Page 25 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Miley

I wake to the cruel, insistent beeping of my alarm, the shrill sound rudely yanking me from the solace of sleep.

I reach over to fumble for my phone on the nightstand, finding it by touch and hitting snooze.

Blissful silence falls, and for a few seconds I just lie there, cocooned in a tangle of sheets and half-remembered dreams. Then I roll onto my side and blink the sleep from my eyes, expecting…

something? Someone? My head feels fuzzy, thoughts slipping away as soon as I try to catch them.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off .

Paranoia kicks in and I sit up abruptly, glancing around the room.

No one’s here.

Obviously.

But I swear I vaguely remember rolling over in the middle of the night and pressing my face into the heat of a bare chest. Strong arms pulling me close, a heartbeat thudding steadily beneath my cheek.

The press of long legs tangling with mine, the shift of muscle as Ares curled around me.

His scent, thick and familiar, calming my wolf and lulling me back to sleep.

My brain immediately files that under absolute delusion.

A dream, maybe. He always sleeps on the couch, or on the floor beside it if he’s feeling dramatic.

I’ve never invited him into the bed with me, so the idea that I’d be snuggled up next to him while sleeping is impossible.

Especially given my lifelong policy of not letting men within three feet of me while unconscious .

Still, the dream lingers, even as I shake my head and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

For a second, I hesitate, looking back at the disturbed sheets on the other side of the mattress.

Other than his scent clinging to every inch of the apartment, there’s no actual evidence that he’s been here– no imprint of his body in the memory foam mattress, no stray copper hairs on the white pillowcase– but I check anyways.

Just to be sure.

My rational mind says it was just a dream, but my wild imagination is less convinced.

Dragging myself upright, I run my fingers through my hair, straighten my silk negligee, and pad barefoot to the door. The apartment is eerily silent as I exit the bedroom and make my way down the hall. Upon reaching the living room, I stop cold.

No Ares.

The couch is empty, the pillow lying sideways in the middle and the throw blanket tangled on the floor.

I stoop to pick it up and start folding it neatly, noticing how strangely quiet the apartment is.

There’s no sound of running water, no clatter or coffee mugs or obnoxious humming from the kitchen.

I feel a weird pang in my chest at the realization that Ares must’ve already left for the day.

Placing the folded blanket on the arm of the couch, I smooth it out with a palm, stepping back.

Maybe he got called out on an assignment or went to the gym to work out.

It’s not like I care where he goes or what he does, but the sudden absence of him in my morning routine feels unsettling, like the rhythm of my day is off beat.

I heave a sigh, staring at the empty couch for a second too long, then shuffle back toward the bedroom. I need a shower– something to clear the fog from my brain and maybe rinse off the remnants of that delusional, desperate, totally-not-real dream.

Even though I’m alone, I lock the bathroom door behind me automatically, turning the shower on and stripping down in front of the mirror.

My reflection looks as impressive as I feel– skin dull, hair in disarray, dark circles under my eyes from too many nights spent worrying about things I can’t control.

I stare at myself for a long moment, hands braced on the edge of the sink.

Then steam starts to rise from the shower and I move to pull open the glass door, stepping in under the spray.

The hot water scalds at first, but I like the sting. I tilt my face up and let it run down my body, steam continuing to rise around me. As the tension in my neck and shoulders gradually begins to loosen, my thoughts drift– dangerously– to Ares again.

The image of him jerking off in the shower still lives in my head rent free. The way his muscles bunched and flexed, the way he grinned shamelessly when we made eye contact, like getting caught was just another way to mess with my head.

The throb between my legs is almost immediate.

God, I’m a mess.

I press a palm against the cool tile and close my eyes, allowing my mind to continue its torturous wandering.

The images come fast and vivid– Ares dripping wet and naked, head bowed, one hand wrapped around his thick cock. The slow, deliberate stroke of his fist, eyes pressed closed and muscles coiled. The memory makes more than just my cheeks burn, fingers itching to satisfy the ache.

With one hand still pressed to the tile, my other drifts down my stomach, slow and tentative, like I’m still trying to convince myself this is just a normal shower and not a desperate attempt to exorcise my own filthy thoughts.

Sliding two fingers over the slick, hot skin of my mound, I circle my clit in slow, lazy spirals.

The relief is instant; so much so that I let out a shaky little sigh, half embarrassment and half pure need.

My wolf hums in approval, like this is what she’s been waiting for all along.

As my fingers dance, I picture the way Ares looked at me in the alley the night we met, eyes gone black with hunger.

I imagine him stepping into the shower behind me, water rolling off his broad chest as he grabs me by the hips and pulls me against him, sliding his hand over mine as if to say, let me .

Fuck, I want that.

My fingers move faster, circling tighter, pressure building in my core. My toes curl against the tile, hips rolling as my head lolls back, mouth falling open on a low moan.

If anyone heard me, I’d probably die. But there’s nobody here. Not even Ares.

And yet, the thought of him catching me like I caught him makes me even wetter.

I speed up, chasing the edge now, hips grinding in rhythm with the pulse of my heartbeat.

I imagine the rough heat of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble on my inner thighs.

The way he’d growl and claim and leave marks on my skin, just to prove I’m his.

It’s over almost before it starts– heat blooming, then bursting in a sharp, perfect wave that leaves me shaking and breathless. I collapse against the tile, water washing away the evidence as quickly as it came.

For a second, I just stand there, letting my heart rate slow and my mind settle. I’m not proud of how easily I got off on the thought of him, how much I needed it. But I do feel better. Lighter, a little less haunted.

I rinse off, then step out of the shower and towel myself dry, wrapping the fluffy white terrycloth around my body.

When I catch my reflection in the foggy mirror, there’s a flush in my cheeks and a softness in my eyes that wasn’t there earlier.

It’s amazing what a well-timed orgasm can do for stress relief.

Ensuring the towel is secure around my chest, I pull the door open and step back into the bedroom. I’m halfway to the closet, mentally planning what outfit to wear to yoga class this morning, when a familiar voice derails my entire train of thought.

“Morning, sunshine.”

I freeze mid-step, whipping toward the open bedroom door.

Ares is standing there with one arm braced casually against the frame, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans.

His white t-shirt stretches obscenely across his chest and biceps, the sleeves just barely containing the muscle underneath, and there’s a predatory gleam in his dark eyes that makes every nerve in my body go electric.

The sudden pivot toward him also loosens the tuck of my towel. Before I can stop it, the fabric slips free, sliding down my body to pool on the floor.

For a second, neither of us moves. Then his gaze drops– slowly, like he’s savoring every inch of my nudity.

His jaw ticks, dark eyes bleeding into molten gold as his wolf surges forward so quickly that a low growl vibrates in his chest. My own wolf perks up instantly, every hair standing on end, every instinct screaming for fight or flight.

Or fuck . There’s definitely a third option my wolf’s considering.

I dive for the towel, snatching it off the floor and clutching it to my chest. When I straighten, Ares isn’t in the doorway anymore. He’s already closed the distance between us in two silent steps, looming over me with a heated stare that threatens to incinerate me on the spot.

I can’t breathe. My heart’s galloping so fast that it’s a wonder he can’t see it beating under my skin.

“What are you doing?” I squeak, clutching the towel to my chest like a shield.

His eyes hold mine as he reaches out to drag his knuckles slowly up my bare arm from elbow to shoulder. Despite the way I’m trying to act unaffected, his touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth as velvet.

My pulse skips. There’s a moment– half a breath, really– where I seriously consider letting the towel fall again, just to see the way his pupils blow out and his wolf reacts. My own wolf aches for it, desperate to get another glimpse of his.

But then I remember who I am, and most importantly, the mess we’re currently entangled in. I scramble to wrap the towel around my body again, securing it at my chest and scowling up at him as I take a careful step backwards.

“Ever hear of personal space?” I grumble, doing my best to sound offended and not at all aroused.

Ares grins, all teeth. “With you? Not a chance.”

I glare at him, but my cheeks are burning so hot that I can feel the color all the way to my ears. To make matters worse, my wolf is basically doing somersaults, rolling over with her belly up and tongue lolling out. Traitor.