The Wild Wolf Pup (Zoe's Rescue Zoo #9)(77)
She averts her gaze toward the glass sitting offensively on the table, threatening to ruin our rewrite.
“Plot twist?” She questions softly.
I wrap both my arms around her small frame, joining her as she stares at the glass and the watermark forming around the bottom of it.
“I wouldn’t have drunk it,” I admit.
“Then why pour it?”
She unravels my arms from her waist, reaching for the glass. She stands up and walks to the bar, emptying the glass into the sink. I draw in a ragged breath, my emotions a jumbled mess. I don’t need her babysitting me, worrying I’m going to fuck up and tear this thing we got to shreds. I poured the drink hoping if I stared at it long enough, hard enough, I’d remember the pain she’s made me forget. I need to remind myself of what it feels like to be at the end of my rope so I can keep climbing it, fitting the pieces of the puzzle with each inch I climb.
I hoped the pain would scare me into discovering the link I was missing, the tiny detail that ties this shit together in a neat little package before it falls, without warning, on our doorstep.
She disappears under the bar, popping her head up a moment later holding two bottles of that non-alcoholic beer Reina keeps stocked in the fridge and makes her way back.
“Keys,” she demands, standing in front of me, leaning her ass against the table as she places one bottle on the table and holds out her hand. Lifting my hips, I tug the chain from my belt and hand her the bottle opener attached to it. She pops off the top of the beer she’s holding and hands it to me before opening the other for herself.
“Here’s to you,” I say huskily, touching the neck of my bottle to hers.
“Blackie,” she breathes as her hand pauses before the bottle touches her lips. “Do you need to go to a meeting? Why don’t you call your sobriety coach?”
I take a gulp of the bitter drink, curling my lip in disgust as it works its way down my throat before placing the bottle on the table beside her. My hands take hold of her hips, my fingers drum across her midriff as I rest my head against her chest.
“Girl, you have no idea, do you?” I mutter against her, pressing my lips against the knot of her shirt and jerk my head back to stare into her confused eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me, or my choices, because there is only one choice for me and that’s you. Drugs or you—it’s you. Booze or you—it’s still you. Name any lethal temptation and the answer will be you. Your life or mine—always yours. I choose you, Lace.”
Her fingers glide through my hair as she bends her head, rubbing the tip of her nose down the bridge of mine before she showers me with Eskimo kisses.
“Leather and Lace,” she whispers, a small smile blossoms across her pouty mouth and instantly I picture those lips around my cock. I grow hard, my dick straining against the zipper of my jeans painfully as her tongue traces her lower lip and her eyes travel mischievously around the empty clubhouse.
“Are we alone?”
“Cobra is floating around here somewhere,” I mutter, keeping my gaze pinned to her mouth.
“It’s been a while since you bent me over that desk in your room,” she teases.
“Never bent you over my desk, Lace, I fucked you right on top of it,” I growl, pulling back from her. I stand tall, towering over her as I brace my hands against the edge of the table and box her into my arms.
“You want to rewrite that scene too, girl?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly, gnawing on her lip. “You’re looking kind of tired,” she goads, knowing exactly what buttons to push. When your girl is thirteen years younger than you, you make sure your stamina is on point. I take the beer bottle from her hand, set it down beside mine and in one quick motion I lift her over my shoulder.
“Not even a little, and you’re keeping the fucking boots on,” I order as I climb the stairs and my hands glide over her ass, squeezing it.
“Why do you think I wore them?” She taunts.
All my worries fade away, consumed by the feral need burning inside of me to be one with my girl. I open the door to my room, kick it closed, and as I walk us to my desk I try to remember the last time I stayed here, but for the life of me I can’t.
I gently set Lacey on top of the old wooden piece of furniture, grab one of her legs and extend it, resting the sole of her boot against my chest as I work the zipper down the leather covering her leg. She braces her hands on the edge of the desk as she watches me remove one boot and then the other. Clutching them in my fist I jerk my chin and eye the leggings she’s wearing.
“Undress for me, girl,” I coax. “Show me what you got.”
“What about the boots? I thought you wanted me to keep them on,” she says coyly, looping her thumbs under the waistband of her pants.
“Undress for me, girl,” I repeat, pulling out the chair in front of the desk flipping it over so I straddle the back of it. Still holding onto her boots, I prop my chin on the back of the chair and watch as she slides off the desk, peeling the pants off her legs.
“Goddamn, girl,” I groan as she kicks off her pants and spins around. Her lingerie game is on point as she shows off the little number she was hiding under her clothes. I watch as she grabs onto the desk, glancing over her shoulder as she bends over and gives me a view of the G-string tucked between the cheeks of her ass.