouldn’t be here.” You refused to let his searing gaze force your eyes from his. “But you haven’t tried a murder case before. And you haven’t worked with this DA. I have, and I know how he plays. He’s a sleazy bastard.”

Flip didn’t respond to you, only maintaining his silent glare.

“Here’s how the DA will play it,” you continued evenly. “He’ll phrase his questions to you so that he’s asking you lies. All you have to do is say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ You won’t have to outright lie yourself, but you’ll be affirming his lies.” You leaned forward toward the large scowling man, fixing your eyes on his. “So, is it worth it to you? Is winning worth tarnishing your character? Your reputation, Zimmerman?”

“I’ve never had to lie to get what I want.” Flip’s tone was dark and aggressive now, all levity forgotten. Still, you wondered if the dual meaning behind his words was intentional.

You had hoped to end your conversation with some common niceties, but that was clearly not the mood Zimmerman was now in. Instead, you simply straightened, smoothing your jacket as you told him, “Glad to hear it, Detective. Have a pleasant weekend.”

Sitting in his chair with a scowl, Zimmerman listened to your heels click down the hallway as you left the station, leaving your scent to linger in his office.

*******************************************************************************************

The nearly full moon was just peaking over the snow crested mountains as Flip drove home to his cabin. It had been a long fuckin’ week and he was looking forward to getting a decent night’s sleep tonight before the full moon hit tomorrow. Now, that wasn’t going to fuckin’ happen. Thanks to you.

Even as he drove along the winding dirt roads, his cock was hard in his jeans. It was almost painful how hard he was throbbing, aching for relief. It made him growl in frustration, glare down the road ahead of him, and grip the steering wheel under his white knuckles.

Flip had kept himself in check for years. The last time he had allowed himself to succumb to his impulses, his needs, had been when he was in the military overseas. Those years had been the only time in his life when his condition had been an asset. Two tours, during which he could embrace the ferocity that dwelled within.

The beast had been caged for years. Restlessly waiting, just below the surface of Flip’s armored will, for a crack, a moment of weakness, a lapse in self-control, for an opportunity to break loose and howl at the moon, red in tooth and claw.

The full moon was always rough. The nights were the worst. But Flip could manage. He was strong and focused, and always always in control. He could keep himself in check.

Flip had worked undercover for years. He was damned good at it. It helped him cope, made him stronger. It was his job to hide his real identity, to assume the role of some lowlife or criminal. It made it easier to keep the rest of himself hidden as well, buried so deep that he almost forgot himself at times. He almost forgot the beast that could consume him, commandeer his every sense and use his body to raze mayhem and terror.

Then, Flip got promoted to Head Detective in the homicide unit. Crime scenes deliciously painted in bleeding arabesque mosaics. Bodies rendered into macabre contortions, sickeningly beautiful. The smell alone was consuming. It all made the beast inside him boil with bloodlust. Keeping himself constrained, maintaining a facade of civility, took all the willpower he possessed. He felt like an alcoholic working as a bartender or coke addict stuck in the evidence room.

During his recent months in homicide, he had developed some coping mechanisms. He hated them all, but they were necessary. He had taken to keeping a handkerchief smeared with Vix in his pocket to cover his nose and mouth like a fuckin’ dandy when the smells were too sweetly overwhelming. Sunglasses that tinged everything a cool blue helped slightly with concealing the crimson beauty of all the blood.

Still, Flip had maintained, held onto the remaining threads of his control. Until today. Until he met you. When he saw you from a distance while you talked to Ron at the station. When you had come into his office, the most drop-dead gorgeous woman he had ever seen, the thick haze of your scent surrounding you with a sweet ambient ecstasy. He sat there, behind his desk, paralyzed by his half hard cock that he struggled to hide from you. You made every primal instinct he had thrum with a vigor he had never felt before, alighting all his senses. It took everything he had to keep his demeanor steady as he was on the verge of erupting. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep his ass seated in that chair and not lunge at you, rip your pretty clothes apart, and fuck you over his desk right fuckin’ there.

What a fuckin’ curse. As if his condition wasn’t enough for him rein in, enough of a constant daily battle, he had to be so susceptible, so easily consumed by you. And a fuckin’ defense lawyer to boot. You were so damned beautiful, your face, your hair, your eyes, your luscious body. But, above all, it was your scent that did it. Your heady perfumed scent pushed him over the edge. Something he couldn’t place, but like nothing he had smelled before. You smelled like electric ecstasy in his nose. It hit him like a fuckin’ truck, blindsiding him and sending him reeling. And he was hooked. It was a high he knew he would be imprisoned to chase until he had you, until he could be surrounded by that scent for as long as it took to satisfy him.

Kicking up dust as Flip parked in his driveway, he angrily slammed his door closed once he stepped out of his truck and stalked into his cabin. Throwing his keys on his counter, he kicked the door shut behind him.

Walking to his couch, Flip sat down heavily with a huff. Smoothing his hands over his thick thighs, he slouched into the cushions, pushing his hips out.

Everything about him was alert and on edge. All of his senses buzzed. Every sight, sound, and smell flooded him. His cock strained against his zipper, wanting so badly to fuck into something. To fuck into you. He was on fire at the mere thought of you.

Suddenly too hot, Flip unbuttoned his flannel and flung it open, letting the cool air hit his chest. Sweat beaded on his brow, a few drops slipping down his temples. It bloomed on his chest too, covering his torso in a light sheen and dripping down between his pecs. He couldn’t remember ever being this revved up by nothing more than the thought of a woman. Sitting for a minute, he glared ahead, burning a hole into his wall with his murderous gaze. His jaw clenched and the veins in his neck stood out with his frustration.

He was pissed. Mad as hell that you had such an effect on him without even trying. You hadn’t even flirted with him for fuck’s sake. He’d had women sitting on his lap, rubbing their bare tits in his face, on their knees, naked and begging for him to stuff his cock down their throats, and he didn’t get this painfully hard, this fucked up over it.

Growling in frustration, Flip unzipped his jeans, pushing them and his black briefs down below his cock.

Flip’s cock was huge, long and girthy. It now curved upward reaching almost to his belly button as it begged for attention, thick veins pulsing along its length. He glared at it angrily as the thick tip beaded with precum.

Spitting into his palm, he leaned his head back against his couch. Wrapping his hand around his base, Flip groaned at the sensation.

Closing his eyes, Flip pictured you. Not the way he had seen you today, poised and chic. He pictured you utterly destroyed. Your hair wild, makeup smeared, marks from his fingers and mouth blooming on your skin, sweat and cum shining on your thighs as you writhed beneath him.

He moved his hand down to squeeze his balls against his base as he pictured himself licking the slick from your thighs as he made his way up to your pussy. He gave himself a few pumps as he imagined how good you would taste. He had never smelled anything as sweet as you and he fuckin’ knew that your pussy would be delicious. He imagined the taste of your cum on his tongue as he tugged his cock harder.

Moving his hand to the head of his cock, he gripped himself tight and slid his fist down to his base. He imagined he was thrusting into your tight little pussy. You’d be so hot and dripping wet for him. Your pussy would grip his cock so fuckin’ tight, like it never wanted him to pull it out again.

Flip’s hand increased its pace, pumping up and down the length of his cock roughly as his chest heaved with his huffed breaths.

He pictured how your mouth would drop open when he started slamming his cock against your gspot. He could hear you telling him to fuck you harder as your nails clawed lines down his back. The only sounds would be your moans and wet squelch of his cock pumping in and out of you.

Picturing his fantasy, his hips bucked as he fucked his fist. His balls tightened as his cock throbbed harder. He knew that he’d be able to smell your arousal. He imagined it now. The smells you’d cloud him in, sweeter than any perfume, as he made you quiver with pleasure.

Flip bit into his lip at the thought so hard that a drop of blood plumed under his teeth.

Gripping his cock even tighter, he imagined it was your pussy clenching him as you came around him, shouting his name.

That thought pushed him over the edge. His abs tensed and his thighs flexed while he bucked his hips and his cock pulsed in his tight fist. A low growl rumbled through his chest as thick ropes of hot cum pumped from his cock out onto his sweaty chest.

Stroking his cock for a minute more, he squeezed a few more drops from the leaking head as his breathing slowed.

Finally dropping his hand, Flip leaned back against the couch. His thoughts were still consumed with you. He had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted you. And he would have you.

He knew he couldn’t have you just yet. Not this weekend, anyway. He also knew that for the first time in years, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself restrained during this full moon. That the beast was going to be unleashed again.

*******************************************************************************************

Part II

Flip couldn’t sleep. Heat from his body wafted in the air and his skin felt like it was burning enough to melt away from his bones. Pinpricks danced along his spine and every part of him ached with a hunger for you that he was rapidly losing his strength to restrain. Pale light from the full moon shone in his bedroom window. Turning his face to his window, he levelled the moon with his most murderous glare.

It didn’t help at all that his head was still filled with images of you. That his nose was still filled with your intoxicating scent. Normally, he was so well composed. It was always a bitch keeping himself restrained, but never anything he couldn’t handle. But now, with you fogging his every sense, and images of what he wanted to do to you consuming his every thought, he just wanted to fuckin’ unleash. His iron will was failing him quickly. Too quickly.

He knew with macabre certainty that he wouldn’t be able to keep the beast caged as the moon rose higher.

Making his decision, Flip stumbled from his bed. The sweating and the headaches had already begun as he pulled on his least favorite jeans and his rattiest plaid shirt. His throat was dry from a thirst he could never quench as he made his way to his front door, snatching his keys off the counter.

The engine on his truck screamed as he peeled out of his driveway, trying to outrun your scent that still followed him, surrounding him even as he drove deeper into the moonlit mountains.

Ranchers ran unfenced cattle in the mountains. Flip knew the area well. It was miles deeper into the wilderness than his cabin. Once a week or so they rode in on horseback to check on the cattle. That would be the perfect place, Flip thought. The perfect place to let the beast out. A few cattle instead of a few people would be slaughtered in a place likely to go unnoticed for an extended period. Even then, ranchers may ascribe the slaughter to a crazed mountain lion or bear, neither of which were too out of the ordinary.

While there might be better places, this was not too far, and he felt his resistance weakening. Like a crumbling wall, the urgency gnawed at him, an itch he would soon have to scratch. Lives depended on him reaching a suitable location and outlet.

Before it was too late.

Before he truly became consumed by the monster that lurked beneath his skin. Before the bone snapping and popping and stretching began. He could feel it growing more intense with each mile, the hunger.

The taste of blood was already on his tongue; his own, as his gums bled where his fangs began to protrude. He didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that his eyes had already turned from a warm amber to a crisp fearsome yellow.

Speeding down the winding dirt road, he felt control slipping from his grasp. Ahead, he saw the trees thin into a wooded meadow. Cattle graze docilely across the grassy sea. Flip did his best to pull his truck off the road where it would be hidden from any unlikely passersby. He had barely slammed his truck into park when he felt the last of his control slip away through his clawed fingertips.

It was always a searing pain like no other when the beast tore out of him. A growling, roiling, mass of fur, claws, fangs, and blood. Immensely bigger, stronger, faster, than any man, the beast charged out of the open door of Flip’s truck. A black lupine animal racing through trees and brush toward his prey with a deep rumbling snarl.

The man in him was not all gone, not completely. There was still an intelligence, an awareness but, just as when he is human, the wolf in him was mostly caged, mostly suppressed; so too, when he was a wolf, the human in him was mostly caged, mostly suppressed.

When he reached the cows in the tall grass on the side of the mountain, only a small part of him could distinguish the ranchers on horseback from the cattle grazing in the meadow.

As fast as a bullet and just as deadly, Flip shot out of the trees, his shining golden eyes locked onto his preferred prey: the mounted men. Flip charged at the men on horseback. The men themselves didn’t even see their deaths running full tilt toward them. But their horses did. Stomping and circling in place, necks straining against the reins, snorting nervously, the two horses sensed the predator barreling toward them. If the men had been more attentive to the reactions of their animals, they may have lived. Even a werewolf cannot outrun a fast horse. One man cursed his horse as the animal spun in place, squealing with fear, as Flip closed in. The man finally saw Flip when he lunged from the trees at his side. The human part of Flip registered the look of terror on the man’s features and balked; the beast saw the same emotion and surged ahead with excitement. Flip tackled the man off the other side of his horse, his powerful jaw clenching around the man’s throat before he hit the ground. Ripping the man’s neck apart, Flip rose from his kill in the same violent motion to attack the remaining man, who was reaching to draw his gun. Charging from his place over the body, Flip jumped to the other man. The horse reared as Flip’s claws dug into the man’s chest, ripping deeply into the meat of his torso as he viciously yanked the man off his horse. Both horses bolted away as Flip tore the man’s chest apart. Blood splashed his face and chest, as he chewed at the mangled flesh. The smell in his nose and the taste on his tongue was another form of ecstasy to him. The second purest rush he could ever imagine. Second only to what he imagined with you. Crimson glimmered in the moonlight on Flip’s face and throat, dripping from his mouth and chin, when he raised his head to look up at the full moon that cursed him so. *******************************************************************************************

Monday mornings at the courthouse were always rife with gossip. Most of the local cops and lawyers had business in the courthouse on Monday’s. Everyone was in a rush to be on time for eight am court proceedings that are not only stacked one on top of another, but never start on time. It’s a rush to wait around in a hallway amid a crowd of people who are high on caffeine and stress after having spent a weekend dealing either with paperwork or criminals respectively, sometimes both. It was in this setting, as you sipped your coffee and talked with Stallworth and a new public defender, that you heard the news. You were shocked to learn about the horrific murders that occurred over the weekend. Two ranch hands had been butchered and literally torn apart. Detectives in the murder unit, Stallworth informed you, were even unsure as to whether it was the work of a killer or if it was the result of a wild animal mauling. Stallworth was called into court before giving you all the details. You made a mental note to ask Zimmerman about it. He was the new head of the murder unit after all. And he was due in court with you this morning for a suppression hearing. Today, the judge would listen to you, the district attorney, and Detective Zimmerman as the state’s witness, to decide if the confession your client made directly to Zimmerman himself would be admissible in court or thrown out. The larger issue of the murder case itself would essentially be decided today. The murder trial was scheduled for this coming Thursday, so today was of great importance to everyone involved. Just as you thought of the devil himself, he appeared. You saw the tall, impressive frame of Detective Zimmerman turn the corner of the hallway, walking right toward you. He wasn’t dressed casually today, no flannel and jeans. He was wearing a slim fitting sharp black suit and crisp white shirt for court, his hair jostling around his shoulders in time with his confident swagger as he walked to you. You couldn’t help but stare as he approached you, struck by how handsome he looked. His cocky smirk was on full display when he closed his final few steps to you. You looked good yourself, in a suit dress and tailored blazer designed to tastefully showcase your best curves, paired with painful heels. You found yourself hoping Zimmerman noticed the effort you had put into your appearance this morning. A rush of excitement ran the length of your spine when your eyes met with his honey-toned gaze.

Approaching until he stood just a little too close in front of you, the Detective extended his enormous hand to you in greeting, his eyes never leaving yours.

As you reached to shake his hand with a smile, you were jolted from your reverie by an unwanted hand placing itself on your shoulder. Whipping your head to the side, you were met with your adversary.

“Miss,” interrupted the prosecutor, Terrence Carmichael, who was the embodiment of a good ole boy and had the southern drawl to prove it. He was tall, blonde, and just as much of a douchebag as his name would indicate.

“Gentlemen,” you greeted them both professionally, tendering Carmichael a quick plastic smile before returning your attention to Zimmerman with genuine interest and a genuine smile to match. You felt a pang of regret that the warmer greeting you had intended for Zimmerman had been interrupted.

The sleazy prosecutor had been chasing after you like a starving dog after a meat wagon for weeks, his advances insistent. After having rebuffed him at every humiliating turn, his demeanor had now become something of a feeble attempt at suave puffery.

Keeping his hand on your shoulder as he stepped too far into your personal space, Carmichael made a point of stretching to his full height of 6’1” in an attempt to loom over you and either impress or intimidate you. His intent hardly mattered. He had neither effect on you. His behavior did have an affect on Zimmerman, however, whose eyes darkened and narrowed, fixed on Carmichael.

“This motion to suppress of yours,” Carmichael began, looking down at you, his eyes lingering pointedly long over your breasts, “is a waste of time. I’m willing to take the death penalty off the table and let him do life in prison, if he wants to plea.”

Nothing about Carmichael’s display sat right with Zimmerman, whose clenching jaw and dangerous glare at the prosecutor went unnoticed. Unfortunately, he could hardly do much about it in this setting. Instead, Zimmerman moved his imposingly large body further into both of your personal spaces, stretching up to his full towering height of just over 6’4.”

Conspicuously, Zimmerman lowered his own eyes to focus on Carmichael’s chest, his brow furrowed in mock consternation, chewing his lip, as he quipped, “Has it been that long since you’ve seen a pair?”

Your eyes moved to Zimmerman’s as you flashed him an amused grin, earning a dissatisfied huff from the prosecutor.

Carmichael cast a sideways sneer at Zimmerman as he spoke to you, “Do you want to up the stakes, Counselor? Take me up on that dinner I’ve offered you when I win today, and I’ll leave my plea offer open until we see how our evening together ends.”

“Oh, I’d rather prefer a seat on death row next to my client over a seat next to you at dinner,” you retorted with an icy smile.

“Now, now missy, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Carmichael’s voice was as oily as his hair. “You’re playing with the big boys now. Real cases. Real stakes. You’re not fighting over whether mommy or daddy can have spring break with their brats. Lives hang in the balance here. And I’m the wrong man to offend.”

For a moment, you thought you heard Zimmerman growl low in his chest. Whether or not he actually growled, such a sound would have matched his expression. He looked as though he wanted to punch the other man’s teeth through his leering mouth with the huge fists that hung clenched at his side.

Flattering though it was that Zimmerman was so riled on your behalf, you didn’t need a man, even a large handsome one, to handle your affairs for you. Part of being an attorney is showing you have grit, that you can’t be bullied or intimidated. And you certainly wouldn’t be.

“If you’re so easily offended, Carmichael, perhaps you’re the one who’s not cut out to swim with the sharks,” you said coolly, your eyes holding his in a steely gaze. “My panties are just fine. But you should see to your own pants. They seem a little light in the front to me.”

Glancing to Zimmerman who was now appraising you with a sideways smirk. He moved to open the door to the courtroom, holding it open for you as you walked in.

The media was waiting inside the courtroom, along with a small audience who were following the murder case proceedings closely. You felt a rush of adrenaline and a simultaneous wave of excitement and nerves. Any nervousness had evaporated by the time you had walked through the courtroom to your seat at the defense table. This is one reason you loved doing criminal law. The show.

You took a seat next to your client, a large heavily tattooed man whose inky designs ran the length of his arms, the grith of his neck, and trailed up onto his shaved scalp. He was dressed in jailhouse orange, having just been transported from the jail to the courthouse for this hearing. He greeted you like you were his best friend, shaking your hand and even complimenting your shoes. A far cry from the man you knew had beaten his girlfriend and several other women to death with a tire iron. But it wasn’t your job to care about such things. It was only your job to win.

Once the Judge took the bench and dispatched with pleasantries, Zimmerman was the first witness to be called to the stand. Your eyes followed him as he walked through the courtroom, appreciating just how wide his shoulders really were as his back was to you.

You swore Zimmerman’s eyes lingered on you as he was sworn in and that they didn’t leave you until the prosecutor began questioning him.

Watching Zimmerman, you found your mind wandering as the prosecutor droned through the necessary foundational questions with Zimmerman. You imagined yourself far away from a courtroom in another setting with Zimmerman. You imagined peeling off that tailored suit of his while his huge hands tore your own clothes away. You imagined his black hair falling around both of your faces as he hovered close over you and you imagined running your fingers through it.

Eventually the prosecutor began to ask Zimmerman the critical line of questions.

“Detective,” Carmichael leaned over the podium for effect. “We’ve seen the interview at the station where the defendant confessed to you. But prior to the interview at the station, did the Defendant meet and speak with you at his office?”

“Yes, he sure did.” Zimmerman’s voice was deep and confident.

You listened closely now, watching the Detective. You knew Carmichael’s game. He would lob Yes or No questions to Zimmerman, setting him up to lie just enough to win, but not enough to get caught in the same lies. That was Carmichael’s game and he was good at it. And most cops didn’t care enough to be honest in the face of an easy lie that wins their case.

“Before the Defendant spoke with you there, did you advise him of his Miranda Rights?” Carmichael asked.

“Of course,” Zimmerman replied, looking bored.

“After you advised the Defendant of his Miranda rights, did you threaten the Defendant with physical force if he didn’t speak with you?” Carmichael asked, checking questions off his notes as he went.

“No,” Zimmerman said flatly.

“And you didn’t use physical force, correct?” Carmichael looked at the judge pointedly with his question.

“Objection,” you exclaimed. “Leading.”

Before the Judge ruled, Carmichael continued, “Let me ask it this way, ‘Did you touch the Defendant?’”

Zimmerman’s eyes narrowed as he looked squarely at Carmichael, considering the man. You wondered if this ‘straight’ cop was going to do the cop thing and fudge just enough to skirt the law.

“Yes,” Zimmerman answered clearly.

Carmichael was visibly flustered, frustrated by his answer. “Let me ask you this, did you shake his hand and invite him to talk with you at the police station?”

“Yes,” Zimmerman again answered curtly. Whatever Zimmerman was doing, he had not answered the questions the way the prosecutor wanted.

“And the Defendant did in fact meet you at the police station a short time later, correct?” Carmichael glared at Zimmerman as he continued. “Where he then confessed?”

“Correct. You have the video,” the Detective replied with a smirk.

“Did you ever threaten the Defendant to speak to you?” Carmichael finished.

“No.” Zimmerman said flatly.

Finished with Zimmerman, the prosecutor passed the witness.

Zimmerman’s eyes followed you as you walked to the podium. His lips were set in a hard line, but you swore his eyes were smiling at you when you looked up to him.

“Detective,” you greeted him pleasantly. “You’ve testified that you shook the Defendant’s hand in a non-violent, non-threatening manner, correct?”

“That’s right,” he answered without taking his eyes from yours.

“So then, Detective.” You held his amber eyes with yours as you questioned him. “At any other point, did you touch the Defendant or make some sort of contact with him that would cause the Defendant to feel threatened or intimidated? “

Zimmerman paused for a moment, his eyes boring steadily into yours. “I sure did, Counselor.”

He now had the full attention of the courtroom. You saw the prosecutor squirm.

“Please describe the contact that threatened him or intimidated him?” you asked, gifting him a smile as a reward for his unexpected honesty.

“I grabbed him by the collar,” Zimmerman explained matter-of-factly, “And threw him against the door to his office.”

“What did you say, if anything?” you asked cautiously.

“I told him that I didn’t care if he talked or not. His choice.” Zimmerman’s voice had lowered to something like a growl. “But I don’t like big men who beat up their women, and one way or another I’m gonna put his sorry ass in prison or in the electric chair. That I’ll be there watchin’ when he’s fried.”

It was your turn to pause, stunned that he had been so honest. “So, you certainly would agree that you threatened him?”

“You’re damn right, I threatened him.” Zimmerman crossed his long legs as he sat. “But I didn’t threaten him into talkin’ to me. That’s different. I didn’t coerce him.”

“Really, Detective?” you pressed with an amused smile as you pictured the hulking man manhandling your client. “When you threw him against the door, you don’t think that intimidated him?”

“Oh, I’m sure it did.” Zimmerman leaned forward as he spoke. “Frankly, I’d be disappointed if it didn’t. He thinks he’s a big tough guy when he’s beatin’ women. I thought he should see what it feels like to have a bigger tougher guy scare the hell outta him.” Zimmerman grinned at you. “But talkin’ with me and confessing was his own idea.”

You smiled genuinely at Zimmerman before telling the Judge you had finished.

After, you and Carmichael made your legal arguments to the Judge. The Judge ruled in your favor, excluding your client’s statements to Detective Zimmerman. Excluding the only piece of evidence the state had.

Carmichael glared at you as he collected his things. You couldn’t resist telling him, “I hope your panties aren’t too bunched up now.”

Walking behind you out of the courtroom, Zimmerman extended his long arm ahead of you to push the door open for you. Once in the hallway, you turned to face him.

“Honest enough for you?” Zimmerman asked with a crooked smile.

“I’m impressed, Detective,” you replied pleasantly, although your voice sounded much coyer than you intended.

“I’m impressive in lots of ways, Counselor,” he told you playfully.

“Will I have to get you under oath again to get you to tell me about them?” you asked with a laugh.

“I’m due for a stronger coffee after that hearing.” Zimmerman nodded in the vague direction of a coffee shop. “Care to join me, Counselor?”

“I wish I could, really, but I’m stuck here most of the day.” You smiled genuinely. “I’d love a rain check, though, Flip.”

Smiling broadly at your use of his first name, Flip excused himself on the promise of seeing you again in a more pleasant context. You smiled as you watched his broad shoulders and confident stride as he walked away.

*******************************************************************************************

Tuesday found you shut away in your office, mired in paperwork as you prepared for the murder trial you were now able to win, which was scheduled for Thursday. Two days. Not enough time to squeeze all the last-minute facts and details you wanted into your head. No matter how prepared you were, the last few days leading up to a big trial were always spent trying to cram every available piece of minutiae into your overloaded mind.

You were working through lunch when your door creaked open.

Looking up from your cluttered mountain of paperwork, you were met with the sight of Flip’s shaggy head poking around your door.

“Counselor,” he announced, his voice soothing, deep and friendly. “I hope it’s alright for me to barge in. Your secretary’s out to lunch, so I thought I’d just go ahead and come back here.”

“Do you have a legal question, Detective?” you teased, smirking up at him from your seat behind your desk. “My best advice is ‘never speak to the police.’”

“Cute, Counselor,” Flip huffed as he pushed your door open to step inside.

Watching him enter your office lightened your mood markedly. His chest strained the top buttons on his red and black flannel shirt. His long, black wavy hair bounced a little with each stride.

Your smile widened when he sat a coffee from your favorite place down on your desk, holding his own in his large grasp.

“I’m takin’ you up on that rain check,” he explained as he smoothly lowered himself to a chair in front of your desk. Ever the detective, his eyes scanned the room as he crossed one long leg over the other.

“How’d you know I’d need extra coffee today?” You smiled fondly at him.

“That’s one thing cops and lawyers have in common,” he said as he leaned back in the chair with a grin. “Caffeine addictions.”

The lunch hour flew by as your coffees drained. Flip was in good humor and conversation flowed pleasantly between you. So much so that you wished you could spend hours more in the company of the handsome detective.

Draining the final drops from his coffee, he leveled you with a serious expression.

“I wanted you to know that I don’t condone the way that prosecutor treated you. I wanted to slam his ass against the wall right there, just like I did to your fuckin’ client.” His voice was thick and gritty, his eyes burning into yours. “I don’t play that way. Sleazy. I might be a bastard, but I’m not a sleaze. And I’m not dirty.”

“I never thought you were, Flip.” You smiled softly at him with your words.

“Is there anything you want to ask me before trial?” Flip asked, his grin returning. “I’ll tell you straight.”

“I think I got everything I needed out of you the other day,” you said casually.

“Most lawyers ask about my background.” Flip cocked his head to the side as he watched you.

“Ex-Special Forces, two tours of combat duty, college educated. Impressive resume,” you mused with a smile. “You forget that Stallworth is a buddy of mine. He talks about you like you’re dating.”

Flip huffed a laugh in response, but his eyes beamed with pride upon hearing that you had cared to learn about him. “I’ll bet he didn’t tell you about the records I hold inside the Department.”

“Marksmanship? I’ve heard,” you said nonchalantly.

“There’s that one,” he agreed with a smirk. “I also hold the record for most referrals to sensitivity training.”

You raised an amused eyebrow in response as you sipped your coffee.

“It didn’t take.” Flip winked at you with his quip.

You felt a flush of warmth creep into your cheeks, trying to keep yourself from smiling giddily at the handsome man.

“Nothin’ else you’re curious about, huh?” he asked as he toyed with the lid of his coffee cup, tracing its rim with his thick fingers.

“Oh, I certainly didn’t say that,” you replied coyly.

“Is that curiosity about me gonna go away if you lose this case Thursday?” His tone remained light, but his expression grew more serious.

“I don’t think there’s much chance of either of those things happening,” you teased him. “I don’t lose, Flip.”

“Yeah?” He almost laughed. “It’s gonna be the first time for one of us.”

“I wish I could tell you that I’ll be gentle for your first time, but I can’t make any promises.” You smiled around a sip of coffee.

Flip’s smile became a wolfish grin at your words, mischief shimmering in his eyes.

“Alright, then. How about the loser buys drinks after the verdict Thursday?” Flip asked, raising his eyebrows with his question.

“Deal,” you agreed, lifting your coffee in a cheers.

*******************************************************************************************

The trial began at eight am Thursday morning, meaning that the attorneys and the witnesses were required to arrive at court prior to that. You pulled your coat more tightly around you in response to the frosty morning chill as you walked from your car to the courthouse doors. Flip and some other cops were approaching the doors as well. Flip took a few long hasty steps to reach the doors first and hold one open for you. Smiling at him as you entered the courthouse, you again admired the chic fit of his suit and the powerful body it covered. You didn’t see Flip’s eyes follow you as you walked ahead of him, lingering on your waist and shapely ass as you moved.

As the lead Detective, Flip was obliged to sit at the table with the sleazebag prosecutor during the trial. All day. Some prosecutors are alright, he thought. Some attorneys are alright. Hell, some attorneys are even better than alright, he smiled to himself at the thought of you.

And goddamn you were stunning. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It didn’t help that you were wearing a fuckin’ pencil skirt that hugged your waist and ass, or that your silky blouse failed to conceal the bounce of your tits when you moved. He had no fuckin’ idea a woman could look so professional and so seductive at the same time. He was also acutely aware of all the other eyes in the courtroom that were on you. It made his pulse pound like war drums in his ears and his jaw flex and clench with a possessiveness he had no right to feel.

The impulse to claim you for his own was unlike anything Flip had ever felt before, to be able to show the world that you were his. It didn’t help that he could smell you from the very moment you had walked into the courthouse ahead of him. That succulent scent of yours hit him like a kick to the head. It consumed him instantly, making it almost impossible to focus on anything that wasn’t you. He hadn’t been able to get the thoughts of you out of his mind since his first meeting with you, and it had only grown more intense.

At least, Flip was confident now that you felt something for him too. He saw the sideways glances you gave him and the way you smiled at him more genuinely than he had seen you smile at anyone else. He knew that you had agreed to have a drink with him after the trial because you wanted more time with him too. But, fuck, it was hard for him to be patient and restrained when he wanted nothing more than to rip your pretty clothes off right now, bend you over the defense table, and fuck you right in front of the whole courtroom.

Flip wanted to win, and he knew your client was guilty as hell. He also knew that he was probably going to lose after you got your client’s confession suppressed. It should have enraged him, the idea of that guilty piece of shit walking free. But Flip found that instead of anger, he felt excitement at seeing you in action, at being able to watch you walk around in your curve-hugging pencil skirt all day. He had never before met a woman ballsy enough to go toe to toe with him. But you were, and the thought alone excited him.

However, as much as Flip looked forward to having a front row seat to your performance, he did not look forward to being cross-examined by you. You were going to beat up the prosecution’s case and he would be your punching bag.

Hours passed before Carmichael called Flip to the witness stand. When called, Flip stood up tall, his chest protruding as he walked. Acknowledging the jury with a polite nod and flipping his ebony hair back, he walked confidently to the witness stand, his stride just a beat short of a strut.

Flip answered the prosecutor’s questions easily, his eyes roving to you more often than they should have. When the prosecutor was finished with Flip, it was your turn. He thought that he was mentally prepared for the spanking you were about to give him on cross examination, smirking at his own mental image.

As you moved to the podium to begin your line of questioning, his amber eyes swayed with your hips, as if your walk alone could hypnotize him. He was careless with his thoughts, let his guard slip just enough for the part of him that he always tried to repress to break through the surface. It caused his senses to sharpen and expand. Every sense aggressively focused on you.

In that moment, Flip knew he had fucked up.

Standing at the podium, you were closer to him now, your scent wafting like a fog inside his head, causing his cock to surge with lust, swelling inside his slim-fitting suit pants. Before anyone could see, he quickly crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap as if he were simply listening intently.

He was boiling inside, as your scent slipped into his nose and coiled around his cock. His hunger for you hit him in overwhelming waves. His senses and his body were on fire, right there in the fuckin’ courtroom. He could feel the taste of you. You were delicious, a feast that he would kill to consume.

The subtle stress that made his deep voice crack while answering your questions, that made him clear his throat, cued you in that something was wrong. You saw the way he shifted in his chair and the way he looked at the jurors instead of you, all while keeping his large hands over his lap.

“Detective,” you began, smiling evilly at Flip. “Murder cases excite you, don’t they?”

Flip’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as they shot to yours.

“You’re excited right now,” you continued, eyeing him up and down. “Tell us, in how many other murder cases have you had a hard on for an innocent defendant?”

Flip’s glare held an amused edge that you noted pointedly. He didn’t mind the public scene in the least. He opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted.

“Objection,” squawked the prosecutor, not allowing Flip to respond.

“Withdrawn” you responded, still smiling at Flip. “Pass the witness.”

Luckily, the shock of your question helped his cock calm down enough to prevent it from tenting his pants, but it was still certainly more noticeable than usual as he stepped down from the stand. The way you watched Flip return to the prosecution’s table didn’t go unnoticed. Smiling smugly to himself, Flip felt your eyes following him.

The judge called lunch when Flip stepped down from the stand. Good, Flip thought. He needed a fuckin’ break.

Flip watched you lead your scumbag client into a conference room, closing the door behind you. The guard asked you if you needed him inside with you and the man you all knew had murdered at least six women, but you assured him politely that you did not. Flip admired that you had the nerve for that. He knew that even your prick client would never try anything to his lawyer and you were in no actual danger, but he also knew that even most of the men lawyers would have armed guards accompany them when they shut themselves into a room with a dangerous criminal.

It gave him a fun idea.

Walking to the conference room, Flip pushed the door open without knocking to find you and your client seated at a table. The defendant visibly jolted at the sight of Flip stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. Your lips formed an amused smile as Flip leaned his back against the door, crossing his arms over his expansive chest.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Your client asked you as he eyed Flip.

“Don’t worry, she’ll protect you,” Flip gritted, staring the other man down.

“I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me after I cross examined you, Flip.” You smiled up at him.

“That’s the first time you’ve been dead wrong all day.” Flip raised both eyebrows in mock surprise. “I’d like to talk to you more actually. Over lunch.”

Your smile widened as the defendant squirmed in his seat, eyes darting between you and Flip.

“I have to discuss some tactics with my client, so I won’t have time to go anywhere.” Rising from your seat, you took a step closer to Flip. “But, if you feel like picking something up for us, we could enjoy it together when you get back.”

“Wait, are you fucking the cop?” The defendant asked aggressively.

Looking back over your shoulder toward him, unruffled, you replied. “If you want to piss me off, you should probably wait to do it until after I’ve won your case.”

When you returned your eyes to Flip, he was glaring intensely at your client, which only made your smile widen. Returning his attention to you, Flip took a moment to take in the sight and scent of you. Standing this close to him in an enclosed room, your presence was almost overwhelming, especially when he could get hard again so easily just from inhaling you.

“Give me ten minutes,” Flip’s voice boomed in the small space as he turned to leave.

*******************************************************************************************

When Flip arrived back at the courthouse you were waiting outside, getting some air after being inside the stuffy courthouse all morning. You walked to meet him at his truck as he parked. You both knew that, although you would both get a pass, it was generally prohibited to bring any food into the courthouse. Instead, you climbed in the passenger side of Flip’s truck.

He had gotten you both a cheeseburger and fries from a nearby diner. Options close to court were limited, but it was a favorite of lawyers and cops alike.

“So, how do you think the trial’s going?” You asked playfully as you sat closer than necessary next to Flip in his truck.

“You just have to rub it in, don’t you?” Flip huffed as he took another bite. You didn’t shy away when he rested his huge hand on your knee.

Lunch was over far too quickly. Although you enjoyed stepping out of Flip’s truck and walking side by side with him back into the courthouse in full view of the seething prosecutor.

The rest of the trial was all downhill for you. The confession was the case and, with it thrown out, you were poised to win as long as you didn’t screw up. Flip was the only person smooth enough to give you a problem and he had said his piece already.

Both lawyers gave their closings. Jurors nodded along with you as you spoke, and sat silently and judgmentally when they watched Carmichael speak. Once finished, the Judge released the jury to deliberate and the rest of you to wait.

Waiting for the jury to return with a verdict could take anywhere from minutes to hours. During that time, the lawyers and the judge had to wait at the courthouse. Everyone else, including Flip, was free to go. Surprisingly, you found Flip leaning against the wall in one of the long hallways near a private room used to house witnesses.

“You’re still here?” You asked as you approached him, your heels clicking on the tile.

“I need to know who’s buyin’ the drinks later.” Flip smirked at you.

“I hope you’re not going to be a sore loser,” you teased.

Flip’s smirk turned more serious as he slowly, pointedly reached one of his hands to your waist. His hand rested there gently as his eyes flitted to your lips. His fingers at your back softly coaxed you closer to him, but you hardly needed the extra encouragement. Stepping closer, you placed both of your hands on the plane of his large chest.

Leaning down slowly, Flip’s eyes held yours, watching for any cues that you wanted him to stop. Seeing nothing but desire mirroring his own, he brought his lips to yours. He felt you melt against him when he kissed you softly. After a few moments, his grip on your waist tightened as his tongue delved into your mouth. You couldn’t keep from groaning at the sensation. Your hands moved to fist the lapels of his suit jacket as he kissed you deeply, pulling yourself flush against his body.

Flip advanced toward you, still kissing you aggressively, pushing you down the hallway toward the private witness room. Knowing what he intended, you grinned against his lips as you kissed him, pulling him with you as you backed toward the door just as much as he pushed you ahead. Inside the small room was nothing but a table and chairs. Once inside, he slammed the door behind him and pushed your jacket off your shoulders.

Wrapping one powerful arm around your waist, he lifted you easily to sit on the table without breaking his kiss. Your legs fell open, allowing Flip to stand between them. You began unbuttoning his dress shirt as he shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor.

Once free of his jacket, he planted his huge hands on the table on either side of you, caging you inside his arms as he leaned in to recapture your lips. Your arms looped around his thick neck as his tongue teased into your mouth. Flip trailed his lips from yours down to kiss along your neck. You were powerless against his name falling from your lips in a sigh from the rush of pleasure he gave you.

A sharp knock on the door startled you both. Pushing himself off the table, Flip opened the door with a scowl, blocking any view of you with his enormous frame.

“We got a verdict,” the bailiff told him. It was both of your cues to head back to the courtroom, after you took a few minutes to fix your makeup while Flip smirked at you.

Back in the courtroom, you all stood at your respective tables when the Judge read the Not Guilty verdict. It was met with mostly sneers and boos, but an isolated few, including yourself and your client, were elated at your victory.

Looking over to the prosecution’s table, you saw Carmichael, slumped and pathetic, wearing a bitter frown as he glared at you. Beside him, Flip looked at you too. He should have been upset himself, that your client would be back out on the streets that night. Instead, you were met with a nod of approval and a look of pride shining in his eyes for you.

It was dark when the two of you finally left the courthouse for the day. Flip walked you to your car, holding the door open as you lowered yourself into the driver’s seat.

“Are we still on for drinks? Looks, like I’m buyin,’ beautiful.” Flip smiled down at you.

“Lead the way,” you affirmed.

*******************************************************************************************

Thursday evening found you in a corner table, sitting across from Flip. Both of your suit jackets were draped over the backs of your chairs. Leaning toward each other, you talked pleasantly over two plates of mostly eaten shared appetizers of nachos and sliders. Several rounds of celebratory shots of Jack Daniels had already been slammed. You had been at the table for nearly three hours, the minutes flying by, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company as the hour grew too late too fast.

The restaurant would be kicking you out all too soon. Judging by the way that Flip looked at you and the way your heart fluttered in response, neither of you wanted the evening to end so soon. Flip ordered a final round of shots as he paid the tab.

Whiskey still burned in your throat from the last shot but only half as much as Flip’s eyes burned into yours. He reached to your hand that rested on the table, taking it gently in his, and slowly raised it to his plush lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he kissed your knuckles. He then brushed his coarse goatee along the back of your hand, trailing hot breath on your skin as he placed a few delicate kisses. Turning your hand over in his own, he placed a final lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist at your pulse, stroking the sensitive skin there with his large nose as he nuzzled into you, inhaling you deeply. His lips curled into a pleasant half-smile and his eyelids hung low as he took in your scent.

Returning your hand to the table, still held in his giant one, he stroked a calloused thumb along the back of your hand as his fingers teased the underside of your wrist and palm.

All your words left you in that moment, a rare condition for you.

“I think we’re about to be evicted,” Flip drawled.

“I think you’re right,” you agreed.

“Are you alright to drive, Counselor?” Flip asked, still stroking your hand with his thumb. “I’ll take you home. No strings attached.”

“I’m fine to drive, Flip,” You trailed your fingers along his palm. “But, I think it’d be a good idea if you followed me home anyway.”

Neither of you should have been driving of course, but cops and lawyers alike had an innate way of breaking their own rules.

When you parked at your house, Flip rushed out of his truck to open your car door for you as you collected your purse and effects. Smiling broadly, you took his offered hand to step out of your car. Once you stood beside your car, Flip brought both his arms around you, circling you in a loose embrace as he looked down at you.

“Want me to say goodnight, gorgeous?” he asked softly.

Biting your lip as you paused to consider his words, you looked up at him. “Not for a few more hours anyway.”

A broad toothy smile broke across Flip’s features as you stepped out of his arms to lead him to your house.

Flip walked so closely behind you as you approached your door that you could feel the heat radiating off his massive body. Hot breath huffed on the back of your neck, raising goosebumps and sending electric currents down your spine. When you started fumbling with your keys, you felt his hands trailing up your thighs. Hooking his fingers in the hem of your skirt, he pulled it up over your ass, the cold air on your skin a stark contrast to his hot hands. His broad chest pressed into your back and his head fell to your neck. His lips teased at you tantalizingly as he dug his thick fingers into your soft hips, pulling your ass back into the massive bulge in his pants.

“I knew you had a luscious fuckin’ ass,” he growled into your neck.

His thumb traced the lace fabric of your thong between your cheeks as his fingers dipped lower to rub your pussy through the thin material. It was utterly drenched. You felt so lewd soaking through your fucking panties just from Flip’s kissing and teasing. You could feel his wet lips part against your neck in a Cheshire grin when he felt your dripping heat. He bit down roughly into the junction of your neck and shoulder right as he brought his free hand down to smack your ass, gripping you even harder where it landed.

“Hurry up, sugar,” he groaned huskily, his breath hot on your skin. “We need to get you out of these wet fuckin’ clothes.”

Finally finding the right key and with Flip’s heavy weight pressing against you, you stumbled through your door. One of his strong arms gripped your waist steadying you as he kicked your door shut behind him. You moved to turn into him but he was faster, spinning you by the waist to face him, as his lips crashed down onto yours. He tasted of whiskey and mint when his tongue explored your mouth. Your hands caressed his muscular chest and moved to his lapels, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, sliding it down off his arms.

Flip moved one hand down to squeeze a handful of your ass again, making you moan into his kiss. Your fingers blindly and clumsily undid the buttons on his shirt, skimming the warm skin beneath until you reached his belt, pausing to stroke the hair trailing down below it. He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth, a growl resonating in the back of his throat, biting softly and sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

Sliding one hand down further under your ass and the other holding your waist tight against him, Flip lifted you easily, all but yanking you up off the ground in his fervor. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as your arms circled his neck, your fingers twisting into his thick hair. His lips had moved to your collarbone, expertly giving you involuntary shivers with every kiss and nip.

“Bedroom,” he huffed between his ministrations to your collar.

A vague gesture in the general direction of the stairs to your bedroom was all the verbiage you could muster.

Lust hazed your vision and your pulse thundered in your ears as he made quick work of ascending the stairs two at a time and carrying you into your bedroom, again kicking the door closed behind him. He was so fucking powerful and solid that he made you feel weightless in his arms, a feeling which made you impossibly wetter.

Flip twirled once inside your bedroom with you still in his arms, the fucking show off, before leaning forward to lay your back down onto your cool sheets. He traced hot kisses down your throat and chest as he rose back to roughly shrug off his already unbuttoned shirt and work his belt free.

You watched the muscles in his arms flex as he undid his belt and suit pants. The sight of him shirtless was breathtaking, you felt yourself growing wetter just from the sight of him alone. His chest was glorious. You had never seen a chest so thick and expansive. His shoulders were impossibly broad and made even more impressive by his fit abdomen. The taper of his waist, the lines of muscle along his hips, even the trail of hair descending from his navel, all worked in conjunction to practically drag your eyes down toward his cock.

After pulling your shirt off, you moved to the middle of the bed and arched your back off the mattress to reach the zipper at your back and begin to shimmy your skirt down your body. Flip reached the hem pooling around your hips and yanked the garment the rest of the way off, dropping it to the floor as he stood over you at the side of your bed. His amber eyes glistened with lust as his gaze caressed your body.

“Damn gorgeous, I don’t think I’ve ever driven curves this dangerous before,” he said reverently in a voice that was all smoke and husk.

Without taking his eyes from you, he unceremoniously shoved his pants down, stepping out of them and his socks quickly. Towering above you, standing in only his black boxer briefs, he palmed his enormous erection through the thin fabric. His eyes locked with yours as his lips twisted fiendishly, that intense molten stare not leaving yours as he removed his briefs. The flushed massive cock that bobbed free, made your breath hitch in your throat. You expected Flip to have a nice cock, as big as he was everywhere else, but you were wholly unprepared for the thick, beautifully veined length that now swayed above you with its own momentum. It was practically monstrous. It was absolutely fucking delicious.

“If you can’t handle me, tell me now.” Of course, the bastard couldn’t resist teasing you.

In response, you held his eyes firmly as you reached to undo your bra, slinging it across the room to be lost with your other discarded clothing. You raised one eyebrow at him, meeting his challenge.

Flip walked to the edge of your bed, pausing briefly to absorb the sight of you as you lay spread before him, the best gift he had ever received, before he lowered himself to the mattress and crawled over your body.

All too eagerly, your legs spread for him as he settled between them. Flip caged you in with his impressive arms on either side of your body as he bent over you, a predator over his prey, and kissed at your navel. His kisses were open mouthed and closer to bites now as his teeth teased your skin. He trailed his mouth down until he placed a wet kiss at the top of your pussy, still covered by the lace of your thong. Bringing a hand down to the thin line of fabric at your hip, he yanked it roughly, ripping your thong away from you and tearing it apart with one motion. His aggressive abandon had your pussy throbbing with desire, needing to be filled.

“Even your pussy’s fuckin’ beautiful. And so so fuckin’ wet for me.” Flip told you as he took a moment to admire you, your pussy bare and aching for him, glistening with your lust. He lowered himself, bringing his mouth to your pussy, but you stopped him.

“I want to cum for the first time with you all over your giant fucking cock, Flip.” Your voice was hoarse with desire. “Make me cum on your cock.”

Flip grinned up at you before his nose trailed slowly back up the center of your body as he crawled up into position above you. He paused to inhale deeply at your throat, taking in the scent of you and exhaling in a low heady groan.

“I’ve never smelled anything as sweet as you before. I could eat you alive, sugar.” He punctuated his praise with a bite below your jaw before attending to your lips.

Your mouth parted happily for Flip’s tongue to slip past your lips. His taste was smoky and lush, making you shiver. His weight was resting on you now, pushing you down into your mattress; the feel of him was the most powerful aphrodisiac you had ever been exposed to. You could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders tense and flex under your hands as he moved, and his heavy chest pressed against yours, a sharp contrast to his soft lips on your own.

The unreasonably thick head of his cock nudged into your pussy, parting your lips and teasing at your entrance. You raised your legs higher to hook around his hips as you coaxed him to thrust into you.

Flip’s giant cock plunged into you in one fluid stroke, his hips coming flush against you where they stayed for a few moments as he rolled them into you gently, giving you time to adjust to his size. Your nails raked his back as a pornographic moan escaped your lips at the pleasure of being so completely full of him. Flip’s mouth returned to diligently kiss you as the rolling of his hips became shallow thrusts. When your hips started moving to meet his own, in time with his thrusts, he began pumping into you more ardently.

“Fuck, beautiful, your little pussy feels so good around my cock. So fuckin’ tight on me,” he groaned before pulling out his head and slamming his entire length back into you. Fuck, that felt good.

Beginning to fuck you more roughly, Flip raised himself off of you slightly, propping himself up with his hands on either side of your head. He changed the angle enough to ensure that with each thrust his cock stroked along the perfect spot inside you. He saw your features rendered beautifully distraught by pleasure.

“Is that the spot, darlin’? Is this how you want me to fuck you?” Flip grunted as his cock worked you just right.

“Just like that, Flip,” you panted. “Keep fucking me just like that with your giant cock and I’ll cum all over you.”

Your praise spurred him to pound into you even more aggressively, drawing spasms from your pussy already. You had never felt anything so good. He was fucking you hard now, his hips pistoning into you roughly.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this. Underneath me, tits bouncin’ while I pound your perfect little pussy.” You dug your nails into Flip’s shoulder roughly at his crass praise, earning a low rumble of pleasure from his chest. The sharp sensation spurred him to fuck you even harder up the mattress. “Yeah, claw me the fuck up, sugar. I want to see how good I fucked you written all over me tomorrow.”

Your pussy was clenching around him now, your orgasm imminent. Flip could feel it.

“Are you gonna cum for me, gorgeous? I feel your pussy wants to cum for me.” He was growling low now, his whole chest rumbling. “Cum all over my fat fuckin’ cock.”

“Oh, fuck yes! Flip!” Was all you could manage as a powerful throbbing orgasm ripped through you. Your pussy seized on his cock, gripping him in time with your pulsing ecstasy.

Flip’s jaw tensed, his teeth bared as he fucked you, with some difficulty, through your orgasm.

“Fuck I’ve never felt my cock squeezed so fuckin’ tight,” he rasped, panting in time with his thrusts. As your aftershocks waned, Flip’s thrusts grew erratic and his shoulders and arms quivered. “Where do you want my cum?” He huffed out between shuddering thrusts.

“I want you to fill me the fuck up with it, Flip.” You dug your nails into him as you spoke, dizzy with pleasure.

Flip came almost instantly at your words, your name tumbling in a roar from deep in his throat. He shoved his cock fully into you, throbbing and pulsing, as he pumped you full of his hot thick cum.

When Flip’s cock stopped twitching inside of you, he returned his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. Your hand moved to tangle into his sweat matted hair and pull his mouth against yours more firmly. When he pulled back, it was to look at you with adoration. His gaze was brief, but the emotion was unmistakable.

Returning to your lips, he kissed you softly for a few slow minutes. Rolling onto his back with a groan, Flip pulled you down against his massive chest, wrapping the arm beneath you around your waist tightly, something between a cuddle and a bear hug.

Flip stroked his hands over your back as he held you against him, a deep growling purr rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. His huge body was hot beneath you, his arms radiating warmth around you, and his lips searing as they gently kissed along your hairline. The man was an absolute fever dream.

After several long minutes, Flip slid himself out from underneath you.

“I need a glass of water after that,” he told you with an affectionate smile as he rose from the bed.

Watching him walk from your room, you crossed your arms under your chin and stretched out on your stomach, the sheets under you pleasantly cool after Flip’s heat.

When Flip returned, he brought you a large glass of water that he set on your nightstand. Thoughtful, you mused.

The mattress dipped with his heavy weight as he knelt beside you. You moved to roll onto your back to face him but a large hand on your back stilled you, keeping you pinned on your stomach. The hand began kneading the muscles that straddled your spine, his strong fingers rubbing bliss into your skin. His other hand gently brushed your hair away from the back of your neck to be replaced by his lips when he lowered himself to place lingering open mouth kisses at your nape. The contrast of his soft lips and the light scratch of his goatee raised fresh goosebumps in their wake. Flip purred at the sight and his deep voice combined with his touch had fresh wetness beginning to pool between your legs.

Flip’s kisses slowly grew rougher, transitioning from soft lips to biting nips and skimming teeth along your neck and shoulders. His hand that still massaged your back also gripped you tighter. When he sucked a patch of the sensitive skin on your shoulder into his mouth, you couldn’t prevent a heady moan from escaping your lips. Flip continued biting and sucking; you were sure he was leaving marks at this point and the thought was thrilling.

The hand on your back trailed lower, over the swell of your ass and down between your legs, pausing to squeeze the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Groaning lowly at the feeling of you, he trailed his hand higher until his fingers skimmed your lips, feeling the fresh wetness already present.

“What are we gonna do about this little pussy that can’t stop drippin’ for me?” His voice growled into the back of your neck, causing a lovely shiver of pleasure to shoot through your body.

You spread your legs just enough for that huge hand to fit between them. “Want to help me solve that problem, Detective?” You mewled as you looked back over your shoulder at him.

Two huge fingers caressed the outside of your pussy once before sliding inside, rocking into you and spreading you perfectly. He pumped them slowly while still peppering your shoulder with nips, bites, and kisses. You didn’t really need any warming up, you were already dripping into your sheets, and the lewd sloppy sounds your pussy made as his fingers worked you echoed through your bedroom.

Flip dragged his fingers from your pussy, bringing both of his hands to your hips, and forcibly lifting your ass up and encouraging you to raise up onto your elbows and knees.

“You need to cum on my cock again, sugar,” Flip told you as he positioned himself behind you, smoothing his hands up and down your outer thighs.

You moaned in pleasure at the prospect, pushing your ass back toward him.

Flip bent down to suck another biting mark right into the flesh of your ass, earning a throaty laugh from you, before straightening up and rubbing the thick head of his cock through the lips of your pussy, coating himself in your slick.

Pushing into you from behind in one firm thrust, your mouth dropped open from the pleasure that was almost pain from being stretched so fully by his giant cock. He could reach into you even deeper from this angle.

“Fuck. You’re even tighter from back here. Squeezin’ my cock like a fuckin’ vice,” he huffed as you felt his hot breath on your back and his grip bruising your hips. He started thrusting into you gently, letting you adjust to him again.

He slowly shoved his cock as deep into you as he could, and you wouldn’t have believed you could handle that much before tonight. Keeping himself fully inside you and pulling your hips back into his, reveling in the feeling of being completely submerged in you, he ground his cock deep into you rubbing the perfect spot at the front of your pussy.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, gorgeous, takin’ all of my cock like you were made for it. I didn’t think this tight little pussy would fit all of me, but you’re just fuckin’ perfect.” Flip’s voice was low and strained with pleasure. He punctuated his statement by beginning to pound into you at a faster pace.

You could already feel yourself getting close to cumming again, Flip fucking you into another orgasm in record time.

“Right. Fucking. There. Flip!” You gasped out between his pounding, shoving your ass back into him to meet his hips with each thrust. “Fuck me harder!” You cried as your pussy started to clench around his cock.

“Fuck. Yes. Tighten that pussy up even more. Fuck.” Flip was huffing, almost growling, with each rough thrust now as he fucked you at a punishing pace.

Drops of his sweat fell down onto your back as the luscious drag of his cock inside you ignited sparks that shot through your entire body. The force of your orgasm when it hit rendered you slack jawed and spasming, arms and legs shaking as your pussy pulsed and squeezed around the incredible cock that was fucking you just right.

A low growl thrummed in Flip’s chest as he fucked you through the aftershocks of the second orgasm he had just slammed out of you. He brought one hand from your hip to grip the back of your neck, his fingers squeezing in rhythm with his pounding cock, as he chased his own pleasure.

Panting heavily, Flip thrust his cock into you as far as he could, pulling you back onto him as he came with a husky shout. His hands on you clenched tightly as his cock pulsed, filling you again with thick ropes of cum, making you shudder at the feeling of his warmth spreading inside you.

Flip fell to his side, pulling you down and rolling you onto your back beside him. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at you with a genuine smile in place of his usual smug grin. He looked even more handsome now, looking down at you with his hair tousled, chest glistening with a sheen of sweat, angry red marks from your fingernails adorning his proud shoulders, and smiling at you fondly with his gleaming amber gaze.

He reached a hand out to gently caress you, tracing over your collar bone, then drawing one calloused finger over the peak of your breast before resting it at your waist. You brought your hand up to brush through his thick damp hair and trail your fingernails along his neck, following some of the pink lines you had scratched into his skin.

He had left some marks on you too. Fucked you nice and rough, just how you wanted. He appraised the bruises forming on your skin along your hips and the marks beginning to rise from his sucking and biting at your shoulders and neck. You saw Flip’s brows pinch together as he chewed at his lip, looking with worry at the marks adorning your body.

“I hope I wasn’t too rough with you,” you told Flip with a smirk, defusing his concern for you.

“I guess beatin’ me up in court wasn’t enough for you, huh?” He let out an amused huff with his response. His smile broadened as he leaned down to kiss you deeply, passionately, before purring against your lips. “I’ve never enjoyed losin’ so much, sugar.”

You kissed languidly, reveling in the feeling of each other. You couldn’t help smiling against his lips. Flip ghosted soft kisses across your cheek and jaw. Nothing but soft and gentle now, he rolled you over onto your side, pressing his chest against your back and wrapping both of his powerful arms around you, holding you warmly. He kissed your neck, savoring the feeling of you, before nuzzling into it and settling himself comfortably curled around you.

“Sweet dreams, beautiful,” he whispered in your ear as he deeply inhaled your scent, letting it consume him.

You drifted off to sleep with a smile on your lips, encircled in the powerful arms of the beast you had tamed, at least for one evening.

*******************************************************************************************

Part III

Despite being surrounded by your perfumed scent, wrapped around your soft warm body, Flip couldn’t sleep. He was consumed by you in the most intoxicating way he had ever felt. He wanted to make you his more than he had ever wanted anything in his whole damn life.

Which made all the demeaning and lewd remarks that bastard Carmichael had made toward you during the trial even worse for Flip. He seethed, anger boiling under his skin as those comments replayed in his mind. He imagined how that that sorry bastard had no doubt blamed Flip for his loss, and then spent his evening trashing you to his colleagues.

Flip imagined the comments Carmichael had made about Flip’s girl, about you. The comments he would make if left unaddressed.

For once, Flip’s condition was fortuitous. Looking outside your bedroom window, he saw the moon beaming back at him. It was waning, but still full enough for him to make the most of it. Gazing down at your sleeping figure beside him, he smiled warmly, hoping he could see that same sight every night. He placed a kiss to your cheek before gently disentangling himself from you and carefully getting off the bed so as not to wake you.

Dressing quickly and quietly, Flip took a final adoring look at you before slipping away out of your door. He made a silent promise that this would be the only time that he would leave you in the night.

All of Carmichael’s bragging had served a purpose. A wicked grin curled his lips as Flip remembered the District Attorney trying to impress you by telling you how he intended to climb a mountain the morning after the trial. One of the mountains in the nearby San Isabel National Forest.

Flip knew the area like the back of his enormous hand. Driving through the winding mountain roads in the dark of night, Flip easily located Carmichael’s vehicle, a lime green Prius. It was at the head of the Humbolt Peak trailhead, a mountain Flip had summited twice himself. It was a ten-mile hike just to reach the base of the mountain to begin an ascent. Carmichael had likely backpacked in and camped the night before, spending his evening trudging while Flip had spent his evening in your lovely company.

All mountain hikers got an early start, so Flip leaving in the middle of the night served him well. He knew that he could cover ten miles easily on all fours, once he lost himself in his own Mr. Hyde. Once he had Carmichael’s slimy scent in his nose, the wolf could mercilessly hunt down his prey.

Stepping out of his truck, Flip let the icy moonlit night invigorate him. Unbuttoning his shirt, Flip raised his nose to the sky, huffing in the cool mountain air, searching for the scent he knew from court, and exhaled a thick fog of breath. Flip tossed his shirt inside the cab of his truck, followed by his jeans and boots. He didn’t want to risk being seen driving away in muddy, bloody clothing.

Catching the foul scent of the other man in his nose, Flip exhaled in a growl as a yellow as vibrant as the autumn aspen leaves bled into his eyes. Lowering himself to the ground, he charged ahead, hot on the trail of his game.

Miles flew by under his feet as he ran, spurred by rage and adrenaline. The faintest hues of navy blue were just beginning to break through the black of night and the moon was just dipping toward the West when Flip spotted Carmichael’s tent. Alone, at the base of a mountain with no other human within at least thirty miles.

Carmichael was not alone, however. He had invited a female companion. An informant named Christy, whom Flip knew well from drug cases. She was a real low life, a drug addict who sold out her fellow drug addicts for favors from the State, and who used her feminine wiles to get high school kids hooked on the heavy stuff. Flip had wanted to bust her for a while, but the DA had given her immunity for her services. The mystery behind that one was fuckin’ solved.

Inside their tent, Carmichael’s face was buried in Christy’s crotch, when Christy blurted, “Did you hear that?”

Carmichael grunted, “No,” not pausing for an instant, anxious for his reward once he was done with her.

“I heard something,” she said again, trying to push Carmichael up.

Carmichael was too engrossed in pleasuring her so she would pleasure him after to care or notice, but he wished she would just shut up and enjoy herself so he could get his turn. He was irked that some deer or fox was interfering in his agenda. There was no food in the tent to rouse a bear’s curiosity, so he kept on, determined, and focused on his reward of getting his dick sucked.

When Carmichael finally realized there was indeed something in the forest with them, it was too late. Not that he could have fought off the terrifying creature that torn open his tent flap under any circumstances.

Christy’s scream mingled with Flip’s growl as he ripped the tent open, revealing the seedy couple. Backlit by the moon, Flip’s enormous black frame was even more imposing, especially his gleaming yellow eyes.

Carmichael shot to his feet, trying to find a place to run inside the minuscule tent, pissing all over Christy in fear as he did. Flip would have laughed at the sight if he could, his own evening already so much more rewarding than he had anticipated.

Reaching for his pack, Carmichael pulled a gun out from inside as Christy staggered to her feet. Swinging blindly in the dark, Carmichael fired two rounds in immediate succession. Right into Christy’s back as she tried to run past Flip and out of the tent. Her blood splattered across Flip’s face from where the bullets exited her chest as her body collapsed back to the floor of the tent, convulsing and sputtering.

As Carmichael swung his gun to Flip, Flip lunged at the pathetic man, easily knocking his gun away with a clawed left hand. Jaws wide, Flip tore into Carmichael’s throat, sinking his razored teeth into the other man’s flesh like a knife through warm butter. With a vicious yank of his head, Flip ripped Carmichael’s neck apart, nearly severing his head from his shoulders, as an eruption of blood spewed from the wound. Thick, meaty scarlet splashed the roof of the tent and coated the walls as Carmichael fell to his knees, flailing and writhing, before reaching to his neck feebly to try to stop his gushing blood.

Baring his teeth, Flip grinned down at the man, although it no doubt looked more like a snarl in his present condition. He wished he could impart that this was what Carmichael deserved for his comments to you, but it was not as though Carmichael would live for any longer than a few fleeting seconds.

Flip watched over the couple until their bodies had finished twitching compulsively before taking his leave. Strolling easily back down the way he came, he took advantage of a nearby stream to cleanse the evidence from his body, as he returned to his usual form. He wasn’t concerned about his own DNA in his present state, it would never test for human.

It really is a nice mornin’ to be out for a hike, he thought to himself as he closed in on his truck, his bad mood entirely lifted, replaced with nothing but satisfaction for accomplishing his goal and at the same time removing a creep from your life. But nothing matched his excitement at the thought of seeing you again.

*******************************************************************************************

When you awoke to the harsh sound of your insistent alarm, you were alone, the bed cool beside you. Flip had taken his leave sometime during the night. You had no reason to expect him to linger until morning, although a surprisingly large part of you wished he had.

Regardless of your feelings on the matter, you didn’t have time to dwell on them. You had work to do this Friday before productivity ended for the weekend. You put yourself together, dressing hastily in a comfortable pencil skirt and sweater, before rushing out of your door.

Opening the door to your car, you found a large coffee from your favorite place seated in your drink holder. A smile bloomed on your lips, knowing that Flip must have dropped it off for you very early that morning. Taking a seat in your car, you lifted the cup.

Scrawled writing on the side of the coffee cup confirmed your suspicion.

Strong coffee for a strong girl

Sipping the coffee, you recognized your favorite flavor, only slightly cool. Perhaps the handsome detective wanted more than just an evening with you after all. His gift kept you smiling all throughout your hectic morning at your office, an impressive feat in itself.

It was just after ten in the morning when your phone lit up, alerting you that ‘Detective Zimmerman’ was calling you. You smiled as a warm flush crept from your cheeks down to your chest. You didn’t know what exactly last night was to him, or to you for that matter, but you certainly hadn’t expected to hear from him at all for a while. You were impressed and rather excited to see him taking the initiative to call you so early the morning after.

“Detective,” you answered coyly, trying to project some subtle sultriness into your tone.

“Was your coffee stout enough for you this mornin’?” His normally booming voice was quieter than usual. You pictured him calling you from his desk, attempting to keep things discreet.

“It was. Thank you. I do enjoy stout things.” You smiled to yourself, knowing that remark would have Flip smirking.

“You enjoyed some stout things last night at least... I had an early shift this mornin,’ but I didn’t want you to think that I’d ducked out on you.” He paused, his voice lower when he spoke again. “That’s not a trend I want to set with you.”

“I’d be lying if I told you that I was anything other than pleasantly shocked by your call.” You smiled wider into your phone. “I wasn’t expecting it, but you’ve made my morning.”

You could hear the grin on his lips when he replied, “If you think this is me makin’ your mornin,’ you’re gonna be impressed the next time we wake up together.” His voice softened as he continued. “How are you feelin,’ sugar? I hope you’re not too sore.”

“I’m not too sore.” Your flush deepened at the thought of Flip knowing just how fully he had ruined you last night. “It’s not a deterrent, if that’s your concern.”

Flip gave a pleasant chuckle before his sarcasm returned. “I think I proved to you that I’m hardly a sore loser. But, I’ll bet this is the first time you’ve been a sore winner.”

“You know, a gentleman would offer to do something nice for me after making me sore. A massage perhaps. Help me work out all those kinks, right where I’m extra sensitive,” you lilted back.

A huffed curse was Flip’s only response for a beat, before he asked, “Any lunch plans?”

“Only if you make some with me.” You were smiling broadly now.

“I’ll see you at your office at noon.” Flip asserted in that commanding way of his that made you weak. You rubbed your thighs together at the prospect of having Flip’s hands on you again so soon.

*******************************************************************************************

At fifteen minutes before noon, Flip entered your office without knocking, closing and locking the door behind him, all while smirking wickedly at you. It was only the second time he had been in your office, and he already behaved as though it belonged to him. Regardless of his impertinence, or perhaps because of it, your eyes brightened and your lips smiled upon his entrance.

Rising from your chair, you smoothed your pencil skirt and moved to grab your purse. Flip’s eyes followed you hungrily, watching your every movement.

“I thought I’d dine in today.” Flip told you, stopping you with his words.

You raised an eyebrow, not taking his meaning.

Flip walked to you slowly, his chin dipped slightly to look at you with his darkening smirk and a rapacious glint in his amber eyes. He nudged you backward with his huge chest, walking you back until your knees hit your chair. Off balance, you tipped backwards, but Flip was quick to wrap a strong arm around your waist, steadying you as you lowered yourself back down into your chair. He moved to place his hands on the armrests, caging you in against the back of your chair.

Lowering his head to you, he kissed you deeply as he loomed above you, large and imposing. The feel of his tongue sliding along yours was exhilarating. Your hands tangled in his luscious hair, fingernails raking his scalp. He moved from your lips, kissing along your jaw, bringing his lips to your neck under your ear to kiss and nip your soft skin. He inhaled you deeply and huffed his hot breath across your neck, raising all the small hairs his breath grazed.

With a grin, Flip wedged your legs apart with his knee. He removed some items from his jeans pockets so he could kneel before you more easily, his badge and phone among them, and dropped to his knees in between your thighs. He was so fucking tall that he was still eye level with you as you sat back in your chair. Pulling the neck of your sweater aside, his lips travelled to your collarbone, which he traced with his tongue in between his kisses.

“Last night was fuckin’ incredible, sugar,” he spoke against your skin. “You felt so good. And you smelled like fuckin’ ecstasy.” He punctuated his words with a bite to your shoulder, sucking your skin between his teeth, leaving another mark that could thankfully be covered by your sweater. “But, I still want to know how sweet you taste.”

He couldn’t be serious.

“Flip, someone could hear us.” Your voice sounded husky even in your own ears.

“Better not scream my name, then.” He smeared his words into your skin as he kissed down your sternum, pausing to press his nose between your breasts as he turned his head to kiss each one in turn. His calloused hands brushed your thighs as he slipped his hands under your skirt, pushing it up to bunch around your hips, and then pulling your panties back down your legs.

Looking up at you, Flip smirked, cocking an eyebrow by way of asking for permission that he knew you wouldn’t deny him. In response, you bit into your lower lip to silence any noises you would want to make and reached a hand to his hair, preparing to hold on for dear life once he rendered you drunk with pleasure.

Flip started at your knee, dragging his hot open mouth up along your inner thigh, nuzzling into the soft skin there. He intentionally scratched his goatee against your delicate skin as he placed wet kisses and nips along his way. When he could ascend no further, he skimmed his prominent nose against the lips of your pussy.

Meeting your eyes to hold your gaze, he kissed your pussy just as passionately as he had kissed your lips the night before. His eyes fell closed at his first taste of you, growling with pleasure, as he savored it on his tongue. A shuddering sigh left your lungs and your thighs trembled at the sensation of him licking ravenously into you.

“Fuck, sugar,” Flip groaned into you, eyelids fluttering with pleasure. “I’ve never tasted anything this fuckin’ delicious.”

Words escaped you as his tongue traced unknown adorations into your pussy, your only thought was wanting more and more. Using your grip in his hair for leverage, you bucked your hips softly against his face. You felt his rhythm falter momentarily when he smiled at your reaction.

You were incoherent with pleasure, your mind fogged with lust. A part of your mind vaguely registered that your phone was erupting with calls and messages, a continuous strobe light of notifications. Odd. Your eyes moved to Flip’s phone, also resting on your desk. It too was a constant stream of flashing communication.

Fuck. Something big must be going down right now. You smiled to yourself at your pun while something very big was indeed going down on you now, huffing between your legs. You let your head fall back onto the headrest of your chair, allowing yourself to be consumed by ecstasy. Work could wait a few minutes for both of you.

Seeing Flip like this, kneeling in veneration as he worshipped you with his tongue while his head was trapped between your thighs, was a sight you could get used to. Not to mention the skill with which he sucked your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it until you were clenching around nothing. He had you falling under the waves of your ecstasy in minutes, ready to erupt.

Flip could tell you were teetering on the edge. Just as your pussy began to flutter, he pushed two thick fingers into you, pumping and curling them while he sucked at your clit. You moaned loudly, too loudly for the walls of your office, as you felt yourself bursting, yanking Flip’s hair roughly and bucking wildly against his face as you came on his tongue.

A rush of heat flooded you, running over Flip’s tongue and down his chin, as he pushed you through every pulse of your orgasm. You throbbed and shook until it was almost too intense. Finally releasing your clit, he returned his lips to kiss at your pussy sloppily until all of your quivering had stilled.

Lifting his mouth from your pussy, and withdrawing his fingers, he again kissed at your thigh, wiping your arousal off on your skin as he looked up at you with a proud smile.

“Do you think I’m a gentleman now?” he asked you, his voice raw and breathless.

“I think I’m impressed,” you said truthfully, petting his wild hair back into place from your tousling.

“I’m on graveyard tonight. Gonna be a long night.” His eyes glinted up at you, shinier than the slick collected on his chin and adorning his goatee like morning dew. “But, I didn’t want you thinkin’ that I was anything less than a gentleman.”

Fleetingly, it crossed your mind that it was odd for Flip to have both an early morning shift this morning and for him to be on graveyard tonight, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it now.

Both of your phones still flashed and dinged where they lay on your desktop, demanding your attention.

Rising to his feet, Flip answered his cell first with a brusque, “Yeah?” while you still composed yourself and pulled your clothing back into place. You smirked at the sight of his full insistent erection straining his jeans as he scowled into the phone.

You could hear the other side of his call, Stallworth frantically and loudly relaying the details of a new double murder to Flip. Your mouth dropped open upon hearing that the bodies of your nemesis Carmichael and his date had been found by some hikers earlier that morning, their bodies savagely torn apart. Stallworth told Flip that he thought the murders were similar to the ranch hands that had been killed recently while out in the forest.

“Sounds like a job for animal control or the Forest Rangers, rookie,” Flip gruffed into his phone, looking from his insistent cock to you with a pained expression that he played up for your amusement. “Let ‘em go on a bear hunt. I have better things to do at the moment.”

“Well, you better clear your schedule,” Stallworth told Flip seriously, devoid of his usual light tone. “Bridges wants us to look into it alongside the agencies that can deal with a wild animal, just in case it’s some kind of killer.”

“Should be easy enough. Let’s just round up all the men in town big enough to cause that kind of damage,” Flip snorted sarcastically, still smirking at you. “What are we lookin’ for? A man who’d be about seven feet tall? Five-hundred pounds? Bear size? Hell, maybe it’s Bigfoot.”

Finally composed, you reached for your own phone, reading through your texts and emails. They all concerned the same news Flip was currently receiving firsthand.

“I’m wondering if it’s something like a guy with a trained bear that he’s siccing on people or something fucked up like that,” Stallworth pondered, more to himself than to Flip. “These aren’t normal animal attacks, Flip, and you know it.”

“Well, you get right on puttin’ an APB out on Bigfoot, rookie,” Flip teased pleasantly. “I’ll head back to the station after lunch.”

“Bridges wants you to be the point man on this one. He thinks this case is going to be high profile,” Stallworth continued. In the background of the call, other muffled voices could be heard from the station, abuzz from the new murders.

“Do you think if we bring Bigfoot in, that pain in the ass firecracker of a lawyer will take his case?” Flip asked Stallworth while winking at you.

“I hope not,” Stallworth laughed into the phone. “You like losing to her too much.”

*******************************************************************************************

Following your tryst, Flip couldn’t remember ever being happier, seeming to smile more with every day that passed. He was on cloud fuckin’ nine. He’d never met a girl like you. Not one who was close to as smart or capable, not to mention one who was as much of a knockout as you. He still found himself in disbelief at the thought that by some happy accident, you were actually interested in him; that you somehow found his rough demeanor charming and his hot temper amusing. He was used to women either being intimidated by him or acting like simpering bimbos around him. You were neither. Hell, if anything, he was the one who was intimidated by you. Now, that was something Flip had never felt as an adult, not since he was a fumbling teenager in the back seat of his car. It excited the hell out of him.

Everyone at the station noticed a change in him, too. Stallworth was all too eager to point out his missing scowl when he walked into work in the mornings, after coming from the warmth of your bed. Flip didn’t even mind the hazing, and he absolutely loved it when the men at the station could see a mark you had left on his body, proof of how thoroughly he had pleased you.

With you in his life, even though it was all brand new, Flip felt sated in every possible way. Not least of all was the beast within him was pacified, not eager to jump out at every irritant. For the first time in Flip’s life, it was easy, almost effortless, to keep the beast chained deep down inside him.

It was only a week after Carmichael’s murder when Stallworth burst into Flip’s office. There had been yet another gruesome killing by what the police were now calling the Bigfoot case, thanks to Flip.

“The crime scene has been secured, they’re waiting on us. Let’s go,” Stallworth insisted, the excitement heavy in his tone and wide eyes. Flip’s scowl returned immediately at the news, deepening as Stallworth informed him of details.

With a heavy sigh, Flip pushed himself up from his desk.

“I’ll drive,” he gritted, shrugging on his coat. “You’re too enthusiastic about all this, rookie.”

Despite his grouching, Flip understood Stallworth’s excitement. They were on the hunt for the type of killer that comes along maybe two or three times a century. And they were the lead detectives. Walking out of the station, Ron practically jogged to Flip’s truck, having to wait for Flip to lumber nonchalantly after him.

“You’re already imaginin’ yourself on a book tour as one of the celebrated detectives who caught the Bigfoot Killer.” Flip laughed, shaking his head at Stallworth, as he pulled away from the station. “You’re gettin’ ahead of yourself, rookie.”

“We don’t all have some beautiful new girlfriend like you do,” Ron replied in his jovial way. “I have to find excitement in dead bodies and serial killers.”

“Story of my fuckin’ life up until recently,” Flip said with a smirk, as he turned down a street toward an alley that was closed off with yellow police tape. The flashing lights of several other police units greeted them.

Flip was familiar with the area of town. It was as close to the red-light district as Colorado Springs had, the area where all the criminals knew they could find the best drugs and hookers.

Stepping out of his truck, Flip followed Stallworth to the alley between two red brick buildings, ducking low to step underneath the police tape. It was late afternoon. Flip should probably already be off and heading to steal a kiss from you, and hopefully more. The weather was getting cold these days, fogging Flip’s breath as he walked toward the crime scene.

The scent of copper filled Flip’s nose and the metallic tang of blood coated the roof of his mouth from inhaling the air around the crime scene. He could already tell there were multiple bodies, even before he walked past an overflowing dumpster, coming into view of what appeared to be the limbs of several mangled bodies, women by the looks of them.

Body parts were strewn violently throughout the alley. Arms, tissue, chunks of hair, a severed hand near the brick wall, part of a foot with painted toenails near a discarded copy of yesterday’s newspaper, part of a torn and bloodied cocktail dress blowing in the light breeze from where it caught on a protruding brick.

At the sight, or maybe the smell, Ron balked, turning to rush back past Flip, his cheeks puffed as he gagged into his mouth.

“Havin’ fun now, rookie?” Flip called over his shoulder, huffing a laugh at his partner’s queasiness. Light stomachs hardened fast in this line of work.

A lean older man with a grey crewcut and glasses, dressed in a rubber suit stepped carefully through the crime scene toward Flip. The crime scene technician.

“I think it’s three bodies. But, I’m gonna have to play Humpty Dumpty and put them back together to be sure,” the tech deadpanned to Flip. People in that line of work, along with medical examiners and morticians, had notoriously morbid senses of humor.

“Looks about right,” Flip agreed, surveying the carnage around him.

“I’d say this is our same killer, but take a look at this,” the tech continued, gesturing for Flip to follow him. Walking to the nearest dismembered body, lying close to the wall, the tech stared pointedly at the brick wall, waiting for Flip to catch on.

“I don’t see anything,” Flip grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Exactly,” the tech said excitedly. “In the other Bigfoot killings, there was blood spatter for feet in every direction from the sheer force of the blows that tore the victims apart. Here, we have lots of blood, but it’s mostly where it leaked out of the pieces of center mass, not blood spatter from the attack itself. If the killer had used the same force here in this alley that he used in the other murders, these walls would be painted with blood.”

“Maybe he was tired this time around,” Flip pondered, looking more closely around the crime scene. But he was the only man who knew with certainty that these murders were not committed by the same man who had killed Carmichael and the ranch hands.

Flip was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even smirk when the tech began hazing Ron, who had just re-entered the crime scene, looking much paler and woozier.

“Keep an eye out for anything that looks like a severed penis, Stallworth,” the tech instructed. “In this weather, it might look more like a nose.”

Walking slowly through the alley, Flip looked for anything noteworthy, putting all of his exceptional detective skills to work. He even inhaled deeply, trying to commit every scent to his memory in case something met his nose again that could help him identify the murderer.

By the looks of things, just when Flip wanted nothing more than to let his work slide so he could indulge in more time with you, he was going to have to put his nose to the grindstone. The thought soured his mood in an instant, engraving his scowl back into his features.

There was indeed a serial killer loose in Colorado Springs, in addition to its resident werewolf.

*******************************************************************************************

Days fell away like the orange leaves falling from the trees as the end of October quickly approached, bringing with it an increased workload for both you and Flip. Halloween always saw a rise in crime and mischief. From the relatively harmless, victimless crimes involving teenagers doing stupid things, to the dark and macabre brought about by occultists vandalizing property or harming animals, to the more sinister crimes like murders.

This was certainly a year for murders.

No one in Colorado Springs could remember a more violent season in the town’s collective memory. The savagery of the recent murders was unmatched by anything in modern history, more akin to Jack the Ripper than any contemporary killer. The bodies of mutilated women were found scattered throughout the city on at least a weekly basis, and sometimes even more frequently. It was as though death was in the very air itself, causing more than just the falling leaves to tremble. Fear crept into the hearts of men deeper than the autumn chill; the entire city held in the vicious grip of the killer.

You could see the toll exacted on Flip by the added caseload that accompanied bodies piling deeper and deeper. Some days, he was the nonchalant smirking bastard you couldn’t help falling for. Other days, he was disheveled and weary; the circles under his eyes betraying him, despite the grinning game face he wore for you.

The single thing that was truly wonderful in both of your lives was that you had each other, and you seemed like the perfect fit, finding nothing but happiness together.

It had been all too easy to fall into a rhythm of seeing Flip nearly every day, the most natural thing in the world to spend every night you could in his arms. The same was true for him. Flip was a man who had no time or interest in games. Like a wolf on a blood trail, he pursued what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted. What he wanted most in the world was you, and he made it known. You had never been pursued so openly and so devotedly. It was tantamount to being hunted. And you found that you loved it. It was thrilling to have such an impressive man chasing you down with his every free minute until he captured you beneath him every night you would let him.

Flip even enjoyed taking you out on proper dates when your schedules allowed. He relished in showing you off on his arm, and you could swear he stood even taller and his broad chest expanded even further whenever you looped your arm through his or laced your fingers with his own.

Tonight was such an evening; a date, during which Flip was hellbent on lavishing you.

Dressed to the nines for dinner with Flip, a tantalizing gift meant for him to unwrap later, you slowly dragged your pointed toe up his calf. You were seated next to him in the darkest corner booth of a steakhouse, away, you both hoped, from the potential eyes of your clients and his suspects.

After a few sips of his bourbon, Flip brought his powerful hand to rest possessively on the back of your neck, his thick fingers absently caressing your sensitive skin. Leaning down, he ghosted his lips along your jawline, gliding back to place nips and a hot kiss below your ear.

“You haven’t been by to ask me for favors on your cases,” Flip purred in that deep drawl of his, while his eyes regarded you with a laughing glint. “I’d come to enjoy your little visits. Seein’ you huff and puff in my office.”

“Given the new terms of our relationship, I thought that I should ask for less favors from you and that you should more eagerly give them to me anyway,” you replied as you brought your fingernail up under Flip’s chin, scratching lightly while drawing him even closer to you.

“I’ll eagerly give it to you alright, sugar,” was all Flip muttered in response as he closed the last few inches between your lips. His hand at the back of your neck pulled you into his searing kiss. Drawing back, he grinned against your lips. “Fuckin’ lawyer.”

You were relatively silent during dinner, simply enjoying Flip’s charming company and commanding presence. It enveloped you as warmly as one of his worn-in flannels. Even so, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to the murders, an ever-present consumption of your imagination. Everything had grown so gruesome. The streets of your quiet town awash in gore, a freshly painted mosaic of the macabre whenever it struck the killer’s fancy. Despite the best efforts of your armored psyche, which was usually inured to all aspects of crime and violence thanks to your work, you couldn’t quite fight off a lingering chill, a subtle raising of the hairs on the back of your neck.

You were rattled. You don’t get rattled. And you didn’t know how the hell to handle it.

Flip sensed your unease during dinner. Of course, he did. It was almost obnoxious how that bastard could sniff out every fleeting emotion in which you dared to indulge.

“You know I’ll always take care of you, sugar. You’ll always be safe with me.” Flip should have told you this with a seriousness that reflected the gravity of your concerns and of the objective danger that stalked the city. Instead, he told you almost playfully, flashing his cocky smile. He promised you safety while seemingly in disbelief that you were in any real danger whatsoever.

“As much as I enjoy your particular brand of smug bastardry, Detective, you might at least pretend to be genuinely concerned about me.” You glared at him with only a mild ferocity over your drink.

“You misunderstand me, gorgeous,” he assured you, his hand at your neck dropping to drape across your shoulders. “I have no concern greater than that of your safety. But, like I said, you’re perfectly safe as long as you’re with me.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So, there’s no concern on that front, now is there?” Flip finished with a wink and his usual lopsided grin.

An unimpressed raised eyebrow as you took another drink seemed an appropriate response to his haughtiness.

“And I have a solution in mind. I’m not gonna indulge you stewin’ in your problems, but I will help you solve ‘em,” he continued, unruffled as always. He cut into his rare tomahawk steak while making his offer, the blood from the meat pooling beneath his fork only added to his predatory demeanor. “Come home with me this Friday. I have a nice cabin back out in the mountains. It’s about an hour out of town, but it’s worth the drive. Stay with me for the weekend.” His eyes were serious for a few fleeting moments before he couldn’t help himself from adding, “I’ll show you all the ways I’ll take good care of you.”

All of your rendezvous up to this point had occurred at your house. When they occurred in a house at all, that is. When they were not over one of your desks, in his truck, or even in the damned interrogation room at the station or the witness rooms at court. Nights had been universally spent at your house. You had yet to see Flip’s home, in fact. Your house was located in town, much more convenient for your early court appearances than Flip’s mountain cabin. Your mornings were rushed as it was, given his shift and you often hurrying to court.

The thought of spending an entire uninterrupted weekend with Flip sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, leaving your flesh raised in its wake.

“I like the way you think, Detective.” You raised your glass to clink your rim to his before taking a sip and then reaching to pull his shaggy head down into another demanding kiss.

*******************************************************************************************

Friday couldn’t pass quickly enough for you. You considered taking the day off early, but there was little reason due to Flip’s heavy workload that would keep him from you. Regardless, the excitement you felt at your upcoming weekend with him kept you abuzz throughout your workday.

Scheduled for the end of your day was a consult with a prospective new client.

The man sat in your reception area, legs crossed. He didn’t read a magazine or look at his phone, instead keeping a vigilant watch on his surroundings. One of the marks of a successful criminal with a long history of escaping consequences. He was dressed uncommonly nicely for your clients, wearing an expensive navy suit.

“Mr. Bateman,” you greeted the man, giving him your name and hand to shake as he rose from his seat.

He was tall and athletic, clean-shaven with a square jaw and neatly styled hair. Attractive in an urbane sort of way. But what caught your attention were his eyes, nearly black and devoid of emotion, even when he smiled as he shook your hand.

“I’ve been following you. In the paper. All those wins of yours,” Bateman told you with the lilt of an elitist. “That recent win on the murder case was particularly impressive.”

“I try,” you replied with a smile, as you led him back to your office. Gesturing for him to walk inside ahead of you, you closed the door behind you, your common practice.

“I’ve even gone to the courthouse to watch you in action a few times,” he continued with a practiced smile as he lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of your desk. “It doesn’t hurt that you look like a movie star on top of it.”

“I’m flattered,” you replied, unruffled and used to such pleasantries from your clientele.

Taking the hint that you were only interested in business and not in pleasure, Bateman leaned back in his seat, placing his hands in his lap, fingers laced together.

“I’m what you might call an entrepreneur. An artist even,” he began pleasantly, but his black eyes watched you like a hawk, reading every tell you didn’t offer.

“I see. I’m more of a tactician than an artist myself,” you replied, the implication all too clear. “So, what brings you here today, Mr. Bateman?”

“First of all, I want to line out your understanding of what attorney-client privilege means.” Bateman held your eyes with his statement, gauging your reaction. “Before, you know, I get your advice.”

“It’s quite simple. Privilege means that anything, and I mean anything, you tell me is confidential,” you explained, holding his deadened eyes forcibly with your own. “You could admit to killing a football team and their cheerleaders right now, and it’s confidential.”

Those black eyes gave nothing away as he watched you, evaluating you.

“Believe me. I’ve heard it all, and I’ve kept a lot of secrets.” Finishing your pitch, you simply held his gaze with a clam expression, letting the silence drag on. It never paid to be chatty in situations like this, better to play your cards close.

“With all these murders recently, it makes me think,” he began, pausing to consider his next words. “They’re so brutal, it makes them distinct. Don’t you think?”

“Very,” you agreed truthfully. “I’ve never seen murders this savage.”

“So, it makes them unique, then?” he asked as a flicker of excitement flashed behind his eyes.

“They’re certainly unique,” you said, again nodding in agreement. “Most murders this violent are crimes of passion, as opposed to pre-meditated. Which means they usually aren’t part of a pattern, and they don’t repeat. Unless you look back to celebrities like Jack the Ripper.”

Bateman smiled at your reference, clearly thinking along the same lines himself.

“So, let’s say, hypothetically of course, that some other murders were to occur in a similarly brutal fashion,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words deliberately. “The police would assume it was the same killer.”

“Of course,” you answered with a smirk. “And to answer your real question, as to whether it would throw them off your scent. They would assume it’s the same serial killer. Which means they will either pin your murders on him, if they ever catch him, or they will pin all his murders on you, if they catch you. Hypothetically.”

Bateman liked your answer. Nodding to himself, he finally dropped his eyes from yours, lost in his own thoughts for several long moments, before smiling to himself, satisfied.

“I have one more order of business,” he told you as he flashed a wider smile. “I’d like to discuss it with you over dinner. I can get us into any place you’d like, even if there’s a waiting list.”

“I’m only available for legal advice, not dinner, I’m afraid,” you politely returned.

“I’ve seen a tall, pissed off looking guy come see you at court a few times,” Bateman continued as though he were discussing the weather. “Is he your husband or something?”

“Oh, he’s something, alright,” you said with a smile, offering nothing more.

“Well, just in case something turns into nothing, here’s my card.” Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he retrieved a business card printed on heavy cardstock with a custom watermark. His title and name were printed in elegant raised lettering. He quickly scrawled his personal number on the back before raising it to his lips, kissing it for good luck, and then sliding it across your desk.

“Let me know if you have any legal problems. Otherwise, you won’t be hearing from me,” you said pleasantly, sweeping his card into a drawer containing a sea of business cards from various meetings.

Walking to the door to your office, Bateman turned with a smile to offer you a final afterthought. “You should let that ‘something’ of yours know that there are other wolves out there who have your scent.”

You now had a dilemma beyond being hit on by a creep. You had to decide whether or not to tell Flip the name of the man who was very likely the serial killer he was chasing at the risk of disbarment.

*******************************************************************************************

PART IV

I see the bad moon risin’

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin'

I see bad times today

Don't go around tonight

Well it's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise

Stars shone vibrantly above the Colorado mountains as Flip drove you toward his cabin. The ambient light from the stars and the barely rising moon illuminated the wilderness far better than the meager yellow headlights of Flip’s truck. The autumn air was frosty, crisp and exhilarating. You tried to remain impassive, despite your body thrumming with excitement at spending the full weekend with Flip in his cabin.

Flip turned the radio up several notches when the classic song by CCR came on. He looked at you with a devilish smirk, his eyes gleaming like a demon in the darkness.

“I see trouble on the way,” he growled in time with the song as he reached his massive hand over to grip your upper thigh. That mischievous grin took on an almost snarling quality as he skated his hand higher until he brushed against the seam in your jeans, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Funny. I see trouble on the way every time I look in your direction, Flip,” you lilted while stroking the back of his hand on your thigh.

You admired Flip’s proud profile as he drove you through the darkness. His lips still curled into a sideways lupine grin. You had seen Flip angry, even made him angry a few times; you had seen him flustered; you had seen him completely hot and bothered and frothing at the mouth for you. But tonight, you saw something else. The look his handsome features donned under the silver shimmer of moonlight was savage, almost predatory. It excited you unexpectedly, making you squeeze your thighs together against his hand.

Looking out of the driver’s window, past Flip’s tousled mane, you saw the moon rising over the mountains, slowly illuminating their dappled secrets. It was not quite full, just a day or two shy, set to grow full during your weekend with Flip. But here, driving on a winding dirt road, delving deeper into the dark forested night with every passing mile, the moon looked bright enough to beckon all the creatures of the night to come forth and do her bidding.

You looked back to Flip, to your wild beast of a man, unable to prevent the lust in your heart from spilling into your eyes. Moonlight glinted brightly in your gaze, causing Flip to lick his plush lips at the sight.

“Nights like tonight really make me feel somethin.’ Alive. Excited.” He gazed at you hungrily as he spoke. “Seein’ the moonlight shine in your eyes while you look at me like that.” His rich voice deepened an octave impossibly lower. “You better be careful lookin’ at me like that, sugar, or we might not make it to my cabin.”

Several turns onto progressively narrower and bumpier dirt roads eventually brought you to a large cabin, seated cozily among towering aspen and pine trees. It was nice, beautiful even. Large windows looked in on a living room and kitchen on the ground floor and even more expansive windows marked the master bedroom on the second story. A porch complete with thick log pillars wrapped around the front of the cabin, furnished with a single chair and a small round table outside. Flip was obviously not accustomed to having much company here. The thought made you smile, knowing that soon he would have two chairs seated out on the porch for you to enjoy sunsets and moonrises together.

Stepping out of Flip’s truck, you stretched your back, reaching your arms high above your head. With a grin, Flip moved quickly around to your side of the truck, rushing you while you stretched. Bending to hook an arm behind your knees, he scooped you up effortlessly into a bridal carry. Laughing with surprise, you looped your arms around his neck as he carried you into his cabin with a beaming smile.

“Welcome home, sugar,” he told you fondly, spinning playfully with you in his powerful arms as he walked into his living room.

Flip returned you to the hardwood floor in front of a large stone fireplace across from an inviting leather couch. Your arms were still locked around his neck, and you had no intention of freeing him from your hold. Smiling up at him, you pulled his handsome face down to meet your kiss, parting your lips for him eagerly.

Out here in the wild, your things would be safe in his truck until he was free to bring them in. Once you were done with him in a few hours.

*******************************************************************************************

It was a frosted morning, heavy with fog the first time you awoke in Flip’s bed in his cabin. Dawn’s pinks and oranges had barely begun to streak the sky, and in the forest, darkness still had full reign within the dense foliage.

You were alone in the bed. Odd, you thought, as much as he enjoys waking you up by pressing his alert cock into you or with his head between your thighs.

Rustling in the kitchen downstairs and a muffled curse alerted you as to his whereabouts and indicated that he was making coffee, or worse, cooking. You smiled as you stretched the sleep from your limbs.

A shiver ran through your body when you left the warmth of the sheets. You quickly pulled on some flannel lounge pants you had packed in anticipation of the cold and a hoodie before heading downstairs.

The smell of fresh coffee hit you pleasantly as you descended the stairs. Flip was working over something on the stove with his back to you. He had pulled on his jeans and red and black flannel, but he was barefoot, his hair still unruly from sleep and your fingers twisting through it last night.

“‘Bout time you decided to join me,” he joked, voice still hoarse from sleep, casting a glance over his shoulder as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

Walking up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your chest to his back and inhaling his woodsy musk. “I never took you for someone I’d find barefoot in the kitchen, slaving over the stove,” you returned his humor.

“Only for you, sugar,” he huffed with a thick laugh.

He was making pancakes. A large stack already piled on a plate beside him. They looked perfectly fluffy and smelled delicious. You hadn’t been hungry, but the smell earned a growl from your stomach.

Moving away from Flip, you poured yourself some coffee and fixed it to your liking. You sipped from your mug, leaning against the counter beside him as he shifted a pan on the stove.

Flip looked at you pointedly, ensuring he had your attention. While keeping his eyes fixed on yours, he flipped the giant pancake high in the air. The pancake turned over several times flawlessly before landing back in the pan perfectly.

“That was a narrowly averted disaster,” you teased him with a smile.

He winked at you in return, flashing you a smirk, before doing it again, just as high as before.

“You asked me a while back where the nickname ‘Flip’ came from. It was from back before I joined the force,” he said with a grin. “But, if you tell anyone else, you’ll have welts on your ass for a week.”

“You know, Stallworth told me it was because with your temper, it was like flipping a switch,” you teased.

“Like I said, don’t go tellin’ anyone my deep dark secret.” Flip smiled at you. “One way or another, I’ll make sure you don’t walk right the next time you’re goin’ into court.”

When the last pancake was deposited on top of the stack, he laid the plate containing it in the center of his small table and pulled out a chair for you. You kissed his plush lips, stroking his cheek with your fingers, before lowering yourself into the proffered chair.

An early glow slowly began to filter in through the large windows as you ate, as light began to seep its way through the mired branches of the forest. The sky was turning a vibrant palette of pinks, oranges, yellows, and blues, looking like smeared ice cream in the sky. A light mist still lingered along the ground, hanging low as if trapped in by the trees.

You finished your breakfast significantly more quickly than Flip, who could easily eat as much as two regular size men. Sitting back in your chair drinking your coffee, you watched amused as Flip finished off the remainder of the pancake stack with ease, laughing and joking with each other throughout your meal. You were happier than you could ever remember; here, spending a morning in the pastel wilderness with your own personal lumberjack.

“I want you to do something for me, Flip,” you said coyly over the rim of your coffee mug. “Something that will really get your blood pumping.”

“Is that so?” Flip asked, raising an eyebrow to toy with you.

“Since we’re here. In your cabin. I’d like the full experience, please.” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, locking your eyes to his own. “I want a nice warm fire, and I want you to fuck me in front of it until I can’t walk.”

“Can I finish my coffee first?” Flip’s eyes darkened, his pupils flooding his honeyed irises, as his lips turned up in a sly smirk.

“I want to watch you chop the firewood for it yourself.” You paused to sip from your own mug before continuing. “And don’t even think about wearing a shirt while you do it.”

“Aren’t you demanding.” Flip’s voice had grown smoky with lust, enticed himself by the idea.

“You can consider it foreplay.” Holding his gaze, you made a show of licking a drop of coffee off your lips.

“Are you gonna make this little show worth my time, sugar?” He asked you while tracing the rim of his mug with a long thick finger.

“Only one way to find out.” You shrugged.

A man of action as always, Flip wasted no time in standing up from his chair to unbutton his shirt, fixing you in his lusting gaze. He shrugged off his buffalo plaid flannel and draped it over the back of his chair. Your greedy pussy was already starting to moisten as he stood before you, dressed only in his tight jeans, his impressive chest on display for you alone.

“Satisfied?” he asked with a smug grin, reveling in the way your eyes raked his body.

In response, you reached a hand to the waistband of his jeans, pulling him toward you. You brought your open mouth to the trail of hair below his bellybutton, placing wet open-mouthed kisses from the top few hairs down to right above the button of his jeans. Flip’s hand reached to fist the hair at the back of your head as he let out a low groan. You could see his cock swelling in front of you, straining against the denim. Pulling your lips away from his navel, you trailed a finger coyly down along the fly of his jeans.

“I hope this won’t make chopping that wood too hard for you.” You sat back in your chair, crossing your legs and smirking up at Flip. “I’ll finish my coffee outside. During my private show.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Flip huffed before he downed the remainder of his coffee in two quick chugs and turned to walk outside, pausing only to pull on his boots. You followed close behind with your coffee, pulling on Flip’s huge jacket before stepping out into the crisp morning air. He wouldn’t be needing it.

Flip walked to the stump with the large axe embedded in it. Pulling it free, he slung it over his shoulder to rest there as he placed the first piece of wood on the stump. He turned to look at you, axe bobbing on his shoulder, and flashed you a dashing half-smile as he asked, “Is this what you want to see?”

“I’m still waiting to see something,” you responded as you lowered yourself to sit on the steps of his porch, raising your mug to sip your coffee.

In one fluid motion, Flip turned back to the stump, swinging the axe from his shoulder, cleaving the piece of wood in half in one precise, powerful swing.

Without pausing his movements, he replaced the piece of wood with another and swung again, this time from over the opposite shoulder, splitting it perfectly down the middle.

Flip kept up a continuous rhythm, never slowing or pausing from his fluent motions. With each swing, he brought the axe high over his head, stretching his huge body fully. Then, after joining both hands on the handle, he slammed the axe down forcefully with ace precision, muscles contracting and tensing, before alternating his grip on the axe for the next swing.

Arousal pooled between your legs from the sight of him, seeing his powerful muscles ripple beneath his skin. You clamped your thighs together reflexively. With each robust movement, you watched his dense muscles flex, going from taught to clenched. His ebony hair fell wildly around his face and neck, jostling with every stroke. He really was an absolute beast, in the most appealing of ways.

Sweat had begun to shine on Flip’s back, accentuating the definition of each movement. A frosty chill still hung in the morning air, and soon a faint mist of steam rose from the glistening sweat on his back and chest. Each huffed breath sent a matching cloud of vapor to linger briefly in the air.

You sat transfixed by the show he gave you, made even better by its genuineness- this wasn’t merely an act for you, this was simply Flip and the pure alpha masculinity in his bearing and his every movement.

He kept his pace steady, indefatigable. It was like watching a wild ravaging animal. Your lips turned into a sly smile when an idea came to you. Finishing your coffee, you rose from your seat on his porch.

“I’m going to get a refill. Please continue,” you instructed him playfully, indicating your empty mug.

Flip rolled his eyes at you teasingly as he swung his axe in another downward strike, splitting a log in one clean blow.

Walking back inside his cabin, you deposited your mug in the sink. You had other plans.

You had purchased new lingerie for this weekend, a treat for Flip. A red strappy number that you thought he’d love on you. You changed into it quickly. Heels would complete the look, but wouldn’t work with your idea. Instead, you donned your black knee-high riding style boots. The final look became you. Flip, if anyone, would appreciate the edgy touch added by your boots. You shook your hair out and quickly rouged your lips. You looked good.

As you walked back to the front door, you grabbed his discarded flannel as an afterthought, pulling it on. It even matched. The red and black flannel perfectly toned to your red lingerie and black boots. It was so large on you, the shoulders reached halfway down to your elbows and the hem hung lower than some of your dresses.

Flip didn’t notice when you emerged, focused on his labor. You leaned against one of the pillars on his porch, hip cocked out, letting his open flannel cascade down your figure and drop off one shoulder seductively. The October chill made your nipples perk beautifully through the thin material of your bra.

After a few more strikes, Flip noticed you. It was the only faulty stroke he made all morning, his swing swerving off center when his eyes found you, and landing canted into the stump beside his targeted log. Flip stumbled slightly, off balance from his missed swing.

His mouth hung open just enough to show his charmingly crooked teeth as he breathed heavily from his wood chopping. The sheen of sweat that adorned his exposed torso glistened with each breath, accentuating each rippled movement of his powerful muscles. His vibrant eyes consumed every detail of your figure.

Descending the porch steps, you turned your back to him and looked over your shoulder coyly.

“Does the Big Bad Wolf think he can catch me?” you asked as you took a few tentative steps away from him in the direction of the woods, exaggerating the sway of your hips as you moved.

If you had ever seen a wolfish grin on Flip’s lips, it was certainly now. His lips, still parted, baring his teeth as he panted, turned into a smiling snarl. The feral glint in his eyes paired with his sweat-tousled hair completed the look. He looked absolutely wild. A large beast that belonged in the woods.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run before I hunt you down and sink my teeth into that sweet ass of yours,” Flip told you in a deep rumble as he lowered his chin, looking every bit the predator.

“Honestly, Flip-“

“One.” He cut you off, taking an ominous step toward you.

You smiled and began lightly jogging toward the winding trail through the dense trees that you had seen from the bedroom window early that morning.

“Two,” he huffed behind you. “Better run a lot faster than that, Little Red.”

Finding the trail quickly, you picked up speed as adrenaline flooded your bloodstream. The idea of the chase, of running from a looming hunter, was exhilarating. The trail snaked through the forest, a single brown laceration between the trees tinged with autumn and the cacophonous reds, oranges, and yellows of their dying leaves. The trees themselves reached their twisted branches out to you, as if to offer their help to hide you from the beast at your heels. A light morning mist still lingered in the forest, dancing around your knees and swirling in your wake as you ran ahead.

You felt it when Flip gave chase. You couldn’t see him, certainly couldn’t hear him, but you felt it somehow like an electric shudder through your body, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It was as if the forest itself felt him too, the atmosphere changing around you now that you were actively being hunted.

A thick pine tree was close ahead of you, it’s lush low-hanging branches inviting, offering you a place to hide from your pursuer. Ducking under its branches, you pressed your back to the trunk on the opposite side of the trail. The fragrant smell of pine and sap surrounded you as you breathed heavily through your nose, trying to slow the hammering in your chest.

Snap.

You jolted at the sound of a breaking branch that reverberated through the trees. You strained your ears to divulge more sounds to you, but there were none to be heard. It seemed as though the forest itself had gone quiet. The trees surrounding you had become an audience waiting with bated breath to see if you would make your escape, or if you would fall victim to the carnivore at your heels.

The silence around you was so complete it was oppressive after the sounds of your running. Surely Flip could have caught up to you by now. You had expected him to charge past your spot behind the pine and down the trail ahead of you.

What was he playing at?

Leave it to that smug bastard to sit back down at his dining room table, drinking his coffee, until you decided to return, greeting you with some smartass remark about enjoying your walk in the woods.

Slowly, and as quietly as you could, you turned to look around the trunk of the tree that shielded you, looking back up the trail with only one eye that dared to breach the side of the tree. Nothing. No Flip in sight. Even the fog had settled again.

You returned your back to the tree, your head following, still scanning the trail. As your head returned to face front, you caught movement from the corner of your eye in the direction of the forest. You snapped your head around to meet Flip’s wild eyes and hulking body looming right at your opposite shoulder. You almost jumped out of your fucking skin as a pathetic yelp left your throat. Flip growled as his arm shot around your waist, pulling you roughly against him. He wasted no time in sinking his teeth into your neck in a stinging kiss.

“Flip!” You jumped away from him, fueled by reflexes alone. Flip let you. You took a moment to steady yourself, filling your lungs with air too slowly for your spinning head.

“I’ll only count to five this time, Little Red.” Flip told you as he stepped toward you with a wicked grin gracing his lips.

Backing away from him, taking a few steps to fill your lungs with a few breaths of oxygen, you admired the hungry lust radiating off Flip in waves, all for you. The sight of him like this, shirtless, sweaty, steam rising off his massive body in the cool air, and his entire presence ravenous for you was the most enticing vision to ever meet your eyes.

Flip was enjoying this. You could see how it sparked some primal urge deep inside of him. It certainly sparked an urge inside you too, if your dripping pussy was any indication.

“My, my, what big arms you have, handsome,” you teased, unable to resist playing with him.

“The better to catch you with,” he growled with a wink at you, enjoying your game.

You laughed as you bounded away playfully, skipping into a run that carried you further along the trail and deeper into the welcoming mystery of the woods.

The trail thinned as the forest closed in around you, the smells growing thicker as the light grew thinner. It was damp now, no sunlight to dry the overnight dew. Your feet sank into the ground, soft with dead leaves and grass. Further in, the woods had grown wilder around you, much as the man chasing you was growing wilder with every pursuing step behind you.

You knew he was closing in on you rapidly. You slowed enough to look behind you. You were just in time to see Flip lowering his massive body as he lunged at you. His shoulder connected with your waist as his strong arms gripped you, tackling you to the ground beneath him. He was careful with you. He’d never actually tackle you with his full force or risk hurting you. His arm hit the ground hard beneath you, cushioning your body when you met the cold moist forest floor. His heavy body covered you with enough weight to pin you but not quite enough to crush you.

Laying beneath his sweaty body, your arms flew around him. One hand fisted into his damp hair, tangling it into a tight grip, your other hand dug sharp nails into his meaty shoulder, earning a groan in response.

Flip crashed his lips down against yours in a wet desperate kiss, hot tongue tracing yours, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“My, what a talented tongue you have,” you moaned, pulling him in closer.

“The better to taste you with, sugar.” Flip’s voice thundered against your lips. “I’ll eat you the fuck up if you’ll let me.”

Flip kissed you hungrily, licking into your mouth and catching your lips between his teeth. He brought his enormous hand to your throat, wrapping around your neck easily, squeezing just enough to make your pulse quicken and pound against his palm.

“Do you like me chasin’ after you?” He growled into your mouth.

“I do,” you whispered back. “But I like being caught by you even more.”

Spreading your legs for him as you kissed, you let him settle between them before lifting your legs to his waist. You were thankful for his flannel between your skin and the ground as his weight settled more heavily on you.

A low moan rumbled in his chest, his lips turning up against your mouth. The hand at your neck smoothed down to your breast, kneading you. You could feel the callouses on his palms through the thin material of your bra, the sensation making you gasp.

Moving his hand lower, Flip’s fingers dipped under your panties and began to rub the outside of your pussy. You were already wet, the excitement of the chase combined with the look and feel of your handsome man had rendered you completely soaked.

Flip’s mouth moved down to your neck as he sunk two fingers into you, curling them firmly against that perfect spot he knew could make you scream. His fingers worked your pussy as his teeth and lips attended to your neck and throat.

His hips began pushing against you, his thick cock digging into the back of his own hand, which was still making you writhe on his fingers. Even that light movement caused your body to shift on the ground.

Pulling his fingers from you, Flip rolled with you, falling onto his back and pulling you up to sit over his cock, straddling his lap, looking down at his smiling face.

In stark contrast to the roughness of the morning’s activities, he reached to gently untangle some leaves and debris from your hair, smiling fondly up at you. His fingers traced down your cheek, dropping lower to follow your curves until his hand rested on your hip, tightening his grip there.

“Ride my cock, gorgeous. I don’t want your pretty back all scratched up.” He purred as he stroked his other hand up your thigh. “I’m the only one who gets to leave marks on you.”

You wasted no time in raising your hips to unzip his jeans and work them down just enough to free his heavy cock. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to sight of it. So thick, beautifully veined, and absolutely fucking enormous.

You had to tilt yourself to get enough distance between his hips and your pussy to line up with the thick head of his cock, it was too long to do gracefully. Pulling your panties to the side, you sank down onto him in one fluid movement. You took a moment to revel in the luscious feeling of being filled with his perfect cock before starting to move.

Bringing your hands to his solid chest, your hands that couldn’t span half of one of his pecs, you dug your nails into his flesh as your hips began to grind down on him.

“Oh, my! What a big cock you have,” you moaned loudly, your volume unrestrained out here in the depth of the woods.

Flip responded by bucking his hips up into you, pulling you down onto his cock as he did, forcing a whine from your throat as your head fell back in ecstasy.

Arching your back, you pushed your tits out beautifully, ensuring they bounced a little more than natural, as you rode Flip’s cock. You lifted a hand from his chest to twist in your own hair, giving Flip a show as his thick cock was grinding you quickly toward your release.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, sugar. Ridin’ my fat cock out here,” Flip groaned, more out of breath now than he was when he caught you. He was loving this. Looking up at you with his teeth bared; his hair messed and wild; pink lines streaking his chest and shoulders from your nails; his hands bruising your hips as he bucked up to slam his cock deeper into your pussy in time with the rhythm you set.

“You’re everything a big bad wolf could want, sugar,” he growled in pleasure with his words, a rumbling from his chest through his throat.

Your thighs burned and quivered as you bounced on Flip’s cock. Your pussy was starting to clench as you rode him harder. Feeling you begin to seize around him, he brought a thumb to rub your clit, pressing it against his wet cock as it slid in and out of you.

“Come on, sugar. Cum all over my fuckin’ cock. Make me fuckin’ howl from how good your pussy feels,” he grunted as his cock started to pulse inside you.

Waves of bliss crashed over you as your orgasm hit, your entire body going rigid first, shuddering second, and then limp and boneless last. Flip fucked you through all of it, milking all the pleasure he could from your pussy. He was supporting you now with his hands on your hips, pulling you down to meet his quick thrusts. It was in short order that his cock was pulsing inside of you, his hot cum filling you to the brim. He crushed your hips to his lap when he came, grinding his cock up into you as deeply as he could reach until he was spent.

Steam rose off both of your sweaty, heated bodies in the cool October morning. Your mutual panted breaths fogged the air between you. Small tendrils of steam even rose from Flip’s cum as it leaked out of you around the base of his cock, which was still buried inside of you. You fell forward against his hot chest with a sigh, resting your face under his chin. His arms wrapped around you as he tenderly kissed your forehead.

“I’ve always wanted to do that, sugar,” Flip spoke softly into your hair. “That was fuckin’ incredible.”

“I’d love to spend more time in the woods with my Big Bad Wolf,” you told him as you kissed his chest, earning an affectionate huff from Flip.

Soon, the sweat cooling on your bodies became a chill. When you shivered briefly against Flip’s chest, he instantly sat up, rubbing his warm hands across your back. You stood up first on shaky legs. Flip followed you, shoving his cock back into his jeans as he stood.

Smiling genuinely at you, Flip reached a hand to the back of your neck to pull you in and kiss you deeply, pouring all of his adoration for you into his kiss. Your smile beamed just as brightly as his when he pulled back from your lips.

“What a big smile you have now, mister wolf.” You watched as a fleeting pink blush flared across Flip’s chest at your words.

“I remember you sayin’ something about wantin’ me to fuck you in front of the fireplace until you can’t walk.” He smirked. It wasn’t a question.

Flip bent down to grab you around the waist, hoisting you up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He wrapped one solid arm around your thighs as his opposite palm came down to smack your ass, followed shortly by his turning to place a kiss to it.

You laughed as Flip carried you like that back to his cabin, as effortlessly as if you were no heavier than the axe he had carried slung over his shoulder earlier that morning.

*******************************************************************************************

That first weekend Flip spent with you in his cabin was unlike any other. Of course, he adored your company and ravenously enjoyed the delights of your body, but beyond that, he felt at peace for the first time during a full moon since his curse had settled upon him. He didn’t feel the urge to tear off his skin, to run wild through the woods. Nothing was more alluring to him now than staying by your side, surrounded by your perfumed warmth.

Finally, something had a hold on him that was stronger than the grip of the full moon, and that was you.

Flip had heard stories about love at first sight and all those sentiments he used to think were horseshit, but now he wasn’t so sure. Even after only a few short weeks of being involved with you, he found himself incapable of imagining going back to his life before you came into it. You had become his favorite pastime, his best friend, and the only person who had ever grounded him so solidly. And it had been effortless.

Now that he had you in his life, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep you there and nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

*******************************************************************************************

“How’s your aim?” was the first thing Flip asked when he picked you up for an evening out at the local fall carnival, as he opened the door to his truck for you.

“That depends on what you mean, big boy,” you answered, raising up on your toes to kiss him. Flip couldn’t resist smacking your ass as you climbed into his truck.

The truck canted with his heavy weight when he took his seat behind the wheel. As soon as he cranked his engine, his right hand found its usual place on your thigh, squeezing you affectionately.

“I’m gonna show off for you tonight,” he told you with his cocky grin, turned slightly toward you as he drove with one hand.

“I think you’ve already done that,” you assured him, returning his smile, resting your smaller hand on top of his enormous one.

“Sugar, I’m gonna win you a whole pack of teddy bears at the shootin’ galleries,” he declared proudly. “Including the biggest one in the whole damn carnival.”

“You must really want to put all those teenagers to shame,” you laughed pleasantly.

“You’re damn right I do.” Flip nodded, laughing himself. “Teenagers make my life hell this time of year anyway. I’m gonna shame the fuck outta all of ‘em.”

“Is that how you became a decorated marksman? Shooting ducks in a row and winning teddy bears?” you teased, as he drove past the city limits toward the colored lights of the carnival flickering in the distance.

“If I show off my real shootin’ skills, I think I’d make too much of a scene,” he joked back.

“At least I’d have a new client,” you told him, raising your eyebrows expectantly.

“Who says I’d hire you?” he said with a smirk, quickly lifting his hand from your thigh to pinch your tit faster than you could smack him away. “I think I’ve personally helped you become too expensive for me.”

“I’d let you work off your bill.” Smirking yourself, you played by his rules. Pinning Flip’s hand to your thigh where he had returned it with your right, you shot your left hand out to pinch his own nipple, twisting it roughly as he flinched, grunting with surprise.

“Fuck, sugar,” he huffed, yanking his hand back from you to rub his chest, glaring at you playfully. “Besides, you’re not supposed to sleep with your clients. I’ll take the fuckin’ over the lawyerin’ any day.”

Flip pulled to a stop in the dirt lot of the carnival. It was set in an abandoned farm. Tall rows of corn stretched across the property as far as you could see in the darkness, an ocean of tawny gold framed by trees on either side.

The cool autumn air hit you when you stepped out of Flip’s truck. Thankfully, Flip alleviated it almost immediately, taking your hand and pulling you tight to his side against his furnace of a body as you walked into the carnival. Lacing his giant fingers through yours, he raised your hand to his lips, placing a hot scruffy kiss on your skin.

After buying tickets, Flip made a beeline for the shooting games, all but dragging you along with him in his excited gait.

Standing at a booth housing rows of yellow tin ducks bobbing along on a track, Flip smirked down at you, holding his toy rifle, comically small in his huge hands. Flashing you a cocky wink, he twirled the gun in his right hand like John Wayne readying a lever-action.

Throwing the rifle up, the butt had barely made contact with his shoulder, his eyes sighting down the barrel for only a fraction of a second, before he squeezed off his first round, hitting a duck dead center with a resounding ping. Flip didn’t slow or take his eyes from his targets, firing round after round until he had run out of turns. He didn’t miss a single shot.

Just as he promised, Flip won you the best prize at the shooting gallery. He grinned at you when the young attendant handed you a medium-sized teddy bear. Holding your bear, you rewarded Flip by pulling him by his flannel lapels down into a kiss, putting the young couples around you to shame.

You were turning to look for the next game when Flip grabbed the bear from you, shoving the rifle into your hands.

“Now that you’ve seen the master in action,” he told you, puffing his chest like a smug jackass, “Let’s see what you’ve got, sugar.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you raised the gun to your shoulder. Taking the time to pick each target, you squeezed off shot after shot, only missing your mark twice out of your battery of shots. You lacked Flip’s panache, but you were a pretty decent shot yourself.

“I’m impressed.” Flip nodded in surprise, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I know how to take care of myself, handsome,” you said just as smugly as he would. “That I let you take care of me is a privilege, not a necessity.”

“I’m honored, sugar,” he huffed a laugh at your ribbing as the attendant handed you another bear, one size smaller than the one Flip had won for you.

“I better see this taken care of properly in your cabin,” you told him in a playful threat, handing him his bear and taking yours back from him.

Looping your free arm back through his, you each held your bears in your outside arms as you strolled through the carnival. Flip was in a great mood, only glaring with mild ferocity at a few teenagers whose eyes lingered on your figure too long.

Ahead, you spotted a tall lighted pillar with a big round bell at the top, the kind they ding in boxing matches only larger. At the bottom of the pillar was a red cushion, and an oversize mallet rested against the pillar. A scrawny attendant beckoned Flip forward, taunting him to see if he was man enough to ring the bell and win the strong man contest.

“You’ve rung my bell plenty of times,” you said loud enough for the kid to hear, bumping Flip with your shoulder. “Let’s see how you do with this one.”

Walking to the game in that naturally masculine way of his, Flip put his hands on his hips, evaluating the setup. The bell looked higher than usual, a typical travelling carnival trick to make it unwinnable.

“Has anybody ever rung that bell?” Flip asked the kid, who only shrugged his shoulders sullenly in reply.

“Alright, how many people since you set up shop here?” you joined in, questioning the kid. You had to press with several more attempts like he was a recalcitrant witness in a case, but he finally divulged that he had never seen anyone ring the bell.

“Then, it’s about damn time,” Flipped bragged, squaring his shoulders.

Paying the teenager, Flip took the mallet, weighing it in his hands. It was around four feet long with a bulbous head, its handle candy striped with red and yellow.

Flip had swinging a heavy weapon down to an art form from his years of chopping wood. Stepping up to the game, Flip raised the mallet high, inhaling on his upswing as he reared back, and then with a huffed exhale, he slammed the mallet down viciously, putting all of his heavy weight into his strike.

The puck shot to the top of the pillar like a lightning bolt, ringing the bell loudly for all to hear.

You clapped your hands together heartily, applauding Flip when he turned to flash you his smug grin. Before picking out another teddy bear, Flip claimed his real prize, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his body for a heated kiss. Behind you, several other men lined up, preparing to disappoint their girlfriends when they failed to ring the bell after Flip.

“Wow, you’re strong mister,” exclaimed the teenager, as he handed you a giant oversized teddy bear to add to your carnival bounty. This bear’s plump body was larger than Flip’s torso.

“I didn’t think this through,” Flip grumbled as he took the large bear from you, carrying it for you so that your hands were free to touch him instead. Placing its neck in the crook of his arm, he carried it through the carnival in a headlock. “Are you gonna post this thing up somewhere in your bedroom where it’s lookin’ at me while I’m fuckin’ you?”

“Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t like an audience.” You looked up at him with a mischievous grin.

“People can watch me all night long, sugar, but no one but me is gonna be lookin’ at those curves of yours.” Flip shook his head at the thought, reaching his free hand down to pinch your ass before placing it on the small of your back possessively as you walked.

Next in your path was a stand selling all of the fatty sweet foods carnivals were renown for. Raising his nose into the air, Flip inhaled some of the greasy sweetness.

“Pick your poison,” you said, pulling him toward the stand.

“Give us your finest funnel cake,” Flip told the attendant, before commenting to you in a voice that was still too loud for privacy, “But it’s not gonna taste nearly as sweet as you, sugar.”

Taking the desert in his free hand, Flip sat it and your cache of bears down on a nearby table. Seating himself first, Flip pulled you down into his lap, locking his left arm around your waist, not giving you the opportunity to sit anywhere else. Laughing at his affection, you looped an arm around his shoulders, happy to have the best seat in the house.

You grabbed a sugary piece of funnel cake, offering it to Flip. He took it from your fingers between his lips, growling with pleasure as he then sucked the sweetness off your fingertips. Leaning down, you kissed some of the powdered sugar off his lips before having a piece yourself.

“Teddy bears, PDA, and dessert all in one evening?” you teased, twirling your fingers through Flip’s hair with your hand that draped over his shoulders. “What would the boys at the station think?”

“They’d think, ‘Goddamn, I wish I could get a girl like that,’” Flip purred in a tone richer than the dessert you both enjoyed. “And I’m gonna make damn sure I keep you happy.”

“I think you’re getting soft on me, Detective,” you said with a smile, kissing him again.

“Oh, I’m still plenty hard for you, sugar.” Flip grinned at you, bucking his hips up beneath you, grinding his half-hard cock into you.

After finishing the funnel cake, Flip eating the lion’s share and still somehow complaining about being hungry, he took you on every ride that struck your fancy, enjoying the way you clung tight to his arm on the faster rides. He made it a point to kiss you deeply at the top of the Ferris Wheel with the entire neon carnival glowing below you and the crystal white stars shimmering above you.

Somehow, you even managed to drag Flip into a photobooth, forcing him to sit through several rounds of pictures. In most of them, he was making a face that was some version of a growl or a grimace, but in a few he was smirking in that handsome way of his, and in a few others, he was kissing your neck and cheek while you again sat in his lap.

Calling it a night, you both headed out, walking arm in arm back to Flip’s truck, through the lights of the carnival that seemed as dazzling as the starry sky. Out of the corner of your eye the light darkened for an instant. In that split second, you saw a pair of dark soulless eyes absorb all the nearby light, outlining an ominous gaze coming from a man in a finely tailored suit. Bateman. Blinking your eyes to clear them, he was gone, as if he was never there. Flip didn’t notice the shadowy man, his attention focused on fishing his keys out of his jeans while juggling teddy bears.

There was no reason to ruffle him. Even if it was Bateman, you were used to seeing unscrupulous clients here and there on occasion, you alone knowing their dark secrets. Besides, it was probably just a trick of the light.

It had been as perfect a date night as you could imagine, and nothing was going to ruin that. Of course, once you got home, Flip ensured your evening was filled with even more fireworks than all of the lights of the carnival combined.

*******************************************************************************************

PART V

Leaning back in his chair in his office, Flip pulled a drag from his cigarette, holding it in his lungs for a moment before blowing a thick cloud of smoke into the face of the giant teddy bear that sat fat and smiling in the corner of his office. The sorry bastard.

Flip had lost a bet with you, and your prize was that the enormous teddy bear he had won had to stay in his office for a month in full view of everyone. All the other cops at the station loved the hell outta that, maybe even more than you did. Ron got especially good mileage out of it, being the one man Flip actually liked enough not to punch in the teeth for giving him endless shit.

“Stevie Ray Vaughan,” Flip mistakenly asserted, as Jimi Hendrix’s guitar solo in ‘Voodoo Child’ played on the radio.

“That’s Hendrix, old man,” you told him teasingly. “You should know better.”

“Are you gonna challenge me on the classics now, sugar?” Flip huffed, smirking at you like a jackass.

“What do you want to bet that’s Hendrix?” Your eyes shot up your forehead, eagerly inviting his offer.

“I don’t wanna bet.” Flip shook his head, questioning his resolve.

“Because you know you’re wrong,” you asserted with finality, poking him further.

“I’m not fuckin’ wrong,” Flip scowled, wondering if he was, in fact, wrong.

“Don’t be a chicken, let’s bet,” you told him playfully, casting him a knowing smirk. “If you win, I’ll suck your cock in your office. But if I win, you’re going to have to do something even more obscene.”

His shoulders stiffened at the challenge, unable to back down after you called him a chicken and then offered to suck his cock if he won. It was entrapment.

He’d never met a woman who could best his knowledge of classic rock music before. Leave it to you, goddammit.

Grouchier than usual and lost in thought, Flip took another drag, feeling the burn in his lungs. The next full moon was comin’ up tomorrow night, Thursday. He was now spending every night at your place because it was in town. It was a damn good deal for him to get to stay in bed an extra hour in the mornin’s, especially when he was holdin’ you in his arms. Even on his late nights, he made sure you were the last thing he saw before going to bed, and the first thing he saw in the morning.

Since the last full moon that he had spent with you at his cabin, when he had been able to keep the wolf at bay thanks to your touch, there had been four new copycat murders. One butchered girl per week. Flip was wound taught with stress, seeing red with anger. He was on edge in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He had arrested some bad guys in his day, but he had never been on the trail of a serial killer so prolific or so brutal. And the bastard was good. He didn’t leave a trace. On top of everything else, Flip was stressed to beat hell that something from one of his kills might lead the investigation in his direction, pinning every murder on him.

The question that weighed heavily on his mind as he aggressively blew another puff smoke into the bear’s face was whether or not the full moon would get to him this month. Whether he would be unable to restrain himself from turning into a werewolf this time around. He couldn’t fuckin’ say. But even as he looked at the plump smiling bear, he wanted to rip its fuckin’ head off and gut its stuffed belly. Prior to today, when he looked at the cuddly bastard, he couldn’t help grinning despite himself because the bear reminded him of you.

He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk turnin’ around you and scarin’ you. Or worse. Flip decided to play it extra safe. If he was going to turn against his will, it would be just before or during the full moon. With a heavy sigh he fished his cell out of his pocket and made the call he had been putting off.

“Hey, sugar. How’s my pretty girl?” He crooned in his rich baritone, finally smiling for the first time that day from the sound of your voice.

After some pleasantries he informed you that he had to take care of some things at the station and out at his cabin tonight and tomorrow, but that he’d catch up with you Friday.

The hesitancy with which you agreed no questions asked told him that you knew something was wrong, and that you likely suspected it was something worse for your relationship. Flip made a mental note to treat you extra good this weekend and spend every second he could with you. Maybe he could even call in Friday and spend the day with you. That actually sounded like a damn good plan.

That night, Wednesday, he took his work home with him to his cabin. Settling in on his couch with a tumbler of whiskey and a glower, he reviewed every picture and document that he had seen a hundred times before, hoping for something new to jump out at him. He made a point of calling you before he fell asleep there on his couch, just to hear your voice in the vain hope of quelling the nightmares he knew would come.

Flip rose with the sun Thursday morning, the day of the full moon. His skin was on fire, burning from within from the fever of his malady. The moon wasn’t even set to rise until that evening. This was gonna be a rough one.

In lieu of downing his usual cup of black coffee, Flip pulled on a pair of sweats and went for a vigorous run. The cold autumn air cooled the sweat on his bare chest and helped to clear his head as he gulped it down. After a few miles, he felt subdued enough to head into the station.

But there was still no way in hell he was gonna risk seein’ you today. He settled for a good mornin’ text, showin’ you that you were the first thing on his mind. He hoped that you would settle for that too.

Work was distracting enough for him throughout the day. Frustrating as usual, but distracting. The men at the station figured out quickly that Flip was in a ‘mood’ that day and left him almost totally alone to his isolated grumbling until he could leave for the day.

Driving back out to his cabin after work for the night, Flip was even more pissed off than usual at having to spend another night apart from you. It made him realize just how hooked on you he was, just how much he had come to rely on the pleasure of your company to get him through the day.

The full moon rose around 7:30 pm, which meant that if he were going to transform, it would occur in the next twelve hours after that. The moon’s apogee was almost always when he was most susceptible. If he didn’t change by then, it was unlikely he would. Or, at least, he would be much more in control after the moon passed its apex and began to wane.

Flip had a plan.

Pulling into his driveway later than he wanted around 6:30 pm, he loaded his camping gear, changed into some ratty clothes, and headed back out into the mountains. Away from you and everyone else he might harm.

A network of old abandoned mining roads that snaked through the mountains led him deep into the wilderness and high in altitude. It was hard even for Flip to feel too rambunctious at twelve thousand feet.

Parked at the base of several towering peaks, Flip watched the full moon rise over the snow-capped mountains. His hands gripped the steering wheel in white knuckled fists as he glared at the luminous yellow moon, looking impossibly large this high in the mountains.

Do your worst, you sonofabitch, he growled to himself at the moon. He was away from anyone he could possibly harm. Most importantly of all, he was far away from you.

When he felt himself burning hot, his skin sizzling until he wanted to rip it off, he tried his best to flood his mind with thoughts of you. Retrieving his phone, he looked through his favorite pictures of you, taking in the beautiful sight of you with his lupine yellow eyes.

Something about you, even just the thought of you and the memory of your touch, taste, and scent, made him stronger. The fire inside his skin dwindled to embers down from flames and the red haze in his vision cleared, even as the moon climbed higher.

Once the moon passed its apex, Flip stepped out of his truck. Taking a deep inhale of the crisp mountain air and watching his breath fog on his exhale, he felt stronger than before. In control.

A run often helped him, so he decided to go for another sprint out under the full moon, flaunting his control in her shining face.

Shrugging off his flannel shirt and tossing it into the cab of his truck, Flip ran until he could barely walk, until the sweat that glistened on his back and chest turned to steam, rising off his body like a demon in the night. He ran himself ragged in the thin mountain air until he was too worn out to transform even if he wanted to. He ran until the moon had sunk lower in the sky, its hold on him weakening with each passing minute. Then, on shaking legs, he trudged back to his truck.

It was nearly midnight when Flip pulled his shirt back on and climbed behind the wheel. He hoped he wouldn’t wake you up with his call, but he risked it anyway.

“I know it’s late, sugar,” he told you when you answered after enough rings that indicated you were trying to sleep. “But I got done what I needed to. Can I come over and sleep next to you?”

“Of course, handsome,” you agreed, never wanting to spend a night apart from him yourself. “Just crawl into bed next to me when you get here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he hung up, and nothing sounded more like heaven to him after the past couple days than to fall asleep surrounded by your scent while holding you in his arms.

It was a long drive from his place deep in the mountains back to you, but one that Flip made happily. You were fast asleep when he quietly let himself into your house. He made sure to shower before climbing into bed with you and curling his body around yours from behind, nuzzling into your neck.

Before dozing off himself, Flip glanced at his phone, seeing it was nearly 4:00 am. The idea of calling into work tomorrow sounded even better now. He’d mention it to you when you woke up and see if he could get you to play hooky along with him.

*******************************************************************************************

When you opened your eyes Friday morning, Flip was already awake beside you. As you stretched the sleep from your body, arching and elongating beautifully for him, Flip groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Did you sleep?” you asked, sitting up in bed and smiling down at him as you rubbed his heavy bare chest.

“Not much,” he answered gruffly, placing his huge hand over yours and trapping it to his chest. “But at least I got to wake up next to you.”

Your smile widened as you leaned down to meet his lips in a chaste good morning kiss, loving the way he rubbed his prominent nose against yours as you pulled away.

“I was thinkin’ we might each take the day off today. Spend some time together and have some fun,” Flip told you with a sleepy grin, rubbing his hand over yours where it still rested on his chest. “What’s your schedule look like today? Can you swing it?”

“I think I can manage that, handsome,” you said as you bent to kiss him again, more purposeful now that neither of you had places to go. “What kind of fun did you have in mind?”

Pinning your hand to his chest, Flip rolled with you, pulling your body beneath his and caging you inside his arms. “Let me start with the breakfast of champions,” he growled as he began kissing down your body.

Just as he reached the top of your panties and your hands found their way into his hair, his breath huffing hot on your pussy, his phone began ringing persistently from its place on the nightstand.

Reaching for it with a frustrated groan, he intended to ignore the call and silence his ringer. He groaned even louder when he saw it was Ron calling, his friend who, second only to you, ranked high enough for him to answer his call even once he had settled between your thighs.

“What?” Flip snarled into his phone, gripping it tightly in his angry fist. Just because he would answer doesn’t mean he would camouflage his displeasure at doing so.

“You need to get your ass down to the station, Flip,” Stallworth sputtered. “Ten minutes ago.”

“I think I’m callin’ in sick today, rookie,” Flip grumbled, resting his chin on your stomach. “I have my hands full right now and I’m about to have my mouth full too, so make it quick.”

“Not today, Flip. You can win the mattress Olympics later,” Stallworth said firmly. “There were three new Big Foot murders last night. Three women spread across town. Or dumped across town. They’re gruesome. It’s getting worse, Flip. It’s not the day to take off.”

“Why don’t you handle it, rookie?” Flip sank more of his weight down against you in frustration, feeling the good day he had envisioned slip away through his fingers. “Go catch the bastard and take all the credit.”

“There’s more, Flip.” Ron swallowed thickly before continuing. “Your girl can’t hear me right now, can she?”

Pressing his phone tight to his ear, Flip grunted in the negative.

“These new girls, Flip. They all resemble her. Same eye and hair color. Similar build. As much as I can tell with them all torn up anyway.” Ron paused, waiting for a response Flip didn’t immediately give, but every muscle in his body tensed at the news and he found himself instantly alert, the familiar edge creeping back into his heated blood. After a moment, Ron continued. “I thought I might be seeing something that wasn’t there, but I just got back from the crime scenes. I think the killer sprayed her brand of perfume on the victims. I could smell the same perfume when she comes to see you at the station.”

“I’ll be there in a few,” Flip growled into the phone, trying not to reveal anything to you.

“I already have a tail set up to follow her today and keep an eye on everything,” Ron said before Flip ended the call and tossed his cell angrily across the mattress.

“Looks like my work wife is callin’ me in,” Flip said to you with a smirk, keeping any trace of his worry from his features. “But I’ll make it up to you.”

“You damn well better,” you replied with a smile, ruffling his hair in the way that irritated him just enough to be playful.

“How’s about you text me more than usual today. Help keep me in a good mood for later,” Flip suggested, masking his worry with a wolfish grin. “Send me some pictures of what I’ll be missin’ out on.”

Begrudgingly taking his leave from you after ample lingering kisses, Flip sped to meet Ron at the first crime scene. Ron was right. The scent of your perfume hung heavily in the air, mingling in Flip’s nose with the scent of blood and death. The thought that you could be lying mutilated on the ground in place of one of these unfortunate women made his stomach turn and his vision blur.

Play time was over. He was gonna catch this serial killer sonofabitch. And if he had any damned luck at all, he’d have a justifiable excuse to rip the motherfucker apart.

The game had changed for Flip. He was in a brand-new position he had never been in before. Flip had never felt as though he was the hunted, as though he himself was in danger. Now, with the killer potentially targeting you, perhaps to get to Flip himself as the lead detective, Flip felt a sense of urgency to protect you. He was also consumed by a simmering rage the likes of which he had never felt.

Each visit to the three crime scenes made his blood boil hotter and his teeth grind more harshly until his gums were bleeding. It took more than a full workday to effectively investigate the crime scenes and the evidence at each. Flip and Ron still toiled at their desks long after sunset.

Just as Flip asked, you had made a point of sending him numerous texts throughout the day, easing his mind as to your safety, along with some tantalizing pictures that made his jeans tighten when he wanted to focus on other things.

When Ron and Flip finally left the station for the evening, the moon was beginning to rise, just a fraction off of being completely full.

The waning moon had never held any sway over Flip. But as Ron looked up into the sky, commenting on what a nice night it was, Flip felt himself losing control, disappearing into the bestial haze he dreaded. Shoving past Ron, Flip all but sprinted to his truck, jumping inside and peeling out of the station parking lot. Luckily, Ron just assumed he missed you that much.

It must have been the combined stress from the day, mixed with his fear for you and fury at the thought of you being targeted, all mixed in with his lack of sleep weakening his resolve. But Flip found that he was unable to rein himself in.

He only hoped that he could make it out of town to the solitude of his cabin before he turned.

As Flip sped along the mountain roads toward his home, his phone rang and rang and dinged with your calls and texts. He had promised you that he would meet you tonight. You had to be worried. The last that Flip had informed you, he was still tracking a killer. He felt horrible, adding to his succumbing to the pull of the moon, but he couldn’t pick up the phone right now. It wouldn’t be his voice you heard if he tried to speak to you now.

Pulling into his driveway, claws had erupted from his thick fingers, fangs piercing through his gums. He should have just enough time to sprint to his barn and lock himself inside. While he was still himself.

Flip’s heart raced and sank at once when he saw another car parked in his driveway. A white car he didn’t recognize. Two drunken looking frat boy types staggered out of the car, no doubt lost on the backroads or even trying to find a place to vandalize for a good time on a Friday night.

Bad luck for them.

Flip had only one final lucid thought before he drowned in a mass of black fur and snarling teeth, charging out of his truck with ferocious speed at his unexpected guests.

Thank God it wasn’t you.

*******************************************************************************************

Black frigid darkness covered the forest like a deathly shroud when Flip woke with a start, his muscles aching and body shivering from cold. He was shirtless and bloody, laying face down on his porch. A light rain drizzled from a stormy sky, freezing where the drops hit Flip’s skin. Wrapping his violently shivering arms around his body as he staggered to his feet, he realized with some relief that it wasn’t his blood.

Events of last night crept back into his mind like tendrils of a nightmare as he stumbled inside his cabin, making for his shower to warm himself under its stream.

Leaning his head against the tile of his shower as the water washed over him, Flip groaned in frustration at the fuckin’ mess he had caused. Not only had he killed two frat boys in his front yard. Even worse, he had effectively blown you off cold on a Friday night without so much as a call or text. A wave of nausea washed over him at the thought of you waiting up all night worried about him. Worse yet was how upset you’d be today. He couldn’t stand the thought of you dumpin’ him, of never gettin’ to hold you in his arms again, but he could hardly blame you if you did.

Once his body temperature had risen enough for him to stop shivering, Flip stepped out from the shower, making the best plan he could as he dried himself. He would go to you as soon as he was able, hopefully find you still in bed and greet you with your favorite coffee and an apology, and then he would spend as long as it took making it up to you. He hoped to hell that would be enough.

But first, he had one hell of a mess to clean up with those mangled bodies on his lawn and their car in his driveway.

Flip knew better than anyone the necessity to avoid leaving DNA, which was nearly impossible if he was handling bodies, slipping in blood, and trying to dispose of a car too. His best bet was to leave the car and bodies somewhere they wouldn’t be found for weeks, until everything had decayed beyond testing. That was easily done out in the mountains. With any luck, a heavy snow would hit soon and they wouldn’t be discovered until spring.

Safer still would be if any DNA he inadvertently left behind could never be matched to him. Werewolf DNA when he was transformed would never test as a match for his human DNA.

The moon was still full enough that Flip could force himself to turn if he wanted; he could also rein himself in easily if needed.

Focusing his will, Flip encouraged the beast to consume him, feeling his body swell and features contort into something inhuman, as he growled painfully. He held himself back from transforming fully, only enough to accomplish his purpose.

The first project he attended to was to load the bodies in pieces back into their car, all the limbs and scattered bits of tissue he could find. Once all the physical evidence he could stash in the car was inside, he began shoving the car ahead, easy for him in his bestial state.

Slipping and sliding in the mud, Flip pushed the car until it was parked back behind his cabin, blocked from view from anyone who may venture down his driveway. He would dispose of it properly, hide it deep in the mountains, after darkness had descended again and he was at little risk of being seen by any outdoorsmen or ranchers. It had started to rain more heavily while he worked, the cold water plastering his shirt to his body and running down into his eyes.

Closing the car door, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. He looked ferocious, wild and unnatural. His massive frame was even larger, bigger in every way, and more fearsome. His hair was longer, falling wildly around his features. Framing his face, it seemed to accent the sharpness of his teeth and the lupine yellow of his eyes. Adding to his feral countenance was the fresh blood smeared across his shirt from his macabre labor.

Just as he turned to head back to his cabin for another shower, his ears pricked at the sound of footsteps.

*******************************************************************************************

Sleep had eluded you the night before, kept awake by thoughts of Flip getting into some kind of malignant encounter with the serial killer he chased. He had never ignored your calls and texts for hours before. Not once. You were worried sick, your mind running terrible scenarios on loop to torment you.

You were also mad as hell. Flip better have a damn good reason for ignoring you all night and for blowing you off. In fact, death or extreme bodily injury might be the only valid excuses for that behavior.

Unsure yourself if you would meet him with relief or anger, you decided that regardless, you were going to get to the bottom of his absence. Before dawn broke, you were driving toward his cabin to hear his excuse straight from the jackass’s mouth. It was raining, misty and cold, a nasty autumn morning to leave your bed so early.

Turning into his driveway in the early hours of the morning, you were relieved to see his truck parked in front of his cabin. At least he had made it home last night. You couldn’t imagine he was cheating on you, that he was here with another woman. But at the thought, your mind ran through all the ways you knew you could easily get out of a double murder if the occasion called for it.

The door to his cabin was open. Odd, especially given the frosty temperature and drizzling rain.

Stepping out of your car, you stopped at the steps to his porch, despite the cold rain pelting you, as some primal instinct gave you pause. Your senses were on edge for reasons your consciousness couldn’t discern.

A muffled grunt and the sound of tires sliding through mud coming from behind Flip’s cabin drew your attention. With quiet, hesitant steps, you walked slowly around his log home, looking for the source of the noises.

As you walked around the side of the cabin, you saw a white car you didn’t recognize. A monstrous hulking figure stood beside it. The figure wore one of Flip’s shirts and pair of his jeans. Your breath caught in your throat and your head spun with adrenaline as your mind tried to make sense of the sight before you.

It was Flip. But it wasn’t the Flip you knew.

Without knowing what you were doing, you stumbled backward in shock. At the sound of your clumsy footsteps, Flip jerked his head toward you, his razored teeth bared in a snarl. His enormous shoulders bunched, as though he was ready to lunge at you.

Worst of all was the look in his eyes. His yellow eyes.

Your heart stopped. Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Your mind was too shocked, too numb to function. But the adrenaline that shot through your body like an electric current took command, powering you with one urgent thought. Run. There was no other thought in your mind as you turned of your body’s own accord and your legs began pumping you as fast as they could back toward your car.

Blood was thrumming in your ears as loud as the thunder that sounded above you and your heart was now hammering inside your ribs like a caged animal trying to break through. You ran as fast as you could back in the direction of your car, panic fueling you as you raced through the slick mud.

“Sugar! Stop!” Flip roared at you. His voice was a loud growling bellow that raised the hair on the back of your neck. It spurred you faster still.

You heard crashing behind you, and you knew he was chasing you. You knew he was overtaking you. You could feel him rapidly closing the distance between you. It was surely easy for him. He was so huge and powerful. Your lead might buy you a few more seconds, but not enough to get to your car.

Rounding the last stand of trees, the terrain opened up to a straight shot to your car. A stretch you could never make with him charging after you, running down his prey. He was so close now that you could hear his snarling breaths as he closed the final distance between you, the ground thundering under his heavy footfalls.

Adrenaline and stark-naked fear buzzed through you, causing the fog to lift from your mind. You had one lucid thought. As he lunged at you across the final few feet that separated you, you veered sharply toward his cabin. Flip’s fingers grazed your waist as you evaded him while he grasped for you. Off balance as he missed his grab for you, Flip crashed down to one knee, sliding awkwardly, slipping in the mud. Snarling in frustration, he pushed himself up to charge after you again.

His slip bought you a few yards more lead. It was enough. It had to be enough.

Lungs burning, rain stinging your eyes, you sprinted to the side of his cabin. To the spot you remembered fondly from a happier day, when Flip had been chasing you playfully instead of now ferociously running you down. You ran to the stump with the large axe buried in it. The weapon that was your only chance of surviving for longer than the next few seconds.

Realizing your plan, Flip growled behind you as he neared you again, a low rumbling inhuman sound. He was so close to you again that you felt the reverberations of his growl shoot through the lining of your skin.

You reached the axe, your feet sliding in the mud as you gripped its handle with both hands. Wrenching it free, you spun, swinging the axe as violently as you could, aiming at the beast who barreled down upon you. You locked eyes with him for the smallest fraction of a second as the axe travelled. Yellow eyes, wild and gleaming with mayhem.

Your aim was perfect, swinging right at the target of his exposed throat. But you were a heartbeat too slow.

Flip caught the handle of the axe as it swung through the air, looking to bury itself in his neck. His single massive hand stopped it dead in an iron grip, right before his still moving body slammed into yours. His thick chest crashed into your shoulder, broadsiding you as you were in mid-swing of your axe, knocking the wind out of you as you were lifted off the ground by the force of his tackle.

You expected to hit the ground hard with Flip crashing down upon you, but instead, he wrapped his free arm around you in a deadly vice. His hand on the axe handle simultaneously slid down to close tightly over both of yours, pinning your hands in place on the wooden handle. He stumbled forward roughly with you in his hold, carried by the inertia of his lunge, before he regained his own balance after a few staggering strides.

Then he was still. Holding you. His grip crushing. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t even breathe in his powerful embrace. Your hands where he gripped over them on the axe handle, trapping them against it, were losing feeling from the strength of his hold. Flip’s breath came in ragged pants against your temple. Yours didn’t come at all.

Flip huffed and panted, his huge body shuddering against you, catching his breath for a few seconds before roughly ripping the axe out of your grip and violently throwing it aside. In one swift motion, he twisted you so your back was held to his chest and caged you with both arms in an iron bearhug from behind. You were immobilized and utterly at his mercy. He had caught his prey.

When he spoke, Flip’s voice was hoarse and low near your ear, “This isn’t what I wanted, sugar. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” His voice faltered with his words. “I never wanted to scare you. Never. I’d never hurt you.” He huffed out the last broken statement into your hair as he buried his nose against the back of your neck. His grip around you loosened almost imperceptibly. His arms were still locked tightly around you, but he was holding you now, not restraining you. Your fear ebbed fractionally at the realization.

He held your back firm against his chest, breathing shakily against your neck for several long moments before straightening to his full height and turning you to face him. Releasing his hold on you, he brought his hands to your shoulders, squaring you to him. His face was drawn and haggard as he looked down at you with wet saddened eyes, still tinged with flecks of gold.

“I understand you’ll want to leave. I’ll let you leave, gorgeous. I understand if you turn me in.” His voice hitched in his throat, and he swallowed thickly before continuing. “But don’t leave here fearin’ me. Don’t leave here thinkin’ I’d hurt you.” His eyes were shining with emotion, voice thick and heavy. He brought his warm hands from your shoulders to gently cup your cheeks. “I’d never never hurt you, sugar.”

Flip dropped his hands from your cheeks, no longer touching any part of you. His broad shoulders slumped, and his face was a portrait of agony and remorse as his eyes fell to the ground, ashamed.

“This is me, sugar. This is what I am. This is what I’ve been every day you’ve spent with me.” He looked up at you briefly, brows drawn together, pained. He chewed his lip as he continued, “I wanted to tell you, but how does that conversation go? It’s not one I’ve had before.” He huffed out an ironic laugh. “I won’t stop you from leavin’ now. Please just tell me that you know I’d never hurt you. I have to know that you at least believe that of me.” His voice was low and grieved, but he held your gaze.

You should leave. You knew you should. But somehow the prospect of leaving this sad hulking man, your man, utterly distraught at the thought of losing you, was the most painful thought your frazzled mind could conjure.

“What if I don’t leave?” Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

An ember of hope sparked in Flip’s fiery eyes.

“If you stay with me now, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll do anything for you, sugar.” He straightened slightly and extended his arm to you, offering you his massive hand. His irises bled back into their sweet molasses from the sharp feral honey.

Still shaking from the adrenaline flooding your veins and from the chase, you reached to take Flip’s huge warm hand in your small freezing one. He instantly brought your hand to his lips, his eyes squeezing tightly closed to rein in his emotion as he kissed your knuckles. He pulled you to his chest in another tight hug, gentle and comforting. You slowly wrapped your arms around his middle, pulling yourself more firmly against him as you let out a shaky sigh.

The scent of his body felt like coming home as you rested your cheek against his chest. His body radiated warmth around you as one arm held you while his other hand rubbed your back soothingly.

“Well, I did come out here this morning to surprise you. So, that was a success,” you joked tremulously. The low rumbling chuckle in Flip’s chest made you smile.

You were shivering now, unsure if it was the frigid rain that had long soaked through your clothes, or from the remnants of the adrenaline that had flooded your system. Perhaps it was from the savage revelation that your shocked mind struggled to process.

“Can I take you inside, darlin’?” Flip whispered as he stroked your back. “Nothin’ will happen that you don’t want.” He kissed the top of your head gently. “You’re freezin’ out here. We need to warm you up before it gets worse.”

Pulling away, you looked up into his eyes, deciding if you saw your man looking back at you, or if it was the beast meeting your eyes. Flip’s pained hazel eyes held your own, his brows knotted together in concern for you. No menace or unnatural yellow remained in his gaze.

“I do enjoy lying in front of the fireplace with you,” you told him, your voice quivering only slightly.

Flip stooped to lift you in a bridal carry, pausing to bring his lips to yours in a chaste but passionate kiss. His long strides carried you into the welcoming warmth of his cabin. The fireplace already sparked and crackled in his hearth. Flip carefully knelt in front of it with you still in his arms, laying you down softly on the plush rug.

Reclining fully onto your back, you gazed up at Flip’s handsome face. He hovered above you, hands planted on either side of your head, searching your eyes for permission, attempting to discern what you wanted from him in this moment.

“I know you have questions,” he told you in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “You can ask me anything and I’ll tell you.”

“I only want to know one thing right now, Flip. The rest can wait,” you said as you reached to tangle your fingers into his soaking wet hair, pulling him down to you. “Are you mine?”

“Completely. I’m completely yours.” An elated crooked smile rewarded your question. His voice was soft, genuine, and his eyes held yours as he told you simply, “I’m your man, sugar. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Are you sure about that, handsome?” you asked with a smile as he settled more of his weight on you.

“You’re damn right, I’m sure,” he huffed as though there was no other possibility that had ever crossed his mind. “I love the hell outta you, sugar.”

Flip lowered his shaggy head, dripping from rain and exertion, until his large nose brushed against yours affectionately before he met your lips in a kiss that was much hotter than the fire that burned beside you.

*******************************************************************************************

Much later, after Flip had used all of his body to both apologize to you and to show you the depth of his love for you, you both lay exhausted in his bed. You lay on your back with Flip resting his head on your chest where he had collapsed down onto you after you had lost count of the number of times he had made you cum.

Flip had explained everything to you about his past and the nature of his condition. His muscles tensed when he told you about his role in the killings, worried that you would hate him for it. The relief that washed over him when you didn’t flinch or recoil from his disclosure made him feel ten years younger. And it made him love you even more.

“So, does this mean you can’t control it?” you asked, running your hands through Flip’s damp hair. “You can’t control killing?”

“For all of my adult life I’ve kept it under control. I‘ve kept myself from changin’ at all.” Flip lifted his head to look at you, shaking his head in the negative. “Until I met you, sugar. You sent me into a fuckin’ frenzy. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“I’m flattered,” you teased with a grin.

“I’m glad that’s your reaction.” He let out a heavy sigh of relief, his entire body relaxing against yours. Moisture welled in his shining eyes as he reached to take one of your hands and lace his fingers through yours, squeezing you almost painfully tight. He paused to chew his lip in thought and to rein in his emotion before continuing. “I can usually keep myself from turnin’ all the way, but if I do, once I do, I’ve never been able to rein myself in after that.”

“The first weekend I spent with you at your cabin was during a full moon,” you said, smiling at the memory. “I seem to remember us having a pretty nice time, and there wasn’t any howling at the moon.”

“It’s this fuckin’ copycat on this murder case. I’ve never been on edge like this. Not even when I was overseas,“ Flip’s brow furrowed even as he spoke of the case. “This motherfucker could get me caught and locked up. He’s usin’ me to go out and kill women. But what’s worse, is that I think he’s sniffin’ around you.”

“Well, you know what we have to do, don’t you?” you asked as calmly as though you were planning a dinner date, a lawyer analyzing a case.

Looking down at you, Flip raised his eyebrows in a silent question, squeezing your hand affectionately.

“First off, we need to make sure you can control yourself one-hundred percent from now on, because we’ll only get one shot at doing this right,” you spoke evenly and seriously, not taking your eyes from Flip’s. “Once we’re confident of that, there will need to be a new Bigfoot murder. We’ll plant evidence, enough to get the copycat dead to rights. We’ll frame him for all your murders at the same time as he goes down for those he committed.”

“That’s a plan, alright,” Flip agreed, leaning in to kiss you before continuing. “But I don’t want you involved in all this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to let any man of mine get charged with murder,” you said decisively, your tone brokering no argument. “But we’ll have to do it right. And I want at least one more full moon under your belt where nothing happens. You’re going to convince me that you’re in control before we pull the trigger on our plan.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Flip huffed with a smirk, but he nodded as he thought through your plan. “Do you just want to pick some thug to pin these on? Between the two of us, we sure as hell know enough bad guys.”

“After the bomb you just dropped on me, I dare you to even think about being pissed off at me for this,” you warned him playfully, tugging on his hair for emphasis. “But I know who the copycat killer is.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me, sugar?!” Flip’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, shocked by your statement.

“I guess I’m the only person who knows the identity of both the real killer and the copycat,” you laughed at the dumb luck of it all as Flip shook his head in disbelief.

Before Flip could launch into an interrogation, you cut him off, telling him about your consult with Bateman and the curious questions he had asked you. You watched as Flip’s jaw clenched when you relayed how you had seen Bateman during your date at the carnival, confirming that he had more than a causal interest in you. Finally, you told him that Bateman had left you his business card, after kissing it for good luck in the hopes that you would call him.

“DNA and fingerprints? On a card with his fuckin’ name stamped on it?” Flip laughed despite his anger, grinning down at you. “That’s my girl.”

*******************************************************************************************

PART VI

The next full moon fell during one of your big four-day jury trials on a first-degree case. Flip understood what this meant for the both of you. It meant that whether you were at your office or at home, you would be drowning in work, reviewing jury panels, memorizing interviews, drafting an opening, thinking and re-thinking strategies and questions for witnesses, listening to audio and watching videos. It meant bouncing dozens of questions off of Flip and then usually answering them yourself before he could get a word out. It meant late nights and early mornings. It meant that you were stressed to capacity and unable to coddle Flip or give him extra attention. It meant that he would be stressed right along with you and feeling the pressure you were under. It would indeed be a good test of his self-control.

Every night, you now spent together, unless Flip had to pull an all-nighter, in which case, he would still make every effort to greet you with your favorite coffee before you left for the morning and he collapsed into the bed that still smelled like you. You enjoyed Flip’s cabin more than your own home, but the hour-long drive into town every morning was hardly enviable. It became a habit for you both to spend the weeknights at your house in town and the weekends away from everything but each other in his cabin.

Flip debated the entire week leading up to your trial and the full moon if he should stay at your house in town when he would be at his most susceptible to turning, subject to your stress and bad moods, your absence during your long work days, all while in the vicinity of the public. Or, if he should sequester himself away in his cabin until the moon began to wane.

Fuck it, Flip thought. You needed him. He knew he could make everything better for you no matter what else was going on in your life just by holding you every night. He could tough it out and deal with his own bullshit for you. He figured he wasn’t much of a man if he couldn’t be there for you when you needed him, and he would make damn sure he always was.

The full moon landed on the second day of your jury trial, at the height of your stress and by proxy, Flip’s stress. You were stuck at court until long after five and then you had to work late at your office prepping witnesses for the following day.

Sitting alone in your living room, Flip glared at the full moon, shining in through your window as it rose, taunting him. It was nearing ten at night and you still weren’t home. Flip had held himself together for hours while his skin burned and blood boiled, waiting for you to return so he could drown in your scent and lose himself in the feel of you, the only thing that had ever held more sway over him than the moon. It didn’t help matters that he also had a raging fuckin’ hard on; the other curse he had to perpetually deal with on a daily basis. He was hopeful that he could channel both impulses into you when you finally got home.

But as the hours drew on and the moon rose higher, Flip felt the beast inside him surging, trying to claw its way out of his skin, like a series of tremors before a devasting earthquake. He knew this was a good test of his restraint, and he had staved himself off for hours, but now he felt himself slipping and he couldn’t risk losing his hold on himself in town.

Fumbling with shaking hands, Flip fished his phone out of his pocket, dialing the only person he trusted other than you.

“I need your help, rookie,” Flip rasped into the phone, his voice ragged and hoarse.

“It’s late, Flip. Is everything alright?” Ron asked sleepily. “What do you need.”

“Go to the station and get a cell ready for me. Now,” Flip growled, his voice quickly deteriorating into something inhuman. “Don’t ask questions. Just fuckin’ do it.”

“A cell for you?” Ron asked incredulously, now fully alert. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ll see when I get there,” Flip snarled. “Meet me in the back by the holding cells.”

Returning his phone to his pocket, Flip yanked the buttons open on his shirt, his body already searing hot under the heavy material, and stumbled out through your door, making for his truck.

Just as Flip’s hand landed on the door to his truck, leaning his forehead for a moment against the cold metal, you pulled into your driveway. Seeing Flip leaning against his truck, you knew what must be happening and hurriedly exited your car to rush to his side.

“I need to get outta here, sugar,” he told you in a gravelly voice. “I have Ron meetin’ me at the station to lock me in a cell.”

“No one else can know about you. Not even Ron,” you told him firmly, keeping your tone calm. “I’m here now. Let me help you.”

Reaching to the collar of his open shirt, you roughly yanked his head down to crash his lips down onto yours. Your nails dug harshly into the back of his neck when he attacked your lips as his hands reached to your hips, his fingers digging bruises into you with the force of his grip.

“Are you sure you want me like this, sugar?” he growled into your mouth, his voice rich and rumbling. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“Nothing about you is too much for me to handle, handsome,” you assured him, biting down on his lower lip, giving it to him just as rough as he wanted to be with you, and shoving him back toward the door to your house.

Staggering back inside with you, Flip barely had time to call off Ron from his errand before each of you was ripping clothes off the other as you kissed ravenously. Flip was more consumed with you than by any other impulse, feeling all of his bestial desire channeling straight into his lust for you. You no longer sent him into a frenzy, you grounded him, made him stronger and more focused. You had put him fully under your spell, and it had been effortless.

Flip was rough with you, pounding into you until your bed creaked in protest before you both toppled over the edge of it, landing on the floor in a haphazard pile, where he kept fucking you. And you could handle him, you could take all of him. He wasn’t too much for you, not too big or too powerful, and he didn’t hurt you. If anything, you loved this wild side of him, cumming again and again on his cock until you both reached the point of exhaustion.

Flip’s body shook from fatigue instead of frustration when he joined you in the shower, grinning down at you with a drunken smile.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked you with a smug smirk, shaking his wet hair like a dog under the shower, splashing you playfully. “You, your touch, can reel me in. That means lives are at stake if I’m not fuckin’ you until I can’t see straight every full moon.”

“Oh, I see,” you laughed, smacking his wet chest. “So, you want a free sex pass once a month? For the greater good?”

“Well, yeah, since you put it like that,” he told you, deepening his voice to a growl as he teased you. “You have to take care of me durin’ my time of the month.”

“That had better be reciprocal,” you teased, laughing at his phraseology.

“You bet.” Flip’s smile widened as he rubbed soap over your curves appreciatively. “At your service, sugar.”

“So, I guess you can handle yourself during the full moon again?” you asked, smoothing your hands over the breadth of his chest. “You’re back under control?”

“As long as I have you, anyway.” Flip lowered his head to kiss your neck before growling in your ear. “Now, let’s get that fuckin’ copycat.”

*******************************************************************************************

In the west, white pickup trucks were as popular as the aspen trees when the colors change in the early fall. Every cop knew it was the best choice for a surveillance vehicle. That’s exactly what Flip borrowed for his undercover operation. He called in a favor he had from one of his contacts in low places, someone who would never come forward to the police under suspicious circumstances, and had obtained a generic white truck for as long as he needed it.

Trucker cap pulled down low over his watchful eyes, Flip sat parked in the shade near enough to your office to keep a vigilant eye through his ten power binoculars. Between the information Flip had gleaned on his own from the copycat’s killings, and from the story you had relayed to him about Bateman hitting on you, he was sure Bateman was stalking you. Bateman seemed like the sort to jerk his dick to the sight of you undressing at night while he sat parked outside in his expensive sports car. The thought made Flip’s teeth grind and fists ball. He was gonna love takin’ this asshole out.

Flip wondered if Bateman had been watching you any of the nights Flip made you cum until you were hoarse and shaking from pleasure, weaving on unsteady legs as you walked to your bathroom afterward. He fuckin’ hoped Bateman had enjoyed those shows.

The plan you and Flip had hashed out was simple. Simple plans with fewer moving parts were usually better. You hoped to entice Bateman into following you more than he had before, to bait him into following you when you left work for the day and drove out to Flip’s cabin. It was isolated, and you and Flip could do as you pleased to Bateman with impunity. It had been your idea that you would play the role of the honeypot, luring Bateman out, and Flip could leisurely clean up afterwards.

In order to embolden Bateman, Flip had staged a fight with you earlier that Friday afternoon, outside in your parking lot for all to see. He roared expletives at the top of his lungs and you screamed right back at him. He stomped and clenched his fists and you waved your hands dramatically when they weren’t planted angrily on your hips. It ended with you landing a forceful smack to Flip’s cheek and Flip peeling out of your parking lot and away, by all appearances forever.

Unfortunately for Flip, the smack was difficult to fake, so he had told you to really lay it on him. His cheek still burned and glowed red from your slap. He was glad you hadn’t leveled a punch instead, you probably had one hell of a right hook. He grinned at the thought, as he rubbed his cheek.

Through his binoculars, Flip watched as a black Tesla pulled into your parking lot. The car idled there for the better part of an hour, and Flip wondered what the hell kind of psyching-up ritual Bateman was performing. Or if he was just playin’ with himself to take the edge off.

Despite your plan seeming to work to perfection, Flip still would have preferred that Bateman had not in fact been stalking you.

When Bateman finally stepped out of his car, he wore a chic dark suit and had a spring in his step as he walked into your office. Flip couldn’t signal you without leaving an electronic trail, and you two were supposed to be fighting to any onlookers. But he knew that you could handle yourself just fine around dangerous men, and Bateman wouldn’t try anything in your office; that wasn’t his MO.

You were in the front of your office, discussing your upcoming schedule with your secretary when Bateman walked through your door with a conceited stride, as though he was listening to a silent tune as he walked. You almost started at the sight of him, caught off guard. You had expected to be bait, not to actually interact with Bateman.

Fortunately, improvising on your toes was part of your business.

“Mr. Bateman,” you greeted him pleasantly, affecting a weary smile, as though the events of the day weighed heavily on you.

“How’s the most beautiful lawyer in all of Colorado doing today?” Bateman beamed, smiling like a douchebag.

“I’ve had better days,” you told him, making a point of looking up at him through your eyelashes. “But seeing you is a breath of fresh air.”

“Really?” Bateman strolled to your front reception counter, leaning over it like he was hot shit. Your receptionist looked at him curiously.

This could be good, you thought. He had created an objective witness.

“What’s got those pretty lips of yours frowning today?” Bateman asked, running a hand over his tie, making sure you got a view of his Rolex.

“I think I’m single now,” you responded sadly with a half-smile to hide your false emotion.

“Oh no.” Bateman grinned widely despite his alleged concern. “How’s that?”

“I just need more attention.” You shrugged evasively. “There’s only so many nights a girl can spend alone before she gets fed up.”

“Well, that’s because you’ve always deserved more than some two-bit cop.” Bateman leaned further over the desk. He would have stolen a kiss if you would have allowed him. “Why don’t you let me show you how a real man can treat you? I can take you out someplace nice tonight. I’ll make you forget about him completely.”

“That’s a tempting offer,” you mused, smiling at Bateman. “But I can’t tonight. This is the only night I have to get my stuff from his cabin while he’s out undercover. I’ll be lonely tonight, but I never want to see his fucking face again.”

“A raincheck, then?” Bateman said, slapping your counter jovially.

You smiled in response, letting Bateman think exactly what you wanted him to.

Flip watched like a hawk when Bateman left your office, smiling with satisfaction. Returning to his car, Bateman seemed to drive away, any onlooker would think so. However, he only drove a few buildings away, parking in a crowded lot where his car wouldn’t be noticed by you when you left for the day.

Sure enough, when you drove away from your office later than evening, Bateman’s black Tesla followed you from a respectable distance. Just as Flip’s innocuous white truck followed him.

Maintaining a tail in town was easy. Plenty of other cars helped to keep a reasonably prudent follower hidden in their masses. Once you headed out of town, things became more difficult as the traffic thinned and the roads narrowed to two lanes. Bateman seemed unconcerned as he happily drove in pursuit of you, the mark of an apathetic psychopath. But Flip didn’t have that luxury, he couldn’t afford to be seen by Bateman yet.

Flip knew the backroads better than anyone and he knew where you were leading Bateman. Turning off on a winding side road, Flip sped as fast as he could around its curves as you drove leisurely. He hoped he could make it to his cabin before you, despite taking the long way.

He didn’t.

When you pulled into Flip’s driveway, you were alone, his cabin was dark and the woods were silent in the evening gloom. You unloaded a suitcase from your car for show, taking it into Flip’s cabin. You made a point of leaving the door ajar. Flip had given you his snub-nosed revolver as a failsafe, which you shoved into the back waistband of your jeans before busying yourself with pulling some of your things out of Flip’s closet to pack in your suitcase.

It wasn’t long before you heard the front door creak open and the hardwood floor groan under footsteps.

*******************************************************************************************

Flip ran later than he planned. Later than he told you he would. The road he had taken was less travelled and not maintained. It was muddy and rutted, preventing him from speeding. Flip drove as close as he could to his cabin without alerting Bateman, who was no doubt already close if not already inside. Hiding his truck from view in the trees, Flip jumped out and sprinted through the forest toward his cabin.

Two cars sat in his driveway when Flip sprinted onto it, his breath fogging and thighs burning as he ran headlong toward the open door of his cabin. Closing in fast, he heard Bateman’s laughter coming from inside. Flip reached for the revolver in his shoulder holster as he ran, but he thought of something better.

On his way inside, Flip grabbed his axe from its place embedded in the stump in his yard, slinging it over his right shoulder as he climbed the steps of his porch two at a time. Gripping his axe tightly, Flip kicked his door open, bursting into his cabin with a thunderous growl.

Bateman stood in the kitchen, arms crossed pompously, a gun held in his right hand. You leaned against the kitchen countertop; your left hand gripped the edge of the countertop nervously, your right held behind your back.

“Hi Flip. It’s okay if I call you Flip, right?” Bateman said cheerily, waving his gun pointedly.

Flip stopped in his tracks just inside his doorway, fuming and panting with exertion, his hair wild and glare ferocious.

“I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you in person, Flip,” Bateman continued, making a point of using the nickname reserved for Flip’s friends, confident of his control over the situation. “I must say, Flip, I do admire your art. The gore is so Jackson Pollock that it gives me the shivers.”

“And here I thought you were just copyin’ me to get away with it.” Flip grinned menacingly at the other man. “Not that you were in my fan club.”

“Oh, but I am,” Bateman continued pleasantly. “I’ve been watching you for some time. I’ve been so envious of your carefree style when it comes to killing. And of your woman. And of your hair.”

Flip cast a quick look to you, tightening his fist on the grip of the axe, his jaw clenching.

“And I did enjoy watching you. Every show you gave me. But I know your dirty little secret, Flip, that’s why I’ve got silver bullets in here,” Bateman continued confidently, indicating his gun. “I wondered if you were bright enough to get my little message I sent with the other women who looked like our favorite lawyer here. All of them were little whores, just like this one is for you.”

Finishing his speech, Bateman turned the gun on Flip, aiming it squarely at his broad chest.

“Are you gonna let him talk about you like that, sugar?” Flip snarled, looking Bateman dead in the eye while he spoke to you.

“If a man calls me a whore, he only does it once,” you said icily with a wicked smile. Drawing Bateman’s attention away from Flip for a moment, his gun drifted away from Flip’s chest into the open space between you as he turned to look at you.

Using the small opening you bought with your statement, you pulled Flip’s gun from your waistband, swinging it toward Bateman and pulling the trigger as soon as the barrel covered his chest.

Bateman’s eyes were wide, having expected nothing from you, as his chest erupted in a Scarlett splatter when your bullet tore into him. At the same instant, Flip swung his axe down over his shoulder, his perfect aim slicing its blade right through Bateman’s outstretched gun arm at the wrist, cleaving Bateman’s hand away from his arm in a fountain of spurting blood.

As Bateman’s wide eyes flitted from you to Flip, losing their color as his knees weakened, Flip raised his axe again, swinging it down from over his right shoulder. Flip buried his axe as deep as the blade would go into the junction of Bateman’s neck and shoulder.

Grinning at you, Flip stepped over Bateman’s body as it slumped to the floor, taking you into his arms and kissing you deeply.

“Good plan, sugar,” he huffed, tightening his hold around you as your arms looped around his neck. “Do you think we have time to fuck before callin’ this in?”

“We’ll just have to make up for it after,” you laughed at his absurdity, slapping his chest playfully before pulling him down for another kiss, smiling against his lips.

*******************************************************************************************

Flip was hailed as a hero. The cop who singlehandedly brought down the most violent serial killer the state of Colorado had ever known. He made it a point of telling everyone that it was really you who saved his ass, shooting the killer with Flip’s own gun while the killer had a gun aimed on Flip.

Bateman’s name and DNA matched a business card that had been located in the purse of one of the dead hookers from the alley. His DNA was also found in samples taken from under the girls’ fingernails, evidence they had tried futility to fend off their brutal attacker. After tests were re-run from the other crime scenes, at Flip’s request, Bateman’s DNA was found at all of them.

The station threw a party the following weekend to celebrate wrapping up the case, and its star Detective. Everyone was in high spirits, raising their glasses in multiple cheers for Flip and even for his girl, despite her being a defense lawyer who made their lives hell at the rate of five hundred per hour.

You sat on Flip’s lap, his left arm wrapped around your waist while he held a beer in his right hand. Every few minutes, he would pause his conversation to nuzzle into your hair or kiss along your neck, immune to the eye rolls and commentary his affection raised from the men in the department.

“So, were you two really fighting that day?” Ron asked, taking a seat next to Flip in the bullpen. “How’d you get her to forgive you?”

“She just had to knock some sense into me was all,” Flip replied with a smirk. “My cheek still hurts like hell.”

“She can hit. She can shoot. And she knows how to get away with murder,” Ron laughed, poking fun of you for being a lawyer, as he often did. “You better watch your ass, Zimmerman.”

“Yeah, she keeps me in line, alright.” Flip joined in the laugher, squeezing your body closer to him.

“You had better keep her around, then,” Ron said to Flip before speaking to you. “You’re the only thing that’s ever managed to get Flip in a good mood around here. And that’s going to be in my toast at your wedding.”

Instead of responding with his usual sarcasm, Flip turned in to kiss you again, smiling at you adoringly.

“I’m planning ahead,” Ron followed up before taking a swig of his beer.

“That might not be as far ahead as you’d think, rookie,” Flip growled to Ron, his voice rumbling against your neck as he kissed you. “What do you think, sugar?”

“As long as you keep playing your cards this well, Detective,” you agreed happily, tilting your neck to grant him better access before joking, “You practically have me howling at the moon every night.”

“Fuck the moon,” Flip purred low in your ear. “I’m only howlin’ for you, sugar.”

*******************************************************************************************

#my stuff!#my writing #halloween #werewolf!flip #werewolf #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader #best #fic #lumberjack

209 notes · View notes