Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

Have I? My memories of last night are somewhat disjointed, but I may have joined Travis and Gage in a few glasses of whiskey after returning home from my second job of the day.

Ow.

“Don’t let her in. I mean, not yet. Give me five minutes, okay?”

Alex looks at me as if I’m speaking Klingon. Was he drinking with us? Fuck if I remember. Maybe. Important thing is, he closes the door, leaving me to scrub the sleep out of my eyes and put some order to my room.

Not an easy feat after such a night—or in general. I stumble a couple of times, my feet caught in dirty clothes. I don’t have many, but apparently last night I thought it was a good idea to drop them all on the floor. What the hell?

Oh, they aren’t dirty clothes. They’re the new clothes I bought with Amber. So last night I was angry—at her? At the clothes?

Shit.

I tidy up as best I can, pull the sheet and comforter up on the bed, then crack the door open, check the hallway and make a mad dash for the shower.

The thought of her right outside, in the living room, turns my morning wood into a nuclear warhead, and I’d have jacked off if I wasn’t running so damn late. If I wasn’t worried I won’t be able to keep quiet and she’d hear me.

And damn, right on the heels of that thought comes an image of her opening the bathroom door and joining me under the spray, curling her hand around my hard-on and pumping.

Damn, I can’t help myself. I grab my cock and jerk off quickly, desperately. I imagine her breasts, her long legs wrapped around me, her face flushed with pleasure, and I come with a strangled moan, shooting my load on the tiled wall.

I lean back with a groan. Christ.

Turning off the water, I dry myself and drag on my jeans, not bothering with underwear or anything else. Okay, ready to face Amber like a human being, or almost.

That’s when I remember what I invited her over for.

“I want to draw you.”

Oh hell.

She walks into my room, her hair caught up in a messy bun, loose strands framing her small face, making her eyes look huge. Her low-cut black top has my pulse racing, and she hasn’t even sat down yet.

Disaster alert. Everyone abandon stations. I repeat, abandon stations.

She hesitates in the middle of my room and chews on her lip. “Good morning. I… I think maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

I push off the wall, where I’ve been pretending to lean all cool and shit, and lurch after her. “Wait!”

She stops with a hand on the door frame. Her purse slips from her shoulder and hits the floor with a dull thud, but she doesn’t turn around.

I reach her, refusing to acknowledge the relief flooding me, and skim up her arm with my fingertips, tangle them in a loose curl. I love how she shivers. How she feels, like silk and feathers.

Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “Please stay.”

Fighting the urge to press my mouth to her neck, I suck in a deep breath, try to control my body. Scary how much I want her. How easily I’d forget Zane’s warnings, forget I shouldn’t be doing this.

Forget that she deserves better, forget everything but my need for her, a need that goes deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before. I want to meld myself with her, merge, make her…

Make her mine.

Fuck.

“Okay,” she says. “What should I do?”

I gesture at my bed. “Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll sit over here,” I point at the only chair I have in my room, “and draw you. That’s all.”

I step away and go grab my drawing pad from a box in the corner, grab my charcoal pencil and eraser, and sink into the seat.