Page 18 of Alpha Varsity (Wolf Ridge High #5)

Chapter Eighteen

L otta

I wake in a state of deep pleasure. Asher’s scent curls all around me. I’m snuggled in the covers of my giant bed, still warm from our love-making last night.

Asher wrote a brilliant, thoughtful essay, surprising me not only with his understanding and knowledge of The Odyssey but also with his own creativity and story-telling ability. I rewarded him with a blowjob that turned his eyes bright green and made him tear one of my feather pillows in half, filling the casita with feathers.

I reach for my phone to see how much time I have before my alarm goes off and find I can’t move. Strong, warm arms engulf me.

Asher. My mate.

He stirs behind me, arms tightening with my movement. “Oh damn, I spent the night,” he murmurs against my skin. “Sorry, I’ll sneak out in a minute.” He nudges me onto my belly. “Right after I get inside your perfect pussy. ”

I spread my legs wide for him, sighing contentedly into the bedsheets.

Obviously, this is risky. The chance of one of my parents or a neighbor seeing him leave my place is so much higher when it’s light out, but I can’t find it in me to care.

It feels too good to have Asher’s rapidly hardening cock sliding between my legs, pressing against my entrance. I lift my ass, and he enters me, stroking inside with slow, languid movements.

I hum a low incantation of enjoyment.

Asher rolls us to our sides and continues the long, slow strokes. Then he brings his fingertip to my clit. I’m too relaxed from sleep to come, but it feels glorious when he traces a light circle there. Asher doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to come, either. He holds my hip to thrust up into me as he nibbles on my neck.

“Yum,” I murmur.

“Mmm.” There’s a wolfy growl to his voice. He picks up the intensity of his thrusts, fingers tightening on my hip.

“Get up here.” He rolls to his back, so I’m straddling his hips. “Work for me, sweetheart.” He grips my ass and urges me over his dick. My hands fall to his shoulders. I’m dripping wet, grinding my clit down on him as I slide forward and back.

“More,” he commands.

The slackness of my muscles vanishes. Tension coils in my low belly, and my breath quickens.

Asher’s eyes glow green.

“I see your wolf,” I pant.

“I see yours.” He holds my hips still and thrusts up into me a dozen times then pulls me forward and back over him again. I’m getting close.

“Give it to me.” He reaches up and pinches one of my nipples, rolling and tugging it, making me squeeze around his dick with the answer tug below my waist. “Give it all to me.”

I don’t know if he means my orgasm or my life.

At this moment, I’m inclined to give him both, which should terrify me but instead makes me feel like I’m sailing on the downslope of a rollercoaster.

I bounce over his cock, head thrown back, then brace one hand against the headboard and go to town, riding as fast as I can.

“That’s it.” When I break the rhythm, he rolls us on the big bed, so I’m on my back, and he’s above me and drives into me. “Now you’re going to feel me.”

I laugh through my pants. “Like I wasn’t feeling you before?”

He flicks his brows and thrusts in hard, holding the side of my neck to keep my head from driving into the headboard.

“Yes!” I gasp.

Asher gives it to me hard but, somehow, also loving. Attentive. So different from the rough, cold sex we began this relationship with. He’s killing me with kindness now, and it’s more than I can take.

I clutch at his shoulders, hook my ankles behind his back to urge him in with my legs. We work frantically together, like this climax will determine if we win or lose. Live or die.

And I’m living for Asher now.

Dying for him, too.

And I don’t even know yet what I’ve won and what I’ve lost. All I know is that I’m here for it. For all of it. Whatever this journey with Asher may bring.

“Come for me. Are you going to come for me like a good girl?” Asher’s words are rough and guttural. He’s about to lose control.

“Yes!” At the suggestion, my ass lifts and my internal muscles start to squeeze, wringing out pulses of pleasure.

Asher groans and thrusts in deep. I swear I feel the hot ribbons of his essence filling me as I orgasm. For the first time, I have that proprietary sense of wanting to keep the evidence of him being inside me. Wanting others to know this magnificent male wolf belongs to me now.

But of course, I can’t claim him. Not if I want to keep my job.

I feel the scrape of his tooth against my neck, and I shove him away before he sinks into my flesh. “Asher!” I pant. “You can’t.” I meet his green gaze and try to show him with mine that I understand. That I feel it, too. I want it, too. “My job,” I say.

He nods jerkily and pulls out, rolling me to my belly and slapping my ass. “I know, Teacher,” he says lightly. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine.”

Asher

After practice that afternoon, I walk Abe to his Range Rover, glancing over my shoulder toward the art studio as we walk. Lotta’s still in there, painting. She stays late every evening, long past when we leave football practice.

Since the picnic in the meadow, Lotta’s been softer. Sex is less frenetic. I stay around for a little while after or bring food over before. They aren’t long, intense dates, but there’s more ease between us. The brittleness is gone from our interactions.

When I’m away from her, I find myself craving more than her body. I crave conversation. Closeness. I want to consume all of Lotta James–not just her body but her mind, her soul.

But that would take trust. And trust is one thing we don’t have. I told Lotta we could restart. That means I have to block out the past from my mind. Forget that mile-deep wound she inflicted in my life.

And I’ve been thinking about what would make her trust me. I was thinking about how she was down last night about visiting galleries without any luck.

I’ve been a dick to her, I know. But it also occurred to me that Lotta doesn’t really trust anyone, and I suspect it has a lot to do with the way her parents fucked her up about her art.

They never should have made her choose between pack and career. And I shouldn’t say career, because art is more than a career to Lotta. It’s her soul. Her identity.

And that’s why I have to lean in there.

“What’s up?” Abe says when we’re out of earshot of anyone else.

“I wondered if I could talk to your mate about something.”

In a flash, Abe has me pinned against his vehicle, his eyes glowing with his wolf.

I laugh, holding up my hands. “Relax. It’s about Lotta. You can be there for protection if you want.”

Abe blinks, his wolf receding. He releases me and gives his head a shake to snap his neck. “Sorry, man. Just instinct.”

“Yeah. No worries. I get it.”

“So… yeah. Do you want to go over there now?”

I nod. “Did you tell her about me and Lotta?”

Abe frowns. “No, dude. You swore me to secrecy. ”

“Right, yeah. Thanks. I mean, we could tell her if you think she can keep a secret. Or I can just not use specifics.”

“She can keep a secret.” He sounds offended on her behalf. “Her twin doesn’t even know they’re bears.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll follow you over to her place?”

“Yeah. See you there.”

I climb on my bike and trail Abe to the mansion on Moongaze Hill where Lauren and Lincoln Sterling live. The twins moved here this school year from Manhattan, and their human and wealth status inspired instant hatred in all of Wolf Ridge. Now that Abe marked Lauren as his mate, though, they’re under his protection, and things have changed for them socially.

I follow Abe up to the hand-carved door. Inside, the sound of a piano stops playing, and Lauren comes to the door. Her soft gaze lands on Abe then skips to me, and she raises a quizzical brow.

“Hey, Lauren. I, uh, wondered if I could pick your brain about New York. And art stuff.”

Her brows pop, but she holds the door open wide. “Of course. Come on in.”

“Thanks.” I have no idea if this is a hare-brained idea or not, but I figure it’s worth a shot.

As we enter the house, the sounds of killer electric guitar playing come from the hallway. I jerk my thumb in that direction. “Is that your brother playing?”

Lauren sits on the couch, and Abe slides in right beside her, an arm draped behind her back. “Yeah. He’s pretty good.”

“And you were playing the piano?” I take a seat in the chair opposite them.

“Did you come here to flirt with my girl or ask art questions?” Abe cuts in, and I grin at his possessiveness. I hold my palms out. “Art questions. Chill, bro.”

Lauren rolls her eyes, but I can tell she loves it.

“So…this is probably a wild goose chase, but you’re sophisticated, and you came from New York. I wondered if you know anything about the New York art scene? Like how to get into galleries?” As I say the words, I realize how ridiculous I sound. “Nevermind, this was a dumb idea.” I stand.

“It’s not dumb.”

I sink back into the chair.

“We know some fairly big-time artists. Like the kind who sell paintings for fifty thousand dollars.”

“Whoa. Okay. So any advice?”

“I mean…are you thinking about art school?”

I let out a harsh laugh. “It’s not for me. She already graduated from the most prestigious art school in the country.”

“Ohhhh– she .” Lauren looks at me speculatively. “Ms. James.” She glances at Abe for confirmation.

“Would it be okay if we kept this between us?” I ask. “Abe knows, but that’s it.”

Lauren’s lips curve. “Scandalous.”

“Please, Lauren. It’s not my life that would be ruined if it got out.”

Lauren mimes locking her lips with a key. “My lips are sealed.” She throws the imaginary key over her shoulder. “So, yeah. There are gallery owners you can approach. I can ask my dad if he can connect me with one of our family friends to get some specific contacts if you want.”

“Really?” This went way better than expected. “Yeah. I mean, yes, please. I would really appreciate that, Lauren. ”

“No problem. I'll talk to my dad tonight at dinner and get back to you. Want me to text you?”

“No way you’re getting my girl’s phone number,” Abe interrupts.

Lauren rolls her eyes again. “We’ll group chat then.”

Lotta

The next night Asher meets me at school as I’m cleaning up to come home. “Am I late again?” I ask breathlessly when I open the locked door for him.

He picks me up to straddle his waist, the same way he did last time.

I wriggle. “The janitor’s still here,” I whisper, and he drops me immediately, sending me a boyish, dimpled grin that makes my insides melt.

“You’re not late, I just wanted to take some measurements.” He pulls a measuring tape from his jeans pocket as he strides down the hallway to my studio.

“Measurements?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna frame your paintings.”

I stop walking. “What?”

He turns and grins. “You heard me, Ms. James.” He tilts his head toward the studio. “I watched a Youtube video on how to DIY frames and save hundreds of dollars.”

I’m still melting. Scrape me off the floor where I’ve become a puddle.

I jog to catch up with him, looking around quickly for the janitor before I loop my arm through his. “Thank you. That would be amazing. My paintings do need frames. I mean, I don’t think that would’ve helped at the galleries–it was more a gatekeeping thing, but… ”

We’re inside the studio now, and Asher stops my words with a kiss.

I melt against him, my arms looping up around his neck, my body softening into his. “That was really thoughtful, Asher. Thank you.”

He kisses me again, but he’s a man with a mission. He strides back to the stack of paintings and starts to measure and inventory them. “These have names?” he asks, ripping a piece of paper from my sketchbook and thrusting it at me. “Will you write down the name of each one and a description, so I know which is which then I’ll put the dimensions underneath.”

It takes over an hour, but Asher doesn’t seem to mind. By the end of it, I have a list of every painting I’ve made over the last five years. The paintings I had to go into debt on my credit card to ship back here.

“Wow. I’ve produced a lot of art.” I look at the list. It feels satisfying. Not that I’m a quantity-over-quality kind of artist, but it’s nice to see what a long list of art I have available to sell, if I can ever get in a gallery.

“Have you thought about an Etsy store?” Asher asks.

My brows pop. I notice the same resistance rise up in me that I had when Olive suggested we visit galleries. Is it fear of putting myself out there? Or my wolf instinct telling me it’s a bad move?

It’s not like the gallery visits went well for me.

“Well, no…”

Asher shrugs. “I’m just thinking it might be another way to get your stuff out there. I mean, in addition to galleries and what-not.”

“Um, yeah. I mean, I don’t have the slightest idea how to go about that, but I should figure it out.”

“Yeah. Or I’ll figure it out, and you keep painting.” Asher folds the two-page list of paintings into squares and tucks it in his back pocket. “Also, I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?”

“Yep. It’s at Sweet Treats.”

“Aren’t they closed?”

“I have keys. Meet me in the back alley in fifteen minutes.” Asher ushers me out the door of the studio into the hall.

“I’ll beat you there,” I tease him.

“No chance of that, swee–Ms. James.” He winks at me, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone’s still around. “See you soon,” he mouths before jogging a few steps ahead and slipping out the door in front of me.

I pretend not to watch him start up his motorcycle as I walk to my car, but the entire time there’s a low happy buzz in my chest.

I’m loving this new level of comfort with Asher. It seems he’s finally forgiven me for getting his dad banished. I still don’t know how things are going to work for us–especially when he’s my student for the rest of the school year, and I want to leave Arizona when it’s over–but it’s starting to feel like the insurmountable problems are worth solving.

Maybe I’d be willing to stay. I don’t know.

My phone buzzes, and I glance down, thinking it might be from Asher.

It’s from Andy, though.

Andy:

I’m in Phoenix. Come swim at the resort–they have a lazy river.

My stomach twists. Even texting feels like an infidelity to Asher.

Me:

Not interested.

Andy:

Meeting at the gallery is tomorrow evening. You can tag along to my meeting.

I suck in a breath. My wolf says this is a bad idea. Artist me says sacrifices have to be made. Not with Andy–fuck that, never that–but I need to use the connections I have. I’m not afraid of saying no to Andy–even if he does seem to be acting illogically attached to me. I’m a shifter. No human man could ever force his will on me. Asher would hate me meeting with him, especially if he knew how much Andy has been up my skirt, but I’ll keep it short and business-like. End of story.

Me:

Send me the name and address.

Andy:

I’ll pick you up.

Me:

It’s not even remotely on the way.

Andy:

Come with me or don’t, babe.

Ugh. Really? What a pain in my ass. He’s purposely jerking my chain .

Me:

Fine. Pick me up at the school so I can put a few of my paintings in the car.

Andy:

Send the address.

I send the address and start the car, trying to ignore the queasiness in my belly. I should tell Asher.

I will tell him. But not until right before Andy comes. I don’t want his wolf to get crazy possessive and for him to act irrationally.

I shove down my misgivings as I turn the ignition and drive to the alley behind Sweet Treats. Once I’m there, I forget the whole thing because Asher’s leaning against the old brick building that used to be a mill. It belongs to Mrs. Angelson, who owns the bakery, but I don’t think she uses it for anything.

I climb out of the car.

Asher looks up and down the alleyway then beckons me to the door. He turns the knob when I get there and ushers me in.

I’ve looked in the windows in the past. It looked like old equipment and storage bins. I suck in a breath when I take in the scene now.

The place has been completely cleaned up. Storage bins are stacked neatly at one end, but at the other, drop cloths have been spread, and there’s an easel set up in front of the window.

“I thought you could use this as your studio. You know–if you don’t want to paint at school.” Asher flashes a grin.

His dimples break my heart. Literally split it right in two. I’m a puddle, warm and glowy and completely done-for. Asher has conquered my every resistance.

When I don’t say anything, he says, “Or no big deal if you prefer working at school.”

“No,” I say quickly, running to throw my arms around his waist. “I freaking love this. Thank you so much. Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, with Mrs. Angelson?”

“Totally sure. She’s happy to have it used by someone.” His hands slide down my back and grab my ass. “And it gives us another safe place to meet until the end of the school year.”

“Oh yeah?” I purr, sliding my hands under his shirt to get to bare skin. “Are you going to put a mattress in here?”

“I’ll figure something out.” His voice is a low growl as he picks me up by the waist and carries me toward the storeroom. “I need to taste that pussy of yours right now.”

“Uh uh,” I disagree. “I’m tasting you first tonight. Put me down, big guy. I’m going to show you my thanks.”