Chapter Twenty Two
Sleepovers and Serious Decisions
Elliot
Mickey jumps on me as soon as I open the door.
“I swear he grew out of that. He doesn’t do that with anyone else,” Nicholas complains. “Mickey, down,” he says sternly, stepping in and closing the door behind him.
Mickey hesitates, but then goes back on all fours, his tongue hanging out. I smile at him and give him all the scratches. “It’s okay,” I wink at him. When I look up at Nicholas, he’s staring at me, standing very, very still. My face goes back to a frown.
“My prettiness got your tongue tied?” I tease him.
He blinks twice and awkwardly laughs. “No, just surprised your mouth went up that way,” he says, but unconvincingly.
Then I notice the giant dog bed he’s carrying in his hand. “Is Mickey planning to move in?” Hearing his name, Mickey butts his head against my hand until I give him some more scratches.
Nicholas laughs. “I got it from Sloan’s when I picked him up. She’s got like five of them,” he says.
He unclips Mickey’s leash and walks inside like he owns the place. Then again, Nicholas rarely ever looks like he doesn’t belong.
He turns and walks backwards. “I can keep it here?” He lays down the bed beside one of the chairs in the living room.
“No, put it near the window, he’ll love the sunlight in the morning,” I snatch it from him and set it right below the large window.
“Keep this up, and he will actually move in,” Nicholas says, smiling.
“He has an open invitation to that,” I tell Mickey, patting him some more as he makes himself at home in his bed. Unless his new owner comes as a package deal. That would be annoying.
I stand straight and look at Nicholas’s familiar but intimidating figure. The guy takes up too much space. He’s too loud. Even his expressions are loud. His eyes, dark looking right back at me, are big too. Predatory.
He stalks towards me and pulls me into him. “I’m so glad you invited me over the minute you came back,” he says gleefully.
“I did no—”
He crushes his lips into mine. Which is rude.
His hands slide over my arm, lighting their path. His lips are demanding, his tongue seeking entrance. I surrender, like I always do. I never want to. But I’ve never had any control here.
His hand rests lightly on my shoulder, but it’s still too much. I try to swallow a distressed noise that’s threatening to escape my lips. But he hears. Nothing ever escapes Detective McAnnoying, does it?
He pulls back, pinning me with his intense gaze. “Are you hurt?” His hands move over my shoulder, making me hiss. They travel down my arm, moving over my body, slowly, assessing. God, this man.
“It’s just a tiny thing on the shoulder,” I shake off his arms that were slowly snaking up my chest. No non-sexual touching needs to be happening here.
He pushes the sleeve of my T-shirt up, looking really angry the entire time. It’s so funny, I have so many insults lined up to throw at him, but his fury makes my throat dry. He narrows his eyes at my shoulder, which is now light purple.
“Who did this to you?” he growls. Literally, his voice is so low I’m worried he’ll shift any second. If he’s so angry about a small bruise on me, what is he like with people he cares about?
Looking at him, I’m glad at least my neck didn’t bruise. Also, because that would have meant more injury and pain. But man, Nicholas has an unexpectedly short fuse.
“Why? You’re going to hunt them down and kill them?” I roll my eyes at his face.
His eyes narrow further, this time at me. “Most likely. Tell me,” he demands.
Wait, are his eyes glowing? Fuck. I snatch my arm from him and stalk towards the kitchen. There’s no way I’m letting him reveal himself to me. It’s in my best interest to keep pretending I don’t know anything about werewolves, at least with him. You know, a law enforcement officer?
“I can take care of myself,” I snap at him. I go around the kitchen counter and pull out a glass. I fill it with water. I suddenly feel thirsty.
Nicholas doesn’t move, facing away from me. His large shoulders move with his deep breaths. I take a few sips, letting him do his thing.
He turns to face me. I don’t point out how weird and obvious he’s being right now. He doesn’t acknowledge it either.
“I just don’t understand how someone gets injured at a veterinarian conference,” he says, sounding more like himself. Looking more like himself too, when he comes and stands in front of me on the other side of the counter.
“I was drunk, I fell against a wall at a club we went to after the conference,” I lie. My only options were to admit I was in a fight or to admit I was stupid. I’m going with stupid.
His eyebrows go up. “A wall did this to you?” he asks, sounding doubtful.
“Yes, do you want me to give you the address of the place so you can go beat the wall up for me?” I bat my eyes at him.
He frowns in response. “I thought you didn’t like to drink,” he says suspiciously.
Why would he remember that? Ugh. “Well, I enjoy it occasionally.”
Time to change the subject. I walk over to the spare room and come back with a carton of dog food samples that brands keep sending over. I keep a few at the clinic, but bring the rest here because it clutters the small space.
“Let’s expand Mickey’s taste palette.”
He nods, still looking a second away from blowing off. I leave him by the counter and place a large feeding bowl in front of Mickey.
By the time Nicholas joins us, Mickey has tasted five different brands. I hand him the ones Mickey seemed to like and make him try a few more packets.
“Don’t give him more, he’ll get used to a ten-course meal and refuse to eat his boring food again,” Nicholas says lightheartedly.
I snort. “I mean, if you can’t provide that, maybe he should move in here,” I smile at him.
“Is that a sneaky way of asking me to move in?” he asks with a smirk.
I roll my eyes and get up to grab another carton that Nicholas can take back with him tomorrow.
“You wish.”
The smirk widens. “Elliot, you'll need to do it more grandly than giving my dog a lot of food. I might say yes, if you ask nicely,” he continues.
Or today. He can take it today and leave right now. I narrow my eyes at him.
He laughs. Then drags me to the bedroom.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” I ask when he pushes me gently until I’m lying back.
“Shh,” he shushes me.
Before I can get outraged, he crawls over my body, leaning over me on his hands and knees and physically silences me. His mouth is soft on my lips, a few lingering caresses. Then he pulls back. I chase him with desperation.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” he says. My brain is still scrambling with the sensation of his lips against mine. He pulls up my T-shirt and slowly drops a kiss on my jaw. He keeps his body up, so far away from me.
He kisses me until all I can focus on is the contact between his heated lips and my skin. He moves down slowly, sucking on my skin. My neck, then my collarbone.
My hands comb through his hair, another around his shoulder, pulling him in and or trying and failing epically.
He takes one of my nipples into his mouth. I jolt up with the sudden sensation. He rolls his tongue over it, sucking on it some more. Then, he moves his head up and blows on it. My body shivers.
He kisses down my body, my muscles jerking against the slow torture. My body liquifies under his attention.
Done with his ministrations, I pull his hair until he looks me in the eyes. “Fuck me already,” I demand, my voice so breathy and desperate I don’t recognize myself.
“Patience, baby. Tonight, we’re taking it slow,” he says, sounding just as breathless.
I process his words as he moves his lips down slowly to my abdomen, sucking on my stomach.
Dropping kisses on my hip bones and tracing his tongue along the ridges of my abs.
My body feels wound tightly and relaxed at the same time.
He unzips my pants and slides them down, out of the way, without my help. He completely ignores my fully hard cock and moves down. It’s right there.
He kisses the undersides of my thighs. “C’mon, this is torture,” I say with a shaky voice.
I feel his sadistic smile against my ankle. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, the bastard.
When he moves down to my feet, I breathe a sigh of relief. My mind is so confused, with emotions overflowing and sensations vibrating over every inch of my skin. I fucking hate this. I never want him to stop.
He takes my toe in his warm mouth, looking at me under his lashes. So beautiful. It feels like a challenge, and he’s clearly winning. I close my eyes and groan.
He kisses my toes slowly, moves up my legs again, kissing every inch of my lax body that he comes across. Then, finally, he takes my dick in his mouth. But he doesn't change his slow agonizing pace, pulling up every time I feel a tingle in my spine and then swallowing me again.
I really should have stopped while I was ahead. Now, I’ve created a monster.
He moves his finger slowly down my perineum, pulling up my balls out of the way, and pushes a finger into me with ease. He works his finger with precision, I don’t know how he has, considering he’s only done this thrice. He gently puts pressure against my prostate.
I jerk up on the bed.
He magically produces lube from somewhere, and then slick fingers are prodding me open. My mind is blank, I'm completely lost in the sensation of having my soul sucked out of my dick.
Once he deems me good and ready to take his cock, he wraps his thick cock with a condom, and I start to turn to get on my knees. He pushes me back down, his hands on my chest.
“That’ll put pressure on your shoulder. Just stay okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, just to be contrary.
He covers my body then, his weight crushing me into the mattress. He kisses me hungrily, a stark contrast to how the rest of the evening has gone. “Stay,” he whispers against my mouth.