by S. J. Pierce
“So, more than a conversation, then?” he asks, his voice low.
I swallow hard, thinking of his hard body rocking against mine. Yes. Hell yes. But there’s one tiny little thing I needed to clarify before I commit—“You’re not a wolf, are you?” I have a bad taste in my mouth for them tonight.
His lips hover next to my ear. “Baby, I’m all man.”
My hand slides up and grips his inner thigh. He’s already hardening beneath his jeans. “Then yes.”
8
One Objective
“You got a place around here?” I ask. I’m not big on getting it on in cars or bathrooms.
I pull back and suck down half my water, body humming. I’m drunk enough to enjoy what we’re about to do, but sober enough to know I’m capable of making such a decision.
Though his blinking is still a little slow, his tongue a little thick, the deft way he pulls out his wallet and fishes out his card tells me he’s at that same, perfect level of buzzed. “Janey,” he says as she walks by. “Mind closing us out?” He doesn’t even ask to look at a copy of the tab, just hands her the card. “And get hers too, please.”
“She’s on the house tonight,” Janey says, nodding toward me.
He doesn’t ask questions.
“Thanks, though,” I say slipping out of my seat. A restroom break is in order before we leave. “I’ll be right back.”
“Call you two a cab?” Janey asks as she swipes his card. It instantly spits out a receipt, and she hands it to him with his card. He doesn’t look at the damage.
“Yeah, you’d better. We shouldn’t be driving.”
We can figure out getting back to our cars later.
I nod my agreement and hurry off. The quicker I get my business done, the quicker I can get back to him before I talk myself out of this.
While I’m in the stall in this empty bathroom, I check my phone for messages. At least I have good enough service to get texts. There’s one from Maddie:
Hope you got settled in and it’s not too weird being back in that house. See you in the morning when I get off. Making French toast!
Good, I’ll have something to soak up the leftover alcohol and bad decisions. I type a fast reply:
See you then! At the Wolf Inn. Having some fun with a gorgeous guy in a leather jacket.
As soon as it goes through, she shoots a reply. Must be on break:
Have fun and be safe! PS – I’ve cleaned up WAY too much poop today for my taste. No Nutella allowed on the breakfast table tomorrow.
I laugh-gag and put my phone away. Do my business and wash my hands. Avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I know I look like a hot mess. I don’t need the mirror to remind me and dampen my confidence. As I dry my hands, a figure in the mirror catches my eye. I yelp and turn around.
I thought I was the only one in here.
My eyes scan around the in-need-of-an-update, two-stall bathroom. Nothing.
Look back to the mirror.
Nothing.
But I know there was someone with me. I couldn’t tell what gender, I only saw it for a flicker of a second before I turned around, but I know they were in here with me. And they wore a lot of black.
The door swings open and I gasp. Jump back. My back hits the tiled wall with a thud.
The girl rushing in hardly sees me. Another girl follows after.
They end up in the same stall, one puking, the other consoling.
I shake my head to gather my wits. Take a deep breath to slow my heart. It’s the alcohol, I guess, though it doesn’t seem a likely explanation. I know what I saw. Or what I thought I saw.
But it was something.
My mind filling with visions of ghosts and hauntings (this is an old town, after all), I get the hell out and back to Jaxson, who’s waiting for me by the front door. On my way to him, Zenesha snags my arm and brings me to a halt. “You better after the Trenton ordeal?”
I give her a thankful smile, though I know it’s weak. I’m still shaking off the mystery visitor. “Yes. And thanks for the drinks.” My eyes snap back to the mountain of leather and sex.
She nods, follows my line of sight. “Distractions are the best medicine,” she says, squeezing my arm for emphasis, and then she winks as she takes off.
Why do I have the feeling she’s taking credit for matchmaking? I guess I’ll give it to her. It was because of her I even considered giving him the time of day.
* * *
“We can wait here for the cab, if you want,” Jaxson says when I make it to him.
It takes me a second to realize why he suggested it. Right. No coat.
“Unless you want to wear my jacket.” He starts to take it off.
I don’t argue.
I’m ready to have him all to myself and stepping outside will get us closer to my objective.
As he drapes it around my shoulders, this warm, leather blanket infused with his scent, and opens the door for me to step through, it’s all I can do not to rip off his clothes and take him right there. His quiet confidence mixed with his rugged masculinity drives me wild.
He’s a goddam unicorn.
Something else I don’t understand about the latest craze with romance books—having the hots for guys who act like total dicks. I guess I’ve had too many real-life experiences with guys like that for it to be a turn on.
I instantly think of Zenesha. Is that what she meant by us ‘having more in common than we think’? I don’t like dicks, at least those kind, and he isn’t one.
We find ourselves leaning against the brick building by the same stained-glass window I was smoking beside earlier, and our breaths are billowing into the darkness. It’s stopped raining…for now. The night air is cold and damp against my face, but because I’m partially numb, and wearing his jacket, it feels better than it did before.
We don’t bother filling the silence with questions about the other or idle chit-chat. We have one objective now, and the air around us is practically pulsing with our need.
Two girls stagger out, the ones from the bathroom, and I swat away thoughts of the ghost in the mirror.
“They’re done for the night,” Jaxson says with a chuckle.
The one in the red top hobbles over to the bushes and pukes.
“Rookies,” I tease.
“I like a girl who can hold her liquor.”
I look up to him with a smile. Standing, he’s at least a foot and a half taller than me. Close to seven feet, I’m guessing. “You’ve found one.”
“What’s your number?”
My number? “I thought we established I’m already a sure thing.”
He bumps into me, but he stays there, the edges of his body molding with mine. His warmth, the hardness of his muscles, makes me ache again at the apex of my thighs.
I bite my lip in anticipation.
God, please be good in bed. I’ve been with some limp fish before. And a couple jackrabbits.
“Your number, as in the number of drinks you can have before you end up like them.” He nods in the girls’ direction. They’ve started stumbling down the street toward the motor lodge.
“Eight. Always eight. I made it to seven tonight.” My gaze slides over him. “You strike me as a ten.”
“Close,” he says, then moves to stand in front of me. He leans into the wall, caging me between his biceps. His lips hover dangerously close to mine and it’s all I can do to not close the gap and kiss him, cutting him off. “Eleven. But I stopped at nine.” He leans down and closer, grazing his nose and lips against my neck, his stubble prickling me in the best way and igniting a violent lust for him. His hair brushes against my collarbone. “Just enough to feel good.” His breath is warm and smells like whiskey.
My hips instinctually grind against nothing, my panties slicking with my wetness.
As if knowing exactly what I need, he shifts and sticks a leg between my thighs, and the friction there as I grind against it is enough to both satisfy and completely
undo me.
When he feels my warmth there, my eagerness for him, he releases a low growl and closes the microscopic gap between us, fusing his lips to mine. He kisses me with a ferocity that betrays his cool collectedness back at the bar. That tells me he was about to go crazy if he didn’t have me right away. This Jaxson, the unrestrained and swallowed whole by his need for me Jaxson, is a welcome companion.
I fist his shirt with one hand, the other finding its way under and against his abs. His muscles tighten at my touch.
I’m not disappointed.
His mouth is warm and soft and wet, and his kissing morphs to something more tender, his tongue swiping slow and gentle against mine. It lingers on my tongue ring for a moment. He makes a small sound of assent, so he must not be opposed to them.
Our heads continue to weave in a delicate dance as my hand finds its way down and over his belt. Against his zipper. I clutch his erection beneath his jeans and gasp against his lips. He’s huge and hard and—
Someone honks, breaking us out of our reverie. We’re gasping and frayed as we turn to see who it is.
A man in a white car. “You guys call for a cab?”
9
Road Noise
We manage to collect ourselves and fold into the backseat of the cab. It’s an odd thing to be ripped from one world (especially the one we were in) and thrown into another where you have to behave. I might be a free spirit, but I’m not one for doing it in front of others.
Hopefully Jaxson’s house isn’t far.
He said it’s just up the mountain, so that could be anywhere between fifteen minutes to an hour.
Please be fifteen.
“I’m off Baneberry Drive,” he tells the driver. “Address is four ten.” His voice is in shambles, though he’s trying to cover it up.
I’m not familiar with the roads up there, so I can’t determine how quickly we’ll be there. The driver throws a hand up in understanding and pulls off.
Jaxson and I are back to not saying much. Too much blood (and too many hormones) coursing through our veins, our heads still spinning. Bodies vibrating. The skin around my lips tingles from his stubble. My sex craves his touch.
There’s a new level of need within me now. Something raw and insatiable. Something only he can satisfy.
The Wolf Inn is the last building along Main Street headed east, and one of the ways up the mountain is a mile further east and around the bend, so the driver heads that way, leaving the yellow streetlights of downtown (and the few drunk stragglers beneath them) in his rearview mirror.
The drive to the mountain road is long and quiet, save the small amount of road noise, but my thoughts and body are screaming for release. I stare into the darkness, thinking of his lips and how they feel against mine. How his hardness felt in my hand. How it will feel inside me.
I bite my lip and pull at my seatbelt that’s suddenly too tight. Shrug his jacket off my shoulders and let it fall onto the seat between us.
I want out of these clothes and on top of him.
He senses my struggle and clasps a hand on my thigh. I whimper at his touch and meet his eyes. I’m met with a smirk so lustful and wild I debate breaking my rule about not having sex in front of others.
The cab rocks as it turns onto the mountain road, and the darkness inside grows from the canopy of trees above us. The only lights now are two headlights cutting into the night ahead.
His hand gripping my thigh disappears and then reappears by my zipper. I try to look for his expression, to gauge what he’s thinking, but it’s so dark I can hardly see anything now. The seat jostles beside me and his lips are close to my ear. He brings with him that delicious, spicy smell, which is richer and muskier now that he’s aroused.
“Let me help you out,” he says. The bumpy, mountain road makes the car rattle around us, but I still manage to hear him.
A deft pop of my button. A slow pull of my zipper.
His strong hand splays against my stomach and slides down to cup the warmth of my sex above my cotton panties.
I push my hips forward to give him a better angle, my sex throbbing against his hand.
It’s all I can do not to moan.
The driver coughs, reminding me we’re not alone, but I don’t care anymore.
A searching finger runs along the crease of my leg, then finds its way beneath the thin piece of fabric separating us. His touch is gentle and deliberate as he finds my clit and massages it in small, skilled circles.
My hips buck in response.
His mouth finds its way to the soft spot beneath my ear. I bend my neck to give him a better angle.
The car rocks to the side again as the driver turns onto another road.
“Tell me before you come,” Jaxson whispers against my skin.
I nod.
His finger then slides down to run along my sex and feel my wetness, and he releases a guttural sound. “So wet for me.”
I involuntarily search over his jeans and clasp onto his erection, which is hard and pulsing beneath his jeans.
A finger slips in, and I gasp, the tender stretching a welcomed thing, but it only makes me wild for more of him.
He slowly pulls it out. Back in. Curls his finger in a way that I feel it all the way down to my toes. His thumb remembers my clit and massages it as his finger curls back and forth, goes in and out.
His teeth nip at my neck.
My body starts to tremble, and I already feel the climax inside me building. I needed him…needed this…too badly. “I’m close,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”
“Tell me right before.”
The car takes another turn.
I grip him tighter.
His finger multiplies into two, his thumb moving faster.
My sex tightens around him. I’m trembling all the way to my core. “I’m there.”
Suddenly, he pulls his hand away and leaves me panting and soaked and unsatisfied. If he’d stayed in me a second longer….
I shoot him a questioning look I’m not sure he can see, our faces inches from each other.
“The first time you come, I want it to be loud and only for me to hear.” He punctuates it with a furious kiss.
The driver slows, then turns onto something smoother. Shifts the car into park. “We’re here,” he says casually. We’re either that good at hiding what we were doing, or he’s done this enough it doesn’t faze him anymore.
We pull apart and gather ourselves again for a second time.
* * *
I zip my pants, then unzip my purse to pay for the cab ride. He was willing to pay for my drinks and potato skins, so this is the least I can do, but before I can find my wallet, he’s already handing the driver cash. “Thanks, man. Keep the change.”
“Beat me to it,” I murmur.
He leans over to open my door from the inside. “The faster we can get inside, the better.”
I don’t argue.
The cabby leaves us to it, and as I listen to him putter off, I take a second to soak in what I’m seeing. “This is…your house?” I don’t intend to be rude, but it looks like someone spit out a mansion from Calabasas into these woods. Way out of place in the forestry surrounding it. It has sleek, sharp lines and ninety-degree angles. All white. Floor to ceiling windows.
I scan around us. No neighbors.
“Come,” he says in a smiling voice, his hand meeting the small of my back to usher me forward. You’d think after his fingers being inside me, my cheeks wouldn’t flush at his touch there. But something about it feels more intimate. His other hand clutches his leather jacket he slung over his shoulder.
I numbly comply.
I wait awkwardly as he fumbles with his keys to get inside. The front doors tower over us and are made of slick, dark wood…I couldn’t begin to guess what kind, and the handles are long, nickel tubes.
When the door swings open, the warm, vanilla-scented air from inside washing over us, an alarm chimes a warning. He rushes to a screen in the foyer. Punches
in a code. The beeping stops. Lights flare on. He punches another button and they dim.
He then proceeds with what I’m guessing is an everyday routine—kicks his shoes off under a modern-looking table, tucks his jacket away into a closet, tosses his wallet and keys into a bowl with a clatter. He turns to face me and slicks his hair behind his ears with a grin that somehow makes him more beautiful. “You good?” We’re in his element now.
But I’m way out of mine.
“Yep,” I say, my voice a small echo inside this mammoth place, and slide off my tennis shoes so I don’t get anything on his floors. Everything is so…clean and open and expensive looking. His furniture is as angular and white as the outside. The wood floors and tables are dark like the doors. A few plants here and there. Some well-placed modern lamps and decorations. Expensive-looking paintings. A huge one claims its space above the fireplace, its stripes and splatters of greens and blues and yellows screaming against all the white. Something glows down a hallway to my left. My eyes travel to a set of stairs that are suspended from the ceiling with steel cables. An open hallway above empties into opposite ends of the house. More rooms? For who? What does he need all this space for?
He starts toward me and closes in, clasps my upper arms in his hands. I tear myself away from his ridiculously sterile and spacious house and meet his waiting eyes. He’s bringing me back to him.
He’s still smiling.
My heart jumps.
“It’s a shame you’re living in such poverty.” I make jokes when I don’t know what else to say.
His smile deepens, lines fanning from the corners of his eyes. If I had to guess, or care, I’d say he’s in his early thirties.
“If we need more space, we can go to my one-bedroom apartment in Portland.”
A chuckle. Now, he doesn’t know what to say, so he leans in and kisses me sweetly. His hands move down to my hips and grip me there. I close the gap between us, pressing my small breasts against him. Our kiss deepens.
