“Me too.” He kisses my mouth before straightening up and reaching behind him. Peeling his shirt off, he presents the view of his torso. While I’ve seen and heavily admired it many times before, this is a whole new perspective to be viewing it up close. Coming back down to rest on an elbow, Wolf brings his mouth to mine again, releasing a moan of his own against my lips as his rough fingers fumble with the fly on my jeans. When they snap open, his hand reaches inside, skimming over the stretchy material of my panties. His fingers find the seam of my lips through the cotton and deftly press and stroke against it.
“Oh god, oh my god,” I whimper as his body journeys down mine, his mouth greeting the skin of my lower abdomen just above the opening of my jeans. “Wolf.” His name wheezes out of me, and in a heartbeat he’s hovering over me again, checking in.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. I hate to break rhythm, but I should probably let him know. “You’re the first person I’ve done this with. I just wanted you to know,” I whisper and reach for his belt, yanking at the strap.
“Are you serious?” He lifts his head to search my eyes,
I’m determined not to slow us down. I free the strap of his belt, and the buckle clinks between my fingers as I unclasp it. “Yeah. Don’t stop,” I urge and nip at his neck, trying to show himthere’s no reason to put on the brakes. Thankfully he follows my lead and bends down to start trailing his mouth down my neck. I’m about to settle into the carnal bliss again when the loud, bleating chirp of his radio blares through the house, making me jolt beneath him.
“Shit,” he grumbles as I give a startled scream. “Fuck,” he barks again, withdrawing his hand from my jeans and easing himself off me.
Yeah, he better get to that fucking radio before I do because right now I’m too damn tempted to take it out to the pond and see if it can swim. I never knew such a heated moment could deflate so quickly, and watching him stride shirtless to the kitchen is now just a form of torture. He’s hidden from my view by the back of the couch but I hear him snatch the radio off its base.
“Owens Three. Go,” he says, his voice rattled with irritation. Static and garbled words blare through the other end before he mutters another curse under his breath. “All right fifteen out, show me responding.” He sets the radio down and refastens his belt.
I stand, straightening my shirt and raking my hands through my hair as he comes in to retrieve his shirt from the floor. “Okay.” The word whooshes out of me along with the wind in my sails.
“Some hikers had a close call with a mountain lion,” he explains in passing. “We’ve gotta locate it and secure the area. I don’t know how late I’ll be.” He grabs his hat off the floor and slaps it on his head.
“Fine. Be careful,” I tell him as I do up my jeans.
He hooks the radio to his belt. “Sorry, Moll,” he murmurs, then grabs his jacket off the chair and shrugs into it on his way out the door.
Yeah, me too.
21
WOLF
It’s been five days since getting cock-blocked by this fucking mountain lion that keeps eluding my brothers and me. Due to sightings on at least two of the main hiking trails, we’ve had to double up on patrol duty, not to mention take measures to actually track this thing so we can lure it to its own part of the terrain. At this point, we know it’s an adult male, but it’s popped up on several trail cams only long enough for us to gauge weight and possible age.
I’ve been working overtime, coming home after Molly has long since gone to bed. I’m not happy about it, but neither is Molly. A couple times I went ahead and crashed on the couch as she was sleeping diagonally across the bed. I may not have been married for long, but if that’s not a blaring loudfuck offsignal, I’m not sure what is. Not to mention the plastic containers full of baked goods stacked on the counters. So I’m not sure the missed opportunity for sex is what has her in a huff so much as my job taking up all my time this week.
I just know that I have to make things right soon. I’ve barely seen her, and the brief moments I have, they have notbeen pleasant. For the most part, it’s only been early in the morning before she leaves for work. She’s barely spoken a word, she’s currently got about four different irritable expressions in rotation, and she’s been giving me her cheek instead of her lips whenever I go to kiss her goodbye. Talk about a step backward.
In the shower, I massage at the kink in the back of my neck from sleeping on the damn couch again. Molly was still in bed when I came up to get in the shower, and as I stand under the pulsing streams of hot water, I strongly consider calling to her. I have a niggling urge to just see what would happen if I asked her to join me. Would we pick up where we left off, or would she tell me to—quite literally—fuck myself? I close my eyes and let myself fantasize about her being agreeable to the idea. If she were to strip down and stand naked with me surrounded by steam. I’d tell her I’m sorry for this week and take my time kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck, giving her all the extra attention for what I’ve missed out on. I just know her soft skin against mine would feel so good. I’d want to take her right in here, lifting her up and pinning her against the tile wall.
But then again, her first time probably shouldn’t be in the shower. We should do it in the bed so I can be more careful with her. It would probably be better for me too. And speaking of that, I should probably tell her. She shared her truth with me after all.
I reach down, grabbing my dick, wondering if I should rub one out before I head into work. It would probably ease some of the frustration, but then again, I don’t like the idea of getting myself off now that I’ve got a beautiful and hopefully still willing wife living under the same roof.
Wife.
I’m still trying to get used to that word. I’m starting to see a faint glimmer of progress; the point where it feels natural isn’t as far off as it used to be. Deciding to deny myself, I slam the water off and grab a towel, rubbing it over my hair.
After a quick shave, I head into the bedroom for some clean clothes. The bed is both empty and made. It’s early for Molly to be up, but I can hear her clanging around in the kitchen. Throwing on a clean T-shirt with my jeans, I trudge down the stairs and enter the kitchen.
Molly is leaning back against the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Her bare legs are crossed together at the ankle, and her brown hair is in a tangled knot at the nape of her neck. She doesn’t look up at me, but the oven is damn sure on.
“Whatcha baking?” I ask, not expecting to break the ice but determined to try anyway as I head over to the coffeepot and grab my travel mug out of the cupboard above it.
“Oatmeal cookies,” she mumbles.
“Nice.” I let the dark, hot liquid cascade into my mug before replacing the carafe while I rack my brain with something else to say. For a man who once loved the silence, I’m sure hating this kind. “I shouldn’t be home too late tonight,” I say. Which is bullshit; there’s no reason I should be home early with that lion still on the loose. But I’ll make it work, maybe talk to my brothers because something’s got to give.
“So you’ve caught the lion?” She takes another sip from her mug but doesn’t look up.
