Chapter 4
It swung open before my knuckles made contact.
“Right on time,” Rafferty said, filling the doorway with his massive frame. He’d changed since the archives, now wearing a simple black t-shirt that stretched across his chest and shoulders like a second skin. “I like punctuality.”
He stepped back, gesturing for me to enter. I slipped past him into a narrow hallway, acutely aware of how close our bodies came to touching. The corridor led past storerooms to a small office at the back of the building.
“Welcome to my humble domain,” Rafferty announced, following me inside and closing the door with a soft click that somehow seemed very final.
The office was surprisingly cozy—a large oak desk dominated one wall, covered in papers and a laptop. Bookshelves lined another wall, filled with leather-bound volumes and ledgers. A comfortable-looking leather couch sat beneath a window overlooking the alley.
“Drink?” He was already pouring amber liquid into two glasses from a crystal decanter.
“Thank you.” I accepted the glass, using the moment to collect myself. “About those records—”
“All in good time, Professor.” He settled into the leather chair behind his desk, motioning for me to take the seat opposite. “First, I’m curious. What exactly are you hoping to find?”
I sipped the whiskey—the same honey variety from yesterday—and gathered my thoughts. “Historical context. Evidence of how the Guardian myth evolved. Its roots in Celtic folklore brought over by Irish immigrants, perhaps.”
Rafferty watched me over his glass, those green eyes unnervingly intense. “And if you found evidence suggesting the Guardians were real?”
“There’s no such thing as werewolves, Mr. O’Sullivan.”
“Rafferty,” he corrected automatically. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
I set down my glass. “If—hypothetically—I found compelling evidence of something unexplainable, I would examine it using scientific methodology until I identified the rational explanation.”
He leaned forward, his massive forearms resting on the desk. “You’re a man who needs to touch things to believe in them, aren’t you, Eliot?”
The way he said my name sent an inappropriate shiver down my spine. “I believe in evidence, yes.”
“Admirable.” He stood suddenly, circling the desk to lean against it directly in front of me, his thighs at my eye level. “And frustrating as hell.”
I looked up at him, trying to ignore how the position put me eye-level with the impressive bulge in his jeans. “I don’t understand.”
“Three days I’ve been trying to get your attention.” He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging. “Dropping things, spilling drinks, brushing against you at the bar. I even wore my tightest shirts.”
My mouth went dry. “I… noticed the shirts.”
His grin was triumphant. “Did you now?”
“It would be difficult not to,” I admitted. “You’re not exactly subtle.”
“Subtlety is overrated.” He uncrossed his arms and braced his hands on the desk edge, leaning down until his face was level with mine. “Let me be clear, then. I want you, Professor. Have since you walked into my pub with your fancy jacket and those glasses that make you look like sin in tweed.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “This is highly unprofessional. I’m here for research purposes.”
“Are you?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Because your heart’s racing, your pupils are dilated, and you’ve been staring at my mouth for the last five minutes.”
Had I? I couldn’t deny it. Nor could I deny the heat pooling in my groin, the way my breath shortened as he invaded my personal space.
“I don’t mix business with pleasure,” I said weakly.
“Liar.” His hand moved to cup my jaw, thumb brushing over my lower lip. “Tell me to stop, Eliot, and I will. But we both know you don’t want me to.”
He was right. God help me, he was right.
“This doesn’t mean I believe in werewolves,” I muttered, grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward me.
The laugh that rumbled through his chest was cut short as our lips collided. His mouth was hot, demanding, tasting of honey whiskey and something wild. Large hands framed my face, holding me steady as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine with expertise that made me groan.
I rose from the chair, unwilling to cede all control, and he responded by spinning us, lifting me effortlessly to sit on the edge of his desk. Papers scattered to the floor as he stepped between my thighs, pressing our bodies together from chest to groin.
Holy shit, I thought dizzily as his hands slid under my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. This is actually happening.
“Been thinking about undressing you since I saw you,” Rafferty growled against my throat, nipping at the sensitive skin below my ear. “All these proper buttons and layers… like unwrapping a present.”
His fingers made quick work of my shirt buttons, exposing my chest to his hungry gaze. I wasn’t as built as him—few men were—but regular swimming kept me reasonably fit. The appreciation in his eyes as he pushed the shirt open was gratifying.
“Look at you,” he murmured, hands exploring the newly exposed skin. “All lean muscle hiding under those professor clothes.”
I reached for the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly desperate to see what lay beneath. “Fair’s fair.”
He grinned, catching my hands and pressing them to his chest. “Go on, then.”
I pushed the fabric up slowly, revealing a torso that belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine. Defined abs, broad chest dusted with auburn hair that narrowed to a tantalizing trail disappearing into his jeans. I traced the contours with trembling fingers, learning the topography of him.
“Christ,” I breathed as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
“Like what you see, Professor?” His voice was smug.
Rather than answer, I leaned forward to press my mouth to his collarbone, tasting salt and man. His hands threaded through my hair, guiding me as I explored his chest with lips and tongue, discovering that his nipples were particularly sensitive when I scraped my teeth across them.
“Fuck,” he hissed, hips jerking forward against mine. The friction of our clothed erections made us both groan. “Need to taste more of you.”
In one fluid motion, he dropped to his knees before me, hands sliding up my thighs to my belt buckle.
He looked up, seeking permission, and I nodded, beyond words.
The sight of this magnificent man kneeling between my legs, those green eyes dark with desire, was almost enough to finish me then and there.
He unfastened my belt with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss. The button of my slacks followed, then the zipper, lowered tooth by tooth until I was ready to scream with impatience.
“Lift,” he commanded, and I raised my hips so he could tug my slacks and underwear down in one smooth motion. My erection sprang free, already leaking at the tip.
“Perfect,” he murmured, eyes fixed on my cock. “Just like I imagined.”
“You imagined this?” I managed, voice strangled as he wrapped one large hand around me.
“Every night since you walked in.” His thumb circled the head, spreading precome. “Thought about how you’d taste, the sounds you’d make.”
I didn’t have to wonder long. His tongue flicked out, lapping at the tip, and I nearly came off the desk. My hands found his shoulders, needing an anchor as he took me into the wet heat of his mouth. The sight of my cock disappearing between those perfect lips was almost too much.
“Rafferty,” I gasped as he hollowed his cheeks, creating suction that made my toes curl in my shoes. “I won’t last if you keep—”
He pulled off with an obscene pop. “Not done with you yet, Professor.” He rose, looming over me with a predatory smile. “Turn around.”
I hesitated, and he brushed his thumb across my lower lip. “Trust me?”
Strangely, I did. I slid off the desk on shaky legs and turned, facing the cluttered surface. His chest pressed against my back, one arm wrapping around my waist while the other swept papers and folders aside to create a clear space.
“Hands on the desk,” he instructed, his breath hot against my ear.
I complied, bracing myself on trembling arms. Behind me, I heard the clink of his belt buckle, the rasp of a zipper. Then his hands were on my hips, gripping firmly as he pressed against me, his cock hot and hard against the curve of my ass.
“Wanted to bend you over since I first saw you,” he growled, one hand sliding up my spine to between my shoulder blades, gently pressing me down until my chest touched the cool wood. “The things I’m going to do to you, Eliot…”
His cock slid between my thighs, teasing but not entering. I pushed back against him, suddenly desperate for more friction, more contact, more everything.
“Please,” I heard myself say, the word foreign on my usually composed tongue.
“Please what?” His hand slid around to grasp my cock again, stroking slowly. “Use your words, Professor.”
“Touch me,” I gasped. “More. Anything.”
His chuckle was dark and promising. “I intend to.”
The hand on my cock quickened its pace, his thumb swiping over the head on each upstroke, while his other hand explored my back, my sides, my ass. He leaned forward to press open-mouthed kisses to my shoulders, occasionally nipping with teeth that felt sharper than they should be.
“Going to make you come like this,” he murmured against my skin. “Want to watch you fall apart for me.”
His hips moved in rhythm with his hand, his cock sliding slickly between my thighs. The dual sensations of his hand on my cock and his hardness rubbing against me sent sparks shooting up my spine. I was close, so close, pressure building at the base of my spine.
“Rafferty,” I warned, voice breaking.
“Let go,” he commanded. “Show me, Eliot.”
My orgasm hit like a freight train, tearing a shout from my throat as I spilled over his fist and onto the desk. My arms gave way, and I collapsed forward, only his arm around my waist keeping me from sprawling completely.
Behind me, his movements became erratic, his breathing harsh. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous when you come,” he growled, then tensed against me with a deep, animalistic sound that was almost a howl as he found his own release.
For several long moments, we stayed frozen in that position, his body draped over mine, both of us panting. Finally, he straightened, helping me up and turning me to face him. His eyes were softer now, his smile gentle as he brushed my disheveled hair from my forehead.
“That was…” I began, then stopped, at a loss for words.
“A good start,” he finished, pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss to my lips. “And definitely better than research.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I suppose I’ll have to revise my methodology.”
He grinned, reaching for tissues from a box on the shelf to clean us both up. “Does that mean you’ll be extending your stay in Cloverton, Professor?”
Looking at him—flushed, disheveled, and impossibly handsome—I knew my carefully planned two-week research trip was about to become much longer.
“I believe further investigation is warranted,” I said solemnly, even as I reached for him again. “For academic integrity.”
His laugh echoed through the small office as he pulled me against his chest. “I’ll show you academic integrity, Dr. Byrne.”
And as his mouth descended on mine once more, I had to acknowledge that some mysteries might be worth leaving unsolved—at least for now.