Rogue Wolf

by Alexis Pierce

  I cry out, yanking her head away, my chest heaving as I work to steady myself. She grins up at me, her eyes dark with lust as she turns her head to kiss my inner thigh.

  I shake my head, then gasp out, “I can’t,” I plead. “It’s too much.” She chuckles into my thigh as my trembling eventually recedes. “Fuck,” I breathe, throwing my head back and closing my eyes.

  Freya sits up and climbs on me, her thighs straddling mine. I run my hands over her skin in her loose cutoff shorts, shuddering as I imagine all the things we could do in this parking lot.

  I reach up with one hand and tangle it into her hair, dragging her down for a kiss and tasting myself on her lips.

  “Your turn,” I whisper.

  It’s nearly morning by the time we return, hair and clothes disheveled. I walk into the apartment where I grew up, my body sore and slow. Thompson is sitting on the couch reading a textbook. When he looks up, his nostrils flare as he draws in a breath.

  “Seems like you and Freya had quite the drive,” he says, his voice husky. He has several new scars on his body, two of which go over his cheekbones. I walk over and collapse on the sectional, resting my head in his lap.

  “I’m not telling,” I say, turning to press my face into his stomach. He runs his fingers through my hair and chuckles. My eyelids are heavy, and I’m barely conscious when Anderson comes in.

  He leans down to kiss me on the cheek, then kisses Thompson long and hard on the lips.

  “I think it’s time I got you to bed,” he says. He lifts me off of Thompson, carrying me to our bedroom. The whole apartment has been renovated. I considered keeping it the same, but it had been too painful to see this place as the home where I grew up.

  I’m set in the huge bed, and my men lie on either side of me.

  It’s true that I need to sleep. Because when I wake up this evening, I’m going to have to get more work done to make the St. Louis Werewolf Pack the most feared paranormal mob in the country.