Alpha Knight (Wolf Ridge High 2)

I don’t last even a second longer. I clamp my mouth tight around a full-wolf snarl as I slam in hard, my loins slapping loudly against her wet ass, my fingers digging into her flesh. Three thrusts. Four. Five.

And then I shoot my load, filling the condom as stars dance in front of my eyes from the heat and pleasure.

When I can speak again—when I can move—I wrap my arms around her from behind, my cock still filling her. “Happy birthday, princess,” I murmur in her ear.

She looks over her shoulder at me. Her gaze is soft. “Thanks. It’s definitely a memorable one.”

I kiss her shoulder, then ease out. “Don’t forget to take out the trash in here, yeah?” I step out of the shower to dispose of the condom the same way I did the last one.

“I won’t.”

I’m not into goodbyes. I suck at them, actually, so I’m suddenly itchy to get out of here. I’m actually itchy to run. Like, in wolf form.

Like there’s something emerging in me that needs to get worked out.

She turns off the water, and I hand her a towel. “I’m going to jet.”

She nods. She still wants to get rid of me. This is how it’s supposed to go down.

“If you run into trouble today, call me. I’ll be there. That’s a promise.”

She cocks her head. “Why?” Her voice is soft and scratchy.

“Fuck if I know, Legs. Because you’re you. And I’m not pissed anymore.”

She nods, stepping out of the tub with those long, muscular legs that rock my world so hard. She’s every guy’s wet dream right now, with the towel not quite closed in front, her perfect tits and glimpses of her pussy showing through.

“Thanks.”

I stand there, staring. I want to kiss her, but it doesn’t feel right. Like we’re standing on two icebergs that have already separated and are drifting apart.

“I mean it about calling me. I don’t want to help you, but I definitely will. Okay?”

“Bye, Bo.”

My chest hurts for some reason. “Bye. Be careful, Legs. Don’t get caught.”

I pull on my boxer briefs and t-shirt, then go to her bedroom and put on a pair of jeans, stuffing the rest of my shit into my backpack.

I open the window before she comes out of the bathroom. The sooner I get out of here, the better, considering my chances of being seen are sky high. Still, I hesitate, looking around. I want to give her something, to leave something, but I have nothing to offer. Not even a card for her goddamn birthday.

I scratch a quick note on the pad on her desk. Just the same thing I told her in the bathroom. If you need help, I’ll be there.

Look at me, offering to be her knight in shining armor.

I can’t help myself. My wolf’s already whining about leaving her in danger. He doesn’t seem to care she’s a human and a pain in my ass.

He just wants her to be safe.

Fuck.

I slip out the window and throw myself to the side to drop all the way to the ground below.

It’s way past time for me to be gone.

Chapter 9

Sloane

I can’t shake off the bubble of warmth Bo left me with. I’m trawling the Scottsdale streets on my bike, looking for a luxury car to steal, but my mind is still back in my bedroom.

Still back at the dance, seeing Bo grinning through bloody teeth, like he loved getting his ass kicked.

Crazy heroic baller.

God, I’m falling for him hard.

But the falling stops now. Today. Because I’m not seeing him again, and it’s over.

And I need to bring laser focus to this operation, or I will be in deep shit. Deeper shit than I already am.

It takes me several hours of riding my bike around, but eventually I stumble on the perfect car.

Well, the perfect, most horrible car.

It’s an orange corvette. Racing style. I’m pretty sure some drug dealer in Mexico will freaking love it.

The hard part will be keeping a low profile with this baby while I get there.

Did I say hard? I meant impossible.

But whatever. I knew the chances of success for today’s job were far lower than usual.

I do my thing and am gone in sixty seconds.

Actually, it was more like two minutes, but yeah, I have that sixty second thing in my mind every time I steal a car.

I get on I-10 and beeline it for Tucson, making the call to my contact, Jorge, on the way.

“What do you have?” he demands.

“2017 Corvette Z06, perfect condition. You want it? If not, I have another buyer.”

“I want it,” he says. “How soon can you bring it?”

“How much are you paying?”

He mutters something in Spanish, then says, “I can do ten, maybe fifteen grand, depends on the condition.”

Dammit. That’s half of what I could get if I could get a clean title. But I knew that would be the case.