Wolf Bite (Wolf Cove #2)

by Nina West

  And now I’m going to lick it in front of everyone.

  I’m deciding how best to tackle this when Ronan kicks a chair over with his boot, a silent indication for me to sit. “Makes it easier for you.”

  “Thanks.” Clearly, Ronan has done this before.

  Connor steps forward to stand in front of me, straddling either side of the chair, reaching back to scoop my hair into a tight ponytail. It’s hard for me to focus on his stomach when his crotch is basically in my face, too.

  It looks like I’m about to give him a blow job.

  I’m guessing this was intentional on Ronan’s part. I shoot him a dirty look but he merely smiles and winks, nodding toward the shot in Connor’s hand. He’s enjoying every minute of my embarrassment. Jerk.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got, little one.” I peer up and into Connor’s face, staring down at me with heated eyes, his fist tightening its grasp of my hair. It would be easy to catch his skin with just the tip of my tongue, to get this over with quickly, to play up the naïve, innocent, inexperienced girl that Henry accused me of being.

  I don’t want to be her. So I lean forward and flatten my tongue against his stomach above his belt, just like I would have done to Henry’s cock when I was sucking him off. And then I take a long, leisurely lick upward, coating my tongue in the taste of his skin.

  “Here.” Connor’s smiling as he hands me my shot, only temporarily distracting me from the hard outline of his erection, directly in front of my face. He loosens his grip of my hair but doesn’t let go as I tip my head back and down the tequila, the overpowering taste worse this time around because there wasn’t much salt on his skin. Ronan tosses a slice of lime, which Connor catches effortlessly. Instead of handing it to me, allowing me to quell this bitterness in my mouth, he slides it between his teeth, flesh side-out.

  And then he stoops down and leans forward to feed the lime to me with his mouth. I’d argue with him if I wasn’t afraid that I may vomit from the tequila.

  Our lips graze as I bite down, but I ignore it, reveling in the sour juice as it explodes into my mouth. I sigh with relief, milking the slice for every last drop, until I can’t get anymore. I release it, and expect Connor to back off. Only he doesn’t. He lets the chewed up fruit fall from his mouth and then he pulls my mouth to his to lay an unexpectedly sweet kiss against my lips.

  It doesn’t last more than four seconds but it feels like an eternity because it’s been an eternity since I kissed anyone.

  And I’m not exactly sure how I feel about Connor kissing me.

  “Thank you.” The smirk on his face when he pulls away is nothing short of victorious.

  Clearing my throat, I grab my sweater, offering a mumbled “Night,” on my way past Ronan.

  ~ ~ ~

  I let the hot water soak into my back muscles, soothing the ache in them. It’s times like these that I wish I could show up at Michael’s cabin, lie down in his bed, and get him to rub my back like he did that night.

  I rarely think of him anymore, which just proves how messed up I was—and still am—over Henry, and how much I was just looking for an escape from my pain. In some ways I’m glad Henry shipped him back to Aspen. It’s made me not have to deal with the mortifying aftermath of using a guy like that.

  A shower starts a few stalls over, and it brings me a degree of comfort. While the women’s shower room is big and bright and well-maintained, being the only one in here this late at night is a little unsettling.

  I’m halfway through working the shampoo through my hair when the first deep moan carries over the running water.

  My hands stall as I listen. Nothing but silence and running water responds.

  Until I hear it again.

  There’s no mistaking that kind of moan.

  I should ignore it. I should quickly finish washing up and leave. But I’ve had three shots of tequila and Connor kissed me so sweetly, and my curiosity now overtakes my surprise. So I crouch down to look under the stall. I see two sets of feet—one male, one female—both facing the showerhead, the male standing behind the female, the female’s feet spread fairly wide apart.

  Oh my God. Someone’s having sex in here. I’ve heard rumors of it happening—people will go anywhere for a bit of privacy—but I thought it might be just that, a rumor. Clearly it’s not.

  There’s no way they don’t know I’m here, so they must not care.

  I take my time, running my fingers through my hair to work the shampoo out, all while keenly aware of what’s happening just a few stalls over. Listening intently, hoping that a word or a sound might tell me who it is

  Their soft pants grow louder, along with a few grunts and indecipherable whispers. If I close my eyes, I can imagine the guy thrusting harder and faster into her from behind.

  That familiar sensation begins to build in my core.

  I’m getting turned on listening to them.

  It doesn’t help that I’m standing naked in a shower, I guess. Or that I was treated to several days of mind-blowing sex, only to have it yanked away abruptly, leaving me with absolutely nothing for the past six weeks. Plus I’ve been the subject of constant flattery and brute charm by two attractive sexual men day in and day out for those six weeks. And I’ve had three shots of tequila and Connor kissed me tonight.

  I’m sure all of that plays a role in why my breasts are growing heavy and my nipples are pebbled and when I run my soapy hand between my legs, my fingers are stalling on my clit.

  Biting my bottom lip with hesitation, I peek under the stall again like the pervert I obviously am. The woman now has one foot raised beyond my view. I can judge each thrust by the movement of the guy’s feet, spread out farther

  Closing my eyes, I imagine myself in her position, with a man behind me, filling me like that.

  But who? I don’t trust anyone.

  Except for maybe Connor or Ronan.

  It’s so wrong and dangerous to even let these thoughts enter my head, but I can’t help it. I trust them more than I trust anyone else. I like them, I’m attracted to them, and I’ll never get caught up in anything more than feelings of friendship toward them.

  And I’m so damn horny right now.

  Enough that I wish I’d taken Connor up on that offer of a shower.

  “Oh, God, James. Yes!” A woman cries out in a deep southern lilt.

  I bolt upright, wide-eyed, any thought I may have had of getting myself off while listening to them dead.

  That’s Tillie!

  And James. Which James?

  I only know of one—Lorraine’s James. I saw them walking hand in hand along the path just this afternoon, so I’m pretty sure they’re still together.

  This must be another James.

  A part of me wants to towel off and duck out of here right now, because otherwise our paths may cross and they’ll know I stayed and listened to them have sex.

  And yet I don’t leave.

  I grab my razor and take my time, dragging the blade over every square inch of my legs, hoping I don’t accidently cut myself with my shaky hands. Tillie or not, there’s something about listening to two extremely attractive people having sex that stirs my blood. Or maybe it’s because I’m simply envious of them.

  Either way, I’m sure that whoever Tillie’s with is hot.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes!” Tillie moans just like I’d expect a southern belle to moan—deep and throaty—as she comes, closely followed by James shouting, “Oh, fuck! Yeah!”

  And in that moment, I know that this is Lorraine’s James, because he said the exact same thing the night I overheard him and Lorraine, when I was with Michael.

  Oh man... this isn’t good. But maybe Lorraine and he broke up after I saw them today? If not... am I a bad roommate for not telling Lorraine about this?

  I’m pretty sure several of Jed’s and my “friends” knew about Cammie before I found out. Their decidedly calm reactions when I told them what happened indicated that.

  But Lorraine’s going to fi
nd out anyway. Nothing stays secret around here. And then living in that cabin is going to be a nightmare. I sigh, debating what to do. This is the longest shower I’ve ever had in my life. My fingertips have turned prunish, and the water isn’t as hot as it once was.

  I really want to leave, but I absolutely don’t want to come face-to-face with either of them, so I huddle under the water until I hear James say, “Catch you later.” I peek through the side of the curtain in time to see him stroll out with a towel wrapped around his waist.

  I wait another minute and then I shut the water and duck out in record time, leaving Tillie humming to herself.

  This place....

  It’s definitely not Greenbank, Pennsylvania.

  ~ ~ ~

  I reach over my head to shut off my reading light.

  And then I do the same stupid girl thing that I’ve done every night for the past six weeks—pull my phone out, crossing my fingers that my Internet connection is working, and I refresh the search engine for “Henry Wolf” to see if anything new about him has been reported.

  Most nights, it’s the same old stuff. Articles about Wolf Hotel, about the eligible Wolf bachelors. There are articles about the Wolf gold mine, and forecasts for how long it can be mined before the cost of increased diesel fuel consumption with mining so deep outweighs the profits and effort. Apparently there was a small accident five years ago when one of the tunnels collapsed. When I read that, I found myself wishing that Scott had had been in that tunnel. I of course immediately felt guilty for thinking that, even if he deserves it.

  Every night I brace myself for a picture of Henry with a woman. There have been a few, and on those nights I feel sick to my stomach and spend the night tossing and turning and, occasionally, crying quietly. I hate letting myself cry over him, so I usually fight it.

  Tonight, a new article pops up. Wolf Hotels is opening a location in Prague.

  I sigh, imagining what it would be like to hop on a plane and fly over an ocean to Europe. Maybe I’ll do that next year, once I’m finished my last year at North Gate. I never thought I’d end up in Alaska this summer, so who knows? I don’t even have a passport.

  According to the article, the company is set to begin remodeling a historic building shortly, in time to open next year. My heart jumps at the picture set in the inset, of Henry in his suit, his dark hair combed back, the curls rolling at the nape of his neck, visiting the location just last week. Another picture follows it, of him stepping into a famous local opera house, his arm around a beautiful and glamorous brunette identified as Czech-born supermodel Luciana Boren.

  This is the third picture I’ve seen of them together.

  Tears sting my eyes as I read through the rest of the article.

  Clearly, Henry has moved on.

  I really need to, too.

  Chapter Twenty

  “We need to load this all into the compost bins before lunch. You almost done in there?” Ronan calls from outside.

  I lean over the work-bench and stretch onto my tiptoes to hang the shears onto the hook, admiring the tool shed. Everything is new and clean and well-labeled, and the scent of cedar wafts through. It’s so different from the drafty old barn where my dad stores our farm equipment.

  “Come on. Hurry up!” Ronan’s hungry. I can tell. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen him grouchy.

  “Hold on!” I holler back, annoyed, shifting a box that’s hindering my reach.

  Suddenly, something leaps out of it, grazing my neck on its way past.

  With a loud shriek, I drop the shears and jump back, just in time to see a brown and black striped body disappear behind some bags of mulch in the corner.

  Ronan comes barreling in, his face stricken with panic. His strong arms instantly rope around me and he pulls me into his chest protectively. “What happened?”

  “A chipmunk.”

  “A chipmunk?” The tension releases in his arms. “Are you kidding me? Jesus Christ, I thought you were being mauled by a bear or something.”

  “A bear, just sitting inside a garden shed?”

  “Well, the way you screamed!” He defends himself.

  “It touched me!”

  “It touched you.” He heaves a sigh, and then chuckles. “Fucking lucky chipmunk.”

  “Shut up.” I’m laughing now too. Of course he’s turned this into something sexual.

  I’m still in his arms. He peers down at me thoughtfully, but says nothing.

  “What?”

  His eyes sparkle as they drift over my mouth, and farther down, to where my chest presses against his. “You should give me a chance.”

  “A chance? For what?”

  The heated gaze that lifts to meet my eyes answers me immediately.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? I’ve seen you looking at me. I know you want me.”

  My cheeks begin to burn. “No, I don’t.” I do look at him a lot. And Connor. It’s hard not to—they’re both lean and cut and gorgeous. “And that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”

  His smile falls off as his hands begin to wander, sliding up to settle on my shoulders, his thumbs grazing along the collar of my t-shirt at my collarbone, just touching my skin enough to send a thrill down to my breasts. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” I sigh. “I don’t want to mess things up by complicating them.”

  “It won’t. We both know where we’re coming from.” He says it so matter-of-factly.

  I’m already shaking my head. “I can’t.”

  “Yeah, you can. I’m telling you that you can.” He pushes a wayward strand of hair off my forehead. “As unbearable as it will be for me, I’m giving you permission to use my dick for your amusement.”

  “Oh my God. Stop it!” I laugh as I push against his chest, my palms reveling in his firm muscles. He has never so overtly propositioned me before. Is it because of what happened last night with Connor? Is he jealous and getting competitive?

  I gain some space between us, only to lose it when Ronan steps forward. “Does it make you uncomfortable to know that I’m hard for you right now?”

  I can’t keep my wide eyes from dropping down to his pants. Sure enough, I can see the outline of his erection. Does it make me uncomfortable? No, I don’t think so. But I don’t tell him that.

  He smiles and under his breath, I hear a soft mutter of, “God, you’re beautiful.”

  A nervous laugh escapes me. “Come on! You’ve slept with my roommates!”

  “And you fucked Aspen. So what?”

  “He wasn’t your roommate. And I watched you with Rachel.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Once, like, forever ago.”

  “That’s not the point!”

  He steps in closer and I don’t back away this time, even though I know I should, my entire body suddenly alive with adrenaline, reacting to the potential pleasure that Ronan is offering, even while the voice inside my head is screaming, no! no! no!

  “The point is that you just stood in a shower for twenty minutes by yourself last night, listening to your roommate bang some guy. Don’t tell me that didn’t turn you on.”

  I groan. “I’m really regretting telling you about that.” The only reason I brought it up was because I felt like Connor should know. He didn’t seem to care much, but they were both very interested in the fact that I stayed to listen to the act in its entirety. And whether I touched myself.

  I sure as hell didn’t answer that question honestly.

  “Do you want me to watch Connor fuck you? Would we be even then?”

  Maybe this isn’t about competition or jealousy, after all.

  But... oh my God. “Do you really want to watch me have sex with Connor?” Just the thought has me blushing furiously.

  “What, like you’ve never thought about it?”

  Just last night, actually. “Thought about you watching me have sex with Connor? Uh... no!”

  “Would you do it if Ronan isn’t watching?” Connor pokes his h
ead in, sliding his aviators down over the bridge of his nose to eye us. He’s obviously been listening. “What the hell are you two doing in here?”

  My cheeks burn even brighter. “Sorry, I was attacked by a chipmunk.”

  “Oh, come on. You know Ronan’s dick is bigger than a chipmunk. A squirrel, maybe.”

  The two of them burst out in laughter and I just shake my head at them.

  Connor steps into the shed. “So where’d this killer chipmunk go?”

  I point to the corner, and he wanders over to kick the bag of mulch with his work boots. “We have to get the little bastard out. Can’t have them nesting in here.”

  I watch as they begin dragging out the various boxes and bags tucked in beneath the table, the muscles in their arms and backs straining, the crew work pants stretching over hard asses.

  “Fuck! There it is!” Connor shouts, and a second later a furry little body scurries past us and out the front door, earning my shudder.

  “Hopefully he’s smart enough not to come back.” Connor dusts his hands off as Ronan shoves a barrel back under the desk. “So, back to the topic of us together. Is Ronan just watching? Or do I have to share you? At least let me have first dibs. I’m so brokenhearted over Tillie.” He emphasizes that with a fake pout.

  I spin on my heels and bolt out the door to climb behind the wheel of the flatbed truck. I crank the engine in an attempt to drown out their laughter. It seems I’ve somehow given them the green light. The innuendos are gone. Now it’s straight proposition.

  Connor rounds the truck, resting his arms against the door in the open window, amusement splashed across his face. “What? You think you’re gonna drive?”

  “I never get to drive.”

  “This isn’t a Honda Civic, Abbs. Do you even—”

  I throw it into first gear and release the clutch. Connor jumps back just as the truck lurches forward. I take off down the road, leaving them in a cloud of diesel fumes.

  The composting site is a quarter mile up the road.

  That should give all of us time to cool off.