Filthy Wolf

by Liza Street

  She was quiet for a long moment, and he feared he’d messed everything up.

  “I’d like that,” she finally whispered.

  He pulled her to him, and his heart pounded triple-time in his chest, a rhythm of need. Her hair was soft under his hand, and he wound the strands through his fingers before gripping the back of her neck. She gave a soft cry of surprise as he held her head exactly where he wanted it and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Her lips were soft, sweet, and they readily opened for him when he swiped his tongue against them for a taste. She moaned softly into his mouth and held tight to his shoulders.

  His cock ached, heavy and hard between them, and he fought the urge to rub himself against her soft lower belly. She seemed to have no such reservations, though, because she hooked one of her legs around his and pressed her body closer.

  He twined his tongue with hers, picking up notes of tequila. Her scent was everywhere—not just the flowery freesia this time, but her desire. Heady. Sweet. He wanted to tear off her clothes, bury his face between her thighs and taste everything she had to offer.

  What was he thinking? This thing between them was temporary at best, and the only thing he had to offer was a whole world of violence and heartache.

  Reluctantly, he pulled back. She tried to follow him, but he kept his grip on her neck and eased farther away.

  Her brown eyes were wide in question.

  “This is a bad idea,” he said, releasing her neck. “We can’t do this.”

  “The hell we can’t.” She grabbed his t-shirt and tugged him forward again.

  He allowed the kiss—the passion and anger she fueled it with were like a drug to his inner wolf. But when she reached for the waistband of his jeans, he grabbed her wrist and held her fast.

  “We can’t,” he repeated. “Go to sleep, Jessica.”

  Hurt flashed over her face before she nodded. Her gaze went hard. “Of course. Drunken mistake. It won’t happen again.”

  His inner wolf howled at the thought that this couldn’t happen again, but she was right.

  He waited until she was safely in the camp trailer. The latch bolted into place, and he ran to his cabin as fast as he could. Any slower, and the wolf would win, and he’d go back to that trailer and knock down the damn door in his eagerness to get to Jessica.

  9

  Leaning against the camp trailer door, Jessica took deep breaths.

  “A drunken mistake,” she had told him. Typical Jessica, lashing out when she felt rejected. Her parents had incited that behavior in her, too, even when she was little.

  She remembered her dad looking debonair and stiff in his tuxedo, his dark beard well-trimmed, his glasses catching the light from the chandelier in their entryway.

  “Can I come? Please? Please let me come this time,” Jessica had said as a six-year-old, twirling in her favorite nightgown. She’d liked it because it was covered in a pattern of flowering vines. Surely it was pretty enough for a fancy party.

  He’d given her a pat on the head and said, “No, Jessie, you can’t come to Mommy and Daddy’s book party. Maybe some other time.”

  It was the same answer he always gave. She had learned to hate it every time they finished a new book, because it meant more parties she couldn’t go to.

  “Fine! I didn’t wanna go anyway. I hate your stupid books.”

  “Don’t act spoiled, Jessie,” her mom would say.

  And then her parents would float out the door anyway, looking glamorous and leaving Jessica with yet another babysitter. They’d been completely unaffected by her words.

  But Marcus? Marcus had been affected.

  His nostrils had flared. Anger? Suspicion? He’d said he could tell when someone was lying. Did that mean he knew, right now, that there was a big part of Jessica’s heart yelling not a mistake?

  She reached behind her head and touched the back of her neck where he’d so carefully held her in place. His fingers had been almost bruising, yet she’d liked the pressure. It had signaled he was barely in control.

  She’d driven him crazy with desire, and she liked it.

  But seriously, what the hell had she been thinking? She didn’t know this guy, not really.

  She had never come on to one of the guys her parents were always trying to set her up with. Maybe because they’d worn neatly pressed shirts—ironed, no doubt, by a maid—and their hands were soft, like they’d never touched anything rougher than polished silver spoons and cashmere.

  Her brain bounced back and forth between reassuring herself that she and Marcus shouldn’t touch at all, and telling her to run out there and make him touch her everywhere.

  “This is a bad idea,” he’d said. “I’m no good for you.”

  But he hadn’t said why.

  She flopped down on the tiny bed at the end of the trailer and stared at the ceiling. The blankets still smelled like him. She liked his earthy, manly scent.

  But if he was going to insist on acting like a butt smear, she could keep her distance. Fine. It was probably better this way.

  And maybe she could find some other way out of this place. Maybe she didn’t need his help after all.

  She dreamed she was trapped in a clear glass box. Her eyes were open, but her body was paralyzed, unable to move. A parade of animals walked around the glass box in laps, and she could only see them from her peripheral vision. A panther, a tiger, a bear, and a wolf, among others. Then the wolf stood on its hind legs. It lifted the box’s lid. A fresh breeze blew over Jessica’s skin, chilling her, but she was unable to move.

  The wolf gazed down at Jessica with beautiful gray eyes. His fur disappeared, revealing human skin and a human form—it was Marcus. He bent forward and kissed Jessica.

  His lips sent a tingling sensation through her body, awakening her nerves. Sitting up, Jessica looked around. The other animals were gone, and only Marcus remained. He took her hand, and the two of them walked into the woods together.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  He merely smiled, then let go of her hand. He reached behind her neck, beneath her hair, and gripped her in the same way he had outside the trailer—commanding, possessive. When he brought his lips to hers, the heat between them grew and grew.

  “I want you,” Jessica said.

  “Good. I want you, too.” He lowered himself to the ground and guided her down so she straddled his lap.

  They were both naked. She hadn’t really noticed that before. He cupped her face in his hand and against his wrist. His gray gaze was penetrating, like he was staring into her heart and learning everything about her. She did the same, staring back at him and feeling as if she knew him, feeling as if she’d known him for the entirety of her existence on this earth.

  “You’re mine,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I want you always,” he said. “Do you want me?”

  Leaning forward, Jessica kissed him. “Yes.”

  “You’re mine,” he said a second time, and then he lifted her off his thighs and lowered her onto his cock.

  Jessica woke with a gasp. The trailer was dark, and she had no guess as to what time it was. Her stupid phone dying had left her feeling untethered and unsure, even if it had been useless for wifi or calls before it died.

  The threads of her dream taunted her. She tried clinging to the mental wisps, but they floated out of reach. Only one part remained with her, a deep voice—Marcus’s?—growling out the words you’re mine.

  If it had been Marcus in her dream, then it was all wrong. He’d all but shoved her away from him in real life.

  Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood. She told herself she didn’t need Marcus and she didn’t want him, anyway.

  What she really wanted was to talk to Blythe.

  Marcus had told her it was dangerous. But now, the woods were silent. Everyone would be sleeping.

  Jessica found her sneakers and slid them on. Carefully, she eased open the trailer door.

 
All was quiet outside.

  She had no idea where Blythe was. While she knew this was in some ways a fool’s errand, Jessica couldn’t resist at least trying to find Blythe.

  Evaluating the darkness outside, she decided that she would walk for half an hour, tops, and she’d follow that gravel line so she wouldn’t get lost. At the first hint of anyone around, she’d run back to the trailer and lock herself inside.

  Marcus, AKA Mr. Bossypants, would never need to know she’d left.

  10

  When Marcus woke, it was still dark. There was no sound. He lay with his eyes open, staring at the planks of the cabin’s ceiling, wondering what could have woken him.

  The only thing he could discern was a distinct tugging sensation in his gut.

  It didn’t take him long to guess what caused the sense of unease. Jessica. Something was wrong, although he didn’t know what.

  He clambered out of bed and pulled on his jeans, then some socks and shoes. He grabbed a shirt on his way out the door.

  Once outside, he gazed around him. The Junkyard was quiet save for a slight breeze blowing through the tree branches, rustling leaves. Something thudded to the ground nearby and he growled while zeroing in on it.

  A pine cone. A fuckin’ pine cone.

  This sensation of wrongness was messing with his head and his reflexes.

  He took off at a jog toward the trailer. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his chest, in his gut. Was Jessica in danger? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her. He knew he should’ve stayed the night in the trailer. He’d just been so fucking scared about taking advantage of her.

  He hadn’t wanted to risk it.

  Story of his life. He took all the wrong risks and held himself back from the right ones.

  When the trailer, with its painted murals, came into view, he sped his pace and called out, “Jessica?”

  No answer. He skidded to a halt next to the door and yanked it open, not caring about her privacy—safety was more important and he could ask her to forgive him later if he offended her.

  The trailer was empty.

  Heart in his throat, he sniffed around outside the door. She’d gone east along the gravel line, so he went that way, too. Thankfully, it wasn’t in the direction of any of the other shifters—this was the far side of the Junkyard from the dump.

  Using his nose as his guide, he followed the boundary. After he’d walked a few yards, he saw her. She strode forward with purpose, like she was on a mission, her hair loose around her shoulders and waving behind her with each long stride.

  “Jessica,” he called.

  She turned around, flipped him off, then turned again and continued on her way.

  No longer panicked at her absence, he laughed. It was part relief, part exasperation. He couldn’t sense anyone else nearby, although if she kept walking, eventually she’d reach the dump and all the shifters who lived around it.

  “Hey, stop,” he said.

  She shook her head and grumbled something to herself. It sounded like “bossy pants butt smear,” but that couldn’t be right, could it?

  Walking faster after her, he said, “If you don’t come back to the trailer right the fuck now, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you there.”

  “Ha,” she said, kicking a pine cone from her path. “I dare you to try.”

  His inner wolf liked the challenge in her voice, the feistiness. He caught up with her in two seconds and she gave a little squeak when he gathered her in his arms and lifted her over his shoulder.

  “What—the hell—are you doing?” she gasped.

  “You dared me to try throwing you over my shoulder to take you back to the trailer. So here I am.”

  “I have never met a person more aggravating than you, Martin,” she spat.

  “Yes, well, the feeling’s mutual, Jezebel,” he grumbled, resting his hand on her backside to keep her from squirming free. He rather liked her slung over his shoulder like this.

  “You are a terrible, awful man. And when I get free, I’m going to pick you up and…and then I’ll throw you in the lake.”

  He abruptly switched course. “The lake. That’s a great idea.”

  “Wait, what? No!”

  She spun around awkwardly to get a view of where he was taking them.

  “Can you swim?” he asked.

  “No. I sink like a stone.”

  It was a lie, and he laughed.

  “Marcus, I was just kidding,” she said desperately. “I’d never throw you in the lake. I wouldn’t even be able to, remember? Frail human woman, no muscles, no speed. How could I even try? Besides, I like you. You’re really quite nice and your ass is tight. I bet you could bounce a quarter off it. Maybe we should try that, right now? I think there’s a quarter in my backpack.”

  The lake was in view and her scrambling—and panicked reasoning—increased. He grinned to himself. This was the most fun he’d had in…well, since he could remember.

  “Marcus,” she said sweetly, “I’ll be your best friend…”

  He waded into the water, not caring about his shoes and jeans getting wet. They’d dry later today in the afternoon heat.

  “I make a great friend,” she said. “I still have half a bottle of tequila. I’ll give it to you, because you’re my new best friend.”

  “I’m not interested in your tequila,” he said.

  “Then what are you interested in?”

  He wasn’t about to answer that question, because what he was interested in was her naked body, writhing beneath his, her beautiful lips parted while she was in the throes of an orgasm.

  Once he was in water up to his thighs, he stopped.

  “Marcus, don’t do this, I swear, I’ll—”

  Her words ended in a shriek as she flew through the air and landed in the water.

  She came up sputtering and wiping wet strands of hair out of her face. Her shirt clung to her curves, revealing the lacy pattern on her bra.

  “I will end you!” she shouted, splashing him.

  Arms crossed over his chest, he watched in amusement as she waded over to him. Then he saw she was shivering.

  “Oh, hell,” he said, reaching for her.

  She tried to dodge him, but she slipped and fell with a screech. He hauled her out of the water and tugged her close, warming her as much as he could with his arms. He’d forgotten that humans weren’t as tolerant to the cold as shifters.

  “Come on, let’s dry you off,” he said.

  Her teeth were chattering and he felt like the world’s biggest asshole. Thankfully it was summer and the lake wasn’t as cold as usual. But it was also still dark outside and the sun hadn’t had a chance to warm the water.

  He led her to the shore, arm around her shaking shoulders. He let her go so he could peel off his shirt, which was only slightly damp. When he started to drape it over her, he realized that it wouldn’t do any good because of her wet clothes.

  “Can you take off your shirt?” he asked. “I’ll turn around so you have some privacy. Then you can put mine on.”

  “O-o-okay,” she said, still shivering.

  He turned while she changed shirts. Once she was done, he tugged her into his arms again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how cold it would be for you. Come on, let’s go back to the trailer.”

  She walked with him, rubbing her hands over her arms as they went. He wanted to pick her up and carry her again, but he was afraid she was mad about the lake, and maybe he should keep his hands to himself as much as possible.

  The sun would be rising soon. Already, birds were waking up in the faint pre-dawn light. He could hear other critters stirring, as well.

  They reached the trailer. She pointed at it. “I never had a chance to ask you, yesterday, who did the paintings?”

  “A guy named Grant. He lives over there.” Marcus gestured to the cabin. Encouraged that she was talking to him, he said, “I really am sorry about the cold water.”

  She flash
ed him a little smile. “It’s okay. Next time I’m throwing you.”

  “You can try.” Hell, he’d jump in with her, and he might’ve done so this morning except she’d been so cold.

  He opened the trailer door and she went in.

  “Two seconds,” she said. “I just need to change out of my jeans.”

  Groaning to himself at the delightfully forbidden thought of her naked legs, he leaned against the side of the trailer. The morning sun was finally breaking through the trees and birds were beginning their chorus in earnest. The day would be hot, if the already rising temperature was any indication. He was glad, if for no other reason than it would help Jessica warm up faster.

  “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. His shoes were soaked, but he decided to leave them on. They’d dry eventually.

  The trailer door opened and she stepped out. She was still wearing his shirt, and it draped over her, so long it almost reached the hem of her jean shorts.

  He looked her up and down, relieved to see she was no longer shivering. “You’re okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she grumbled. “No thanks to you.”

  “I told you it’s dangerous out there.”

  “I wanted to see Blythe,” she said in a quiet voice.

  He took a deep breath, wishing for patience. “Sometimes what we want is not what we can get.”

  “Obviously,” she said in a strange tone of voice.

  Why was she looking at him like that? Her brown eyes seemed to communicate something more than her words.

  “Look, if you’d just stay put, you’d be fine,” he said. Why couldn’t she understand this very basic principle?

  “Fine, but not free.” She folded her arms over her chest, and the motion pushed up her tits, which were heaving from her angry breathing.

  She looked amazing in his t-shirt.

  “True,” he said. “But nobody’s free in the Junkyard. The most we’re hoping for right now is safe. If you’re safe, there’s hope of getting you out, and then you can be as free as your cute little ass desires. Okay?”