Gator

You don’t have to tell me that my people skills need work. I figured I’d feed Poppy and maybe she’d settle in some.

Bad idea.

I probably should give more of a shit that I just ran her down earlier tonight like she was prey and handcuffed her to my bed, but it’s been a long day. Sure, I like chasing things. I’m a fucking wolf—it’s what we do. But I’d sort of bought into the whole illusion that Poppy was staying with me voluntarily. Or at least that I wasn’t forcing her—she wanted access to my land and her wolves, and in exchange, I got her company for a handful of days.

Kidnapper.

That’s a new low, even for me. I try the label out while icy water pounds over my shoulders and down my back, shriveling my balls into obedience. Or at least that’s the plan. Normally, hitting an ice-cold shower does the trick, but tonight I can’t stop thinking about the woman waiting on me in the next room. Poppy’s got to be the most beautiful female I’ve ever laid eyes on, but it’s not just the exterior paint job that has me jonesing for her. I fucking like her—the way she thinks and gives me crap about the most ridiculous stuff. The way she won’t quit and just goes after what she wants with everything she’s got. She was spectacular when she came flying out of nowhere and rammed her boat into mine. I didn’t give a fuck right then about the job I had to do or what my Alpha had ordered.

I’ve been thinking about her ever since.

This whole ultimatum I gave her is bullshit, and my dick’s sitting up straight, begging for her touch, even though the water’s colder than an ice bath in Antarctica. Nothing’s gonna make me less hot for Poppy, and when I get out, I’m still hard as fuck.

So screw it.

This is my house, right? She’s the trespasser. I fist my dick. She doesn’t belong here.

I tell myself that when I get out of the shower and pull on my jeans. The words don’t stick. I don’t bother doing up my jeans—just drag my hand down my dick, slapping my fingers around the shaft and cupping my balls. Take a nice, slow pull up. Fuck, that feels good. Not as good as it would if Poppy were touching me, though. She’d need both hands to handle me. Despite the cold water treatment, there’s nothing small about me.

Sex for me is usually quick and rough. Not like I’m worried about anyone walking in on me, but it’s been a means to an end. A way to get rid of my blue balls and then get on with my shit. I’m the king of the two-minute speed jerk, hitting the gas in the fast lane and then going for gold. I don’t wait to blow my load.

Tonight my plans are different. I grab the lotion I stole from Poppy earlier. Don’t judge. I squirt that shit on my palm and then curl my fingers around my dick, sliding down and twisting. Not as good as having Poppy touch me, but this will do.

She’s the strangest mix of strong and delicate, but maybe it’s because I made the mistake of underestimating her and now she’s constantly surprising me. So what if she likes pink? And if she’s both shy and awkward—and wonderfully, aggressively blunt? She doesn’t have to be just one thing. She can be whoever she wants when she’s with me, and I suspect I’ll love it.

I drag my palm up, squeezing the head hard. I’m a fucking greedy bastard because I want more. I want to lotion up her tits and slide my dick between them fast and hard, until the tip’s hitting her chin and I blow all over her chest. Or flip her over and use that lotion to ease my way deep inside her ass. Not picky, really. I’ll take whatever she’ll give me.

She’s on the other side of the door.

Feet away from me.

All I have to do is reach out and turn the knob.

I know it’s a bad idea, but I do it anyhow. I warned you that I don’t play nicely with others. I promised Poppy that I hadn’t brought her here to have sex with her, and now I’m about to stride out there with my dick hanging out? Yeah. I should punch me in the nuts, too. Maybe she senses what I’m up to, or some kind of secret female radar lets her know I’m yanking my chain to thoughts of her because she throws something at the closed door standing between us.

“Hey,” she hollers. She’s found her backbone again.

“Little busy,” I growl. She can hear me just fine. I know it. I reach down and give my dick another long, hard stroke. I can feel my shit getting tense, the orgasm starting deep in my balls.

“You don’t get to tie me up and walk away.”

I try to imagine what her problem is with that scenario. Is it the bondage bit—or the fact I left? Don’t fucking know, don’t fucking care. She should be thanking me on her knees that I did go, except then I’d be getting other, dirtier ideas about how she could thank me. Gratitude that involves her mouth, my dick, and me hitting the back of that sweet throat. Open real fucking wide.

“Hey,” she bellows again when all I give her is a groan.

Somebody needs a spanking and it’s not me.

“You don’t want me to come in there, babe.”

“Why not?” I don’t have to see her face to imagine the belligerence painted over each pretty inch.

Show and tell time. The door opens outward when I slam my palm against it, bouncing off the wall. The lights are off because I’ve got excellent night vision courtesy of my lupine side. And since she’s been sitting here in the dark, I’m betting she can see me—and my dick—just fine. Hard to miss something that big.

I hear her suck in a breath as she gets an eyeful of what I’m doing in the bathroom.

I stand there in the doorway, jeans undone, feet braced, legs apart. She asked me what I was doing, and now I’m showing her. It’s as simple as that. And while I’d like to go over there and join her on the bed, I’m just not that much of a dick. Not tonight, anyway. Her gaze roams here, there, and everywhere, like she’s not sure where to look, and oui, she’s eying my dick like it’s a giant anaconda. Can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing, but she’s definitely paying attention.

My dick decides he’s downright happy with the attention, the stupid fuck. And then I reach down and wrap my fingers around the hot, hard skin. Might as well go for gold and finish the job right.

Poppy’s fingers flex on the bed. Is she imagining what would happen if she touched me? She has small delicate fingers—she’d never be able to wrap her hand all the way around my dick. I’m big even for a wolf.

I take a step toward her. And then another.

She doesn’t tell me no, doesn’t tell me to stop.

Tomorrow, I’ll think about how that’s not a yes, but for tonight… Tonight I run my hand down my dick, letting my fingers do the walking. Down, then up, my palm gripping the wet head and twisting as I fuck my own palm while she watches.

I meet her greedy, wide-eyed gaze. “Tell me to leave.”

She doesn’t, so I work my dick harder. I’m so fucking close to blowing my load. I’m also so close to the bed that I can almost feel the breath she takes, and then the next one after that.

“Imagine something for me.”

“What?” Her voice is hoarse, sweet. I don’t know if it’s because I woke her up banging around in the bathroom, or because she wants what’s happening between us. Because she’s imagining what might come next if we both gave into this.

“Imagine me fucking your tits.” And I’ll imagine that she’s leaning forward, that she likes the fantasy I’m feeding her. I wait for her to retreat, to remember who and what I am. I’m the biker who’s locked her up on his island. I’m the beast to her beauty.

She leans forward.

She actually fucking leans forward.

“Imagine this.” She crosses her arms over the sheet. “Each time you shove your dick between my boobs, I’m licking the head.”

Christ. She wins this round. “You do that and you’ll be wearing my jizz on your throat and your tits.”

Only fair to warn her because my balls are tightening just thinking about how her tongue would feel, how soft and wet and downright fucking perfect. I’m gonna blow in seconds, and she’s straight in my line of fire.

“Do it,” she whispers. She drops the sheet and yanks the tank top down. Her tits pop free. For a moment, all I do is stare. For a woman with not a whole lot of height, there’s so much of her. It’s like fucking Christmas, and I can’t wait to dive into my present. Her tits are gorgeous, enough to fill up my hands and then some. She cups herself, her fingers stroking over paler skin that hasn’t seen the bayou sun, and then she squeezes her nipples. Fuck. Me.

And just like that I’m not the one in control, not any more. I come hard, painting her sweet, creamy skin.

She watches me the whole goddamned time.

I don’t know what the fuck she sees, but I let everything go because I can’t think. She’s wrung me out, given as good as she got, and I respect that. Not sure how or why she turned the tables on me (okay I totally fucking know how), but I stretch the moment out as long as I can. I’m not lovable, not a hero, not the goddamned mate of her dreams. This is all I get. I don’t get to fuck her or her tits, and fucking with her isn’t part of my plans. Not any longer.

I jerk backward.

“Gator?”

Her voice sounds soft, almost sultry. Still a little scared, too. I shove my misbehaving dick back into my jeans and button up. Knees apart, she makes for one hell of a sight there on my bed. Her hair’s all tangled up, my jizz marks her skin, and if her eyes go any wider, she’s gonna pop. Hurt, surprise, arousal—I’ve got no clue what’s happening inside her, which just figures. How am I supposed to look away when her body’s one sweet curve after another, mapping out a path my hands and my mouth itch to taste?

“Should I go?” She yanks her top back into place, and I’ll bet that sucks. The mess I’ve made on her has the cotton sticking to her, pulling low and showing me more of that teasing shadow between her tits. My dick reminds me that we haven’t been there yet.

“You stay,” I growl, and slam out the door.