Protecting the Wolf's Mate (Blood Moon Brotherhood 3)

“I’m stating facts. Not complaining.”

“I’ll aim for another part next time. Your side?” She faked her next throw. “Stomach, perhaps.”

“I’m betting it’s hard for you to keep sparring partners.” He shook his head.

She burst out laughing, too surprised to stop herself.

He shook off the mitts, wiped his hands on a towel, and headed for the weight machine.

“We’re done?” she asked, still laughing.

“I am,” he ground out, already adjusting the machine.

“Spoil sport.” Any other insult died a quick death the moment Hollis flexed. There wasn’t a single thing she could do about the staring now. The corded muscles, rippling and flexing beneath the weight, were truly a thing of beauty. That this Hollis was the same man she’d spent so many hours alongside was hard to reconcile.

“What?” he asked, misinterpreting her open gawking. “Am I doing it wrong?”

She shook her head, momentarily speechless.

He stopped, his irritation giving way to something else. Their gazes locked long enough for his to burn. He stood, his hands clenched at his sides, before muffling an angry curse and heading into the shower room.

Every inch of her tightened with want. Ellen stood, panting, conflicted.

Her wolf wanted her to go after him. Her wolf’s craving for Hollis was growing more concerning by the minute. She followed him, because she needed a shower. It had nothing to do with the hot and intense ache pulsing between her legs. It wasn’t her fault that the large communal shower was built when the pack was all men—offering up no privacy or room for modesty.

Not that it mattered. He’d seen her naked countless times.

She, however, had never seen him naked. And tonight, her wolf wanted to go to bed with something pleasing to occupy her mind. Maybe, for once, her dreams would be an escape versus a hellish trap of pain and torment.

…

Hollis stood beneath the cold water, eye closed, arms bracing him against the tile wall. His body was in overdrive. Correction. His dick was in overdrive. There’d been no misunderstanding the look in Ellen’s eyes. None. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think it had a damn thing to do with him.

He was a fucking doctor. Trauma, turmoil, shock, grief—the body often sought an outlet. And he didn’t mind being her outlet. Which was a huge fucking problem.

He rolled the bar of soap between his hands and stared down at his hard-on. She got to him. One soaped hand slid over his chest and down his stomach, his breath hitching as he moved lower. If he closed her eyes, she was there. With that grin. That wicked and taunting grin. Fuck.

He stroked his erection. Firm, slow, his breath powering out of his chest. This was chemical. Basic Instinctual. Space. Lots of space. That’s what they both needed. Then he’d be less preoccupied by the tattoo at the corner of her eye, or the way the arch of her brow spoke volumes, or the fact that she never wore a bra and her nipples—well, he damn well noticed them. Being confined in close quarters when emotions and stress were high was bound to distort their connection. That’s all this was.

It didn’t stop an image from her, naked and smiling, to appear. He groaned. Another stroke—

“Are you done with that?” Ellen’s voice.

The bar of soap slipped out of his hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’d think it’s obvious.” Her brows rose. “This is a shower, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “There’s a shower in every bedroom of this house. Why are you using this one?”

“Why are you?” Wide-eyed and feigning innocence, she leaned her head under the stream of water. Rivulets formed along the sides of her face, streaming along her neck, and along the delicate ridge of her clavicle. Then lower. Dammit.

He forced his gaze away from the path the water was taking. Shit. He’d seen her naked countless times, but not like this. Not when she’d looked at him with such hunger. Primal. Raw. Gorgeous. Now, with her close—and wet—his baser instincts were definitely in the driver’s seat. That’s why he had a massive hard-on. Something Ellen was just discovering—gripped in his hand.

“I’m interrupting something?” she asked, her gaze fixed on his dick.

She’d asked something. “Interrupting something?” But the tip of her tongue, skimming along her lower lip, had temporarily disconnected his brain.

“There are drawbacks to being alone. Shared pleasure is always more satisfying than taking care of oneself.” She stooped to pick up the soap, but her eyes never left his erection. When she bent over, his dick throbbed. “Your body is a most impressive surprise.”