I’m sure you’re surprised to learn that I’m completely uninhibited and dirty in bed.

Shocked.

Alarmed.

Really jealous.

Pick your favorite phrase, but the one thing I don’t do is disappoint. Rain is hot for me and I’m one hundred percent in the mood to give her what she wants. Fuck finding her bedroom—I walk her straight to the first option I spot: the striped armchair hanging out by the fireplace.

“Fang?”

“Need to hear you scream my name, ‘kay?”

I set her down by the chair.

“Optimistic much?”

“I’m that good.” I gently knock her forward so she’s facedown on the cushion. “Hold that position for me.”

“This is crazy,” she mutters. “I own a perfectly good bed.”

Rain talks too much. I tug her scrubs down to her knees.

“I like your panties.” She wriggles, trying to look at me. This makes her ass jiggle, which I fucking love, but it also makes my job that much harder. Okay. It makes my dick harder, but who’s counting? I give her ass a little tap and she freezes.

“You did not—”

“Shhh.” I draw my thumbs over her cheeks, dipping between her thighs. “I’m busy. You’re distracting me.”

She’s totally distracting me. Her panties are the boy-cheek kind, all sensible, white cotton from Victoria’s Secret. Her hands flutter over the chair as if she’s not sure what to do with them. She’s stopped wiggling though. I run a finger under the edge.

“You’re soaking wet.”

“You can’t say that.” I watch her cheeks turn pink. She’s so fucking cute.

“Can.”

“It’s—” Whatever she’s gonna say gets lost in another moan as I ease my finger farther under the wet cotton, teasing her.

“Dirty would be telling you that it’d be a shame to get come on your chair.” I nudge her legs wider.

She squeaks something. Doesn’t matter. Don’t care.

I drop to my knees, yank her panties down, flip her over, spread her shoulders over my thighs, and get my mouth on her. Feeling her up under her panties is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but this is even better. She squeaks again when I lick slow and steady to her clit. When I suck it into my mouth, she starts whimpering and squirming.

The words coming out of her mouth are real nice, too. She’s pretty much got me and God mixed up and is using our names interchangeably. And since that’s fine with me, I keep right on loving her pussy. She tastes goddamned perfect, sweet and juicy. I’d be happy doing this all night. Think she agrees with that plan because she starts grinding her clit against me and chanting my name.

Then I lick my thumb and slide it into her back hole. She freezes for a second, like maybe she hasn’t done this before, but then the sensations hit her and she starts calling my name again. I ease two fingers into her pussy, searching for her happy spot, as she rides me. Fuck, I’ve barely got started on her ass when she comes hard. She doesn’t shriek my name, but she’s not quiet, either.

That’s my cue, thank fuck. I flow to my feet, unbutton, shove my jeans down, and line my dick up with sweet, wet pussy. The angle’s not great, so I switch us around so she’s sitting on my lap and my ass is planted on the seat.

“Condom,” she mutters.

I’ve never forgotten that part before. Not that wolves can get STDs, but I’ve always felt better knowing there’s a protective layer between me and the girl under me. You don’t know where they’ve been—and I sure as hell know where I’ve been. I reach over and fish one out of my jeans. Roll it on in world-record speed, too.

“Hard or slow?” I growl in her ear, nipping the sensitive lobe. She’s wearing little pearl studs—I so need to get her a school girl skirt.

“Fast,” she whimpers.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary. I decide that means hard until I hear otherwise.

I’m not nice. I just line myself up and slam home. I’m big, but she’s wet. When I push in, she pushes her ass out, more than meeting me halfway. Fuck, the juicy sounds of sex are almost as good as the breathy chant she starts up, telling me harder faster there up omg fang YES. She’s the most amazing sex I’ve ever had—never felt anything this good before.

And while dragging this shit out seems like sheer genius, my dick has other plans. Five, six hard thrusts and I’m about to blow my load. Her pretty brown hair spills everywhere and I gather it up, wrapping it around my fist and using it to hold her still. Her hands reach, seeking something. Fuck if I know what she’s looking for, but she totally deserves another orgasm.

I reach between us and press against her back hole. “You gonna let me in here?”

She moans something that sounds an awful lot like “Not tonight.”

My dick just about detonates. Not tonight sure as fuck sounds like pick a night and I just added fantasy sex to my calendar lemme send you that meeting invite. It also means not now you bastard, so I slide my thumb around to her front and find her clit. And then my hips are pistoning into her ass, my thumb working her, as we bump and grind our way to fireworks. Holy fuck, we’re amazing together. I come hard, burying myself deep in the world’s tightest pussy, and before I can beat myself up because I’m a ladies first man, she’s coming too, clenching hard on my dick and working herself to the world’s longest, hottest orgasm ever.

She gasps something.

Got no fucking clue what.

I slap a hand on the chair to keep myself from sliding to the floor because my knees are strangely shot to shit and I’m seeing stars. Possibly, my balls exploded. I mumble something equally incoherent back to her, and for a moment we just collapse on her poor chair, trying to figure out how to breathe again. Okay. Might be more than a moment—more like minutes. Lots and lots of minutes.

Long enough that when my brain starts working again, the sun’s going down outside and the birds are making a goddamned racket. I probably should feed her, romance her. Instead I test my legs (working again, thank fuck), pull out, and toss the dirty condom in the fireplace. Not sure latex burns, but I’m not hunting for a trashcan now.

Rain tumbles over me like a sexed-up kitten. Since her panties are still around her knees, the view’s fucking awesome. Her pussy’s pink and glistening. And right now, it’s all mine.

“I think we broke me,” she mutters.

“Yeah?” I cradle her against my chest and yank my jeans back into place. Fucking awkward walking around with them at half-mast. Sure as hell she’s got to feel the same way, so I strip her panties and her scrubs off and toss them onto the floor. Then I stand up, still holding her. No way I let go now.

“What’re you doing?” She nuzzles her face into my chest as she says this, so I don’t think she’s complaining.

“Up or down?”

“What?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Up.” She exhales noisily. “Sorry. I was up all night with a baby.”

Rain’s place isn’t all that big. Once I’ve got her upstairs, I’ve got three doors to pick from. One’s a bathroom with a ginormous clawfoot tub and about a million scented candles, while the other’s some kind of mutant closet space, full of boxes and shit. That leaves door number three.

Bingo.

Unlike her garden, Rain’s bedroom is strangely peaceful. It’s all gray and brown, with lots of furry pillows and soft-looking throws. The bed is one of those velvet numbers, with a curved back and no place to hold on. Bummer—I’d been secretly hoping for a four-poster bed so I could tie her up.

I tuck her into bed, lose my pants, and crawl in beside her. I’m planning on just giving her a good night kiss, but it turns out she’s not so tired after all. The woman’s got hidden reserves of stamina—I fucking love it.

I don’t do after care or snuggles. Shocked? I didn’t think so. So after we hit the bed, I do Rain, and I do her right. I make her scream loud enough to be heard two parishes over. Four times. It’s well past midnight and dawn’s barreling toward us when Rain finally collapses facedown on the bed.

“Tired,” she mutters. “Can you die from too much sex?”

I smile, even though she can’t see it. If there were an Olympics of sex, I’d have just nailed the gold medal. I lean down to tell her this, but she’s gone. Sound asleep. I smooth her hair away from her face. She’s gonna have some killer stubble burn in the morning, plus I may have left a mark or two on her neck.

I need to go, but Rain attaches herself to my arm like some kind of octopus, and I can either lie down or try to pry myself away. Yeah. I can totally stay a little longer.

My dick’s a huge morning fan. When I wake up, I’m sprawled on my back, I’ve got a morning woodie hard enough to split logs, and light’s just beginning to fill up the window. Okay, so this isn’t unusual. I’m an up-and-at-’em guy in more ways than one. What isn’t familiar, however, are the pom-poms edging the curtains on the window. Or the soft whuffle of someone else’s breathing in my ear. There’s a soft, warm weight smashed up against my right arm. Tits. Which totally explains the morning wood.

I turn my head and get a face-full of tangled brown hair. I don’t sleep with anyone. Sleeping means letting my guard down, and I already know nothing good comes of that. Apparently, however, I made an exception last night because here I am.

Rain mutters something into my bicep. It makes no sense, so I ignore it.

Instead, I shove a small gray velvet pillow off my head, ease up, and survey. Rain’s bedroom is full of clothes—so many clothes that you have to wonder what’s actually inside her closet. For a woman who wears scrubs to work, she owns a whole lot of stuff to wear. Of course, she owns even more pillows. Little pillows, big pillows. Pillows with sequins, with tassels, and yes, with more pom-poms. There’s one enormous furry rectangle that looks like a Mongolian lamb crossbred with an elephant. When I piss Rain off, I need to bring her pillows rather than roses because the woman clearly has an addiction. There’s also a crap-ton of birds singing a wake up song but Rain sleeps on, oblivious. I think she wasn’t kidding about the baby business wearing her out.

My phone buzzes. I fish it off the floor and scan the screen. The club has been monitoring a rogue pack of wolves building some jolly-ho-ho utopia called Rose Bayou deep in the bayou. Lots of Spanish moss, attitude, and picturesque but gone-to-shit cabins. The wolves there have the mad carpentry skills to fix the architecture, but their naming skills suck. Their inability to play by any rules also manages to make me look like a choirboy. Jace is apparently planning on riding out there today and explaining which supernatural rules are non-negotiable since they risk exposing the weres to the humans. I’m big, I’m mean, and I rock with my fists, so Jace has requested the pleasure of my company for his crack-of-dawn fieldtrip.

I carefully disentangle Rain from my arm. Her tit’s popping out of her tank top. I lift the covers and peek underneath—sure enough, she must have woken up enough to find her clothes. Should have fucked her harder. I stroke a finger over the creamy top of her boob. I’ve left pink marks on her skin. I should kick my own ass, but I also love that I’ve marked her. Take that, Dickface Ex. I snap a picture to whack off to later. I won’t share it, but I like the idea of having some piece of her with me.

I’m still standing there, trying to figure that out, when Rain opens her eyes. She gives me a sleepy smile that fades when she spots my jeans in my hands.

“Club business,” I tell her. I’m not sure she’s actually gonna ask, but I don’t want her thinking I’m trying to pull a fuck and chuck. I also don’t like that I’m worrying about shit like that because it means…

Fuck if I know what it means except that I totally want to do her again. As she can see because my dick’s hard, and since she’s eye level with it and I’m still pants-less, I couldn’t hide it even if I wanted to.

Rain makes a face. “Motorcycle clubs have worse timing than babies.”

She rises up on her knees and shuffles toward me. The sheet tangles around her ankles and her tank top rides up, exposing the cutest curve of a tummy. She’s skipped the shorts and is just wearing a pair of string bikini panties covered with little polka dots. Rain has ridiculously feminine downtime clothes. She says that since she has to be practical and in-charge at work, she deserves to have fun with the stuff her clients can’t see. I just think she deserves whatever she wants.

It’s definitely time to go.

I shove my legs into my jeans, yank them up, and button. And then I give into temptation and a hook a finger in the little string holding the side of her panties together. When I tug, she tumbles into me, her arms sliding up around my neck.

“I don’t want you to go.” She sounds a little surprised. “Do you really have to?”

I’m sure the whole work thing sounds like an excuse. It’s certainly one I’ve used before, so I offer her my phone. I’m not supposed to share club business, but there’s nothing too specific in Jace’s text message and I don’t want her to think I’m lying. “Check me.”

She takes the phone from me and slides it into my back pocket. Her fingers pat my ass lightly. “Tell me you’re telling me the truth and I’ll believe you.”

“Just like that?” I mean, let’s be honest. My track record with this woman involves lies of omission at best and outright felonies at worst. I’m no angel and we both know it.

She tilts her head back so she can look into my eyes. “Promise me you’ll never lie to me again.”

“I’ll never lie to you again.”

I wait a beat. Lightning might strike or maybe God’s gonna stroke out laughing. Nothing.

“Have a good day at work, honey.”

“You don’t want proof?”

People tend to disbelieve the words that come out of my mouth and I don’t blame them. I like to play, a good laugh’s always welcome, and then there’s my lack of a filter. If I think it, I say it—especially if it’s gonna stir shit up.

“I trust you.” Her eyes shine as she smiles at me. Fuck. I’ve done nothing to earn her trust—just the opposite—so I’m not sure what to do next. “But no more lies, okay? Including lies of omission. No keeping secrets.”

Right. As if I’m gonna bust out the furry truth and tell her about being a shapeshifter. Not a chance. And even though I know that’s a choice I’m making, I also think it’s justified.

“Go back to bed,” I say gruffly. She’s already told me that she doesn’t have to be at work until later this morning unless there’s a baby emergency. She’s not kidding when she compares babies to club business.

“Are you coming back?”

I lean in and rest my forehead against hers. This way I don’t have to see all those emotions in her eyes. I’m not sure that this—us—is as fake as she claimed it was. And while I pushed for something more real, this might be a little too real.

“You want me to?”

She nods. I feel the movement rather than see it.

“Then I’ll be here tonight.”

“Okay.” She breathes the word and then we’re kissing.

She kisses even better than she fucks, and that’s saying something. Or maybe it’s just that it’s Rain. Whatever. But her kisses are totally amazing and it totally sucks to break it off, but Jace is waiting and I’ve pushed him as far as I can.

“Sleep,” I growl, tucking her back into bed.

Her eyes are already drifting shut before I step back. I kinda hate myself because I want to wake her up and make her feel me right, but I don’t. I fucking tiptoe out and down the stairs. She needs to sleep; I need to go. Usually, this works well for me.

When I go out, her ex is in his BMW, watching. I’m a little jealous that she chose that idiot, even if she’s since kicked him to the curb. Maybe it’s the expensive suit that he’s wearing? I sniff the air and catch a whiff of cologne. Beneath that is the staler scent of sweat and alcohol. He smells like he’s been on a bender, possibly for days. Maybe years. Still, since he’s all suited up, he must be on his way into the office. He should have kept on going.

I make it to my wheels and into the driver’s seat before he pops up. He makes more noise than a herd of moose but I pretend as if I can’t hear him coming. Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly.

He doesn’t bother beating around the bush. “Are you with Rain?”

I’m honestly not sure how he thinks the answer could be anything but yes. It’s five in the morning and my ride’s been parked outside her house for the better part of the night. Does he think I’m the twenty-four-hour plumber?

I fold my arms over my chest so that I’m not tempted to punch him. Rain and I should probably discuss what her hard limits are on violence. “Fuck, yeah. I’m her boyfriend.”

He screws up his face. I think he’s supposed to look intimidating but he’s fucking with the wrong wolf. “Impossible.”

“Obviously that’s not true.” I nod toward the house. “Think about it. I’m sure a smart guy like you can figure out what we spent the night doing.”

His face turns an unattractive puce. Keelie Sue may have a point about the value of using my words rather than my fists. Dickhead may stroke out without my ever touching him.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he whisper-yells.

I give him my most evil smile—the one that says I’m remembering Rain naked and wet beneath me, hollering my name as I drive her to the top of Mount O. Dick’s face gets darker and he sputters something, so I do my best to add some fuel to his fire. After all, it’s what Rain’s asked me to do and I do want to be the very best boyfriend I can be. Fake boyfriend. Whatever. Plus, I really do have to get going.

“I’m the man of the house, her fuck toy, and a very pretty face.” I uncross my arms and gesture toward said face. “She’s extremely much taken, if you get me.”

Dick flaps his arms, making his suit jacket bunch up. Wait for it. Three, two, one… he takes a swing at me through the open window. Halle-fucking-lujah. His punch is weak and he telegraphs his moves. I weave to the side and he gets nothing but air.

I punch him back. Don’t even have to get out of my truck to make it happen.

Dave goes flying. Kind of reminds me of those backward loop spin thingies male skaters do. Anyhow, Dick wins first and the gold medal. He pinwheels and achieves a significant amount of air before sideswiping a rose bush and planting hard on Rain’s driveway. Which is not only gravel but has a drainage problem. It rained during the night and there are puddles. Dick’s gonna have to change before heading into work unless he wants to field a whole lot of questions.

And while I’d like to stick around and pummel the shit out of him, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got more important stuff to do, but Christ I wish I had time to work him over and make him pay for everything he’s done to Rain.

“You’re an idiot,” I tell him. “You made the world’s biggest fucking mistake and you’re not gonna get a do-over on it. Doesn’t matter how much you think you like Rain or how awesome it would be to get back together with her. You’re over, you feel me?”

He whines something. I make out the words lawyer and assault. As if I care. Doesn’t say much, either, that he’s more worried about his pretty face than Rain.

“I’m on a tight timeline here,” I tell him. “So you can tell me now that you get it and you’re never, ever gonna come near my girl again—or I’ll get out of this truck and pummel the shit out of you. I’ll make it fast, but I promise you this—you’re gonna be in a world of hurt.”

I’m kinda sorry when he picks himself up and hightails it to his ride. Hitting him once wasn’t enough.

I should’ve done more.

I should’ve done more.

Rain deserves better than either of us, and that’s the truth right there.