Page 3

Chapter three

Nick

Nick’s lungs stopped working for a full beat.

Viktor loomed above him, all muscle and moonlight, his bare skin hot and unyielding against Nick’s own. The weight of him pressed down, pinning Nick to the damp earth, broad hands braced on either side of his head, thighs like iron around his hips. Heat radiated off him in waves, and—oh great, now Nick’s brain had decided to take a vacation, because the only thing it seemed capable of processing was naked .

As in, Viktor was naked.

As in, every single werewolf running through these woods tonight was naked, and somehow, in all his careful calculations, Nick had conveniently failed to prepare for this.

His pulse hammered, blood rushing to places it definitely shouldn’t, because of course his traitorous body had to get involved in this disaster. Because everything else in his life always went wrong—why wouldn’t his annoying, uncooperative biology betray him at the exact worst possible moment, too?

Viktor’s green eyes locked onto his, burning with something dark and unreadable. And the look? Yeah, it wasn’t exactly I’m here to save you.

More like I’m going to eat you alive.

Nick’s breath hitched, panic and heat tangling in his chest. His brain tried to form a coherent thought, some kind of protest, but all it managed was:

Oh shit.

Why is he built like this?

WHY IS HE BUILT LIKE THIS?!

Oh no, I just looked down—

Abort, ABORT.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, because that was a lot of Viktor, and he needed exactly zero of those details imprinted on his memory. Which was a shame, because they already were. Permanently. Probably forever.

And of all the hundreds of werewolves in the forest tonight, of course he’d be caught by the one asshole who hated his guts. Not some random stranger, not some faceless wolf he could pretend this never happened with. No. He got Viktor.

Nick let his head thump back against the dirt, staring up at the sky in pure resignation.

The werewolf’s massive hands gripped his wrists like steel, holding him effortlessly above his head. Gone was the sharp-suited, sneering corporate monster. In its place, Viktor was all raw, unfiltered power, a living, breathing weapon. Nick's eyes drifted lower before he could stop them. Broad shoulders. Tapered waist. Defined abs. They tensed with each breath, as if Viktor was aware of the exact effect this was having on him.

The silvery moonlight caught the dark trail of hair leading lower, and suddenly Nick’s mouth was bone dry.

Of course, it wasn’t enough for Viktor to be a regular annoying werewolf; no, he had to be hung as well.

Between Viktor's thighs, his cock stood proudly erect, thick and flushed with arousal.

Nick jerked his eyes away, but he couldn't erase the image burned into his mind. His own body betrayed him, responding to the press of Viktor's naked form. He squirmed, trying to put some small distance between them.

The werewolf's chest heaved against his, skin fever-hot even through Nick's clothing. "What the hell are you doing out here?!" Viktor's voice rumbled against Nick's chest.

Nick forced a smirk despite his thundering heart. "I'm here for the money. What about you?"

Viktor stared at him, equal parts disbelief and irritation. “I’m here to mate.”

Oh.

Nick’s brain went static for a second. Just pure, unfiltered white noise. Because of course Viktor would say something like that. Straight to the point. No room for misinterpretation. Just I’m here to mate as if he was ordering a damn coffee.

Viktor’s grip on his wrists tightened, pinning them harder into the dirt. The pressure shot straight down Nick’s spine, leaving heat curling in his stomach.

Oh, this was bad. This was very bad.

Because that shouldn’t be hot. The weight of Viktor’s body pressing him down, the solid, unyielding strength caging him in—it should’ve made him feel trapped, not… whatever the hell this was. And yet, here he was, flat on his back beneath his completely naked workplace nemesis, his body betraying him in ways he would be unpacking in therapy approximately never.

Nick swallowed, forcing his smirk to stay put. He could not let Viktor know he was affected. He only had one weapon in his arsenal, and it wasn’t strength—it was being annoying as hell.

So he used it.

He arched his back, pressing up against Viktor’s solid form, grinding just enough to be provocative. The heat between them flared, instant and undeniable. Viktor was burning up, his skin fever-warm, the raw power in his body barely restrained.

“Go ahead, then,” Nick murmured, voice all lazy defiance.

Viktor’s nostrils flared. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he felt exactly what Nick was doing. His pupils blew wide, dark eclipses swallowing green.

Oh. That was… interesting.

Nick tilted his head, mouth curling in something close to mock innocence. “What’s wrong?” He let his voice drop to something lower, silkier. “Impotent?”

A muscle in Viktor’s temple twitched. Oh yeah. That hit a nerve.

Nick grinned, pressing his advantage. “All that big, bad wolf talk at the office, but now that you finally get me alone…” He let the sentence dangle, letting the silence stretch before clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. “I expected more.”

Viktor’s entire body went rigid. His grip tightened on Nick’s wrists, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him who was really in control. His breathing was heavier now, deeper, like he was working through something dangerous.

And god , he looked dangerous.

Nick could see it now, the way Viktor’s control was cracking at the edges—his teeth bared just enough to reveal the sharper points of his canines, the way his chest rose and fell with deliberate, restrained force. His body was a study in tension, every muscle flexed, his skin taut over power barely leashed. The moonlight slashed over him, throwing deep shadows across the hard planes of his body, highlighting the sheer size of him, the way he was built for this—for the hunt, for the chase, for taking exactly what he wanted.

Nick refused to acknowledge what that realization did to him.

He rolled his hips deliberately, drinking in the sharp inhale it tore from Viktor.

Oh yeah. There it was. That one sharp second where Viktor's grip faltered, where his pupils dilated even more, where his breath hitched. Nick could feel the raw tension in him, like a taut wire about to snap. Good. He wanted Viktor unhinged. He wanted to win this round, even if only for a second.

A low, warning growl rumbled in Viktor’s chest, vibrating straight through Nick’s bones. "Stop that."

Nick swallowed hard, pulse spiking, but forced his smirk wider. “What’s the matter, Viktor?” he taunted, voice all honeyed provocation. “Can’t handle a little fight?”

A slow smirk curved his lips as he murmured, “Guess I’ll just have to tell everyone at work that Viktor Ivanov is all bark, no bite—”

Viktor snapped.

One second, Nick had control. The next, Viktor took it.

Nick barely had time to process before there was a sharp rip, and the cool night air hit his skin. His shirt was gone. His pants followed in one brutal motion, reduced to nothing but pathetic scraps.

He sucked in a breath, shivering at the sudden exposure. "Jesus, ever heard of buttons?"

Viktor didn’t answer. His gaze raked over Nick’s body, slow and predatory, like he was committing every inch to memory. Green eyes burned, pupils blown wide, his expression caught somewhere between hunger and possession. He looked like a man who had just found exactly what he wanted.

Nick’s pulse jackhammered against his ribs. His skin felt too hot, nerves crackling under the weight of Viktor’s stare. The way he was looking at him—so intent, so focused—was doing something strange to his body, something Nick wasn’t prepared to deal with.

This was bad. This was so bad.

And yet.

Nick swallowed hard and forced himself to smirk, pretending his own breathing wasn’t uneven. "Like what you see, big guy?"

Viktor’s lips curled into something dark, something amused and dangerous all at once. He reached down—Nick braced himself, body tensing—but Viktor didn’t touch him.

Instead, his hand wrapped around himself , slow and deliberate.

Nick’s brain short-circuited.

His eyes flicked down before he could stop himself, before he could remember that looking was a terrible idea.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Nick’s breath stalled. His mouth went dry.

Viktor didn’t stop.

His grip was firm, steady, pumping over thick, hard cock with a slow, almost lazy confidence, like he had all the time in the world to make Nick unravel. His fingers curled at the tip, slick and teasing, squeezing just enough to drag a rough exhale from his throat. Each stroke was deliberate, practiced, the kind of touch that came from knowing exactly how to drive himself crazy—and knowing exactly who was watching.

Nick's pulse pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears. His mouth was dry. His skin burned. He should have looked away, should have forced himself to not watch the way Viktor's fist worked over himself, slick with pre-come, glistening in the moonlight, his abs tensing with every slow drag of his hand.

But he couldn't.