Page 7

Hamilton

R uby’s scent hits me the moment I open my bedroom door.

Earthy. Wild. Unmistakable.

My body reacts before my brain can catch up—cock twitching, heart pounding, nostrils flaring.

That fucking she-wolf has been in my room. And I know exactly who let her in.

“Percy,” I growl, slamming the door behind me.

I knew Percy had fucked her. I could smell her all over him last night. We share females often, which makes it easier; they sign an NDA and stay for a day or two while we let loose out of the public eye.

But this. This is different.

Percy always had a bleeding heart for every sob story in a hundred-mile radius. But letting that forest-dwelling menace into our home—into my personal space?

This crosses every line.

It took me every ounce of control yesterday not to punch his brains out.

What the fuck was he thinking?

I inhale again, deeper this time, tracking the invisible trail of her presence.

She touched my desk. Pawed through my papers, probably.

Lingered by my bookshelf, the nosy bitch.

But the strongest concentration hovers around my bed, where her scent clings to my now rumpled sheets.

She rolled in my fucking bed.

The mental image of Ruby writhing on my mattress, those long legs, twisting in my sheets, that infuriating smirk playing at her lips as she deliberately rubs her scent into my most private space.

My nails dig into my palms, leaving half-moon indentations in the flesh.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter, adjusting my suddenly too-tight slacks.

This isn’t the first time Ruby’s scent has driven me to distraction. That’s her specialty—getting under my skin, making my blood boil in all the wrong-right ways.

She’s been a thorn in my side. At first, she was just another tree-hugging activist until she revealed she was part of the Wolf Preservation Committee with ancestral ties to the Wolfstone land.

I should have known.

Wolves have always complicated my life, from the predator kids who bullied Prescott in elementary school, to the pack that literally blew down Grandfather’s first straw-construction houses.

Even my ex-fiancée left me for a wolf—“ more passionate, less controlling ,” she’d said in her break up letter, as if my self-discipline was somehow a character flaw.

Predators have taken what they’ve wanted without consequence or responsibility for generations. Now that prey species are finally thriving, building our own legacies and reclaiming our power, wolves like Ruby want to paint us as the villains.

As if success is something to apologize for.

I refuse to back down just because history’s tide has turned. We earned our place at the top through intelligence and hard work, not teeth and claws.

The fact that Ruby’s educated and intelligent, combined with her newspaper articles, protests, and petitions, makes me respect her—a little.

Prescott wanted to negotiate. Percy suggested we find another location.

But I’ve never been one to back down when I want something. And Wolfstone is prime real estate—too valuable to abandon because some mangy wolves claim it’s their “heritage.”

More than that, Wolfstone represents my vision for the future of Shiftown.

It’s not just another development—it’s the cornerstone of my ten-year expansion plan.

The integrated commercial district will connect our downtown properties to the lakeside developments, creating a continuous Porkwell presence across the city’s most valuable areas.

Father always said, “Own the arteries, not just the organs,” and Wolfstone is the critical artery that completes our network.

I loosen my tie and sit on the edge of the bed, right where her scent is strongest. The memory of our last confrontation bubbles up, unbidden and unwanted.

It was at the town hall meeting last month.

Ruby had been particularly vicious that night, calling our development company “ecological terrorists” and me personally a “corporate parasite.” She’d cornered me afterward in the empty hallway, those amber eyes flashing with righteous fury as she jabbed a finger into my chest.

“You think you can just bulldoze generations of wolf history for your luxury condos, Hamilton?” Her voice had been low, dangerous. “Wolf packs have protected those woods for centuries.”

“Wolf packs,” I’d sneered, “don’t own the land. We bought it legally.”

“Some things can’t be bought,” she’d shot back, stepping closer until I could feel her breath on my face. “Some things are sacred.”

She’d been so close that I could smell her breath and see the rapid pulse at her throat. Something in me had snapped—the culmination of months of frustration, heated arguments, and sleepless nights thinking about her impassioned speeches and flashing eyes.

I’d grabbed her by the neck, my large hand easily encircling her throat. Not squeezing—just holding her there, feeling her pulse jump against my palm.

“You need to learn when to shut your smart mouth,” I growled.

Her eyes had widened, but not with fear.

With challenge.

With heat.

And then I’d kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle or romantic.

It was angry and desperate and hungry—my mouth crashing against hers, my tusks scraping her lips. She’d kissed me back for one stunning, electric moment, her nails shifting into claws and digging into my shoulders.

Then she’d bitten my lower lip.

Hard enough to draw blood.

I’d jerked back, tasting copper, watching as she’d wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, those amber eyes never leaving mine.

“Try that again,” she’d said, voice husky and dangerous, “and I’ll bite something you’ll miss a lot more.”

Then she’d walked away, hips swaying with that perky ass of hers, leaving me hard and furious and confused as hell.

I’ve replayed that moment a hundred times. The way she didn’t cower like others do when I use my size and position to intimidate. The taste of her—wild berries and defiance.

No one challenges me like Ruby does.

No one makes me lose control.

It’s infuriating. And intoxicating.

I’m always in command. People defer to me, seek my approval. But Ruby? She looks at me like I’m just another obstacle to remove. She sees the pig, not the power.

And some twisted part of me responds to that authenticity.

I run a hand over my face now, feeling the phantom sting of her teeth. And now her scent is all over my bed, taunting me, reminding me of how she felt pressed against me for that brief, maddening moment.

Worse, the thought of Percy and her together—of her giving him what she denied me—makes me want to put my fist through a wall.

Percy, my brilliant, na?ve little brother.

Always the talented one, the creative one.

“Percy’s designs are revolutionary,” Father would say, while I managed the boring but essential business operations that kept us all wealthy.

Percy gets the accolades while I handle the messy realities—the difficult negotiations, the zoning fights, the financial stakes.

I’ve always protected him—from business rivals, from his own impractical idealism, from Father’s occasional disappointment when his artistic vision exceeded practical constraints. That’s my job as the eldest. I make the hard decisions so Percy can keep his hands clean and his conscience clear.

And how does he repay me? By bringing my nemesis into our home. By potentially compromising the biggest deal of my career. By betraying family loyalty for a piece of wolf tail.

“Fuck,” I mutter, flopping back onto my mattress. I’m not the jealous type.

Her scent envelops me immediately, stronger here, as if she’d lain back against my pillows.

I loosen my belt, no longer fighting the inevitable. My hand slides beneath my waistband, grasping my cock.

It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she reduces me to this—a rutting, mindless animal.

Me. Hamilton J. CEO of Porkwell Corp. The pig who graduated at the top of his class. The pig who owns most of Shiftown world, reduced to jerking off like a teenager because a wolf activist decided to mark her territory in my bedroom.

“I hate you,” I whisper to the empty room as I stroke myself roughly from base to tip.

My imagination supplies vivid details—Ruby sprawled across my bed, watching me with those challenging eyes. Ruby shedding her clothes to reveal her luscious body beneath. Ruby’s claws marking my back, her sharp teeth grazing my throat.

I kick off my slacks entirely, freeing my cock to the cool air of the room. I’m large—larger than most pigs. I would split her open. The thought brings a savage satisfaction. Would Ruby’s eyes widen at the sight? Would she still be so quick with her cutting remarks if she saw what I’m packing?

My hand moves faster, grip tightening. I imagine pushing her down onto this very bed, pinning those wrists that are so often raised in protest. In my fantasy, she doesn’t bite to hurt—she bites to mark, to claim.

She doesn’t fight me—she challenges me, meets me thrust for thrust, her wolf strength matching my pig bulk.

“Fucking hell,” I gasp, feeling the pressure building at the base of my spine.

I can almost hear her voice—not the public activist voice, but the lower, huskier tone. “Is this what you want, Hamilton? To fuck your enemy?”

Yes.

No.

I don’t know anymore.

My free hand grips the sheets where her scent is strongest, bringing them to my face. I inhale deeply as my hand works furiously over my cock.

The pressure builds beyond containing. I come with a strangled shout, spurting thick ropes across my stomach and chest. The intensity surprises me—it’s been a long time since I’ve come this hard.

For several moments, I just lie there, chest heaving, heart pounding. I just masturbated to the scent of the female actively trying to destroy my company.

The female who’s probably seduced my brother for information.

The female who bit me when I kissed her.

“Shit,” I mutter, reaching for the tissues on my nightstand.

As I clean myself up, my mind clears enough for strategic thinking.

Ruby was in my room for a reason. Probably looking for documents, for any advantage in her fight to save those woods.

The woods that represent millions in potential profit.

The woods that will cement Porkwell Development as the premier builder in the world.

I can’t let her win.

I won’t let her win.

No matter how good she smells, how hot that kiss was, or how incredible she looks when passionately defending her territory.

I toss the used tissues into the wastebasket and pull my slacks back on. My body feels temporarily sated, but my mind is racing.

I need to find what Ruby was looking for.

I need to warn Percy that she’s using him.

Most of all, I need to get her scent out of my room before I lose my fucking mind completely.