Page 19

HARLEY

T hree days passed in remarkable peace. I knew I was here for Dylan, but being at Stephan’s house felt like being on vacation.

My room was unbelievably luxurious, like I was staying in a five-star hotel resort.

The bed was huge with a plush, dark bedspread.

Thick rugs were layered over the hardwood, and the en suite was all sleek, white marble.

Just as he’d promised, Stephan gave me space.

He was in and out for work, but when he was home, he was in the yard with Dylan practicing partial shifting, throwing a football around, or wading in the cool water of the lake.

I stocked the kitchen with my preferred groceries and spent my days cooking and catching up on my emails from work.

I hadn’t seen my mother since we left her place. She hadn’t called, either. By this point, I was used to her silent treatment. I hadn’t realized how much her judgment was weighing on me until I was out of her house.

The only real challenge was being around Stephan so much.

That first morning, he’d come downstairs in a skintight, thin tank top that showed off his broad, tattooed chest and strong arms, and those gray sweatpants that left literally nothing to the imagination.

Being in his house meant being around Stephan at his most casual, his most comfortable.

I was like a moth bumping into lamps. He was so magnetic, I kept drifting toward him when I wasn’t paying attention.

It was easier when he was with Dylan. Knowing Dylan was safe and happy with Stephan gave me a reprieve from my own distracting desire.

The sun was low in the sky as I closed my laptop.

I stood from the dining room table and stretched my arms over my head, then turned toward the big glass windows.

In the backyard, Dylan was running faster than I’d ever seen him move, chasing the football as Stephan threw it in a high arc.

The late afternoon sun glinted off Dylan’s onyx claws.

He’d gotten more comfortable with partial shifting.

But why the heck was he trying to catch a football with them out?

Stephan was going to go through a lot of footballs that way…

I padded on bare feet into the kitchen. I had gotten used to spending my days in comfy shorts and big sweatshirts, the perfect combination for the almost-warm days. I began to put together dinner: roast chicken, some stir-fried vegetables, and a salad.

It was nice cooking in this big kitchen with its fancy appliances. It was nice cooking for both Dylan and Stephan.

I was sliding the pan into the oven when the back door slid open. “Mom, I did it!”

“Did what?” I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and turned to smile at Dylan… And was greeted by a shirtless, sweaty Stephan.

At some point, Stephan had stripped off his shirt and slung the cotton over his shoulder.

His jeans hung low on his hips—too low for my sanity, honestly.

I was subjected to miles of bare, tattooed skin.

Muscle. Beads of sweat. He turned to face me and raked one hand through his tousled blond hair.

I was staring at his chest. His abs. The ink that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.

Then Dylan barreled into me like a train and grabbed me around the middle, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“I caught the football!”

“Haven’t you been catching the ball the past few days?” I asked.

“He did it with his claws out,” Stephan explained. He was eyeing me with something like amusement. “It’s an exercise in dexterity and control. Handling the ball without popping it.”

“That’s pretty cool, Dyl.” I raised my hand for a high-five, then thought better of it and pulled it away. “Wait, no claws now, right?”

Dylan laughed. “No claws!” He held up both of his human hands. We did a double high-five.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” I said. “Go clean up, you two.”

“Yes, Mom,” Dylan said. At the same time, Stephan said, “Yes, Harley,” in a low, warm voice.

That voice sent desire swirling through me. He saluted me with a playful smile, then followed Dylan upstairs. I turned back to the kitchen counter and suppressed a shiver. I heard his shower cut on, and I very deliberately turned my thoughts away from that and back to the meal I was finishing up.

To my relief, Stephan put on real clothes for dinner. Dylan’s excited narration of how his partial-shifting was going dominated the meal. After dinner, Dylan rushed to his room to play video games, and Stephan shooed me away from the dishes.

“You cooked,” he said. “The least I can do is clean up.”

“Well, you’re letting us stay here. I feel like I should be contributing more.”

Stephan shook his head. “It’s not a favor,” he said in that warm voice. “It’s a responsibility. You don’t need to contribute. Your being here is enough.”

My heart rate picked up. He made it sound so easy. Like Dylan and I could just be here. Like we belonged.

But we didn’t belong here. Our lives were back in Atlanta.

I had to remember that these days together, however nice they were, were a vacation for all of us.

Stephan was still a gang leader who had spent seven years in prison.

Not exactly perfect father material. I couldn’t let my desire and old feelings overwhelm the reality of the situation.

The more attached I got, the more it would hurt when we had to leave.

“I’ve got a little more work to do tonight,” I said. “So, uh, I’ll be in my room.”

Stephan’s smile faltered, but it was barely perceptible. I only noticed because I’d spent three days watching him. “Sure. I’ll finish up here.”

I didn’t have work to do, but I was more than eager to retreat into the cozy safety of my room.

I thumbed through a book, but couldn’t focus on it.

I ended up texting Cassidy, which turned into a back-and-forth conversation where I told her a little about how Stephan was helping Dylan.

I didn’t tell her I was staying with Stephan, though—she would’ve latched onto that like a dog with a bone.

Soon, the house was quiet, and the sound of Dylan’s video game fell silent.

The room was dark and cool, and I pulled the covers over my head and sighed.

How was I supposed to sleep when my mind was racing like this?

All I could think of were Stephan’s arms, his chest, the salty-musky smell of his sweat, his knowing hazel eyes, his warm smile, that low, low voice…

It’d been years since I was touched. I had a boyfriend a few years ago, and he was nice, but the sex was mediocre, and neither of us seemed too bummed when the relationship fizzled out.

That was a running theme in my past relationships—mediocre sex.

I didn’t think I was asking for a lot. I wanted a guy who wanted me to orgasm, too.

The guys I ended up with were only concerned with their own pleasure and not much else.

Maybe I’d been spoiled. Stephan was one of the first guys I’d ever been with. We were young, I was na?ve but… The way he’d touched me was different. No one had touched me like that before. And no one had since.

It all came rushing back, half-memory and half dream, as I floated between sleep and wakefulness.

His callused hands on my bare waist.

His low voice in my ear.

His lips on my neck, the barest press of teeth right where a mating mark would go.

Heat pooled between my legs, and I pressed my thighs together as I shifted on the mattress.

The last time Stephan had touched me like that was ten years ago.

I remembered the soft blanket spread out on the banks of the big, deep blue lake.

It’d been late evening, and we’d been tucked into a wooded clearing, close to the alpha house, but far from the houses around town.

It was our secret, secluded place. It was where we went to get away from the rest of the world.

I sighed as I ran my palm under my shirt and over my bare belly. My body was warm all over and tingly with sensation.

I remembered the sunset over the lake, the warm air on my skin, the distant sound of the crickets.

Stephen had pulled his body close to mine and slowly divested me of my clothes, piece by piece, like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

His callused hands had slid over my hips, my thighs, the curve of my waist.

Just the memory of his gentle touch was enough to make me wet. My lips parted as I slid my hand over the cotton waistband of my panties, rubbing against my sensitive pussy. The pressure made me inhale sharply as pleasure rolled up my spine.

When was the last time I had felt this good from a simple touch?

I couldn’t remember. At home, when I pleasured myself, it was…

perfunctory. This felt different. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that before now, I had intentionally avoided memories and fantasies of Stephen. It had hurt too much.

But being close to him had made my desire too much to ignore.

I remembered Stephen rolling us over on the blanket, his body covering mine.

His bare chest had been so broad, so strong—and a lot less tattooed than it was now.

His hand had grasped my thigh, hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises, and the sensation of being possessed like that had made my whole body burn hot.

I slid my hand into my panties. I was so wet that the slightest touch would set me off.

Stephan had taken me like that, right by the lake. I remembered the hot press of his desire—God, his cock was the perfect size, the perfect thickness to press into every good place inside of me. His lips had captured mine, and he’d kissed me hard and deep as he slid into me.