Page 38 of A Wolf’s Wound

Hannah

Ryder’s muscles tense beneath my hands. Holy shit, there’s a lot of muscle there. I’d enjoy it more if I weren’t preparing to sprint away from danger.

“Ryder?”

The howling fades, and he slumps back down to the ground. His head hits the dirt carelessly.

“Just the morning rounds.”

“Oh.”

Awkwardly, I realize I’m still on top of him. His brown eyes flick to mine. I’ve always heard people—mostly April—going on and on about heat and electricity and chemistry. I never got it until now. It’s like the world shrinks down to his stare and his body beneath mine.

We almost kissed.

My eyes slowly trail down to his stubbled jaw, and I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to bite it. His hands, hovering just beside my hips, grab hold. Searing heat flares at his touch, and I can’t help the way my breath hitches.

Then he picks me up and practically dumps me to his side.

Shadow, high in the trees, chitters like he’s laughing at me. I scramble to my feet, my cheeks flaming, and brush any lingering leaves and dirt off my body. Ryder stands beside me, too close, and then takes a hasty step backward.

My thighs still tingle where he touched me.

Ryder clears his throat. “I’m going for a run. With everyone out during morning rounds, you should get back safely by yourself. I’ll catch you back at the cabin later.”

He won’t even meet my eyes.

And he does go for a run, starting right there. Like he’s fleeing from a crime. Then he strips off his shirt mid-stride and I realize he’s going for a run as a wolf. My shoes, old sneakers I’ve had for years, become intensely interesting until he disappears from my line of sight.

“Come on, Shadow!” I need to get back to the cottage and just think for a minute. An hour. Maybe all day. “Shadow!”

Shadow wants to jump around the trees, but I bribe him with the promise of pasta, and he finally hops down the tree and skips ahead of me as I walk.

Ryder almost kissed me, and I almost let him. And with the pull between us, I don’t think it would have stopped with just kissing. He would have pulled me up with his strong arms and pinned me against one of the trees and—

“Schshthha,” Shadow complains. Oh, God, he’s clanging around in the cabinet, banging Ryder’s family’s pots and pans around.

“Out,” I chide.

Sometimes he’s worse than a toddler, I swear. But I did promise him pasta, and cooking up some early lunch helps me keep my mind off Ryder, even if the memory of his bare back keeps flashing in my mind at inopportune times.

But lunch can only take so long, and a raccoon isn’t the best conversation partner.

I put away the spaghetti. I wash the dishes. I dry the dishes. I pace. I sit.

I finally admit I might want Ryder. Not out loud—that feels like a step too far, still. But internally. I can’t deny the heat that pools in my stomach whenever I look at him, or the way my spine still shivers whenever I remember the feeling of his stubbled jaw barely grazing against my neck.

I want him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it. So instead of imagining how good we’d be together, like my body seems inclined to do, I marinate some chicken and cut veggies for a salad.

When he returns that evening, I’m just setting the table. It’s almost gratifying how hungrily he looks at it, at least until he turns that hungry look on me.

“You want some?” My mouth is dry.

He nods. His eyes are burning me, alive and wild.

I fix him a plate, set it on the table, and then the lights go out with a jolt. Thunder rolls in the background, the only light in the cottage from the random flashes of lightning outside.

We eat in silence, but I hardly taste it.

He’s not looking at me now, but the look in his eyes before is burned into my brain.

Something hangs in the air between us, as electric as the storm raging outside.

The fine hairs on my arm stand on end, and Ryder is gripping his fork a touch too tightly, his shoulders hunched and tense over his plate.

Finally, we finish, standing up from the table at the same time. I stumble into him in the dark, and his hand goes to the small of my back, guiding me upright.

Pressed against him tightly, I can feel the outline of his cock against my stomach.

“Ryder—”

The plates crash from our hands as he pulls me in for a kiss. Relief sears through me, hot as a brand, and my hands curl into his hair to pull him closer. That’s all I can think about— closer. More.

His stubbled jaw trails down my neck, and he tugs my shirt down.

I don’t have time to suck in a breath before his tongue rolls against my nipple.

My knees buckle, but Ryder’s already pulling me up onto the kitchen counter.

More dishes clatter around us, but I barely hear them.

I can hardly hear the rain pouring down outside either.

“Fuck, I want you,” he pants against my ear. His fingers fumble for the button of my jeans, and I arch my ass up to help him take them off. “You have no idea.”

I have some idea, but I can’t tell him that because I can no longer speak.

He’s already brought his mouth back down, and as soon as my panties are on the floor, his lips are there.

Fuck , who taught him how to do this? Uncharacteristic jealousy wars with nearly blinding desire.

He works my clit so well I barely feel his fingers hook inside me.

My stomach tightens, I’m so close. Frantically, I twist my fingers into his hair and pull him up until his mouth is back on mine. Our kiss is wild, teeth and half-open mouths. We’re both too far gone for technique.

“Please, please, please,” I chant, my hands going to his belt. “Pl—”

The slide of leather against fabric echoes in the kitchen, and then I hear his pants unzip. Two seconds later, he’s inside me.

My mouth stretches open in a silent scream, and Ryder’s hand shakes against my hip. He pulls me closer slowly, but the restraint is taking a toll. Our foreheads are pressed together, and his strangled groan rumbles against my jaw.

“You good?” His voice is deeper than I’ve heard it before. Raspy.

I nod.

“Thank fuck.”

He tries to move slowly at first, but I can’t stand it. I don’t have much room to maneuver between him and the kitchen counter, but I writhe until he picks me up with a shout. God, he’s strong. All I can do is cling to his neck and hold on for the ride.

It feels like I’m flying, like I’m in space. And the tightness in my stomach explodes into waves of nearly blinding pleasure as he thrusts once and then twice before his entire body goes stiff against mine.

Ryder staggers back against the counter, his jeans still caught around his ankles. He looks stunned.

I don’t know what I am. I feel like I’ve just been caught in some sort of whirlwind. I’m surrounded by broken plates and crumpled clothes. What the hell do you even say after something like this?

Ryder pulls out, leaving me feeling empty. The counter presses against my back, but I don’t move. I don’t think I can. I can’t feel my legs.

Ryder scrubs a hand over his face and levels a serious look at me that sends my heart thudding. But then he says the last thing I expect.

“How do you feel about mates?”