Chapter 11
TIPPY
Stupid, stupid wixen.
Yep, that’s me.
Why did I think this would be remotely do-able?
We haven’t got through an hour together, and already Jax and I are scrapping. Puffing out our chests like a couple of fighting hens. Except clearly, he’s the wolf; I’m the hen.
And you know what wolves do to hens, right?
I’m not coping with his proximity. Especially when he stands there bare-chested in front of me, and dares to flex those amazing pecs and biceps.
How dare he be so brazen?
Well, you did barge in on him.
I didn’t expect him to get his kit off this early in the piece, did I?
I throw the glass into the sink and shove the rest of the wheatgrass into the fridge.
I make a big thing of checking my itinerary for the rest of the day in the file I’ve made up.
When Jax strolls out, thankfully fully dressed now, I clip out in my best professional voice, “Okayyyy then. A run first. Followed by a high-protein lunch.”
He grins, ruffles a hand through his hair. “I’m up for the challenge.”
If I just keep busy… and keep Jax busy, then my hormones won’t get a chance to surface, I reason.
I can do this.
I’ve coached literally dozens of mixed species, even done some health retreats before.
I’ll just pretend he’s Arlo.
Gosh, I lived in the same house as Arlo for a whole year without a problem.
You didn’t have the hots for Arlo, idiot.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say, and head out the door.
I’m good at running, though more fluid and faster in my shifted state.
But that’s rare. Apart from at our festivals, it’s only happened once in my training, after I’d been practicing wixen mating dance steps in my room for several hours.
It was brief, but I’d caught a glimpse of my pointed snout, the black tip to my nose, the soft red and white fur of my pelt. It shocked and kind of delighted me.
When I told Aunt Felicia, she said that wasn’t unusual, and that it also happens before mating sometimes. Since I’ve never been close to that, I have nothing to go on...
Shit!
Stop thinking of the M word.
I run faster. My feet pound the pavement, my tail bouncing behind me.
Jax keeps level with me with an easy grace that is disconcerting.
He runs well. I sense the wolf in him has made his long limbs more fluid, his quads more powerful.
Eventually, I’m out of breath. I stop and swig from my drink bottle, and Jax drinks too. I try really hard to ignore the way his t-shirt has stuck to his pecs. The way his throat muscles bob as he gulps from his water bottle, the bunch of his bicep as he holds it to his mouth.
I drink more cold water myself, so fast that it dribbles out the side of my mouth.
When I wipe it away with the back of my hand, he’s gazing at me, hands looped on his hips, with that lazy lopsided grin of his. The lush softness of his mouth makes my clit hum alarmingly into life.
I snap the top back on my bottle. “Had enough?” I ask. Because I sure can’t take much more.
“Nah, I could keep going.”
“Lungs feeling okay?”
“Yep. Fine.”
“Not out of breath?”
“Nope.”
He certainly doesn’t look it. He’s coping better than me. He looked unhealthy when I first knew him, pale and gaunt, but since he got bitten, he’s changed, even though he still vapes. He’s fitter, healthier.
Sexier.
Just stop, will you?
“It’s close to lunchtime, so we should head back,’ I say, miffed that he’s done so well, which of course is petty. But then he coughs, and I can hear there’s still some cleansing to be done.
He pulls a face. “Have you got more ghastly potions lined up for me?”
“You’re in luck, the next one is a powder, disguised in a green smoothie.”
“Eghh, vegetables.” He pulls a face. “And you think that’s any better than that fucking wheatgrass shot?”
“You might surprise yourself with how good it tastes,” I respond. “How are the urges?”
“Which ones?” His eyebrows waggle over those emerald eyes.
“To vape, doofus,” I retort, blushing madly. I take off to hide my red cheeks, my feet flying over the cobbled streets.
I sense him behind me, so close that I can hear the deep rasp of his breath. I also sense his gaze on my butt cheeks.
And then I have this thought: What would it be like to be chased by wolf Jax?
Caught. Pinned to the ground. Claimed. Would I even resist?
Worse, would I pretend to resist, just to prolong the pleasure?
Would I whine and struggle and gnash my little teeth at him until his mouth covered mine and I acquiesced, arching my back and pressing my pussy into him?
Would I wrap my legs around his hips, cling to him like my life depended on his cock penetrating my sacred place?
Even as my mind tries to slap away the vivid images, my body is coiling like a spring, as if ready to… ready to… rut.
Shit!
Where did that word even come from?
I run faster, and beat Jax to the den by a whisker.
When we get back inside, both of us panting and slick with sweat, Jax says, “You want to shower first?” I huff and glance outside at the shower.
There it is. In full view of the door, no curtain, nothing.
Just outrageous.
Is this some kind of joke on Traggar’s part, or is this what wolves do? Do they just shower in front of everyone as if it’s the most normal thing in the world?
Vixen shifters are modest about our washing arrangements. Even though we are all females together, we always have a curtain around the shower.
“Erm, you go first,” I mutter. “I’ll get your smoothie prepped.” Already my head is in the fridge, trying to cool down my crazy hormones.
“Sure.” He saunters into his room, comes back with just a towel wrapped around him, loosely tucked in at his waist.
I’d started to cool down, but now I’m heating up with a vengeance. I grab the vegetables, slam them onto a chopping board and start dicing.
But even so, I can’t help glancing through the back door.
As Jax reaches the shower, he nonchalantly unwraps the towel, hangs it on a hook and steps in naked.
His butt is so tight. His thighs are sleek, lean muscle.
His back is turned, but as he twists to grab the soap, I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his cock side-on.
It bobs, heavy and magnificent, in a dark patch of hair.
I crane my neck to try and see more, squeezing my thighs together to stem the throb between my legs.
As he washes himself, I watch his biceps bunch and the muscles glide on his back.
I imagine smoothing my hands all over him, digging in my claws just a little.
Feeling the flesh, warm and taut, ripple beneath my touch.
A little moan escapes my lips.
The sound snaps me out of my voyeurism, and I return to chopping up a piece of celery, almost viciously. I throw it into the blender, along with a bunch of spinach and an apple.
I stare as it whizzes into a bright green liquid, grinding my molars.
I’ve got to get this under control. It’s only day one and I’m literally panting for Jax to pleasure me. My breasts feel swollen, my nipples taut. My pussy thrums, and my clit is a swollen needy bud, as if waiting to be plucked. Or pollinated… or whatever happens in springtime.
Don’t be ridiculous, Tippy Honeywell.
Goddess, I definitely am going into my heat. I must be.
It’s said that the only time vixen shifters lose control is during heat.
Fuck, no way.
Not now. Not here.
I turn the blender up to high for a few seconds, then turn it off and add two teaspoons of my quit-fast elixir.
When Jax walks in, the towel slung easily around his hips, I hand the glass over, trying not to look at him. But my gaze scrapes on the juncture where the towel meets his flesh, the line of dark hair, the v of muscles running down toward…
Oh gods, is that a bulge? Is he… aroused?
Well, that would make two of us.
Jax’s lip curls at he stares at the glass. “Can’t I even get dressed before you force this shit down my throat?”
The old Jax is back, rude as fuck. This Jax, I can handle.
“Fine,” I huff. “Get dressed first and work your way up to it.”
I make an attempt to drag it back. But he holds on, and we find ourselves in a tug of war.
Jax lets go suddenly and my hand jerks.
For the second time today, green liquid slops out of the glass. But this time it lands on Jax, not the floor. Well, to be precise, on his towel. Right where… where… oh gods.
I stare at his crotch, my eyes riveted to the swelling under the towel. I swear to the goddess it twitches.
When I drag my eyes away, his eyebrows arc up. “Messy,” he purrs softly.
I can’t help it, I look again and yes, that is definitely an impressive bulge right there under the glob of dripping green gloop on his towel. Heat rides up my neck.
“Wanna help me clean it up?” Jax murmurs huskily. Or was that his wolf?
“No,” I practically squawk. “I’m going to take a shower. And don’t you dare peek. Either of you.”