Chapter 5—Wolfe
The powerful currents of water continued to pull Wolfe down no matter how violently he thrashed his limbs to gain control.
At least he thought he was being pressed lower into the depths of the water; Wolfe couldn’t fully grasp his surroundings.
He only focused on locating the small, garbled voice of a child calling his name.
He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move? His muscles were stifled both from fear and the merciless torrent of water pummeling him. He forced his arms to push and pull through the water that felt more like sludge.
Keep pushing.
Keep seeking.
Wolfe listened carefully to pinpoint the whereabouts of the little girl, but the sound of her voice began to fade. The whimsical lilt in the child’s voice slowly diminished until the only sound Wolfe could hear was the pounding of his own heart.
I’m too late.
Too fucking late.
“Noooo!” Wolfe roared.
He jackknifed into an upright position in his bed taking in massive gulps of air. He couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen and quickly escalated to hyperventilation mode.
Wolfe ripped at the sheet that had pooled around his waist and slung his legs over the side of the bed. He rested his forearms on his thick thighs and bowed his head.
Slow breaths. Deep, slow breaths, he mentally demanded of himself.
Wolfe worked to clear his mind of all the shit that stacked up in there and focused on his breathing.
Once his heartrate slowed and he was certain he wouldn’t pass out from his panic attack, Wolfe pushed up from the bed and padded his way to the bathroom.
He stood in front of the massive mirror mounted above the sink and stared at his naked reflection.
Dreams were always bad this time of year. Or rather, nightmares.
It was expected, like Dante’s endless string of dad jokes.
That random thought brought a brief quirk of a smile to Wolfe’s hardened face. It quickly faded. At times like this he couldn’t help but wonder if he even deserved a friend like Dante. He wondered if he deserved anything good in his life at all.
Running cold water in the polished copper basin, a color that resembled the highlights in Aspen’s hair, Wolfe splashed the icy liquid over his face.
Wolfe stopped mid-splash, hovered over the sink, wondering why images of Aspen peppered his mind and consumed his senses at arbitrary times, like now when he slogged through knee-deep, fucked-up memories.
Memories that would only be tamped down by satisfying his base needs, Wolfe reminded himself.
Wolfe didn’t date. He didn’t do hook-ups with bunnies, either.
He periodically had sex with a handful of women who were completely in sync with the very specific and very limited interaction Wolfe provided.
They were fully invested in their careers and not looking for anything more than the multiple orgasms he always delivered.
After finding his own pleasure, following their own tumbles into the abyss of bliss, Wolfe would make his leave back to his house where he would finally find dreamless sleep.
Unfortunately, images of the ethereal baker with soft curves in all the right places and the sweetest mouth he longed to kiss easily outpaced any memories of the women he’d fucked in the past.
Flipping the water off in the sink, Wolfe closed his eyes and replayed the moment in the bakery when he saw Aspen soar through the air after tripping on the ridiculous baseboard hazard that should have never existed in the first place.
His heart stopped when she lay motionless on the floor of her shop.
Help her.
Save her.
The demands screamed in his brain – demands he’d heard once before - and he instantly rushed to her aid to lift her from the floor.
Light as a snowflake, Wolfe effortlessly raised her from her prone position and pressed her against his body.
He suspended her lithe frame, her toes nowhere near the floor, so they were nose-to-nose.
The hairs on his arm lifted in sexual awareness and the word mine replaced any previous internal mantra Wolfe had circulated in his brain.
Alabaster skin free of any make-up, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her slim nose and onto her narrow cheeks, gave Aspen the appearance of pure innocence. Wolfe immediately longed to corrupt her and take her twelve different ways to Sunday.
He was content on holding her close to his body, reveling in her touch as she clung to his shoulders.
He could imagine the surprise that would register in her eyes the color of green sea glass if he would have dragged her legs higher so they wrapped around his waist and he pushed himself against her pussy, baking apron and clothes be damned.
Wolfe didn’t speak while he’d held her in her bakery that morning. He wordlessly consumed her body with his eyes and longed for a taste of her sweets, and not the concoctions baking in the massive oven in the back of the shop.
Taking a deep inhale on the off chance he could magically conjure up Aspen to the present, Wolfe realized he was clutching his rock-hard cock and stroked himself to the memories of the gorgeous woman from earlier in the day.
He couldn’t remember the last time he jacked himself, but there was no way he was going to stop knowing how close Aspen felt at this moment, which brought him a mysterious sense of peace.
Wolfe once again closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling of her narrow waist and all of her soft creamy skin he knew rested beneath her trim-fitting waffle-patterned shirt the same color as her hunter green apron.
In his fantasy world, her coppery-colored hair swung across her shoulders and onto his own in a wild array instead of the military-type mass secured against her head.
The silky strands would get caught in the stubble of his beard while he licked and sucked the column of her neck eliciting moans of pleasure from her luscious mouth.
In an instant the fantasy shifted, and that glorious hair was spread across his pillow as he drove his throbbing and rigid cock into her warm, welcoming center.
His heart pounded as he pictured Aspen wrapping her trim, legs-for-miles around his back, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Her eyes would widen, their depths pulling him deeper as she’d climb the ladder of arousal to the pinnacle of release. With a shriek, she’d clench her sweet pussy around him and draw Wolfe even closer, their bodies melding as one in that moment.
Wolfe couldn’t hold back. With a guttural groan, his release jutted in violent streams across his belly.
The silence of Wolfe’s house surrounded him.
Slowly stroking himself, Wolfe grabbed giant gulps of air, very similar to his state when he awakened from his nightmare, only this time a sense of serenity washed over him.
Wolfe cleaned himself and headed back toward his large bed. It was a focal point in the master bedroom of his house that dated back to the turn of the twentieth century.
Sliding under the sheet, the silvery light from the summer moon spilled across his bared torso.
It came through the windowpanes of the French doors that led to the second-story balcony.
An entirely new wave of thoughts entered his mind.
They weren’t frenzied, he wasn’t drowning, and no voices called to him.
It was quite the opposite, really. No, his brain danced around images of one sexy boss baker shimmying around her kitchen while making delectable sweets, which caused Wolfe to feel the muscles of his face pull his lips upward into something that felt foreign: a genuine smile.
Fortunately, sleep consumed him before he needed to explore that new and curious phenomena.
***
LUCK WAS ON WOLFE’S side as he found a parking spot in front of the boss baker’s shop. Now he wouldn’t have to schlep his tools and materials through the streets of downtown Denver to reach his destination.
Aspen’s bakery was in a prime position near high rise office spots in downtown Denver, which led him to wonder why she seemed to be struggling with her finances. She may be feeling the pinch from a franchise coffee shop that operated a few storefronts away from her bakery. He wasn’t sure.
Regardless, he wouldn’t ponder it too deeply. He had a refreshing, almost dreamless night of sleep, with the exception of snippets of visions of he and Aspen lying on a beach—thank fuck he wasn’t actually in the ocean water—soaking up the sun on some tropical island.
Wolfe wasn’t stupid enough to explore the reason behind Aspen making an appearance in his dreams or the fact she played the leading role in his pre-sleep jack session. Nope, he focused on the job he offered to do.
Entering the shop, scents of baked goods once again surrounded him in a scrumptious wave of glorious goodness.
Out of habit, he inhaled deeply and let the incredible aroma satisfy his needs.
His teammates thought his vigilance of not consuming sweets was part of his rigid diet of clean eating, but no one knew the real reason he stayed away from tasty treats.
In fact, it was twenty years to the day since he tasted anything that resembled a dessert, other than the pussy he enjoyed and sampled on a regular basis.
Shaking his head to rid his mind of images of women—or one badass baker in particular—Wolfe sidled up to the counter where he found Mia deep in her own thoughts.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“Holy crap, Wolfe. You scared me to death,” Mia gasped.
“What’s going on in that amazing brain of yours, that you wouldn’t hear me enter the store, squirt?” Wolfe asked, but knew what, or rather who she was thinking about based on the sparks that flew between she and the rookie the last time they were in the bakery.
“I’m just focusing on cleaning the steam wand on the espresso machine before making your... cappuccino? That’s what you like, right? And what are you doing here, by the way?”
Wolfe hoisted up the weathered, camel-colored toolbelt he hadn’t yet slung around his waist. “Cappuccino would be great, and I’m here to help BB fix some things around her shop. It’s obvious there’s stuff to do.”
“Awwww. One cappuccino coming up,” Mia said, before going to work on his drink. “And it’s really nice that you’re helping Aspen fix some of the broken things around here.”
Because Wolfe was a dick and didn’t want to talk about himself, or whatever force drew him into Aspen’s orbit, he quickly changed the subject.
“By the way, who were you thinking about when I came in, little one?”
“No one,” she denied, but the length of time she held the ‘o’ on no told him otherwise.
“Right,” Wolfe drawled in the voice of Dr. Evil from Austin Powers fame.
“You looked like you were a million miles away with a dreamy expression, like the ones girls get when they see Justin Bieber perform. It sorta matched the way you were looking at the rook when he came to the shop the other day. If I was a betting man, I’d say you’re into the brainiac from Hahvaaahd. ”
“Am not.” Mia seemed to double-down in her denial. “And Justin Bieber? Ew, just ew.”
Denial just ain’t a river in Egypt, little one.
“I get it, sweet, I really do. You’re young.
He’s young, blah, blah, blah, but you need to be careful,” Wolfe paused to take a sip of the frothy drink and to let the kid ponder what would come next.
“Your bro is oblivious to many things around him, but you know how he is about the team, especially when it comes to his baby sister. That combination could spell disaster for you and the rook if you got together and things went south. Comprendé?”
He almost felt bad putting the half-pint on the spot, but the warning was necessary. Besides, it gave him the opportunity to ensure he deflected from the kid’s own poking and prodding at his reasons for running to the baker’s shop like a puppy looking for a bone, or cupcake crumbs.
Yep. Denial just ain’t a river in Egypt.