Page 24 of House of Wolves
I sigh. “I don’t hate you.”
He leans against the window again. “Yes, you do. You’ve said as much.”
“Okay, maybe I used to hate you, but we’re turning a new leaf, remember? We’re on a date.”
“A date?”
“Yeah, remember you asked me on a date and then proceeded to get drunk as fuck, and now I’m having to take you home?”
He laughs. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
“Whatever.” Even if he wanted to tell me where he lived, I don’t think he could gather his working brain cells together to do so. I drive in the direction of my house. He can sleep on the couch until he sobers up.
“It’s just every time I’m around you, I can’t control myself. And now I’m reminded of those girls.”
“Those girls?”
“We need those girls. It’s the only way.”
“Brick.” I shake his arm. His head bumps against the window. “What are you talking about?” But it’s no use. He’s out. “Fuck.” It’s not a confession, but damn is it incriminating.
I pull onto my small driveaway. He’ll have to get up enough to get inside. There’s no way I can carry him in when he’s completely unconscious. I can only hope that he reveals more about the girls when he's jostled around.
I open the passenger door, and he falls like dead weight. I catch him just in the nick of time and thankfully, he comes to a bit, holding himself upright. “Woah, sorry about that,” he says, his hands braced on my arms. Even in his stupid drunk state, his eyes take me in as if I’m a meal to be savored. I get lost in his stare momentarily, but it’s broken as his body becomes heavier, and he falls into me. “Alright, buddy. Let’s get you inside.”
He stands with a wobble, using me for support. “Oh, we’re at your house,” he says excitedly, looking around as I walk him toward the front door. The porch steps are a bitch, but miraculously we make it through the door. I’m about to steer him to my couch, but one look at my measly purple piece of furniture, and I know he won’t fit. He’ll roll off in a matter of minutes, and although I’m inclined not to give a shit, the stupid good-hearted part of me insists he sleeps in my bed.
His consciousness blinks out the further we get into my house. Thankfully, it’s small, so it only takes a few incredibly strenuous steps until we’re in my bedroom, and I throw him into my bed. The second he hits my comforter, he’s out, his breath heavy as if in a deep sleep.
I stare at him, catching my breath. If he had given me his address, I could have snooped through all his shit while he slept. The only thing I’ve accomplished from this date is a cryptic confession. I feel around his pockets. His phone is in the front one, not under his weight, and I didn’t have to feel up his ass to find it. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved. I click it on but frown once I realize I don’t know his password. He doesn’t even have a fingerprint or facial identification. Annoying. I shove his phone back into his pocket, finally catching my breath.
My mind replays his mannerisms, comments, and gestures throughout the night, each one more confusing than the last. It’s obvious he has an attraction to me. He called me beautiful, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time a Hunter lusted after a werewolf. Just because you hate someone doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck them. I can work with this.
I lie next to him, examining his unconscious form as I work through my thoughts. When he wakes up, it will be hard for him to continue his aloof act. Knowing him, he’ll try, but if he asked me on a date to apologize for the rude comment at the station, after tonight's train-wreck, he’ll have to propose. Okay, no, gross, but he’s got some making up to do.
This date feels like a complete disaster, but this is technically good. Maybe he couldn’t text the bait, but I dug my claws deeper into his heart. This wasn’t supposed to take one night. Making him fall for me, a woman he hates, obviously wouldn’t be easy. I’m on the right track, though. I feel it.
I watch his chest rise and fall, his lips slightly parted as his eyes twitch behind his eyelids. He’s devastating when he’s not being an ass. If only I could keep him just like this. I’ll probably have to sleep with him to get him vulnerable enough to spill the Hunters' plans. I mull over the idea. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll hate it. He’s big and beautiful, and a hate fuck sounds cathartic. But even as I ponder the notion, something twists inside me, an unknown feeling I don’t want to untangle. My thoughts don’t worry me too much because before I know it, my eyes grow heavy, and my consciousness blinks out.
11
Pigs in a Blanket
It’sdelectablywarmandcozy in my bed. My eyes won’t open, but honestly, I don’t even make a valor attempt. I’m too comfortable and snuggle in deeper. An arm wraps around my middle and pulls me close. Normal Carmen would freak the fuck out that someone is in my bed, their hand slowly making its way up my abdomen. But my brain quietly reminds my nerves that I fell asleep beside an incapacitated Brick. The comfort and sleep still gnawing on half of my consciousness make everything lighter and harder to resist.
His big hands emit the perfect temperature, and I lean into his touch, softly nudging him up my body. He doesn’t heed my non-verbal requests at first, but when I place my hand over his and direct him to my breast, he doesn’t resist. His touches are light, not breaking me from my trance but turning my insides into a warm liquid. He dives his hand underneath the neckline of my dress, teasing over the lace of my bra.
I press against him, my backside colliding with a wall of muscle. I arch my back, rubbing my ass against his hardened length. A heavy breath escapes me. He’s impressively long, and I could spend the rest of the morning moving up and down his morning wood, even with our clothing separating us. That’s not true, though. My body sings with anticipation, wanting him to relieve the inferno between my legs with his glorious rod.
His breath on my neck is heavy and strained. We’re both moving so slowly, stealing brushes without breaking the fog settled over us. His fingers find their way under my bra, and I lean into his feather-light touch. It’s teasing and sweet, and I could come undone just from the simple movement. A meek moan breaks through my lips, but I don’t let more pass. A part of me knows that the only reason we’re allowing this intimacy is because of the sleepy drunkenness settled over us. One wrong move and the shades open, waking us to reality. I want to enjoy this. In fact, Ineedrelease more than I need air.
His lips graze across the skin on the back of my neck. It’s not a kiss, but I feel the wetness of his saliva and the stubble of his chin. I want his mouth all over me. I press closer into him, and he bucks his hips ever so slightly, grinding against my ass. I need more, so much more, but the gentleness is such a delicious torture that I’m happy to wade in the sticky waters of our lust.
His gentle swipes at my nipple cease, trailing down my abdomen. I can’t stop my low moans. Brick groans from behind me, halting his thrusts and digging his nose into my shoulder. His hand grips at my side, squeezing me to steady himself. I remain completely still. We’re so close to ruining this thing—this delectable, delirious pocket of time we’ve found ourselves.
Time starts up again, and Brick’s breath evens. He continues crawling his hand down my side, pausing once he meets the hem of my dress halfway up my ass. The moment moves like melted chocolate as he works his way under the lace of my panties, pausing to restrain himself with every inch he gains. His rough fingers dance at my lips, dipping into my wetness. I press into him, and he allows his finger to slide through me. The small movement steals the breath from my lungs, and I grind myself against his touch.
His breath heats the space between my neck and my shoulder as he increases his tempo, both grinding against me and running his finger through the silky valley leading to my core. I’m so goddamn wet, making his moves even more erotic. His fingers tease at my entrance. I can’t take it anymore. I need him inside of me.
