Page 9 of Someone Else's Wolf

He was leaning against my car, frowning, when I returned. We were playing musical cars today. Or something. I tried not to notice his long, lean, rangy strength, the power of him, the extremely fit build. He straightened up and said, "Listen, you don't have to. I wouldn't ever bully you into — well, just going along with me. Okay?" He searched my face, his expression concerned and something like compassionate.

I may have snorted. "You? You couldn't bully a fly." I thumped him on the arm.

His smile was gentle but not without cynicism. "No, but the other cops were ready to jump on you. They'd do it for me, and I don't want that to happen."

He was brighter than he looked — no offense to his face. I tried to laugh it off. "Don't worry about it. Just don't put me on the spot in the precinct, and we're golden."

He reached out hesitantly, as if to touch my face, then his hand fell clumsily, and the silence fell even more awkward between us.

"Look, I don't—" I swallowed hard. It wasn't my imagination, was it? He wanted me. That shouldn't be giving me little anticipatory shudders in my lower abdomen, but it was. "I don't know—"

"I could drive," he said abruptly. "I could drive you, and then take you home later. So you have less driving to do." His eyes pleaded with me. "If you don't like driving, that is. I don't want you to, um, do anything you don't want to do."

I decided to make a joke of it. "Oh? And will you actually drive me home, once you've gotten me into your lair?"

He ducked his head, smiling shyly. "Well. It might be hard."

The bells rang in my head: I'd hit the jackpot. Now I knew, and sense flew out the window. He wanted me. A lot. That was flattering, and it was a relief that it wasn't all in my head. There was actual sexual tension here, for both of us.

"Oh?" I said as teasingly as I could manage. "Hard, huh? How hard?" I walked past him, aiming a swat at his ass, and headed towards my driver's seat. "I'll drive myself, thanks."

His smile lit the parking lot. He looked around guiltily, furtively, then hurried to his car.

I followed him all the way home, trying not to tailgate in my eagerness. I was so fucking ready, even though I knew better.

He lived in a small house with a tiny white porch and a green-looking back yard. Nice. But I didn't have time for architecture and design. I parked behind him and got out quickly. His smile was shy as he led me to the door, fumbled with his keys, and let us inside.

My libido was going mad. All I could think about was getting naked with him and doing stuff.

He turned to me and said shyly, "What would you like to eat?"

I gave him a flat look. "Eat?"

"Um." He raked his fingers back through his hair gingerly, his eyes assessing me. "I promised you a meal."

"That's what I'm here for? A meal?"

"I thought I should at least feed you first."

"After," I suggested, my heart pounding hard. I sounded more sure than I felt. That there would be an after. That it would be okay between us, not too odd to stay and eat.

The sun came out with his gentle smile. "Well. Okay, sure. If you feel that way about it."

He reached for me then. I felt like a high-quality violin that had been left on the shelf for decades, being touched for the first time by someone who knew how. All my nerve endings seemed more sensitive than normal. I trembled a little, surprised how vulnerable I felt, to be this turned on by him. To know what we were going to do, and have fear and anticipation and longing and all sorts of other weird feelings mixed in. I couldn't make sense of them all.

He drew me to him, kissed me long and deep. His hands at my waist seemed to kindle little fires all through me. His mouth was soft; he was good at this.

He took his time, then drew back. "You sure? You sure this is okay?"

I was literally trembling with want. What did he think? "Uh-huh." I kissed him. "Yeah. Let's do this."

"Okay." He hefted me up like I weighed nothing. No jokes about my weight, or groaning, or theatrical staggering; he lifted me like it cost him zero effort. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling deliciously small against him, safe and protected by his strength. It would feel so good when we finally got naked.

He carried me to his bedroom. I really wasn't paying attention to the decor, and I don't know how many rooms we passed through. Not many, I'm guessing. He kissed me, and kissed me, and laid me down on the bed and started fumbling with my buttons.

I pushed his hands away gently. "I'll do it. You get yourself naked. It's faster that way."

He chuffed a soft little laugh and began to undress. It was hard to pay attention to what I was doing, with his nakedness blooming before me. He was hotter without clothes, his muscles more impressively defined than I'd expected. Enough to make my eyes bulge a little. Peter had enough body hair to be interesting. He was a tall guy, rangily muscular, with a body that looked well put together, not as gangly as he sometimes looked clothed. And, yes, he was hung.