Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
EMELIA
I’m glad Arin made themself scarce when I said Roscoe was coming over. They had saluted at the door, saying, “Be back at ten.” Part of me hopes they finally called Harry.
I’m also glad because I just agreed to have a baby with my ex-boyfriend’s dad. I just agreed to spend the next whatever months carrying it, then giving birth to it, and then… what? Raising it together? As a couple?
I have so many questions, but I’m afraid of breaking the moment between us and asking them.
Of course, I would prefer if we were together while having this kid. But we’ve barely gotten to know each other, only had the one night between us. How do I know we can last that long?
There are so many variables, so many unknowns. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of the sea, gazing out into the vast water with no idea of how to build a boat.
“Come back to me, Emelia,” Roscoe says, startling me. He’s holding my hand in his, our fingers interlocked. His green eyes are concerned. “You went away for a moment there.”
I nod cautiously. “It’s just a lot. It’s so much. I’ve… I’ve never had that kind of responsibility before. Over another whole person.”
Roscoe squeezes my hand. “It’s a scary feeling, I won’t lie. And it’s not like it goes away. I’m afraid, too. I’m nervous, too.”
Somehow, knowing that he’s done this once before and still feels uncertain about it makes me less self-conscious. Maybe it’s okay that I don’t know everything. All of it is taking a risk—having a baby and having it together. We might be totally incompatible. We might be making a huge mistake.
But I was telling the truth when I said I wasn’t ready yet to say goodbye.
This tiny piece of Roscoe that I have… it means the world to me.
I can’t imagine what’s in there, this new being who is half me and half him.
Sure, I’ve thought about having kids someday.
I sort of expected I would with Jason, eventually.
I liked the idea of having them with someone I love, who loves me.
Someone I wanted so fully, so completely, that creating something made of both of us would feel like the culmination of our lives.
I feel some of that with Roscoe. I may not know all the ins and outs of him—I don’t even know what color he likes, but I’m guessing black—but I also feel like I’ve seen inside him, and I like what’s there. I like his soul, which is earnest and good. Truly good, down to the core.
And he wants me, too. He wants me the same way I want him. At least, I think. I think that he’s got the same craving crawling under his skin, begging to be let out, because there’s a fire in his eyes that reminds me of the night at the club, of the look on his face when I got naked on his bed.
“Emelia.” He licks his lips as he says my name. “I want you to know I’m in it for the long haul. I’m committing to this. No matter what happens between us, I’ll be there for you and for this kid. Forever.”
I can’t believe how close I am to crying again. I’ve never cried as much in my adult life as I have today, like a wobbly balloon blowing in a breeze.
“Thank you.” That’s all I know how to say in response. “Thank you for… being you.”
Then, I throw myself into his arms. I just need comfort, I just need touch, I just need—
Fervently, Roscoe wraps me up, squeezing me tight against him as if he might die without this. His scratchy face rubs against my forehead, and a ripple of pleasure echoes down my spine. I fall completely into his lap, my arms around his neck, my face buried in the hollow of his throat.
“That’s right,” he says soothingly. “That’s a good girl.”
Oh, fuck. There’s that phrase again, and it’s like he has a cattle prod aimed directly at my clit. I gasp and my thighs squeeze together.
Roscoe tilts his head down, one of his hands stroking my back along my spine.
“You have a roommate, right?”
“They’re gone,” I answer quickly. “Until… ten.” I check the clock on the wall. That gives us an hour and a half.
Roscoe follows my gaze, and when I look up at him, his mouth is quirked up on one side. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye, and he drags in a deep, long breath, as if he’s smelling the air.
“Do you want to show me the way to your bedroom?” he asks, his voice an octave lower and much huskier.
I nod rapidly, and he doesn’t release my hand as we get off the couch and I lead him around it to the hall.
We pass Arin’s door, then the bathroom’s, stopping at mine.
I have the bigger of the two rooms, seeing that I make more money.
I’ve been thinking of upgrading to a bigger place since my raise, but I like living here with my best friend.
That will probably have to change soon.
Roscoe pushes open the door, his eyes narrowed and focused, showing off his crow’s feet. His jaw is clenched, too, like he’s about to blow a gasket. When we’re inside, he slams the door closed, then turns to face me.
“Emelia, I have to tell you something.”
I blink up at him, because I thought we were about to have makeup sex. I was really looking forward to it.
“What is it?” I ask, a bit worried.
He shakes his head. “Just look.” Roscoe’s fingers drop to his belt, which he unbuckles and removes, tossing it to the floor. Drool pools in my mouth thinking about what’s underneath. I didn’t get to see him that night, and lordy, how I wish I could have. Now I’ll get my chance.
But wait. I’m confused. Why is he taking off his pants if this isn’t about sex?
Next come button and zipper, and he removes his jeans, leaving his cock straining inside his boxer briefs. They’re plain dark blue, and god, he looks good under there. He’s already hard, and just thinking about what that felt like inside me—
He hooks his thumbs into the band of his underwear and pulls them off, tossing them aside.
Shit. What is that?
His cock is big, yes. It also looks… strange. At the base is a lump, two of them, one on either side of the shaft.
Is that what I felt that night? What he didn’t put inside me?
“Yup,” Roscoe says, sighing. “That’s what got you pregnant.”
I don’t think he intends it, but it sends a shock of pure excitement straight down between my legs. Yeah, that is how he did it. And I want him again.
“It’s weird, yeah,” I say. “But you were just born that way, right?”
He stares at me for a long beat, then a laugh explodes out of him. He snorts, buckling forward.
“You are too good for this world,” he says, stepping closer so he can lean down and kiss me. That kiss, though quick, is absolutely perfect. “No. I wasn’t born this way.”
I squint. “Huh? Then how did it happen?”
“Emelia.” He turns his head away, staring down at the floor as he continues. “I’m a werewolf.”
Oh.
So that’s why he hid in the darkness. That’s why we did it from behind. He didn’t want me to see this and then ask questions he couldn’t answer.
“I’ve never met a werewolf before,” I begin unsteadily. I’m not sure what the right or wrong thing is to say here. “Wasn’t sure if it was a biting thing, or a thing you’re born with.”
“You have to be bitten.” He sighs, his cock deflating the longer we talk. “I was bitten about… eighteen years ago now. When Jason was a kid.”
“Was it voluntary?” I ask.
Feverishly, he shakes his head. “I was on a trip with some college friends. We were backpacking in the Rocky Mountains. We must have gotten too close to a werewolf community when we pitched camp, because we woke up in the middle of the night to our tent being ripped to shreds by a werewolf.
“It was completely out of its mind. Probably one that was just freshly turned. It bit all three of us before the others showed up.”
“There was more than one?”
He nods. “Yes, but they were more of sound mind. They took us back to their refuge and patched us up, but the damage had already been done. All of us underwent the change there.”
“Wow. That’s horrible.” I didn’t realize werewolf-ism was quite so violent. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “I’m used to it now. I take every full moon off work and go out to the mountains. Pitch a tent, hunt some rabbits, call it a night.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad!” I sit up, smiling brightly. “You can keep doing that.”
But Roscoe just shakes his head, and sits down on the bed next to me, making the mattress sink.
“Not if I’m with you.” He leans down and sniffs my hair, then rubs his nose over the shell of my ear. “If I’m with you, Emelia, all I’m going to want is you. I will tear apart anything in my way when the moon is full. And then, I’ll definitely want to fuck you.”
It feels a bit like there’s a fire starting in my lower belly. That’s all he wants? To have sex?
“You don’t want to… bite me?” I ask. “Or eat me?”
He laughs. “I have far more control now than that. I would never bite you. But mate you? Up against a tree in the woods?” He breathes against my ear, sending a shiver down my back. “It would be my pleasure. My desire. My instinctual need.”
Damn. It sounds good when he says that.
“Okay.”
Roscoe freezes where his hand is roaming up my side. “What? Okay?”
“Okay. If you want to have sex… like that. That’s fine.”
His brow crinkles. “I don’t think you understand, Emelia. It’s not just sex. It’s—” He stops abruptly, gritting his teeth.
“What is it?” I sit closer. “You can tell me.”
“It’s why Julie and I got divorced. She was absolutely, one hundred percent not interested.” Roscoe curls his hand into a fist, like just the memory is painful. “And you probably wouldn’t be either, if you actually saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“My wolf form. On a full moon.”
“I guess I can’t say one way or another,” I venture. “Since I haven’t seen it yet. But… it’s still you, right? And I’m not in danger?”
He shakes his head.
“And all you want is to fuck in the woods?”
This time, he nods.
“I truly do not see the problem.” Grabbing his hand again, I lean forward and kiss his cheek. “Can we cross that bridge when we get there?”
Roscoe searches me, his dark salt-and-pepper brows furrowed like he still doesn’t believe what I’m saying.
“There is one other thing,” he says, reaching down to stroke himself. He puts his hand over the bulbs at the base. “I’m going to really, really want to put my knot inside you. But I need to know… if you want that, too.”
“Why not?” I cover his hand with mine. “Does it feel good?”
“It should. I think it will. It’s… supposed to.”
I grin up at him. “Then yes.”
“Are you sure? Julie really didn’t—”
I silence him with a kiss. Then I lean back and give him a solid glare.
“Stop bringing up your ex-wife,” I say. “I’m not her, and it’s not making me horny.”
A laugh breaks out of him. He snorts once more before sliding an arm around me and dragging me in close. “Can’t have that,” he murmurs, removing his hand so now my palm is wrapped around his dick. “I need you good and horny for what I’m about to do to you.”
“Show me.” I stroke him from the odd base up to the tip, admiring the shape of him, how deliciously perfect it is. “Show me what you want to do to me.”