Chapter 22
When the Dog is Away, the Couple Will Play
Dodger
Am I dreaming or is this somehow the height of romance? In a secluded cabin with a gorgeous muscular werewolf, watching as he lights and stokes a fire. If you forget about the madman chasing me, this feels more like a romantic getaway than a hideout.
The logs in the fireplace are no competition, the very air between us crackles with possibility as he turns to face me, those golden alpha eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my heart stutter.
“Where’s the dog?” he rumbles out the question.
I blink. “That’s what you have to say? Thought you were gonna say something romantic.”
“I’d rather make sure we aren’t interrupted this time.”
“She’ll stay out of our way.” Probably. Hopefully. This is her chance to go nuts exploring the surrounding woods. Hopefully, lots of squirrels and other woodland creatures are busy entertaining her while being confused as hell by a part-ghost predator. “Does that mean you want me all to yourself?”
“Damn right,” he growls.
Okay, the intensity in his eyes that threatens to burn a hole through my clothes isn’t exactly romantic either, but it’s damn sexy and impossible to resist. I launch myself at him and crush my mouth against his.
Harper responds immediately but not with the same frantic energy I’m pouring into him.
His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs stroking over my cheekbones as he slows the kiss and takes control of it.
Well, hello there romance. His tongue slides against mine, exploring every inch of my mouth thoroughly like he’s mapping territory he plans to claim.
It’s maddening, the way he can reduce me to shivers with just a kiss and how he refuses to be rushed.
I nip at his bottom lip in frustration, but that only makes him smile against my mouth, his hands sliding down to my hips and holding me steady.
The strength in those hands—the same hands that held me down so effortlessly last time—make my knees weak.
“Impatient,” he murmurs against my lips.
“You’re too slow. Feeling tired, old man?” I tease. “It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it?”
Harper’s eyebrow arches. “It’s nine o’clock.”
“Exactly. You must be exhausted. You are fifty years older than me after all—”
“Fifteen years,” he objects sharply, but there’s amusement lurking behind the indignation.
“And we wouldn’t want you to hurt your back or break a hip.”
My fingers trace the exposed skin of his chest, and Harper’s low growl vibrates against my hand. “I’m a werewolf, Dodger. Fragility and fatigue aren’t exactly an issue.”
Got me there. Last time it seemed like he could have gone all night, held me down with one strong hand while the other worked me open, his fingers driving me to the edge over and over while I bucked and strained against his grip, powerless to do anything but take what he was giving me.
Tonight, however, I want to watch this powerful Alpha come apart under my touch.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You just relax and I’ll get down on my knees and do all the work.”
“That so?” His voice has dropped an octave, rough around the edges. “I won’t refuse.”
My hands explore the contours of his chest, trailing over defined pectorals, brushing against nipples that harden under my touch. His arousal stands out, proud and heavy between his thighs. My mouth waters at the sight of him.
“Bed,” I say, giving him a gentle push in the right direction. It’s piled high with pillows and quilts, looking impossibly inviting. “Sit.”
Harper doesn’t argue, just backs up until his calves hit the edge of the mattress and then sits, watching me with those golden eyes that seem to see right through me.
I get rid of my own clothes and step between his spread knees.
I run my fingers through his dark blond hair, marveling at its softness.
“You’re gorgeous,” I tell him, because it’s true, and because the faint flush that rises to his cheeks at the compliment is too adorable to resist.
I lean down and capture his mouth again, kissing him deep and slow, the way he kissed me earlier. I pour everything I can’t say into that kiss—my wonder at finding him, my relief that things are better than ever between us, my fear that this might not last.
The wooden floor is hard beneath my knees when I sink down, but I barely notice, too focused on the man in front of me and how his eyes darken as he watches me. I wrap my hand around his length, feeling the silky smooth skin over steel hardness.
When I give him one slow stroke, his eyelashes flutter for a second. I lower my mouth to Harper’s cock, and the first touch of my tongue against him draws a sharp intake of breath.
“Dodger… keep going…”
I take my time, tracing the length of him with long, slow licks from base to tip, mapping every vein and every ridge. I circle the crown with the tip of my tongue, collecting the first drops of precum that taste like salt and musk.
“Fuck. Yes…” His hands rest on the rumpled quilt, fingers curled into the fabric like he’s anchoring himself. “You… good…”
He’s big and thick and it’s a good thing I like a challenge. I set a steady rhythm, taking him deep, then swirling my tongue around the head on each pull back.
He growls and watches me, his eyes so dark I’d need a magnifying glass or shifter vision to find the remaining color there.
Not really surprising that Harper is a wolf of few words, but there are other options.
I pull back, his cock slipping from my mouth with a wet sound that echoes in the quiet cabin.
“You’re allowed to participate, you know,” I tell him, my voice rougher than I expected. I clear my throat. “Let me know if you’re enjoying yourself. Pull my hair, use your hips, anything.”
“Is that what you want?” he asks. “For me to pull your hair?”
My cock throbs at his words. “Yeah,” I admit. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Something flashes in his eyes, something primal and possessive that makes my skin prickle with anticipation.
I lean forward and take him back into my mouth.
His hand settles on top of my head, fingers threading through my long black hair.
He tugs just enough to send a pleasant sting across my scalp.
I lose myself in it, his cock filling my mouth and his hand controlling my movements.
His other hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing the stretched corner of my lips where they’re wrapped around him. “Good,” he murmurs, and the simple praise shouldn’t affect me so much, but it does, lighting me up from inside. “So good, Dodger.”
I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder, and Harper rewards me with another tug on my hair that sends electricity racing down my spine.
When I take him particularly deep, feeling him in my throat, his hand tightens in my hair and holds me there.
Just for a second, he’s already pulling back before I even register what’s happening.
“Is that okay?” he asks immediately.
“Mhmmm.” I take him in eagerly, mouth getting all messy with spit as I reach down to palm my cock, showing just how completely okay it is.
This time, he holds me there longer, enough that my lungs complain for air before he releases me. I pull back with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his cock.
“Fuck,” Harper breathes, the word so quiet I almost miss it. “Dodger...”
The sound of my name in his mouth, rough with desire, sends a bolt of heat straight to my groin.
His hand in my hair guides me now, setting a rhythm that’s faster and harder than before.
I surrender to it, letting him use my mouth, loving the way he’s slowly losing his iron control.
Each time I take him deep, he holds me there a little longer, testing my limits, seeing how much I can take.
And each time, I moan around him, encouraging him to push further.
“I’m close,” he warns.
“Come on my face,” I pull off to tell him, remembering how it drove him wild last time. “I want you to.”
Don’t need to tell him twice. His hand moves from my hair to his cock, wrapping around it and stroking quickly. His breathing grows more ragged, and it doesn’t take long for the first pulse of his release to hit my cheek.
He keeps stroking, working himself through it as his face contorts with pleasure. His eyes shutter closed before he forces them back open, not looking away from the mess he makes of me. His release paints my face in stripes, across my cheek, lips, and chin.
When the last pulse subsides, Harper lets go of himself, his hand dropping to his side. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes never leave my face. There’s something almost worshipful in his gaze as he takes in the evidence of his pleasure on my skin.
I’m acutely aware of my own arousal now, my cock hard and leaking between my thighs, begging for attention.
The wooden floor is hard beneath my knees, and my jaw aches pleasantly, but all I can think about is how badly I need release.
Harper looking at me like that—like I’m something wild and wonderful that he can’t quite believe is real—makes me want to climb into his lap and finish what we’ve started.
Harper seems to read my mind. “Your turn.”
My cock throbs at his words, at the promise in them, and I swallow hard, tasting him on my tongue as I do. He pulls me up a second later and his mouth crashes into mine as I settle into his lap.
Usually, my hook ups are quick, dirty, and to the point, a way to scratch an itch.
I don’t do slow. I don’t do sweet. I certainly don’t do making love.
But Harper’s hands slide up my back, tracing the bumps of my spine with a gentleness that belies the strength I know lives in those fingers, and I find myself melting into his touch.
His kiss softens, becoming less desperate and more sweet.
Maybe this tenderness thing isn’t so bad after all.
His thumb sweeps over the head of my cock, gathering the moisture there and using it to ease his strokes as he starts jacking me off.
His hand moves in a steady rhythm as his lips trace a path from my mouth to my jaw to the sensitive spot just below my ear.
A heat builds in my belly that spreads outward with each pass of his hand.
“Harper,” I gasp out.
He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’ve got you.”
And he does. His arm around my waist is solid and secure, holding me steady as his hand works me with a patience I’ve never experienced before.
His strokes remain maddeningly even, a rhythm that seems to keep me balanced on the edge for ages without pushing me over.
I focus on his hand and his breath and the building pleasure within me, letting it live inside me for as long as I can stand, enjoying every second of his attention.
“Please,” I finally whisper. “Harper, please.”
His hand tightens, his rhythm finally picking up.
“Let me see you,” he murmurs. “Let go for me, Dodger.”
The heat in my belly coils tighter, and I spill over his hand and onto our stomachs. It feels endless, each pulse drawing another shudder from me until I’m trembling and oversensitive, caught between wanting him to stop and never wanting this to end.
Harper holds me steady, his lips pressed to my temple, murmuring words I can’t quite make out through the roaring in my ears.
I collapse against him, my face tucked into the crook of his neck as I struggle to catch my breath.
As Harper pulls the quilt over us both, I rest my head on his chest, closing my eyes and surrendering to the protective circle of his arms and the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.