Page 30 of Heroes & Hitmen (Windy City Wolfpack #1)

Miley

I wake up alone, which at first blush feels like business as usual. Then my sleepy brain catches up and I remember a crucial detail from the night before– that Ares didn’t sleep on the couch. He slept in here, in this bed. With me .

Rolling over, I examine the space next to mine just to confirm it’s real. The sheets are rumpled, his scent clinging to them like a cloying perfume. It’s both comforting and alarming, which just about sums up my entire experience with Ares Raines.

I expected to wake up and find him sprawled out, occupying as much real estate as possible, long limbs flung in every direction.

But he’s not here. The only evidence he was is the tangle of sheets and his crumpled t-shirt still resting on the foot of the bed where he tossed it last night before climbing in beside me.

Weird. I don’t remember him leaving. Or how I ended up half on his chest and half off the side of the bed when I woke up in the middle of the night, like I tried to escape the trap of cuddling with him but lost the will halfway.

Flopping onto my back with a groan, I cover my face with my hands, the memories of last night creeping back in and flooding my brain with brilliant technicolor.

Another sexcapade in an alley. Real classy, Miley.

Embarrassment heats my cheeks as I scrub my hands down my face, flinching at the sound of a metallic clang from the direction of the kitchen.

I sit up with a start, brain still foggy.

My nose twitches as the scent of bacon registers, underscored by the aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the open door.

It’s more than enough to lure me out of bed. I swing my legs over the side, hit the bathroom, then run a brush through my hair. A few minutes later I’m following the smell down the hall, tripping over Ares’ abandoned shoes along the way and nearly faceplanting on the hardwood.

Graceful.

I have half a mind to tell him off for leaving his stuff lying around for me to trip over, but as I get closer to the kitchen, I realize bacon isn’t the only thing cooking. There’s something else, sweet and warm, like cinnamon and sugar. French toast, maybe? My mouth waters at the possibilities.

All speculation fades the second I step into the kitchen and see the real showstopper– the six-foot-something, copper-haired hunk of man standing at the stove with his back to me.

Ares’ shoulders shift as he flips bacon with ridiculous precision, muscles flexing like he’s being filmed for some kind of breakfast-themed thirst trap. And he’s also… okay. Wow.

He’s wearing my frilly pink apron.

And nothing else.

Well, boxer briefs. But that barely counts when his entire back, thighs, and arms are on full, tanned, glistening display.

My mouth runs dry in spite of how absurd he looks dressed in my apron– pastel pink with white lace trim, covered in little pink embroidered hearts.

A gift from my sister Jordan, meant to be a passive-aggressive joke about my ‘domestic goddess’ potential.

The man clearly has no shame, because he’s rocking it like it’s fashion.

Ares either senses me lurking in the doorway or hears the sound of my heart threatening to beat out of my chest, turning at the waist with a spatula in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. He hits me with a movie-star smile and my knees go a little weak.

“Morning, babe.”

He says it with his mouth, but his eyes do the heavy lifting, raking over my form with an intensity that makes goosebumps rise on my skin.

I point a finger at him to deflect from my reaction, snorting a laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“What, you don’t think pink’s my color?” he asks, looking down at himself and smoothing the front of the apron with a palm. It’s barely large enough to cover his abs, much less his entire torso.

Jesus.

“Very Martha Stewart,” I quip, trying to play it cool.

His lips spread into a grin as he sets down the spatula and strikes a pose. “Would you like your bacon crispy, or…” he trails off, striking another pose and flexing. “Extra crispy?”

I lose the fight against a laugh, the sound of it bubbling up from my throat.

Slapping a hand over my mouth to cover it, I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

“You’re such an idiot,” I mutter, aiming a smirk his way as I wander over to the counter and grab the coffee pot off the burner.

I pour myself a cup, add a shitload of caramel creamer, then take a cautious sip.

It’s sweet, scalding, and so strong my toes curl. I love it.

“Didn’t peg you for the domestic type,” I remark as I hop up to sit on the counter a few feet from the stove, watching Ares from behind the rim of my mug as he resumes flipping bacon.

“I’m not a gourmet chef or anything, but I know my way around a kitchen,” he replies with a shrug, glancing over at me and arching a brow. “You hungry?”

I nod, not trusting myself to answer without sounding like a pervert.

Ares plates up the bacon, then starts cracking some eggs into a bowl. I can’t help but watch the way his forearms tense with every motion, the efficiency of every move. He works the whisk with the same concentration I imagine he must give a loaded rifle. It’s weirdly hot.

“So, do you cook breakfast for all the girls you sleep with?” I tease, voice a little rough.

He glances over at me, a smirk curling his lips. “Why, you regretting not inviting me into the bed sooner?”

“Thought you said life’s too short for regrets,” I fire back.

His smirk deepens. “Ah, so you do listen sometimes.”

“When it counts,” I say, wrapping my hands tighter around my coffee mug as I bring it to my mouth.

“But not when I say we’re really fated mates.”

“Don’t even start,” I sigh.

“I know you feel the pull,” he replies, voice smooth as velvet. “Why else would you have jumped my bones last night?”

“Did not,” I scoff, taking a sip .

“Did too. Not that I’m complaining.” He sets the bowl of eggs on the edge of the counter, pivoting toward me with a devil-may-care grin. “I learned a little something about you when you seduced me in the alley.”

I nearly spit coffee across the kitchen, forcing myself to swallow it down. “Excuse me? I did not seduce you.”

“No?” he muses, arching a brow. “Well I’m not the one who unzipped my own pants in a public alley and started sucking dick.”

I make a strangled sound, forcing myself to set the coffee mug down on the counter before I hurl it at his head. “That is… a deeply misleading retelling of events.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he pivots back toward the stove and goes about pouring the eggs into a hot skillet. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you’re a freak in the sheets. I’ll let you keep up your prissy girl image as long as you’ll still be a dirty girl for me.”

He tosses me a wink, and I resist the urge to go full wolf and bite his damn head off.

“I’m not… I…” I sputter, the English language suddenly evading me.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Ares chuckles as he reaches for a spatula, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “It’s hot as fuck, babe. And it’s only natural that you’d let go and give into your true desires with your fated mate.”

I tip my head back, scrubbing a hand over my face in exasperation. “Here we go again.”

“You can’t deny the signs any more than I can,” he murmurs, pushing the eggs around the skillet with a spatula. “This insane attraction, the way I’m addicted to your scent, the way my wolf is possessive over you. The sparks…” He sidesteps and reaches out for me, grazing his fingertips up my arm.

I shiver involuntarily, jerking away. “Does this have something to do with what you think you learned about me last night?” I ask in a desperate bid to change the subject.

“Yeah,” he answers, still stirring the eggs as he turns to look at me. “I figured out your secret.”

I roll my eyes, tossing my hair over a shoulder. “Dare I ask?”

His lips slowly spread into a grin. “You’ve got a praise kink.”

“What?” I choke, body going still.

“You like being told you’re a good girl,” he replies, voice teasing but also… weirdly gentle. “Like, a lot. ”

My face flushes hot, which is pretty much a dead giveaway that he’s just hit the nail on the head. “That is so not true.”

Ares sets down the spatula, stepping in front of me and bracing his hands on the counter at either side of my hips, trapping me in. “No?” he asks, leaning in close and dropping his voice low. “So if I said you’re my good girl , it wouldn’t do anything for you?”

“It wouldn’t,” I grit out, jaw set tight.

He leans in even closer, until I can smell the coffee on his breath and the masculine scent of his skin. “Good girl,” he growls in a whisper.

My stomach swoops and my entire body flushes– cheeks, neck, chest, freaking all of it . I swear I feel my pupils dilate, heart taking off at a gallop.

He smiles smugly, pushing off the counter and taking a step backwards. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

I reach for my coffee mug, trying to hide my mortification behind it as I bring it to my lips.

“It makes sense,” Ares muses, returning to the stove and giving the eggs a stir as if this is just casual small talk.

“You’re always wound tight, always trying to remain in control.

So, it stands to reason that you crave being able to let everything go and hand someone else the reins when it’s on your own terms.” He flicks a smoldering glance in my direction.

“It’s sexy as hell, by the way. Ten out of ten. ”

“Shut up,” I mutter, still trying to hide behind my mug. I’m now thinking about last night in a whole new context, though– realizing how I came more and more undone as those filthy, delicious words fell from his lips.

Fuck, he’s not wrong. I totally have a praise kink.

I take another gulp of coffee as I try to re-center, hoping my face isn’t half as red as it feels right now. Meanwhile, Ares scoops a bite of eggs onto a fork, stepping over and holding it to my mouth.

“Taste.”