ELEVEN
Bella
I don’t know what to make of Will.
Mixed messages is an understatement. My blood is still zipping through my veins and my heart is pumping somewhere up in my throat after he chased me down and jumped on me. My pussy throbs right along with it and I can’t stop looking at him.
I find him handsome as a man. His long neck and pronounced Adam’s apple; his tall frame and ropy muscles; and his shy charm and wry smile. He’s just my type.
But I also have to admit there is something thrilling about his werewolf form. Something primal and raw that calls to my inner self. The thought of him touching me and holding me in that form is so exciting I’m embarrassed how slick and needy I feel between my thighs.
On the walk back to his place, though, Will hardly looks at me. In fact, he looks anywhere but at me to the point that I wonder if I’ve done something wrong.
When he opens the door and holds it for me to walk past him into the hall, he turns his face away as if my scent is offensive.
“There are fresh sheets on the guest bed,” he says, still not making eye contact.
“Oh. Thanks.” Where has the wolfman who couldn’t keep his paws off me gone?
He fetches me a shirt of his to wear as pajamas, an extra pillow, and offers me food that I decline. All the time, he averts his eyes and his face whenever he can.
I thought there would be at least more kissing, more touching, but he seems set on giving me the guest room. After a few more awkward goodnights, I shut the door, strip off to my panties, and slip his shirt over my head. It smells like him. It’s clean, but the scent of whatever laundry soap he uses is there. I lift the fabric to my nose and breathe it in, wishing I was snuggled up with him instead.
Seems like only the assholes are interested in me. Not the good guys. The decent guys. The ones who would be good to me.
I sigh and glare at my reflection in the little round mirror on the wall.
I can’t mope about this. Of course, he doesn’t want me when it could only be a night. A few weeks, at most. Will isn’t that guy. He’s the guy who dreams about settling down with a nice girl who can be what he deserves.
Not a girl like me.
I tuck myself beneath the covers and close my eyes. I can’t get to sleep, though, even when I turn out the light. Thoughts of Will leaning over me on the grass flood my head and I’m restless and achy.
An hour or so later, with a dry mouth and a throbbing pussy, I switch on the light and head downstairs to the kitchen to find a drink of water.
I’m quiet on the stairs, tiptoeing down each creaky step so as not to disturb Will. I fumble around and eventually find the light switch, but when I turn, I jump and have to smother a shriek.
“Is everything OK?” Will is standing in the open entry, looking rumpled and gorgeous, wearing only boxers.
His lean body is almost completely on display, hairy over his pecs and the center of his defined abs, trailing down to the waistband of his boxers.
He sees me looking and looks down at himself. “Sorry. I was in bed. Did you need something?”
I swallow. You. I need you! “A drink of water,” I croak.
He walks across the room and stops right in front of where I’m standing. A normal person would move out of his way. Would step aside and let him reach for the cupboard above my head.
I stay right where I am. Suddenly, I’m thirsty for something that has nothing to do with the glass of water I came for. Our faces are inches apart. He’s reaching over my head, but he’s not looking at the cupboard. His eyes are fixed on my face and I can’t look away.
For a moment, time seems to stand still. A clock in the living room ticks—the old fashioned antique sort with a swinging pendulum that caught my eye the first time I entered his home. I swear the tick, tick, ticking of the clock pauses while I stare at his wide mouth and wish.
Then something snaps.
It’s probably me. If the force of my thoughts was tangible, he would have kissed me hours ago. As it is, I’m pretty sure I draw him to me with just my imagination.
Either way, all of a sudden my arms go around his neck and his hands drop to my waist. Our mouths crash together and I’m moaning into his.
The kiss is fierce and hungry. It’s not like the sweet kisses we’ve shared so far. Here is the beast who chased me down. The one I’ve been fantasizing about ravishing me.
When Will lifts me, I spread my legs and he sits me on the counter. He steps between them. With only my panties and the thin boxers between us, I can clearly feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against me. I shiver as he grinds, rocking his hips in time with the caress of his tongue against mine. His lips are gentle, but demanding. His hands slide under the t-shirt and across my bare skin.
The sound of the coffee machine whirring makes us both freeze. Will curses; I look around and spot Ian, the vampire, grinning at us from three feet away.
“Don’t mind me,” he says pleasantly.
I let out a little scream that turns into a nervous laugh.
Seriously, could this guy have any worse timing?
Will tugs the hem of his shirt lower to cover most of my ass. “Ian, would you mind not sneaking around the house in the middle of the night?” he growls.
I can’t help giggling at the hurt little look that crosses Ian’s face. “But this coffee machine makes such good coffee.”
Will makes a choked noise of protest and tears away from me. “Get out!”
“But—”
“Out,” he barks, thrusting a pointed finger at the exit. “Before I rescind your invitation.”
With a sigh, Ian hangs his head and troops out of the kitchen. A moment later, the front door clicks shut.
“I should never have given him my spare key.” Will shakes his head. “I should have never invited him in.”
My gaze drops to the very large bulge still tenting the front of his boxers.
He colors and pushes it down unsuccessfully. “Ah, sorry. I got a little carried away.”
“I don’t mind,” I say quickly, hopping down and taking a step toward him.
He steps back, running a hand through his wild hair. “We shouldn’t.”
“We shouldn’t?”
He gives me the sort of longing look I was probably giving that bulge a moment ago.
He sighs. “We shouldn’t.”
Quickly, he goes to the cupboard and fetches a glass, then fills it with water. He hands it to me. “Goodnight, Bella.”
The last look he gives me as he leaves the kitchen has me all hot and tingly all over again. There’s no doubt he wants me. At least physically.
Is it possible he doesn’t want to because he doesn’t just want a one-night stand? Could this guy have any more green flags?
And what am I supposed to do about the fact I don’t think I want just a one-night stand, either?