Page 15 of Can’t Help Growling in Love (Harmony Glen #9)
Chapter
Eleven
ASHER
Marcos’ eyebrows climb up the moment he steps through the door.
His nostrils widen as he inhales, and he glances from me to June and back.
I silently beg him not to say anything about the lingering scents of arousal, both mine and June’s.
We didn’t fuck here, that much should be clear, but I don’t want June to be uncomfortable.
Marcos proves he’s a good guy when he clears his throat and extends his hand toward June. “Hey, I’m Marcos.”
“June,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”
I take a battered old umbrella from the corner of the entryway and motion at June to pick up her things. She packed her damp gear and is still wearing my clothes, which is doing nothing to calm the fire blazing in my veins.
“We’ll get out of your hair,” I tell my minotaur friend. “Everything’s scheduled up until seven.”
“Thanks.” He sends me a look that says I’ll have to explain myself later. “You two have a nice morning.”
June waves at him, and I nudge her through the door, keeping the umbrella over her head.
It’s still pouring, and the wind gusts have us spattered with rain within seconds, so we rush toward my truck together.
June squeals as she steps in a puddle. I barely resist picking her up and carrying her.
The thought of her cold and wet sits wrong with me for some reason.
I pull the passenger-side door open for her.
“Wait, my bike!” She turns and lunges forward. “I need it to get to work tonight.”
No way is she riding a bike to work in this weather. But I don’t want to argue about this while we’re both getting soaked.
I catch her by the waist and guide her back toward the safety of the truck. “I’ll get it.”
She sends me an indecipherable look but clambers into the cabin, shoves a set of keys at me, and lets me close the door behind her.
I put the umbrella in the back of the truck, then unlock the bike and lift it in, too.
I’ll have to drive slowly because of all the water in the streets anyway, so I don’t bother securing it for the short ride.
“Oh my God, you’re all wet,” June exclaims, then reaches over to blot my face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I could have done that.”
I shake my head instinctively, then stop, flushing. I don’t often let my wolf mannerisms slip over into my human form, but this move is just practical. June doesn’t seem to mind, though.
She rummages through her bag and pulls out her damp t-shirt. “Here, use this. It’s better than nothing. I can’t believe you did that.”
I send her an amused smile, pushing her away gently. “I’ll be just as wet in a few minutes when we have to get from the car to the house. And I run warmer than you, remember?”
“Right.” She gives me a sheepish look. “Sorry, I just have a hard time accepting help. It’s something I’m working on.”
Humming in agreement, I reverse from the radio station’s driveway slowly, past Marcos’ truck, and back onto the street, which is almost empty at this early hour of the morning.
Some of the windows in the neighborhood are still dark, but the town is slowly waking up.
A delivery truck ahead of us sends a splash of water onto the sidewalk.
“You told me about your career,” June says suddenly, “but we never really dove into what your limits might be.”
I grip the steering wheel more tightly. “I don’t?—”
“Asher.” She reaches over and places her warm palm on my thigh. “I get that it’s weird to talk about this. Do you want me to start? You’ve shared a lot about yourself already.”
My breath rushes out on a long sigh. “Yeah. That would be great.”
“Okay.” June leans back against her seat. “So, um, I’ve had several partners up until now. One boyfriend of four months was a ghoul, all the rest were humans. No scary breakups or trauma to speak of.”
I force myself to keep my gaze on the road, even though I want to see June’s expressions. Her scent remains calm, no hint of agitation, which soothes me, too.
“As for my preferences, I don’t like pain, it’s just not my thing,” she says, flushing pink. “I don’t mind if you’d like to take the lead. I’m okay with pretty much anything, too, and I promise to tell you if anything feels weird.”
“That’s good,” I rumble. My voice has dropped an octave just from listening to her talk about this. I blow out a long breath and tell myself to calm the fuck down.
She fidgets for a moment, then adds, “I’ve got an implant. I figured we should discuss contraception. And I had my physical exam at work last month. All my tests were clean. I haven’t been with anyone since, but I can show you the paperwork if you’d like.”
I’m sweating now, because if I understand her correctly, she’s saying that she wants to have sex without condoms, and oh fuck , I’m picturing sinking my cock into her hot, tight pussy with nothing between us.
Forcing back the haze of lust, I choke out, “I haven’t been with anyone, and I was clean when I left the Army, of course, but I’ll get any tests you’d like.
Tomorrow—no, I can go tonight before work.
If they can fit me in.” Then I take a deep breath and add, “I’m good with everything you said about limits.
I don’t think pain is one of my kinks, either.
I’ll have to learn as we go for the rest.”
“That works. As long as we’re communicating, we’ll figure it out.” She grins at me. “Then we’re all set.”
All set for sex?
Gods, do people have this kind of conversation every time they want to sleep with someone new? I thought I’d stop by the drugstore and buy some condoms, since I don’t have any at home, but this better. So much better.
I take the last turn, and my house comes into view.
For the first time since I moved here, I cringe at the sight of it—or rather my yard.
I left it purposefully wild, so it almost blends with the forest the lot backs up against, but now it’s just unkempt.
With the dead, brown autumn grass, the overgrown brambles, and the untrimmed bushes lining the front edge of the property, it looks like a serial killer’s lair.
The rain and the dark clouds overhead aren’t helping matters either.
June hasn’t noticed it yet—or maybe she thinks the property is abandoned and is expecting us to stop at another house on the street, one that has a neatly manicured lawn and a cheerfully painted mailbox screwed on the fence.
“I’m a little worried about the size of you,” she’s saying. “When— if —we get to that, we’ll have to be extra careful, okay?”
Wait, what?
While I’ve been worrying about the state of my house, June has been planning ahead for sex, including the mechanics of it.
I stop the car in the street in front of my gate. “June.”
“It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever been with anyone as big as you.” She turns her gaze on me, her brown eyes wide. “That’s not a bad thing—believe me, it’s not. I can’t wait . But, um, slowly, okay?”
“June,” I repeat. “We’re here.”
She sits up straight. “Oh! I don’t know why I thought we’d have a longer drive. Is this your house?”
Squinting through the rain, she studies the overgrown bushes lining the driveway beyond the gate. She falls silent, and her scent gains a note of anxiety.
I really should have expected that.
“It’s only the front yard that’s like this,” I mutter. “There’s a nice lawn in the back, and I completely renovated the inside of the house. But this…”
She faces me again, her expression curious.
After a moment of silence, I admit, “I left the front wild so no one would think to bother me. I don’t like people up in my business.”
“People usually put up a Private Property sign,” she quips. “Or a nine-foot fence. I won’t lie, this looks…”
“Like the start of a horror movie?” I supply, hope plummeting.
“I was going to say intimidating,” she counters. “But if you have ingredients for breakfast in there, I’m willing to take a chance.”
I snort. “You’re sure?”
“Asher, I wouldn’t be alone in a car with you if I got anybad vibes from you.” She shrugs, though her scent is still a little spiky. “So I either have to trust you or not, and so far, my Spidey senses haven’t let me down yet.”
Reaching into the center console, I find the remote for the gate and press the button to get the metal to start rolling aside.
Once the driveway is clear, I turn onto the property and park close to the house so we’ll have the shortest run to the front door.
“Ready?” I ask June.
She puts on the hood of the borrowed sweatshirt, adorably swamped by it. “Ready.”
I throw open the door and make for the other side of the car to help June, but she hops down on her own and dashes for the covered front stoop, her shriek a mix of delight and surprise at the cold downpour.
I jog after her and reach around her to unlock the door. “The alarm’s on, give me a sec.”
She glances away from the electronic keypad pointedly, as if to give me privacy, and I appreciate that more than she knows. It’s exactly why I nudge her elbow to get her to turn around.
“The code is 1897,” I tell her. “I just changed it. It’s the year Dracula was first published.”
Her gaze softens. “You’re just telling me?”
“I want you to feel comfortable in my murder lair,” I murmur.
She looks so fucking pretty, her hair curling from inside her hood, her nose pink from the cold.
The cold .
Fuck, I’m standing here, staring at her like an idiot, while she’s freezing on my doorstep.
“Shit, sorry.” I punch in the code and throw the door open for her. “Welcome.”
June steps inside, her feet squishing in her shoes. She toes them off in the entryway, and I pick them up along with my own, then carry them to the living room, which I had reconstructed so almost the entire back wall is made of glass, windows opening up to the forest of the conservation area.