Chapter Five
The gym was eighty degrees. Ellen wasn’t a fan, but the pack liked sweating it out. A phrase she had yet to understand. There was so much she still didn’t understand about this pack. Namely, why they acted like being a wolf was wrong. It was a gift, not a curse. And they’d be that much more powerful when they realized it.
That Hollis thought he could cure them was…infuriating.
She rolled her neck, stretched her arms over her head, and bent low to touch her toes. The tug and burn of her muscles felt good. So did slamming her fists into the punching bag that hung from the ceiling. It wasn’t the same as striking flesh. No, hitting a body was different. The impact absorption was all wrong. But it would have to do. For now. Over and over, she kept up a steady rhythm until her blood hummed and her skin warmed.
“Don’t need me after all,” Hollis said from behind her.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and turned to face him. That was her first mistake. Hollis, pressed and starched and buttoned-up, was the norm. Today had been anything but normal. First the white undershirt, now this. His gray wicking T-shirt stretched to accommodate the impressive expanse of his chest and arms. His thighs, equally impressive, were hidden beneath long black running pants. Even his athletic shoes were appealing.
Not appealing. Sexy.
Logically, she knew her reaction had nothing to do with Hollis. No, he was simply the catalyst for the frustration and unspent aggression piling up from the course of the day. But that didn’t do much to ease the very real thrum and throb building within her.
He waited, arms crossed over his chest, for her answer.
“I can find a use for you,” she murmured, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Her mind was imagining all sorts of uses.
A slight furrow formed between his copper brows. “Such as.”
She bit, hard, into her lip. So many words threatened to spill out. “Warm up, first?” He argued he had no wolf, but Ellen sensed its presence, just beneath the surface. His wolf needed an outlet. This should work for both of them. “Up for sparring?”
“You promise not to kill me?” His smile, oh, his smile.
“I’ll make no such promise.” She turned back to the punching bag, so he didn’t realize she was staring. Her knuckles throbbed from the power she packed into her punch.
She would not be ruled by her basic instincts. If Cyrus had taught her nothing else, he’d taught her control. No matter what he’d done to her, how he’d tormented her, she’d learned to box up her reactions. And now, when her mind was buzzing with rather disturbing and arousing images of Hollis, there was so much to box up.
“Mal and Olivia,” Hollis said. “That normal?”
She gritted her teeth. “Only if one partner is an ass.” And yet, watching Mal come apart in front of his pack had made him infinitely more understandable. He had been through hell at the hands of the Others. That was why he was so protective of Olivia. He couldn’t bear thinking about what they’d do if they ever captured her.
“He is,” Hollis agreed. “But he is loyal.”
She nodded. “A good trait for a wolf.” She pounded the bag again, rapid jabs and punches. “Their offspring will be well-balanced. Insightful and fierce.”
“Offspring?” Hollis groaned. “Mal’s still buying condoms in bulk.”
Ellen laughed. “Good. True mates should take the time to learn how to truly please each other.” A flash of Hollis, nostrils flared and jaw locked in passion, flashed through her mind. “Disagreements are often forgotten when you’ve a partner who makes you scream out your release.”
Hollis’s muffled curse drew her gaze his way.
“What?” she asked, draping an arm around the bag for support.
His green eyes flashed. “Nothing.”
“Then let’s get started.” She pushed off the bag and walked toward him.
His jaw tensed. “I’ve never hit a woman.” He shook his head.
“Don’t think of me as a woman,” she argued.
He snorted. “Impossible.”
Interesting. She paused, hands on hips. “Why?”
His gazes swept her from head to bare toes. “I’m not blind.”
His confession only stoked the sensations she was struggling to hide. “That’s what you see when you look at me?”
His green eyes locked with hers. “A woman?” He swallowed. “Yes. That’s what I see.”
If she listened, she could hear the erratic thump of his heart. His pulse galloped along, the beat visible in his throat. Apparently, he wasn’t as immune to her as he pretended to be. Her wolf was delighted. Stupid animal. “Think of me as a worthy opponent instead.”
“I know you’re a worthy opponent. I know you want to kick my ass.” He sighed. “But I can’t fight back.”
The spark in his eyes was a serious threat to her calm. Even if he was attracted to her, he’d never do a thing about it. Which was good. And insanely frustrating.
“Fine.” She spun away from him, collecting the sparring mitts from the rack on the wall and tossing them his way. “Don’t complain if any bones are broken.”
When he shook his head, his disheveled auburn hair bounced, playful and young. And his grin, one corner cocking up as he tugged on the mitts, only added to the whole boyish charm. But his rock-hard, cut body said otherwise. “I don’t complain.”
“Is that a challenge?” she asked, barely waiting for him to get the other mitt on before landing a solid blow in his right palm.
“No.” He laughed, shaking his hand. “Hell no.”
She ignored him, focusing on her footwork, the angle of her strikes, the strength of her core. The flex of his jaw was not distracting. Neither was the soft grunt he made when she landed a powerhouse hit. She tried not to notice the slight narrowing of his green gaze. The flared nostrils. And his bewitching scent of sweat and man.
Her fist sailed past the sparring mitt and into his gorgeous clenched jaw.
“Fuck,” he snapped, glaring at her.
“You moved,” she lied.
“I didn’t realize you wanted me to stand still.” He was angry.
Let him be angry. “You were distracting me.” Her fist slammed into the sparring mitt, a quick one-two combo raining down so fast he stepped back.
“By breathing?” he asked.
There was no way to answer that. Not honestly. Being distracted by Hollis simply being wasn’t something she was willing to share with him.
“That’s the second time you’ve punched me in the face today,” he grumbled.
“You said you didn’t complain.” Her laugh was breathy.
“I’m stating facts. Not complaining.”
“I’ll aim for another part next time. Your side?” She faked her next throw. “Stomach, perhaps.”
“I’m betting it’s hard for you to keep sparring partners.” He shook his head.
She burst out laughing, too surprised to stop herself.
He shook off the mitts, wiped his hands on a towel, and headed for the weight machine.
“We’re done?” she asked, still laughing.
“I am,” he ground out, already adjusting the machine.
“Spoil sport.” Any other insult died a quick death the moment Hollis flexed. There wasn’t a single thing she could do about the staring now. The corded muscles, rippling and flexing beneath the weight, were truly a thing of beauty. That this Hollis was the same man she’d spent so many hours alongside was hard to reconcile.
“What?” he asked, misinterpreting her open gawking. “Am I doing it wrong?”
She shook her head, momentarily speechless.
He stopped, his irritation giving way to something else. Their gazes locked long enough for his to burn. He stood, his hands clenched at his sides, before muffling an angry curse and heading into the shower room.
Every inch of her tightened with want. Ellen stood, panting, conflicted.
Her wolf wanted her to go after him. Her wolf’s craving for Hollis was growing more concerning by the minute. She followed him, because she needed a shower. It had nothing to do with the hot and intense ache pulsing between her legs. It wasn’t her fault that the large communal shower was built when the pack was all men—offering up no privacy or room for modesty.
Not that it mattered. He’d seen her naked countless times.
She, however, had never seen him naked. And tonight, her wolf wanted to go to bed with something pleasing to occupy her mind. Maybe, for once, her dreams would be an escape versus a hellish trap of pain and torment.
…
Hollis stood beneath the cold water, eye closed, arms bracing him against the tile wall. His body was in overdrive. Correction. His dick was in overdrive. There’d been no misunderstanding the look in Ellen’s eyes. None. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think it had a damn thing to do with him.
He was a fucking doctor. Trauma, turmoil, shock, grief—the body often sought an outlet. And he didn’t mind being her outlet. Which was a huge fucking problem.
He rolled the bar of soap between his hands and stared down at his hard-on. She got to him. One soaped hand slid over his chest and down his stomach, his breath hitching as he moved lower. If he closed her eyes, she was there. With that grin. That wicked and taunting grin. Fuck.
He stroked his erection. Firm, slow, his breath powering out of his chest. This was chemical. Basic Instinctual. Space. Lots of space. That’s what they both needed. Then he’d be less preoccupied by the tattoo at the corner of her eye, or the way the arch of her brow spoke volumes, or the fact that she never wore a bra and her nipples—well, he damn well noticed them. Being confined in close quarters when emotions and stress were high was bound to distort their connection. That’s all this was.
It didn’t stop an image from her, naked and smiling, to appear. He groaned. Another stroke—
“Are you done with that?” Ellen’s voice.
The bar of soap slipped out of his hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’d think it’s obvious.” Her brows rose. “This is a shower, isn’t it?”
He frowned. “There’s a shower in every bedroom of this house. Why are you using this one?”
“Why are you?” Wide-eyed and feigning innocence, she leaned her head under the stream of water. Rivulets formed along the sides of her face, streaming along her neck, and along the delicate ridge of her clavicle. Then lower. Dammit.
He forced his gaze away from the path the water was taking. Shit. He’d seen her naked countless times, but not like this. Not when she’d looked at him with such hunger. Primal. Raw. Gorgeous. Now, with her close—and wet—his baser instincts were definitely in the driver’s seat. That’s why he had a massive hard-on. Something Ellen was just discovering—gripped in his hand.
“I’m interrupting something?” she asked, her gaze fixed on his dick.
She’d asked something. “Interrupting something?” But the tip of her tongue, skimming along her lower lip, had temporarily disconnected his brain.
“There are drawbacks to being alone. Shared pleasure is always more satisfying than taking care of oneself.” She stooped to pick up the soap, but her eyes never left his erection. When she bent over, his dick throbbed. “Your body is a most impressive surprise.”
Another throb.
“Hollis?” She stood, her gaze finally returning to his face.
She expected him to answer her? To function? Now? “What the fuck do you expect me to say?” He growled, startling them both.
Her grin was pure mischief. “Thank you.” She shrugged. “I hadn’t expected you to be so well-endowed. But you are—”
Another throb. “Stop.”
“Why?” she asked softly. “Most men like flattery.”
“I’m not most men.” He scowled at her.
Her eyes fell to his rock-hard dick. “No, I see that now. Not at all.”
She was teasing him—and loving every minute of it. But she was the one who had looked at him with hunger in her eyes. She was the one who followed him in here. Why? “What do you want, Ellen?” He ran a hand over his face.
“Right now?” She pretended to think about it before saying, “I want to help you finish what you started.”
“Fucking hell,” he ground out. “I didn’t start a goddamn thing. I was taking a shower. Period.”
“You were…washing yourself?” Her brow rose. “Even if I did believe that, you’re clearly in need of some attention.” She lathered up her hands.
He watched, staring at her hands—torn between arguing and accepting.
But then she washed her arms and chest, her teeth worrying her lower lip and making him growl out. “Shit.”
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
He stood his ground, refusing to back down. She was teasing him—tormenting him. It’s what she did. Normally, they weren’t both naked. And he didn’t have a hard-on. “I can take care of myself.”
“Can you? Let me see.” She crossed her arms, making her already taut nipples jut forward. “Go on.”
“Now?” he asked, thrown.
“Yes, now. Clearly.” She pointed at him. “From the way you’re reacting, I’d say right now.”
Her gaze, her words—she might as well be touching him. She wasn’t. She shouldn’t. They both knew that.
“You are tense, Hollis. Perhaps you’re not taking care of yourself often enough?” Her soaped hands moved over her breasts in slow, leisurely circles.
“Fuck,” he ground out, planting a hand against the tile wall to steady himself and staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t prepared for this game. And he sure as hell didn’t want to play. “You’re crossing a line, Ellen. Either you leave, or I will.”
“Like that?” She sighed. “What will the rest of the pack think?”
He glared at her. “You’re bored, restless, whatever the hell this is. But I won’t let you fuck me over for your entertainment—”
“I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t be the only one enjoying things,” she finished, her fingers working over her nipples.
He stared, dammit, what else could he do? She had no intention of touching him. This was about control—she needed to feel in control. But there was a hint of desperation about her. A momentary flash of vulnerability in those disarming eyes of hers. It was enough to deflate his temper. Today had been hell. The look on her face when she’d seen Byron had been laden with torment, anger, and fear. She was hurting, lashing out, and he was here. He was here and no one else was.
He had the pack, his family…and she had no one. A wave of empathy crashed over him and wiped out all else. “I’m sure I would. But it’s not what you need.” He didn’t think as he drew her against him.
The press of her silky-soft skin against his chest almost challenged his good intentions. Almost. For a second, she yielded to his hold and he was lost. Everything was off—but in a good way. Having her pressed against him filled him with hunger, yes, but there was something more. The need to protect and comfort her. Things she would dismiss with a laugh and a wave of her hand.
Her hands, sandwiched between them, pushed against him. Gone was the soft and willing woman. “I don’t need comforting, Hollis. Comfort is a false promise. What I need is distraction. Something to ease the heat in my blood.” She stared up at him as her hands explored his arms and shoulders.
But he was still trying to make sense of whatever had happened the few seconds she’d relaxed in his hold. He’d been aware of something hovering in the periphery of his subconscious. Some fleeting sense of belonging. Pinning it down was impossible. Her scent tugged him back to the here and now. The stroke of her fingers along his hips set off warning bells. It was his fault. He’d pulled her close, putting them both in harm’s way.
Her arousal, the flush of her skin, the rigid tips of her fantastic breasts brushing against his chest. It took everything he had not to give in. Not to press her against the wall, wrap her legs around his hips, and bury himself deep. He groaned at the thought, gripping her wrists and holding her hands still—away from him.
“Hollis?” Anders’s voice drifted in. “You in there?”
Anders’s voice was a hell of a lot more effective at snapping him out of it than the cold shower he’d been attempting to take.
With a stern look at Ellen, he released her, grabbed a towel from the hook, and marched from the shower room into the gym.
“You said you wanted to check on Jessa and the baby when they woke up.” Anders waved him forward. “They’re awake.”
Hollis ran a hand through his wet hair. “I’ll be there as soon as I get dressed.” He glanced back at the shower room but thought better of it. Once Anders left, so would his resistance. He’d never been so helpless beneath someone’s touch—so hungry for more.
The smartest thing to do was stay away from her. Today had put everyone on high alert, multiplying every sensory experience and reaction. Tomorrow would be different. A return to sanity. Until he’d found his self-control, he’d do his best to stay away from Ellen.