by Anne Marsh
And when he shoves his fingers between us, working my clit, I realize that I like it this way, too.
Gator
I text Poppy Friday night and tell her I’m picking her up. Yeah. You heard me. Tell, don’t ask. I’ve got a wolfish side I’m not gonna wallpaper over with hearts and flowers. It’s been all quiet on the wolf hunt front as far as I can tell, so I’m taking tonight for myself. I’ve given her some space this week because she’s been busy sending out resumes and presumably trying not to freak out.
I’m not exactly holding my breath that she’ll let me help her. Sex seems to be as far as she’ll go, that and ice cream. So I’ll give her what she asks for, and then wait. Not like patience is something I’ve got more than a passing acquaintance with, however, so five days is about as long as I can hold out.
Plus I miss her. We’ve got a party planned at the Breed clubhouse, and my mated brothers will be there with their women.
I want to be there with mine.
I don’t want to be alone.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter if she says no. I let myself think it will be okay. That even if she doesn’t want to spend a Friday night with me, it doesn’t mean I can’t ask again or that she won’t say yes another time. So yeah, the whole tell thing? It’s a ruse. Poppy has to choose me, and not because my Alpha isn’t getting behind any strongman tactics. Because this thing we had together on Monday night?
I want more of it.
I want more of her.
My stomach pitches and there’s no air left in my chest. Waiting sucks. It’s not a feeling I do well with, and how fucked up is this anyhow? That I’m having feelings for a human female? I almost turn the phone off. Almost. But then I remember the way Poppy reached out for me, the way she smiled for me. And fuck, the way she came for me. We were good for each other, and so yeah…
I want us to be an us again.
I look down at my phone again. And… hello disappointment. No bouncing dots, no words back. Just radio fucking silence. I’m about to get on my bike and hunt her down for a little face-to-face when she texts back.
Okay.
It takes me almost an hour to get to her place, but when I pull up, she’s already bouncing down the stairs. Must have been watching for me because I don’t even have time to kill the engine or swing off my bike before she’s right there, beaming a ridiculously lit up smile at me. Is she glad to see me?
I smile back. Feels fucking rusty, if we’re being honest. I’m the bad guy, the muscle, the enforcer. I’m the one who metes out justice, even though sometimes I’m riding on the dark side of the law. I’m the man who pays you a visit when you’ve pulled the wrong shit with the wrong people, and now it’s time to repent and pay up. Most days, I fucking love my job. Love keeping my pack safe. Last Monday, I kept Poppy safe and I did it with just me.
She hesitates a moment. Might be because my smile is scary as fuck. But then she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me fiercely. I hug her right back because why wouldn’t I? She leans into me, off-balance, her tits pressed against my chest, her cheek brushing mine.
And since some shit’s gotta be said out loud, I tell her the truth. “Missed you, babe.”
“It’s been a long week.” Her smile gets brighter and she melts into me. Heading to the clubhouse suddenly seems like a bad idea. I give serious thought to hauling her cute ass straight back upstairs as I set her back on her feet and hand her a helmet. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug her curves and end just above her ankles in a ridiculous explosion of fringe. The fringe just makes me notice her pink stilettoes and the way those little ties wrap around her ankles. Has me thinking about fucking her up against the wall and giving her something to dig into.
And the view just gets better as I work my way up her body. A pink camisole with skinny straps and plunging vee peeks out from beneath her jacket. It’s some kind of silky material that clings to her as she moves, and I don’t think she’s wearing a bra. Definitely merits closer inspection.
I hook my finger in the gold chain around her throat and pull her close. Once isn’t enough. I brush my lips over hers and then go back for seconds, kissing her deeply. She opens up and lets me take over, my tongue getting familiar with her mouth again. Some ass hoots and hollers across the street from us, and I raise my hand behind my back and give him the finger. Fucker’s just jealous, and I don’t blame him.
She gets onto the back of my bike and tucks her arms around my waist. The ride to the clubhouse is way too short, but she chatters away in my ear, her body shifting with mine, her fingers tightening over my stomach as I take the curves. Not sure what she says because the wind’s in our ears, but I nod my head. Tonight’s about whatever she wants.
Party’s not so bad, either. When we reach the clubhouse, I hand the bike off to one of the prospects, and then we head out back to where the brothers have the mother of all bonfires going. A few of the brothers look surprised to see me, but most just nod or tip their chins at me. I’m not known for being the life of the party—that’s Fang, who’s engaged in some kind of dance-off with a chick in a micro-mini. He gyrates on top of a keg, thrusting his pelvis like Elvis, while she screams and dances around an invisible pole by his feet. I’ll never understand that brother.
Doesn’t matter. The music surrounds us, the hardcore beats filling the air. Someone’s threaded those fucking white twinkle lights through the trees surrounding the courtyard, but there’s also an entire pig roasting and a shit-ton of meat products just begging to be eaten, so tonight’s looking downright perfect. I sling my arm around Poppy’s shoulders.
Yeah I am with her, I mentally telegraph to all the starers. She’s fucking gorgeous. From the looks she’s getting from the other guys at the club, I’m not the only one who sees it. I think I might be the only guy lucky enough to have a shot at seeing beneath that pretty surface, however.
She tips her head back to look at me. “You busy later?”
Standing where she is, she has to sort of shout to be heard over the music. So being the prince of a guy that I am, I scoop her up in my arms and take us over to a picnic table. When I drop down with her in my lap, she tries to scoot away. Yeah. As if I’d let go.
“Up for anything, babe,” I tell her.
“I can see that.” Humor laces her voice.
Don’t think that’s a complaint, so I hand her my beer. Not like I want to get her fucked up, but she’s empty-handed and I like providing for her. She takes a sip and pulls a face, so I make a note to go hunt down some of that frozen crap she likes so much. Girls are probably making margaritas, so I’ll get that for her.
“I need to go back to the bayou,” she says, leaning her head against my chest. “I still have equipment out there on some of the trails, and I have to turn it in.”
I stroke her back, trying not to remember that I’m the reason why she’s out of a job. Normally I don’t give a shit if somebody gets hurt when I’m looking out for my pack. That’s just how life works—if you threaten me and mine, you pay the price. But Poppy isn’t just anyone. She’s sort of mine now too, and I hate that she’s sad over losing her grant.
She reaches around me and sets our beer down on the table. “Will you go with me?”
“Are we done with this date already?”
I’m too blunt. It’s too much, too soon. I know this. I should just agree to go along with her, and then I can find some time to kiss her and take things further. We could have sex again, and it would probably be as fucking amazing as it was our first time. But instead I’m pushing her to put labels on this thing we’ve got, and it’s too fast.
Her eyes widen and she sort of wriggles backward. I keep her from falling off my lap with a hand to the small of her back. Letting her ass-plant in the dirt isn’t gonna win me any prizes in the relationship sweepstakes.
“Poppy—”
Whatever it is that I’m about to say gets lost in my Alpha’s roar. I shove to my feet automatically, swinging Poppy behind me with one a
rm while I palm my gun with the other. From the way she sucks in air, she didn’t realize I was armed. Doesn’t matter now. I’ve got one job and that’s to keep my pack safe—and she’s part of that pack now, whether she knows it or not.
But when I look over at Jace, he’s not fighting. He’s slapping my brothers on the back, and then he’s got Keelie Sue in his arms, flying her in one big happy circle. He motions for me to join him and the others, and I do, Poppy bumping along by my side.
“I’m gonna be a daddy,” he shouts.
Pretty sure they heard him in Cleveland, but it’s big news. We’re werewolves—not rabbits. Knocking your mate up doesn’t come easy, no matter how much fun it is trying. But Poppy’s squealing and Keelie Sue’s hugging her, and then Ware’s mate gets in on the group action, and they do some kind of crazy group dance that has their asses shaking as they bounce around in circles. I stand there and keep an eye out, but there’s nothing I can do about the real danger that Keelie Sue doesn’t make it through her pregnancy. That she loses their baby, or worse yet, we lose her during the delivery.
It happens. I know this firsthand, as does most of the pack. Fang lost his dam that way, trying to bring a little sister into the world. We’d kill for Keelie Sue, but this isn’t the kind of enemy you can stab or shoot. Jace is worried, too. He doesn’t say much, but I know my Alpha. Part of him is happy as fuck—and part of him wants to go kill something and work off the tension. Pregnancy’s not a cakewalk for werewolves. Mother Nature doesn’t want us taking over the fucking planet, I guess.
Poppy
Tonight’s been a little weird, but in a good way. Gator’s friend seems over-the-moon thrilled that he’s about to become a daddy, which is downright cute. I hug Keelie Sue one more time, and then I excuse myself to use the bathroom. The way Gator’s been handing me drinks tonight, it’s a miracle I’m not hammered or my eyeballs floating.
The bathroom’s surprisingly nice for a clubhouse run by guys. I do my thing, wash my hands, and then peer into the mirror. This is probably where I’m supposed to whip out my secret beauty product stash, but I’ve never graduated from tinted moisturizer and lip gloss. Gator doesn’t seem to mind. The woman next to me, however, has it going on. Half of Sephora tries to escape from her purse when she starts rummaging around inside it. The purse isn’t bad, either. The leather’s a deep plum color with fringe and brass trim that screams expensive. Funny how I can go weeks without buying anything but the minute I get laid off? Yeah. The shopping itch hits hard.
“Are you with him?” The woman leans into the mirror, applying another layer of color to her lips.
I look around the bathroom. Since there’s no one else in here, she must be talking to me.
“Excuse me?”
“Gator.” I can practically hear the unspoken duh at the end of that sentence. She blots her lipstick on a piece of toilet paper and tosses the mess toward the trash bin. “Are you Gator’s girl?”
Clearly, this is a trick question. I’m certainly not an accessory like the purple purse now dangling off my companion’s arm, but he and I have something. I’m just not sure what it is or even if we need to put some kind of label on it. After he came over on Monday night and screwed me senseless, he did it again the next morning. He’s called me. He’s texted and extended invitations.
No. Wait.
He didn’t so much invite me as issue a royal command. Still, I’m here, he wanted me here, and I’m entirely certain that we’ll be repeating certain Monday night activities tonight. In fact, you might even say we’re dating.
Wow.
I haven’t had a date since Nathan, and Gator is a definite upgrade. Not only is he fuckhot and super thoughtful (even if he won’t admit it), but he’s already introduced me to his friends and pulled me into his world. I’m not his dirty little secret or someone he taps on the side.
“We’re seeing each other.” Just saying the words out loud makes me want to do a juvenile skipping dance or high-five the first available person. Who would be she of the awesome handbag… except she doesn’t look congratulatory.
At all.
In fact, the expression on her pretty face is a weird mash up of sympathetic and amused.
“He pays well.” She roots around in her bag and starts painting on some kind of highlighter. She’s got a glamorous face, all high cheekbones and dramatic angles. “And he’s good in bed. Do it doggie style and you won’t have to look at his face.”
“Excuse me?”
“Gator,” she says impatiently. “You can make good cash off him, although he doesn’t date all that often. Not like the other guys in the club.”
It takes everything I have to not point out that what she’s describing isn’t dating. In fact, it sounds more like prostitution to me. Unfortunately, Ms. Helpful’s not done dispensing her unwelcome advice.
She drops the highlighter back into her bag and adjusts her boobs. “Two hundred bucks. Double if he wants backdoor action.”
Okay. It’s exactly prostitution.
I slept with Gator because I liked him. And because I was lonely and he was nice. And now I find out that I was supposed to charge him?
“We’re friends.” I think my face must reflect something of what I’m feeling inside because she gives me an awkward pat on the back.
“Friends.” The other woman snorts. “You call it whatever you want, but he looks at you like he’s got plans to eat you up. That man will take you for a ride on his dick alright, but if you’re smart, you’ll make him work for it.”
“This is the most incredibly awkward conversation I’ve had in a long time,” I say slowly. “I’m sure you mean well, but I think you’ve misunderstood. Gator and I are friends, and if we’re also something more, I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Whatever.” She shrugs. “Look. I haven’t seen you around here before, so I assume you’re new, and we girls have to stick together. Gator’s not a nice guy, but if you treat him right, he’ll do right by you. I’ve never seen him bang the same chick more than once, so you can’t expect it to last. He gets his, you get yours, and then you move on.”
It’s not like I don’t expect Gator to move on. I mean, he didn’t make any promises, and he showed up with an alcoholic slushie and candy—not a diamond ring from Tiffany’s. When I compare myself in the mirror, certain conclusions are inescapable. I’m not glamorous or put together. I’m not wearing an LBD that pushes my boobs up to Mount Everest-like heights, and I couldn’t even stand in the four-inch heels she’s sporting. If this is what Gator likes, then why is he with me? And to be honest, I’m kind of grossed out that he seems to prefer paid companionship.
The authoritative pounding on the bathroom door breaks my stream of thought. The banging stops, and Gator yanks the door open.
“Thought you got lost,” he says to me. His face is cold and closed off, but then he smiles at me. I must be stupid as fuck because all of me warms up fast when he looks at me like that.
“Gator.” My companion saunters right up to him and goes up on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his good cheek.
“Darla.” He steps away from her. I’ll give him that.
Darla, on the other hand, seems to be jonesing for a close encounter. She makes no move to avoid full body contact as she sashays her way out the open restroom door and back out into the clubhouse. In fact, her hips sway with a sensual roll that pretty much screams do me now, big guy. I think I might be doing some growling of my own as I brush past Gator.
He lets me leave but then hooks a finger in the back of my jeans so I can’t go too far. I end up stopped just outside the door.
“Problem?”
“You could say that. I’m hearing that I should have invoiced you after we had sex on Monday might.”
He flips me around so my back is pressed against the wall, and then he braces one arm over my head, leaning down until he can see my face. His other hand curls possessively around my hip, his thumb easing beneath the hem of my sweatsh
irt to stroke my bare skin.
He frowns. “You want to explain?”
“According to Darla, you’ve made quite the habit of paying the women you sleep with. She offered me a few tips from one professional to another.”
He gives me a slow smile that makes me seriously consider murder.
“Not a whole lot of sleeping,” he offers. “More like fast, dirty sex.”
“So that was Tuesday morning. And Monday night was an aberration for you. Got it.”
His frown gets deeper because apparently I’ve really said the right things. Or the wrong things. Guess it depends on your perspective because his long, powerful legs brace mine and he leans into me more. Apparently, his dick would like to go for repeat sex. Or maybe it’s angry sex. Either way, he’s hard and thick.
“We had amazing sex,” he snaps. “Fucking awesome. Best I’ve ever had, or you either.”
“Excuse me.” I poke him in the chest. Hard. “I can speak for myself, thanks, and maybe I’ve had better.”
“With your douche ex?” He glares at me. “If you’re gonna lie to me, babe, you have to make it believable.”
I’m sure I’m supposed to sing paeons to Gator’s magic penis, but I’m not in the mood. I settle for glaring right back at him. Not apologizing feels awesome, too. “Why is it so unbelievable that he knew how to give me an amazing orgasm?”
He shakes his head. “Not saying he couldn’t. Just saying I don’t think he bothered to do a whole lot of things he should’ve. I told you I’d take care of you and I did. You enjoyed it and so did I. So I think we should do it again.”
I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open.
“I have to be honest,” I start, feeling my way. Just because I’m done apologizing doesn’t mean I have to lose all sense of caution. I mean, I’m still not going to drive a hundred miles an hour down the highway after an ice storm, right?