Chapter 9
Morning found us tangled together, Milo half-sprawled across my chest, one leg thrown over mine. I woke first, taking a moment to simply watch him sleep. He looked younger, more vulnerable in repose, the usual nervous energy temporarily stilled.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyes fluttered open, immediately finding mine. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning,” I replied, unable to resist leaning down to kiss him softly.
He hummed happily against my lips, stretching like a cat—or more appropriately, like a wolf waking from a nap. “Time is it?”
“Early,” I told him, glancing at the bedside clock. “We don’t need to be up yet.”
“Good.” He snuggled closer, pressing a kiss to my chest. “Because I was having very interesting dreams about you.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of dreams?”
Instead of answering verbally, he slid lower, trailing kisses down my torso. When he reached the waistband of my boxers, he glanced up, a question in his eyes.
“You don’t have to,” I said, though my body was already responding enthusiastically to the implication.
“I want to,” he said simply. “I want to taste you. If that’s okay?”
The earnest request combined with the sight of him poised above my groin was almost too much. “Very okay,” I managed.
With careful movements, he tugged my boxers down, freeing my already hardening cock. His eyes widened slightly, and he licked his lips unconsciously.
“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted. “But I’ve thought about it. A lot.”
“Just do what feels right,” I encouraged, reaching down to stroke his hair. “And tell me if you want to stop.”
He nodded, then lowered his head, giving an experimental lick from base to tip that had me gasping. Encouraged by my reaction, he grew bolder, exploring with an enthusiasm that more than made up for any lack of technique.
When he finally took me into his mouth, the wet heat was almost overwhelming. I fought the urge to thrust, letting him set the pace as he discovered what worked. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me in place as he took me deeper.
“God, Milo,” I groaned, watching him through half-lidded eyes. “That’s—you’re amazing.”
He hummed in response, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure up my spine. He was a quick study, adjusting based on my reactions, finding a rhythm that had me teetering on the edge embarrassingly quickly.
“I’m close,” I warned, tugging gently at his hair. “If you don’t want to—”
He responded by taking me deeper, amber eyes locked on mine in clear determination. The sight of him—lips stretched around me, cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming—pushed me over the edge. I came with a shout, body arching off the bed.
Milo stayed with me through it, swallowing with only slight hesitation before releasing me and sitting back on his heels, looking pleased with himself.
“Was that okay?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a gesture that shouldn’t have been as erotic as it was.
I laughed weakly, still catching my breath. “Okay doesn’t begin to cover it. Come here.”
He moved up the bed, and I pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting myself on his tongue. My hand slid down his body, finding him hard and leaking.
“Your turn,” I murmured against his lips.
I rolled him onto his back, trailing kisses down his torso much as he had done to me. By the time I reached his cock, he was trembling with anticipation, small whimpers escaping him.
I took my time, wanting to make this good for him. His reactions were beautifully responsive—every lick, every suck drawing sounds that grew increasingly wolf-like in their intensity. When I finally took him fully into my mouth, his hands flew to my hair, not guiding but simply holding on.
“Finn,” he gasped, body arching. “I can’t—it’s too—”
I doubled my efforts, wanting to see him fall apart completely.
His thighs tensed on either side of my head, a warning of his approaching climax.
When he came with a cry that was half my name, half growl, I swallowed everything he gave, working him through the aftershocks until he tugged weakly at my hair.
I moved back up the bed, gathering his boneless form against me. He was breathing hard, small tremors still running through him.
“That was…” he managed between breaths. “I don’t have words.”
“Good,” I smiled, kissing his forehead. “Words are overrated anyway.”
We lay together in comfortable silence, hands lazily exploring, trading soft kisses. Eventually, the alarm on my phone reminded us of checkout time approaching.
The second day of the convention passed in a happy blur.
Everything felt different now—Milo’s casual touches, the private smiles we shared, the way he would occasionally lean in to whisper observations that made me laugh.
The crowds didn’t overwhelm him as much, as if our new connection somehow grounded him.
By the time we headed home that evening, both laden with comics and merchandise, exhaustion was setting in. Milo dozed in the passenger seat for most of the drive, waking only when we reached his apartment.
“Home sweet home,” I announced, pulling up to the curb.
He looked at the building, then at me, hesitation clear in his expression. “Would you… want to come in? Just for a little while?”
“I’d like that,” I said, realizing I wasn’t ready for our weekend to end either.
His apartment was sparsely furnished but cozy, with a surprising number of books and comics neatly arranged on simple shelves.
What caught my attention, though, was the corner of the living room that had been transformed into what could only be described as a nest—blankets and pillows arranged in a circular formation, with what looked like some of my old t-shirts woven into the structure.
Milo followed my gaze and had the grace to look embarrassed. “That’s, um… a wolf thing. We make dens. It helps me sleep.”
“Are those my shirts?” I asked, recognizing a faded comic convention tee from years ago.
His blush deepened. “You left some at the store. They smell like you. It’s… comforting.”
Instead of being weird, I found it endearing. “Milo the shirt thief. Who would have guessed?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I would have asked, but explaining why I wanted your clothes seemed awkward.”
“Slightly less awkward than me discovering your shirt shrine, I suppose.”
“It’s not a shrine!” he protested. “It’s a comfort nest. Totally different.”
I laughed, pulling him into my arms. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”
He made a face. “Wolves aren’t supposed to be cute. We’re supposed to be fearsome predators.”
“Mmm, terrifying,” I agreed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m quaking in my boots.”
His response was to nip at my jaw, just hard enough to make me gasp. “Don’t mock the wolf,” he warned, though his eyes were playful.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmured, lowering my head to capture his lips.
What began as a playful kiss quickly deepened, the intensity of the weekend catching up to us. Milo’s hands slipped under my shirt, exploring with newfound confidence.
“Stay tonight?” he asked against my lips. “Please?”
“Are you sure?” I pulled back slightly to see his face. “We don’t have to rush anything.”
His expression grew serious. “I’ve spent most of my life in wolf form, Finn. Now that I’ve found something—someone—that makes me want to be human, I don’t want to waste time with unnecessary caution.”
The simple honesty of his statement took my breath away. “When you put it that way, how can I refuse?”
His smile was answer enough.
Later, tangled together in his nest of blankets (which was surprisingly comfortable), I watched moonlight play across Milo’s sleeping face.
One day, I would need to process the fact that I was falling for a wolf shifter who stole my shirts and couldn’t operate a coffee machine.
But for now, with his warm weight pressed against me and his soft breath against my neck, all I could think was how perfectly he fit—not just against my body, but into my life.
The orderly, predictable existence I’d carefully maintained had been thoroughly disrupted, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.