Page 33 of Shifting Years (Whispering Hills #5)

I lay on a bed in a San Francisco hotel and smiled at the man grinning down at me.

Olivia Newton John's Physical played from a side table radio.

My smile wasn't from having my ass eaten out earlier, but Todd, who said he'd never go to a march, did.

Hours before, he spoke at a rally, describing himself as a 'man in love with another man.

' He avoided the word 'gay,' but his declaration of love for me in front of a crowd spoke louder than any label.

Within minutes, he'd be inside me again—part passion, part therapy for his memory. Sometimes the bad memories surfaced, but not today. I whispered plot points to a movie we saw before he left for Vietnam. To my relief, he remembered, including scenes I forgot.

Something about our connection and him inside me unlocked doors in his mind. I'd whisper a memory, a moment, and suddenly, he'd remember. If it meant more sessions , who was I to complain?

Outside, the happy noise from thousands of men and women like us filtered in. Soon they'd have their private moments.

My hand fisted his cock as sweat and stickiness pressed into my palm. Slow, methodical strokes continued while he leaned back on large, fluffy pillows.

"Mmmm…," he whispered.

Shifters don't get intoxicated easily, but I could believe he was, especially with his half-drunk eyes. One finger, then two ran over his tip, and I spread shifter pre-cum down to his hard balls. Up, down, and all over the sharp male scent increased.

My lips wrapped around a beautiful thick package, within a nest of hair.

***

Christmas 1983

Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benatar played and filled our cabin with lyrics about being trapped by love. The melancholy underscored the grim news report we'd just watched. Men like us, but not shifters, were dying from a 'gay plague' and others called it a flu.

Todd and I made donations from our restaurant and grocery store to those who needed help. Would this disease come for us both, or worse, one? Memories of a European man with his American lover, a lesbian bartender, and Bobby came to mind.

Would it get one of them?

"Relax, Mike, it's okay." Todd smiled and his mustache rose. It reminded me of Magnum P.I. and yes, it added to his hotness. A younger me considered the police an enemy, and now? Well, he had handcuffs.

"Remember when I used them on you before I left? Someone begged and said he'd do anything if I freed him."

I did, but most importantly, we shared those events.

No longer was it me talking while he stared off in frustrated confusion.

Tina and Dawn said there was power in words, and I think they hinted.

Wishing was too volatile but speaking of a memory along with sexual intensity uncovered mental treasures .

It made sense since sex was will and emotion.

It wasn't as quick as shifting into our wolf selves or using my extra gift, but it lasted.

His fingers traced down, finding their place like they always had. No hesitation. No need to stretch. We had done this a thousand times, but tonight it was more. It was remembering. My ass clenched, begging him to enter me.

"Please, Todd."

***

May 1985

A large twenty-seven-inch television in another room played Obsession by Animotion.

An earlier argument about wrong ingredients for dinner meant we were too worked up to turn off MTV.

Although it led to make-up sex. Arguments happened, but there was never cruelty like with another, best-forgotten shifter.

He pulled his slick finger out, and his brow furrowed together, struggling to remember anything he forgot. They weren't so much therapy sessions anymore, just two men enjoying themselves or getting rid of argumentative frustration. Hey, whatever worked.

He guided me into position. Seconds ticked by before I eased my ass to him.

Biology demanded I impale myself on my man, but I couldn't bend him.

Slowly, he entered and pushed at my first ring.

The slight, familiar sting never truly went away, but that's okay.

A touch of pain was spice, like with my restaurant dishes.

I leaned back, savoring him inside me—for once, not searching for another memory. He rocked from side to side and then up and down. My hips matched in motion to him, filling our bedroom with noisy slaps. My arm muscles relaxed, and his Alpha strength kept me upright while he fisted my cock.

"No," I whispered, not meaning it. This Omega was still a young man, so I had to shoot.

Seconds later, I convulsed on the bed. He quickened, and like a hundred times before, he filled me with his cream.

The time would come for another pup, but now two men were locked on the bed as his cock tip flared.

I winced, then smiled, and we carefully collapsed against each other, still attached. Long breaths and a chuckle filled the room. "It's been a while since you needed to remember new memories." My voice softened. "Do you need these sessions?"

"Yeah, but not for remembering."

***

"Thanks for the details," teased Penny.

"Well, you wanted to know how he got his memory back," I said before blinking. "What don't you know after these years? Little Wyatt grew up, became pack leader—"

"—and left. My Alpha's leader now." She said the last part with pride. Mary was the first female pack leader in Whispering Hills' history.

"You know about our other two pups," offered Todd.

"I think," said Penny carefully, "y'all are avoiding a question." She shrugged as if to say it was okay. She wasn't nosy, but most Omegas needed to help people. Todd's far-off look suggested memories of Donna.

I exhaled slowly. "Okay. Me first." My throat tightened. "Let's talk about a little girl who isn't so little anymore."

***