by Anne Marsh
So instead of escaping, I duck my head back into the water.
More Irish Spring it is. As I lather the coarse soap through my hair, I mentally review my life. Big Dog can be filed under “F.” “F” for Failure, Fuck Up, and Fantasy. I thought he could protect me, keep me safe from life’s bad shit. Instead I gave him a free pass to shit on me. And honestly, that embarrasses me. How does something that starts out as a sexy game end up in felony territory so fast?
The door inches open, and I sit up with an enormous splash. Water sloshes out of the tub and onto his the floor, the bathroom now as messed up as my personal life.
“You okay in there?” Ware’s rough voice rumbles through the opening, and I steel myself not to find those harsh tones attractive. I don’t know why he brought me out of the bayou, but it’s not because he likes me. He’s made that perfectly clear. Plus, the bathroom’s so steamy now from the hot water that I doubt a normal person could see much, but he’s not normal. He’s a wolf.
“Fine.” My voice sounds like I swallowed a frog.
He’s silent for a moment, but he doesn’t close the door. Do I even want him to? “Now what?”
“Guess that depends.” Leather rustles as he… settles in? I’ve heard stories about bikers, and I’ve got plenty of firsthand experience courtesy of Big Dog, but Ware isn’t what I expected at all. Sure, he’s big and he has more rough edges than not, but he hasn’t hurt me. In fact, if I’m being completely honest, he rescued me, gave me a ride back to the city, and now he’s letting me use his tub. That practically makes him white knight material, right? Except, the small voice of sanity in my head chimes in, he threatened to tie you up and spank you.
Yeah. Those aren’t chivalrous qualities. I’m soooo not interested in seeing if he’d make good on those threats. Lusting after my captor isn’t a good idea. Scratch that. It’s suicidal. Crazy.
“Are you listening to me, Marly?”
Nope. I’m too busy trying to imagine him naked. The image of the muscled chest bared by his leather cut is burned into my brain. I should have paid more attention to the patches on the vest, but all those delicious ridges distracted me. The patches proclaim his club loyalty and advertise the territory he claims. The Breed MC runs the gritty outskirts of Baton Rouge, their reach extending deep into the bayou.
It’s not like the MC comes with a rulebook (or Big Dog sure didn’t leave it lying around where I could find it), but even though Ware never came out to Big Dog’s cabin before today, I’m certain of one thing. Ware doesn’t take orders. He’s used to being the top dog, the man in charge.
“You’re not.” Rough amusement fills his voice. “Honey, you need to listen good.”
Well my inner librarian pipes up. As if this man cares about grammar. The water’s getting cold again, so I reach for the towel he left me.
“If you’re going to try and give me orders, I need to tell you something.” I’ve got soap in my eyes and the towel seems to have relocated to Siberia. My questing fingers find no cotton, nothing but the smooth edges of the tub and empty air. I consider swinging my legs over the side of the tub, but the man doesn’t even own a bathmat and I’ve already created a mini-swamp on his floor. At some point, he’ll run out of patience, and I definitely don’t want to be naked for that.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t take orders well.” If I had the towel, it would be easier to pretend that I’m not naked and that he’s not just feet away. More soap runs into my eyes, and I bite back a whimper. I’ve survived so much worse. I’m not sure why a little sting is the final straw, but it is.
He grunts. “You sure about that?”
“Positive.” No, not really, but I’m going with a yes here. This is not a man you let walk all over you. I’m not a relationship virgin—or any kind of virgin—but my previous boyfriends weren’t wolves of any sort. I’ve experimented once or twice with letting my lovers tie me up. It always felt silly—and disappointing. It was kind of sad, really. They’d taken direction so well, but it wasn’t directions I wanted. Giving up control didn’t appeal—I wanted a man who was strong enough to take it, but who took it because he cared about me and giving me what I needed. Maybe there’s something screwed up in my head, thinking that way, but it’s the truth.
“How’d you and Big Dog meet up?”
“He came to the library,” I admit.
“Not sure I’d have pegged him for a reader.” I hear the smile in Ware’s voice. See? He’s not so big and scary.
“He wasn’t.” I splash a little water on my face to ease the soap sting. Big Dog rode up outside the library on his bike, the pipes roaring loud enough to be heard pretty much everywhere inside the building. In retrospect, I’m pretty certain he came inside just to find a bathroom, because he never once mentioned books while we were together. It wasn’t like he swept me up in his arms and hauled me off to his bike, but he came back after closing. He took me out for a drink. It would be so much easier if I could say that he’d forced me to go with him, but… he didn’t. I just didn’t know what I was getting into—and once I did, he wouldn’t let me leave.
Ware goes right there, too. “You thought it was a good idea, riding off with a biker?”
I give up on trying to get the soap out of my hair. It’s enough that now I’m peering bleary-eyed at the world. My borrowed clothes don’t appeal, though. Yuck. “Do you have something else I can wear?”
“Come on out,” he says wearily. I consider stepping out of the bathroom but then stop. Hello. Naked female plus werewolf? I haven’t enjoyed that math so far.
“Hand them through,” I counter.
He growls softly, but then I hear him stand up and stomp away. A minute later he returns and waves a stack of clothes through the cracked door. Pauses. Yeah. We’ve got a design flaw here—he can’t reach me in the tub, and I’m paralyzed in place at the sight of that strong, tattooed arm in my space.
“I’m coming in,” he announces at the same time he shoves the door open.
“No. Wait.” Shit. Now I’m doing that stupid thing where you smack your boobs with one palm and your pussy with the other, like a human hand bikini can hide anything. My fingers aren’t that big—and Ware’s already seen it all.
He comes right inside the bathroom and drops the stack of clothes on the sink. His dark eyes rake over me, taking in my predicament in his tub. “For what, honey?”
Armageddon. The Apocalypse. Tomorrow. “For me to say yes,” I snap, before I can bite back the words. I’ve learned firsthand that pissing off werewolves leads to bad outcomes.
But Ware just gives me a look, the one I think might be a smile. The corners of his mouth tug briefly upward, and there’s a flash of something hot and warm in his dark eyes.
“I’ll get the soap out of your hair,” he announces.
“Fuck off, Sherlock,” I grumble right back. If I press my legs any tighter to my chest, I might not come undone again. I wrap my arms around my knees like some kind of human rubber band and wait.
“Don’t scream,” he cautions.
As if any action preceded by that particular warning ends well.
“Why not?”
He gives me that not-quite smile. “Because it’s been a long day, honey, and I’m too old for that shit.”
He doesn’t look old to me. He yanks his shirt over his head in a smooth move. Given the frequency with which he undresses, I’m not sure why he bothered. And frankly? Half-naked is an amazing look for him. Heat and power radiates off his body, and my own completely naked state suddenly seems like a genius move on my part.
Stockholm. I so need to remember that.
But Ware has tattoos absolutely everywhere. He’s big and dark and covered with ink. He’s also surprisingly gentle when he cups the back of my head with one large hand and nudges me forward.
“Hold still,” he whispers roughly and I freeze. He separates the tangled, slick strands of my hair with careful fingers, rinsing the soap away. It’s that slow, unwa
vering patience that cracks me. When he finishes clearing away the soap and lifts me out of the tub, I should protest. I shouldn’t let him do this—but I do. I let him dry me off and pull the T-shirt over my head. If we’re being honest? I’m pretty sure I’d let him do whatever he wanted.
“Why are you doing this?” My entire day seems to catch up with me at once. It’s like a fifty-ton juggernaut bearing down on me, the out-of-control semi coming up fast in my rearview mirror.
He growls something under his breath, but the rhythm of the comb tugging gently through my hair is hypnotic and he’s just so fucking nice. Just for once, couldn’t my instincts be right about a guy?
“I mate-claimed you,” he snarls. “Okay? It was the only way Jace would let me take you away, and mates take care of mates.”
There’s only so much truth I can handle, so I make a deliberate decision not to ask what the alternative was. Jace and Ware killed Big Dog. They probably threw his body into the bayou—and I’m the only witness. I can guess how Jace might take care of the Marly problem.
“I don’t want to be anyone’s mate,” I whisper as my head hits his chest. I sink into the reassuring breadth and heat of him, going boneless. Stockholm, I remind myself.
“Too late.” His words echo in my ear as his mouth… brushes my hair? He sounds rough and frustrated, and when I sneak a peek at his face, the look there matches his voice. Ware radiates hunger and anger, yet I have zero desire to move away. Bikers, badasses, and werewolves—they all go under N for Never Ever Again.
“Did you love him?” The expression on Ware’s face turns grumpy and pained. It’s cute. I guess male werewolves don’t like discussing emotions any more than human males do. It makes me want to take advantage of him in the worst way, dig a little to see if he’ll let me in or if he’ll freeze me out.
“Big Dog? No.” I’d spent my time in the bayou working that one out. I’d had plenty of curiosity, and Big Dog had ticked a few boxes on my sexual fantasy bucket list. That saying about be careful what you wish for? I’d gotten way more kink than I’d bargained for, and nowhere near enough orgasms. It’s safe to say that bondage is off my list for good. I’d had all sorts of plans for what I’d do as soon as I got free. Somehow, those plans didn’t include tub time with another werewolf, but apparently I’m flexible. Or easily persuaded.
Ware grunts, and for a long moment I think that’s going to be the extent of his contribution to the conversation.
“Then why were you with him?”
“He didn’t give me a choice.”
“Uh-huh.” He leans back, wrapping his arms around my middle and pulling me closer. “The wolf pack’s not gonna let you walk. That’s another choice you don’t have.”
His hand smoothing through my hair doesn’t stop. The tangles slowly vanish beneath his careful touch, and it’s unexpectedly sexy. I could curl into him, could rest myself against his heat and his strength. He tempts me. It’s been so long (forever, if I’m honest) since I met a guy who could be strong without needing me to be weak. But Big Dog seemed like a fantasy come true too, and then he turned out to be one hell of a mistake. I can’t afford to rush this.
Ware asked me a question. No. There was no question in his words. It was a statement, and not even a threat. Just a fact he’d put out there like someone would read the weather forecast and comment on an incoming shit storm of rain. The pack won’t let me walk.
“What does that even mean? You can’t lock me up forever.”
Can they?
“You know we’re wolves.” The comb slides easily through my hair now, but he doesn’t stop. Is he leaning closer? Is he… sniffing me? You’d think I’d know by now that wolves are bad news, but nope. My traitorous body lights up for him. It wants to send him the green light.
“You know about the pack and the MC,” he continues. The comb makes another downward pass through my hair. “Those aren’t things we tell the world, and you’re not one of us.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say quickly. Too quickly. There’s no reason for him to believe me. I hadn’t thought about what I’d do next. It’s not like I need to go to the police anymore about Big Dog—he’s never hurting another woman again—but I hadn’t thought past getting away from him.
He picks me up effortlessly and heads for the bed. No sex. That’s what he’s promised, and somehow I know Ware keeps his promises. So instead of squirming and demanding he put me down now, I rest my head against his chest and enjoy the ride. Plus, right now the distance to the bed appears to approximate the length and breadth of a small land mass—without Ware’s arms, I’d be napping on the bathroom floor.
“I told you before. We’re mated.” He doesn’t sound thrilled about it, which makes two of us. He kills the light in the bathroom and steps out into the bedroom. The sudden lack of wattage leaves me temporarily blind, but he doesn’t seem to have that problem. Maybe it’s because he’s a wolf, but he moves with sure-footed confidence through the dark.
“That didn’t work out so well for Big Dog and me. What makes you think you’d do any better?” Way to go blurting out a challenge.
He gives me a long look as he sets me down on the bed, and suddenly I feel completely naked. Doesn’t matter that it’s still dark as sin in here, or that I can barely make out the hard lines of his face. He’s watching me, and he sees way more than he should. I’ve been through way too much these last few weeks to hook up with another dominant, pain-in-the-ass male.
“We’re not having sex,” he says as if he’s read my mind. God. I hope not, even though I can’t quite shut down the X-rated fantasies. “Not until you ask me for it.”
Clearly, in the Ware-verse, my requesting sex will happen when hell freezes over—and I don’t disagree. It’s not that I think he’d be that bad at it (my hormones are pretty darn certain he’d be phenomenal), but I just got out of a bad relationship—a relationship so bad that it required a felony to end. I stare at his bare chest, and I don’t even have to pretend the ink and the muscles on display inches from my nose fascinate me. So what if he’s beautiful?
“I’m not even thinking about it,” I assure him and he snorts. “I don’t even like you.”
I think that’s true.
God, I sure like his bed, though. He’s got to have the best mattress ever. I sink in, rolling onto my stomach and burrowing my face into his pillow. I’ll figure out my life tomorrow. Maybe next week.
“Not sure liking’s required,” he says thoughtfully, smoothing his palm down my back.
“You have a magic penis?” That’s my voice, sounding sleepy and defenseless. Shit. I should shut up, pass out, and stop poking him. But he only laughs, a low, rough rumble of sound that makes my non-existent panties wet.
“You know that wolves can smell a lie, right?” He leans down. This puts his mouth right by my ear, so that each word shoots straight to my pussy as if there really is some kind of magic connection between us. Stockholm. That’s all this is. It can’t be something more, something special.
“Bull shit,” I mutter. There’s no way that’s true.
His hand makes another pass down my back and keeps on going until he’s cupping my ass. The T-shirt bunches up, and his fingertips graze the curve of my butt.
“You want this,” he whispers roughly. “You want my fingers stroking your hot little pussy, making you come, making you scream.”
He drags his fingers lower, and yes I hold my breath. My thighs prickle with damp, needy sweat. Muscles clenching, I wait and he rewards me. He draws the tips of his fingers over my swollen folds, his touch light and teasing when what I really need is his fingers screwing deep inside of me. Pushing deep until I scream for mercy and get an orgasm instead.
“You gotta ask.” His fingers move up and down, and I force myself to hold still. I won’t screw myself on his fingers.
“I won’t tonight,” I whisper over the screaming protest of my nerve endings.
“Good choice.” He licks his fingers, shoves upright,
and walks away. The door closes behind him, sealing me into the darkness.
God, he’s dirty.
I’m so turned on that there’s only one thing left to do to cap off this craptastic day. It doesn’t take much, either. A few quick strokes of my hand and I’m coming in Ware’s bed, wondering if my wolf can hear me. If he’ll be coming back for me.
If, if, if.
WARE
My bathroom’s always been purely functional. Place to take a shower, shit, and brush my teeth. Tonight, though, it’s something else. Fuck if I know what.
I force myself away from my bedroom.
Just because Marly let me have a taste of her pussy doesn’t mean anything. No secret that you can steal a lick of the frosting without owning the cake, right? I consider my options as I raid my fridge for another beer.
Marly and I, we’re a temporary thing. Marly needs muscle. Someone to protect her. Big Dog was a fucking idiot, treating her the way he did. Brother never had a good reputation, even with the club whores, but this time he’d crossed a line. Kinda regretted killing him earlier today, because the more I thought about what had happened to Marly, the more pissed off I got. He’d died too quick. Killing him a second, third, and fourth time topped my fantasy list.
When my phone rings, I don’t have to look to know it’s Jace. “You good?” he asks when I answer.
“Doing fine.” I pop the top on my beer and take a long swallow. No way alcohol doesn’t improve this conversation. Jace’s next question proves it.
“You got Marly at your place?”
“She’s my mate,” I said instead of answering straight up. “Where else would she be?”
Jace grunts something noncommittal. “Still need to discuss her with the pack.”
“I claimed her,” I remind him before we move on to routine club business and hang up. Not too happy about equivocating with my Alpha, but things are complicated. I’m not letting Marly get hurt anymore than she already has, but I’m too old to make my mate claim a permanent arrangement. I’m not doing to her what my old man did to my mother. The constant fights, the eventual fatal beat-down, and then the new wolf that’s more owner than mate? That’s a shitty set of circumstances right there, and Marly deserves better.
