by Anne Marsh
“Wow. You’re a total giver.”
“I’m a scientist. You don’t want to forget that part.”
“A scientist and an artist.” She grins at me. “So you do do something besides ride and commit felonies.”
“I fuck, too. Got to get that practice in, sweetheart.”
“These are gorgeous.” She ignores the fucking comment, although the tips of her ears turn pink, and leafs through the pages of the sketchbook. I keep one eye on her and one on the road. I should focus on driving—precious cargo blah blah blah—but Rain’s just too distracting. The sketchpad is my sandbox. It’s full of rough outlines, random thoughts and bits that I’ll work into the next book. Rough is the operative word here. I’ll scrawl whatever comes to mind here and re-work it later. It’s all naked selfie instead of Playboy shoot polished.
Rain doesn’t seem to mind, though. Her fingertip hovers over B.W. “Is he busy saving the world?”
I reach over and tap wolf guy. “B.W.? He’s the bad guy.”
“Huh.” She squints at the page. “Nope. He looks like a hero to me.”
Okay. So maybe Rain’s smarts are selective. Or limited to baby things. Because there’s nothing heroic about B.W. He’s big and rough and he stomps all over the frames, doing whatever the fuck he feels like.
“We should get your vision checked,” I suggest. “Probably shouldn’t be driving anywhere on your own.”
“He looks safe,” she says.
“Bad to the bone,” I argue. “Keep turning the pages. He’s about to star in a dirty foursome while the superhero gets on with saving the city. B.W. is completely ethic-free—work ethic, personal ethics, you-name-it ethics. Totally missing.”
“He’s strong,” she says. “He can do the right thing if he chooses.” And then she taps Super Hero Guy. “I bet he doesn’t get the girl.”
She’s definitely either crazy or has the worst taste in men. Seeing as how she’s sitting in the cab of my truck, it’s gotta be B. I’m hardly an improvement on her douchey ex. Since pointing out her taste issue isn’t gonna fly, I settle for asking a practical question, seeing as how we’re driving and a destination’s probably a good idea.
“You gonna give me your address or is it a state secret?”
I half-expect her to have me stop somewhere public. After all, she’s already got one crazy stalker, so she’s probably feeling a little gun shy. But she left-right-lefts me all the way to the outskirts of Baton Rouge where the houses get smaller and farther apart while the trees get larger and the gardens more rambly.
Rain’s place isn’t new or large or even particularly tidy. Given how organized she is, I’d have guessed that she lived in one of those houses where the front lawn is mowed into equidistant green strips and everything has been meticulously pruned at the right season and to the right height. Instead, this place looks like a garden center exploded. A few brightly colored metal chairs peek out of the greenery. There are plants stuck everywhere in a big, colorful jumble that’s barely contained by the white picket fence that lists like a drunk biker on a Friday night. Pretty sure she needs a dozen new fence posts and the next hurricane that tears up Louisiana will flatten the lot. I make a mental note to get my hands on a post digger stat. It would be a shame if she lost her flowers.
I pull into the gravel driveway. Once again, Rain hops down from the truck before I can pull a gentleman and lend her an assist. At least I get my hands on her ginormous bag first. I don’t know why she needs to pack enough stuff for a week, but she’s not carrying heavy shit. She’s got me to do that. She makes a face but doesn’t protest out loud. I count that as victory.
While I haul her monster bag, she bounds up the path before me, opening the waist-high gate and holding it for me. My balls appreciate the consideration, seeing as how it’s spiky as shit. Guess her secret plan is to impale any midnight intruders. I take away the taste of that unpleasant thought by meditating on Rain’s ass. After all, it’s bouncing and swaying up the path in front of me, and it’s hard to look away. She’s wearing scrubs, the fabric’s thin, and she’s got visible panty line. Possibly boyshorts. Maybe a pair of bikini panties? Definitely not a thong.
I’m definitely feeling a whole lot better when we hit the porch. Rain rummages in the monster bag for her keys while I hold the whole lot, doing my best Vanna White impression. Her house is as well-loved and lived in as her garden. White paint peels off the side in lazy curls. She has a pair of rocking chairs on the front porch and some crazy-tall pink flowers and purple foxglove. I’m no gardener but I learned the hard way about that particular plant as a pup.
“You know that’s a poison, right?” I point to the flowering spikes.
“Then you’d better behave.”
Rain winks at me, sliding her key into the lock and cracking the door open. I set her bag down. I don’t like the lack of a home security system or a really big dog, but I also don’t sense any threat. No intruders, no vampires or supernatural threats, no nuclear warhead about to detonate on her grass. Right now I’d sort of welcome anything if it gave me an excuse to stay.
Rain looks at the bag and then at me. “Too heavy for you?”
“You want it somewhere else?”
I reach for the bag. I’m a big guy and it still feels like she’s packing an arsenal in there. Not sure why she needs so much shit to get through a day at work, but not my business, either. I look at her expectantly.
Instead of answering, she steps inside. I follow because why not? She fucking makes me feel like a puppy again, all eager to please. Parts of me are also definitely bouncy. My dick’s decided the invitation to fetch her shit has a deeper, dirtier meaning, so he’s also up and ready to party. I should give him the smackdown, but Rain’s not even looking at me. Her gaze bounces around the room. I get it. I’m big and I’m in her space.
While she decides where she wants the bag, I do a little looking around myself. It’s a nice room. She’s passed on carpet in favor of hickory floors. There’s a brick fireplace painted white and a ton of books. A pair of pink-and-white striped armchairs are drawn up in front of the fireplace and piled with fur blankets. Fake. Even if my nose couldn’t tell the difference, two are purple and one is pink. I’ve never eaten anything that color in the bayou.
“Rain?” I jiggle the bag I’m holding. You know. Just in case she’s mistaken me for a coatrack or something equally wooden. Wood. Har-de-har-har.
Her gaze snaps to me, then travels down. Pretty sure she lasers in on my crotch and what’s going on there. My dick does its best to wave a vigorous hello.
She reaches out and gently tugs the bag out of my hand. It hits the floor with a thud as she tilts her head back. She’s holding my gaze, but her head’s ever so slightly tilted, her ponytail sliding away from the soft skin of her throat.
“You want to stay?” She steps closer, sliding her hands up my arms and over my shoulders. She’s near enough that I can feel the warmth of her body, the gentle up and down of her tits as she breathes. And then, just in case, I’m particularly dense, she leans up and kisses me.
The kissing makes it difficult to use my words, but somehow I don’t think she’s interested in anything I have to say right now. I should make this romantic, do something memorable, but instead I drop her shit on the floor, wrap my arms around her, and lift her up so she can kiss me better. She’s a tiny thing and I’m built on a larger scale. Fucking thoughtful. That’s me. Also? I know she appreciates this gesture because she wraps her legs around my hips and groans into my mouth.
Positive reinforcement totally does it for me. I kiss her back, eating her mouth like it’s her pussy. Her fingers pet my head, stroking over the back of my neck and tracing the ink that my T-shirt can’t hide. I should just ink a big arrow pointing down to my dick. Magic this way.
Rain deepens our kiss and I lose my train of thought. Fuck me but she’s amazing. Once she’s in, she’s all in. Her tongue spears into my mouth like she’s the Genghis Khan of kissing, raiding and pil
laging. Taking no prisoners. I give it up, slanting my mouth beneath hers so she can take every last inch of me. We mouth-fuck each other, licking, nipping, setting each other on fire. I fist her pretty hair and hold on. Might pull her even closer.
Now here’s the thing: I’m an alpha guy. I do the leading. Dance floor, bedroom, check and check. Right now, though, I let her take charge. Just a little and just because this is her den. She’s invited me in and I want to stay more than anything. Everything is better with Rain, so much more, so something that I give up trying to figure it out. I’m not smart and I usually act on instinct. It’s gotten me this far, so I don’t see the need to change.
When Rain drags her mouth away from mine, she’s breathing hard. So am I. Fuck the space between us. I cup the back of her head with the hand that’s not holding her up and tug her mouth back to mine.
“Yeah,” I whisper against her lips. “I want to stay.”
I don’t know what’s made her change her mind about me—about there being an us—but something has and I’m just the wolf to take advantage of it.
I’m sure you’re surprised to learn that I’m completely uninhibited and dirty in bed.
Shocked.
Alarmed.
Really jealous.
Pick your favorite phrase, but the one thing I don’t do is disappoint. Rain is hot for me and I’m one hundred percent in the mood to give her what she wants. Fuck finding her bedroom—I walk her straight to the first option I spot: the striped armchair hanging out by the fireplace.
“Fang?”
“Need to hear you scream my name, ‘kay?”
I set her down by the chair.
“Optimistic much?”
“I’m that good.” I gently knock her forward so she’s facedown on the cushion. “Hold that position for me.”
“This is crazy,” she mutters. “I own a perfectly good bed.”
Rain talks too much. I tug her scrubs down to her knees.
“I like your panties.” She wriggles, trying to look at me. This makes her ass jiggle, which I fucking love, but it also makes my job that much harder. Okay. It makes my dick harder, but who’s counting? I give her ass a little tap and she freezes.
“You did not—”
“Shhh.” I draw my thumbs over her cheeks, dipping between her thighs. “I’m busy. You’re distracting me.”
She’s totally distracting me. Her panties are the boy-cheek kind, all sensible, white cotton from Victoria’s Secret. Her hands flutter over the chair as if she’s not sure what to do with them. She’s stopped wiggling though. I run a finger under the edge.
“You’re soaking wet.”
“You can’t say that.” I watch her cheeks turn pink. She’s so fucking cute.
“Can.”
“It’s—” Whatever she’s gonna say gets lost in another moan as I ease my finger farther under the wet cotton, teasing her.
“Dirty would be telling you that it’d be a shame to get come on your chair.” I nudge her legs wider.
She squeaks something. Doesn’t matter. Don’t care.
I drop to my knees, yank her panties down, flip her over, spread her shoulders over my thighs, and get my mouth on her. Feeling her up under her panties is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but this is even better. She squeaks again when I lick slow and steady to her clit. When I suck it into my mouth, she starts whimpering and squirming.
The words coming out of her mouth are real nice, too. She’s pretty much got me and God mixed up and is using our names interchangeably. And since that’s fine with me, I keep right on loving her pussy. She tastes goddamned perfect, sweet and juicy. I’d be happy doing this all night. Think she agrees with that plan because she starts grinding her clit against me and chanting my name.
Then I lick my thumb and slide it into her back hole. She freezes for a second, like maybe she hasn’t done this before, but then the sensations hit her and she starts calling my name again. I ease two fingers into her pussy, searching for her happy spot, as she rides me. Fuck, I’ve barely got started on her ass when she comes hard. She doesn’t shriek my name, but she’s not quiet, either.
That’s my cue, thank fuck. I flow to my feet, unbutton, shove my jeans down, and line my dick up with sweet, wet pussy. The angle’s not great, so I switch us around so she’s sitting on my lap and my ass is planted on the seat.
“Condom,” she mutters.
I’ve never forgotten that part before. Not that wolves can get STDs, but I’ve always felt better knowing there’s a protective layer between me and the girl under me. You don’t know where they’ve been—and I sure as hell know where I’ve been. I reach over and fish one out of my jeans. Roll it on in world-record speed, too.
“Hard or slow?” I growl in her ear, nipping the sensitive lobe. She’s wearing little pearl studs—I so need to get her a school girl skirt.
“Fast,” she whimpers.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary. I decide that means hard until I hear otherwise.
I’m not nice. I just line myself up and slam home. I’m big, but she’s wet. When I push in, she pushes her ass out, more than meeting me halfway. Fuck, the juicy sounds of sex are almost as good as the breathy chant she starts up, telling me harder faster there up omg fang YES. She’s the most amazing sex I’ve ever had—never felt anything this good before.
And while dragging this shit out seems like sheer genius, my dick has other plans. Five, six hard thrusts and I’m about to blow my load. Her pretty brown hair spills everywhere and I gather it up, wrapping it around my fist and using it to hold her still. Her hands reach, seeking something. Fuck if I know what she’s looking for, but she totally deserves another orgasm.
I reach between us and press against her back hole. “You gonna let me in here?”
She moans something that sounds an awful lot like “Not tonight.”
My dick just about detonates. Not tonight sure as fuck sounds like pick a night and I just added fantasy sex to my calendar lemme send you that meeting invite. It also means not now you bastard, so I slide my thumb around to her front and find her clit. And then my hips are pistoning into her ass, my thumb working her, as we bump and grind our way to fireworks. Holy fuck, we’re amazing together. I come hard, burying myself deep in the world’s tightest pussy, and before I can beat myself up because I’m a ladies first man, she’s coming too, clenching hard on my dick and working herself to the world’s longest, hottest orgasm ever.
She gasps something.
Got no fucking clue what.
I slap a hand on the chair to keep myself from sliding to the floor because my knees are strangely shot to shit and I’m seeing stars. Possibly, my balls exploded. I mumble something equally incoherent back to her, and for a moment we just collapse on her poor chair, trying to figure out how to breathe again. Okay. Might be more than a moment—more like minutes. Lots and lots of minutes.
Long enough that when my brain starts working again, the sun’s going down outside and the birds are making a goddamned racket. I probably should feed her, romance her. Instead I test my legs (working again, thank fuck), pull out, and toss the dirty condom in the fireplace. Not sure latex burns, but I’m not hunting for a trashcan now.
Rain tumbles over me like a sexed-up kitten. Since her panties are still around her knees, the view’s fucking awesome. Her pussy’s pink and glistening. And right now, it’s all mine.
“I think we broke me,” she mutters.
“Yeah?” I cradle her against my chest and yank my jeans back into place. Fucking awkward walking around with them at half-mast. Sure as hell she’s got to feel the same way, so I strip her panties and her scrubs off and toss them onto the floor. Then I stand up, still holding her. No way I let go now.
“What’re you doing?” She nuzzles her face into my chest as she says this, so I don’t think she’s complaining.
“Up or down?”
“What?”
“Your bedroom.”
“Up.” She exhales noisily. “Sorry.
I was up all night with a baby.”
Rain’s place isn’t all that big. Once I’ve got her upstairs, I’ve got three doors to pick from. One’s a bathroom with a ginormous clawfoot tub and about a million scented candles, while the other’s some kind of mutant closet space, full of boxes and shit. That leaves door number three.
Bingo.
Unlike her garden, Rain’s bedroom is strangely peaceful. It’s all gray and brown, with lots of furry pillows and soft-looking throws. The bed is one of those velvet numbers, with a curved back and no place to hold on. Bummer—I’d been secretly hoping for a four-poster bed so I could tie her up.
I tuck her into bed, lose my pants, and crawl in beside her. I’m planning on just giving her a good night kiss, but it turns out she’s not so tired after all. The woman’s got hidden reserves of stamina—I fucking love it.
I don’t do after care or snuggles. Shocked? I didn’t think so. So after we hit the bed, I do Rain, and I do her right. I make her scream loud enough to be heard two parishes over. Four times. It’s well past midnight and dawn’s barreling toward us when Rain finally collapses facedown on the bed.
“Tired,” she mutters. “Can you die from too much sex?”
I smile, even though she can’t see it. If there were an Olympics of sex, I’d have just nailed the gold medal. I lean down to tell her this, but she’s gone. Sound asleep. I smooth her hair away from her face. She’s gonna have some killer stubble burn in the morning, plus I may have left a mark or two on her neck.
I need to go, but Rain attaches herself to my arm like some kind of octopus, and I can either lie down or try to pry myself away. Yeah. I can totally stay a little longer.
My dick’s a huge morning fan. When I wake up, I’m sprawled on my back, I’ve got a morning woodie hard enough to split logs, and light’s just beginning to fill up the window. Okay, so this isn’t unusual. I’m an up-and-at-’em guy in more ways than one. What isn’t familiar, however, are the pom-poms edging the curtains on the window. Or the soft whuffle of someone else’s breathing in my ear. There’s a soft, warm weight smashed up against my right arm. Tits. Which totally explains the morning wood.