by Anne Marsh
Focus on the end game. Plan ahead, for fuck’s sake. You don’t want to lose her, so tell her what she wants to hear.
“It’s a long walk back,” I tell her.
Fucking brilliant.
She looks unimpressed. “I’ll take the truck. You owe me a felony.”
I fish the keys out of my pocket and toss them to her. She nods and marches back to the foot of the bed. Not the door, thank fuck. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if she decided to leave. I’ve said she has a choice, but I have a fluid relationship with the truth. It’s possible I lied.
“I’ll spend the night,” she announces like it’s her own idea. Whatever. I’m just glad she’s decided to stick around. “You got a guest room?”
“Down the hall,” I admit.
She strides out the door, all self-confidence, and I grin. She forgot to ask an important question. I’ve got a shit-ton of rooms in this too-big house, but almost no furniture. The guest room has an awesome view of the bayou, a handful of dust bunnies, and nothing else. No bed, no mattress, no pillow. Rain’s not stupid—she’ll be back.
Sure enough, she pops back in and she’s not wearing her happy face. “You suck.”
I deliberately don’t point out that I do have a sofa downstairs. That piece of furniture is large enough to hold half the pack, and she could totally camp out there overnight. But she doesn’t want to. Part of her, even if she won’t admit it, likes being here with me.
I pat the space beside me. I won’t even make her beg.
Her eyes snap as she crawls back up the bed. And while I’d really enjoy it if she straddled me, the view from my pillow’s pretty awesome. Her tits bounce beneath her shirt and she’s on all fours, making me think about nailing her from behind. First her pussy, then maybe that sweet ass of hers. I’d make her scream her pleasure. I’d—
It must be all this talk about babies makes me think about making babies, and I’ve had enough practice to recognize the tension building between us. I’m shirtless and we’re in bed; of course, we’re gonna think about doing it. Banging. Boinking. Screwing. Shooting the meat rocket into the sausage wallet.
“Fang?” The mattress rocks as she settles down, tugging the sheet around her.
“Yeah?” I roll over onto my side and somehow we’re face to face. Fuck, we’re mouth to mouth, and when I whisper my question, my lips brush hers. “You want me to put out, just say the word.”
She jerks backward. “No!”
You’d think I’d just offered to piss on her roses or something. I’m making a perfectly nice offer, and she’s acting like I screwed up.
“You got something against sex?” Hard to imagine that since she works with pregnant ladies all day. I think they’d notice eventually if she were judging them for the shit that got them knocked up. She liked our kiss earlier, but then she tensed up on me. Maybe she’s had a bad experience? I don’t get angry easily anymore but thinking about some guy hurting Rain has me seeing red. I’ll just have to get his name from her and then I can pay him a little visit. Introduce him to my fists. What if it was her douche ex? I—
“I’m not screwing someone else’s baby daddy,” she says firmly. “I have some standards, Fang. Plus, we just met.”
I’m not sure what the length of our acquaintance has to do with anything. In fact, it’s kind of a plus. I haven’t had time to get bored and she hasn’t had time to realize all the ways I’m a dick. I suspect her concerns are more that my dick might be harboring germs. Or cooties.
I go for the easy answer. “Keelie Sue’s not my girl.”
There’s a long, disbelieving pause. Rain sort of intuits stuff, which I’m discovering is a pain in my ass. She knows I’m not telling her the entire truth, and she’s gonna wait me out until I spill. Of course I have a feeling it might not hurt my cause any to share a little more. It’ll make Rain trust me and think I’m open and shit. And while I can’t tell her about the werewolves or the pack, there’s a way to frame this in human terms for her.
“She was my president’s daughter. He made it clear that any guy who wanted to take over the MC when he retired did it by marrying his little girl. I was up for the promotion, so I gave it a shot.”
“It?” Rain practically vibrates with outrage.
“Her,” I say with a grin. “Keelie Sue’s good people, but we didn’t work out.”
That’s the understatement of the century. I’d chased after that girl like a wolf dogging its tail, and I’d gotten my ass burned big time. My new Alpha is not a member of the Fang Fan Club, and Keelie Sue wouldn’t mind seeing my hide staked to her wall, either. I’d messed up, plain and simple.
“She kicked your ass to the curb?”
“She chose one of my club brothers,” I admit. “Not sure what she sees in him, but he’s top dog now. He’s got the girl and he runs our shit.”
“So you answer to him now.”
It burns me to admit that truth. “Yeah.”
“And she’s not having your baby?”
“Jace knocked her up.” Man must have super swimmers too because baby werewolves don’t happen all that often. My momma lost the genetic lottery when my daddy knocked her up. Since from the little I know, he hightailed it out of town shortly after banging me into existence, I don’t think he even had to try too hard. Once, twice, a half-dozen shots and there I was. Usually takes a hell of a lot more than that, which is probably nature’s way of making sure wolves don’t run roughshod over her planet.
I’m not sure Rain believes me about the baby’s paternity, but she stops short of calling me a liar. I guess I could do one of those DNA test things, but that would just cause more problems, what with the werewolf thing. Plus, Rain’s talking. And talking. She’s got a lot to say, and she’s figured out that I’m a captive audience tonight. Plus I totally owe her.
So I listen while she tells me that she won’t fall all over me, won’t be a notch on my bedpost. I have to protest that because I don’t have a bedpost. If I did, however, I point out, I’d have to scratch marks into all four of them. I don’t want her underestimating me.
Her response doesn’t come for a long time and when it does, it’s sleepy.
“I’m glad we’ve got that out of the way.” She yawns.
And then she wriggle-squirms into a little ball, pressing her face into my pillow—and away from me. I don’t like that, but I won’t press the issue. Not tonight. Instead, I roll toward her, putting myself between her and the door and any danger that might come busting through. And then I fight a short, hard battle with myself because putting my arms around her isn’t going to be okay with her. Not tonight.
Maybe not even tomorrow.
Maybe not ever.
And I kind of want her to… welcome me. Just a little.
Rain is no morning person. She wakes up grumpy as fuck and jonesing for her caffeine fix. I understand the need for a wake-me-up hit but she also doesn’t drink coffee like a normal person in the a.m. and coffee’s the one thing I have in the house. Instead she needs her can of Coke to get her morning on. So I make a quick run and pick up McDonald’s and a six-pack of Coke and we picnic in bed. I’m pure class that way.
Breakfast would be even better if her phone would shut the fuck up.
“You gonna get that?” I ask after the billionth explosion sound rings out. I’m sure that choice of ring tone says something, but I’m not a master communicator. What I can figure out for myself, however, is that it’s the same person repeat dialing her because there’s the occasional non-explosive chirp from another caller. Whoever’s calling means something to her.
“Asshole alert,” she tells me around a mouthful of cheese and biscuit.
I frown. “Same asshole named Dave who sent you flowers yesterday?”
This is why I don’t do flowers—the language of flowers is apparently super complicated. A guy thinks he’s doing the woo or making nice, but instead he’s spending a fortune on a fragrant fuck you.
She buries the phone
under her pillow. “Dave’s a dick.”
Dickish Dave. Yeah, I’m no poet but it’s got a nice ring. I can be Fabulous Fang if she wants to keep the alliteration up.
“Comes with the territory. Most guys have a dick and an asshole.”
She chews furiously. Swallows. “Sure, but he’s an overachiever in that department.”
I roll onto my stomach, set my chin on my stacked hands, and bat my eyelashes at her. “Tell Doctor Fang all about your problem, love.”
Usually I don’t invite conversation, not unless it’s about bedroom likes and dislikes. I’ve never asked any of the girls I’ve banged about their boyfriends. Which in retrospect probably explains the sheer number of dominance fights I’ve been in. I never cared if I was poaching in some other wolf’s territory. Today… I kinda do. Rain isn’t here for sex. It shouldn’t matter that her life isn’t a man-free zone, but it does. So instead of feeding her, kissing her, getting the hell off my bed and getting on with my life, I actually want to hear what she has to say.
She waves her biscuit at me. “He’s history.”
I suspect Dave the Dick would disagree, or is at least strongly hoping he can trade in his ignominious past for a glorious future with Rain here. “Tell me anyhow.”
“You know how guys are.” She finishes the last bite of biscuit, looks at her fingers, and then starts checking around for a napkin.
I capture her fingers in mine and suck them into my mouth.
“Who does that?” She sounds a little breathless.
I let go. “Sends flowers? I know. He’s a terrible person. I’m happy to hunt him down right now and kick his ass. Give me more details.”
“We dated for three years. I didn’t even know he wasn’t happy until I caught him—”
She breaks off. I think she can’t decide between anger and embarrassment. I’m happy to help her out.
“You want me to fill in the blanks?” It’s totally Ladies Night (or morning) at Chateau Fang, and while she sketched the broad outline for me yesterday, I’m happy to color in all the details for her today.
“You think you’re that good?”
I know I am. I wink at her. “He’s a guy, we’re both dicks, I ought to be able to figure out what he’s thinking, easy peasy.”
She waves a hand. “Go for it.”
“He cheated on you. He lied to you. He wasn’t where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be. He claimed he’s not a bad guy—he just likes to party and hang out and she was there and shit happened and none of it was on purpose. He wants to try shit in bed and then you end up doing all the work and he still claims you’re the uptight one in the relationship. He acts like he’s taking care of you, but then you clean his house, stock his fridge, wash his boxers, and cover for him with his mom. And you’re the one paying the bills and calling the plumber, too.”
Rain’s mouth falls open.
Got it in one.
I am such a fucking genius.
Okay. So it’s not so much genius as it is voice of experience. I haven’t done all those things—my momma’s gone for one—but I have a long and extensive history of assholery. If I haven’t pulled exactly the same shit as Mr. Dick, it’s because I’m a one-and-done man who never goes for the repeat bang and therefore never cheats. It’s certainly not because I possess any deeply held moral values.
I sum up. “He’s the problem, not you.”
She’s still staring at me, which is completely understandable. I’m pretty, by both wolf and human standards. I’m not sure her fascination is with the view, however. She looks more than a little judgey. Kind of like you’re driving down the highway, doing an easy five miles over the speed limit. Just enough fast to get you where you need to be but not quite so fast that you’re gonna be having a meet-and-greet with the state patrol. Always had me a little fantasy about that, about being Mr. Badass and Armed and giving you a stern talking to. Make your panties wet.
Fuck… I completely lose my train of thought and try to pull my head back into the moment.
“He walked but now he’s had a change of heart, or that’s what he’s claiming.”
Rain stares at me suspiciously. “Did you read the card in my flowers yesterday?”
FYI? That square of white cardboard wasn’t a card. It was an attempt at War and Peace—the man couldn’t limit himself to a few well-chosen words. He filled the front of the florist’s card with chicken scratch, flipped it over, and did the back too. It was total verbal diarrhea.
I shrug a shoulder. “Didn’t need to.”
Couldn’t is more accurate. Dave has terrible handwriting.
Rain flops down on the bed beside me. Her tits bounce a little with the movement. “He’s driving me nuts.”
“You need to send him a message. Be blunt.”
“Right.” She drums her fingers against the sheets. “Because he’s paid so much attention to all of the other words I’ve tossed his way.”
She grabs her phone, punches in the passcode, and holds it up in front of my face. I see a stream of text messages and selfies. The guy isn’t bad-looking, but he has nothing on me.
“Not words,” I say and pop off the bed. “Dick Face is apparently a visual communicator.”
I pluck the phone out of her fingers.
“That’s mine.” She makes a give-it-up gesture. I love keep-away. It’s one of my favorite games. I’m also a big fan of wrestling. Naked, hot, sexy wrestling…
I hit the camera button on her phone, wink, and snap a selfie.
Send.
“You should totally take advantage of me,” I tell her.
I haul my T-shirt over my head, drop it on the floor, and do another snap-and-send.
Rain jerks upright on the bed. “Oh my God.”
She’s smart. I’m surprised it’s taken her this long to figure out what I’m up to. I slide a finger underneath the topmost button of my jeans, wiggle, and pop it open. Hello, abs shot.
“Give me my phone back.”
“I’m working here. You can thank me in a moment.”
And for the piece de resistance, I shuck my jeans. I’m commando underneath and now I’m naked. Rain pinkens up but doesn’t look away because I absolutely have an awesome dick. I take a selfie of myself sprawled out on the bed with the sheet just tugged over my dick (boxers are for losers), looking mischievously at her, and then I text it to the ex. Take that, loser.
“How is this helping?”
“You’re blowing up his phone with sexy hotness.”
“Oh my God.” She’s already said this—and I’d rather she repeated herself screaming my name or demanding more, more, more—but this time she giggles. “Oh my God.”
She drags the pillow over her face, but I can still hear her laughing. I toss her phone on top of my pants and put my secret wolf skills to work. One quick roll and I’m braced on top of her, pulling the pillow off her while she laughs up at me. Christ, I love her laugh. I lower my face until my nose is brushing hers, my fingers threaded through hers.
“Say thank you,” I mock-growl against her pretty, pretty mouth. Her body shakes with laughter underneath mine.
“How do naked selfies help?” Her smile lights up her face. I don’t condone his methods, but I totally get why her ex is desperate to get her back.
I drop a kiss on her nose. “I’ve moved on, that’s what that picture says.”
Fucking A. And just in case that’s not enough, I’ll draw a picture of my dick and tell her to send that, too. Her ex will be eating his heart out—and he’ll get the message that he does not get her back. Ever.
She takes a deep breath, and suddenly I’m a fan of deep breathing, heavy breathing, any kind of breathing she cares to do because that simple, every day act shoves her tits against my bare chest. And while I’d rather she was naked, too, she feels amazing. My best part stands at attention, making his presence known.
“Fang?” She inhales again. Don’t read anything into it. Girl’s got to breath.
&nbs
p; “Off.” She pats my chest. I think her fingertips linger a little longer than they should, and I like that, too. She’s right. We should totally get off. I’ll start with her, roll on my back, lift her sweet pussy right over my face and kiss her.
She pats my chest again, but this time it’s more of a swat.
Right.
No morning sex.
My dick either has selective hearing or he’s a terrible optimist because he doesn’t back down. I roll off my girl and give her my best grin.
“You’re making a mistake, sweetheart.”
She looks at me for a long moment. Fuck if I know what she’s thinking, but I can smell her. Baby girl’s words don’t match the message her body is screaming. Her body and my dick are in total agreement about the best way to spend the morning.
Her phone explodes again.
She reaches out a hand. I give her the phone and watch as she turns it off and tosses it back onto the floor. Thankfully we seem to have moved on from the whole kidnapper/kidnappee thing. She’s not running or screaming. Not using her phone to dial 9-1-1 or call for help. I don’t know if she’s figured it out yet, but she doesn’t have a raging case of Stockholm Syndrome. For some reason, she’s choosing to stay with me, and I don’t think it’s just because she’s a humanitarian who’s worried about Keelie Sue. She has office hours for that shit. And while my experience with relationships is limited, I know enough. The reason she’s keeping me around is the same reason she hasn’t blocked Dick Head on her phone. She’s too goddamned nice for her own good.
“Off.” She’s looking at her phone and there’s a note of something in her voice that makes me want to growl. Maybe rend something—someone. Maim. Kill. The usual reaction when your girl is feeling sad.
I glance around my bedroom, seeking for inspiration. Possibly divine intervention. Sadly, the bedroom is as empty as the rest of the place, so I’m on my own. I’ve got the bed, the sheet, and two pillows. Slim pickings in the self-help department.
