Chapter 5
Wolf
She falls asleep on my couch like her body finally remembers it’s allowed to stop fighting.
The fire has burned down to a low glow. The cabin is quiet except for the crackle and the wind brushing the walls.
I sit there for a few seconds and watch her sleep, and it hits me harder than anything did in three tours.
This.
A woman in my cabin. A woman I just met. Curvy and soft and scared enough to walk into a biker bar and choose me.
I should be sleeping too. I should be planning. I should be thinking about that man and whatever agreement he thinks exists and what kind of trouble he’ll bring next.
Instead, I’m watching her breathe.
That’s the dangerous part.
Because wanting her isn’t the dangerous part. I’ve wanted women before. This isn’t that.
This is possession. It’s the way my hand still remembers her waist. The way my mouth still remembers her sound. The way my brain keeps circling one thought like it’s the only thing that makes sense.
Mine.
I told a stranger in a bar that she was my woman, and it wasn’t a lie. It was the first honest thing I’ve said in years.
My chest feels tight, like I’m back in a place where the air is thin and the ground isn’t steady. Feelings do that to me. They tilt the world. They make you reach for something you can’t control.
I don’t do that anymore. I built walls for a reason.
Fifteen years ago, I learned what happens when you let a woman inside your heart. When you picture a future and start believing you deserve it. One phone call and it’s gone. One twist of metal and glass and you’re left with nothing but the memory.
Then the Army came and finished the job.
You learn to live with empty. You learn to sleep with one eye open. You learn to count exits. You learn to keep your hands busy and your heart locked.
Then she climbed into my lap.
And the lock broke.
I tell myself it’s just instinct. A protective reflex. A man doing what men do.
It’s a lie.
Because there’s nothing reflexive about the way I want her. Nothing simple about the way I meant mine the second I said it. I didn’t say it to scare that man. I said it because the idea of handing her back made something in me go feral.
I stand and slide an arm under her knees and the other behind her back and lift her carefully. She doesn’t wake, just makes a small sound and curls closer, cheek pressing against my chest.
Like she belongs there.
The possessive part of me likes that too much.
I carry her down the short hall to my bedroom. It isn’t fancy. A bed, a dresser, a chair with a hoodie thrown over it. A window that looks out into trees and darkness. The kind of room that has never held anyone but me.
Until now.
I set her down on the mattress and crawl into bed behind her and pull her close, arm around her waist. Skin on skin. Her body fits into mine like a question answered.
She sighs in her sleep and relaxes, and my chest goes tight again, because I can already tell I’m feeling too much. That thought should scare me. It does.
I feel her stir a while later. Not fully waking, just shifting, rolling until she’s more on her side, her back no longer pressed tight to my chest. Her eyes open slowly, hazel and sleepy. For a second she looks confused.
Then her hand slides up my torso, palm settling on my chest like she’s checking that I’m real. Fingers splayed. Warm.
She makes a small sound, breath catching. “You’re warm.”
I huff a short laugh. “Yeah.”
Her touch moves in a slow line, curious. My skin tightens under it. I keep still, letting her do it. Letting her learn that I’m here. She looks down at my chest, then back up at my face. Her cheeks tint pink.
“You carried me,” she whispers.
“I did,” I say.
Her lips part like she wants to ask something and hates herself for wanting to know the answer. “Do you regret it?” she asks finally.
The question hits my ribs like a punch. I shift closer, my mouth near her temple. “No.”
Her breath shudders.
My hand tightens at her waist. “Do you?”
Her eyes widen. “No.”
Good.
I brush my mouth over her forehead, a kiss so light it’s almost nothing. It isn’t nothing.
Her hand is still on my chest, stroking slowly now, and the simple intimacy of it makes my throat tight. She looks at me like she’s trying to understand what she started.
I tilt my chin. “You trying to start the fire again, angel?”
Her lips part in surprise. Then a shy smile flickers, quick and uncertain, like she doesn’t trust it. “I…” She swallows. “Maybe.”
My body reacts instantly. Heat surges low. My arm tightens around her.
Then she makes a face, small and embarrassed. “But you’re too big.”
I still.
Her cheeks go bright red. “And I’m sore. A little.”
Something in me softens, the possessive hunger stepping back to make room for care. I slide my hand to her hip, rubbing slow. “You tell me what you want.”
Her lashes flutter. “I want…” She bites her lip. “I want you. Just… not like that.”
My jaw flexes. Desire still burns, but control is something I’m good at. “Okay,” I say, low. “We do it your way.”
Her eyes lift to mine, searching. “You won’t be mad?”
I let out a quiet breath. “Angel, I’m not mad at you for listening to your body.”
Relief floods her face, and it does something ugly and protective to me. Like I want to hunt every person who ever made her feel wrong for being careful.
I kiss her once, slow and gentle.
Then I slide down the bed. Her eyes widen. “Wolf…”
I hook her thigh over mine and pull her closer. “You said you’re sore,” I murmur against her skin. “So I’m not stretching you. I’m taking care of you.”
Her breath catches. “You don’t have to.”
“I do,” I say, and the words come out rougher than I intend. “I want to.”
I pause long enough to look up at her, to make sure she’s still here with me. Her nod is small. Trusting. That trust makes my chest ache.
I slide my hands up her thighs, slow, feeling the warmth and softness. She tenses for half a second, then relaxes when she realizes I’m not rushing.
I kiss her belly, and she makes a small sound, surprised. I smile against her skin. “Yeah. You’re gonna learn.”
Her thighs tense again when my mouth moves lower, and I pause, looking up. “Still with me,” I ask.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I hook my hands under her thighs and spread her gently. No forcing. Just giving her space and time to breathe. Her cheeks burn. She looks away, embarrassed.
I lift my gaze. “Eyes on me, angel.”
She obeys.
I tug her a little closer to the edge of the bed and kiss the inside of her thigh, slow. Then another kiss, higher. I feel her shiver. Her hand grips the sheet. Her breathing turns shallow.
I kiss her again, then press my mouth against her, a warm, firm kiss that makes her gasp. The sound goes straight through me.
I keep my touch steady, like I’m proving something. I’m not here to take. I’m here to give.
I lick slowly, and her whole body jolts. Her hand flies to my hair, fingers tangling. I groan softly, encouraging her.
She makes a breathy sound and her hips lift, instinctive. I keep one hand on her hip, holding her down gently.
“Easy,” I murmur.
Her eyes are wide, watching me. “Wolf…”
I hum against her, and the vibration pulls another gasp from her mouth.
I take my time. Slow strokes. Steady pressure. I learn what makes her tighten, what makes her soften, what makes her tremble.
Her legs start to shake. Her hand tightens in my hair. “I’m gonna…”
I lift my head, mouth glistening, and look up at her. “Let it happen.”
Then I go back down and give her exactly what she needs. My tongue moves faster, tighter circles, and her breath breaks apart into little sounds she can’t control. Her hips lift again, and I hold her steady, letting her ride the pleasure without hurting herself.
She cries out, and her body clamps tight, shaking hard. I keep my mouth on her through it, not stopping, not pulling away. I hold her as she comes, like I’m teaching her she doesn’t have to be embarrassed by what she feels.
When she finally slumps back, trembling, I kiss her softly and climb back up the bed. Her eyes are glossy, dazed.
She looks wrecked.
Beautiful.
I brush hair off her cheek and kiss her mouth gently. The taste of her pussy is still on my tongue.
She exhales, shaky. “Oh my God.”
A low laugh rumbles out of me. “You okay?”
She nods quickly. “Yes.”
I slide my hand down her side, careful around her hip. “Still sore?”
“A little,” she admits, cheeks red again.
I kiss her forehead. “Then we don’t push it.”
Her hand returns to my chest, fingers tracing slow circles like she can’t help herself. That touch hits me harder than it should.
She looks up at me, shy and bold at the same time. “You really meant it,” she whispers.
“What?”
“When you said… I’m yours.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t like how much my chest aches at the question. I lower my mouth to her ear.
“I meant it,” I say. “And I’m going to keep meaning it.”
Her breath catches. “Wolf.”
“My name is Kayce Hogan,” I tell her. “Wolf is what the Army called me.”
Her brows knit. “Why?”
I exhale once, short. The answer isn’t pretty.
“Because I didn’t let go,” I say. “Because when they sent me after something, I brought it back. Because I kept moving when other men stopped.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“And because I bit back,” I add, quieter.
She swallows, fingers still on my chest. “Kayce. Wolf. If I leave, will you bring me back?”
I slide my hand to her waist and hold on. “You’re not leaving,” I say, voice rough. “Not until you’re safe.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
I cup her face and kiss her gently, like I’m trying to be careful with something fragile. My voice comes out low and honest. “You’re melting my walls, angel.”
Her eyes widen.
“I don’t like it,” I add.
She swallows. “Then why…”
“Because I want you anyway,” I finish, rough. “And that scares the hell out of me.”
She touches my cheek, gentle. “Me too.”
I hold her closer and listen to her breathing until it evens out again. Until her hand goes slack on my chest.
I won’t let her go.