Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(4)
He should just grope her in the hallway, lift the keycard from her purse, and send her on her way with a spank on the ass and a reminder not to solicit strangers in dark alleys. But something about Little Red intrigued him.
Maybe it’d just been too long since he’d gotten laid, and she seemed oh so ready, willing, and able. He was meeting up with LT and Malachi for breakfast, so he had some time to kill.
Or that was what he told himself as he followed Little Red—what kind of name was Will for a girl?—to the service elevator. She must work here to have such access. She was dressed too cute to be housekeeping; maybe a hostess or cocktail waitress? If he could get to the executive level…
To his shock, she pushed one of the upper buttons, but then she turned and plastered herself to him. Damn, he was getting lucky in so many ways tonight.
The flick of her tongue over his lips took his attention off the ascending numbers, and it wasn’t until the door chimed that he realized they’d arrived. This girl knew how to use that sassy mouth. She didn’t even need to breathe.
He backed her out of the elevator, still lip-locked. They ricocheted off the table next to the elevator, almost knocking off the huge vase of real flowers. She huffed a husky laugh into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole like the beast he was. As if she knew the steps of a dance he didn’t, she steered them down the hall. He was dimly aware of the lux carpeting silencing their footsteps and the low sconce lights casting a mellow glow across the subtly gleaming walls. Maybe she knew of an awesome, private supply closet up here.
She walked them into a doorway, her spine slamming up against lock. Or would have if he hadn’t braced his hand to catch them. God, she was wild and reckless. And he loved it.
The latch gave way under his palm, and they stumbled into the room that her keycard had unlocked.
It was one of the suites, decked out in silky white fabrics and shiny gold accents gleaming richly in the light of the entryway chandelier. Seriously, a f*cking chandelier. The bouquet on the table in the wide entry was even bigger than the one by the elevator, and a little banner above the flowers said, “Last Week! Sold Out!” The overpowering fragrance made him sneeze.
He balked. “What the hell?”
“Are you allergic? I can throw them out on the balcony.”
“I’m not allergic.” He sneezed again. “Whose room is this?”
“Does it matter?” She ran her hands up his chest, her lashes fluttering down then up again as she stared into his eyes. “We’re not in the alley, so you can f*ck me now.”
She slung her purse onto the table, spilling out the contents including the keycard, the pack of cigarettes, and an accordion fold of condoms. She grabbed the condoms.
Okay, there was wild and reckless, and then there was just crazy.
She smirked at him. “We don’t have to use them all, of course.”
Oh, she knew how to play this game. It intrigued him. The wolf inside him quivered with anticipation of the chase—he’d been hunted before, but he’d never wanted to get caught like he did now.
“You must’ve been a girl scout,” he said. “Always prepared.”
“I just know what I want.”
“And what is that?” He stalked toward her.
She retreated deeper into the room, dangling the condoms like bait. “Tonight? You.”
“I’m honored.”
“Don’t bother. Just be naked.”
He rumbled in his throat. “I like a bold girl.”
“I like strong, silent types.”
“Well, I guess we don’t get everything we want.” He pounced.
She let out a muffled shriek as he lifted her off her feet. She wasn’t a little thing, but she’d asked for strong so that’s what he gave her. And she had all the soft, tasty curves his wolf was panting to explore.
“What’s our play word?” he murmured.
“Moonshine,” she answered promptly.
He dropped her.
She shrieked again, louder this time, and bounced as her ass hit the thick cushions of the big L-shaped couch in the middle of the room.
He smirked back. “Just wanted you to know you can trust me.”
She glared up at him, still clutching the condoms. “I already knew that or you wouldn’t be here.”
He loomed over her. “You shouldn’t be so sure of yourself.”
“I’m not,” she whispered. “I’m so not. But about this…I’m right.”
He nodded once. “True enough.” He reached over his shoulder to grab the back of his T-shirt and stripped it off over his head, breaking eye contact for just a split second.
In that moment, her gaze had dropped to his forearm. “Nice ink.”
He frowned. Blending into a densely populated part of Georgia, his pack was small, diffuse, and circumspect, and their markings were nothing flashy, just obvious enough to proclaim their affiliation to each other. She shouldn’t have even noticed the sigil, much less commented on it.
“Oh, this old thing?” He dropped one knee to the couch beside her thigh. “You got anything pretty you want to show me?”
She hesitated then reached for the zipper on the heavy flannel overshirt. She eased it down, revealing a very revealing cinched and fitted tube top thingie—what did they call them? A bustier. Hot damn, emphasis on the hot. The only lights came from the doorway entry and the big window out the balcony, but even so, her top glittered like flashing teeth.