Sloane
Trey holds Bo’s fist in the air as champion, and the crowd roars—mostly disapproval, I think, but all the wolves are for Bo, and they shout the loudest.
Bo’s gaze cuts through the crowd to land on me, and he grins, blood showing through his teeth just like it did the night of the homecoming dance.
Jesus.
My palms are sweaty and cut open from my fingernails stabbing into the flesh I was so scared. And he’s up there grinning. Like he just had the time of his life.
Crazy freaking wolf boy.
I’m nearly bowled over by the rush of emotion that fills my chest. Love, I guess. Total affection. Gratitude. Maybe they’re all the same thing.
I love that wolf boy standing up there, grinning because he just fought for me and won.
Trey drags him through the back entrance, and he disappears, then resurfaces in a fresh t-shirt and his jeans, pushing through the crowd to me. I come out from behind the bar and throw myself at him.
He laughs, catching me around the waist then hoisting me higher, so I straddle his waist.
“You were incredible,” I shout, dropping kisses on his neck, biting his shoulder.
“I almost D.Q.ed,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s against the rules to let your animal out in the cage, and I damn near sprouted fangs to kill the fucker.”
My thighs tighten around his waist as the hot room spins around me. There’s so much otherworldly stuff to take in here, I am still reeling.
My boyfriend is a wolf.
Fake boyfriend.
Or is he real now?
“He disrespected you, and I went nuts,” Bo tells me.
I want to screw him right here. This wolf-knight thing turns me on like nothing in the world. He must get the vibe because his arms tighten around me. He heads for the back room where he came from.
I see people settling up their bets as we walk through—cash being paid out by a grey-haired man with a young face flanked by a taller man with Coke-bottle glasses and a man shouting directions to the bettors in an Irish brogue.
“Employees only—oh, it’s you,” the huge guy guarding the door to the back says. His gaze travels from my face to Bo, and then he sighs and steps aside. “Tell me you have protection,” he rumbles at Bo.
Jesus, is it that obvious? My face grows warm. Actually, it was already warm. It’s probably stop sign red now.
“Yep, I’m good,” Bo calls back to him. He carries me into the storeroom and sits me on a stack of boxes. “Sorry—that was lame. Are you embarrassed? We don’t have to do this.”
I must still be blushing, but I don’t care. I don’t know that guy or anyone else here. And I want to show Bo my appreciation.
“I’m harder than stone for you, Legs. Feel it.”
I grab a handful of his cock through his jeans and squeeze hard. “Take it out.” My voice sounds husky.
“Fates,” he mutters, unbuttoning his jeans fast, like his life depends on it.
I move to slide off the box and get on my knees, but he catches me, turning me around to face the boxes and smacking my ass. “I want to be inside you.” He reaches around the front and rubs between my legs. “Is that okay, beautiful?”
“Yeah.” I consider telling him to be gentle because I’m still sore from last night and from getting punched in the ribs, but I don’t actually want him to be gentle.
I like it when it hurts a little.
I like it when he’s rough.
I like sensing the animal in him. To see him out of control with desire for me. The way his eyes change color—now I understand why they sometimes look silver.
I’m already wet for him. I cover his hand with mine and urge him on. He nuzzles my neck, his breath hot, his teeth scraping over my skin. He unbuttons my jeans and slides his hand in. I moan the minute his digits touch my sensitive bits, my pelvic floor contracting.
“Oh fates, Sloane. You’re so wet.”
“Fuck me, wolf boy.”
His movements gain urgency. He shoves my jeans and panties down and gives my ass a hard smack. If you’d asked me before if I wanted a guy to slap my ass, the answer would have definitively been no, but every time he does it, I get more excited. And I’m already burning with lust for him.
I hear the rustle of his pants, the snap of foil and then the prod of his sheathed cock at my entrance. I push back to welcome him. I’m sore from last night but also so ready, and he slides right in, the soreness only making the pleasure, the rightness, more delicious.
“Sloane,” he rasps, his fingers wrapping around my hips, his cock stretching me wide, filling me on each slow stroke. “You feel so good.”
I look over my shoulder at him, and he claims my mouth in a sloppy, sideways kiss.