Bad Wolf

by Jo Raven

  Ah fuck. “Yeah, Gigi, of course I do. But—”

  “Why did your brother call you that other name, the first night? Fen?”

  Holy shit, we’re doing this now?

  “Fenris,” I mutter. “That was the family name of my adopted father. I kept it.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Fenris?”

  I stare back at her defiantly. I’m drunk—on adrenaline, booze and her smell, and have no intention of talking more about the topic.

  “Fen,” she whispers.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Sure, Rett.” She pushes me lightly back until the wall stops me, and puts her hands on my belt buckle. “This what you wanted?”

  Her fingers brush over my hard-on, trapped inside the denim, and I hiss, sparks of pleasure shooting through my dick, jolting me.

  She unbuckles my belt, unbuttons my jeans, and I try to find words, to tell her to stop, but they don’t come. Her fingers skim over my bare stomach, under my sweater, and I swear. Every little touch brands my skin, sends heat pooling in my gut.

  Her long lashes are lowered, her attention on undoing the last of the buttons, her cheekbones are rosy, the valley between her tits dark and inviting. Sweet, she’s all I can smell, all I can sense, all I fucking want.

  She glances up, the color on her cheeks deepening, and takes a deep breath, like a diver about to plunge into the sea, and starts to go down on her knees.

  I grab her under her arms, pull her up and crush my mouth to hers.

  Her lips taste of strawberry lipstick and soda, and they part on a gasp when my tongue traces them. My hands tighten on her sides as I really taste her for the first time, stroking her tongue with mine, sucking her lower lip between my teeth.

  Still sweet, but also hot, subtly spicy like, I dunno, white pepper and cinnamon and sexy girl. Her taste goes straight to my dick, and I haul her against me, desperate for more.

  Her hands come up to my shoulders, holding on tight as I eat up her mouth, licking inside it, needing to feel more of her, needing her naked, rubbing all along my body.

  Needing to be inside her, deep, mark her so that she’s mine for everyone to see.

  Fuck.

  She draws back a little, breaking the kiss, her blue eyes wide, and I stifle a groan. “You said… You wanted me to blow you.”

  The thought of her mouth on my dick sends a bolt of heat straight through me. It’d be so fucking hot, but I can’t stop kissing her right now. Not sure I can ever fucking stop. Her mouth’s addictive. Everything about her is addictive.

  “Jarett,” she whispers against my lips, and her voice is a little hoarse, her breathing uneven. Her tits rise and fall, threatening to spill from her cleavage. She moans softly when I press my hard-on against her.

  She’s turned on.

  It makes me fucking burn.

  “Touch me,” I whisper.

  Her small hand slips under my sweater, under my T-shirt, warm against my skin, tracing my abs, stroking my pecs. Never cared much about having my chest stroked, but damn, every light touch of her fingers sends shivers through me, making me impossibly hard.

  It hurts how much I want her.

  I won’t ask for more, though, even if it’s killing me. I never thought I’d be kissing her, holding her against me like this.

  Right now, the hits I took for her friend, the mess that is my life, it’s all worth it. And nothing matters at all.

  “You’re ripped,” she whispers, then her eyes widen, as if she hadn’t meant to say that.

  I grin down at her, more shaken than I’d like to admit. “You like it.”

  That blush again.

  She’s killing me.

  She pushes my sweater up, brushing over my ink, over my burning skin, and then down my sides, over my ribs.

  And then her hand trails back down to the open fly of my jeans, sliding inside.

  “Gigi.” A shudder wracks me, and my self-control cracks straight through. “What are you doing?”

  “Touching,” she says, and she’s a damn tease—only her face tells me different. She’s serious. “You want this?”

  Is she really asking me? I want this and more, so much more.

  “This.” I grab her hand and push it down my pants, watching her expression as I do it. “I want your hand on my dick.”

  She swallows hard, and her eyes go heavy-lidded, her breathing faster. I relax my hold on her hand so she can pull away if she wants—but she doesn’t. Her slender fingers dip inside my briefs, find my hard dick and wrap around it.

  Holy shit. My head thumps back against the wall, my brain short-circuiting the rest of the way. Just static. Can’t think. Everything is on hold, time, space, the whole damn universe.

  Feels so good. The world has narrowed down to her light grip, the sound of her breathing, the taste of her lips on my tongue.

  Kissing her once wasn’t enough. Although my mind’s in a haze, the feel of her hand on my hard-on consuming my focus, I cup her face in my hands and draw her in for another kiss.

  Better than the first. Deeper, my tongue lashing hers until she moans, and her hand clenches convulsively around my dick.

  My breath leaves my lungs. Shit, I’m so embarrassingly close to coming, it’s like I’m back in fucking middle school.

  She moans in my mouth, rising on tiptoes, gripping my shoulder with one hand, kissing me back.

  Tugging on my cock with the other, harder, faster.

  It’s like a firework goes off inside me—a full body explosion, sharp pleasure making my hips snap and my body jerk beyond my control.

  I come like a freight train off the rails, shooting my load all over her hand and my chest, groaning so loud I bet anyone passing outside this door can hear me.

  And I don’t give a fuck.

  Lightning blinding pleasure, a moment of oblivion, floating in emptiness, streaking through space like a shooting star.

  Damn…

  Slowly reality seeps back into my senses. Her hand slipping out of my pants, her warmth withdrawing.

  I make a grab for her, grip her arm. “Wait.”

  She’s breathing hard and won’t meet my eyes. She wipes her hand on my T-shirt that’s peeking under my sweater and bites her lower lip, and damn if my cock doesn’t make an effort to get up again.

  I start to say something, not even sure what—thanks? That was awesome? Shall we do this again?

  Great party?

  Think, Jarett.

  “There,” she says quietly. “Fee paid. You got what you wanted.”

  Did I? I don’t fucking know.

  What I wanna do is push my hand between her legs, check if she got wet from jacking me off and kissing me, I wanna go down on her, I wanna fuck her against this wall, see what sounds she’ll make as she comes.

  But she’s stepping back, away from me. “Keep an eye on Sydney,” she says, face still flushed, chest rising and falling fast, “and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  And just like that, she turns, opens the door and is gone. Leaving me with my jeans unbuttoned, jizz all over my chest, and a hole in my chest.

  Chapter Nine

  Gigi

  Closing the bathroom door, I hurry down the hallway to the stairs.

  Away from Jarett Lowe. Or Jarett Fenris? What name does he go by these days? I didn’t ask him.

  God. As if I could think straight when he was pressed to me, so beautiful and aroused.

  My pulse is thudding in my ears, in my throat, between my legs. My lips burn from his kisses, and desire is a heavy coil in my belly.

  The feel of his hard cock in my hand, that low growl and the way his body jerked as he came, oh wow… I need to fan myself.

  So sexy.

  This is ridiculous. And bad. I stop at the top step and take a bracing breath. Think, Gigi. Use your mind for a change.

  I can’t want Jarett. That way madness lies. He demanded this as a fee for helping my friend.

  Though he didn’t try to exact it by force.


  He did take it, however. Didn’t stop me. Let me jerk him off. Kissed the hell out of me.

  And I enjoyed it.

  It doesn’t matter. God, what’s wrong with me? Why do I consider turning back, finding him again and rubbing myself all over him?

  Truth is, that kiss was so hot. Hottest kiss I’ve ever had. Possessive, near violent, his tongue thrusting in my mouth, his hands gripping my face.

  Perfect.

  But I can’t go back. Slowly I make my way down the stairs, even as every fiber of my being calls me back to him. No. He showed me what kind of a man he is. Asking for sexual favors in exchange for help. No matter how sexy, what an amazing kisser he is, he showed his true colors.

  I hate him.

  Liar, liar, pants on fire, a little voice chants in the back of my mind as I wander through the house, looking for Sydney with little hope of finding her. I bet she left with one of her harem boys. You don’t hate him.

  You want him. So damn much.

  Yeah, well. Too bad. Can’t always have what you want, especially if it’s a jerk with an attitude and a big dick. I mean…

  Never mind. Forget it, okay?

  Predictably, Sydney is nowhere to be found, and I don’t know if to be more angry or depressed. I walk through the rooms of the frat house a bit longer, on the off chance I missed her, ignoring assholes with awful come-on lines and dodging wandering hands, until I’ve had enough.

  Time to call it a night.

  My heart is heavy as I call an Uber and make my lonely way home.

  My friendship with Sydney is on shaky ground. What she told me when I walked her back to the frat house earlier didn’t reassure me. Something about one of her guys going off and about drugs and medication. It didn’t make much sense. And she didn’t promise to explain, or stop.

  And Jarett…

  What do I do about him?

  The Uber leaves me in front of home, and I get out and stand in the cold, wind whipping at my legs, lancing through my jacket. I hug my arms around me, lost in thought, lost in the memory of that kiss, that encounter that shook me so much.

  I should feel dirty. Ashamed. Angry with myself.

  But strangely all I feel is sadness. I wish… I wish old Jarett was back, the silent boy I talked to. The new Jarett is confusing me. I dislike him and want him in equal measures. I want to slap his handsome face—and I want to suck on his lips like he did on mine earlier.

  God, he tasted so good, bitter like pine needles and spicy like mulled wine, and underneath it all was his taste, an echo of his scent, like… like fresh tobacco and leather and sweet anise.

  The throb between my legs returns with a vengeance, an aching need for something, someone.

  For Jarett.

  My eyes sting, and I stomp up to the house, open the gate and march up the porch to the front door. This is silly. I have to stop thinking about him and find another way to keep Sydney safe.

  That deal with him is off. I shouldn’t have paid him in the first place. I mean, I practically dragged him up the stairs, but I wanted to touch him, press myself to him. I went a little crazy, seeing him banged up because of helping Sydney, and I just…

  I just forgot for a moment why getting worried about him, caring for him is such a bad idea. Why being close to him is dangerous. I can’t seem to control myself around him, can’t be rational and see him for who he really is.

  A bad boy, an arrogant man who uses girls and then throws them away.

  I won’t let him use me that way, I won’t let a guy use me… not ever again.

  The lights inside the house are out, and I ease the door open carefully. It tends to stick and then creak as it opens.

  Someone is sitting in the dark, and I jump five feet off the ground before the shape becomes familiar.

  “Merc? Good God, you scared the crap out of me.”

  And, crap. My brother is the last person I want to see after what I did in that bathroom with Jarett.

  He gets up and clicks on a lamp, giving me a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Didn’t expect you back so early.”

  “It’s, like, one in the morning.”

  “Exactly. Usually when you and Sydney go out, you don’t come back before dawn.”

  He has a point.

  “Is Mom in?” Because I was wrong. Mom is the last person I want to see right now.

  “Nah. She’s out. Hot date.”

  I nod, relieved, and pleased with that. I’m happy she’s living her life again, at last.

  “Is that cake I smell?”

  “Oh yeah. She baked about a hundred cakes before she left. Doing her usual rounds tomorrow.”

  Mom has this hobby. A philosophy of living, I guess. She bakes for us, for all her friends, all the people she has ever known, and plenty she hasn’t—homeless people, people in old people’s homes, people in hospitals. She believes that everyone deserves a cake, that indeed a life without cake is sad.

  Her cakes are so good that I’m inclined to believe she’s right.

  Shrugging off my jacket, unwinding the scarf from my neck, I sink into the sofa.

  “You haven’t answered my first question.” I take off my high heels and lean back, letting the warmth of the room seep into my chilled skin. “What were you doing, sitting in the dark? That was creepy.”

  “I wasn’t alone.” He lifts a glass with amber liquid.

  “That’s not healthy.” I sigh. “Gimme.”

  Chuckling, he passes me his glass, and I take a sip. “Ugh.” It burns. “What’s this, battery acid?”

  He retrieves the glass, still chuckling. “It’s a manly drink. Too potent for the likes of you.”

  “Pff. It sounds like you’ve been reading epic fantasy again.”

  “Get thee hence, maid, and pour me some ale,” he intones, trying to keep a straight face.

  I laugh and tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “Alright. And what were you doing here, meditating with the elves?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Things.”

  “You mean girls. Girls are not things, brother.”

  He shrugs. Sits down beside me. “Doesn’t matter either way. I’m done thinking. So what’s up? Why are you back so early? Did something happen with Syd?”

  “Why would you say that?” A shudder runs through me as I remember her down on the grass, her eyes round as Jarett fought off the two other guys. Drug dealers. Whatever they were.

  Merc gives another shrug. “The other day I overheard some of the things you were discussing, is all.”

  “Yeah?” I cast my mind back, trying to remember what he might have heard. “So?”

  “So I know something happened with that guy, Jarett. Did she sleep with him?”

  “What? Of course not.” My heart booms just at the thought.

  God.

  “Okay, relax. I thought you were mad at her, that’s all. And since you’re in love with Jarett…”

  I shoot to my feet. “Holy frigging crap, I’m not in love with Jarett, okay? How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Whoa.” He lifts his hands, the booze sloshing in the glass, brows shooting up to his hairline. “I thought that was an established fact.”

  “It’s not… jeez, Merc. It’s not a fact.” I walk over to the window, then turn back around. “And that’s not why Syd and I fought.”

  “So you did fight. I knew it. You had that constipated expression on your face you always get when you’re mad.”

  “What? I don’t do that.”

  “Sure you do. Like this.” He crosses his eyes and frowns, mouth pursed. “Exactly like this.”

  Oh my God. I clap a hand over my mouth, snickering madly, momentarily distracted from thoughts of Sydney and Jarett. “You look like a deranged alien rabbit.”

  And then I smell Jarett on my hand, even though I washed it before leaving the frat house, and my whole body clenches so hard and deep with desire that I gasp.

  “Gi
gi?” Merc gets to his feet, his frown real this time. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Hand still over my mouth, I return to the sofa and sit back down. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure? You can tell me.” He sits down beside me. “Maybe I should pour you a drink, too.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  I can’t talk to my brother about this. He’ll probably go shoot Jarett and then lock me up in my room and stand guard outside. Merc is pretty protective, even if he’s a year younger than me.

  Okay, I doubt he’d shoot Jarett. Punch him in the face, maybe. Hard.

  “Tell me what happened.” He hands me a fresh glass with the radioactive booze he’s been drinking. I think it’s whiskey. Cheap whiskey. “Do I need to go kick ass?”

  See?

  “Nah, I’m good.” If I couldn’t still taste Jarett’s lips, hear his ragged breathing, feel that powerful body convulse with pleasure against me… “Pinky swear.”

  God, my own body is strung tight like a violin string. Something has to give, or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.

  “Did Sydney do something to upset you again?”

  “No… yes. She’s been acting weird.” The whiskey tastes better the more I drink—or maybe it burned off my taste buds. “Reckless.”

  “Why?”

  “No idea. She won’t tell me. She gets herself into danger, and then Jarett saved her ass—”

  “Wait, what? Rewind.”

  I put down the glass, lick whiskey off my lips. “He fought with two thugs, and she was sitting on her ass in the wet grass, and he had this frigging huge bruise on his face, and blood, and I just…” I wave the glass, and suddenly it’s all too funny. “I just grabbed Syd and dragged her inside, leaving him there.”

  Merc’s brows rise. “Seriously. And then?”

  “Then he came in, and I…” I take another sip. Hey, my glass is empty. I shake it, in case it magically refills itself. “I took his hand, and…”

  “And?” Merc removes the glass from my hand. “Focus, Gigi. What the hell happened?”

  “Nothing happened.” I shrug, and pout. “That’s it! Can I have some more battery acid, please?”

  “No. How can you be wasted with just this?” He gives my glass a disgusted look. “What the fuck did you drink at this party you went to?”