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Harley and Chopper sat up straight at our approach, heads tilting to the side, noses up in the air, taking in the smell of blood all over their owner no doubt. Wolf's truck was in the drive and I looked at it for a second, realizing that I would have to scrub it down once I got Wolf squared away. There had to be blood all over it.
I led a glamorous life, let me tell ya.
"Alright, shower," I said as I led him inside and toward the bathroom. I closed the lid on the toilet and pushed him onto it. He complied, still watching me and I fought the insane urge to be insecure. He wasn't even Wolf right then. There was no reason to feel any more insecure around him than I would around the dogs for chrissake.
I reached for the hem of his shirt, scrunching the material up in my hands and lifting it slowly upward. His eyes pinned mine and his arms went up over his head so I could free him of the shirt. I felt myself swallowing hard, trying to keep my eyes on his face when my body was sort of begging me to look down. Forcing down the ridiculous surge of hormones, I unlaced his boots and pulled them off. Then his socks, before I stood up. "Okay. Up," I said, grabbing his arm and pulling until he took his feet. I gestured toward his pants, hoping he might maybe clue-in enough to take them off himself. But his arms were limp at his sides and I needed those pants off so I could deal with them and the evidence they were covered in.
I took a deep breath and reached for the button. At the brush of my fingers, the muscles in his abdomen contracted and his breath hissed out of his mouth. Okay. I needed to focus. I needed to ignore the fact that my hands were a thin piece of material away from touching his cock. Thoughts of that particular body part needed to stay the hell out of my brain right then. I pushed the button through and pulled the zip before I could chicken out. My hands moved to his hips to snag the material and pulled downward.
Yeah, well. At that point, it was pretty much impossible to keep thoughts about that particular body part out of my brain because suddenly, there it was in all its glory, hard and straining.
I wrenched away from him, reaching inside the shower and putting the water on hot. "Alright, um, you need to get in here and get that blood off." I sighed when I didn't feel movement behind me. I turned back, grabbing his arm, and dragging him toward the enclosure. He stepped in with encouragement and stepped under the spray. I yanked the curtain closed, hoping that when I came back he would have at least thought to wash up as I gathered his clothes and shoes and took them outside.
That far in my stay, I had yet to find a washing machine, leaving me stumped as to how he had managed to clean my clothes from the night of the bombing. At a loss for anything else to do, I overturned a five-gallon bucket full of rock salt and filled it with water and bleach from the kitchen, submerging the clothes and shoes. It would ruin most of it, but at least it would eat up the DNA. I found another smaller bucket and went to work on the interior of the truck which wasn't nearly as bad as I had been anticipating.
There were many fun parts of working at Hailstorm: the guns, the bombs, the martial arts, the blurred lines of legality that generally allowed us to end up on the right side of morality. But that being said, it wasn't always a glamorous life. It was obnoxious how much time we had to spend covering our tracks, cleaning up crime scenes, erasing evidence. I'd had so much freaking practice that I could do it in my sleep. It wasn't the most impressive of skills to boast about, but it sure came in handy at times.
Thirty long and sweaty minutes later, I went inside to scrub the floor where Wolf had walked, washed my hands and arms in the sink, grabbed fresh clothes for Wolf who was still in the shower, and went into the bathroom.
"Did you wash up?" I asked, not expecting an answer and not getting one. I pulled the curtain to find him standing under the spray that had managed to wash a fair amount of the blood down the drain. But he hadn't washed. In fact, the only thing he had managed to take care of was, well, his raging hard on. But that was... kind of a relief especially given what I had to do now.
On a sigh, I climbed into the shower in my tee with nothing else but my panties on. "You're determined to make this difficult, huh?" I asked, grabbing the bar of soap and sudsing it up in my hands before reaching out toward him. His body stiffened as my hands pressed down onto his shoulders. "Relax," I said, but I wasn't sure if I was telling him or myself. I scrubbed down his chest, over his arms, down his stomach, pausing awkwardly. "Um... face," I mumbled, sudsing up my hands again and reaching up to scrub the soap into his beard, eyes on his face, watching him watch me. I reached up to wash his hair, making me need to press forward and go up on my tiptoes. It was right then that I realized that Wolf, or Wolf-The-Animal-Version, had a really fast turnover time for hard-ons.
His hands moved behind me, sliding down my back and landing on my ass with firm pressure, using it to shift me down slightly so his erection pressed between my thighs. An involuntary moan escaped my lips as my forehead fell to his shoulder. God. It didn't even matter that he was out of it, my body still wanted him. And, obviously, his body wanted mine as well.
