Page 14 of Alpha Varsity (Wolf Ridge High #5)

Chapter Fourteen

A sher

I slip out to Lotta’s place after football, dinner, and homework. The key to her apartment burned a hole in my pocket all day long, and sitting in her class was pure torture. She never looked at me–not once–but she blushed every time I got hard watching her strut around the classroom in her hip-hugging skirt and heeled sandals. She wore this fitted black crop top with a daisy over her tits that made me want to shred the shirt to ribbons and bury my face there.

Knowing that she knows she’s mine–that she’s admitted it, no matter how reluctantly– shifted things for me. I don’t have that sense of fury toward her.

The old anger and sense of betrayal still sits like a stone at the pit of my stomach, but it only gives me a sense of misgiving now–not full-on rage.

I stop outside Lotta’s door. Huh. I can tell she’s not around. Her jasmine scent isn’t there. But more than that–I just know. My wolf is already in sync with her. I try the key, anyway, just to be sure it works .

It does, but the place is empty. Her car isn’t parked under the carport next to her parents’ garage.

My wolf snarls at being denied. Is she doing this on purpose? Trying to take the reins back on our sexual encounters?

It doesn’t fit, though. Lotta felt different today. Less closed off. Her murmured thank you over the food was warm, and she proactively got me the key to her place.

Is she with her parents? No, the car wasn’t there, I remind myself.

Ah.

The image of her car still sitting in the parking lot when I left after football practice snaps into my mind. The night of the full moon, she’d shifted at school. She must stay there to paint.

It makes sense–the canvasses she uses are huge. They would take up half her one-room apartment here. Besides, sleeping with that scent of paint thinner would drive her wolf crazy.

And her wolf is already a little nuts.

I jog back up the wash and get on the Ducati. I drive to school, but hide the bike behind a dumpster and the back wall of the school. I can’t risk someone seeing it while driving by.

Lotta’s car is in the parking lot, and there’s a light on in the art studio. Knowing the doors to the school will be locked, I stand under the windows. I pick up a pebble to toss at the glass to get her attention but then go still, staring.

Lotta stands with her back to me, facing a large canvas. On the canvas is a giant wolf’s face.

My wolf’s face. Black fur with white around the muzzle and the chest. Bright green eyes.

My teeth are bared in a ferocious snarl, hackles raised, shoulders hunched like I’m about to pounce. Saliva–or maybe it’s the serum I would use to mark her–drips from my teeth.

My body reacts to the painting like I’ve been hit by another linebacker. A fiery cannonball explodes in my center, causing the stone in my stomach to shift and roll. My wolf thrills that I’m in the forefront of her mind. That he’s her muse.

“Whoa,” I murmur out loud.

Lotta startles at the sound of my voice. The windows are cracked for ventilation, and she whirls.

“Asher.”

I could live my whole life and not forget the sweetness of hearing her say my name. The breathless syllables seem to convey both thrill and nerves at finding me under the window.

She sets her paintbrush down. “I’ll let you in.”

I memorize those words, too, feeling there’s a metaphor in them. I don’t stop to question why I want her to let me in emotionally, when my heart is so firmly closed to her.

She’s my mate. That’s explanation enough.

I stay in the shadow of the building as I skirt around to the doors.

Lotta’s breathless when she opens them. Her feet are bare, and there’s a smear of paint on her wrist. Her honey-sweet scent assaults me, nearly making me drop to my knees to shove up that skirt of hers and press my tongue where she needs it most.

Instead, I pick her up, my forearm tucking under her ass to lift her hips above mine, so she’s straddling my waist. I carry her down the hallway to the art room. “Your never at school rule’s gonna get broken tonight,” I growl.

“Oh. ”

No protest. She wants it, too.

“If you make me stalk you, I’m gonna eat what I catch.”

“Mm.” Her legs tighten around my waist, the scent of her arousal driving me mad. “I lost track of time,” she says, squirming in my arms.

I absolutely love that she thinks she owes me an explanation. That she understands her tight little body belongs to me.

I do intend to own it in every way possible.

I slide a hand up under her shirt as I walk, my thumb slipping under her bra to strum her nipple.

She squeezes her legs again, and her butt muscles tighten with her excitement.

I take her into the art studio, straight to the table where I sit. The way she has the room sectioned off with her paintings, no one looking in from the outside would be able to see us, even with the lights on as they are.

“Asher.” That breathless intonation again.

She’s driving me insane. I sit her ass down at the edge of the table and pull her knees up. She drops back to her forearms, eyes glowing an electric blue.

“Wearing these little skirts to school is gonna get you fucked,” I warn. “Hard.” I tug her panties too hard, and the delicate satin and lace tear in half.

“Hey,” she protests, but I’m not having any rebuke from her.

I lick my middle three fingers and slap her pussy with them.

Her eyes widen.

“That’s right.” I push her knees toward her shoulders. She lies back, abandoning her perch on her forearms. “This pussy is getting spanked tonight.”

“Wh-wh…” Her lips work to form words, but she’s ap parently unable to complete them. I don’t know whether she was trying to ask why or what, but it doesn’t matter. I answer with another spank. I cradle my hand under one of her knees to hold it wide and start spanking her beautiful pussy with my three fingers.

Obviously, there’s no power behind the spanks. They don’t hurt her. But she’s startled by the sensation, and it gets her turned on fast. I slap her clit, getting it to swell and protrude. Her arousal drips down onto the table.

I’ll be thinking about that in every class until graduation, guaranteed.

“This is what happens when you get me blue-balled.” I deliver quick, light taps to her folds. She pants and mewls, her inner thighs starting to quake.

I hold both knees open and lower my face between her legs, hovering just above her sex. My mouth is open, my tongue poised to lick her, but I deliberately delay, letting her feel the heat of my breath.

She pushes back up on her elbows to look.

I extend my tongue slowly.

She starts to shake and shiver preemptively. Her body knows the pleasure I’m about to deliver. She’s on the edge, maybe even ready to orgasm at the first brush of my tongue.

I lock gazes with her, still making her wait.

She holds her breath.

“Come for me, Carlotta,” I murmur and flick her clit with the tip of my tongue.

That’s it. One flick. I want to see if it’s possible. If I can wind my mate up so tightly she goes off on my command.

“Aaah!” She cries out, reaching down to shove her own fingers inside her as she comes.

I only give her a few seconds to indulge, then I pick up her hips and spin her, dropping her onto her knees on the table. “Did you think your punishment was over, little wolf?”

She moans. She rests on one forearm, her fingers still between her legs, working out the last shivers of her orgasm. I let her self-pleasure as I spank her ass.

I don’t hold back. She’s a wolf–any pain she feels will be momentary, mixed up with sex and arousal. I turn her ass red, slapping one side, then the other, then right in the middle over her sweet pussy.

Then it’s too much for me. I need to be inside her. This time I was prepared–I brought a condom. I yank it out of my pocket and rip it open. “Turn around,” I order.

Lotta’s eyes are glazed and unfocused as she shakily turns onto her back again. “It’s okay,” she says, seeing the condom. “I saw Dr. Oakley yesterday. I should be safe by now.”

My wolf is enraged that he can’t get her pregnant. I’m just thrilled I get to come inside her.

I grab her hips and yank them right up to the edge of the table where I stand. I shove down my shorts and push in.

It’s even better this time. Every time is better with Lotta.

And I wanted her so badly I nearly weep to be inside. This is where I belong. Nestled between my mate’s thighs. I slide my hand up her shirt to fondle her breast as I bump her ass. Her legs rest against my trunk, ankles dancing over my shoulders.

“Oh.”

“Is that how you like it? You want me deep?” The dirty-talk just comes naturally.

“Yes,” she moans. “Deeper.”

Aw, fuck.

I grip the fronts of her thighs to hold her steady and drill in, making her take all of me, as deep as I can get it. The room spins. I want it to last forever, but I’m already too far gone to hold out much longer.

It doesn’t matter. Lotta’s clearly in the throes herself. Her eyes are rolling back in her head, chin arced up toward the ceiling in ecstasy.

“Are you going to come when you’re told?” I ask.

Her eyes try unsuccessfully to focus on mine.

“Hmm? Are you going to be a good girl and come when I tell you?”

“I…I…” She’s clearly incapable of speech now.

I already know she will. This body was built to submit to mine. Just like mine was built to serve hers.

Making her scream in pleasure isn’t just my right. It’s my destiny.

I find her nipple and pinch it, slowly tightening my hold until she squirms.

My balls draw up. I’m feverish and hot. “Now, Lotta,” I growl and shove in deep. My balls tighten and pump sending streams of hot cum into her.

I release my hold on Lotta’s nipple and give the side of her breast a light slap.

She comes, her slender hips bucking against mine, her slick juices mixing with my essence.

I slide my hand over her breast in more of a caress. I squeeze lightly, then stroke down her side to her waist.

She looks magnificent. Her raven hair spreads in a halo around her head. Her eyes are closed, berry lips parted in an “O” as she squeezes and milks my cock for more.

“That’s right,” I encourage, bumping my loins against her ass in short beats. “Take it all. Every last drop.”

She moans and hooks her ankles behind my back, pulling me in tight against her to grind out the last of her orgasm.

Lotta

There is nothing in the world like sex with Asher.

I had no idea it could get this good. And I have a feeling we’re just getting started.

It seems I’m helpless against refusing him. I vowed never to have sex with Asher at school again, yet, here I am, splayed out on one of my classroom’s tables with my panties torn to shreds on the floor.

As my brain returns, so do my misgivings about what we’re doing. About my inability to stop myself. About my feelings for Asher.

Because the fact is, I do have feelings.

I cared deeply for him when he was thirteen. Maybe my wolf knew him on some level, even without the presence of his wolf. What I feel now is that caring tangled with a hurricane of dangerous desire. And the more concerned I feel for him, the more pressure I feel to flee. To leave Wolf Ridge before it’s too late. Before I’m locked into something with him that I can never be free of.

I look away as I unlock my ankles from behind his back and use my feet on his thighs to push him away. Out of my peripheral vision, I see his upper lip curl into a snarl, but he accepts my abrupt change of heart. He walks to the sink and washes up as I slide off the table. I clean up with a few tissues from the tissue box, which I put in my purse to dispose of in the toilet later. Leaving any evidence of our tryst in the classroom would be disastrous.

Asher picks up my panties and pockets them. He saunters over to my studio area and stands with his arms folded, taking in the painting I’m working on.

“When did you start this one?”

“In August.”

He looks over, brows jumping in surprise.

“What? It takes a long time to complete a painting this size.”

“You hadn’t seen my wolf in August.”

I blink, not understanding. Then I stare at the wolf on the canvas and gasp, my hand clapping over my mouth.

It is Asher.

Why did I not put that together? In addition to painting my wolf, I’ve been painting variations of this giant black wolf since my sophomore year of college.

Since Asher would have transitioned to his wolf form.

I sway on my feet.

Asher circles an arm around my waist and pulls me up against his firm body. “They’re all of us,” he murmurs with awe in his voice. I scan all the paintings, large and small, stacked against the walls or on easels to see what he sees.

Fate, how did I miss it? Every painting features either a giant black male wolf or a slender white she-wolf, both with green eyes. I thought of them as yin and yang. To me, they represented the male and female wolf aspects. Sometimes I painted them together. Mostly apart. Sometimes I painted my face superimposed with my wolf’s or with the wolf’s face over my chest area.

I never, ever dreamed I was painting a specific male.

I never attached a human face to Asher’s wolf. Never imagined what that particular male looked like in human form.

How utterly bizarre that I didn’t note their similarities the first time I saw Asher on the full moon run. Even when I caught his cedar and soap scent and suspected he was my mate, I didn’t make the connection. I’m so out of touch with my wolf nature, I missed all the clues Fate was dropping for me.

“So you suppressed your wolf at art school, and this is how she emerged.” Asher’s voice is a comforting rumble above my head.

I don’t want to lean back against his sturdy support because it feels too good. I don’t want to get used to something I don’t get to keep. My body doesn’t obey my wishes. I’m melting into him, drinking in how marvelous it feels to have the corded muscles of his forearm holding me up.

“Yes. She became my artistic muse.”

Asher releases me and walks closer to examine a 48 x 48-inch painting of my wolf standing in a mountain meadow surrounded by delicate gold Mexican poppies. I had this painting in my bedroom in the dorm-style apartment I shared with Andy and two other seniors last year. Having her close kept me from feeling like I would go crazy.

“She looks…” He tilts his head, as if he’s trying to read the mind of my wolf on the canvas. “I think she’s mad at you.”

A choked sort of laugh comes out of my mouth. “Mad?” I walk to his side.

“Don’t you see it?”

“Well…I would’ve said she looks wise. Or strong.” I, too, tilt my head and try to see her through Asher’s eyes.

“Maybe she is mad.”

“She looks bitter.”

“I might call it repressed.”

“The repression made her bitter.”

That gnawing guilt I have over suppressing my wolf comes to the surface. I elbow him. “Don’t judge. ”

Asher picks me up and sits me atop the step ladder I use to paint the upper region of the canvas. I don’t see any of that resentment or rage he usually holds for me. Nor do I see the condemnation of my parents. His face is relaxed–his expression soft. When his hands come to rest lightly on the sides of my thighs, a trembling starts in the center of my being.

“It just seems like a…violence you enacted on yourself.”

I want to react with the habitual defensiveness I reserved for every conversation I had with my parents while I was in school, but Asher’s thumbs lightly stroke the tops of my thighs, and I can’t concentrate.

“What made you do it?”

I sweep my arm to indicate the paintings. “Art, Asher.”

His brows furrow. “You suppressed your wolf, so you could paint her?”

My laugh is bitter. “No. But I couldn’t have both. I chose art.”

Asher stares at me so long with a look of confusion that I start to question my own premise.

“My parents say shifters don’t care about art. They wanted me to stay and work at the brewery, like everyone else.”

A look of scorn flits over Asher’s face, and I want to hug him. “That’s…really dumb.”

“All the best art schools and art scenes are in major cities. Places where a wolf can’t shift and run. I applied to the Art Institute of Chicago, anyway, and I was lucky enough to be accepted.”

“Oka-ay.” Asher draws the word out, implying he still doesn’t get it.

“My parents forbade me from going. They said it would kill my wolf, but I was an adult. I pretty much gave them the middle finger and went anyway.”

Understanding dawns on Asher’s face. “They wouldn’t pay. That’s why you can’t afford to keep meat in the house.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them back. After hiding so much of who I was at college and feeling so caged, it feels incredible to be seen. Understood.

“I have student loans to pay off, and I couldn’t find a job that paid enough to cover rent in Chicago. Basically, my parents starved me out as punishment for disobeying them. My mom lured me back with this temporary art job, but when she figured out I was planning on using it to get back on my feet and return to the city, she informed me that I have to pay rent to stay in their casita.”

“What? That’s fucked up.”

“So I have no hope of paying down the loans. I’m just saving everything I earn to try to get started somewhere else.”

Asher glances toward the windows, as if realizing for the first time that we might be seen together, and lifts me down from the stepladder. “Well, I’m glad you have your art.”

He picks up a small six inch by six inch painting of our two wolves and studies it then walks away with it in his hand.

“What are you doing? You can’t take that!”

Asher turns and gives me a slow smirk. I hate what his dimples do to my insides.

“Oh, I’m taking, sweetheart. Or are you gonna make me give it back?” He waggles it in the air as if to tempt me.

I have no idea why his taunt makes me wet. Maybe just his call-out to our size and power difference. To the fact that he can do whatever he wants with me, whenever he chooses, and I won’t stop him because I crave it.

I should be mad at his disrespect, but instead, a ribbon of warmth that streaks through me.

Asher wants my art. It does have some value to a shifter.

More than that, it means something to him.

“Unlock your phone, Ms. James.” He’s been in my purse, apparently, because he has my phone. He flashes it up to my face, and the phone unlocks.

“I’m putting my number in here.” His thumbs move over the screen. “If you want me to take care of your needs, you’d better tell me where you’re gonna be.”

“I’m sorry. I will.” I screw up my courage as I walk over to him on the other side of the canvases. “Asher.” I owe him a bigger apology. The explanation I’ll hold back, but an apology is a start. “I just want to say that I’m sorry about what happened with your da–”

“Don’t.” The blast of cold from Asher is palpable. His upper lip curls into a snarl.

Even knowing he’s my mate and should be incapable of harming me, I take a step back. His power is intimidating.

“I’m putting that shit aside to take care of your wolf’s needs. If you open that box”–he shakes his head– “You don’t want to see me when I get mean.”