Chapter 15
Making Beautiful Music
Dodger
This beautiful guitar needs to be safely out of the way. I stand and carefully tuck it into its case, making sure the latches are secure before moving it to the armchair in the corner of the hotel room. I turn back to the man who gave me such a perfect gift, his golden eyes tracking my every move.
He closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that matches my own. I moan as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open for him, eager and greedy. Who knew Detective Strait-laced would kiss like this? Like he’s trying to devour me whole.
“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth, his hands coming up to cradle my face.
“Too many clothes,” I mutter, barely breaking contact.
He yanks his tie loose and starts on his buttons. I strip my t-shirt off and toss it somewhere behind me not caring where it lands. Then Harper’s chest is bare, and holy shit, all that smooth golden skin stretched over hard muscle.
“Like what you see?” he drawls.
“You know damn well I do,” I shoot back. “But I’d like to see more.”
His body is a fucking masterpiece, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, abs that look like they were carved from marble, and thighs that could probably crush a man’s skull. A dusting of golden hair across his chest that narrows to a trail disappearing beneath his belt.
I want to follow that trail with my mouth. I want to see what else Harper is hiding under all that control.
When I reach for his belt buckle, his hands cover mine, stilling them. “Slow down. We’ve got all night.”
“Are you seriously telling me to be patient right now?” I complain.
“Yes, I am.” His mouth finds my neck, and I tilt my head to give him better access. My eyes flutter closed as he traces a path of fire with his lips and tongue, finding a spot just below my ear that makes me whimper.
He makes a compelling argument, but I think I can make a better one.
I reach down and palm the growing hardness in his slacks, feeling him throb beneath my hand.
A low growl rumbles through his chest and into mine.
When his hands grab my ass and haul me up with ease, I think he’s going to throw me down on the bed and forget the whole slow and patient thing—until we hear a whine and the soft padding of paws that can only mean one thing.
Melody. She came back.
“Not now!” I groan as the black hound enters the room.
Harper freezes with me in his arms as we both stare at the intruder. With the darkness around her and her in solid form, only her red eyes are visible. It isn’t even creepy since those eyes are going full puppy dog, begging to stay with us.
“Melody, my old room should be empty,” I say. “Go stay there tonight.”
Those eyes stay trained on us, not wavering.
“It’s better, you can have the whole bed to yourself,” I add.
Movement in the dark. I think her ears perk up.
“No, don’t tell her that!” Harper sets me back on the floor with an annoyed expression. “We talked about this, no dogs on the bed!”
“Well, she has to go somewhere, and she can’t stay here,” I reason out.
His mouth tightens and he doesn’t say anything else.
I translate this to mean that he doesn’t want to give up but would rather have sex than keep arguing with a dog.
He finally gives a nod, and Melody bounds happily through the wall to go claim my old bed for the night, all puffed up and proud of herself like she just won first prize at one of those snooty dog shows they show on TV.
“Where were we?” I ask and set to removing that frustrated expression off his face.
I strip off the rest of my clothes quickly and free my hair from the loose ponytail it’s tied back in. His jaw loses the tense edge and goes slack, eyes roaming my naked body. There we go.
His hands and mouth are on me the next second, lips kissing down my neck and across my shoulders while his hands map out my body and move down my torso.
“Keep going,” I encourage, arching into him. One hand drifts close to the tip of my hardening cock—then goes back up, caressing my skin without any hurry. Damn it. He’s found his patience again.
I manage to get his belt off and pants undone before he’s grabbing my hands in one of his own to stop me—hey, there we go—but then he just sets them on his shoulders and brings his mouth to my chest to start kissing me there. Going slow even though he says he’s not an old man.
“You’re being so tame,” I say.
“Like domesticated? Is that a dog joke?”
“No, aren’t you gonna go all possessive alpha and throw me down on the bed and ravage my body?”
He pulls back to stare at me. “Uh, no?”
“Really?” While he’s somewhat distracted, I push his pants down his hips. “Look, I’m not the most well-versed in all the particulars of the supernatural world, but this is one topic I have some understanding of. I did my research.”
“Research?” he questions, finally helping me out and kicking off his shoes and then pants. “You researched alpha mating habits?”
“Yeah,” I say. “What, don’t look at me like that!”
The bastard keeps looking at me like that. “You did this after meeting me?”
“No,” I say. “Before.”
“Before you even knew werewolves were real?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what was your source?”
I fidget. It’s hard to act scholarly while completely naked but I try my best. “Just, you know. Very reputable, in-depth sources about the behavior of alpha wolf shifters.”
“By chance is this source women’s erotica?”
“No!” I say, shoving him back onto the bed and climbing on top of him. “Most of it was guy-on-guy.”
“Dodger, what?” He laughs, and I discover that I like that sound a lot. He rolls me under him and grabs my wrists, holding them over my head. This time he doesn’t let go and my stomach does a delicious little swoop. “This was a thing of yours.”
“Uh, yeah. Suddenly makes way more sense why an alpha werewolf is my intended,” I realize. “Fate looked at my browser history.” I wriggle under him. “Come on, wolfy. Show me what you’ve got.”
He stares down at me, thinking it over. “If I shoved you against the wall and demanded you take my alpha dick and do as I say, you would hit me.”
“No, I—”
“You totally would.”
“Okay, yes,” I say, not bothering to deny it more. But this is different because, “I give you permission.”
His eyes turn dark and hot, and his voice goes low and a little bit wicked. Fuck, so hot. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
Harper growls and reaches for the bedside table where he pulls out a bottle of lube.
I can’t even make fun of him for already unpacking his stuff even though we’ll only be here for the night.
He flips open the cap on the lube one-handed, slicking his fingers while his other hand keeps me pinned to the mattress.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, the casual way he holds me down.
Like it’s nothing to him, like my struggling means nothing against his strength. But fuck, it’s working for me.
“Touch yourself,” he commands, and the words send a jolt through me.
I reach down, wrapping my fingers around myself even as I question him. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Need this elsewhere.” He holds up his slick hand. “And this is making sure you behave.” His other hand presses my wrists down on the pillow, keeping me still. I buck up against his hold, testing him, and his grip tightens, pressing me back down with ease.
I stroke myself as slowly as I can endure, trying to match his pace as slick fingers circle my entrance. His eyes keep jumping, torn between watching me jack myself off and watching his fingers press into me. I buck up against him, trying to get more.
“Easy,” he says, pressing me back down with that same effortless strength. “Let me take care of you.”
“Then fucking take care of me already,” I growl.
Harper laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that I feel as much as hear. “You’re so damn impatient,” he huffs, but then he’s working two fingers deeper now. When he crooks them just right, I jerk against his hold, a strangled sound escaping my throat.
“There we go,” he murmurs, satisfaction rich in his voice. He repeats the motion, and I can’t stop the moan that tears out of me.
“Fuck!” I cry out, bucking wildly against his hold. His hand on my wrist tightens, making it even better.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he says. “All spread out for me, fighting and wanting more at the same time.”
I want to snap back with something witty, but his fingers twist inside me and all that comes out is another embarrassing whimper.
His fingers work in a slow, maddening rhythm. Every few thrusts, he grazes that spot inside me, and my whole body jerks against his hold. Each time, he pushes me back down with that impossible strength, and each time, it sends another jolt of heat straight to my cock.
“More,” I gasp, stroking myself faster. “I’m not gonna break.”
“No,” he agrees, his golden eyes flashing with something primal. “But I might make you beg.”
He punctuates this by driving his fingers deep and curling them right against my prostate. The sensation is so intense that my back arches off the bed or tries to—Harper’s hand on my wrists and body over mine keeps me firmly pinned down.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, but it sounds more like a plea than an insult.
“That’s not begging,” he points out, repeating the motion with his fingers again. “I think you can do better than that.”
I’m writhing now, caught between his fingers inside me and my own hand working my cock. Sweat slicks my skin and I’m making noises I didn’t know I could make, desperate and wild.
“Please,” I finally gasp when he hits that spot again and holds there, the pressure unrelenting. “Fuck, Harper, please!”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” I manage to get out between ragged breaths. “Need to come. Let me come.”
“Go ahead,” he says, pressing more firmly against my prostate. “Show me how good it feels.”
That’s all it takes. His permission combined with the relentless pressure inside me sends me hurtling over the edge.
My back arches and he releases my wrists and lets me move, watching as I fall apart under him.
I’m coming hard, spilling over my fist and onto my stomach, my body clenching around his fingers.
It’s more intense than anything I’ve ever felt, and Harper works me through it, easing the pressure but still moving gently inside me until the aftershocks subside and I collapse boneless against the mattress. Only then does he slowly withdraw his fingers.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, staring blankly at the ceiling as I try to remember how to form coherent thoughts. I can still feel the ghost of his grip on my wrists, a pleasant reminder of his strength.
“You good?” he asks, already knowing the answer if his smug expression is anything to go by.
“Fucking fantastic,” I admit, too blissed out to be anything but honest. “What about you? How do you want to get off?”
“Won’t take much,” he says. “Anything is fine.”
No, I don’t think so. Harper’s clearly a sweet and gentle kinda guy, but he still tapped into his growly alpha side to make my trashy literature fantasies come true. I’m going to return the favor.
“Come on,” I coax. “No judgement here. Tell me what you really want. What will drive you wild?”
Harper hesitates. “Maybe if I… on your…” he gets out, which isn’t quite enough.
“Should I blow you? Jerk you off?” When I bring a hand up to my chest, he tracks the movement and makes a gesture. Oh, it’s coming together. “Do you want to come on me?”
The flash in his eyes and the way his breath catches tell me I’ve hit the bullseye.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” I push, feeling a thrill at having figured him out. “You want to mark me up. Make a mess of me.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest, and I know I’ve got him. It’s oddly empowering, seeing the always-in-control Detective Harper coming undone because of me.
“Fuck yes,” I breathe, stretching languidly beneath him, showing off all the skin available to him. “Do it. Come all over me. My stomach, my chest, my face. Wherever you want.”
With one hand braced beside my head, the other works his cock in fast, desperate strokes. His eyes are locked on mine, then they roam hungrily over my body, taking in the mess I’ve already made of myself on my stomach.
“Do it,” I urge him, running my hands up his thighs, feeling the corded muscle trembling with restraint. “Come on, Harper. Mark me up however you want.”
He strokes himself faster, his breathing ragged. I can tell he’s close by the way his muscles tense, by the almost pained expression that crosses his face.
“That’s it,” I encourage. “Let go for me.”
“Fuck, Dodger.” Harper’s voice breaks as he comes, his release landing hot and thick across my skin in pulsing streaks.
I watch, transfixed, as pearly white ribbons paint my chest, some catching on my collarbone, others sliding down my ribs.
His hand keeps working his cock, milking every drop as his muscular body trembles above me.
The cords in his neck stand out, his jaw clenched as he watches where his come marks me.
On a hunch, I drag my fingers through a pool of his come near my left nipple, smearing it in slow circles.
“Christ,” he groans, the sound ripped from deep in his chest. His cock jerks in his grip, pulsing out a few more drops that land hot on my stomach.
His breathing is ragged, chest heaving as he watches me touch myself.
I reach for his free hand and guide it to my chest, pressing his palm against the slick mess he’s made of me.
His fingers spread wide, rubbing his release into my skin with possessive strokes.
I’ll probably need to shower before we sleep, but watching the effect it has on him is totally worth it.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. He collapses to one side, careful not to crush me, but keeps one arm thrown across my chest. “That was...”
“Yeah,” I agree, turning my head to look at him. His golden eyes are soft now, the predatory intensity faded into something warm and satisfied. “It was.”
We lay there for a few minutes, catching our breath. I’m sticky and messy and should probably be grossed out, but all I feel is a bone-deep contentment that I haven’t experienced in... well, maybe ever.